Athir heard the servant walk away, and he heard his door close. He looked up ... and saw that the servant had not left the room. Instead, the man was coming toward him – fast.
Immediately, Athir’s torpid survival instincts awakened. But the arousal came too late. Moving as quickly as Athir ever had, the servant reached the Ship’s Rat’s side. Before Athir could say or do anything, he felt an arm snake around his shoulders. Then the sharp edge of a blade pressed against his throat, but not hard enough to puncture his skin.
Despite the caress of steel against his neck, Athir still managed to give voice to his greatest fear.
“Are you a tsotsi?” he asked.
He didn’t recognize the servant from his time in Jass Mofo’s set. But then, other than Mofo himself, the tsotsis had more or less looked the same to him.
Before he replied, the servant uttered a chuckle that was devoid of humor.
“I am far from being a tsotsi,” he said.
“What do you want from me?” Athir asked.
“I brought you talla, as you requested. Now, all I want you to do is drink it.”
Athir swallowed hard. Then he sighed in resignation. He had no weapon within reach. And the servant’s grip was like iron; Athir could not hope to break free.
“Pick up the cup, put it to your mouth, and drink,” the servant instructed. “And if you try to throw the talla in my face, I’ll cut your throat.”
Athir did as he was told. As he expected, he grew weak as soon as the talla reached his stomach, and a curtain of darkness quickly descended over his eyes. Before he lost consciousness, the Ship’s Rat cursed himself for allowing the easy life to turn him into the prey, rather than the predator he had always been. As Athir slumped forward, Sehaye caught the Fidi before he could fall to the floor.
2
No one had questioned Sehaye very closely when he applied for work as a servant in the Gebbi Senafa. Because of the terrible toll Retribution Time had exacted on the populace of Khambawe, toilers of all kinds were in short supply. Anyone who was willing to perform menial tasks for low pay was more than welcome. The servants were no longer called shamashas, but the work they did remained the same.
In the same way, the Uloan’s offer to help with the disposal of the palace’s garbage had also been appreciated. The chief of the servants found Sehaye to be a hard worker, albeit taciturn to a fault. He spoke only when spoken to, and even then, he used as few words as possible, as though talk were a treasure he was hoarding.
The servant supervisor had far more pressing concerns than questioning the motives of a man who had volunteered to do one of the most hated chores in the palace. He thanked Sehaye for his diligence and put him in charge of hauling the two-wheeled cart that carried the palace’s refuse.
So it was that Sehaye now pulled his cart through the halls of the Gebbi Senafa. Two long poles extended from hinges on the cart’s side; Sehaye was positioned between them as though he were a quagga in harness. The cart was filled to the brim with food scraps, pieces of cloth, and various other discarded items. There was something else in the cart as well ... an inert, slumbering body. Its weight required Sehaye to exert more effort than usual as he pulled the cart.
Thank Legaba he doesn’t snore, Sehaye thought as he struggled not to show his increased effort. He did not want anyone he passed in the halls to notice anything unusual – and they didn’t. Indeed, they hardly noticed Sehaye at all. The closer he came to the palace’s doors, the more he realized he’d had no reason to worry. The palace guards, the royal retainers, and even the other servants paid him not more heed than they would have to a piece of furniture.
Finally, Sehaye reached the gates, which had been kept open well into the night since the coronation of Emperor Gebrem. Before, they had been shut at sundown and guarded grimly until dawn. More people visited the palace now, for Gebrem was proving to be a much more accessible ruler than Alemeyu had been. And he was also more benevolent ... most supplicants came away from his audiences with more largess than they had asked for.
Sehaye trundled his cart toward the two palace guards who manned the gates. Ordinarily, the guards would simply wave him through, though not without a jest or two aimed his way to help alleviate the dullness of their duties. He never responded to the gibes ... which was likely the reason they decided to do more than merely joke with him this night.
“Hold it,” one of the guards barked, lowering his spear to forestall Sehaye’s passage.
“What’s the problem?” Sehaye asked.
The Uloan was striving to conceal his nervousness. Both guards had stern expressions on their faces as they moved closer.
“New rules,” said the guard who had stopped Sehaye. “Items of value have been disappearing from the palace. We’ve been ordered to inspect everybody and everything that goes out.”
Sehaye wished he could will away the beads of sweat that were beginning to form on his brow. As it was, he could barely restrain himself from bolting as the soldiers reached toward the trash at the top of his cart. Then their hands stopped in mid-motion. And both guards burst out laughing.
“He really thought we were going to put our hands in that damned garbage,” one of the guards guffawed.
“As if there was anything worth stealing from this stinking cart,” the other one said, nearly choking on his own wit.
Sehaye waited as the
