A knife glinted suddenly in the man’s hand as he advanced on Bantu, a glint that
was echoed in his narrowed eyes.
‘… because if he were alive, and if this shop were under his protection, and
if he or his men caught you coming between him and a paying customer, then he’d
have to make an example of you and your friends!’
The man was close now, and Bantu’s throat tightened as the knife moved up and
down in the air between them, gracefully serving as a pointer during the speech.
‘Maybe your ears should be cut off to save you from hearing troublesome rumours
… or your tongue cut out to keep you from repeating them … Better still the
nose … yes, chop off the nose to keep it out of other people’s business ,..’
Bantu felt faint now. This couldn’t be happening. Not in broad daylight on the
east side of town. These things might happen in the Maze, but not here! Not to
him!
‘Please, sir,’ the shopkeeper interrupted. ‘If anything happens in my shop …’
‘Of course,’ the swarthy man continued, as if he hadn’t heard, ‘all this is pure
conjecture. Jubal is dead, so nothing need be done … or said. Correct?’
He turned away abruptly, summoning his men back to the door with a jerk of his
head.
‘Yes, Jubal is dead,’ he repeated, ‘along with his hawkmasks. As such, no one
need concern themselves with silly symbols scratched on shopfronts. I trust we
did not interrupt your business, citizens, for I’m sure you are all here to
purchase some of this man’s excellent stock … and you will each buy something
before you leave.’