By midday, the Festival of Vos had become crowded enough that Omotoyosi could scarcely walk ten paces without somebody trying to sell her something.
She bought a chilled fruit drink and considered her progress.
She had spoken to merchants, compared royal visitors with their attendants, and questioned two young practitioners who looked promising until they began talking. One had described his cultivation achievements for several minutes without pausing. The other had become so nervous that he forgot the question he meant to ask.
Neither was Tàíwò.
She withdrew beneath an awning and took a sip.
Across the avenue, two performers were competing over an increasingly difficult sequence of dance steps. Spectators gathered around them, applauding whenever one managed to imitate the other. Beside the crowd stood a lean, athletic young man in finely made festival clothing, with deep-brown skin, neatly arranged black braids and lively dark eyes beneath strong brows. Three fine, pale lines curved across his left cheek. An attendant stood a few steps behind him.
Omotoyosi lowered her drink.
The face looked familiar. So did the royal mark.
She opened the saved Tavern image and compared it with the young man across the street.
The resemblance was striking. She checked the image twice before trusting her first impression.
“Found you, Tàíwò.”
He appeared younger in motion than in the photograph. The face on her screen looked composed, almost severe. The person watching the dancers laughed when one performer stumbled, then joined the audience in cheering the recovery.
She studied him longer.
A celebrated prodigy was entitled to enjoy a festival, of course. Still, the difference interested her. The young man bent to speak to one of the performers and made the surrounding spectators laugh.
His attendant stayed alert without interfering, maintaining enough distance to let him mingle while keeping the surrounding crowd in view.
Omotoyosi liked that sort of competence.
She found it deeply inconvenient.
There would be little chance of approaching the prince privately while the attendant remained so attentive. But she had not travelled to Vos to be defeated by somebody merely doing his job well.
The young man moved towards a puzzle stall.
Omotoyosi adjusted her scarf and followed.
She was smiling now, though not entirely because of the prospect of recruiting him.
He seemed interesting.
A conversation, at least, was worth the effort.
* * *
The attendant followed his prince without appearing to follow at all. A man of medium height with warm-brown skin, closely cropped hair and a neatly trimmed beard, he had the measured gaze of someone who noticed every movement around him without making a show of it.
When the young man stopped, the attendant found a position that kept the entrances to the courtyard in view. When he turned, the attendant moved naturally with him. He did not interrupt the performances or insist on a formal procession through the crowd.
Omotoyosi respected the arrangement.
First, however, she needed to meet the prince.
The young man had paused at a stall of carved wooden puzzles. He examined one, discussed it with the merchant and made the man laugh before purchasing it.
Omotoyosi waited until he moved away.
“That one’s rather disappointing,” she said.
He looked up.
“Pardon?”
“The puzzle. It pretends to be more difficult than it is.”
He turned the object over in his palm. Its pieces fitted together along narrow wooden grooves.
“Does it?”
“Once you see the central connection, everything else is obvious.”
“Then perhaps you would demonstrate.”
He held it out.
Omotoyosi took the puzzle.
The first piece moved easily. The second did not. She tried a different angle, found a groove she had missed and applied gentle pressure.
Nothing.
The prince waited.
“An unusual construction,” she said.
“Very unusual.”
“Perhaps the merchant altered the design.”
“Perhaps.”
She glanced up.
He was smiling.
“Are you enjoying this?”
“Immensely.”
Omotoyosi narrowed her eyes and returned to the puzzle. She examined the grain, followed the carved grooves and found a small joint hidden beneath one of the outer sections. When she shifted it, the remaining pieces came free.
She held them up.
“There.”
The young man applauded once.
“Magnificent.”
She could not decide whether he meant it.
“Thank you. I accept payment in compliments.”
“You did well,” he said. “Most people pull the same piece until it breaks.”
She laughed.
“Well. You’re an interesting one.”
“I’ve been told worse.”
“Frequently?”
“Only by people whose judgment I question.”
His attendant made no effort to intervene, though Omotoyosi noticed that he had moved closer during the exchange.
She returned the puzzle.
“Enjoying Vos, Your Highness?” Find the original chapter at g.com.
The prince raised an eyebrow.
“You recognised me?”
“Shouldn’t I?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you intend to ask for something.”
She put a hand over her heart.
“What an accusation.”
“So you don’t?”
“Not yet.”
He laughed again.
“You may be the first person today to admit it,” he said.
“Honesty is one of my finest qualities.”
“I imagine you have many.”
“Too many to list.”
“A tragedy.”
She watched him more carefully. Tavern had described the royal prodigy as reserved and difficult to approach. This young man was quick-witted, easy to engage and apparently willing to make a game of being recognised.
Perhaps the public accounts had exaggerated his distance from ordinary people.
She caught him glancing at the dancers instead of at her. His attendant noticed, too, and seemed relieved.
Either possibility intrigued her.
“What brings you to the Festival?” she asked.
“The Festival?.”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t you tell?”
“I sure can, just felt someone of your standing has better things to do than solve wooden puzzles?”
He looked at the pieces in his hand.
“Not at this particular moment.”
Omotoyosi smiled.
She had nearly forgotten the recruitment pitch she’d come to make. That annoyed her; she couldn’t afford to waste the chance.
Behind him, the attendant met her gaze. His expression was polite, attentive and not in the least deceived by her sudden interest.
She decided not to underestimate him.
* * *
“Do you always approach strangers by insulting their purchases?” the prince asked.
“Only when the purchase deserves it.”
“And when it doesn’t?”
“I compliment their excellent taste.”
“Then I’m pleased you found something to criticise.”
A procession entered the avenue behind them. Children carried decorated branches, and musicians followed with drums and flutes. The surrounding crowd stepped aside to make room.
The prince turned to watch.
A little girl at the procession’s edge lost her grip on a handful of ribbons. Before her mother reached her, he bent to gather them. He returned them with a brief remark that made her laugh.
Omotoyosi watched him stand.
He moved comfortably among the festivalgoers, without demanding the deference his position allowed.
“You were saying?” he asked.
“Was I?”
“You’ve been trying to introduce an important subject since we met.”
“Observant.”
“I do my best.”
“Well, I know a little about opportunities for promising practitioners.”
“Opportunities?”
“Training. Work. Connections. The chance to take on assignments people will remember.”
He considered her.
“And who provides them?”
“Now that’s an excellent question.”
“I thought so.”
“Perhaps we could discuss the answer somewhere quieter.”
The attendant stepped forward, just enough to remind her that the prince was not unattended.
“His Highness has other engagements,” he said politely.
“Of course,” Omotoyosi replied.
The prince glanced at him.
“I have a little time.”
“Your Highness—”
“It’s a conversation, Bámidélé, not a declaration of war.”
The attendant inclined his head, though his concern remained visible.
“And she’s entertaining,” the prince added.
Omotoyosi bowed.
“You honour me.”
She smiled and considered a more direct approach.
“Have you already received many offers today?”
“Three before breakfast had properly settled.”
“An industrious morning.”
“One man was certain he could improve my swordsmanship without having watched me practise. Another explained my future before asking whether I had plans of my own.”
“And the third?”
“He told me I should be honoured to serve under a Guild leader whose name he declined to give.”
Omotoyosi laughed.
“What did you say?”
“I asked if the gentleman was ashamed of his name.”
Bámidélé lowered his eyes.
“I suggested thanking him for the invitation.”
“He interrupted breakfast,” the prince said.
That made her laugh harder.
Several Guilds had already approached him, then. None appeared to have made a convincing impression.
“Perhaps,” she said, “you haven’t met anyone offering something worth your time.”
“Perhaps.”
He studied her for a moment.
“Although I suspect you’re about to tell me you’re different.”
Omotoyosi tilted her head.
“I’d never insult your intelligence with something so obvious.”
“Good.”
“I’d rather demonstrate it.”
The prince looked delighted.
For one tempting moment she considered simply stating her Guild’s name and asking whether he wanted to hear about its work. She might even have received a fair answer.
But a fair answer was not the certainty she wanted.
Beside him, Bámidélé had already turned towards the next procession, keeping track of their remaining engagements. He would not leave the prince alone for a private recruitment pitch.
Omotoyosi lowered her voice.
“Perhaps I’ll see you again before the Festival ends.”
“Perhaps.”
“Try not to miss me too much.”
“I shall endure.”
She walked away laughing, though she did not look back until she reached the opposite stall.
She had enjoyed the exchange. Unfortunately, his attendant had remained close enough to hear every word.
She needed a reason that would occupy Bámidélé without alarming the young man.
That would require a better plan than an insult to a wooden puzzle.
* * *
Omotoyosi found shade beneath a balcony and opened her communication device.
Her last message to the Guild remained unanswered.
“Please don’t do anything outrageous.”
She considered sending a reassuring reply.
Instead she typed: “I’ve found him.”
A response arrived.
“Found who?”
“Our future.”
A moment later:
“Omotoyosi, what exactly are you planning?”
Around her, officials hurried between the Festival tables with stacks of documents.
Omotoyosi rested her bag on her knees.
Inside lay a narrow protective case containing two old service writs.
The documents resembled elaborate Guild paperwork. Under certain light, faint patterns appeared beneath their ink, marking them as something much older and more dangerous than an ordinary contract.
Acquiring them had been difficult.
The warnings had been unambiguous.
The writs were forbidden because touching one enrolled a person in a Guild for three months without their informed agreement. It was membership imposed by magic, not a request to join. Omotoyosi knew the difference.
She opened the case anyway.
The prince she had met was curious, charming and quicker to notice an offer than she expected. He had spoken to her freely. A sensible scout might return with a straightforward proposal and accept whatever answer he gave.
Omotoyosi was not feeling sensible.
Golden Baobab’s fading reputation haunted her. She imagined the Guild’s emblem beside a celebrated royal name and the opportunities that might follow.
She closed the case.
First, she needed a believable explanation. Then a suitable appearance. Finally, a reason for Bámidélé to leave his prince for long enough.
A messenger from the Festival office hurried past with a tray of registration materials. He nearly collided with a merchant, apologised three times and continued running.
Omotoyosi watched him.
A medical emergency would be too disruptive. A lost possession too ordinary. A royal summons too easily challenged.
But administrative procedure?
Every diligent attendant took paperwork seriously.
She stood, already considering which part of the Festival office might supply a convincing story.
Omotoyosi adjusted her scarf.
Her afternoon was about to become complicated.