-16-

Famara and Zeke melded into the arrivals. Both men ignored the stares from the other passengers and proceeded down the stairwell to the main terminal. They were halfway to the door when two stern faced men in blue uniforms and conical hats carrying short batons approached them.

"You're not allowed to carry those things," one of the said as he pointed at Zeke's guns.

"I'm Famara Keita, ambassador to the Kingdom of Mali. This is my man servant, Ezekiel Culpepper."

Famara smiled. "He is. I find that Freedonians make the best servants. They have a history, you know."

The shorter man pointed to a door across the terminal. "You'll find it in there."

"You'll have to tuck those away," he said, pointing at Zeke's revolvers. Zeke took them off then stuffed them into Famara's bag. He picked up the bag, following Famara's lead.

"I didn't lie, but I do apologize for the insult," Famara said. "The British have little respect for our kind. You'll discover it soon enough. They especially don't care for Freedonians. You've caused quite a few problems for them."

Zeke shrugged. "Nothing they didn’t bring on themselves. Who are we telegraphing?"

They went to the telegraph service. The telegraph operator met them with a warm smile.

“We need privacy,” Famara said. He reached into his pocket then took out a handful of gold.

“That will buy you all the privacy in the Commonwealth!” the greedy eyed telegrapher said. He tipped his hat as he left the room. Famara worked the telegraph himself. After a few moments the reply came. Famara listened then opened the door, allowing the operator back in.

Famara smiled at Zeke. "Our accommodations have been arranged. We're staying in the Langham Hotel. The Prussian is staying there as well."

"No," Famara replied. "The game has changed. There will be a diplomatic ball tomorrow at the British Consulate General's office. We are on the list and so is the Prussian."

Zeke stopped walking. "Wait a minute. We're just going to walk up to the man and introduce ourselves?"

They walked out to the terminal and into London. The sights and smells of the capital of the Empire assaulted him. The social distinctions were obvious; well-heeled men and women moving among the hordes of poor as if they were invisible. Large cumbersome steam mules plodded through the streets laden with cargo and supplies. Steam cars mingled with horse drawn carriages and pedestrians. He followed Famara to a man dressed in a black uniform and cap.

The man raised an eyebrow, shrugged his shoulders then blew a shrill whistle. Moments later a steam car chugged out of the darkness then up to the curb where they stood. Zeke opened the door for Famara and they both climbed into the car. The driver maneuvered through the crowded street then stopped before a majestic multi-story building with a grand marble entrance.

They exited the car and Famara tipped the driver. Zeke looked the building up and down, visibly impressed.

"Well I'll be damned...I mean, this is something else. These Elders of yours must be pretty special."

Famara grinned. "You have no idea. Let's check into our rooms. We have a banquet to prepare for."

The brown-skinned bellhops met Zeke and Famara at the curb. They hesitated at the sight of the two then glanced at each other. They looked back at the duo with grins on their faces.

They led Famara and Zeke to the desk where they checked in amid a crowd of curious and disapproving stares. Famara did an excellent job at ignoring the attention; Zeke stared back with a disgruntled frown.

"They've never seen black people checking in here," Famara replied. He handed Zeke a key.

“No mate. It’s our pleasure,” the man who spoke extended his hand. “Tommy Branson’s me name.”

Zeke took his hand then gave it a hearty shake. “Zeke Calhoun. This here is Famara Keita, councilor of the kingdom of Mali. ”

Famara nodded then Tommy tipped his hat. “It’s not often we get dignitaries of your persuasion if you know what I mean. Follow us.”

Zeke didn't argue. They followed the bellhops to the lift then ascended to the 5th floor. The bellhops led them to side by side suites.

“This is the ambassador’s room,” Tommy said. “Yours is next door. You gentlemen have a nice stay. We’ll tell the staff to take special care of you.”

“That’s right nice of you,” Zeke said.

Famara reached for his pouch to tip the men but they shook their heads.

“No need, guvnor,” Tommy said. “Like I said, we’re taking special care of you.”

"There should be a change of clothes coming soon," Famara said. "Meet me in the lobby in an hour. Bring your guns."

Zeke nodded then entered his room followed by one of the bellhops. The room was amazing, filled with antique furniture and a large rice bed with an elaborate canopy. He tipped the bellhop but the man lingered.

"God bless you, sir," he said. "You Freedonians are giving the Empire what for."

Zeke tried to give the man a tip but he shook his head. The bellhop left the room and Zeke fell into the plush bed. He didn't have time to feel exhausted for as soon as his head touched the pillow he was asleep. An insistent tapping on his door finally woke him. He opened the door to a lovely housekeeper holding his tuxedo.

On any other day Zeke would invite her in, but he was on the job. He took the tuxedo and ushered the lady from his room. The tux fit perfectly; Zeke went to the lobby wondering how Famara's friends could have picked a fitted tux for him in such short notice. Famara stood in the lobby waiting, just as immaculately dressed.

Zeke patted under his arms. "I had a time working my holster right but I managed."

They exited the hotel. Famara took out the clock compass, gazing at it for a moment before walking off to the left.

"I had one primary task," Famara replied. "To secure the book and bring it back to Timbuktu. I failed."

Famara looked at him scowling. "The Prussians have the book. This situation forces me to take on my secondary task."

"Find out why the Prussians want the book so badly. I'm hoping that when the Prussian sees us he'll hasten to his destination. We'll follow him and discover his plans."

Famara halted before the theater, classical music escaping from its doors where the reception was being held. Zeke began walking to the entrance but Famara stopped him.

They waited for thirty minutes before the door opened. A black man in a waiter's outfit exited. He approached them, his face serious.

They trailed the taciturn waiter down a back alley behind the building to a rear entrance.

They entered through the kitchen, the staff eyeing them suspiciously as they continued into the ballroom. A small symphony played a lively tune as finely dressed men and women spun and twirled across the floor. Most of the men were dressed in military uniforms.

"There he is," Famara said. He strode into the ballroom and Zeke followed. The dancers stopped, staring at the intruders. A few of the military men walked toward them; Zeke opened his jacket, exposing his revolvers. By the time they reached the Prussian the room was silent.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, African," he said through his teeth.

"Of course you do," Famara replied. "You could make it easy and turn it over now."

"I suggest you leave immediately," the man said. "The authorities have been notified."

He turned and walked away. Zeke backed away, his jacket opened, then turned to follow Famara. They left the way they came.

They walked toward the end of the alley. Zeke saw a flash of light and his hands went instinctively for his guns.

A loud grating noise filled the alley. A contraption entered the muted light, a machine resembling the mechanical mules they saw at the landing field. However this machine was designed for a different task. It towered over them on two legs, two Gatling guns protruded from its head like turret.

Zeke shoved Famara toward the towering mechanical man. The cobblestone where they once stood was ripped apart by lead rounds, sparks lighting the alley behind them. The machine angled its head down then walked backwards, trying to catch its running targets. Zeke had no doubt he could reach the streets before the steam behemoth could get them. A childhood of chasing piglets and calves then running from bulls and stallions made him quick on his feet. He was happy to see that Famara was a quick stepper as well. They darted between the brass legs, barreling for the alley opening when their escape route suddenly filled with Prussian soldiers armed with rifles. Zeke's revolvers were in his hands before the Prussians could take aim. He blasted off six rounds while shoving Famara back toward the mechanical man. The Prussians ran for cover while two of their cohorts crumpled to the ground.

Zeke and Famara made it to the automaton's legs. Above them, through the hissing steam and rattling gears they heard the angry voices of the men controlling the Gatling guns.

Zeke watched the end of the alleyway for any Prussian trying to take a look inside. He felt Famara's hand on his shoulder.

"I'll be back," the Malian said. He reached into his tuxedo jacket, pulled out a wicked dagger, then proceeded to climb up the mechanical man's back.

The Prussians at the end of the alley saw his move. They rushed out into the open, aiming at his climbing companion.

"No hell you don't!" Zeke said. He released a deadly fusillade, taking down three more riflemen and sending the others back for cover. Moments later he heard clanging metal above him then the sounds of struggle. A body dropped in front of him, smashing into the cobblestone. A minute later another hit the stone behind him.

Zeke holstered his guns then clambered up the back of the mechanical man, working his way around the belching steam engine. When he reached the head a metal door swung open. He climbed inside; Famara sat in a stool before a control board peppered with gauges and levers. There was an empty stood beside him. A solitary lever rested in front of it.

A wide grin spread across Zeke's face as he jumped into the gunner seat. The mechanical man lurched forward under Famara’s steering and they trudged toward the alley entrance. As soon as they emerged into the street Famara swung the head unit left to right. Zeke followed with bursts from the Gatling guns, taking out all the Prussians. Famara proceeded down the street toward their hotel.

"We'll stay inside for a few more blocks to make sure no one else is coming," he shouted over the engine noise.

Famara shook his head. "Too obvious. Besides, they'll know we have it soon. If they built it, they know how to destroy it."

Famara maneuvered the machine into a wide alley. They climbed out then disabled it by cutting the hamstring cables and puncturing the water supply tanks. After peeking from the alley to make sure they hadn't been followed they hurried for the Langham. They turned the corner to the hotel and were greeted by a discouraging site. The hotel swarmed with Bobbies, accompanied by British soldiers.

"Follow me," a voice said from behind. Both men spun, Zeke with revolvers in hand, Famara with his dagger.

The man raised his hands then illuminated his face with the candle he carried. It was one of the bellhops.

"When the Bobbies came we figured it was for you,' the man said. “I figured they weren’t going to let a couple of black blokes stay in such a fine place too long."

"The East End. It's not as fancy, but you'll be safe. Besides, the Reverend wants to meet you."

"Don't worry, the Reverend's a friend. As a matter of fact, he's probably the only person that can get your arses out of this bloody mess."