Crowned. Cheryl Ntumy S.

his shoulders relaxing. “Good. One more thing: I know the identity of the artist who gave that boy the snake tattoo.”

      Oh, finally – good news! “Who is it?”

      “A young man, not much older than you, who sells his artwork at the roadside. He is from Serowe – Kgosana knows him.”

      I frown at the mention of my uncle, Ntatemogolo’s son from his first marriage. I’m not at all close to that side of the family. They think I’m too white. None of Ntatemogolo’s children are gifted and since they live in Serowe I see as little of them as I can.

      “Did Uncle Kgosana say the artist was gifted?” I ask.

      “He said there were stories. The boy has always been a brilliant artist, but not very bright. He was bullied at school, then strange things started to happen to the children who bullied him. Sudden illnesses, unexplained injuries.”

      I’m holding my breath. There are many things I appreciate about the world of the gifted, but the bad stuff always freaks me out.

      “The boy was confronted about the events and his schoolbag was searched. Inside was a sketchbook filled with drawings. Some of them had been cut out. It was soon discovered that he had pasted them underneath the desks where the bullies sat in class, or hidden them in their books. When they came into contact with the drawings, they got hurt. The boy confessed. He was removed from school and sent here, to Gaborone, to live with an aunt. The living arrangement didn’t last. The aunt kicked him out, claiming he was unstable and violent. As far as his family knows, he is now living with friends.”

      I shudder. If he’s as dangerous as people say, I think I understand how he got mixed up with Thuli. I rub my arms, suddenly feeling cold. “I’ve never heard of a gift like that. Drawings that hurt people? How does that work?”

      “He is a channeller,” my grandfather explains. “A sorcerer who can only direct his gift through a specific channel, or medium. Without his art materials he would be helpless.”

      “That must be rare.”

      “It is. It is considered a handicap – the part of the brain that allows you to direct your gift is blocked, and can only be unblocked by a specific activity. But channellers also tend to be savants.” He peers at me. “Do you know what that means?”

      I nod. “Someone who knows things or can do things ordinary people can’t.”

      “In this case, the boy can direct his energy to do almost anything through his drawings, which explains how he could give Thuli a gift he himself does not possess.”

      I nod again, piecing the information together. “He sounds like trouble.”

      “That is the impression I got as well. I am going to see a client in Block 7 this afternoon, but after that I will try to find out where he lives. His name is–”

      “Jafta,” I whisper. The back of my neck tingles with unease.

      Ntatemogolo’s eyes narrow. “Your gift is getting even stronger. Do you see why I want you to stay away from the Puppetmaster? If he is behind the energy surge you could be in great danger.”

      “I know.” I take the puzzle box out of my bag. “He sent this to me. I think it’s safe, but I thought you’d better check it to be sure.”

      Ntatemogolo takes it from my hands. “It is protected by complex concealments.” He examines it for several minutes. “Nothing dangerous, but it is high-level sorcery. Even I would struggle with it.” He returns it to me, but his expression has grown concerned. “It is an exciting challenge for someone like you, but growing gift or not it will take you years to open it. He must know that. He is pushing you too hard.”

      I chew my lip and frown at the puzzle box. “If you don’t think I should try it, I won’t.”

      He considers for what feels like for ever. Finally he shakes his head. “You can attempt it, but remember that everything comes with strings where the Puppetmaster is concerned.”

      I put the puzzle box back into my bag. “I should go; you need to prepare for your trip.” I get to my feet.

      “Be careful, Connie. All our gifts are growing, but yours is growing in a different way. I can sense it in you. It is stronger than it should be. It has changed.”

      My stomach tightens. “What does that mean?”

      He’s quiet for a long time. “I don’t know,” he says at last.

      * * *

      On the way home I pick up a newspaper. There’s a story about an “inferno” in a shop, but since every fire is described as an inferno I know better than to panic. There’s an update on the energy surge and assurances that authorities are working on the problem. There’s nothing about disappearances. It appears the woman in my premonition is safe for now.

      When I get home I check my email again, but there’s nothing from Rakwena. I’m disappointed, but I don’t want to dwell on it. Instead I head to the kitchen to figure out what to make for tonight’s inaugural family dinner.

      A simple meal, Ntatemogolo said. I settle on samp and beef stew with steamed vegetables. There’s still some time before I have to cook, and I find my mind going over today’s events. I reach out for the Puppetmaster’s mind, but he’s quiet.

       Where are you?

      There’s no answer. I can’t even sense him.

      You said you’d tell me what you’re up to, so tell me. I wait for an answer. I stand still, my gift searching, but there is no trace of him on the gifted hotline.

       Puppetmaster? John? Why do you play these silly games? What’s causing the energy surge? Why do you need to kidnap people? What are you doing?

      Silence.

      I sigh. Fine. Don’t answer. Go on hiding like the coward you are, dragging innocent people into your plots. You won’t get away with it for ever.

      I don’t know if he’s deliberately ignoring me or just too busy with his schemes to pay attention. When he feels like talking he just slides into my head, but I can never reach him unless he’s in the mood. If I can just get him to talk to me for a while, maybe I’ll be able to pick something up from his tone. Maybe his words will trigger another premonition. There has to be a way to find out where he’s hiding.

      It’s not in that fake house in Block 8, that’s for sure. It would be careless to layer too many illusions on one site. Most likely he has several sites, each one serving a different purpose. He must have a physical base of some sort, a place he can walk in and out of without attracting suspicion, like the house in Kgale Siding. He must also have a base of operations, where he keeps his army – and possibly Henry Marshall.