The Summoner: (18 page)

Fangwa’s eyes never left Nya. “Juju is a complex religion,
Professor
. It involves a countless number of rites and ceremonies. As I told you last time,” he said, apparently switching back to Nya, “summoning has no place in Juju. We divine, we petition, we plead, we obey—we do not summon. Perhaps you should describe to me exactly what you think you’ve seen.”

Nya again told the story of the ceremony, and Grey watched the Doctor. Not a single word of the story evoked a reaction until the part where the
N’anga
poured the circle of blood and trapped the man inside the circle. At the mention of these facts his finger tapping became more insistent.

He allowed Nya to finish before speaking. “You’ve witnessed things you should not have witnessed.”

“Do you think he was trying to summon Esu?” Nya asked.

“If he was, he’s a fool.”

“Do you have any idea what could have happened inside that circle?”

The Doctor’s eyes shone. “Blood sacrifices are integral to Juju. The Orisa demand them. Blood is life, spirit, soul—it is an essential part of every Juju ritual.” He let his words marinate, and when he resumed he spoke with sibilant emphasis. “There is no Orisa that demands more blood than Esu. The more blood that is shed, the more suffering involved in the sacrifice, the more pleased he becomes, the more willing to grant what is asked. A ceremony involving Esu is a very tricky thing. A dangerous thing. Every precaution must be taken, the most terrible of sacrifices must be made. Only the strongest of babalawo would dare even speak his name.”

Grey said, “You mean, like you’re doing?”

Fangwa ignored the comment. “To chant his name the worshippers would have to believe they are protected by their babalawo. And to summon him?” He looked at each of them. “Either this babalawo is immensely arrogant—or he is mad.”

Grey folded his arms. He knew in his gut that Fangwa knew more than he was letting on. But why bother with the visits, the deception, the elaborate discussions? He could hide behind his diplomatic immunity if he wanted. Grey could only think of one explanation for the subterfuge.

He wanted them closer. And seeing the way Fangwa looked at Nya, he thought he knew why.

Nya said, “So you don’t know what happened.”

“I told you I’m unfamiliar with this ritual.”

“But you have an idea, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Please, then.”

“You have an idea also, do you not? I told you what Esu demands.”

Nya scoffed. “Are you implying Addison might’ve been sacrificed?”

“Juju is a demanding religion. True practitioners understand what is sometimes required—you yourself said this other man walked willingly into the circle.”

Grey made a choking sound. “I doubt that poor man understood what was going to happen.”

“Then perhaps he should have been more selective as to his choice of religion.”

“This is not Nigeria, Doctor,” Nya said. “You don’t understand our culture.”

“And you do not understand Juju.”

28

G
rey again looked to Viktor, but the Professor appeared lost in thought. “So we’re supposed to believe,” Grey said, tired of hearing things that were not helping him find Addison, “that this Esu is being summoned, and that he comes and takes his sacrifice?”

“Must I repeat again I’m unfamiliar with this ritual? You think too literally, too Western. There is a word in Yoruba—“
gùn
.” I believe the closest word in English is “possession.” Perhaps it is some form of
gùn
that is meant by
n’anga.
I can assure you Esu is quite capable of spirit possession. You are familiar with this concept? I believe the Catholic Church has an elaborate set of rituals in place for possession and exorcism?”

Professor Radek proffered a curt agreement.

“Juju has its own rituals—although in Juju
gùn
is encouraged. Orisa are
invited
to possess the worshipper. It is a great honor when an Orisa decides to come and greet you.” Grey saw Nya squirm, and Fangwa seemed pleased at her discomfort. “Not Esu, though. He is never invited. A possession by Esu is a terrible thing. Only the strongest babalawos can coerce Esu to leave a body he has possessed.”

“Yes—
gùn
is the most plausible explanation I’ve heard,” Professor Radek said.

“Juju is open to new rituals, new forms of worship. Perhaps this babalawo does what his name claims. Perhaps he calls to Esu, and Esu comes to take his sacrifice.”

“What would he gain from such a ritual?” Viktor said.

“The one thing that pleases Esu more than sacrifice is possession. He longs to be in this world. A victim held in wait for him as a vessel for
gùn
—aaah.” He drew out the word with a sigh. “Such a thing would please Esu immensely.”

“The babalawo would be well rewarded,” Viktor said. “He would receive enormous power in the spirit world, and in the eyes of his followers.”

“Yes.”

“Even assuming this is true for the sake of argument, what happens to the bodies of the victims?” Grey said. “They have to
go
somewhere.”

“A possession by a corporeal Esu might lead to the consumption of the sacrifice.”

Grey gave a disbelieving shake of his head.

The Doctor grinned again. “Or perhaps Esu prefers to take his sacrifices with him.”

“Take them with him?” Nya said.

“Death is not the greatest fear.”

Click-clack.

Nya shrank back into her chair.

“Or perhaps,” Viktor said, “the
N’anga
isn’t summoning anything at all, but wants his followers to believe otherwise. The effect on his worshippers would be the same. If he’s believed to be summoning Esu, he’d be one of the most feared babalawo in the history of Juju.”

“My my, Professor, such an ambitious statement.”

Grey felt like shouting at both of them, but he pushed his words out with frustrated precision. “That still doesn’t explain what happens to the people in the circle.”

No one answered.

“Come, doctor,” Professor Radek said. “We’ve indulged your fantasies, and I commend your theatrical abilities. Now let’s return to reality.”

Doctor Fangwa turned his attention to Professor Radek for the first time, and the two men locked eyes: Viktor impassive and imposing, Fangwa possessed of a spectral calm.

Fangwa’s fingers began a rhythmic tapping on his wooden chair. “Is now when I explain to you how Juju is not real? When I explain what happens to the sacrifices? When I give you the Western explanation for why the man was unable to leave his prison of air?”

Viktor ignored Fangwa’s questions. “What’s the purpose of the fog?”

“No one is able to look fully upon the face of an Orisa. The babalawo takes precautions.”

“Or perhaps hiding a well-planned ruse? His choice of victim: is there any rhyme or reason?”

Fangwa answered in a mocking tone. “A babalawo does nothing at random.”

His answer caused Viktor to pause before pressing forward. “This babalawo wears red robes. I’ve never heard of a babalawo wearing any color other than white. How do you account for this?”

“And how many true babalawos do you know? How many have come to lecture in your classroom?”

They measured each other in silence until Nya interrupted. “Doctor, please. We need your expertise.”

Doctor Fangwa rotated towards Nya with a smooth motion of his neck. A slow, skeletal smile crept onto his face. Nya shrank again. He said, “Red is the color of sacrifice, and of Esu. The babalawo believes he has gained the favor of Esu. It is a bold choice.”

“There must be something you can tell us about his choice of victims,” Viktor said. “There has to be some connection, some reason he selects the ones he does. Some reason he chose William Addison rather than a villager whose disappearance wouldn’t have provoked an investigation.” Viktor leaned in. “Who would you choose? If you were making the choice of sacrifice?”

Fangwa’s fingers began tapping faster, and he turned back to Viktor. “Perhaps you, Professor. You are a proud man. The suffering you would undergo as the knife strips away your gall would please Esu greatly.”

Viktor smirked and stared at Doctor Fangwa. Grey thought Fangwa had delivered that last statement with way too much familiarity.

Nya interrupted again with an uneasy hand motion, a failed attempt to lessen the tension. “The Professor’s just trying to understand the
N’anga’s
motives. What do you suggest we do to find him?”

“I suggest you cease your investigation. He has a purpose for being here. He will accomplish his purpose, and he will leave.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” she said.

“Then you will likely die.”

“That’s a convenient answer,” Grey said, “if you’re the man we’re looking for.”

He asked the question to judge Fangwa’s reaction, but Fangwa took it in stride. “Nya, please allow me to escort these gentlemen out. You and I shall have tea and continue our discussion with civility.”

Nya managed a courteous smile, although a child could have told it was forced. “I’m afraid I don’t have time. I have one more question, however.”

“Of course, my dove.”

Click-clack.

“Why were we left alone and unconscious at the ceremony? When he could have taken or killed us?”

“I told you—a babalawo does not kill without purpose, without ritual. He will take you when he is ready. Until then, he might taunt you or mark you, let you know your death is imminent. This will increase your fear, which will increase the power of the sacrifice.”

“What do you mean by mark?” Grey said. “Would that be leaving a dead monkey in a bedroom?”

Fangwa tittered. “Describe.”

“The monkey was surrounded by dirt, and had been mutilated.”

“A monkey lying in dirt in your residence is a symbol of your own grave. What was done to the monkey symbolizes what will be done to you.
Before
your death.”

Grey grimaced and said, “And a pillar of mud, with three rounded marks?”

“The mark of Esu. Surely you have not seen these things in person? If so, that would be most unfortunate.”

“
Enough
,” Viktor commanded. “We’re finished here.” He stood, towering over Doctor Fangwa. “I suggest,” he said in a low voice, “you use your time in Harare to concentrate on your duties as Cultural Attaché.” He stood, and Grey and Nya stood with him.

“And I suggest,” Fangwa said as they left the room, stretched face gleaming, “that you return to the safety of the lecture hall.”

• • •

Grey and Nya followed the Professor into the welcoming daylight. Doctor Fangwa made Grey more uncomfortable than anyone he had ever met.

“There was nothing more to be gained in there,” Viktor said. “He’ll tell us only what he wants us to know, and even that we must question.”

“Do you think he’s the
N’anga
?” Grey asked.

“It’s very possible.”

Nya said, “But I checked his alibi-”

“I suggest you check again. Regardless, this is a very dangerous man. I assume you know he’s babalawo?”

“Yes.”

“I believe he’s babalawo of the worst kind. A money Jujuman, a babalawo without principle. I’m sure you noticed the boy in the house—it’s customary for Jujumen to keep one or more of these servants around. They’re virtual zombies, enslaved through fear and narcotics.”

“He’s repulsive, but he’s our only real source of information,” Nya said.

“This man helps no one. What did he tell us? He was taunting us.”

“We still need the link between the
N’anga
and William Addison,” Grey said, “and we need to look into Fangwa’s alibi. And then,” Grey said, his voice hardening, “there’s Lucky.”

Viktor looked at Grey. “Be sure not to let a personal vendetta cloud your judgment.”

“Of course not,” Grey murmured.

Nya unlocked the car. “I’m tired of dealing in rumor and conjecture. We need something to use for a warrant.”

“Something to keep in mind concerning that,” Viktor said. “Every babalawo will have a private place of sacrifice, a shrine, reserved for his most secret rituals. Traditionally the shrine would be in the forest, far from prying eyes and ears. In today’s world it could be the basement of a townhouse, a hidden room in a mansion—”

“Or a locked room in a nightclub,” Grey said, “that Lucky guards for Fangwa.”

“There will be one, and I believe our evidence will be there, including any of the victims, if they’re still alive. Time is of the essence. Not only for Addison and the others, but for future victims. There will be more. Many more.” He put a hand on Grey’s shoulder. “You’ve been marked by a babalawo. Know that if you continue this investigation, you’re in grave danger.”

Despite his growing unease, Grey was getting very tired of unseen threats and this culture of fear. “So is whoever’s doing the marking.”

“And you, Nya—I think we all know who Doctor Fangwa has focused his interest on.”

Nya blanched and then firmed her jaw when she spoke. “When should we meet again?”

“Soon,” he said.

29

G
rey swore. The middle of the day and no word from Nya. Again. Her sense of time maddened him.

Too much was at stake to wait for her permission to move. Grey didn’t care what Nya thought—Doctor Fangwa was the best suspect they had. Grey couldn’t do much about Fangwa’s alibi for the ceremony they had attended. But he did remember the name of Doctor Fangwa’s first alibi, the one Nya had given him. David Naughton.

The name sounded familiar; he thought he’d heard it tossed around the Embassy. He knew who would know. He dialed, and heard Harris’s rough whine.

“Powell.”

“It’s Grey. I need some information. Do you know David Naughton?”

“You mean “Sir” David Naughton? He’s a good friend of the Ambassador, head of consular for the Brits. What do you have?”

“I’m checking on an alibi.”

“Whose?”

“Doctor Olatunji Fangwa. He’s the Nigerian Cultural Attaché.”

“This sounds like more nonsense.”