Page 13 - Microsoft Word - FANG EMPIRE - NOVEL.docx

royals. “Presenting the Honorable Babatunde Belly Pot, senior ambassador of the Istari, our

undying friends to the west!”

GoGo bit her tongue but her eyes spit fire. “Belly Pot,” she said under her breath, as if he

were a rancid piece of pork.

The man’s name fit him. Dressed in his finest garment he still looked slovenly as he

approached the king. He could barely bow. Though the feast hadn’t yet begun, smudges of

mustard and cassava leaf stained the corner of his mouth. Probably from his own private stash

hidden somewhere in his pockets. The man’s dastardly reputation as a slimy slug preceded him,

yet King Kanja seemed to receive Belly Pot like a treasured friend.

“I bid you welcome, Belly Pot. Your presence honors us.”

GoGo knew the slug wanted something. She knew what Belly Pot knew, what everyone

involved in African politics knew, that Kanja engaged in thranery, the practice of paying for

loyalty when a king’s own prowess couldn’t command it, and his sword hand was crippled by his

weak mind. GoGo hated it with a passion even as Ramoth delighted in it, enriching Kanja’s

enemies at every opportunity, and thus gaining their favor for himself.

Belly Pot blew verbal gas. “Most exalted Mansa King Kanja of Timbuktu, your greatness

is only surpassed by your generosity! I bring to you greetings from your great friend King

Ickymefe of the glorious Istari Bantu!”

Kanja nodded respectfully but GoGo looked on woefully unimpressed, and the gas was

unending.

“We captured a hive of black slave traders who meant to stage a raid on your desert supply

convoy, Great One! Belly Pot motioned frantically to his male aide. “Goban,” he whisper-shouted.

A frail looking eel of a man took center stage as he struggled to drag a six-foot long

wooden box into position in front of the royals. Belly Pot positioned himself next to the box.

“If it were only his coffin,” GoGo whispered to Sooth.

“The box is far too narrow for such a function,” Sooth replied.