“You ... can’t,” Okosene managed to gasp.
Nwankwo’s smile faded.
“You know the law, Alakun,” the obufin snapped. “A chieftain can claim the wives of any citizen, as long as the price that was paid for the man’s first wife is matched. You paid one chicken for the old Ajema – not that she was worth even that much. Here’s the chicken. Your new Ajema is now mine.”
Okosene opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“Consent,” Okosene finally choked out. “The wife in question must give her consent ...”
Nwankwo let out a derisive bray of a laugh. Then he snapped his fingers two times. Instantly, Ajema emerged from the doorway. Soldiers, zagi and onlookers alike gasped at the sight of her beauty. She had torn off a section of her old garment and wrapped it around a body that made even such a rag look like the gown of a goddess.
“Ajema!” Okosene wailed. “You want to go with him? He has so many other wives that you’d be little better than a concubine.”
“Well, Okosene, Shahu Nwankwo is the obufin,” Ajema said, her gaze lowered demurely. “And even though he does have forty-seven other wives, he can provide for me better than you ever could. At least I would never have to take him to court.”
“Well-said, woman,” Nwankwo bellowed. “You’ll make a fine companion; I can see that already. All those other wives are only political obligations to village sub-chiefs anyway. Let’s go.”
As Nwankwo wrapped a chieftainly arm around Ajema’s bare shoulders, Okosene suddenly lost the self-control the events of his life had forced him to cultivate. Not only was he angry at the obufin; he was angry at himself because he had not told Ajema everything about the kungurus-kansusu.
Unfortunately for him, his temporary madness could not have struck at a worse time. As he lunged wildly at Nwankwo, the soldier who had threatened him earlier lashed out with his spear-butt, sending Okosene sprawling limply in the dust.
Half-stunned, jaw aching abominably, Okosene could only dimly hear the voice of Nwankwo.
“Assaulting your obufin, are you? I ought to have you whipped, Alakun. Instead, I will simply levy a fine: one chicken!”
Then Okosene sank miserably into unconsciousness amid the loud guffaws of Nwankwo, the amused chuckles of the onlookers, the tinkling laughter of Ajema, and the querulous squawking of the chicken.
IT WAS A DIFFERENT Okosene Alakun that confronted the kungurus-kansusu for the second time. His face was set in grim lines, and the apathetic vagueness in his eyes had been replaced by a cold determination. He ignored the throbbing pain in his swollen jaw as he spoke.
“Listen to me, bird,” he growled.
The guinea-fowl was unperturbed.
“I assume you have a third wish, Okosene Alakun?”
He did ...
NIGHT HAD FALLEN. Nwankwo’s compound lay serene under the stars. In the House of Pleasuring, where the obufin spent the night with the wife (or wives) of his choice, Nwankwo lay languidly entwined with Ajema. Though sated by their previous amatory activity, they found that they still had sufficient energy to touch each other in a manner that was both soothing and seductive.
“I will give you the rank of fourth senior wife,” Nwankwo murmured. “I would rank you higher, but the first three are daughters of the obufins of important towns. If I put them aside too soon, I would have a war on my hands. And the King of Zamfaru wouldn’t take kindly to that ...”
Ajema silenced Nwankwo’s political discourse with a kiss. The obufin enjoyed the pressure of her succulent mouth against his. Then he noticed that her lips were suddenly becoming smaller and thinner. The teeth that had been gently nipping his lower lip sharpened into fangs. The soft arms clasped around his neck became thin and hairy. Nwankwo’s eyes flew open – and he let out a hoarse cry of horror and consternation.
For, in the dim light of his night-torch, he saw that it was no longer a woman who shared his bed. Instead, perched on his bare and sweaty chest was a very large, very hairy monkey!
Then a note of pain overrode the horror in Nwankwo’s cry as the monkey’s teeth closed on his lip and nearly tore it off. The obufin’s scream alerted the soldiers who guarded the House of Pleasuring. With weapons drawn, they rushed inside, ready to deal death to what they were certain was an assassin.
But all they saw was the tail and hindquarters of a monkey rapidly disappearing through the window of the bedchamber. Nwankwo was sitting naked on his bed, his hands clutched to the bottom of his face. Blood dripped from his chin to the silk-cotton coverlet.
“What happened?” one of the soldiers asked.
“It’s sorcery, you peanut-brained fool!” Nwankwo roared, spitting blood as he moved his hands away from his face. “Some kind of foul magic turned Ajema into a monkey just as I was about to ... never mind. This could only be the work of that accursed Okosene Alakun!”
“Him?” another soldier scoffed.
“Who else?” Nwankwo snapped. “Nyame knows, it’s unlikely. But my father always told me the quiet ones are the most dangerous – and who is more quiet than Alakun?”
The obufin wiped his mouth before speaking again.
“I want Okosene Alakun found and brought to me, and I don’t care how you bring him as along as he’s alive!”
The soldiers hastened to carry out their chieftain’s bidding. And at least a dozen of Nwankwo’s wives, having learned of the incident with their would-be rival through their own near-magical means, bustled into the bedchamber to tend to their husband’s injury.
OKOSENE LAY IN HIS own pallet, which still smelled of the fragrance of Ajema’s previous presence. He had long since returned from the site of the guinea-fowl’s tree-perch, for he had no desire to wander in the forest after nightfall. The uproar outside his dwelling’s walls was lost on him. In his muddled state of consciousness, the dan-Zamfara had no idea that Nwankwo could ever suspect him
