Leeyti sat up in his seat. He instructed his archers to lower their bows with a dismissive wave. “My daughter Awa has been kidnapped. I need you to rescue her.”

Lamin stared into Leeyti’s eyes. They were filled with moisture and his face remained at ease. Lamin looked for the usual signs that always betrayed Leeyti’s true intentions. This time there were none, only the raw emotion of a father missing his child. Or so he imagined. He loosened his arms, allowing his inflated biceps to relax. “I wasn’t aware she was missing.”

“No one is. She’s been gone for three days and only yesterday was I informed that a Gurtog khan named Gantulga is holding her in the Battle Steppes.”

“Is there ransom?”

“He’s holding her until I agree to send him a shipment of Xaftaan weapons.” Leeyti rose from his chair, walked over to the front of his table and leaned against its rounded edge. His feet rubbed along the fringes of the leopard skin rug, folding it over on itself, inviting Lamin to join him.

Lamin pursed his lips and sat side by side with the magistrate. “You’ve been selling arms against the emperor’s edict. Your moneybox must be buried in wealth. So why not make the exchange?”

“Never” Leeyti grunted. “I will not be trampled by some yurt-chief. No. I could have asked proper thieves for this. But…no one knows that she is missing. And it must remain so. I’ve leaked word that she travels to Maangiyaa visiting cousins. If the other njekka clans got word that I lost my daughter…”

“Your position as magistrate will come under scrutiny. A man who cannot run his household, cannot safeguard a city.” Lamin’s hand began to rub the scars on his face again. His fingertips ran along the grooves, raking his face as claws had done so many years ago. “We can steal the girl and murder the khan before his warriors even know we were there.”

“I can’t take the chance. His men may know of our dealings. And if they start raiding along the border…” It was Leeyti’s turn to fold his arms. A heavy sigh slipped through his lips. “I can trust no one but you. Our clans have a bond and you are…were, the most trusted amongst my fathers. I know you. I trust you.

The words made the good side of Lamin’s lips curl into a snarl. He covered it with his fingers and hoped no one noticed. “So when is the exchange to take place?”

“I will arrange for you and your friend to travel to the trading-fort of Yoff. You will be disguised as julas, trading fabrics across the border. An associate of mine will meet you there. He is to notify them when the exchange will happen. You will have a better chance to come and go with his help. He will lead you to where you can find Gantulga’s camp.”

Lamin turned to him. “How long have you been selling arms?”

“Not to him, to his enemy. Maybe. They all seem to be at war with one another for some imagined slight.” A slave appeared from between two of Leeyti’s shadows. He had a silver tray etched with leaves and intricate designs. A blue alabastron pitcher sat in the middle with matching drinking bowls. He placed them off to the side of the table and poured the wine into each bowl. “I will load a wagon with cloth and fabrics to take with you.” He took the bowls offered to him and offered one to Lamin.

Lamin emptied his bowl without a thought. “A cloth-jula,” he nodded. “I’ll make for Yoff tomorrow.”

Leeyti took a measured sip. “And the price?”

Lamin moved off the table towards the alabastron, keeping his feet clear of the rug. “Sorghum wine. The best I’ve ever tasted. Your corruption proves lucrative.” He placed his bowl on the tray and picked up the pitcher. “I grow tired of red back alley creepings and red hands. I long for a more sober position in this life.”

Leeyti moved back to his chair and took another sip. “You’re too good at killing to give it up. I’ve never heard of a retired assassin.” He leaned back into his chair holding his drink with both hands.

“I want you to petition for my acceptance under your clan. And bring N’gara and myself into your smuggling confederacy.” Leeyti stared up into Lamin’s eyes, gazing deep into one dark and deadly, the other pale and cold. “Xoors never seem to stay long in our grasp. We’d fare better with position and protection. That is my price, magistrate.”

Leeyti broke first, casting his stare down into the wine still left in his bowl. “So position in my clan and operations. That’s a hefty price.”

Lamin’s gaze drifted to the skull, hanging behind Leeyti’s chair. Ngoubous were rare on this continent; most were imported from Mbor at great expense. “You want me to travel into the Battle Steppes, rescue your daughter, return, and not to mention, keep my mouth shut of the whole thing? And, may I add, keeping my partner and me from killing anyone? This whole affair seems thin. Dangerous and thin.”

“Its my daughter.”

“Its your position and my life.” Lamin brought the pitcher to his lips and took a swig. “That’s the price.”

Leeyti finally looked up from his bowl. “I’ll have your things ready by mid- morning. There will be a wagon waiting for you at the West Gate Caravansera.” The slave was still there, standing far in the corner. Leeyti waved him forward. “Take this man to the guest room. He has a long journey ahead of him. I will see you at morning break.”

Lamin grabbed the swords and daggers from the table and left, brushing past the waiting archers, the wine pitcher still in his hand. He was just about to exit the threshold when four arrows struck the side frames. The fifth arrow shivered overhead. “Failure does not sit well with me.” Leeyti called. Lamin smiled and continued following the slave.

He walked down the dimly lit hallway, swinging his pitcher back and forth. Leeyti owned a huge mansion, which stood in the suburbs of the city. The hallway stretched out and around from the center, allowing for a circular courtyard to greet visiting dignitaries and nobles. The clean night air mixed with the fragrances he first noticed when they were brought up to Leeyti’s parlor. He made sure not to loose sight of his guide, while the soothing smell and wine took hold of his head. It’s been a long time since last he had such a heady drink. “Where is the man who came with me?” The slave stopped at a large arched door and opened it with sturdy shove. Calabash lanterns flickered in the doorway. Lamin walked through, expecting to see N’gara in some unflattering pose with several of the female slaves. Instead, he just saw N’gara in an unflattering pose.

He peaked around the corner and there he was in the middle of a large room, N’gara, standing with his arms and legs stretched out, and his entire body was clean-shaven. Two women were covering his torso with a yellowish-brown powder, while his head stared straight up into the ceiling. Another was cleaning up tufts of hair from the floor and carefully placed them into a sack. A down mattress covered with a goat hair blanket lay settled on his right. It surprised Lamin that there wasn’t a female on top of it. Lamin walked up to his friend, raised the wine pitcher and poured it straight down into his friend’s face, breaking N’gara’s serene surrender.

“By the…” Wine splashed over his shoulders and chest, causing the powder to streak. He doubled over, spitting the sorghum juice onto the slave kneeling before him. “Lamin! First you get me sentenced to execution, thrown into city cells, and now you try to drown me.” His eyes burned while he waved his arms, prancing through the room like a chicken on fire.

Lamin laughed as he took the last swallow from the pitcher. “…Twice in one night … I thank the gods I met you.” He laughed so hard he fell to the floor, dropping their weapons and shattering the pitcher in his hand.

The slaves tried their best to help N’gara. One held on to his head while the other grabbed a handful of cotton rags and began to wipe the wine from his eyes. The same rags used to wipe him clean after his shave. “Aaargh” he yelled. His arms whipped back and forth, knocking them to the floor.

“Leave him be… I’ll help him… Leave us.” Lamin laughed. As they scattered out the door, a tall woman walked into the chaos.

“Good Evening. I am Kuta. Is all well?” She glided into the room, her caftan covering her feet. Its soft gulix fabric hugged her body, allowing her curves to electrify the room.

Lamin took a deep breath to gain his senses, realizing that they were not alone. He was still on the floor when he saw her. “We are fine.” He said, staring up at her. They locked eyes and he almost forgot where he was. He noticed her thick braids falling over her shoulders with cuffs of gold encircling each tendril. Then he saw himself in her eyes and a small pale reflection reminded him of what he was. “The night grows and we need an early…”

“I understand. We will have your cloths ready for you when you wake. Your room is next door when you are ready.” And she glided out as gracefully as she entered.

“I know your good eye can see the beauty in that.” N’gara finally stopped his flaying and was now donning a thin robe left for him.

“Truly she is, but we have a job,” Lamin said, gathering himself from the floor. He took note that they shaved N’gara’s head, leaving a streak of bushy hair running down the middle. “Tomorrow we travel to the Battle Steppes to rescue a child.”

N’gara was inspecting his genitals, admiring the closeness of the shave when he stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly lifted his head to Lamin, blinking in disbelief. “What?”

“We have been hired to rescue Leeyti’s daughter from a man named Gantulga. Ever heard of him?”

N’gara just blinked.

“He’s a khan of a Gurtog tribe and he’s holding her hostage. And before I forget. No bodies. No poison. No stranglings. No cutting open of throats. We sneak in, take the girl, and bring her back home.”

N’gara kept blinking. “And the price?”

“The price is the protection of the Ekka clan and work as julas. Illegal smugglers really. Now I know it’s a different direction, but our hands are too red for our luck to hold out. And no amount of cleansing will keep us from all those souls we sent to the Other-side. They will eat our luck… and then they will eat us.”

N’gara rose tall and looked at Lamin with those sad eyes that reminded the one-eyed killer just how young his friend was. It was N’gara’s way of letting Lamin know he would yield to his decision, even if it meant their death. Lamin always felt guilty when he got that look. Lamin turned away. “Get some sleep. We must be ready at cock’s call.” And he made for the exit.

“Lamin!” N’gara called. Lamin turned, his scarred face visible in the room’s dim glow, his pale eye reflecting off the lanterns flame. “Can we still carry our swords?”

Lamin tossed N’gara’s sword and daggers. N’gara snatched them from the air as quick as a snake. “Lions do not give up their teeth and claws, just because they tread an elephant’s path…”