‘By which time we’ll have gone.’

‘You should have stayed at school, Wahir. You learn very quickly.’

They had crossed the courtyard garden, and the underminister waited for them at the door to a red-stained building that had many lines of lit windows up its sheer face.

‘The guest accommodation,’ said the underminister. ‘I trust it will be acceptable.’

They were given a suite of rooms on the third floor. The cunningly designed building had a central courtyard overlooked by balconies, but none of the windows on the outer walls would open. Thick squares of blown glass knitted together in a hardwood frame let in light, but nothing else.

Servants would bring them whatever they wanted, but they could not leave without an escort.

The moment Underminister Mwendwa had left them, Alessandra blurted out: ‘What the hell is going on, Benzamir?’

He put his finger to his lips and made sure that everyone saw it, then beckoned them over into a huddle. With their heads touching, he whispered: ‘These walls will have ears, I guarantee it. It’s quite clear we weren’t believed. We’re sea people, but didn’t come from the sea. We look like a bunch of Arab tribesmen, except for Alessandra, and they know the book was traded in Misr. They’ve every reason to throw us in a cell, but they have to treat us as guests, because they can’t work out why we’re doing what we’re doing.’

‘The emperor was very ill-at-ease,’ said Alessandra. ‘You must have seen that.’

‘I didn’t notice anything,’ said Said.

‘There were things he said too.’

‘I don’t understand World.’

Benzamir hushed them. ‘For now, we’re People from over the Sea. We have to stay in character every moment, together or alone. Give the Kenyans no extra reason to suspect us. There is something going on, though, outside our little charade.’

‘What could it be?’ asked Wahir, his voice rising with excitement.

‘Shout it out, why don’t you? It can’t be anything to do with us; we’ve only just got here.’ He worked his jaw as if chewing. ‘The trial. The book. Things are moving too fast.’

‘What of your special beetles, master? When will they tell you something?’

‘When I have a chance to listen to them.’ Benzamir heard a note of exasperation creep into his voice. ‘We’re all hungry and tired. Get some food brought up, and I’ll join you later. All right?’

They all straightened up. Said thought it should be Alessandra who fetched the servants, and Alessandra bristled at the suggestion. Benzamir left them arguing and found one of the simple but neat rooms in which to hide.

He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. By concentrating, he started to see and hear things he should neither see nor hear.

The image was grainy, contorted, a fish-eye view that was built up in incomplete layers to make a discordant whole. The sound was better, alternately booming or tinny, depending on the distance of the source from the bugs.

The book was being carried down a corridor. He could hear the emperor’s heavy footsteps and sense his weight rolling from side to side in the motion of the picture.

There was someone else too. Another man all in black from head to foot, so that even his feet were obscured. He was walking in front, leading the way.

Benzamir frowned in his half-sleep. At first he thought it was the man with the scars they’d seen earlier, but it wasn’t. There was something wrong about the way the man moved too.

They reached a door and went through. The emperor closed it behind them and they were alone: no guards, no servants, no advisers. Just two men in an empty room.

‘This is fortunate,’ said the man. He spoke in Swahili, though the sound was muffled by the folds of cloth that hung over his face. ‘These Sea People have succeeded where your Ethiopians have failed. Perhaps my alliance should have been with them.’

‘We haven’t had word from Misr yet. There hasn’t been time.’ The emperor was almost pleading. This wasn’t a conversation between equals. ‘I don’t know what to make of the Sea People. We’ve never heard of them before, and their story is unlikely.’

‘Perhaps your spies are not as all-seeing as you wish they were. Still, we are missing one book. Is there no chance of retrieving it?’

‘Akisi said the monk threw it into the sea. It’s lost, I tell you.’

‘You shouldn’t take the word of either of those madmen. Find out where it went overboard. And if this affects our plans, delays them in any way, there will be a price to pay.’

‘You dare to threaten me?’

‘This isn’t the theatre, Musorewa. Your pomp and your palaces might frighten the natives, but your smoke-and-mirrors act doesn’t scare me. I can threaten you all I like. You can’t hurt me.’

The emperor turned away. The picture flickered and spun.

‘Give me the book,’ the man said. ‘Let me see what we have to work with. Hopefully it’ll be enough.’

‘You’ve offered me nothing but toys and promises. I want to see something real. Something that I can use.’

‘Over and above what you’ve already been shown? Do you have so little faith in me? I thought you were better than that, a man of vision and determination. All you want is signs and wonders.’

‘It’s not me you have to worry about. Akisi was just a symptom of a wider disease. He thinks what all my other ministers are thinking: we’re giving too much to you. Much too much. I am emperor, and it causes unrest when they hear that I defer to you.’

‘Then you should look to your own back, Your Imperial Highness. Mine is quite safe. Give me the book.’ Part of the shroud came forward. No hand was visible, but the book moved away from the emperor.

The image moved with it. The man became more distinct, and finally there was an image of what lay under the hood. Two glowing points of light.

Benzamir was surrounded by his friends.

‘Master!’

He was sitting up, clutching at Said’s arm, wide-eyed and gasping for breath.

‘Master, you cried out.’

‘Did I? Sorry. Shock, surprise.’

Alessandra pressed a cup of dark wine into his hands, and he took a gulp, not rightly caring what it was. After he swallowed, he steadied himself. They looked expectantly at him.

‘They’re here. My enemies are right here.’

CHAPTER 32

CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT, Benzamir was sitting alone in the inner courtyard of the guest quarters. Head low, back hunched, he played with his fingers in his lap, picking at his nails.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t see the grey figure come up beside him, only noticed the sudden shift in weight along the length of the bench.

He was up and in a defensive stance in an instant, right hand high and ready to strike out.

‘Master? Are you all right?’

Benzamir looked up. Wahir was on the balcony parapet, leaning against the wall, watching over him.

He dropped his arms by his side. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’

‘A servant shouldn’t sleep while his master is awake. It isn’t done.’

‘Wahir, get some rest. I need you alert tomorrow, not dragging your feet around like a zombie.’

‘A what?’

‘One of the living dead. Partial to fresh brains.’

‘Right.’ Wahir swung his feet off the stonework and stood. ‘You need to sleep too.’

‘I’ll come up soon.’

He made sure Wahir disappeared behind the curtain and finally got around to apologizing.

‘Sorry for jumping. I was lost in thought.’

‘A rare quality for a man,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think you should be applauded for it.’

He recognized her immediately, and found himself completely tongue-tied. He shifted from one foot to the other and back like a fool.

‘My lady,’ he said finally.

‘You’re staring again, just like you did from the window of that cheap boarding house.’