Looking up from the train seat, Annja saw the smiling face of one of the two young boys in front of her. As it turned out, the fastest way to Kidira was on the Dakar-Niger Railway. Going hundreds of miles overland by car would have taken nearly twice as long, even factoring in the five-hour delay in leaving Dakar. Punctuality wasn’t one of the railway’s strong suits.
Nor was comfort. The train generally concerned itself with cargo first and passengers second. Or third or fourth or fifth, Annja was quick to realize. Cargo was the big ticket for the railway, moving goods in from the coast to the interior.
She was jammed into a narrow seat with little room. There was no dining car, so meals had to be packed on. Fortunately, Ganesvoort’s chef put together an excellent picnic basket.
McIntosh slept only a few seats over, lulled by the slow sway of the train. The CIA agents accompanying them occupied other seats. Three rows up, Hallinger and Ganesvoort conferred, going over topographical maps on Hallinger’s computer just as Annja was doing, comparing the pictures they’d taken from the Spider Stone to the physical features of the land.
The two boys and their mother had sat in the seats in front of Annja. The mother had looked tired and frazzled. She’d stayed on her cell phone nearly the whole trip, evidently stressing over the conversation. Something somewhere wasn’t going right.
“Hi,” Annja said to the small boy.
The boy leaned over the back of his seat and peered at Annja’s notebook computer. “Playing video games?” His English accent was unmistakable.
“Not exactly.” Annja grinned at the boy’s curiosity. She guessed that he was five or six, dressed in a red T-shirt, denim shorts and high-top basketball shoes.
“My brother plays games on his computer.”
“He does?”
The little boy nodded. “Yeah. All the time. He gets in trouble with my mom because he doesn’t know when to quit.”
“I see.” Glancing over the top of the seat, Annja saw the little boy’s older brother by maybe three or four years was sound asleep. The mother had walked to the other end of the train car, evidently seeking a better connection for the phone.
“My name’s Bashir.” The boy stuck out his hand.
Annja took the hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Bashir. I’m Annja.”
“You have a pretty name.”
Chuckling, Annja said, “Thank you.”
The boy waited maybe a heartbeat, then looked at her in exaggerated annoyance, as if she’d missed something she should have automatically known. “Don’t I have a pretty name?” he asked.
With the prompting, Annja immediately understood what she’d done wrong. “Yes, you do. I was trying to think if I’ve ever heard that name before, and I don’t think I have. You have an unusual name, too.”
Bashir smiled then. “My mom says my name means ‘bringer of good news.’ What does your name mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Bashir looked puzzled for just a moment. “Didn’t your mom tell you what your name means?”
“No,” Annja said truthfully, feeling just the smallest twinge of pain stab at her for a moment. “She didn’t.”
“Oh. My brother’s name is Kamil. It means ‘perfect.’” Bashir leaned in and cupped his hands around his mouth. His whisper was still loud. “Only he’s not perfect—he’s a slob.”
Annja laughed. “I see.”
Bashir looked at her curiously. “Are you an African?”
“No.”
“I had to ask ’cause I found out there’s white Africans, too. I didn’t know that till I came here with my mom.”
“I’m an American,” Annja said.
“Our ancestors were Americans, too. But we’re English now. Before we came here, we lived in London. My mom says our ancestors went to England after President Lincoln freed the slaves.” Bashir thought some more. “Can I see your marble?”
“My marble?”
“Yeah.” He pressed his hands together and smiled, revealing a gap where his two front teeth had been. “The pretty yellow one.”
He meant the Spider Stone. Annja had had it out earlier, looking at it again and trying to get a deeper feel for it.
“Do you promise to take good care of it?” she asked.
“Sure.”
Annja took the Spider Stone from her pocket and gave it to the boy.
He turned it around and around in his hands, studying it with complete fascination.
Bashir handed the Spider Stone back to Annja. “Why does it have a spider on it?”
“That spider represents Anansi. Do you know who Anansi is?” Annja asked.
Bashir’s forehead wrinkled. “Some kind of hero?”
That’s close enough, Annja thought. “Right. He’s a hero. Anansi is a spider who lives here in West Africa.”
“A spider?”
“Well, sometimes he can turn into a human.”
Bashir grinned. “Brilliant. Do you know any stories about him?”
“I do.” Annja put the computer aside and gave Bashir her full attention. “Anansi is one of those guys who seems to always get into trouble. Because he’s always doing something or because he’s after something he wants. And he wants a lot.”
Outside the train windows, the countryside whipped by. Most of it was savanna, dry and covered with scrub brush and stunted trees.
“One day Anansi decided he wanted to be the king of all stories,” Annja began. “So he went to his father, Nyame, who was the sky god.”
“Anansi’s dad is a god?”
“It’s just a story.”
Bashir looked at Annja as if she were a simpleton. “I know that. I’m not a baby.”
“Sorry,” Annja said.
At that moment, the mother arrived. She looked embarrassed. “I really must apologize,” she said. “I asked him not to bother anyone.”
“It wasn’t a bother,” Annja said. “It was kind of nice to take a break. And you have a terrific kid.”
Bashir beamed. “She was telling me about Anansi. He’s a spider god who can be a spider or a human, and he’s supposed to live right here in West Africa, only he’s really just make-believe.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” Annja said.
The woman sat down, turned so that she could face Annja and smiled. “No, but I should warn you that you’re dealing with an overactive imagination that requires constant feeding and attention.” She offered her hand. “I’m Tanisha Diouf.”
“Annja Creed. Nice to meet you.” Annja shook her hand.
“How far are you going?”
“Kidira,” Annja said.
“We are, too.”
“With the kids along, it looks like vacation, but with all the phone time involved, it looks more like work,” Annja said.
“Work. Definitely. I’m an engineer for Childress Construction.”
“Is that part of Childress Corporation?”
Tanisha grimaced. “I see you’ve heard of us.”
“Only this morning while waiting in the train station. I scanned the newspaper and saw Childress mentioned.”
“Not a lot of people here like us,” Tanisha said.
“Because of the oil refinery that’s being built?”
“Exactly. Childress Corporation is the parent. The construction arm is one of the subsidiaries. I happen to be the engineer in charge of the project.”
“Sounds like a big job.”
“It is. Some days, like today, I think it’s too big. Being a single mom is hard enough without being a single mom out of the country. But the opportunity and the pay is great. When I finish this, I can put both my boys through college on the bonus money I’ll earn.” Tanisha glanced at the topographical maps Annja had been studying. “What do you do?”
“I’m an archaeologist.”
“Now, that sounds interesting.”
“Some days are more interesting than others,” Annja replied.
“May I?” Tanisha gestured toward one of the maps.
“Be my guest.”
The woman picked up the map, then another one. “I don’t think this is far from where we’re putting the refinery in, actually.”
That got Annja’s attention immediately. “Really?”
“Really. What are you out here looking for?”
“A Hausa village that was destroyed in 1755.”
“The sad thing is, you’ll probably find lots of those. There’s a lot of unrest in the savanna even now. Our work sites keep getting attacked by tribes that don’t want us there. At least, they have been getting attacked. The last few days have been pretty quiet. You’ll want to be careful out there.”
“I will,” Annja said.
Tanisha handed the maps back. “You’re not traveling alone, are you?”
“I’m with a small expedition.”
“Let me make a phone call. If it looks like we’re heading in the same direction, maybe I can get you in with us when you have to go overland. If that’s all right.”
“I’d appreciate that.” There is safety in numbers, Annja thought. But she feared it might also mean that she might endanger Tanisha Diouf and her children.
ALMOST TWO HOURS LATER, Annja stood on the small platform outside the passenger car. The train’s wheels rumbled over the tracks in steady monotony. Darkness filled the savanna on either side of the railroad line, but the silver moon lit the sky.
She sipped from a bottle of water and ate pineapple chunks from a small plastic container Ganesvoort’s cook had supplied. Fatigue ate at her, but she knew it was from spending the past few days doing nothing physical. She’d been active all her life. Inactivity seemed to take more out of her than physical exertion did.
Standing, breathing rhythmically, feeling warm despite the chill of the wind pulling at her clothing, Annja stared into the darkness around the train. She felt at peace, and a sense of belonging. There was a power in the land around her, and she sensed it in a way that she never had before. She soaked up the sensation, reveling in it, and her heart lifted.
Then she realized she wasn’t alone. Someone was watching her.
“Here.”
Annja spun, facing into the train car.
The African woman from the hotel stood before her, leaning on her staff. She wore a black grand bubu, and the extra material belled around her.
“You feel it, don’t you?” the old woman asked. “You feel the pull of this land on you.” She waved at the savanna. “This is where the world began, where humanity took root and spread across the world. We all belong to Africa. So many have forgotten that.”
Annja was silent.
The old woman smiled. “It’s just me, daughter. You have nothing to fear from me.”
“What do you want?” Annja asked.
“Nothing that you can’t give.”
“Don’t talk to me in riddles.”
“I’m not. I’m telling you the truth,” the woman said.
“Why are you following me?”
“I’m not following you. At this time, we happen to be traveling in the same direction. You pursue the answer to the Spider Stone. But you’re not the one to solve that.”
“I’ve already solved it,” Annja said. “All I have to do is find the cave where Anansi put the treasure.”
“You’re not here for the treasure.”
No, Annja admitted to herself. I want to see what’s there. I want to read the books that were left. I want to know what those people knew. I want to look back through that window in time to another world. Even if only for a little while.
The old woman shook her head. “That is not your path. You are here only to go so far, Annja Creed.”
“How do you know who I am?” Trepidation jangled inside Annja. She knows you from the hotel, she reasoned. All she had to do was talk to the police or the hotel staff. What was more mystifying was how the woman knew Annja was at the hotel to begin with.
“You have finally come.” Annja remembered the woman’s first words to her.
“I know who you are because I’ve been trained and blessed by the gods to know these things,” the woman said. “And I know you by that sword you carry.”
Annja wondered how much of the fight in the hotel the woman had seen. Only Annja, Roux and Garin knew about Joan’s sword. My sword.
“You’re a warrior,” the woman said. “You have been blessed—or cursed, depending on how you wish to view it—to affect changes in the lives of people who hang in the balance.”
Annja shook her head in disbelief. So much of what the old woman was saying reminded her of the talk she’d had with Roux in her loft all those months ago. If she didn’t sound so much like Roux right now, I’d swear she was crazy. Then again, maybe both of them are crazy.
She might have believed that if she hadn’t seen the sword become whole again, if she couldn’t pluck it out of thin air whenever she wished.
“I came here tonight to warn you,” the old woman said.
“Warn me about what?”
“Your enemies are close.”
“By design,” Annja said. “I meant to draw Tafari out. I can take care of myself.”
The old woman nodded. “I know. But you must take care of others, too.”
Annja resisted the impulse to ask whom she was supposed to protect.
“Tanisha Diouf has a part to play in this,” the old woman said. “She and her two children must be protected. They are going to be in the eye of the storm.” She pointed toward the front of the train. “Now look. Your enemies have gathered.”
Unwilling to look, thinking that it was some kind of trick, Annja hesitated. Then the train’s brakes locked up and the metal wheels shrilled across the steel tracks.
Off balance, distracted, Annja fell, tumbling toward the edge of the platform.