Bird of the RiverSekenre sat beside me on the crowded deck. It was a little cooler here than in my cabin, for all the boat was swarming with passengers, natives and tourists, all of them loud, some of them smelly…and one very familiar, the Reverend Margos Targeddon, who had dispensed with his clerical garb and now wore a sensible white suit and straw hat.
“Ah, we meet again, Sir! Your business is not in the city.”
“No, it is not.”
“Nor is mine. I am come to preach the gospel of Light here among the ignorant.”
“Ah,” I said, with considerable irony.
He started, then noticed Sekenre at my side.
“And who is the little heathen?”
“My servant.”
“Ah.”
“Ah,” said Sekenre, in perfect mockery.
“Ah,”The Reverend made an excuse and hurried off. I didn’t know what he thought of us, what he ima
