The Outlaw (10 page)

Most of the boys wore three-quarter-length cotton robes like Jake's, and they were talking excitedly among themselves, occasionally glancing across at the strange, sunburned visitors.

"Why is everyone talking French?" asked Jake.

Paaté shrugged. "The boys and girls here are from loads of different tribes, so French is the only language we all have in common."

Kas was scanning the rows of faces. "Where are Farm Eye and the others?" she asked. "I don't see them."

"Who?" asked Paaté.

"The boys who rescued us this morning."

"They left while you were sleeping. They live in Burizanga, between Djibo and Kongoussi. We work together on jobs sometimes."

"What kinds of jobs?"

Paaté ignored the question, and Kas did not press him further.

A little boy came around with a plastic bucket for hand washing, and two older boys followed behind, serving the food. Jake had expected another dose of
nyiiri,
but the crusty gray paste was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was mint tea, soft black dates, succulent lamb roasted on the bone, bowls of cayenne pepper, and mountains of sticky white rice drenched in peanut sauce. The food could not have been more different from the prissy gourmet food of last night's gold banquet. Here the diners were holding their meat in their hands and tearing it with their teeth.

"Is the Chameleon here?" asked Kas, pulling a chunk of meat off a bone and dipping it in cayenne pepper.

"Be patient," said Paaté. "The Chameleon will be here presently." He snapped a bone between his fingers and sucked out the marrow.

Over the hubbub, a deep and resonant voice rang out. "
Allahu akbar! Allahu akbar!
" A disembodied head appeared at the front of the banqueting hall.

It was a young, dark face with a sardonic smile, and it floated in thin air about three feet above the ground. The unblinking eyes gazed around the hall, fixing the diners with an otherworldly stare. Kas gasped and clutched Jake's hand.

"Don't stress, Kas," whispered Jake. "It's some sort of trick—it has to be."

"It's the Chameleon," murmured Paaté. "He has arrived."

The head without a body turned from side to side. Then the mouth opened and began to speak. "
Salaam aleykum!
" said the Chameleon. "
Bonsoir à tout le monde.
"

A few uncertain titters of laughter rippled around the hall. "
Aleykum asalaam!
"cried some.

Mirrors,
thought Jake.
It has to be.
But there was no denying that the trick was well done and that the young illusionist had made an unforgettable entrance. Jake was impressed and at the same time a little afraid.

"I see our guest of honor is here," continued the French-speaking head, grinning at the bearded man who occupied the seat of honor. "Sheikh Ahmed, are you enjoying tonight's feast?"

The sheikh scowled and shook his head. "Who taught you my trick, you fiend?"

"The one who taught me is called Moussa," said the Chameleon. "I believe he used to be your disciple, Sheikh Ahmed."

As he spoke, a second disembodied head appeared beside his own.

The sheikh jumped to his feet, his cheeks and stomach quivering. "Moussa!" he cried, pointing an accusing finger at the second head. "How dare you disobey me! I told you to go to Senegal with my sheep and goats—"

"
Your
sheep and goats?" interrupted the Chameleon. "I thought they were for the djinns. I thought that Moussa was going to sacrifice those animals in Lake Soum in order to appease the djinns and release rain on Mondoro village."

"That's right," said the sheikh. "That was Moussa's task."

"It's a lie." This time it was Moussa's head that spoke. "Sheikh Ahmed told me not to sacrifice the sheep and goats. He told me to take them to a faraway market and sell them. The whole thing was a ruse."

"A ruse?" cried the Chameleon, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips comically.

"A ruse," said Moussa glumly.

The sheikh grabbed his walking stick, strode to the front of the hall, and swung it into the space beneath the floating heads. Two mirrors shattered into smithereens, and the floating heads gained bodies in an instant.

"Thank heaven I wore clothes today," murmured the Chameleon, getting up from his knees and flicking a speck of dust off his long-sleeved cotton robe. There was loud laughter from the assembly.

The sheikh strode in among the shattered glass and brandished his staff at the Chameleon. "Your impudence angers the djinns!" cried the sheikh, his beard quivering. "Tell me straight, trickster. Where are the animals you stole from me?"

The Chameleon bent down and picked up a rib that had been gnawed bare and discarded on the ground. "Here's one you ate earlier," he said.

Apoplectic with rage, the sheikh spat and cursed and swung his staff, but the Chameleon anticipated the blow and dodged it neatly. Two boys jumped up and restrained the holy man, holding his arms while his fury dissipated.

"A group of our boys waylaid Moussa near the border," said the Chameleon. "He's a clever one, is Moussa. Fine nose for right and wrong."

"Traitor!" spat the sheikh, glaring at his former disciple.

"Look around you," cried the Chameleon, flinging wide his arms. "We are all traitors here. Each of us has chosen to turn his back on a dark master. Betrayal is the price of freedom. Moussa chose well, and your other servants too. As for you, Sheikh Ahmed, you will be leaving for Senegal first thing in the morning. I have already arranged transportation. If you ever set foot in Mali or Burkina Faso again, you will not escape so lightly."

Held tight between two muscular teenagers, the sheikh was escorted out of the marquee, his angry protestations fading into the night.

The Chameleon jumped high into the air and clicked his heels together. "
Hiila hiilataa bii nginnaawu!
" he cried. "Deceit cannot trick the son of a djinn!"

The boys cheered, and some of them threw flip-flops or bones into the air.

"We have not finished," said the Chameleon, skewering Jake and Kirsty with his gaze. "We have yet more guests to honor. Stand, friends, and tell us your names."

Jake got uneasily to his feet. "I'm Jake Knight," he said, "and this is my sister, Kirsty."

"
Ndawal nanndaa e pooli!
"cried the Chameleon. "Ostriches are not like other birds."

The audience cheered.

"These are no ordinary children," said the Chameleon, his voice sinking to a stage whisper. "We have among us the son and daughter of the King of England himself!"

"British ambassador," corrected Jake.

"They were kidnapped last night," continued the Chameleon. "They were kidnapped, the radio tells us, by a Saharan outlaw!"

"Which one?" cried a voice.

"By the most wicked outlaw ever to have lived," said the Chameleon. "A prince of the desert underworld, a master of disguise, a man who is full of compassion one minute and utterly heartless the next."

"Name him!"

"His name," said the Chameleon, "is Yakuuba Sor."

The marquee fell silent.

"How will the King of England respond to this atrocity?" asked the Chameleon. "He will rage, will he not? He will ransack the desert. He will find that outlaw's camp, and he will visit it with Death!"

Murmurs of consternation among the boys.

"One day," continued the Chameleon, "Yakuuba Sor will be sitting in his tent, and he will hear the sound of a skyboat. He will go outside and he will lift his gaze and he will wonder why that skyboat is flying so low. And that, my friends, will be the last thought he ever thinks, for Death will swiftly fall upon his head like mango rain from a clear sky." The Chameleon flung his arms dramatically into the air, and as he did so, the loose sleeves of his robe slid down to reveal his forearms.

Kas gasped.

Of course,
thought Jake.
I should have guessed.

Etched on the Chameleon's left forearm was a jet-black spiderweb tattoo.

The
Chameleon strode toward Jake and Kirsty and stopped in front of them. He folded his arms and stared at Jake as if he were looking right into his soul.

"You're him, aren't you?" said Jake. "You're Yakuuba Sor."

"
Enchanté,
" said the Chameleon.

"You are the most wanted outlaw in all of Burkina Faso."

"And all of Mali, too."

"And these boys are the Friends of the Poor?"

They are.

Jake turned to Kas. "When I say the word," he whispered in English, "we'll make a run for it. Just follow me and do what I do."

Kas nodded, too scared to speak.

"
Wanaa ko rawni fuu wo kosam,
" whispered Sor. "Not everything that is white is milk."

I must strike first,
thought Jake.
Strike first and escape fast. No more dithering. Mungo Park escaped from the Moor because he saw his chance and grabbed it with both hands.

"
Wanaa ko futini fuu woyitere mbabatu,
" said Sor. "Not all protruding things are locust eyes."

In one swift movement, Jake reached down, picked up the bowl of cayenne pepper, and flung it in Sor's face. "Run!" he shouted, and he sprinted toward the back of the tent, with Kas close on his heels. When they got to the back of the marquee, they threw themselves to the ground and rolled under the canvas wall, out into the cool night air, into the camp lit by the silvery light of a half-moon.

"We're in the middle of the desert," wailed Kas. "There's nowhere to hide."

"We'll take a horse," said Jake, dashing toward the enclosure. He gathered up his robe as he ran and tucked it into his trousers. Out of the darkness behind them he heard voices shouting. Any moment now their pursuers would come swarming out of the marquee.

Jake swung open the five-bar gate to the horse enclosure. "You stand on the gate," he said, "and then jump on the horse as I come past."

"You'll need a bit and bridle," said Kas.

"There's no time to go looking for all that stuff," said Jake. "We'll just have to wing it."

A white stallion loomed in front of him. Jake approached him quickly and quietly.
Stay light on your toes,
thought Jake.
Don't startle him.
He shortened his stride as he got close to the stallion, tensing his body like a coiled spring.
Think of it as a straddle jump. Fluid and gentle.
He jumped off his right foot, placed his hands lightly on the horse's withers, and twisted his body in midair to bring his left leg up and over.

The white horse shied and reared when he felt the sudden weight land on his back. Jake kept his balance and kicked the horse's side as he had seen Farm Eye do. The stallion moved forward in a quick trot, heading for the gate with his ears flat back. Jake held out a hand to Kas, and she jumped across to join him on the horse's back.

The voices were louder now. Flashlight beams strobed to and fro. A small stone whizzed past Jake's head, stinging his cheek.

"They've spotted us," cried Jake. "Hang on tight!" He kicked hard with his heels, and his mount leaped forward. He put his head down, lengthened his stride, and cantered hard toward the domed huts.

"Nobody rides without reins!" said Kas. "It's madness! We have absolutely no way of controlling which direction he goes in."

"I don't care which direction he goes in," said Jake, "so long as he goes fast." He kicked again, and the horse moved up another gear into a full-blown gallop.

They flew past the domed straw huts, veering east toward the dunes. Jake threw his arms around the stallion's neck and clung on with all his strength. Behind him, Kas locked her arms so tight around his chest that he could hardly breathe. They did not need to look behind them, for the thud of pursuing hooves was unmistakable.

The chase did not last long. The white stallion balked at the foot of the nearest dune and sent Jake and Kirsty flying over his head.

Jake shielded his head with his arms and rolled to a standstill. There was no time to make a run for it. Sor was already upon them, glaring down at them from the seat of his horse. Paaté was not far behind.

"
Kuldo bolli si yi'ii loosol fu doggan!
" cried Sor. "He who fears snakes will flee from a stick. Tell me,
tuubaakus,
are you hurt?"

"No," said Jake.

"Why did you run?"

"Because you are a dangerous outlaw."

"
Nowru walaa omboode,
" said Sor. "The ear does not have a lid. What you say is true,
tuubaaku.
I am extremely dangerous. Last night I poisoned twelve grain merchants, and today I removed thirty-five bicycles from a police compound and humiliated a celebrity sheikh. But it is not enough for you to ask,
Is Yakuuba Sor dangerous?
You should instead ask:
Is Yakuuba Sor dangerous
to me? And in your case, the answer is no."

"You don't want to hurt us?"

Yakuuba Sor chuckled. "Believe me when I say that you are more dangerous to me than I am to you. When I heard on the radio that I was wanted for kidnapping two
tuubaaku
children, the terror of it sliced my liver clean down the middle."

"Why?"

"Because your people strike first and ask questions later, as you just proved."

Jake felt a fleeting pang of guilt. "All we want is to go home," he said.

"In my experience," said Yakuuba, "home is usually the very last place a young person wants to go. But as it happens, this is a matter on which our interests coincide. I want you to go home, as well. First, there is something I need to know. Why does the radio believe that I was responsible for your kidnapping?"

"We phoned my father from inside the van," said Jake. "We told him that we had seen a spiderweb tattoo on our kidnapper's left arm."

"
Allah wallu en
" Yakuuba shook his head. "Heaven help us."

"We realized later that the tattoo wasn't real."

"Not real?" said Yakuuba. "And what do you think about that?"

"We don't know what to think."

"Nonsense! There are only three kinds of people who do not know what to think—the very old, the very young, and the very feverish—and I see from your skin that you are none of those. So tell me, what do you think?"