like home already, Robyn congratulated him, and would have left him for her own tent when Camacho Pereira hurried forward. Ah! Major, I wait for you with good news.'
That's a pleasant change, Zouga murmured drily. I find man who has seen your father, not eight months ago.'
Robyn turned back instantly, her excitement matching that of the flamboyant Portuguese and she spoke directly to him for the first time since the incident in her tent. Where is he?
Oh, this is wonderful news. 'If it's true, ' qualified Zouga, with considerably less enthusiasm. I bring the man, damned quick, you see! ' Carnacho promised, and hurried away towards the porters' boma, shouting as he went.
Within ten minutes he returned dragging with him a skinny old man dressed in greasy tatters of animal skins, and with his eyes rolling up into his head with terror.
As soon as Camacho released him, the old man prostrated himself before Zouga who sat in one of the canvas camp chairs under the awning of the dining tent, and gabbled replies to the queries that Carnacho shouted at him in hectoring tones. What dialect is that he speaks? ' Zouga interrupted within the first few seconds. Chichewa, Camacho replied. 'He no speak other.'
Zouga glanced at Robyn, but she shook her head. They had to rely entirely on Camacho's rendition of the old man's replies.
It seemed that the old man had seen 'Manali', the man with the red shirt, at Zimi on the Lualaba river. Manali had been camped there with a dozen porters, and the old man had seen him with his own eyes.
How does he know it was my father? ' Zouga asked.
Everybody knew 'Manah', the old man explained, he was a living legend from the coast to 'Chona longa', the land where the sun sets. When did he see Manali?
One moon before the coming of the last rains, which made it in October of the previous year, as Camacho had said, about eight months previously.
Zouga sat lost in thought, but his gaze fixed with such ferocity on the unfortunate who grovelled before him that the old man suddenly burst out on a plaintive note that made Carnacho's handsome face darken with anger and he touched the skeletal ribs with the toe of his boot, a threatening gesture that quieted the old man instantly.
What did he say? ' Robyn demanded. He swears he speak the truth only, Camacho assured her, resurrecting his smile with an effort.
What else does he know of Manali! Zouga asked. He speak with the porters of Manah, they say they go follow the Lualaba river.'
It made some sense, Zouga thought. If Fuller Ballantyne was indeed seeking the source of the Nile river to recover his lost reputation, then that is where he would have gone. The Lualaba, which was reputed to run directly northward, was one of obvious choices for the source river.
Camacho questioned the old man for another ten minutes, and would have taken the hippo-hide whip to jog his memory, but Zouga stopped him with a gesture of annoyance. It was obvious that there was nothing further to learn from him. Give him a bolt of merkani cloth and a khete of beads and let him go, Zouga ordered and the old man's gratitude was pathetic to watch.
Zouga and Robyn sat later than usual beside the camp fire, while it collapsed slowly upon itself in spasmodic torrents of rising sparks and the murmur of sleepy voices from the porters' boma died into silence. If we go north, Robyn mused, watching her brother's face, 'we will be going into the stronghold of the slave trade, from Lake Marawi northwards. From that area into which no white man, not even Pater, has ever ventured must come all the slaves for the markets of Zanzibar and the Omani Arabs-'What about the evidence of the trade to the south, Zouga glanced across the clearing at the silent figure of Juba, waiting patiently by the entrance to Robyn's tent.
'That girl is the living proof that a new trade is flourishing south of the Zambezi. 'Yes, but it seems to be nothing compared to the activity north of here. 'The northern trade has been fully documented.
Father reached Marawi and followed the slave caravans down to the coast fifteen years ago, and Bannerman at Zanzibar has written a dozen reports on the Zanzibar market, ' Zouga pointed out, nursing a precious tumbler of his fast-dwindling supply of whisky, and staring into the ashes of the fire. 'Whereas nobody knows anything about the trade with the Monomatapa and the Matabele south of here.'
Yes, I acknowledge that, Robyn admitted reluctantly. However, in his Missionary Travels father wrote that the Lualaba was the source of the Nile and he would one day prove it by following it from its headwaters. Besides which, he has been seen in the north.'
Has he, though? ' Zouga asked mildly.
That old man. . Was lying. Somebody put him up to it, and I don't need more than one guess, Zouga finished.
How do you know he was lying? ' Robyn demanded. If you live long enough in India you develop an instinct for the lie, Zouga smiled at her. 'Besides why would father wait eight years after he disappeared to explore the Lualaba river. He would have gone there directly, if he had gone north. 'My dear brother, Robyn's voice was stinging, 'it would not be the legend of Monomatapa that makes you so stubbornly determined to go south of the river, would it? Is that gleam in your eye the gleam of gold? 'That is a mean thought, Zouga smiled again. 'But what does intrigue me is the determination of that great guide and explorer, Camacho Pereira, to discourage any journey to the south, and instead to lead us northwards.'
Long after Robyn had disappeared into her tent and the lantern within was extinguished Zouga sat on beside the fire, nursing the whisky in the tumbler and staring into the fading coals. When he reached his decision he drained the last drop of precious golden brown spirit in the glass and stood up abruptly. He strode down the lines to where Camacho Pereira's tent stood at the furthest end of the camp.
There was a lantern burning within even at this late hour, and when Zouga called out, a squeak of alarm in feminine tones was quickly hushed with a man's low growl and a few minutes later Camacho Pereira pulled the fly aside and peered out at Zouga warily.
He had thrown a blanket over his shoulders to cover his nudity, but in one hand he carried a pistol and relaxed only slightly as he recognized Zouga. I have decided, Zouga told him brusquely, 'that we'll go north, up the Shire river to Lake Marawi, and then on to the Lualaba river.'
