To the Turmoil of Beings (1)

Emeravwe, Mudiaga, and the officers of the Bureau of Investigations continued their surveillance on the son of the director of palace courtyards and gardens.

The Bureau of Investigation’s analysis of the interviews Emeravwe and her team conducted revealed that Okémeh targeted Onorogu who exploited or abused the lower castes. The son of the director, who worked at the local civil service office, was known to extort unlawful sums of money from them, to the point of ruining many households.

Emeravwe and her team of officers escorted the official each morning to his office, after which a few of the officers took turns watching him during the day, then all returned in the late afternoon to escort him home again. As they lurked through the marketplace, the officers scattered about, dressed inconspicuously rather than in their court uniforms. Emeravwe stayed close to Mudiaga, for he was not only to assist the other officers, but also serve as her protector.

They kept watch over the official for four uneventful weeks, but during this time Emeravwe’s mind focused more on her dreams than on the case. Since the night of the protest in the marketplace, her dreams had come to be invaded not only by the man with hazel eyes but the murderous scene, as well. These visions stirred in her an unrelenting feeling of dread, so she tried to push them aside and forget them.

But she could not. They recurred in her mind. Especially that horrifying murderous apparition.

When she first had the dream, she was so panicked that she focused only on the image of the woman being impaled. It was after she had calmed that she recalled the orange-clad forms surrounding the woman and thought they seemed like officers of the Palace Guard. But it all remained unclear. Who was the woman and the lifeless form she held? Why was she stabbed? Whose arm was it holding her in the dream? And most of all, why did she have such a dream?

Though she tried, Emeravwe found it difficult to dismiss the dream as just that—a dream. It had been too clear and too terrifying. Even now, she shuddered at the thought of it. What was even more disturbing was that the visions drew to the forefront of her awareness the fact that she had no memories of her life before entering the palace. This fact loomed in her mind, a black, menacing void.

“What’s got you so dazed?” Mudiaga asked suddenly as they trailed a distance behind the official, whose sedan chair wove through the market. He leaned over and flicked the crease in her brow. “You’ve been glaring at that camel’s butt for the past five minutes. What, you don’t like the way it sways?” he teased, sashaying his hips.

Emeravwe chuckled at his goofiness, looking from him to the camel walking in front of them—led by its owner—whose buttocks moved in a lazy, strutting fashion.

Seeing her brighten, Mudiaga smiled his dimpled smile. “That’s more like it. You’ve been out of it lately.”

“Out of what?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean distracted. Something on your mind?”

“Well…” She peered through the crowd to spot the official’s sedan a short distance ahead. Her recent vision had been triggered in the chaos of the protest. She wondered if she could get more information about it. “I have been thinking about the protest we saw. The speaker mentioned something about an injustice that occurred ten years ago. Could it have been—”

“The Insurgence of Onorogu? Yes.”

“What was the Insurgence of Onorogu, exactly? And why would the lower castes protest it?” It bothered her that the incident occurred ten years ago, for that was when she entered the palace. Could there be some sort of connection?

Placing his hands on her shoulders, Mudiaga guided her from the path of an oncoming cart. “I don’t know the details—I was only twelve when it happened—but it was also around that time that Orodje Otaroghene died, so the incident might be related somehow.”

Emeravwe’s eyes bulged. “You mean the Orodje was assassinated?”

“Keep your voice down!” Mudiaga scolded, “That’s not the sort of thing you wanna go around hollering. No one really talks about the Insurgence of Onorogu —you saw what happened when those protestors tried. I suggest you stop thinking about it.”

Emeravwe furrowed her brow. So the Insurgence of Onorogu is related to the late Orodje’s death? The image of the orange-clad officer plunging a sword through the woman’s back flashed in her mind. Her heart shriveled with dread, a chill rushing through her body.

She shook her head, focusing again on the official’s sedan chair just as it turned into an alley. A group of men dispersed inconspicuously around the entrance suddenly rushed in after it, and Emeravwe gasped. Before she could sound an alarm, the officers around the market sprang into action. Mudiaga took off as well, and Emeravwe dashed after him.

When she turned into the alley, she found the official’s sedan bearers had deserted him, and he huffed indignantly in his chair, surrounded by the assailants who faced off with the officers. They were a group of ragtag men—a couple seemed no older than twenty years—with worn tunics and trousers and hard, determined eyes. The screech of metal pierced the air as the officers drew their swords.

“We must capture them alive!” The commanding officer ordered, “Sheathe your swords and beat them to pulp if you have to!”

Mudiaga turned to Emeravwe, gesturing for her to back away. As she did, the officers cried out and charged with blows. His assailants occupied, the official scrambled from his open sedan chair, tumbling over one of the poles and abandoning a sandal in the dust as he sprinted away with curses.

The would-be kidnappers shrank back as the officers attacked, defending themselves with nothing but their bare hands. As she watched closely, however, Emeravwe saw that though the officers attacked with brutal force, the kidnappers met them with little resistance, putting their arms up only to shield themselves from the blows. The scuffle was over in a short minute, and the officers tied and herded the criminals toward the palace.