------------------------------------------------- [u][b]June 9th: Mogadishu, Medri Bahri[/b][/u] ------------------------------------------------- Azima walked through the market, a quarter staff in her hand doubling as a walking stick, her dress girded around her loins. She stood out. Many knew who she was. She could see it in their eyes. Though Mogadishu wasn't part of the Somalian Emirate, it was none the less part of the Somalian world, and everybody knew about Emir Hassan's daughter-heir and her masculine hobbies. They stared at her, knowing, judging. Mogadishu was the second biggest city in the Ethiopian Empire after Djibouti, made cosmopolitan by its thriving ports, and the presence of Ethiopia's biggest naval base. It was a city of white arabesque buildings, bazaars, palm trees, and minarets. European cars crawled down pedestrian-choked roads. Most people here were native Somalis, but Ethiopians and foreign sailors were a common enough sight. "So you can fight?" three young men stepped away from a fruit stall, stopping Azima in her tracks. The business of the market went on around them. "I don't believe it." "I'm not here to fight." "Then don't carry yourself like a fighter." a second man said, his smile visible under his beard. "Let me through." "Don't give us orders." the first man spat. They moved toward her now. "Do we look weak?" "Let me through." The first man lunged at her. She moved back and smashed his nose with her staff. As he nursed his wound, the other two went at her at once. She moved back quickly to throw them off balance, then she came in swinging her staff in a loop, smashing one in the chest and the other in the crotch. She backed away again. The first man, nose bleeding, started at her again. A gunshot rang out. A circle of people had stopped to watch the fight, but the shot sent them scrambling. Three men in grey naval uniforms sat mounted on camels. She recognized the young man with the smoking gun in his hand. "Harassing women in the street. That's one hundred lashes. Were they harassing you, Azima al-Himyari?" He put emphasis on her famous surname as if it would multiply the punishment. "It was a friendly sparring match, Bahere Kristos." "Good." Bahere Kristos signaled for the bullies to go, and they made their getaway without hesitation. Bahere Kristos had the elocution of a boy who'd spent his childhood in grammar school. He probably had. As the eldest son of Hamere Noh Dagna, his father had dynastic ambitions for him. "What brings you to Mogadishu? Are you buying oranges?" "My father sent me. To talk to your father." "Oh?" "We heard about the Battleship." "Oh. Yes. We'll find a comfortable place to talk. Come." he snapped. One of his companions dismounted and offered his camel to her, "We'll go back to the Grand Admiralty. I'm sure you'll enjoy giving your feet a rest." She obliged him and mounted. "When was the last time you visited Mogadishu?" he asked. "Several years ago I think. I mostly stay in the area near Hargeisa." "Beating up the boys, I imagine? Your skill in a fight is impressive." "Not much else to do in Hargeisa." He sniffed. "A Sparta, I know. I've visited. I don't expect anything classy in this country, outside of the city at least, but I can find pleasure in the rugged pursuits, like boating and what not. But I don't take pleasure in the amusements of the high deserts. It's all the sand I think. It’s coarse and rough and irritating, and gets everywhere..." "Why are you telling me all this?" she asked. He looked around them, down at the people walking past. "We'll be home any moment. Then we can talk." The further they went into the city, the tighter it got. Houses came closer and closer until they were stacked on one another. They were near the old city now, the area nearest the port, its commerce favoring the seedy pursuits of sailors. Crumbling walls and ancient mosques were crammed next to brothels and drug dens. But the harbor was split between commercial and naval use. The naval side held the breathtaking view of many cruisers and a handful of battleships moored nearby each other. Above the wharves and warehouses was a great big mansion raised up above the wharf, shaped like a giant letter C reaching out to hug a battleship. "Home again, finally." Bahere Kristos said. She knew that only the eastern wing housed the Bahr Negus, the west wing serving as offices for the Admiralty. It was in the Italian style, colonnades surrounding it, walls as white as the beaches beyond the harbor. She felt jealous. It was petty, she knew that, but she couldn't help it. Her father was frugal when it came to his personal life. He hardly had a personal life at all. The world she'd grown up in was one of Spartan trappings and military order. In front of her was the palace of a man that could be King and knew it. A man who's title had the word King in it. A beautiful German car, a black 1951 [i]Kuchenfahrt[/i] with golden trim, waited up front. They dismounted the camels, allowing them to be lead to nearby stables. "Follow me. We'll talk on the veranda. Maybe have some lunch. I'm sure you're starving, since those ruffians accosted you in the market before you could get your fruit." They went through rooms where every piece of furniture was more expensive than everything in Hassan's home combined. It was all imported from Europe and kept immaculate by a household of servants. It also looked hardly used. There was something of a showpiece to the whole thing. The veranda looked out at the Naval yard. A cool breeze blew off the jade-colored sea. Bahere Kristos leaned against the stone balustrade. "There she goes, the [i]ENS Yohannes IV[/i]. My father couldn't be here to see her off." She saw the ship, a massive battleship with a wooden deck but steel everything else. It bristled with guns, a floating fortress, terrifying and awesome to imagine in the heat of battle. An American flag flew from it as it went out to sea. "He couldn't bring himself to be here." Bahere Kristos added. "Surely he's not in love with the ship." Bahere Kristos stood up. "It's a stab in the back. Or perhaps the front." he turned to face her. All this times, his face and manner had been playful, but now he looked dead serious. "You and your father surely knows the state of things in Addis Ababa? Iyasu V honored his country and the brave men who fight for it. Sahle doesn't care. His court honors profiteers and politicians. My father can live with the loss of a ship, even a battleship. What he can't live with is losing it to a man like Desta Getachew." It was all there, put in her lap, everything her father wanted, but it left her feeling like Tantalus, seeing the fruit just out of reach, unsure how to pluck it. "I didn't know it was that bad. But we have never been close to the government in Addis." "I know your father feels usurped by us, governing the greatest city in Somalia instead of him, but there is no reason why Mogadishu and Somalia must be opposed to one another. Have you or your father reconsidered our proposal? That you marry me and we join the coasts of our country into the hands of one political family." "Did you bring me out her to get me out of my clothes." Bahere Kristos chuckled. "There are one hundred thousand women in this city, Azima al-Himyari. They all have the same thing under their dresses that you do, and I could get to most of them by asking. What you have that is precious isn't your skin. It's your birthright." "It's not your birthright though. The office of [i]Bahr Negus[/i] isn't hereditary." "Maybe not, but his ability to make the careers of his officers is. I'm Vice-Admiral, certainly the most qualified person to head the navy after my own father." "Politics doesn't always work that way. Suppose after your father dies the office is filled by one of the Emperor's creatures." "That's part of the problem." He looked out to sea. The Battleship was pointed toward the horizon, into the Indian ocean and away from Africa. "The Empire has fallen apart before because Emperors didn't know how to rule. We may be heading into another [i]Zemene Mesafint[/i]." The word conjured images of [i]shifta[/i] bands and thundering Oromo cavalry charges. It described Ethiopia's warring states period, lasting from the troubled 18th century Emperors until the restoration of a unified Ethiopia by Tewodros II in the 1850s. Could the Desta Getachew's of the Empire survive something like that? It'd be an era for men like her own father: warriors, not bankers. "If Ethiopia collapsed, we wouldn't be doomed to be enemies." She said, "You and I don't have to be married to make that true. We have goals in common. If it came to war, we would be natural allies." She didn't know if that was true or not, but it sounded right. Bahere Kristos lit up. "I think so too. So does my father. It is good to hear you say it. What does Emir Hassan think?" "He sent me here." Bahere Kristos smiled. Then he noticed something behind her. "Ah! Lunch is on!" The servants passed by them and put their plates on the table.