Muezzinland Read Online Free PDF Page B

with its mouth open. Singing.
    She said, "Muezzinland must be a land of singers. Well, that's one extra clue."
    Already she had another idea. Pictsym had evolved through transputer culture from the ideographic writing of the original Chinese and Nippon cultures, and from the icons of Apple lore, replacing writing over the decades. "Find the nearest matching original symbol," she said, "then ask what it used to mean."
    After some minutes spent searching data bases on the other side of the city, the librarian said, "There is no Chinese character that matches, nor a Nippon one. "
    "Try the cultures that used to sit on the Pacific Rim."
    After a longer wait, the librarian grunted and nodded to herself. "There used to be a country called Indonesia," she said, "and they had something similar to our glyph. It meant singer. I suppose that is not a coincidence."
    Nshalla realised they had searched as far as they could. All the old countries of the Pacific Rim had fragmented during the previous century. They would find nothing more.
    Gmoulaye wandered off. Nshalla wondered if this was the end of her quest. "Where else can I look?" she asked.
    "Well, there is only one place I know of, and that's the Library of West Aphrica."
    "West Aphrica? Is that a country?"
    "It used to be a geographical description, but it's no longer relevant." The librarian smiled and took Nshalla's hand. "You don't realise how big Aphrica is, do you? The library is in Timbuktu, almost one and a half thousand kilometres away. Such a journey would be impossible."
    Nshalla was shocked by the immensity of the distance, but refused to countenance failure. "I have to find my sister,"  she said, "Timbuktu or not."
    "Then I wish you luck."
    Suddenly weary, Nshalla returned to the sunny street, where Gmoulaye waited, sitting on a doorstep. "What now?" Gmoulaye asked.
    Nshalla quailed. In her naiveté she had expected the journey to finish somewhere in Ashanti. She could not tell Gmoulaye that a far greater journey awaited, yet she had to, for without Gmoulaye she would be as vulnerable as a desert mouse. "My friend," she began.
    Gmoulaye turned away, as if knowing what was to come.
    "We've got to walk some more."
    Gmoulaye frowned. "We have taken a risk coming so far. We are the freaks who walked for ten days. Nobody travels these days."
    Nshalla took a deep breath. "There—"
    "Let us consult a diviner."
    "What?"
    Gmoulaye stood and clapped her hands. "A diviner we will see."
    It seemed Gmoulaye already knew where to walk, for she led Nshalla down a passage covered with polythene sheeting and then into a courtyard filled with numerous tents. She stopped in front of the largest. Made from red hessian, it boasted a pole outside from which a dessicated snake skin hung.
    Gmoulaye flung aside the flap and entered, Nshalla following, sneezing when her nose was assailed by a concoction of pepper and sweat.
    The diviner was a pygmy, black as night in the gloom, and bald. As her eyes became accustomed to the dark Nshalla spotted the accoutrements of his trade. Clad in adinka cloth, he wore mirror shades, headphones, and in front of his mouth a microphone on a wire. Doubtless this was some aether augmented image, transmitted from the depths of his subconscious to her own mind, each peculiarity the symptom of some facet of his identity. Nshalla said nothing, feeling neither trust nor confidence.
    Gmoulaye however seemed almost chatty. "We have been told we must make a long journey," she said, "and we need to know if this is the truth or some devious lie. What omens do you interpret?"
    "I am a haematomancer."
    Nshalla glanced around the tent as he said this. She had wondered what the scratching, scrabbling noise was, and now she saw a number of cockerels in cages, their beaks tied shut with silver wire. The pygmy drew a knife, fantastically curled like an antelope horn, with one glittering side and a handle of gem encrusted bone. He began to sing in a low voice. Gmoulaye's fingers