“Keep your insults!” Belay barked. “Who did you hire?”
Naragisi leaned back on his cushion and raised his teacup, staring at Changa.
“Wal Wasaki.”
Belay sighed, closed his eyes and hung his head. Changa fought a surge of anger as he struggled to keep his hand from his sword.
“I really thought Wal would bring her to me,” Naragisi continued. “We have conducted business before.”
“Wasaki deals with the highest bidder,” Changa said. “He must have received a better offer.”
“You keep speaking as if it matters,” Naragisi commented.
Changa was about to answer when Belay raised his hand.
“Enough!” Belay stood. “I’ll deal with you latter, Naragisi.”
Belay exited the room and the others followed. Changa hesitated; watching Naragisi and his men to make sure Belay’s departure was safe. He turned to leave.
“Changa,” Naragisi called out.
Changa turned slowly and was met by Naragisi’s cold eyes.
“My father is a mwungwana. He’s well respected for his intelligence, generosity and piety. Your status in Mombasa is depends on him.”
“I know this,” Changa snapped. “You’re wasting your words and my time.”
Naragisi’s eyes narrowed. “My father will not live forever.”
Changa smirked. “Neither will you.”
He backed out the room and trotted to catch up with his party.
Changa watched Belay with disappointment as they returned to Mombasa. Belay would do nothing to Naragisi. His sons were worthless but the old merchant loved them too much to punish them. He would ignore his son’s crime and attempt to ease Mustafa’s suffering with payment and favors. When they reached Belay’s home at nightfall Changa was the first to speak.
“Bwana, let me deal with Wal,” he said.
“That won’t be necessary, Changa. Wal is a criminal, but he is also a businessman. I’ll pay him whatever he asks.”
“What if he doesn’t have her?”
Belay sighed. “Then there is nothing more I can do.”
“I will deliver your offer,” Changa said. “If he does not have Yasmine I will find out where she is.”
“And how will you accomplish this?” Belay inquired.
“I can be very persuasive,” Changa smiled.
Belay returned his smile. “Take good men with you, Changa. Don’t do anything . . . foolish.”
“I will be careful, bwana.”
* * *
Wal Wasaki’s compound was only a few miles from Belay’s warehouse in the center of Low Town. Though the distance between the two sections was brief, the contrast was jarring. Entering Low Town was like walking into a tempest. The thick grey walls surrounding the district were remnants from a time when Low Town served as Mombasa’s prison. A strange order existed within the barricades, a chaotic system that changed with the whims of its master, Wal Wasaki, a man who was as brilliant as he was mad. Changa thought on this as he and his cohorts approached the western gate.
“This is the nearest entrance to Wal’s main compound,” he told the others. “We must be swift if we expect to confront him.”
“I thought we were supposed to offer him payment,” Yusef said.
Changa grinned at the big man. “We will, but we’ll add a little incentive.” He patted his knife bag.
Yusef grinned back. “I like you, kibwana.”
Changa and his cohorts entered Wal’s realm purposely, their countenances revealing their intent. It was obvious they were looking for someone. The reaction of the onlookers varied; some ran, some fell to their knees in prayer while others slipped silently into the refuge of nearby buildings. Then there were those that stood defiantly, their hands gripping daggers or swords, ready to face the danger the armed interlopers presented.
Wal’s compound occupied the center of his district. Thick stone walls topped by jagged metal spikes encased the elaborate buildings inside. Two heavily armed guards flanked the iron gate, watching Changa and his men with little concern. Changa continued past them, waiting until Yusef was before them. He turned, throwing his knife at the guard closest to him. The knife struck the man in the head and he crumpled where he stood. The second guard threw up his shield, deflecting Changa’s second knife. Yusef pounced, knocking away the shield with his left fist as he drove his sword into the man’s gut. Changa sprinted past the dying man, leading the attack into Wal’s compound.
Changa kicked the gate open and charged into the compound. He ran directly to the largest home surrounded by more guards. They looked stunned until they realized Changa’s intent. Changa’s companions surged around him and attacked the guards. Changa sprinted by the fray, looking for Wal. He spotted the bandit slipping out the rear of his home, accompanied by two guards. He pursued them, a throwing knife in each hand. He drew his arm back and threw both knives, striking both guards in the back. Wal spun about; his sword drawn.
“This is a foolish thing you do, Changa,” he said.
Changa ignored Wal’s threat. He dodged the bandit’s weak thrust and punched him across the jaw, knocking him senseless. He grabbed the bandit by the collar of his shirt and dragged him into the house.
Yusef and the others met him inside. The house was a miniature palace, decorated with items from throughout Swahililand and the world. A huge Persian rug covered the entire tile floor. Aromatic incenses burned in lamps in every corner. Large silk pillows rested at the center of the rug, surrounding a group of women clutching each other and whimpering. Bowls of food were overturned, a sign of Wal’s hasty exit.
Changa’s men rushed the women from the room while he towed Wal to the center. He shoved the man to the floor and dropped his foot on his chest, his sword tip to his throat.
“Wal Wasaki, I come on behalf of Belay. He wishes to know the whereabouts of Yasmine, daughter of Mustafa. He has authorized me to pay for this information.”
“You’re a fool, Changa, a fool!” Wal spat.
Changa stepped away from Wal and signaled Yusef. The big Swahili snatched Wal from the rug, raised the man over his head and threw him across the room. Wal slammed into the wall and crashed to the floor.
“Yusef!” Changa yelled.
The big man held out his hands and shrugged.
