Rogue Angel - Secret Of The Slaves Part 3

"How many languages do you speak, anyway?" he asked.

"Several," she said. "I'm pretty good with the major modern Romance languages. Spanish, of course. Portuguese, Italian, French, Catalan."

He frowned. "Are you sure it's a good idea for you to be here?"

She laughed. "One of those nice women warned me, too. But why you? I thought you were used to knocking around the Third World. Emphasis on knocking. knocking."

"Yeah, I am. And one thing I learned early on sometimes it knocks back. There's a lot of resentment at Western colonialism and cultural imperialism. It isn't all just the wicked Muslims, the way the nutcases back home try to make it. And Brazil is kind of notorious for violence in its poorer areas."

She noted with approval that he didn't screw around with euphemisms. While she was no radical she was pretty determinedly apolitical Annja found herself more comfortable with the honestly hard core, as opposed to moderates, the mushy centrists, with their political correctness and nervous phrasing. She cared about words and what they meant. They were core to her professional discipline. She had little patience for people who muddied them with soft heads or hearts.

"Favelas," she said. "Some of the Earth's most serious slums. You're thinking more of Rio de Janeiro. And yeah, that's full-contact poverty. There really are she said. "Some of the Earth's most serious slums. You're thinking more of Rio de Janeiro. And yeah, that's full-contact poverty. There really are favelas favelas in Rio where the police literally don't go except in battalion strength, the way they did in one of the worst districts just a couple of years ago." in Rio where the police literally don't go except in battalion strength, the way they did in one of the worst districts just a couple of years ago."

"I read about that online," Dan said.

"I've been to Rio," she said, "and this place has a different feel. For one thing, food's a lot more readily available than it is in the middle of a huge urban wasteland."

By chance they had come into a little market square, lined with kiosks offering everything from live chickens in crates to bin after bin of mostly unfamiliar fruits and vegetables to big wheels of cheese. And everywhere fish, of a remarkable range of size and shapes.

"Look around you. The people are mostly smiling, happy," Annja said.

He shrugged. "Anesthetized to the realities of repression."

"Dan, that's not worthy of you," she said more sharply than she'd intended. "You know nothing about these people."

A man pa.s.sed them with a cheerful nod and word of greeting.

"I stand corrected, Ms. Creed. "I confess I've been guilty of Western cultural imperialism and a.s.sumed superiority. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa."

"You know some Latin," she said. "That's a great grounding for Romance languages. And just for the record, I like the wisea.s.s Dan a lot better than the doctrinaire Dan."

He might just as easily have told her off. They were, after all, contractors on a.s.signment together. But he flashed a devil-may-care grin and said, "Noted. And maybe I do, too."

They wandered down a line of stalls, listening to the good-natured mostly bargaining. Sometimes the African dialects were so prevalent Annja understood little if any better than Dan appeared to.

"Whoa. Those are some ugly fish," Dan said, waving at a particularly formidable specimen, arrayed with armor and sinister spikes and barbs. "Didn't I see one of these eating tourists in Mexico on an old episode of Outer Limits Outer Limits on Nickelodeon?" on Nickelodeon?"

"It'd have to be a bit bigger and a lot more ambitious than that one looks," Annja said. "Of course, it is is dead." dead."

"Remind me not to take a dip in the river. Not that it looks that inviting it's the color and consistency of pea soup." He shook his head. "Man spoils everything he touches, doesn't he?"

"Don't kid yourself. The crust of old plastic bags and junk is largely man-made. But the river's color and consistency are all natural, a combination of silt and things exuding into it from the forest all around," Annja said.

"Huh," he said, clearly unconvinced. She felt a flash of annoyance. He had a tendency not to see things that clashed with his preconceptions. She tried to let it go.

I have to work with him, she reminded herself. And anyway, for the most part he's a lot more fun than a lot of partners I've had... . She let the thought dangle, unwilling to follow it further.

They pushed on, turning into a narrow street where two-story whitewashed buildings seemed to lean toward each other overhead. They took a right turn into a dank, muddy path that it might have been a compliment to call an alley.

Dan hung back, frowning at Annja. "Uh " he said.

She stopped and looked sternly at him. "Don't tell me you're going all male-chauvinist protective on me."

He shrugged. "It's my job to look out for you, Ms. Creed." She recognized he was in official mode.

"Hasn't it occurred to you I've looked after myself in some pretty rough parts of the world?" And more than that, of course, but she wasn't sharing that information. With any luck he'd never find out.

"Well I don't see a film crew anywhere," he said. "Not to mention network security staff."

"You'd be surprised how spa.r.s.e that is for our show," she said. "Anyway, look. If it makes you feel better, I happen to have long legs. I know you noticed."

To his credit his gaze never wavered from hers. "Yeah."

"So if anything bad happens I can run away real fast. Satisfied?"

He frowned at her a moment. Then his face unclouded and he laughed. "I get the feeling I have to be."

They stopped at a blue-painted door set into a wall missing some chunks of stucco. He nodded. "After you."

She pushed her way into darkness.

Chapter 5.

The first thing that hit her, along with the earth-burrow coolness, was the smell. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, particularly. But it was a complicated one. A skein of smells, a tapestry, woven out of elements familiar, hauntingly reminiscent and outright strange. Some were organic, some chemical and astringent.

"May I help you?" a voice said from the shop's dim depths.

A beaded curtain rustled. A woman emerged into the front room among close-packed shelves and counters. She was tall, possibly taller than Annja, although the red-and-yellow turban around her head added a few inches. In the gloom it was hard to be sure.

Annja glanced sideways at Dan. "We'd like to talk to the shop owner," she said.

"That's me," the woman said. She seemed to glide forward without moving her feet, doubtless an illusion caused by her long skirts, which brushed the warped boards of the floor. "I am Mafalda. How may I help you?"

As she came close enough to distinguish detail, Annja realized that she was a very beautiful woman, seemingly no older than Annja, with mocha skin and eyes that might have been dark green.

"You're Americans," Mafalda said.

Annja smiled.

"What can I do for distinguished visitors from so far away?" Mafalda seemed to be slipping into a familiar role, which Annja guessed was half mystic, half huckster. She probably had one mix for the tourists and another for the locals.

Annja looked openly to Dan. Though never spoken, the arrangement seemed to be that while she was in charge of the scientific and research aspects of the expedition, he spoke for their mutual employer Moran. She wasn't entirely comfortable with the arrangement, but Sir Iain was paying her very well.

"We understand you might have some information about a hidden city," Dan said.

"Who told you that?" the proprietor asked. Shrewdly, Annja thought.

"Someone back in the United States," Dan answered blandly.

Mafalda seemed unimpressed with that response. "Lost-city rumors crawl all over the Amazon like bugs," she said, unwittingly echoing what Annja had told Sir Iain in his Manhattan headquarters. "They have done so ever since the days of the first explorers. I don't deal in treasure maps. Perhaps you should seek elsewhere."

Shooting an exasperated look at Dan, who only shrugged, Annja said, "Perhaps if you'd be so kind as to show us what you do deal in, please, we'd better understand how we might help each other."

It occurred to Annja that their employer might be playing his cards too close to his well-muscled chest. Unless he simply had no better information to share. But he must have had some reason to send them here.

After favoring Annja with a quick, cool glance of appraisal, Mafalda smiled slightly. "Of course. If the lord and lady will follow me."

"Lord and lady?" Dan echoed quietly.

Annja sniffled. He c.o.c.ked his head at her.

"I'm allergic to something in here," she said.

Mafalda, who had waited coolly for the whispered exchange to end suggesting some experience with tourists began her tour. "I serve the pract.i.tioner of candomble. candomble. I have here everything needed for the I have here everything needed for the toques, toques, the rituals, whether public or private." the rituals, whether public or private."

"What's candomble? candomble?" Dan asked as Mafalda led them through narrow aisles with bins of sheaved herbs, colorful feathers and beads.

"It's a widespread folk religion in Brazil," Annja said. "It's basically a combination of Catholicism with West African beliefs."

"Like voodoo?" Dan asked.

"That's right," Annja said, nodding. She dabbed surrept.i.tiously at a droplet that had formed at the end of her nose and sniffled loudly again.

"We believe in a force called axe, axe," Mafalda said, leading them into an aisle with a number of tiny effigies that reminded Annja of Mexican Day of the Dead figurines. There were also racks of odd, twisted dried roots and vegetables and st.u.r.dy cork-topped jars with not-quite-identifiable things floating in murky greenish fluids.

"Mind the jacare, jacare," Mafalda said as an aside.

"Huh?" Dan said. "What's jacare? jacare?"

He b.u.mped his head on something hanging from the ceiling. He did a comical double take to find himself looking into the toothy grin of a four-foot stuffed reptile hung from the ceiling.

"One of those," Annja said. She had found a travel pack of tissues in the large f.a.n.n.y pack she wore, and was in the process of blowing her nose. It made a handy cover for her grin. "An Amazon caiman. There's a specific species named jacare, jacare, but people around here mostly call all crocodilians that." but people around here mostly call all crocodilians that."

Dan c.o.c.ked a brow at Mafalda, who wasn't bothering to hide her own toothy grin. "Decorating with endangered species?"

"We're more endangered by the jacares, jacares," their hostess said promptly. "They eat many Brazilians each year."

"Is she serious?" Dan asked.

"Oh, yes," Annja said.

He shrugged, shaking his head.

"You were telling us about axe, axe," Annja prompted Mafalda. She had no idea if it had anything to do with their mission to find some lead, however tenuous, to the mysterious hidden city named Promise but she was fascinated, personally and professionally, with the local folk religion.

"Oh yes." The turbaned head nodded. "Axe is the life force. It permeates all things." is the life force. It permeates all things."

"So your toques toques involve evoking this life force?" Annja asked. involve evoking this life force?" Annja asked.

The woman led them on toward the front of the cramped store. "Somewhat. Mostly we invoke the orixas. orixas."

The word was unfamiliar to Annja. "What are they?"

Mafalda flashed a quick smile. "Our G.o.ds," she said, "Olorum is the supreme creator, but he doesn't pay so much attention to us little people. So we don't trouble him. The orixas, orixas, though, they're the deities who deal with us humans. So they're the ones we have to worry about keeping happy." though, they're the deities who deal with us humans. So they're the ones we have to worry about keeping happy."

"Makes sense," Dan said.

The tall woman had led them back to the cash register, which was a modern digital model, Annja noted, Beside it stood racks of CDs with colorful covers. Dan picked one up and scrutinized it. "You have a sideline selling Brazilian jazz?" he asked. "These don't look like New Age meditation CDs."

"They are for the capoeira, capoeira," Mafalda said.

"The martial art?" Annja asked.

Mafalda laughed. "It's more than a martial art."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know the story of the slaves?" Mafalda asked. Annja felt Dan tense beside her. Her own quick inhalation turned into a sneeze, only half-staged.

"Some," Annja said cautiously.

"Well, the slaves weren't happy being slaves. So they practiced to rebel. But the masters would not permit this. So the slaves had to create a way of training that they could practice under the masters' eye without their suspecting."

"Hiding in plain sight," Annja said.

Mafalda nodded, smiling. "Exactly. So they hid their warrior training as a type of dance used in religious rituals."

"And so in turn capoeira capoeira practice got worked into the actual rituals?" Annja asked. practice got worked into the actual rituals?" Annja asked.

"Perhaps. Today capoeira capoeira is all these things a form of fighting, a dance, is all these things a form of fighting, a dance, candomble candomble ritual." ritual."

"I see." Annja skimmed the rack until a cover caught her eye. A very dark, very skinny man was performing a trademark capoeira capoeira headstand kick in front of a rank of colorfully dressed dancers shaking what appeared to be feather gourd rattles. "I'll take this one, please." It seemed a gracious thing to do, a way to keep open lines of communication with their uninformative informant. Also she was curious. headstand kick in front of a rank of colorfully dressed dancers shaking what appeared to be feather gourd rattles. "I'll take this one, please." It seemed a gracious thing to do, a way to keep open lines of communication with their uninformative informant. Also she was curious.

Mafalda rang up the transaction. She wrapped the CD in fuchsia paper and taped it neatly.

"Some of the slaves did fight back, you know," she said as she handed the parcel to Annja. "They escaped and fled into the forest. There they fought. Some died, some won their freedom."

"The Maroons," Dan said.

"Yes," Mafalda said. Her manner was suddenly very grave. "The ones about whom you asked they do not like strangers seeking after them. Capoeira Capoeira was not the only weapon they created unseen beneath the world's nose. And their reach is very long." was not the only weapon they created unseen beneath the world's nose. And their reach is very long."