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GROWING SANCTUARY
MAGICAL MISCHIEF AT THE B&B, BOOK FOUR
SUSI HAWKE
Copyright © 2021 by Susi Hawke
All rights reserved.

Cover by Ana J Phoenix

Editing by MA Hinkle, LesCourt Author Services

Proofreading by Lori Parks, LesCourt Author Services
Formatting by Leslie Copeland, LesCourt Author Services

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical
means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission
from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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 CONTENTS

Growing Sanctuary

1. Darcy
2. Storm
3. Darcy
4. Storm
5. Darcy
6. Storm

About the Author

Also by Susi Hawke
 GROWING SANCTUARY

Sanctuary B & B—Our wards are strong and our door is

open!

Hey, y’all. It’s me, Darcy Valentine. I’m still enjoying a fabulous,
never-ending first date with my sexy vampire boyfriend Storm. Can
you believe we’re coming up on ten months? Yep, we go together
like toast and jam. He’s still helping me with the B&B I run inside the
warded walls of the quirky, ancestral castle I call home with the rest
of the special family my mama and I built with the motley group of
weirdos who live here with us.

Lordy, do I ever have a story to tell you. First off, I wanna caution
you to be wary if a friend shows up on your doorstep in the wee
hours… that goes double if they’re shirtless, bloody, and carrying a
newborn baby who’s not supposed to be alive. Watch out ‘cuz the
next thing you know, there’ll be a baby living in your house while
you try to find the li’l darlin’ a forever home. And if that happens,
keep your eyes peeled for the child’s blood kin… especially if they’re
vicious shifters with no home training.

First rule of fostering a baby—don’t get attached. Rule two, don’t

name the child, no matter how much you’re tempted. It’s okay to
refer to the munchkin as “the baby,” but nothing else because that’s
a fast track to breaking rule number one. Rule three, if you have a
pushy mama like I do, don’t be afraid to stand up for yourself. She
doesn’t get to choose when you become a parent! And if the Nana-
to-be gets in your head… try referring back to rule one.

This 22k novella is the fourth in the Magical Mischief at the B&B
series. This book does not contain mpreg, but it does have a
newborn who needs a family, shifters that need killing, and an alpha
wolf named Bubba. If you’re looking for serious literature, this isn't
it. But if you want to laugh so hard you’ll wake the neighbors, this
should get you there. There might be a few tears this time but it’s
mostly full of all the fluffy, happy feels you’d expect from a Susi
Hawke book. It could also be a choking hazard due to a ridiculous
amount of awful jokes, so maybe don’t eat or drink while reading,
okay?</?
 1

DARCY

After I flipped over again, punching my pillow into submission only

to sigh when it still wasn't perfect, I was ready to say fuck it and get
up for the day.
Blinking away the brain fog, I summoned the strength to lift my
head and squint at the alarm clock. Bright red numbers read 6:19
a.m.
Fuck, much too early. The sun wasn't even up yet, so why was I?
I dropped back onto my pillow with a groan, determined to give
counting backwards from a hundred another try. It'd never worked
for me in the past—I was too focused on getting the numbers right—
but maybe today was my lucky day.
It was worth a shot, at any rate.
Closing my eyes, I wiggled my cheek against the pillow and
willed my body to relax. I even remembered to focus on taking
steady breaths; I was in the zone.
For about five seconds or so, long enough to reach ninety-two
anyway. Before I could visualize ninety-one, a cool hand cupped my
butt cheek, immediately followed by my boyfriend's sleep-roughened
voice.
"Trouble sleeping, babe?"
Stiffening, I shrieked and basically jumped out of my skin. It's
possible I levitated for a second because I could swear I fell back
onto the mattress with a solid thump. Although the noise could have
been my heart slamming back into place after getting scared out of
my ribcage.
"Mother trucker, are you trying to kill me?" Sitting up, I clutched
my heaving chest, panting and gasping for air like I'd attempted to
run a three-minute mile.
While the sun wasn't up yet, faint pre-dawn light filtered through
the open drapes, enough to illuminate Stormy's outline, if not his
expression. I didn't need to see him to hear the humor in his voice,
the big jerk.
"I'm sorry, did I frighten you? My bad. Someone woke me while
taking his irritation out on a defenseless pillow, so I thought I'd be
polite."
I wanted to laugh, but I wasn't quite there yet, so I settled for
giving his shoulder a shove. "Pardon the puny human for freaking
out when a voice speaks from the darkness. If I had a human
boyfriend, I'd know he was awake by his breathing. Who knows
what you're doing over there without any respiratory noises to warn
a guy?"
"Would you prefer it if I snored? You have to admit, there's an
upside."
Grumbling under my breath, I shoved him again. He didn’t budge
either time. "The upside certainly isn't your cold hands, especially
grabbing my ass when I least expect it."
"Hey, now. I can't help it if my hands gravitate there, and I can't
recall hearing many complaints from you over the past—what’s it
been now for this first date of ours, about nine and half or ten
months?" As if he didn't know how long we'd been together,
probably right down to the hour. Storm wasn't known as Mr.
Romance for nothing. Also, he had a point.
"Fine. So I usually like you touching my butt. You caught me off
guard trying to salvage what was left of my night's sleep."
Storm hugged me, gently pulling me along as he lay back down.
"Maybe snuggling with me will help you sleep, cutie. Unless you
have something troubling you… was there a reason you couldn't rest
tonight?"
 "Not exactly… I'm not sure if I can put words to it. It's… I don't
know, more of a feeling, almost too ephemeral to explain."
"Ooh, intriguing. Please try to verbalize. You know I won't judge
you."
Since I was expecting it this time, his cool hand grabbing my
butt, then slowly rubbing a path up the middle of my back, was
comforting. Plus, my body heat was warming his palm.
Snuggling him closer, I nuzzled into the crook of his neck. "Okay.
Have you ever felt like something majorly life-changing is about to
happen? Like, life as you know it is about to change without any
planning or say-so from you?"
"Aha. You feel like fate is knocking on your door. I get it. When I
was heading to college, I got a letter in the mail announcing a
scholarship I'd been awarded. I hadn’t applied—it came from a
special program the alumni sponsored for English majors. The essay
on my application caught their eye, apparently. That scholarship
made a huge difference, enabling me to afford it through some hard
times. And the night before I got the notice, I had the strangest
feeling."
"Yes! Exactly. I've had this feeling twice before. Once on the day
I got my first job in high school. I hadn't even thought about
working yet, but then I went out for pizza with some friends, and
the owner offered me a part-time gig. It was my initial taste of
independence from Mama."
Stormy chuckled knowingly, pressing a kiss to the top of my
head. "Let me guess, the second was the same as mine—"
We spoke in stereo, finishing his thought. "Right before the supes
came out." We shared a laugh. After the fateful press conference,
our entire world changed so drastically.
During the big, mind-blowing reveal, a man shifted into a wolf, a
vampire showed his fangs with a smarmy smirk while levitating
several feet off the ground—sadly not a trick Stormy could do—and
a tiny fairy emerged from a flower, flying around the vamp in a
grand finale. Over the top, but completely effective.
Tickling Stormy’s ribs, I smiled into his neck as he squirmed. "So,
how's the whole supernatural thing working out for you?"
 "Not bad, actually. My mortality took a dip, but I came out the
other side all right, I'd say. Didn't get the T-shirt, but who needs a
consolation prize when I won the love of my life?"
"Such flattery. Wait, should I be more respectful now you're the
vampire king of Austin?" After our enemies ceded him this territory
four and a half months back, teasing him about it was practically a
requirement. At least, so Muriel said, and, as his sister, she would
know.
Snorting, Storm removed my fingers from his ribs by taking my
hand and pressing it to his chest, the sneaky jerk. "Funny you
should mention my title. I’ve been giving it some thought. While I'm
clearly not cut out to be a king, I’ve decided I can settle for
governor."
He said it in a horrible British accent, like guv'ner. I snickered,
trying to pull my hand free to smack him, but he held fast, having
seen the move coming before speaking.
"Gawd, Stormy. Your idea’s so awful I think I might actually want
it to stick and become a thing. But didn't Google tell us it was
archaic slang when we looked to see if it was an acceptable Scrabble
word?"
Shrugging, he kissed the top of my head again. "Maybe. It'll drive
Muriel nuts, considering it cost her the game. At the end of the day,
isn't making my sister crazy what really matters?"
"Still can't believe she tried using it to get a triple word score
from ‘quiver.’ Even if the word had been real, she's out of her mind
to think we'd let her mix British and American."
We were possibly too competitive, so we were currently taking a
break from game nights. After the Monopoly incident, my mama put
her foot down. All I can say is, for creatures who supposedly don't
care about money and claim to not even know the word capitalism,
the fae twins sure amassed an awful lot of hotels. And what
properties they didn't own by the end of the game went to Muriel.
As for me, I was the proud owner of the whole set of four railroads.
I'm still not entirely sure who threw the board, but we keep
finding red hotels in the most unlikely places.
 Stormy scooted down, rolling onto his side to put us nose to
nose, along with more interesting body parts. "We need to stop
talking, babe, or you'll never get any more shut-eye. Luckily, I know
the perfect trick."
The room was growing lighter. His eyes sparkled back at me. "Do
you now? Sounds promising. What exactly did you have in mind?"
Gasping as if delighted, he brightened. "Why, I'm so glad you
asked! Let me give you a hint… it's a form of exercise, sometimes
sweaty, always sticky, and it usually leaves you feeling boneless and
ready to rest. The smile it puts on your face goes without saying.”
Frowning thoughtfully, I looked off to the side. "A form of
exercise, you say? I'm sorry, but have you met me? If I’m running,
I'm obviously being chased by something I can't shoot. If I'm
jumping, there's probably a big spider or snake. If I’m boneless, I
clearly collapsed from too much exertion. And then I wouldn't be
sleepy so much as oxygen-deprived."
Storm waited until I was done rambling, his poker face fully
engaged. "Are you quite finished, or are you ready for my
suggestion?"
"Hmm." Pursing my lips, I made a show of giving it more
thought. "Oh, I know what I forgot to say, and this one's important.
If you ever see me smiling after exercise, you'll need to call an
ambulance because I'm having a stroke."
I leaned back, quite proud of myself.
Typical Stormy—he zigged when I expected him to zag. Instead
of laughing or teasing me back, he merely tilted his head to adjust
the angle and shut me up with a kiss.
A toe-curling, tooth-clacking, full-tongue passionate kiss, leaving
me shivering and covered with goosebumps. While holding my gaze,
Storm reached between us, gripping our dicks together with one
hand. His seductive tone made me whimper. "Now are you ready to
hear my idea?"
Hnngh. "I'm hanging on your every word."
The left corner of Storm’s mouth curved up. "All you need is an
orgasm, my love. As your guv'ner, administering the old rub and tug
to get you there would be my pleasure. Never let it be said I'm not a
giving guv'ner who puts the needs of my people first."
Laughter bubbled from my gut, full-body mirth leaving me
tearing up. "The old rub and tug? No. You are never allowed to say
those words again. Guv'ner either. You just killed it."
Storm released us, stretching backward to pump lotion into his
palm. When he took us in hand again, I jolted from the cold, creamy
sensation. The lotion warmed quickly from the friction, though.
Within a few seconds, I was thrusting into his fist, loving our
dicks rubbing against each other. Leaning in, I hungrily sought his
lips, desperate for another kiss. Stormy didn't let me down, returning
my passion with his velvety tongue.
My breath hitched as I pulled back, moaning his name, hugging
his head against my neck with one hand and clutching his back with
the other.
If I was hoping for the euphoria of his bite, I might've been
disappointed. I wasn't, though—I was simply lost in a flood of
emotions and sensation. I never felt more alive than in his arms or
more filled with joy. And love.
Loving and being loved by Storm made me so damned happy.
But the ball-tightening bolts of lightning shooting through my core
didn't hurt.
His hand moved faster, grip so tight it was all I could do to hold
on and chase the pleasure. I was already so close it was almost
embarrassing. He latched onto my neck and sucked hard, sending
me over the edge. I came hard, my body trembling and shaking. His
answering moan was my only clue before he followed.
His hand relaxed without completely letting go while he kissed
along my neck and jawline. As my brain came back online, I noticed
my pounding heart and how much I was still gasping.
"Storm… I fucking love you so much. Goddamnit, you were right.
Even when I'm not as actively involved, getting off is still a workout."
I paused long enough to yawn. "And I could definitely sleep now, I
think."
Chuckling softly, Storm rolled me onto my back. Kissing my brow,
he wiped me down with a handful of tissues. "We can shower later.
Rest now, babe."
"Not arguing. Cuddle me?" If I was whining, I'd never admit it.
"Of course. How else can I see you safely off to dreamland?"
True to his word, Storm curled around me, his embrace offering the
safety I needed to let go. Closing my eyes, I smiled as sleep pulled
me under.
For a matter of seconds.
I wasn’t sure how long we actually dozed, but the room wasn't
much brighter when the doorbell rang. The normally dignified chime
sounded discordant in the early morning hour.
Alarm spiked in my chest. I was out of bed, rushing to the
camera feed before I had a chance to say what I was thinking.
Fortunately, Storm had it covered.
"Who the fuck is ringing our bell at this time of day? It can't be
good."
"Probably someone seeking sanctua—" My voice trailed off as my
eyes adjusted. In a split second, my pulse went from concerned to
fully alarmed. "Shit, we need to get down there. It's Samuel. He’s
shirtless and clutching something to his chest."
When I turned around, Storm was already dressed in pajama
pants, slippers, and a tee, with a matching set laid out on the foot of
the bed. I grabbed them in relief, jerking the shirt over my head
while struggling into the pants.
For the record, this method doesn’t save time. If anything, it
added more when I fell on my ass with one arm through a sleeve
and both feet in the same pant leg.
Storm proved to be more coherent.
He went to the intercom, pushing the general use button so
everyone would hear and not stress themselves out—a common
reaction among the residents when our seldom-heard doorbell went
off. "We see you, Samuel. Be right there."
The moment I was decent, Stormy lifted me, pivoting toward the
door before I had the second slipper completely on my foot.
"Seriously, you don't always have to carry my ass. You could run
ahead and let me catch up, you know." Having a normal exchange
while inwardly freaking out was a relief.
 "I know, but where's the fun in that? Hang tight, babe." He
winked, hesitating long enough to let me get the door.
As Storm prepared to run, Mama and Muriel came out of their
room. “Not so fast, you two.” Mama's hands went straight to her
hips. “Wait for us. If Samuel's here alone, then something's
happened to Lance. You'll need me there.”
“Samuel isn’t wearing a shirt. Uptight Samuel. No shirt. I don't
know what's up, but I'm not leaving him in the cold while we wait
for our ancient-ass elevator. Y’all can meet us downstairs.” I
smacked Stormy on the shoulder. “Hurry, love. Get us out of here
before they start throwing stuff.”
Chuckling softly, Storm took off with a surge of vampiric speed.
We were gone so fast, I didn't get to hear what creative curse Muriel
came up with. Before I had a chance to decide if I regretted missing
out, Storm was already setting me down in front of the door.
As I turned the knob, a shiver went down my spine. There it was
again—the fateful feeling of a major change coming my way. I was
almost afraid to open up, but I had to know if Lance was okay.
Samuel rushed in the instant the door opened, protectively
hunched over whatever he was holding. "Hurry, you’ll want to close
that. It's frigid, and she's not even fifteen minutes old."
 2

STORM

Samuel looked around desperately, clutching the mewling bundle

close while he muttered under his breath. "Somewhere clean.
Definitely need to find a solid surface. More light. Yes, light would be
good. And water. Lots of water."
Frazzled, he started to squat right there in the foyer. Fortunately,
Darcy excelled at thinking on his feet. "Let’s move to another room.
Hmm… I’m thinking kitchen. I don't know what sort of creature
you've brought us, but we’ll find everything you mentioned in
abundance there."
Nodding quickly, Samuel was already in motion, his face lit with
relief. "Of course, the kitchen is the obvious answer. Can’t believe I
didn't think of it myself. Oh, and I haven’t brought a creature.
Although she has one in her, I suppose."
Using my other senses, I perked an ear while flaring my nostrils.
Blood and something organic I hadn't smelled before mixed with…
baby? Samuel had clearly said she. And she didn't smell completely
human. On my next inhale, I had my answer.
Shifter. A wolf shifter. Picking this scent from a human infant
shouldn’t have been possible, but I'd swear I was clearly catching
what could only be described as the essence of wet dog. Eau de
damp pooch?
She was breathing, but labored, as if something was wrong with
her. Such difficulty could be normal for a baby so newly born, but
Samuel's agitation told me I was right. Most infants had slightly
faster heart rates, if I remembered correctly, another sign she was
suffering.
Her scent was starting to change, taking on a saccharine note,
both sickly sweet and slightly sour and getting tangier by the
second.
This baby wasn't simply ill—she was dying. The idea of
something so small and new passing away immediately after
entering the world was… awful.
Death wasn't welcome here, not on my watch. Rushing around
everyone, I ran ahead to the kitchen, propping the door open behind
me. When Samuel and Darcy rushed into the room a few seconds
later, I had the light on and the table clear and disinfected, and I
was pulling a stack of clean cloths from a cabinet.
Samuel didn't hesitate to lay the bundle in the middle of the
table, muttering to himself time was of the essence. The child was
wrapped in a bloody sports coat, presumably Samuel's. When he
opened it wide, the scent of blood was beyond overwhelming, an
eye-watering, fang-dropping punch to my senses. Instead of hunger,
my chest filled with a desire to protect.
The baby was covered with gunk, a gory sight even for me. But
she was also tiny, incredibly so. Her fragility staggered me. I wanted
to simultaneously protect her and provide whatever she needed, but
also drop to my knees in despair because I surely wasn't worthy. Or
capable.
How could I possibly have anything to offer this precious
creature?
With her lying on the table, fully exposed to the room, Samuel
didn't seem to know how to proceed any more than I did. His hands
fluttered as he started to lift her, then thought better of it, hovering
his wriggling fingers over her as if waiting for direction.
Darcy snapped me out of my frozen stupor, elbowing me aside
while calmly taking charge in his matter-of-fact way. "What's going
on, Samuel? Why are you here with a fresh-from-the-oven baby,
covered in birth funk and barely breathing? I'll save the rest of the
questions for later, except this one—is Lance okay?"
 Like a light switch flipped on, Samuel startled, his fluttering
hands dropping to his sides. His mission wasn't forgotten, so much
as clarified because now he was able to state his case. Or attempt
to, in any case.
Taking a deep breath, Samuel spoke in a burst, sounding less
polished than I’d ever heard. "Lance isn’t here because he can't
officially be involved. The Fates said her life thread had yet to be
unspooled. Whether she survives is unclear because the future is
constantly fluctuating, but she can’t receive assistance from any god
or demigod. As a demigod’s mate, I’m in a different subcategory,
which leaves me immune from their laws."
Rolling his hand, Darcy gestured impatiently. "Let's circle back to
the technical details later. What does she need right now in this
moment? If her life is at risk, then I think treating her is more
imperative than understanding why it needs to happen. If you
brought her to our door because we can save her, I'm guessing she
needs either Storm's blood or fae magic."
Samuel seemed more himself with every passing second. "Yes,
thank you, Darcy. You’ve stated precisely why I brought her to your
door. She needs the kind of help nothing but Storm's blood can
give."
In an instant, I stood across from him, looking down at the baby.
"I can't tell what's wrong, aside from the smell of death surrounding
her. If my blood will cure her, let's do it."
A tied-up pouch lay next to her. I started to lift it to set aside,
only to put it back down when blood leaked out. Samuel flinched,
pulling it farther from the baby.
I didn't bother asking and simply picked the baby up instead,
cradling her in the crook of my arm like a football. Dropping my
fangs, I pricked my index finger to get the blood flowing, hesitating
long enough to ask Samuel the all-important question.
"Do you know how much I need to give her, Samuel? A few
drops? Let her suckle? Tell me what to do and it's done."
To his credit, the reserved academic merely blinked a couple
times. "Aha. You’ve hit upon the question, yes? Hmm, I believe
when Clotho said she didn't know how much string to unspool, it
was meant to be a hint. If only the babe had a vampire to suckle
from, she would know the child would live—or so she said."
"Gotcha." Without hesitation, I tickled the impossibly delicate
rosebud lips, encouraging them to open. As soon as they parted, I
slid my finger over her tongue, giving my healing blood an entrance.
Her mouth closed, and she began nursing, weakly at first until the
blood did its work. In a matter of moments really, she was
completely latched on and getting the help she needed.
Slowly, I lowered myself onto the bench seat, completely
transfixed as I studied the tiny face. I wasn't aware anyone else had
come into the room until her eyes opened and loud gasps sounded
around me.
Understandably so. The whites of her eyes were so yellow, they
were practically orange. Her pupils weren't dilated, so much as her
eyes were completely black, with a milky sheen—a sure sign of silver
poisoning in a shifter.
I didn't look away until her eyes closed again. Not only was her
gaze too compelling, but it seemed rude. When I finally glanced up,
Muriel and Prudence had caught up with us, as well as the fae
sisters. They stood in a semicircle behind Darcy, either peering over
his shoulder or craning their necks to see around, depending on
their height.
Darcy was the staunch protector at the end of the table in a
wide-legged stance with his hands on his hips. With Samuel
positioned across from me and a wall to my left, none of the ladies
could get through. I probably shouldn't have found the idea so
comforting, but I needed a moment. Everyone seemed to
understand, though, a miracle in itself.
She wasn't getting much blood. The hole wasn’t big enough to
allow more than a slow drip, so I patiently fed her until she'd had
her fill. When her jaw relaxed, her breathing and heart rate were
finally strong. More importantly, her scent had changed—no hint of
impending death remained any longer.
Carefully removing my finger, feeling like the king of the world, I
proudly looked to my family. "My job's done. Anyone interested in
cleaning a filthy baby?"
 Prudence and Muriel shoved around Darcy. Shaking his head with
a snort, he took a step to the right, his eyes on mine. "Do you think
your blood did it? Gave her a chance of survival?"
"Absolutely. Her scent has changed, and her heart is beating
strong." I paused long enough to pass the baby into Prudence's
hands. "I think when she opens her eyes again, we won't see a trace
of silver poisoning. But if we do, there's more of my blood where
that came from, right? I would gladly hold her while she feeds
again.”
Prudence gave orders while carrying her to the sink, Hope and
Muriel a step behind her. "One of you grab a scale and the tape
measure. We need to make note of her length and weight. Oh,
good, someone got out the wash rags. Hope, can you grab some of
the soap y'all make from the goat's milk? Should be gentle enough
on her skin, I'd say."
Scurrying around Prudence, Hope blocked the faucet. "Wait,
milady. The vernix is good for her skin. We need to rub it in and save
any excess."
Recoiling, Prudence took a step back, hugging the baby to her
chest. "I've heard of rubbing it in, but I draw the line at saving the
excess to use later. I'm sorry, hon, but the thought sounds nasty and
completely unhygienic."
Hope shrugged, apparently choosing her battles. "It's fine. We
don’t need to use it on her again. With your permission, I would like
to save what I can, though. The excess is useful for other things. It
contains the essence of birthing magic, and it's a wonderful binder
as well."
While I tried not to think too hard about why Hope wanted the
birth gunk, Faith quietly tapped Samuel on the shoulder. "Pardon
me, did you have plans for the placenta, or may I take it?"
Placenta? I wasn't sure what she meant. Then she reached for
the bloody bundle. Oh, yes. I'd forgotten about the mess. Wait.
Wasn't the placenta part of the… ew. She wanted the afterbirth?
Samuel took a step back, gesturing toward the bloody mess in
the center of the table. "Help yourself. It's wrapped in my shirt. I
only have it because I had to remove all evidence of the child. I
thought perhaps Darcy wouldn't mind if we threw it in the
incinerator."
No matter how sweet the infant, when considering handling the
afterbirth, it was difficult not to gag. When Faith scooped up the
entire bundle of funk, hugging it to her chest, I nearly lost the
battle.
She was already backing out of the room as she shook her head.
“Throw this in the incinerator? I would never do such a thing. There
is much life to be curated from this bounty. My thanks to both you
and the young one. My sister and I will make use of this priceless
gift.”
I felt marginally better when I noticed Darcy and Samuel's
equally disturbed expressions. I was aware of different cultural and
natural uses involving the placenta, but her reaction was slightly off-
putting. Not the reverence. But the wild look in her eyes…
Samuel summed it up for me with a simple shrug. "Fae. They're
so delightfully odd. I'm never quite certain what to think."
Eyes bugged out, Darcy glanced toward the now empty doorway,
shaking his head with a barely restrained shudder. "You and me
both, buddy. So… is this a good time to start asking questions? I
have so many."
"I'd be concerned if you didn't." Samuel pulled a chair out, finally
taking a seat. He sat there for a few moments, as if gathering
himself. Dropping his head, he braced his hands on his knees and
took a few deep breaths.
After grabbing them each a bottle of water and setting one in
front of Samuel, Darcy came around to sit on the bench beside me,
giving Samuel the time he needed. Samuel seemed much calmer
when he looked up again, reaching gratefully for the bottle of water.
Samuel guzzled so hard the cheap plastic crinkled loudly, draining
half the bottle before he set it aside. "I'm guessing you're curious
about why I showed up on your doorstep at such an early hour, half-
naked with a newborn, silver-poisoned, little white girl in my arms,
huh?" His deadpan delivery somehow lightened the serious situation,
making all three of us chuckle.
 Grinning, Darcy gestured toward Samuel's bare chest, spreading
his hand out to include the rest of the room, where the baby was
still being cleaned. "Yes. I'm definitely wondering. Let’s start there."
Samuel gazed down at his chest, oddly muscular for an academic
yet normalized by a small, soft belly pooch. A wide vee of tight
whorled curls in the center of his chest glistened, matted with blood.
His small, flat nipples were also surrounded by blood splatter. He
seemed like he’d just finished butchering something.
His current appearance would've been out of place on anyone,
but for Samuel to be bloody and shirtless like this was mind-
boggling. He finally looked back up, blinking a few times as he gave
his head a shake. "The absence of my shirt is no mystery. You saw
it. Faith has it now, along with its contents. Like I mentioned before,
I had to take the baby and everything connected to her birth. It was
the only way to protect her."
"Protect her from who, Samuel?" Darcy sat up straight, already
on alert and ready to battle if necessary. "Should we be expecting
unwanted guests? It's not a problem if something’s coming our way
—you know we can handle anything—but advance warning is always
helpful."
"Wolf shifters." Shivering, Samuel glanced toward the windows.
"Had they found her, they would've killed her instantly. They believe
termination is the kindest response to silver sickness. I didn't dare
leave anything they could use for tracking. Lance zapped the
mother's body away for a private burial while I came here."
Blame it on being an author, but curiosity made me interrupt.
"How were you able to travel without him? I thought Lance had to
be there, or does mating him give you gifts of your own?" Darcy
grumbled under his breath, not happy about the conversation going
off-track when he needed information.
"Aside from immortality with my true love? No, I didn't receive
any extra gifts." Winking, Samuel reached in his pocket for a copper
disc. "But Lance did give me this token. As long as I have it on my
person, I'm able to borrow his ability to transport. Which was a
rather helpful necessity, or I wouldn't have had a chance of arriving
here in time to save the baby."
 Seeing Samuel getting involved in the real world, rather than
burying his head in academia, was good. I wasn’t sure I’d thought
he could go above and beyond like this. He was a decent guy, just…
he wouldn’t have thought of it, before Lance.
As I nodded at the disc, my imagination went wild, thinking of all
the places he could’ve been. "Were you really far? Where did you
travel from? I mean, you could've been anywhere if you were
tapping into Lance's powers." When I asked yet another question
not involving the elephant in the room, Darcy grunted impatiently.
Samuel didn't seem to notice Darcy’s nervous tension. "New
Mexico. The mother went into labor on a bus about an hour outside
of Santa Fe. When they stopped to pick up additional passengers,
she got off the bus to use the restroom. The child was born in a
handicapped stall inside a Greyhound station, in a town whose name
I've already forgotten. And I haven’t told you the most tragic part of
the story."
Darcy's brows shot up. "No, I'm guessing the tragedy would be
the mother dying and silver poisoning nearly killing the baby. The
mom couldn't be saved too?"
"No, unfortunately not. Clotho was firm. Kelsey Springer's thread
had already been cut—Kelsey was the mother, in case I’m unclear."
Waving my hands in front of me, I shook my head. "I feel like
you're jumping into the middle of the story. How exactly did you and
Lance get involved with this child, Samuel?"
Samuel jerked back, doing a double take. "Oh, my. I did skip the
beginning, didn't I? Forgive me. Kelsey and her mate were star-
crossed lovers from warring families. A modern day shifter version of
Romeo and Juliet, if you will. Lance didn't know the history. He's
only recently been cleared to do paranormal pairings, and they were
his first couple. When he saw how they fit, he was so thrilled. My
sweet pooka never could’ve foreseen what followed. I'm sure you
can imagine how devastated he's been."
Darcy and I shared a look. Naturally, Darcy was the one to say it.
"Oh, crap. If their families were at war, and Lance got sad about it, I
bet things got really ugly if he stuck around long enough for his
emotions to fan the flames of their anger. I can't see that ending
well."
"Precisely." Samuel lowered his head again, puffing out his
cheeks as he released a deep breath. "Neither of us realized what
had been set in motion until we went to have dinner with the Fates
yesterday evening. They teased him about screwing the pooch with
his first paranormal coupling, and… the story came out. Clotho told
us the father had died, the mother would be dying, and the baby’s
future was unclear. It all hinged on her being found in time to be
safely delivered and then whether she could be given a cure.
Naturally, we thought of you immediately, but when we rose to
leave, they told Lance he wasn't allowed to get involved."
I found the concept particularly disgusting. "Why wasn't Lance
permitted to fix his own mistake? That hardly seems fair."
Samuel's spine stiffened, his instant reaction to protect Lance,
making the romantic in me quite happy. "Julian and Kelsey weren't a
mistake—they were personally matched by a Cupid. No, those poor
kids were victims of their own families."
"Forgive me, Samuel. I misspoke. I meant to ask why couldn't he
fix whatever went wrong? And when you say victims, you don't
mean their own families were responsible for—" I couldn't finish the
thought.
The tension was so thick around the table, even the cooing baby
in the background wasn't helping. Sighing heavily, Samuel blinked
away the wetness in his eyes. "Each family hired an assassin to kill
their child's mate, not really caring whether or not their own
survived. They felt it was more important for them to be punished
for who they loved."
Was it bad I wanted to take notes? Definitely. Seriously, though,
this was like a book or movie plot, and I was there for it—as long as
the bad guys ate a bag of dicks. The couple's families committing
something so vile was unimaginable. And yet… Samuel and the baby
were proof they had indeed done it.
Ahem. Faking a cough, Darcy cleared his throat. "And both
parents perished? What happens to the baby now, Samuel? Was
Lance not allowed to be involved in saving her life?"
 "He can't help at all. Lance is pleading his case with corporate as
we speak. But the rules are clear. There is a zero-tolerance policy for
interference in the lives of people he brought together. I double-
checked it myself before we embarked on our rescue mission. He's
only allowed to bring people together and maybe peek in on them
over the years. Sprinkle some happiness on anniversaries, that sort
of thing."
Horrified, Darcy sucked in a breath. "Do I dare ask what would
happen if he did?"
"He would be suspended for a century, sequestered in a room on
Cupid's estate and not allowed any outside contact. Including mine."
Samuel reached for his water with a trembling hand. "I wouldn't fare
well with being apart for a hundred years, but it would be untenable
for Lance. He spent too long alone—he wouldn't survive it now. He
still might've tried saving the couple anyway, but like I said, we
didn't find out until it was too late."
Darcy whimpered, his big heart making itself known. Needing his
touch as much as I wanted to comfort, I put my arm around his
shoulders. I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I reiterated
Darcy's unanswered question. "What happens to the baby now,
Samuel?"
Setting his water down, Samuel straightened and looked me in
the eye. "I'm hoping Darcy will give her sanctuary, and you will
provide her with your protection. Not as a vampire, but as the King
of Austin."
If I were still human, I'd be blushing. "Darcy is the one you need
to ask. I think we know I'm not really a king."
Samuel's eyes twinkled as he wagged his finger. "Unh-unh. You
are mistaken, Your Highness. Or whatever royal descriptor you care
to use. Have you really no knowledge of paranormal laws? The
contract signed ceding Austin to you is a magical document. Like it
or not, you are a paranormal leader of the city. While you technically
only have rule over any vampires within your territory, offering
protection to any supernatural creature in need is within your
rights."
 My brain spun out in so many directions. Thankfully, Darcy took
over. "Fascinating, Samuel. Are there other paranormal leaders here
in Austin we should be aware of? Or is territory usually statewide,
and this is a unique situation pertaining to Storm and no one else?"
"It depends on the supe in question, to be honest. When I get
home, I'll email you the laws securing Storm's territorial rights.
Before the war, it was all based on tradition. After the armistice was
signed and enforceable laws had to be written, everything was put in
black and white. Which means Storm is the indisputable leader."
Darcy mumbled something under his breath but maintained a
smile while gently nudging Samuel back on track. "I appreciate the
reassurance, thank you. And for the record, Storm prefers to be
known as guv'ner." When I poked him, Darcy grinned but kept his
focus on Samuel. "Sorry to be a nag, but I didn't catch your answer
about Austin city leaders."
Humming thoughtfully, Samuel glanced up at the ceiling before
shrugging. "Aside from the shifters, I can't think of anyone else."
"For the love of…" Darcy muttered, then smiled and tried again.
"Yes, the shifters. Now we're getting somewhere. I know most of
this is obvious to you, Samuel, but Storm and I really don't know
beans about the supernatural world. I feel like it might be bad
protocol, should Storm neglect to acknowledge something or who
knows what-all involving another local leader simply because we
don't know better. Hell, Storm doesn't know everything about being
a vampire."
Samuel winced with a rueful smile. "A thousand pardons. I forget
everybody isn't as fascinated with the minutiae as I am. I'll send you
a list of protocols and things to keep in mind going forward. There
are three shifter communities here in Austin. Shifters need a lot of
space for their own packs, so you'll only find one per territory of
each type. Meaning you might have a bear den and a wolf pack in
the same territory, but no more than one of each. Any bears coming
to town would either have to join the local den or keep moving."
I actually knew some of those facts, but hadn't wanted to
interrupt. "Gotcha. I’m aware there's a wolf pack here in the city,
and I believe there are feline shifters of some sort. What else do we
have—bears?"
"Exactly, a good-sized den, in fact. There's also a mixed pride of
cats—they aren't as picky as the wolves. As long as you are feline,
you're welcome to join the pride. The wolf pack here is less
traditional than Kelsey’s or Julian's. They might be able to help you
find an adoptive family for the baby."
Wait. What? "I'm sorry, what do you mean? Will you and Lance
not be involved at all? Surely, he can't get in trouble now. He's not
helping the parents, so it shouldn't involve his job, don’t you think?"
"I said the exact same thing." Lance spoke from the doorway,
startling us. Giving Samuel a once-over, Lance frowned, pursing his
lips. "We need to get you cleaned up. How's the baby? Wait, I might
not be allowed to ask. So stupid."
He stood behind Samuel, massaging his mate's shoulders while
seeming like he really needed one of his own. Samuel tilted his head
back, his eyes filled with concern. "Your meeting didn't take long.
I'm guessing it didn't go well?"
Lance appeared ready to cry. "No, they said I have to stay
completely out of it. And they aren't happy with the loophole we
used so you could help, though they can’t do anything, so there's a
bright side."
I was surprised the corporate offices were so cold when the
whole Cupid thing was supposed to be about love. "I don't
understand, Lance. Why wouldn't they want you to aid an innocent
baby?"
"Because they're afraid the families will eventually come looking
for her, which they probably will because wolves are nothing if not
tenacious, and my family cannot be linked to these events.
Remember, supernatural creatures came out to the world—not the
ancient gods and demigods. We're still nothing but myth and legend
to most people. I'm allowed a few friends like you guys, but no
more. And if you ever went public, your memory would be wiped of
my existence."
"So keep our mouths shut, got it." Darcy nodded, miming zipping
his lips and tossing the key. Lance didn't get it, but he giggled
anyway. Darcy and I shared a long stare before nodding at each
other. I guess we were going to do this.
"I'm pretty new to this whole territory leader thing, so you'll have
to forgive me for not having a flowery speech prepared. Yes, I will
protect the baby."
Darcy wasn't about to be left out. "And I will guarantee her
sanctuary within these walls for as long as she needs it. So… any
suggestions on what we do with her?"
Smiling now, Samuel's relief was palpable. "Thank you. I knew
you guys would come through for her. She'll need to be fostered
until an adoptive family can be found. I would start with the local
wolf pack. They would know a shifter baby's needs and are probably
your best bet at getting her adopted."
Face lit like a kid on Christmas morning, Lance clapped his hands.
"I brought stuff! It's out in the foyer. You'll have to go see. If it's not
enough, let me know, and I'll bring more. Shopping for babies is fun
—did you know?"
"You boys ’bout done fleshing everything out? There's a little
princess I'd like y'all to feast your eyes on." Prudence came over, the
baby firmly cradled in her arms.
We were on our feet in an instant, surrounding her to smile and
coo over the precious mite. While Darcy bent to kiss the top of her
head, I shot my sister a puzzled frown. "Where did you get the pink
blanket?"
"Seriously, bro?" Rolling her eyes, Muriel's look told me I was an
idiot. "Hope is the perfect fairy godmother, literally. She magicked up
a diaper, an outfit, and a soft blanket. Now we need to figure out
food because Hope can't magic a bottle. You know, because plastic?
Anything involving natural fibers, though, the fae are on it."
Lance started bouncing again. "Come to the foyer. There are
bottles. A cradle too. All the stuffs."
Catching my hand, Darcy pulled me toward the door. "Let's go
see what he brought, then make a list for anything else we might
need. Can you get the cradle set up in our room?"
"Your room? Sorry, honey. Mama needs to pull rank. I've actually
tended to babies." Prudence hugged the child protectively to her
Another random document with
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 Madidu Elaui Agola Badjehun Karikari
(present Chief) (dead) (dead)

Assalm El Musa Mursa Djamarata Imuhadjil 1 son (?)

i Mekki

ALIMSAR

Durrata Azuhur Fihirun 3 other sons (?)

(dead)

Aneirum. 2 other 2 sons 1 son

sons (?) (?)

Here too is a list of the tribes making up the Awellimiden

Confederation, with the names of their present chiefs.

THE NOBLE OR IHAGGAREN TRIBES.

Kel Kumeden—Chief Madidu.
Kel Ahara—Chief El Yasan.
Kel Tedjiuane—Chief Arreian.
Iderragagen.
Tarkaitamut.
Tahabanat.
Ibehauen—Chief Sar’adu.
Ifoghas—Chief Waruziga.
Ihegaren—Chief El Auedech.
Kel Tekeniuen—Chief Burhan.
Kel Takabut—Chief Aluania.
Teradabeben—Chief Sidauat.
Tenguereguedeche—Chief Warigoru.
Tademeket—Chief Yunès.
Idalbabu—Chief Ihuar.
Ahianallan.

SERFS OR IMRADS.
Kel Gossi—Chief Ur illies. Tar’ahil—Chief Ekerech.
Irreganaten—Chief Ur orda. Ikairiraen—Chief Ezemek.
Iueraruarar’en—Chief Mahamud. Erkaten—Chief Elanusi.
Imideddar’en—Chief Huberzan. Ikawellaten—Chief Ibunafan.
Ibongitan—Chief Allabi. Ihaiauen—Chief Abba.
 Tafagagat—Chief Karrabau. Kel R’ezafan—Chief Amachecha.

To these tribes making up the actual Confederation must be

added the following, who were brought into it by force, and have long
since submitted with a good grace to be under the protection of the
Awellimiden:
Wadalen—Chief Niugi. Eratafan—Chief Yoba.
Cheibatan—Chief Rafiek. Ibendasan.
Logomaten—Chief Bokar Wandieïdu. Ahiananurde—Chief Amadida.
Tabotan—Chief Muley.

Subject to each of these last-named tribes are imrads, but I only

know the name of one of their tribes, that of the Ekono, vassals of
the Wadalen.
In addition to their predatory excursions the Tuaregs on the right
and left bank of the Niger make two annual migrations, the time of
which is generally the same.
During the dry season, from December to May, the higher districts
are sterile and dry, the ponds and wells empty of water. Then the
Tuaregs move down to the river-banks and their flocks and herds
graze on the coarse weeds which line them. To avoid the sickness
amongst the camels which results from eating damp food, and to
which I alluded in speaking of Timbuktu, they generally leave them a
little further inland. It is at this time that the negroes pay their tribute
of maize and tobacco, and it is also during this same season that
warlike expeditions are generally undertaken.
For the rest of the year the rain pours down in torrents in the
riverside districts, and although its fall is not so constant or so heavy
in the higher lands, they too are fertilized by the filling up of the
ponds and the wells, many of which even overflow.
Then the nomad tribes go back again to their old haunts, and
settle down for the winter in their camps about the wâdies,
resembling those of Algeria, which begin near Gao.
These wâdies are such very characteristic features of Central
Africa, that a description of one of them may be useful. The word
wâdy means the channel of a watercourse which is dry except in the
rainy season, but there is water in the upper portion of that of Gao in
every season. Its source is far away in the north, and it seems to be
identical with the Igharghar of the south, alluded to by Duveyrier, the
Astapus of the ancients, which comes down from the Atakor or
Ahaggar.
This would confirm Barth’s suggestion, that the marshy
depressions which debouch on the Ngiti Sokoto do not extend
beyond the district of Air.
My own opinion is that the Gao Wâdy, before it became choked
up with sand, was a tributary of the Niger when the course of that
river was far more rapid than it is now.
An examination of its banks does in fact lead to the conclusion,
that nearly if not quite all along them a line of cliffs, eroded by the
action of water, marks what was once the bed of part of the old
Niger. In their annual migration the Awellimiden go up as far as the
districts near Air, where they come in contact with their enemies the
Kel Gheres. Probably competition for the ownership of the
pasturages yielding food in the dry season, was the original cause of
the feud between the two races, which dates from centuries ago.
The tribes from the left bank of the Niger also move into the kind
of islet formed by the bend of the river, advancing to near Dori,
where they find a series of ponds and lakes known as Oursi Beli,
etc., an idea of which I have tried to give in the map accompanying
this volume, but I do not know how far I have succeeded.
There are many very curious and interesting hydrographical
problems connected with this bend of the Niger reserved for the
future explorer to solve.
Well, what do my readers think of the Tuaregs after the picture I
have endeavoured to give of them? I certainly have not represented
them as saints, living in a kind of Utopia, where all is well, where the
men have no vices and the women no faults.
You will perhaps, however, agree with me that they have very
decided characters, and many fine qualities, if also many defects.
Their intelligence is certainly great, making it well worth while to try
and win them to a better mode of life, and one more conducive to the
comfort of their neighbours.
I do not of course fail to recognize what hard work it is to row
against the current or to contend against pre-conceived ideas. It is
always difficult, and sometimes dangerous.
In 1859 a young Frenchman, not more than twenty years old at
the most, disembarked at Constantine. He spent three years
travelling about the Algerian Sahara, and under the powerful
protection of the Emir Ikhenukhen, chief of the Azguers, he lived for
more than a year amongst the Tuaregs.
After his return an expedition was sent out by the Governor of
Algeria, and the treaty of Rhadamès was signed.
Then, in accordance with the traditional French policy in matters
colonial, instead of profiting by the results already acquired,
absolutely nothing further was done. Duveyrier described the
Tuaregs as he had found them, just as I have tried to do; he spoke
quite frankly of their faults as well as of their virtues, and insisted on
the possibility of treating with them on favourable terms. He might
well do so, for he had already succeeded in that direction himself.
When twenty years later Flatters was assassinated, Duveyrier
was accused of mendacious optimism, and every one was ready to
cast a stone at him.
As a matter of fact, however, Flatters was killed by the Hoggars,
and Duveyrier had mentioned that they were living in a state of
anarchy, which seemed likely to get worse and worse rather than to
improve. Flatters insisted on going through their territory, although
the Amrar had told him he could not protect him. Now Duveyrier had
made a special point of never going into any district without first
securing an efficacious safe-conduct, yet in spite of all this he is
made responsible for the disaster.
A fitting epilogue ensued, for Duveyrier, disquieted at the
accusations brought against him, weakened by fever contracted in
his journey, and cut to the heart by the ingratitude of his fellow-
countrymen, committed suicide by shooting himself with his revolver,
in the hope perchance of finding the justice denied him here in
another world, if there be indeed such a thing as justice anywhere.
The English would have made him
a peer, and put up statues in his
honour; the ignorance of the French, I
will not use a harsher word, drove him
to commit suicide.
The example is certainly not
encouraging to us later explorers.
I should have been more likely to
win applause if I had pictured the
TUAREGS.
Tuaregs as irreclaimable savages,
relating a thousand entanglements
with them, such as imaginary conflicts with their armed bands, where
my own presence of mind and the courage of my party saved the
expedition from massacre.
I have preferred in the interests of my country to tell the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Even as I write these words, I hear of the death of two young
officers and their men, who were killed near Timbuktu in a fight with
a Hoggar razzi. The Hoggars again!
This does but confirm what I insisted on when I was at Timbuktu,
that we shall never succeed in getting en rapport with the nomad
tribes except with the aid of those tribes themselves.
We must first subjugate certain tribes, and then form from
amongst them auxiliary levies, or, as the natives call them, maghzen,
which will aid us, at a minimum cost to ourselves, to establish French
influence over the Tuaregs.
Amongst the tribes who would best lend themselves to this
purpose, I place the Awellimiden in the very first rank, and they are
the hereditary enemies of the Hoggars. Or perhaps I should rather
have said, if we wish to bring about a complete pacification of the
country, and at the same time win the friendship of the Awellimiden
chief, we ought to strengthen his hands.
 With this idea in my mind I make the following suggestions. We
should arm the Awellimiden with a hundred or a couple of hundreds
of percussion rifles, with very large nipples, which would only admit
of the use of special caps turned out in French manufactories.
With one hundred such guns the Awellimiden would be invincible,
and could soon butcher all their enemies, whether Kel Gheres or
Hoggars.
The absolute necessity of having French percussion caps would
place them entirely in our hands, and by doling out the ammunition
needed little by little, we should force them to submit to and serve
us. We should, moreover, have it in our power to break up their
strength directly they showed any reluctance to fall in with our
wishes.
In return for a service such as this supply of fire-arms, the
Amenokal would protect our traders; he has already in fact promised
to do so, not only by word of mouth but in writing.
These traders must, however, act with prudence and
circumspection. I am quite convinced that I and my companions
might fearlessly return to the Awellimiden because they know us
now. I have suggested to our Government that we should return, but
I have not been more successful in that direction than I have in
getting the rifles I asked for.
Strangers must not attempt with a light heart to penetrate into the
Tuareg districts, without having secured the formal protection of the
chief.
What would you have? When a Grand Duke announces his
intention of visiting the wine-shops of the outlying boulevards, don’t
we always take care to send an habitué of those boulevards with him
to look after him? A Jaume or a Rossignol[8] is always in attendance.
And if a protector is useful in Paris, can we not well understand that
one would be indispensable in the Sahara?
When Madidu has once said to a traveller “Yes, come,” or “You
can go,” I am convinced that no danger would be run in the districts
subject to him.
 With the Awellimiden on our side we could conquer the Sahara,
and the Tuaregs would help us to push on towards Lake Tchad, Air,
Tunis and Algeria. He would find it to his own advantage to do so,
and the conditions of his existence would be manifestly ameliorated.
Do you imagine that these Tuaregs are stupid enough to miss a
chance of getting stuffs for clothes, coverlids, glass beads, and all
the things they covet? If the men were sufficiently blind to their own
interests, I’ll warrant you their wives would not be.
The Tuareg race will be tamed at last, their faults, all the result of
the fierce struggle for existence, will disappear, and modern
civilization will have conquered a new district in Africa!
One afterthought does, however, occur to me. Will the change be
a good thing for the Tuaregs themselves?
When I think of their wandering life, free from all restraint, when I
remember their courage, which to them is the highest of virtues,
when I consider how truly equal all those worthy of equality are, I ask
myself whether after all they are not happier than we Europeans?
Their life is a hard one, and their habits are frugal, but has not
custom made this life natural to them, and are they really sensible of
its privations?
Good fortune with them is the reward of the brave who know how
to win the victory, and it is in razzis that the victory is gained. To spoil
the vanquished is also to wash out the stain of an hereditary injury,
for the vendetta is not confined to Italy, but often makes friendship
impossible between certain tribes in Africa. The goods of him who
perishes by the sword are the property of the wielder of that sword,
and the death of the vanquished avenges some pillaged or
massacred ancestor, as well as enriches the conqueror.
A rough rendering is given below of the Song of R’Otman, quoted
by Duveyrier, who justly calls it the Tuareg Marseillaise, which is
chanted in defiance of the Chambas by the Azgueurs, who are their
hereditary enemies.
 Death to thy mother! Ma’atalla the devil is in thee!
Call’st thou the Tuaregs traitors, the men of the plain?
Ha! but they know how to travel, to fight in the battle,
Sally at morn and return in the evening again!
Aye, and they know how to fall on the enemy sleeping—
Sleeping at ease in the tent with his flocks at his side,
Lapped in his fine woollen garments, his curtains and carpets
Spreading full length in the shade of the canopy wide.
What though with milk newly-drawn from the udders of camels,
What though with meat and with butter his paunch he has filled,
Straight as a nail to the ground pins the lance of the victor,
Out with a shriek and a yell flies the soul of the killed!
Sunk in despair lies the heart-broken wife of the victim,
Scattered and vanished their goods like as water o’erspilled!

Wild manners truly do these lines describe, but they also express
proud and heroic sentiments. What will the Tuaregs gain by their
transformation into civilized people?
In a few centuries, where the tents of the Amezzar are pitched
there will be permanent towns. The descendants of the Ihaggaren of
the present day will be citizens. There will be nothing about them to
remind their contemporaries of the wild knights of the desert.
No more will they go to war; no more will they lead razzis to
ravage the camps of their neighbours, for they will have given up
pillage altogether; but perhaps in a bank, which will take the place of
the tent of their Amenokal, they will try to float rotten companies, and
mines which exist nowhere but in the imagination of their chiefs.
What will they be then? Not pillagers but thieves!
Truth to tell, I think I prefer my marauders, who fall on their prey
like the lion Ahar!
AN AFRICAN CAMEL.
AN ISOLATED TREE AT FAFA.
 CHAPTER VI

FROM FAFA TO SAY

Our dread of the passage of the river at Fafa may have seemed
almost childish, and we have since had experience of many another
like it, but for a first attempt it must be admitted it was rather a
teaser.
Narrow and much encumbered, made more difficult by a violent
current, such is the pass of Fafa.
We took as guide the son of the chief of the village, who was later
to pay us a visit at Say. Thanks to him and with the help of his men
we crossed the first rapids without too much difficulty; but, alas! the
rope which was used to transmit to the rudder the movements of the
helm broke just as we emerged from them. Had this happened thirty
seconds sooner the Davoust could not have answered to her helm,
and would have been flung upon the rocks. The damage repaired,
we steered once more into the current, wending our way cautiously
amongst the numerous islands, skirting the course of the reef, our
good star bringing us safely into a quiet reach extending as far as
Wataguna, where we again came to flints lining the bed of the
stream.
In the evening we reached Karu, the Aube having struck once by
the way, but without sustaining much damage; still all these shocks
did not add to her waterproof qualities, and as she shipped more and
more water our anxiety and fatigue became greater and greater. We
had constantly to empty the hold, which did not conduce to the
repose of the passengers, who were often woke up by the noise we
made with our buckets.
 FAFA.

Karu is a pretty little village with thatched huts, amongst which

were many of the barns of a bee-hive shape used for storing millet
alluded to by Barth. We had noticed a good number during the last
few days. The inhabitants of this village are Rimaïbes or serfs of the
Fulahs and Bellates or slaves of the Tuaregs.
The chief of the latter told us how glad he was to see some white
men before he died. He added that he would like to give us some
sheep, but he understood that we never ate anything except the
flesh of black animals, and he had none of that colour.
I said that the colour of the wool did not trouble us at all; all we
cared for was the quality of the flesh, and he went and fetched us a
fine ram. It was the marabouts, who, to add to the probability of their
report that we were sorcerers, had made this assertion about black
animals. There is a custom in the Sudan that animals given as
presents should be as white as possible, as a sign of peace between
donor and receiver. We were now told that Bokar Wandieïdu, chief of
the Logomaten, had assembled a column of troops and was about to
attack us.
 At Karu the mountains were
pointed out to us which line the
famous rapid of Labezenga, which we
expected to reach the next day. A
guide was given to us who was said to
be wonderfully clever, but we saw no
particular sign of his intelligence.
It was on March 14 that we first
saw the terrible Labezenga rapid, and
KARU WITH MILLET I am very sure that we shall none of
GRANARIES. us ever forget it.
Our guide began the day by
performing a number of mummeries, the aim of which appears to
have been to make various evil genii propitious to us. From a leather
bag he took out a lot of flat and shaly flints which had been picked up
in the rapid. He wrapped each one of these flints in a separate piece
of cloth, spat upon them, and arranged them here and there all over
the boat.
The current rapidly swept us into a part of the river pretty free
from obstruction, and every now and then I tried to distract our
guide’s attention from his spells and to get him to give me a little
information, but he merely replied without looking at me that there
was no danger, and that he would stop us at the right time.
 THE LABEZENGA RAPIDS.

Often from behind some little jutting out point which intercepted
our view I heard a peculiar noise, a sort of dull but vague roar. The
rate of the current too increased rapidly, and we rushed along at a
rate of five miles an hour at the least. We listened eagerly, but all of a
sudden we saw that the stream was barred from side to side, a
distance of something like a thousand yards, by a positive wall of
rocks against which the water was dashing up in foam.
Our idiot of a guide looked up at last and saw the danger. He
motioned to us to steer for the bank, but rushing along as we were
with the tremendous current, to attempt to do so would have been
merely to drift helplessly on to the line of rocks, so we continued to
dash on with a speed which almost made me giddy, and presently, to
my intense relief, I saw a place on the right where there was less
foam. Yes, it was the pass, it was the gate of safety, we must make
for it, but was there any hope of our reaching it?
Our coolies bent to their oars and rowed so hard that they were in
danger of breaking them, whilst the sweat poured down their shining
black skins. I had just time to hoist the signal “Do as we do!” which
most fortunately Baudry and the captain of the Dantec understood.
They were just behind us. Now up with the oars and trust to our luck!
The speed increases yet more, the stream sweeps the boat towards
the pass, where it flings itself into the lower reach: we feel ourselves
falling, we shudder, we realize the fatal attraction drawing us in the
direction of the whirlpool; then like an arrow we shoot safely through
the opening. All is well with us at least. Our next anxiety is for our
comrades; we look behind, and a cry of terror bursts from our lips.
The Dantec, which is the next to attempt the pass, has stopped
suddenly; her mast is swept asunder, and has been flung across the
bow by the violence of the shock. All the men were thrown at the
same moment to the bottom of the boat, for the unlucky barge, which
had tried to pass about three feet on one side of the place where we
had got safely through, had struck against a rock which was hidden
by the whirling foam. She received a tremendous blow, but
fortunately did not sink.
But where was the Aube? That was our care now. She was
approaching rapidly, borne on by the current, but the whole pass was
blocked before her. She would crash into the Dantec, and both
vessels must inevitably be wrecked.
But no! Clouds of spray dash up over bow and stern alike; Baudry
has flung out the anchor and the grappling-iron: oh that they may
grip properly!
Thank God! They have. The Aube stops short some three
hundred yards at least from the Dantec at the brink of the rapid.
But what in the world is up now? The Aube is tilted at an angle of
some 45 degrees! The force of the current is such that it has taken
her in the rear and forced her into this extraordinary position, whilst
the grappling-chains and those of the anchor are strained to the
uttermost, producing the terrifying result described.
I now moored the Davoust to the bank, for we must try to save our
other boats.
 With regard to the Dantec it was a simple affair enough, for she is
a wonderful little craft, answering readily to the helm, and so buoyant
that we got off with no worse damage than the bursting asunder of a
couple of planks of her bottom. I sent Digui to help the men on board
of her, and she got safely through.
The rescue of the Aube was a more difficult matter, especially as
her rudder had got broken in the struggle. The anchor was raised all
right, but when it came to the grappling-iron we could not make it
budge; it had probably got jammed between two rocks, and all our
efforts to move it were in vain, indeed they only seemed to fix it more
firmly.
Driven on by the wind and whirled round by the strong eddies of
the current, the unfortunate barge began to describe semicircles
round her own grappling-iron. Of course when we once cut the chain
there would be no time to steer her, and we must therefore manage
to divide it exactly at the moment when she was opposite to the
opening she had to pass through. One second too soon or too late
and she would be lost.
I had climbed to the top of a little ridge, and with fast beating heart
I watched Baudry making his dispositions for the manœuvre he had
to attempt. A Tuareg chose this moment of awful suspense to tap me
on the shoulder and greet me with the formal salutation, Salam
radicum mahindia, and you can imagine how much notice I took of
him.
Without being at all put out by my silence, however, he went on—
“I see that you are in trouble. I have watched all that has been
going on from my camp behind the hills, and ever since early
morning I have felt sure that you were all lost. But God has saved
you and your people. I have forbidden my tribe to come and bother
you, for you know that we always beg of every one. Well, I am going
now, but if you have need of us, Tuaregs and negroes alike are
ready to help you, you have only to send me a messenger. Our
Amenokal has ordered us to meet your wishes.”
 As he finished his speech, I saw Digui deal a great blow to the
chain of the grappling-iron. The Aube fell into the rapid, but she
could not avoid the rock on which the Dantec had struck already.
She strikes, and the whole of her starboard side is completely
immersed. Is she staved in? No, her speed is such that she rushes
on as if nothing had happened. She is saved. A moment later she is
moored beside the Davoust.
“Not so much as a hole in her, Baudry!” I cried.
“No, I don’t think there is,” he replied, “but we had a narrow
escape.” We overhauled her, and there was not a leak anywhere. In
fact, Baudry declared that her planks were really more watertight
than ever.
Then my Tuareg, who had not gone away after all, but whom I
had completely forgotten, spoke to me again: “Enhi!” he said, which
means simply “look!” but his great wild black eyes shone with
pleasure from out of his veil as if some piece of good luck had
happened to himself.
Now are these Tuaregs brutes? are they men who can only be
swayed by interested motives? What nonsense to say they are!
Where did the interested motives come in here? Would it not have
been better for him if our boats had all been sucked down in the
rapids? We ourselves and all our goods would then have been his
lawful prey.
May Providence only grant that I never find any of my fellow-
countrymen worse than the Tuaregs.
You may be sure the brave fellow got his parcel of goods and
many other things as well. With his long swinging step he went off to
his people again, shouting to us by way of adieu, “Ikfak iallah el
Kheir” (“may God give thee all good things!”)
This was, however, but the first of the Labezenga rapids, and that
the easiest. We had scarcely gone a hundred yards further when we
came to a regular cataract some two feet high, barring our passage.
On one side rose lofty heights, on the left the stream was broken into
several arms by islands. In fact, there did not seem to be any
opening on either side, and we were all but in despair of getting
through this time.
Baudry spent the whole afternoon with our guide from Karu,
seeking a practicable pass, but everywhere the scene before him
was most forbidding, one cataract succeeding another and
alternating with boiling whirlpools, whilst the current rushed on at a
rate of seven or eight miles at the least. The river simply seems to
writhe in its course, and here and there it dashes backwards and
forwards from one side to the other of its bed as if in a state of
frenzy. There must be a difference of something like seven feet in the
height of the water.
The least impracticable place seemed to be on the left of our
anchorage between two islands, but I never should have believed
that any boat could pass through even that. We had, however, to
make the venture, and any delay would only render it more difficult,
for the water was falling rapidly.
On the morning of Sunday the 15th
Father Hacquart celebrated mass and
we then prepared for the passage.
The crew of our two big barges was
not strong enough to navigate both at
once, so we decided to send each
vessel separately past the dangerous
THE ‘AUBE’ IN THE RAPIDS. spots, supplementing one crew from
the other, and later we always
adopted this plan, which worked well on emergencies.
Digui was the only one of our captains who could manage such
tours de force, for really there is no other word for the work he had to
perform. Idris, the quarter-master of the Aube, rather loses his head
amongst the rapids, and is absolutely no good as a leader. Of course
all that can be done is to give a general indication of the course to be
pursued, and when the manœuvre has once begun everything must
be left to the intelligence of the pilot, and Digui alone of all my men
was really worthy to be trusted at the helm.
 We fortified ourselves with a good cup of coffee, feeling that it
might be our last, and the Davoust started, Baudry following us in a
canoe.
The scene before us was very much what it had been the day
before—a narrow pass, a diabolical current producing an impression
of unfathomable depth, which made our hearts sink and our breath
come in gasps. On either side the water whirled and surged and
roared unceasingly as it dashed over the huge rocks. Suddenly there
was a tremendous shock, and the boat seemed to slide away from
under our feet. It was the Davoust’s turn to-day. A hidden rock had
battered a hole in her bow in my cabin. Through the gap, some 20
inches big, the water came in in floods, and in less than ten seconds
it was a couple of feet deep.
But it was written in the book of fate that we were to go down to
the sea in the Davoust, and in spite of all our misfortunes, in spite of
everything being against us, in spite of reason, in spite of logic,
something always turned up to save us even at what seemed the
very last moment. The expected miracle always happened, and it is
no exaggeration to say that we experienced dozens of such
miracles.
We were going at such a rate when we struck the rock that for
one instant the barge remained as it were suspended on it, but the
next it was over it and in deep water again.
It so happened, as good luck would have it, that my servant
Mamé was in my cabin when the boat struck, and the water rushed
in at his very feet.
For the brave fellow to tear off his burnous, roll it into a ball and
shove it into the gap in the planks was the work of a few seconds;
that is to say, of just the time during which the rock held us fixed,
preventing us from settling down. We were saved once more. The
miracle had been performed. Only do not fail to notice what a
combination of circumstances was required to bring about the result:
the immense speed with which we were going making us actually
mount the rock, with the presence of Mamé in my cabin all ready to
stop up the hole!
 The Dantec passed through with us without difficulty, and it was
now the turn of the Aube. Digui attempted a manœuvre with her of
positively extraordinary audacity. Knowing all too well that the rock
which had been nearly fatal to us could not possibly be evaded, he
simply flung the boat upon the grass-covered bank, and she climbed
up, driven on by the great speed of the current. Then he let her slide
down again backwards, or, to use the strictly nautical term, to fall
astern.
For all this, however, we every one of us had to pay toll in one
way or another at this infernal Labezenga. The Aube grated on the
point of a hidden rock just as she was about to join us again in quiet
water.
It was now two o’clock in the afternoon, and we had been eight
hours getting over a little more than half a mile in a straight line. We
were famished with hunger, and our craving for food became almost
unbearable. I constituted myself cook, and drawing upon our
reserves of tinned meats and preserved vegetables, which we all felt
we were justified in doing under the circumstances, I seized what
came first, and tumbled everything helter-skelter into a saucepan.
We all devoured the result, which I called tripes à la Labezenga,
without in the least knowing what we were eating. I will give the
recipe to all who wish to emulate Vatel: tripes à la mode de Caen,
truffles, esculent boletus, haricots verts, with plenty of pepper and
spice, served hot. In N. Lat. 14° 57′ 30″, after just escaping from
drowning or from death in the jaws of a crocodile, nothing could be
more delicious, but somehow I have never ventured to try my olla
podrida again in France.
After a little rest, which was indeed well earned, Baudry went with
Digui to the village of Labezenga to try and get guides. He came
back in a state of terror at what he had seen.
For more than a month we had to lead a life such as I have just
described. What I have said will give an idea of all we went through. I
don’t want to dwell too much on our sufferings now that they are
over. Once embarked on such an enterprise as this there is nothing
for it but to go straight ahead, and by degrees one gets accustomed