“Why does the white lord do that?” asked Babemba. “Now I see that you are truly deceiving me, and that what you are giving me to swallow is nothing but hot mwavi, which in the innocent causes vomiting, but that in those who mean evil, death.”
“Stop that foolery, you idiot,” I muttered to Stephen, kicking him on the shins, “or you’ll get our throats cut.” Then, collecting myself with an effort, I said:
“Oh! not at all, General. This white lord is the priest of the holy drink and—what you see is a religious rite.”
“Is it so,” said Babemba. “Then I hope that the rite is not catching.”
“Never,” I replied, proffering him a biscuit. “And now, General Babemba, tell me, why do you come against us with about five hundred armed men?”
“To kill you, white lords—oh! how hot is this holy drink, yet pleasant. You said that it was not catching, did you not? For I feel——”
“Eat the cake,” I answered. “And why do you wish to kill us? Be so good as to tell me the truth now, or I shall read it in the magic shield which portrays the inside as well as the out,” and lifting the cloth I stared at the glass.
“If you can read my thoughts, white lord, why trouble me to tell them?” asked Babemba sensibly enough, his mouth full of biscuit. “Still, as that bright thing may lie, I will set them out. Bausi, king of our people, has sent me to kill you, because news has reached him that you are great slave dealers who come hither with guns to capture the Mazitus and take them away to the Black Water to be sold and sent across it in big canoes that move of themselves. Of this he has been warned by messengers from the Arab men. Moreover, we know that it is true, for last night you had with you many slaves who, seeing our spears, ran away not an hour ago.”
Now I stared hard at the looking-glass and answered coolly:
“This magic shield tells a somewhat different story. It says that your king, Bausi, for whom by the way we have many things as presents, told you to lead us to him with honour, that we might talk over matters with him.”