Muezzinland Read Online Free PDF Page A

clean, lit by insecticidal candles. "Three cowries per night," he said.
    Nshalla tossed over the pouch she had prepared, which contained ten brass cowries. Etiquette demanded that she hand over control of inn monies. If he was as educated as he sounded he would appreciate the compliment. Gmoulaye gaped at them both, not understanding the interplay.
    He left. "This will be fine," Nshalla said. "We'll stay here a couple of nights at most."
    Gmoulaye nodded, looking with suspicion at the beds. Like a hunter she flung back the covers of one, but nothing lurked underneath. She took off her belts and lay down.
    "Aren't you hungry?" Nshalla asked.
    "I prefer not to eat so late. You go down and take supper. I shall eat like a donkey in the morning."
    Nshalla returned to the ground floor. The innkeeper's daughter, a thin child on the edge of puberty, was commanded to make a meal. A bowl was brought to her in minutes, steam escaping from under its lid, where lay a stew of beans, aubergines, tomatoes and onions, with lumps of gooey millet porridge.
    Nshalla noticed scars on the girl's temples that seemed medical rather than tribal, speaking of some botched biograin implantation, perhaps by the local quack. "That's a nasty—"
    But the innkeeper was at her side. He grasped her hand and raised it to his own temples. Nshalla gasped as she recognised the scarification. He was a shika, like his daughter.
    "Very, very rare," he said, "but we do exist."
    More from fright than anything, Nshalla replied, "You don't know what you're missing. The aether isn't inhuman."
    He smiled. "Perhaps not, but I am still human. Biograins and the aether are just the latest in a long line of imperial tools designed to control Aphricans."
    Nshalla shook her head. "No, no, not at all! The aether is just the next stage on from last century's virtual realities. The difference is it's not neutral, like cyber space. It's cultural. Perhaps you don't know it evolved? It did, in an environment of human culture. We perceive it like morning mist, though we aren't wearing VR goggles or earphones, but we don't see mathematical shapes and geometries, we see representations of human culture. And it does look human, so much so that our inner selves can broadcast themselves telepathically." She sighed. "Oh, you're missing so much."
    But the innkeeper just smiled again, and turned away. More guests arrived as the evening became night, but Nshalla went to bed early, deciding not to make further conversation.
    ~
    The Golden Library stood against the city's north wall. It was baroque in appearance, with polished sandalwood doors, multi-coloured windows and a clay tile roof. But in the morning sun it was the frames of doors and windows that stood out, made as they were from gold inlaid with copper and native peacock-ore.
    Inside, all was quiet. Nshalla found herself in a hall lined to the ceiling with bookshelves. A few other people wandered the alcoves, many wearing wrist transputers showing them the way to books they had selected. Most disconcerting however were rows of eyes built in lines into the sandstone walls, many with fluorescent optical cables spiralling down to transputer bays. She shivered.
    "There is a librarian," Gmoulaye whispered, nudging her forward.
    Nshalla approached, coughing to indicate her presence. The ancient woman looked up, taking off her spectacles to clean them, then replacing them. "Good morning?"
    Nshalla launched into her request without preamble. "I need to find the location of Muezzinland," she said. "The library must have lots of books, or maps."
    The librarian took a transputer and tapped codes into its memory, then handed it over. "Follow this," she said.
    The screen showed a single arrow pointing left. Head bowed to see when it changed, Nshalla followed the edge of the hall, stopping when the screen arrow changed to a circle. She looked at the spines of the nearest books.
    "Oh," she said.
    "What?" Gmoulaye asked.
    "These are all in writing. I