“Where is Yasmine?” he asked.
Wal stirred. “Sheik Abdul,” he whispered.
Changa bent closer, refusing to acknowledge what he heard. “What did you say?”
Wal winced as he rolled onto his back. “I sold her to Sheik Abdul of Zanzibar.”
Changa closed his eyes, a curse slipping from his lips. It was worse than he imagined.
“She is lost then,” he said.
Wal managed to laugh. “Do you think Abdul would come to me for a common slave? He could get that from any of a hundred slavers working the coast. Yasmine was special. Her life with Abdul will be better that she deserves, much better than living with Naragisi surrounded by savages and cow shit.”
Changa wanted to drive his sword between Wal’s shoulders but he didn’t come to kill the man. He dropped the bag of gold by Wal’s face.
“Your payment.” Changa stepped away, signaling Yusef and the others. They emerged into an eerie silence; their exit much quieter than their entrance. Yusef found his way to Changa’s side.
“That was good, kibwana. Belay will be happy.”
Changa nodded.
Yusef scratched his beard. “I don’t understand why you paid him.”
“The payment will allow Wal to save face,” Changa answered. “It will also keep us alive. Wal wouldn’t allow us to live if word spread of what we did. He wouldn’t touch Belay for that would risk vendetta. But we’re nothing to him. He’d keep sending assassins until we were all dead.”
Changa and his companions relaxed once they emerged from Wal’s district. They headed directly to Belay’s warehouse with their news.
Belay paced as he spoke. “Wal may be right about Yasmine’s fate.”
Changa was confused. “You agree with him, bwana?”
“Yasmine may be better off with Abdul,” Belay reasoned. “Her virtue has been compromised. No man will marry her now, not even Naragisi. She will have a good life as Abdul’s concubine.”
Changa bristled. “She will still be a slave. She has no one to protect her from the whims of Abdul. What if tires of her? She’ll be casted into the masses. Yasmine should not be punished for her beauty. She did not ask for this fate.”
Belay stopped pacing and looked at Changa with sympathy. “Your feelings are personal and you raise valid questions. However, I did not make the world.”
“She should have a choice,” Changa retorted. He was pushing his authority, spurred by shame of his memories. “This was Naragisi’s doing. You are always fixing his mistakes. You should fix this.”
Belay dropped his head. “That is true. I would be a much richer man if not for the debts of my sons. Prepare the Sada. We will sail to Zanzibar and meet with Sheik Abdul. We will see how much a concubine is worth these days.”
* * *
The Sada sailed into the harbor of Zanzibar on a clear, cloudless day. Belay sent messengers to Abdul as soon as they docked. The Mombassans awaited the sheik’s reply on board. Changa did not take part in the dhow’s chores; he, Yusef and others were present as Belay’s bodyguards. The messengers returned quickly. Sheik Abdul would meet with them in three days.
While Belay took the time to conduct business, Changa’s anxiousness grew. His mind kept slipping back to his early days of captivity, remembering the pain and confusion as he was torn from his family. The images of what the women and girls suffered were too terrible for him to clearly recall. He followed Belay about in angry silence, the minutes passing like eternity. When the day finally came for the meeting, Changa’s mood was at the least tense.
Sheik Abdul’s palace lay south of the harbor, surrounded by the slave pens. Changa tried to ignore the human cages but his eyes betrayed him. Hundreds of people lay chained in the filthy compartments waiting to be sold to slavers who would take them north to Arabia and beyond. He looked into their desperate eyes and saw a sense of hopelessness far beyond anything he ever experienced while similarly confined. Abdul’s control was more that physical; there was something deeper at work.
One pair of eyes caught his attention. They belonged to a boy clutching the bars with emaciated fingers. Changa found himself falling into the boy’s gaze until he looked into the streets of Zanzibar from the cage. He saw dense forest as the cage rocked back and forth with the contours of the wooded hills as the caravan travelled the muddy road leading from his city, his kingdom and his family. The fear of an eight-year-old boy returned, the terror of a child that saw his father murdered and his mothers and sisters taken as wives of the murderer.
“Kibwana, are you well?”
Yusef’s deep intrusive voice shattered his waking nightmare.
“I’m fine.”
They stood before Abdul’s palace. A servant greeted them at the gates, a welcoming smile on his face.
“Welcome, Bwana Belay. My master awaits you in the veranda.”
The servant led them through the gates to the veranda. Sheik Abdul sat before a table filled with food and sweets, a banquet fit for a dignitary. A solemn servant offered Belay a seat. Changa and Yusef flanked the merchant.
Abdul nodded to Belay. “Welcome, my brother. This is a pleasant surprise. I have heard much of you and I am flattered by your visit.
Belay nodded in return. “The reputation of Abdul sails on the sea as far as the Spice Lands. I am flattered you granted my request.”
Abdul nodded to a servant who poured him a glass of wine. Changa noticed the same look in the woman’s eyes like the boy in the cage, a vacuous vision of despair.
“I can’t believe we’ve never met before,” Abdul continued. “Belay of Mombasa is a man well known throughout Swahililand.”
Belay refrained from wine, preferring water. “Sheik Abdul is a legend among merchants.”
Abdul closed his eyes as he replied. “I am but a humble man. But tell me, rafiki; is it business that finds you here this day?”
“Yes, but not the type you are familiar with.”
Abdul’s face looked puzzled. “Surely
