and if Doro himself offered payment for the young slave, Daly would refuse to take it. The boy would become a gift. Daly had never taken money from Doro's hand. And always, he had sought Doro's company.
"Why does the white animal follow?" asked Anyanwu's grandson loudly enough for Doro to hear. "What has he to do with us now?"
"My master must pay him for you," said Anyanwu. She had presented herself to the boy as a distant kinsman of his mother. "And also," she added, "I think this man serves him somehow."
"If the white man is a slave, why should he be paid?"
Doro answered this himself. "Because I choose to pay him, Okoye. A man may choose what he will do with his slaves."
"Do you send your slaves to kill our kinsmen and steal us away?"
"No," Doro said. "My people only buy and sell slaves." And only certain slaves at that if Daly was obeying him. He would know soon.
"Then they send others to prey on us. It is the same thing!"
"What I permit my people to do is my affair," Doro said.
"But they—!"
Doro stopped abruptly, turned to face the young man who was himself forced to come to an awkward stop. "What I permit them to do is my affair, Okoye. That is all."
Perhaps the boy's enslavement had taught him caution. He said nothing. Anyanwu stared at Doro, but she too kept silent.
"What were they saying?" Daly asked.
"They disapprove of your profession," Doro told him.
"Heathen savages," Daly muttered. "They're like animals. They're all cannibals."
"These aren't," Doro said, "though some of their neighbors are."
"All of them," Daly insisted. "Just give them the chance."
Doro smiled. "Well, no doubt the missionaries will reach them eventually and teach them to practice only symbolic cannibalism."
Daly jumped. He considered himself a pious man in spite of his work. "You shouldn't say such things," he whispered. "Not even you are beyond the reach of God."
"Spare me your mythology," Doro said, "and your righteous indignation." Daly had been Doro's man too long to be pampered in such matters. "At least we cannibals are honest about what we do," Doro continued. "We don't pretend as you slavers do to be acting for the benefit of our victims' souls. We don't tell ourselves we've caught them to teach them civilized religion."
Daly's eyes grew round. "But . . . I did not mean you were a . . . a . . . I did not mean . . ."
"Why not?" Doro looked down at him enjoying his confusion. "I assure you, I'm the most efficient cannibal you will ever meet."
Daly said nothing. He wiped his brow and stared seaward. Doro followed his gaze and saw that there was a ship in sight now, lying at anchor in a little cove—Doro's own ship, the Silver Star , small and hardy and more able than any of his larger vessels to go where it was not legally welcome and take on slave cargo the Royal African Company had reserved for itself. Doro could see some of his men a short distance away loading yams onto a longboat. He would be on his way home soon.
Doro invited Daly out to the ship. There, he first settled Anyanwu and her grandson in his own cabin. Then he ate and drank with Daly and questioned the slaver about the seed village.
"Not a coastal people," Doro said. "An inland tribe from the grasslands beyond the forests. I showed you a few of them years ago when we met."
"These blacks are all alike," Daly said. "It's hard to tell." He took a swallow of brandy.
Doro reached across the small table and grasped Daly's wrist just above the man's sole remaining hand. "If you can't do better than that," he said, "you're no good to me."
Daly froze, terrified, arresting a sudden effort to jerk his hand away. He sat still, perhaps remembering how his men had died years before whether Doro touched them or not. "It was a joke," he whispered hoarsely.
Doro said nothing, only looked at him.
"Your people have Arab blood," Daly said quickly. "I remember their looks and the words of their language that you taught me and their vile tempers. Not an easy
"Why does the white animal follow?" asked Anyanwu's grandson loudly enough for Doro to hear. "What has he to do with us now?"
"My master must pay him for you," said Anyanwu. She had presented herself to the boy as a distant kinsman of his mother. "And also," she added, "I think this man serves him somehow."
"If the white man is a slave, why should he be paid?"
Doro answered this himself. "Because I choose to pay him, Okoye. A man may choose what he will do with his slaves."
"Do you send your slaves to kill our kinsmen and steal us away?"
"No," Doro said. "My people only buy and sell slaves." And only certain slaves at that if Daly was obeying him. He would know soon.
"Then they send others to prey on us. It is the same thing!"
"What I permit my people to do is my affair," Doro said.
"But they—!"
Doro stopped abruptly, turned to face the young man who was himself forced to come to an awkward stop. "What I permit them to do is my affair, Okoye. That is all."
Perhaps the boy's enslavement had taught him caution. He said nothing. Anyanwu stared at Doro, but she too kept silent.
"What were they saying?" Daly asked.
"They disapprove of your profession," Doro told him.
"Heathen savages," Daly muttered. "They're like animals. They're all cannibals."
"These aren't," Doro said, "though some of their neighbors are."
"All of them," Daly insisted. "Just give them the chance."
Doro smiled. "Well, no doubt the missionaries will reach them eventually and teach them to practice only symbolic cannibalism."
Daly jumped. He considered himself a pious man in spite of his work. "You shouldn't say such things," he whispered. "Not even you are beyond the reach of God."
"Spare me your mythology," Doro said, "and your righteous indignation." Daly had been Doro's man too long to be pampered in such matters. "At least we cannibals are honest about what we do," Doro continued. "We don't pretend as you slavers do to be acting for the benefit of our victims' souls. We don't tell ourselves we've caught them to teach them civilized religion."
Daly's eyes grew round. "But . . . I did not mean you were a . . . a . . . I did not mean . . ."
"Why not?" Doro looked down at him enjoying his confusion. "I assure you, I'm the most efficient cannibal you will ever meet."
Daly said nothing. He wiped his brow and stared seaward. Doro followed his gaze and saw that there was a ship in sight now, lying at anchor in a little cove—Doro's own ship, the Silver Star , small and hardy and more able than any of his larger vessels to go where it was not legally welcome and take on slave cargo the Royal African Company had reserved for itself. Doro could see some of his men a short distance away loading yams onto a longboat. He would be on his way home soon.
Doro invited Daly out to the ship. There, he first settled Anyanwu and her grandson in his own cabin. Then he ate and drank with Daly and questioned the slaver about the seed village.
"Not a coastal people," Doro said. "An inland tribe from the grasslands beyond the forests. I showed you a few of them years ago when we met."
"These blacks are all alike," Daly said. "It's hard to tell." He took a swallow of brandy.
Doro reached across the small table and grasped Daly's wrist just above the man's sole remaining hand. "If you can't do better than that," he said, "you're no good to me."
Daly froze, terrified, arresting a sudden effort to jerk his hand away. He sat still, perhaps remembering how his men had died years before whether Doro touched them or not. "It was a joke," he whispered hoarsely.
Doro said nothing, only looked at him.
"Your people have Arab blood," Daly said quickly. "I remember their looks and the words of their language that you taught me and their vile tempers. Not an easy
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