Crowned (22 page)

“And the old man embodied the Ultima,” adds Kelly. “Obviously.”

“This is where the Puppetmaster got the idea to put you and Rakwena together,” says Wiki. “He knows it will work because it’s already been done!”

“But he doesn’t want me and Rakwena to save the gifted from the darkness,” I point out. “He
is
the darkness.”

“Well, yes,” says Wiki, “but you see my point – this is proof that his plan is viable. And if this boy and old man could dispel the darkness…”

“Rakwena and I can defeat John.” I note the horrified expressions on their faces. “I mean the Puppetmaster. Well, then I guess the timing’s perfect. Rakwena’s back.”

Lebz squeals, then flings herself at me. I’m going to take that as a sign of her joy. If the news distracts my friends from lecturing me about being on a first-name basis with my nemesis, all the better. I’m in no mood for a lecture – I have a lot to think about. While I tell my friends all about Rakwena’s visit last night, in the back of my mind I’m putting things together.

If the Loosening is the darkness, Rakwena is the drifter from the story, and I’m the old man, then our task is to stop the Loosening. But how do we stop something we can’t find? How do we get from where we are to where the Puppetmaster is hiding? And when we get there, how the hell do we fight him?

* * *

I haven’t been to Rakwena’s house since he left. I suppose I ought to have come by to say hello to Rre Sechaba, his caretaker, but being in this house without Rakwena would have been too painful, even for a tough nut like me.

I arrive to discover that he’s not alone. The gate is partially open and parked next to his silver Isuzu is the white MPV his brothers drive. The front door is ajar. I take a deep breath. Looks like I’m going to get a chance to reconnect with the family. In spite of the whole keeping me and Rakwena apart thing, I’ll be glad to see the drifters. I grew to like them over the few months they were in town, especially Duma.

I walk towards the front door, but before I’m even halfway there the boys come spilling out, engrossed in conversation. The twins spot me first.

“Hey, it’s the fortune teller!” exclaims Elias. “What’s good, Connie?”

“Uh, not much. A lot?”

He guffaws and claps me on the back in a pally sort of way, which is surprising. He was never my biggest fan. Reetsang, the other twin, gives me one of those sideways gangster nods. Spencer and Mandla say a quick hello. So far no one seems upset that I’m here. That’s a good sign.

“Connie!” Duma pushes past Spencer and Rakwena and throws his arms around me. “It’s so good to see you!”

When his cheek brushes mine a small, sharp jolt goes through my face. “Ow!”

He pulls away. “Did I hurt you? Sorry; I’m just excited.” His grin is infectious, but then it always was. Lord, is he cuter? Taller, too.

I reach up to pat his head. “You’ve grown!”

He lifts his shoulders in a not-quite-nonchalant shrug. “I’m fifteen now.”

“Oooh,” I remark, injecting just the right amount of mock awe into my voice. The others laugh. I missed Duma. Sure, he befriended me under false pretences, used me to get to Rakwena and lured me to his brothers so they could hold me hostage until Rakwena joined the cell, but that’s all water under the bridge. It’s impossible to hold a grudge against someone with such puppy-dog eyes.

I look around at the others. I must have forgotten how good-looking they are, because I’m starting to feel a little giddy. Rakwena comes over, grinning. He fits right in. I don’t know whether he’s grown to resemble his brothers more, or my perception has shifted since he joined them.

He plants a kiss on my forehead. “Perfect timing. We need to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“To a meeting.” The deep baritone belongs to Temper, first-born, cell leader, and big enough to crush me in one hand. He locks the front door, tosses the key to Rakwena and turns to face me. “Hello, Connie. Nice to see you again.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”

He chuckles. “It would be great to hang out and catch up, but we’re in a hurry. There’s a meeting in an hour and we’re all expected to be there.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know.” I shoot an annoyed glance at Rakwena.

“Your grandfather insisted that you come along,” says Temper. His smile falters slightly. “He says you’re his right hand. The council couldn’t argue with that, so I hope you don’t have anything important planned for the afternoon.”

Is he kidding? There’s no way I’m passing up the chance to attend a drifter council meeting. “As it turns out, I’m free.”

“You can ride with us,” says Duma, taking my hand.

I yank it away with a yelp. “Hey! Are you trying to electrocute me?”

He looks down at his hand, a frown creasing his features. “Sorry.”

“Still excited?” Spencer lets out a low whistle. “I don’t blame you. Connie is looking surprisingly hot today.”

“Ja, but Duma’s the one who needs a cold shower!” cackles Reetsang.

Duma scowls. Rakwena punches Reetsang’s shoulder with a little more force than necessary, and glares at Spencer. I will admit to a slight thrill at watching him defend my honour.

“Enough!” snaps Temper. “In the car, now. You can fool around on the way.”

Duma shoots me an apologetic glance before turning to follow his brothers.

“You and Elias are in my car,” Rakwena tells him, and Duma beams.

We all pile into the cars. I’m in the passenger seat beside Rakwena, and Duma and Elias are in the back. The others ride in the MPV with Temper at the wheel. It feels weird to be with them like this, as though we’re all good buddies.

“I wonder why Ntatemogolo didn’t mention this meeting to me.” I glance out the window as the car pulls into the street and the gate slides shut behind us.

“He didn’t know,” says Rakwena. “The council called him a couple of hours ago. Since you and I already had plans, I figured I’d just wait and we could all go together.”

“The council isn’t happy about your involvement, by the way,” remarks Elias.

“Shut up,” murmurs Duma. “It’s not like that, Connie. They just prefer not to have too many outsiders involved. But you’re not really an outsider.”

I appreciate his effort to soften the blow, but I know Elias is right. Besides knowing far too much about their business, my relationship with Rakwena is a thorn in the clan’s side. On the other hand, Duma makes a good point. I’m not an outsider. I helped them get Rakwena back, and my grandfather is helping them discover their origins. By rights they should give me honorary membership.

“So where’s the meeting?” I ask. “Drifter HQ?”

Rakwena grins. “Serame’s got a house in Gabs North. We’re going there.”

Gabs North again. Interesting. I wonder whether the matriarch knows she has the Puppetmaster for a neighbour. Now the nerves start to kick in. I’m going to meet the clan matriarch, the equivalent of the president, and she already thinks I’m a meddling brat who can’t mind her own business.

Duma turns his innocent gaze on me. “Don’t worry. Serame’s great.”

I doubt it. Her name means cold in Setswana. I can already picture her – all pinched features and long limbs. She must be like one of those mean old women who run orphanages and torment the children. She probably hates children. That’s why she doesn’t want the drifters to marry or reproduce at will. She’s a control freak, a robot with blue sparks shooting from her fingers, and when she has me in her grip she’s going to –

“Uh, Connie?” Rakwena’s voice sounds strange. “Are you OK?”

“What?” I look down to find myself clutching his arm, my fingernails digging deep into his sleeve. “Oh! Sorry.” I release him, embarrassed.

Elias lets out one of his freakish guffaws. “Are you scared?” He leans forward. “Don’t worry. Serame won’t hurt you. Much.”

“Ignore him.” Rakwena keeps his eyes on the road.

“Just trying to prepare her, man.” Elias leans back in his seat.

I’m not sure I missed him as much I missed the others. He’s enjoying my discomfort, and I hate the way he calls me “fortune teller”.

“How have you been?” asks Duma. “You’ve been through a lot lately.”

“I’m sure she’s freaked out about the sorcerer,” drawls Elias. “Good thing we’re here to watch her back, huh?”

I steal a glance in Rakwena’s direction. He has the grace to look abashed. I raise my eyebrows at him. “So you guys have no secrets?”

He shakes his head. “We talk about everything.”

“By choice?”

“No one forces anything out of anyone,” replies Elias, with a trace of annoyance.

“The bond builds trust,” says Duma. “Sharing everything comes naturally to us. If someone asks what’s on your mind, you want to tell them.”

“It’s weird.” Rakwena shakes his head. “You know I’m not big on sharing.”

Oh, I know only too well. His idea of being forthcoming is telling me things are “complicated”. “Let me get this straight. If Duma were to ask you, for example…” I glance back at Duma.

“Uh, how are you feeling about this meeting?” asks Duma.

“Considering the fact that it’s the first time your girlfriend will appear before the council,” adds Elias, with a sly grin.

I turn back to Rakwena. “You would say…”

He’s quiet for a while. “Nervous,” he confesses. “The only reason they’re allowing you to come is because your grandfather insisted.” He glances at me. “You have to understand, my family’s caused a lot of trouble in the clan already. My father is pretty much on probation for the rest of his life, and I’m being…” He sighs.

“Closely monitored,” says Elias. “In case he displays signs of deviant behaviour.”

My eyes widen. “Being with me is deviant behaviour?”

“No,” says Duma.

“Yep,” says Elias.

Rakwena glances at me again, and his eyes say it all. Deviant? Really? If my father can accept his little girl dating a tattooed drifter with a scar down the left side of his face, the clan should damn well accept me. Compared to the lot of them I’m a friggin’ angel.

I slump in my seat, offended. We turn into Gaborone North, and for the rest of the way the only sound is the car bumping along the unpaved road and Elias chattering to no one in particular.

“Here we go,” he announces as we pull up in front of a high white wall, just minutes behind Mandla’s car.

Spencer leaps out of the car in front and presses the intercom, and shortly the gate opens. Spencer walks in and the two cars follow. There are already five other cars parked in the massive yard. One of them is Ntatemogolo’s Venture.

We step out of the car and follow the other drifters round to the back. Rakwena takes my hand, and I give him a grateful smile as his strength seeps into me. We emerge into a wide open space structured like an amphitheatre. A row of chairs is set up in front of the semicircular stone steps. There are about twenty or so people here, eleven of them sitting on the chairs, the rest on the steps behind. Ntatemogolo stands apart, head held high. His features soften when he sees me.

“I have to sit with the cell,” Rakwena whispers. “You should sit with your grandfather.”

I release his hand reluctantly, then make my way to Ntatemogolo, my head bowed low to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze. Only when I’m at his side do I feel brave enough to look around us.

“Hi, Ntatemogolo.”

“Hello, my girl. How do you feel?”

I glance at the faces to my left. They are all well-dressed and good-looking. There are two children, but they sit so quietly that they seem more like miniature adults. Senzo, Rakwena’s father, lurks at the back with his cell. Even though I expect it, his resemblance to his son is jarring. What’s he doing here? I thought he would have preferred to stay as far away from Rakwena as possible. My gaze skims across the line of councillors. Temper has just joined them. Every one of them is dressed in formal work clothes, like the board of directors of a Black Economic Empowerment multinational. How do I feel? Like I’m about to be retrenched, sued and thrown in prison.

I lick my lips and decide not to answer my grandfather. It’s bad enough being terrified without admitting to it.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says softly. “They are only people.”

“They hate me.”

He smiles. “I doubt that.”

I steal another glance at them. Rakwena and his cell have taken their places on the steps behind the council. I watch them all, their flawless skin varying shades of brown.

“Why do they have to be so beautiful?”

“People are drawn to beauty. It helps them do what they were born to do.” He’s indulging me, trying to keep me calm, and I’m grateful.

“The couples with those children aren’t their real parents, you know.” It’s my turn to be the know-it-all. “Rakwena’s brothers explained it to me. They’re assigned to them. They don’t know or care who their biological parents are. Isn’t that strange?”

He glances at me. “Our whole world is strange.”

I smile. Touché. Suddenly everyone gets to their feet. “Is it starting?”

He nods. “The matriarch has just arrived.”

I follow his gaze…and almost have a coronary. Serame is not the ice queen I imagined. For one thing, she’s wearing an orange dress that hugs her ample curves and heels so high they’re practically stilts. For another, she’s beaming. She looks more like the bubbly madam of a burlesque lounge than the matriarch of a drifter clan. Her chestnut-dyed dreadlocks are wound into an elaborate bun, and her eyes are lined with kohl.

I blink. “
That’s
her?”

“Makes quite an impression, doesn’t she?”

That she does. She’s glossy and gorgeous, and when she starts to speak in a warm, husky voice I feel like I’m in a smoky jazz club and any minute now she’ll be crooning about her no-good lover.

“Close your mouth, Connie,” Ntatemogolo whispers.

I snap my jaw shut. Everyone resumes their seat.

“It’s so good to see all of you,” she says, smiling around at her family. I half expect her to sweep them all up and draw them to her bosom. “To those who have come to offer their support, thank you. And to our guests – “ her gaze falls on us “ – welcome.”

Ntatemogolo nods politely. I follow suit.

“We are here to discuss an important and controversial matter.” She raises a finger, and two teenage boys come running forward, each carrying a chair.