Sehaye did not respond to Mofo’s threat. He knew that when he led Mofo to the place where he had hidden Athir, the tsotsi chief would kill them both. Sehaye had trusted the voice to tell him the best way to avoid that fate. But now his guide was gone, and he would have to trust to his own wit and courage to survive. And he was far from certain that would be enough.
Jass Mofo eased the pressure from the tirss. Sehaye pushed onward. The light of the torch was weakening, but Sehaye knew they were coming very close to their destination now.
He could not forswear a grudging admiration for the tsotsi leader. Once Jass Mofo had accepted the scheme Sehaye had proposed, he not only commanded his own set to participate; he had also enlisted members of other remnant sets as well, including blood enemies of the Ashaki. The tsotsis knew that some – many – of them would die in the effort to cut off the head of the serpent that was slowly destroying them. But the Muvuli were killing them anyway. Attacking their oppressors appealed to them far more than passively waiting to be slain by shadows after dark. And to gain the gratitude rather than the hatred of the people outside the Maim ... that would be a lesser, but still worthwhile, reward.
For his part, Sehaye had arranged with the other dissenters to spirit the tsotsis out of the Maim. He himself led the tsotsis through the Underground, into which they had never before ventured because the Maim had always been more than sufficient as a home and sanctuary. Jass Mofo had berated himself for not having thought to make better use of the Underground. But then, if Sehaye’s plan proved successful, they would not need its shelter in the future.
Sehaye wondered how the battle above was going. He and Jass Mofo were too far Underground know. Neither clangor nor cries could reach their ears.
Mofo had insisted on accompanying Sehaye alone. He knew the tsotsis would carry out his commands even in his absence, for they feared him more than they feared death. But then, as Sehaye had learned during the short time he had been among them, a tsotsi who feared death did not live long.
Despite the silence of the voice, Sehaye was certain that Retribution Time had finally been fulfilled in a way. Khambawe had not been destroyed, as Jass Imbiah and all the others before her had promised. But at least the Uloans would have gained a measure of vengeance for the blankskins’ slaughter of the invaders. Sehaye hoped that Legaba had told the huangi back home what he had done.
If not, he would inform them himself. He had long ago decided that if he lived through this journey Underground, he would steal a boat and return to the Islands. The need for spying among the blankskins was over. He wanted to find a huangi who would bestow upon him the spider-scars he had missed all his life. No longer would he live as a Matile ...
The torch flame guttered lower.
“You time runnin’ out,” Jass Mofo said.
“Just follow I and quiet you-self,” Sehaye retorted.
If Mofo noticed the change in Sehaye’s way of speaking, he did not say anything about it. And Sehaye did not care whether or not he had. They were very close now to where the Fidi was hidden, and Sehaye was preparing himself for Mofo’s reaction when he saw the prize that awaited him.
Then they reached the alcove, which was so dark that the weakening light of the torch failed to show what was inside.
“Him here,” Sehaye said, holding the torch forward so that Mofo could see the trussed-up Athir.
The tsotsi pushed past Sehaye. The wordless sound that issued from Mofo’s throat would have been frightening if it had been uttered by some predatory animal, let alone a human. He snatched the torch from Sehaye’s hand and thrust its tip into the alcove.
Then Mofo’s snarl of triumph turned into a shout of rage. He whirled and glared at Sehaye.
“What game you playin’ on me?” the tsotsi demanded, his voice deadly in its calmness.
“What you mean?” Sehaye asked.
“Look!”
Sehaye peered over the tsotsi’s shoulder. His eyes widened in shock when he saw that the hiding place contained nothing other than the ropes that had bound the Fidi. The strands lay in severed pieces.
“Help I, Legaba!” Sehaye shouted as he whirled away from Mofo and attempted to flee.
Then the Uloan had no more time to say or think anything else. The last thing Sehaye saw in life was the points of Jass Mofo’s tirss flashing toward his face. And the last thing he knew was that the voice that had guided him to his doom could not have belonged to Legaba.
2
In another part of the Underground, far from far from his erstwhile place of captivity, Athir huddled in darkness broken only by the shining of the mask his rescuer wore. He was holding a wriggling creature he could not identify. The mask-wearing girl had placed it in his hands.
“Eat it,” she said, her voice partially muffled by the mask.
Athir’s stomach heaved even though he was starving, not having eaten since the last time his captor had visited him and fed him just enough to keep alive. In the dim, silver glow of the mask, he could not determine what he was holding. A rat? A lizard? Some unknown slime-dweller unique to this benighted place?
“Go ahead,” the girl insisted when she noticed his hesitation. “Nothin’ else down here to eat.”
Fighting down a surge of nausea, Athir reached for what he hoped was the creature’s neck. A quick twist of his hands snapped its spine, and the wriggling ceased. Then Athir lowered his head and bit into the creature’s flesh. He swallowed hard and quickly, to make sure the chunks of raw, bitter-tasting flesh made it
