What now, Ibubesi?"
Ishmael, who stood in the corner, very white-faced, and staring with round
eyes, for the tragedy had taken a turn that he did not intend or expect,
shook himself and rubbed his forehead with his hand, answering:
"Carry them into the Great Place, I suppose. The King ordered that they
should be brought there. Why did you kill that old Shouter, you fools?" he
added with irritation. "You have brought his blood and the curse of the
Inkosazana on our heads."
"_Wow!_" answered the induna again, "you bade us strike him with sticks,
and our orders were to obey you. Who would have guessed that the old man's
skull was so thin from thinking? You or I would never have felt a tap like
that. But they are 'gone beyond,' and we will not defile ourselves by
touching them. Dead bones are of no use to anyone, and their ghosts might
haunt us. Come, brethren, let us go back to the King and make report. The
order was Ibubesi's, and we are not to blame."
"Yes," they answered, "let us go back and make report. Are you coming,
Ibubesi?"
"Not I," he answered. "Do I want to have my neck twisted because of your
clumsiness? Go you and win your own peace if you can, but if you see the
Inkosazana, my advice is that you avoid her lest she learn the truth, and
bring your deaths upon you, for, know, she travels hither, and she called
these folk father and mother.
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