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Aisha knew she would have to change her wardrobe the moment she stepped off the plane in Paris. The reason was practical as much as it was vain; the wardrobe she selected in Senegal was beautiful there but drew attention in Paris. Besides, she needed a variety of outfits to match whatever form she had to take in order to perform her task.
The wonders of the changed world still amazed her but she found herself less impressed the more she was exposed. The purpose of her journey took precedent over any personal excitement. A sensation permeated her joy, an indication that whomever she sought was close. Aisha hurried to the nearest taxi, her destination the Park Hyatt Paris. A passenger on the plane told her about it, a place close enough to the sites of the city but secluded enough for privacy. She converted half of her gold to Euros while at the airport, stashing the remainder on her person and in a locker at the airport. Once she settled into her room she was off again, striding into the hotel lobby like a woman on a mission. The concierge met her at the door.
“Can I help you, mademoiselle?” he asked.
“I need to buy clothing,” she said.
“I can call you a taxi,” the concierge replied. “Where do you wish to shop?”
“I need your finest clothes. The market closest to the king’s palace would be preferable.”
The concierge smirked, annoying Aisha. She must have made some kind of error that amused him. She thought about beating him unconscious but she had more important things to do. The young man waved over a taxi.
“Take mademoiselle to Lafayette Maison,” he said.
The taxi driver sped her to a city district that overwhelmed her. The market was almost as big as the entire city of Marai. The taxi driver opened her door and Aisha absently placed a handful of Euros in his palm.
“Mademoiselle! This is too much!’
“You deserve it. Wait for me, will you?”
The man tipped his hat. “Of course!”
Lafayette Maison was only the beginning. Aisha shopped the entire day at some of the finest establishments in Paris, building an extensive wardrobe for a man and woman. Though she hated shifting into male form, it might prove necessary to carry out her plan. Bagule’s directions were simple and direct. She was to keep Alake and her granddaughter in Paris until the elders convened to select a new Sana. No harm was to come to either one unless absolutely necessary. Aisha was relieved with the last command. She would kill if she had to, but she preferred not to. Blood lingered on her heart too long, bringing nightmares and hours of pouring libations to the slain person’s soul for forgiveness. She had no doubt of fulfilling her duty; Bagule would be the most powerful man in Marai once selected as Sana. With Jele Jakada forced to serve him, Bagule would be the most powerful man in the world.
Back at her room, Aisha settled into the business of finding Alake. She asked for a hotel room with a fireplace; only the most exclusive hotels in the city provided such an amenity. The Prestige Suite in the Park Hyatt Paris was such a room. Aisha tipped the bellboy generously and then locked the door quickly. She sighed; this was opulence beyond that of the Daal, an extravagance unimagined in Marai. She shook the thoughts from her head. It was the wealth of Marai that made such extravagance affordable. She dumped her packages on the bed and went to the fire, taking out a small pouch from her brand new Dolce purse. Aisha whispered the words taught to her by the jele as she opened the pouch and sprinkled the contents into the fire. A thick white smoke rose before her, forming a dense cloud obscuring the dancing flames. She placed the bag down beside her and blew into the smoke. It parted, revealing an image she did not expect. Instead of the location of Alake and her granddaughter she gazed upon the handsome serious face of a young Maraibu man. A lecherous smile came to her face.
“Ahh, Bissau,” she said. “The right man at the wrong time. Jele Jakada sent you, no doubt.” Her smile grew wider. This would be easy. She had imagined his face many times like most young women of the city. She watched him pace, noting his gestures and manners although she was familiar with his every move. Alake would know nothing about him other than his appearance; Jakada would be more difficult to fool. But Jakada was not here. She waved her hand and the view expanded, pulling away from Bissau’s visage to the hotel in which he stayed. She memorized the name, saying it aloud in her best imitation of Bissau’s baritone. It was then she began to transform, the muscles under her skin resembling playful children under a sepia blanket as they rearranged to match her latest disguise. Her breasts flattened and expanded, her shoulders rising and thickening. Facial features melded as her hair shortened. There was some pain, but not much. She stripped off her clothes and dressed in the men’s garments she’d purchased earlier and then stood before the mirror, satisfied with the transformation.
“Now Bissau, it’s time you met your better half,” she said with a grin.