But she would not say much on what come to pass, not even after an order, so one of the princess’s guards catch one of the Yumboes in a net and bring him to court. He is no taller than her arm, and the hum of his wings drown out the chirpy voice, but she understand: He coming like a bull, my Prince Abeke, running and coming, coming, and coming and no god or demon ever see a girl move so fast, she dodging him and he ram like a rhinoceros right into the wall. He raging now, yes he raging, this little brown bull, he raging, he come at her and swing one club here another club there, ay he swing swing swing and she dodge dodge dodge. He swing so hard he almost strike himself. But the girl, she only dodge blows, she not landing none. It make the prince more mad, you see, like a woman in the night trying to kill a mosquito. She duck and weave, and dodge, and jump like wind is lifting her up. Lo, Prince Likud enter. Prince Likud and plenty from court, including some who wicked to the Yumboe. Yes. They all come in and the crown prince tell them not to stop for no prince, no heir to the throne run away from a fight. He even say this, that the whole court shall place bets, he on his son, of course. This is what he say, this for true. He even say this too for I hear it—we hear it, that if he placing bets, they should fight to the death. Hear him, he say, Son you must kill her, but she can also kill you. Father? the son say but nobody hear. And a woman say, Most Excellent, that’s not a fight, that’s an execution, for no soul may touch he of royal blood, and the Most Excellent says, Am I not crown prince? I waive it, and Abeke look at his father a way, for he is counting on her not touching him but him touching her. Father? he say. What is this? But she has no weapon, the crown prince say, and as there be gods, he throw her his staff! All of we see it, he throw her the royal totem of his own power. The whole place gasp when she pick it up. Fight, Prince Likud shout, and he watch it keen. How his boy have no skill, just rage and might, and he swing and flap like a headless chicken. And this girl, by the gods this girl, she float like a bird and like a wasp she sting, dodge there and strike, leap there and slap, jump there and whip, roll on the floor out of the club striking bam bam bam bam bam bam bam and twisting the staff between his legs and lo he fall on his back. She walk away from him but he get up and rush, he is a rhino again. But this girl drop and let him run right into her staff and knock a tooth loose. She swing so hard she nearly drop herself, hear what me telling you. Prince Likud laugh at his son, laugh I tell you, then he wonder how this girl learn to stick fight, and which man would dare teach a girl, yes that is what he say. Then he say off to the dungeon with her for touching the young prince. So it happen, as I say.
“Truth is I cry when the guards grab me, and I bawl when they take me to some place with iron doors. But it was no dungeon, just a cell. I could even see the stars from the window. He come to see me, the Aesi,” Sogolon say, then hang her head low, for she speak out of turn.
“Oh so he do?” the princess say, as one of the women try to hold on to Mistress Komwono’s silk that is still trying to escape. “If I make a dress out of that, it will fly right off me, no?”
The princess turn back to Sogolon, who stand beside her now. My new bodyguard, the princess call her when she free her from the cell. Sogolon know that it is mockery, and yet she still grin wide when she hear it.
“When the Aesi come to see you, what he do?”
“Look,” she say and get a pinch from the headwoman beside her. “He look, Your Highness.”
“That is it? That all he do? He say nothing to you?”
“No, Highness, he just look at me.”
The princess eye her up and down. “You don’t look like his kind, so . . .”
“Dear Highness, what his kind be?” ask the headwoman.
“Nobody ever seen the kind,” she say.
Sogolon only now coming in audience with the princess, for before that her head was exploding. An ache like a torment at the front of her head, that happen as soon as she get left alone in the cell. The pain so mighty that she is bashing her head against the wall in the dark. But then the princess free her and order her to bed.
“Expect him to come soon,” she say.
“Who, my princess?”
“Likud. Watch it come to pass. Those twins soon remind him that he promise to kill you. And he will have it, girl, your head or your heart to throw to his dogs—I mean boys. Those two boys. Word is that their mother didn’t give birth, she just shit twice.”
“Is that word coming from somewhere near you, Highness?” ask the headwoman.
“Must be wind. I hear the wind also promising to execute all who take what I say out of this room.”
“Death to all spillers of secrets, Princess,” this lady say. Sogolon don’t know her name.
“Leave the killing to Likud,” the princess say.
* * *
—
Behind Princess Emini’s back, Prince Likud speak to several elders about crushing Wakadishu. All is talk, and talk is wind, but the crown prince is playing king for size, for fucks, for laughs, or for the pleasure of wrapping himself in the royal cape. All tiresome to the princess, for she is spending too many days telling elders that the crown has not lost its head.
See the girl, finding herself back in Commander Olu’s quarters, for she find herself with questions that he can’t answer, but maybe his wall will, or his bedsheet, or his curtain. He not there when she let herself in, but it don’t startle him when he come back to see her.
“I can’t remember your name, but you seem to know my house,” he say.
“You teaching me to read.”
“And can you?”
“More than a moon ago.”
“So I’m a teacher?”
“No.”
“Priest?”
“You are a commander.”
“So people tell me.”
“I looking words for something.”
For he have words on everything, if one know where to look, she continue in her mind. Every time she step into his house she stepping into what his mind used to be. He is a man who see and note everything. He know that he is the one doing all the writing down, but some days he forget why. When she say that to him, he smile, which surprise her. “You starting to forget that you forget,” she say, frightened that it is coming so soon.
“Why the princess and the prince at each other so?” she ask.
“They do as brother and sister do. You don’t have a brother?”
“No.”
“Your mother must curse her luck.”
“A boy is no luck,” she say.
He go on about how the princess have to do the work of the King, but the brother will see the glory, and that must be why she have hatred for him. Why all this on the princess? she ask but he don’t answer. Commander Olu’s house is become a better version of Olu. In the written word he don’t hide under diplomacy, a word she just learn, or memory, and he don’t have any code for prince or princess. Then she remember what lie under the rug, the note on what happen to the herbswomen. Sogolon search. She compare a word on the wall to a word on the floor, to a word on the windowsill, until thoughts start to come. Some so clear they come with the sound of Olu’s voice.
Some already throw ten and six sacred palm nuts into the Ifa bowl to divine the gods’ will for the future. The time to come, taking too long yet too soon. The princess when she become the King Sister will restore.
“Restore what?” she ask.
“Eh?”
“The princess when she become the King Sister will restore what?”
“What you asking, girl?”
“You the one who write it down. Come look at your mark and see if it strike a memory.”
“I too old for anything to strike me.”
“Commander.”
Something change in him when she say that. He stand taller for certain, but something else.
“Oh, that. You don’t need memory for that. That is just the way of kings. Any griot would recite that.” He pause as if waiting for a question, but she just stare at him.
“Prince Likud is not supposed to be King,” he say.
“What?”
“He is the son of the King.”
“Yes, he is the son of the King. So?”
“You under whose rule? Don’t you know anything about your King and ruler? Kwash Kagar grow with no sister.”
It come to her there. That the King of Fasisi is not like the Chief of Kongor. When the Chief of Kongor die, his oldest son become chief, no matter where he fall in the line of children as long as the chief acknowledge the mother. The King of Fasisi is never the son of the King, but the firstborn of the King Sister. That is the way it always was, and always is. Except for when no sister is born in the King’s family. Then his oldest son become King. The elders and the priests pray that he is a wise and just King, he who is not meant to be, but even if he is not, restoration will come as soon as the King Sister produce a male heir.