The place called Blacktown was filled with sturdy wooden and tin-roofed homes, not unlike some of those back in my homeland used by whitefellas of lesser money. Our travel was not hassled by the whitefella soldiers in the otherwise blackfella area of Nairobi, most likely because Muuzaji and I seemed to belong there. Finding Sam Mariga proved a bit difficult, and I deferred to Muuzaji in this regard as she spoke to locals in their tongue. We were soon able to find the man's home, a simple structure of mainly tin with many floral plants about its perimeter and a large garden to one side, growing a variety of unfamiliar vegetables - and in the garden was a wizened, somewhat harsh-looking dark-skinned man, tending to the plants within. He seemed confused but friendly concerning our visit at first, but then he recognized Muuzaji - something, perhaps, in her otherwise veiled form or dark eyes - and became much more amiable.
I did not catch the majority of the conversation between the two, as it was not in my tongue, but Muuzaji later translated her findings for me. Yes, the man had spoken to a man named Jackson Elias some years ago, and had directed him to his good friend Johnstone Kenyatta. He knew little about the Carlyle Expedition when asked, only that four men were blamed for the death of that group and hanged for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had found the site of the massacre and told the police, little more. Much of what was said to her, I did not learn, and was forced to assume it was personal. However, she did tell me that she knew Mariga well - he was an old friend of her family's, and he often gave them freshly grown vegetables from his garden. He had also offered to take us to our destination, if the need arose. Other than that, we garnered nothing important and moved to speak with Kenyatta at his work offices with the KCA - Muuzaji tells me this is a sort of organization for the betterment of her peoples.
The offices were as clean and comfortable as any whitefella's, despite the building itself being less polished. Inside, Kenyatta himself - a broad-shouldered, tall, genial man - greeted us in excellent English and asked how he could be of help. Once I spoke of the Bloody Tongue cult and Jackson Elias' research on their activities, however, he quickly fell silent for a moment, then gave us a serious look.
"Come into my office," he said, already moving in that direction. "It is more private there, and we will have more liberty to speak."
We of course followed, and there, we spoke at length concerning our findings. We explained we had been dealing with a variety of cults dedicated to the same god, and that to this end, a friend of ours had given us information and leads to follow. One of them led here, and we were hoping for aid. We believed that our inevitable destination was the Mountain of the Black Wind, and that meant we needed to find these leads quickly. In addition, we mentioned the fire and our concerns that someone was following us, along with how many of us there were. Kenyatta took all this into account, silently, and then finally spoke.
"Indeed, the old ways were, while important to our heritage, often cruel and horrific," he murmured, "And that is why I have striven to enter the world of the white man, more than twenty years later. I have heard the same stories as you from my tribal elders, but still I cannot escape the past so easily. It has certainly come back to me now."
A glance, and a small uneasy smile, before he continued.
"I do not know or understand much of what you have told me about your travels," he continued, "But I trust you. My grandfather was a great diviner, and perhaps traces of that still cling to me yet, for I sense you are good people. If you and the others of your party are willing, return to me tomorrow morning. There is someone you should meet. I did not send Elias to him, for I could tell that man was doomed, but you... your fates are not yet written, perhaps. Do you agree to this?"
"Yes," Muuzaji replied, "But we will need to speak with the others. I am sure they will agree as well."
"Very well." The man seemed to relax somewhat, and a broad grin crossed his face. "I will speak with you tomorrow first thing. It is a pleasure to have met you, and I look forward to speaking with your fellows."
A polite handshake, a few more well wishes, and we were off. The meeting date was set, and we had a wealth of new information for the others, which we quickly and eagerly shared once we returned to the hotel.
As it turned out, Francis and Ludwig discovered a few things at the Nairobi Star offices, the first being the uncovering of multiple materials related to the Carlyle Expedition. It had been tracked quite extensively, there was even a photo when they first arrived. According to Ludwig, the lone female party member Hypatia appeared to be six months pregnant - but that was impossible, considering the last photo they saw of her was only a month prior, back in Cairo, and there she looked ill but not quite as pregnant yet. My mind drifted back to the thought of the strange, alien being we'd delivered from the woman underground. Could this be similar? If so, could it possibly be worse than that creature? And where on earth was Hypatia? Could she still be here in Kenya?
Another photo they discovered found the four men accused of killing the Expedition, hanged for their supposed crimes. The article attached said that the Expedition had died... but that was also impossible, as we knew - we had seen members of the Expedition alive and well several times. In addition, the bodies had been discovered by Sam Mariga, as we found out, and the proprietor of the newspaper offices explained she had also spoken with the Expedition. She found them mostly unpleasant, but confirmed Hypatia was often ill and Penhew was rather disagreeably cocky. Then there was another man that visited them - one Tandoor Singh, a tea-peddler. She didn't like him, either, but figured he had spoken with the Expedition and might know something. She even had his address for us!
Now we had another lead - the tea shop owner - and that meant more investigation. Fortunately, finding the shop was not difficult, nor was anything amiss when we entered. The shop was fragrant, pleasantly lit, and altogether very well-stocked. Behind an immaculately cleaned wooden desk stood the turbaned proprietor, Tandoor Singh, carefully adjusting his weight scales and re-stocking supplies. The Indian turned as we entered, calm of demeanor and dark eyes observing carefully, and he gave the barest hint of a smile.
"Good afternoon, how may I serve you today?" His English was surprisingly excellent, with the barest hint of an accent I could not quite place. Muuzaji was of course quickly suspicious of the man, and turned on him.
"Tell us what you know about the fire on the train," she demanded, and Tandoor gave a confused look in response.
"I know as much as I have read, friend; there was a terrible fire on the train a day ago. My brother, Ahja, was on that train, but fortunately he was safe. Were you on that train as well?"
"I'm sorry about that," McCloud apologized, stepping forth. "My partner's a bit... touchy; we were on that train and had a run-in with someone who we think caused it. We were in the area asking around and speaking to the police about it when we noticed your shop, and thought we might stop in to buy some tea."
I instantly perceived McCloud's lie, but fortunately Tandoor did not, as far as I could tell. He seemed in fact to warm up to us at the mention of tea, and was very willing to discuss with us a variety of topics.
"We have actually met your brother," said Ludwig, smiling politely. "Earlier, in Mombasa, we spoke with him briefly in a cafe. We're glad to know he is alright, we were terribly worried after the fire."
"Oh, have you? And yes, it is good to know he is alive and well, since I receive all of my shipments through him."
"Has business been good for you lately, then, even with the fire?" I asked, approaching.
"Yes, madam, it has, though Ahja's recovery time has made shipments slow somewhat," was his reply. "I am, quite frankly, behind on a shipment of a lovely green varietal from Nepal, as well as a particularly fragrant oolong from Shanghai."
"And what brought you to Nairobi to sell tea? Was there great demand for it here?"
"Yes, a very large demand, actually."
"How long have you been here?"
"I might say just shy of 10 years... perhaps 11 now."
"Then you must have read all about the Carlyle Expedition when they were visiting, right?" McCloud interrupted, and Tandoor blinked in response.
"Yes... I do remember them well..." He seemed deep in thought for a second, but something in his eyes seemed to scrutinize us somewhat. "They actually did visit my shop, to buy the oolong I mentioned before. Penhew, the taller gentleman, was quite the fan of it, and I am one of the few who sell it. Shall I brew you some?"
"That would be excellent, and then perhaps afterwards, we could purchase some Earl Grey? I've had a hankering for some."
"Most certainly! Anything else you would like?"
"Well, you see, I have a sick mother back home in Minnesota, and she's not doing too well," the pilot continued, a look of inspiration crossing his face suddenly. "I think she might have caught hand-foot-and-mouth disease, because she's in a lot of pain in those areas. Specifically her mouth. She has a really Bloody Tongue, a lot of gum bleeding... anything that could help her with that?"
Tandoor didn't even flinch, though I thought for a moment I saw a slight twitch of one of his dark eyes at those words. He silently weighed and bagged the Earl Grey tea leaves, then turned to the shelf and continued speaking.
"Kava root is excellent for such pain," he murmured, bagging another tea type. "It should help calm her and numb the pain from the ulcers in her mouth. Here you fine folks are. Is there anything else I can help with?
"No, that should be all," McCloud replied, disappointed. "Thank you..."
We paid for the tea and left, sure we were on the wrong track. What if Tandoor was a good man, and his brother was the dangerous one? Could we be so sure? What if we were on the wrong track entirely, and would suffer for it grievously? We did not know, and still now we do not know. But one thing is certain - I am beginning to question my role in these events, and to wonder which of us is truly noble, if any of us are anymore. Perhaps this really is all one large dead end.
But if that is so, then why this morning did I, looking out my window from my room in the Hampton Hotel, see a man atop the offices of the nearby Nairobi Star, binoculars in hand and turban atop his head? Why was he so clearly staring towards our rooms, and why did he vanish when he noticed myself staring back?
Why was he only present when Tandoor's store was not open for the day?
-- Enala Mahwa, Unsure of the Future (September 5th, 1928)