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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by Suyi Davies Okungbowa

Excerpt from The Nameless Republic: Book Three copyright © 2023
by Suyi Davies Okungbowa
Excerpt from The Jasad Heir copyright © 2023 by Sara Hashem

Cover design by Lauren Panepinto

Cover illustration by Dan dos Santos
Cover copyright © 2023 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Map by Tim Paul
Author photograph by Manuel Ruiz

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value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers
and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

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permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you
would like permission to use material from the book (other than for
review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank
you for your support of the author’s rights.

Orbit
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10104
orbitbooks.net

First Edition: November 2023

Simultaneously published in Great Britain by Orbit.

Orbit is an imprint of Hachette Book Group.

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Group Limited.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Okungbowa, Suyi Davies, author.
Title: Warrior of the wind / Suyi Davies Okungbowa.
Description: First edition. | New York, NY : Orbit, 2023. | Series: The
Nameless Republic ; book two
Identifiers: LCCN 2023013528 | ISBN 9780316428972 (trade
paperback) | ISBN 9780316428958 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Fantasy fiction. | Novels.
Classification: LCC PR9387.9.O394327 W37 2023 | DDC 823/.92—
dc23/eng/20230330
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023013528

ISBNs: 9780316428972 (trade paperback), 9780316428958 (ebook)

E3-20231019-JV-NF-ORI
 Contents

Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Content Note
The Story So Far

The Third Account

Ochela
1: Five Hunthands
2: Lilong
3: Lilong
4: Lilong
5: Lilong
6: Kangala
7: Esheme
8: Nem
9: Lilong
10: Danso
11: Lilong
12: Esheme
 13: Nem
14: Nem
15: Lilong
16: Danso
17: Danso
18: Lilong
19: Lilong
20: Danso
21: Lilong
The Eighth Account

Nameless
22: Esheme
23: Kangala
24: Esheme
25: Kangala
26: Lilong
27: Lilong
28: Nem
29: Basuaye
30: Lilong
31: Danso
32: Biemwensé
33: Biemwensé
34: Ifiot
35: Nem
36: Ifiot
 37: Biemwensé
38: Kangala
39: Lilong
40: Danso
41: Danso
42: Kangala
43: Danso
The Twelfth Account

Risisi
44: Nem
45: Danso
46: Lilong
47: Danso
48: Lilong
49: Esheme
50: Esheme
51: Lilong
52: Danso
53: Kangala
54: Lilong
55: Lilong
56: Lilong
57: Lilong
58: Kangala
59: Nem
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Persons of Interest
Glossary
The Written Codex of Danso DaaHabba, First Jali of Bassa to
Journey over the Soke Borders
Acknowledgments
Discover More
Extras
Meet the Author
A Preview of The Nameless Republic: Book Three
A Preview of The Jasad Heir
Also by Suyi Davies Okungbowa
Praise for Son of the Storm
For those buckled and bent, but never
broken.
Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more.

Tap here to learn more.

 Content Note

This book is intended for an adult readership, and contains themes,

depictions, and/or instances of: albinism, animal death, artificial
insemination, blood/gore, caste and class segregation, colourism and
discrimination, death, pregnancy loss and miscarriages, murder,
PTSD and anxiety, violence, and xenophobia.
Reader discretion is advised.
 The Story So Far

IN THE UNICONTINENT OF Oon, surrounded by the Neverending Sea, the

prosperous city of Bassa sits at the geographical and political centre
of the mainland. Being the most fertile of all three regions
(mainland, desertland, and islands), the empire of Bassa has long
ruled by might and by tale. But everything is changing—the land, the
winds, the seas. As resources dwindle, so does Bassa’s might. And
unknown to the city, its story is about to be rewritten.
BOOK 1: SON OF THE STORM
DANSO, a disillusioned scholar at the University of Bassa, stumbles
upon an ancient manuscript while skimming a restricted section. The
written codex of the Manic Emperor contains stories about Bassa’s
past that challenge everything Danso knows about his nation, raising
even more questions about his past: his mixed heritage of an
islander mother and mainlander father, which has earned him the
lowest caste position of Shashi (though he is let into the scholar
guild reserved for the elite Idu nobles, the highest caste position,
due to his excellent memory). The codex also discusses a mythical
mineral called IBOR, with which a gifted user, called an
IBORWORKER, can perform supernatural feats. His quest for further
answers puts him in trouble with his family, the university (which
suspends him), and most importantly, ESHEME, his intended.
Things come to a head when an intruder breaches Bassa’s border.
LILONG, from the Nameless Islands (believed by most Bassai and
mainlanders to be extinct, alongside its peoples), is chasing the Diwi,
a family heirloom of inert red ibor that has been stolen by NEM, a
fixer (and Esheme’s mother). By a twist of fate, Lilong ends up in
Danso’s family barn, where she is spotted by him. Her presence
confirms Danso’s beliefs that the codex’s words were true: Islanders
aren’t extinct, and ibor is real, proven by Lilong’s use of amber ibor
(to change her skin shade and control her blade, among other
feats). When Lilong leaves, Danso opts not to report her presence.
In the course of retrieving the Diwi, Lilong discovers that Nem
has learned iborworking, and ends up attacking her. Both get
wounded, Nem more so than Lilong. Lilong returns to Danso’s barn,
and Danso helps her, but encounters Esheme in the process. In a bid
to protect herself, Lilong attacks Esheme, and Danso’s Second, ZAQ,
is dutifully required to attack Esheme’s Second, who intends to harm
Danso. With a search for the intruder on, the three—Danso, Zaq,
and Lilong—are forced to flee to Whudasha, a coastal protectorate
where other Shashi are permitted to live outside of Bassa. To do
this, they must head through the Breathing Forest.
Their journey through the forest is filled with challenges,
including constant quakes and an attack by a lightning bat called a
SKOPI. Here, Danso learns that such beasts are attracted to ibor and
feats of iborworking. But after killing the beast, the Diwi—which has
been inert in Lilong’s family for generations—is awakened by Danso’s
touch, and the dead bat is brought back to life under his command.
Back in Bassa, Esheme has taken over Nem’s affairs while she
recovers from a coma. She comes into possession of a broken-off
piece of the Diwi, held by Nem. She also inherits a debt Nem owes
to the powerful First Elder DỌTA. Dọta, who knew about Nem’s
dalliances with ibor, wants his hands on the mineral, and tasks
Esheme with retrieving the full Diwi from the fugitives, threatening
consequences if she doesn’t. This sends Esheme down two paths.
The first: sending her Second, OBODA, to Whudasha in pursuit of
the fugitives. The second: a meeting with the Coalition for New
Bassa, in which the coalition’s leader, BASUAYE, and one of his
generals, IGAN, sign up to protect her and her house until Dọta’s
threats wane. But Basuaye wants something else in return: to use
the funeral of the Bassai Speaker—who died in a strange attack
(later revealed to have been facilitated by Nem for his knowledge of
her actions)—to push his goals for the coalition, which are to disrupt
the Bassai elite and galvanize the people to his cause. Esheme,
chosen to give an address (on behalf of the absent Nem) about the
recent attacks (which have been pinned on the intruder), is asked to
speak in favour of the coalition.
On the day of the funeral, Esheme delivers her speech, which she
infuses with her own rallying cries, revealing truths about the Bassai
elite’s secrets. Her speech ignites a fracas, during which Esheme is
rescued by Igan. Afterward, Dọta sends his people after her, but due
to the protection of the Coalition for New Bassa (and her newfound
respect by the Bassai), is unable to reach her.
Back on the road, the fugitives (Danso, Lilong, Zaq) arrive in
Whudasha on the back of a tragedy: an attack by a crop of bounty
hunters on their tail, which Danso deals with by setting the Skopi’s
lighting on them. They are discovered by BIEMWENSÉ, a Whudan
outcast who nurses them back to health. Zaq, harbouring doubts
throughout the trip, finally abandons Danso, but is picked up by the
Whudasha Youth, led by the Supreme Magnanimous, KAKUTAN, who
pressures the truth out of him. Kakutan sets upon Biemwensé’s
home, hoping to avoid Bassa’s wrath by rounding up the fugitives
and returning them to the city. But Biemwensé holds her ground,
defending Danso and Lilong—before Danso quells the attack using
the Skopi. Kakutan allows the fugitives to go if they leave
immediately, which they agree to. They head for the headquarters to
retrieve Zaq, but more surprises await.
Oboda, who has traced the fugitives to Whudasha, has
commandeered the Whudasha Youth and set Zaq to a pyre in order
to draw out the fugitives. This leads to a battle wherein Oboda is
killed by Lilong, and Zaq is burned at the stake. Zaq’s death weighs
greatly on Danso. Kakutan, realising what Oboda’s death means for
her people, decides to lead all of Whudasha across the border—
underneath the Soke mountains, through the Dead Mines—to the
desertlands beyond, where they may be safe with a secret group
who runs these passages. Danso, Lilong, and Biemwensé follow on
this journey.
In Bassa, Esheme learns she is pregnant with the child of her
desertland immigrant lover. While processing this, she receives
Oboda’s deceased body, which, upon her touch with the small piece
of red ibor, is brought back to zombie-like life (like Danso’s bat) and
is compliant to her commands. When Dọta shows up in person with
his personal army to retrieve the red ibor, she decimates him and his
group in a bloody attack by her newfound weapon, Oboda.
Afterward, Nem awakes from her coma, and Esheme fills her in on
everything. Nem pieces together that Esheme’s carriage of a mixed-
heritage child must be the reason she can wield red ibor (giving us
an insight as to why Danso also can). Nem believes that protecting
this secret is important, and therefore all mixed-heritage peoples
must be prevented from learning it—especially Whudans.
This leads Esheme into capitalizing on her newfound power (and
support from the people) to take over the Coalition for New Bassa
(which she does by murdering its generals and imprisoning its
leader, Basuaye). With a rousing speech, she commandeers the
coalition into an attack on the Great Dome, which she leads herself,
using Oboda and Igan. In view of the public, she gives the Bassai
elite over to the people to be maimed, after which she is rewarded
with their support and loyalty, and is proclaimed by them as saviour
and the new emperor.
With her newfound position, Esheme gathers Bassa’s best forces
and sets upon the Soke border, catching the escape of the Whudans
in the nick of time. On the last bridge across the moats, where
Danso, Lilong, Biemwensé, and Kakutan are escaping, she tries to
barter the Diwi for Danso’s father, whom she has brought along. This
ends in a battle where Danso’s father dies at Esheme’s hands (by
burning), Oboda and the Skopi are lost in the moat, and the four
fugitives escape. They are picked up by the secret group, who they
learn are called the Gaddo Company.
Back in Bassa, Esheme is crowned the new emperor.
 The Written Codex of Danso DaaHabba, First Jali of
Bassa to Journey over the Soke Borders: Hereafter lie
his personal accounts of travels and travails through
the desertlands, from the western vagabond colony of
Chabo, to the fabled eastern Forest of the Mist.

The Third Account: The salt-taste of triumph.

Triumph is salt. It is blood rushing back from throat onto

tongue, warm and stale and sick. It is the ache of bones after
victory, the agony of wounds treated.
—The Manic Emperor, Nogowu, Twenty-Third Emperor of Great
Bassa

I FIND SOLACE IN a madman’s words once we have crossed underneath

the border’s mountains and make our way to a future beyond Bassa.
Our journey across the lower Savanna Belt lasts many days and ends
in a colony obscured from the naked eye, whose roads only familiar
feet know. Here, we dismount and venture into the shadows.
In the quiet, I discover madness. What else is left to lose but
sanity when one has lost everything they love, has left behind all
whose freedoms may well depend on their actions? So, while around
us people sing happy songs, seek friendship, eat good food, and
make home, I find no respite, and neither do my companions; there
is only dust and sweat and hearts jumping into our mouths.
Silence is safety, but also anticipation.
As an old jali’s saying goes: There is no rest under the throne.
But a child who says their parent will not rest, will not rest either. All
of us, eyes open, will stand through the dark of night.
Second Season of the Red Emperor
 Five Hunthands

The Lonely Roads West

Fifth Mooncycle, 19–21

CHABO WAS A COLONY of vagabonds.

Every soul in Chabo was running from something. People of
disrepute who, if their feet were to touch the dust of any city or
settlement in the Savanna Belt, would be pounced upon and sent
into a forever darkness. Those who lacked ambition, aspiration, or
resourcefulness, making Chabo the only place on the continent that
would not eat them alive for it. Those who moved between worlds,
who needed a place of dishonour that operated by its own rules to
pause and rethink their strategies.
Chabo asked nothing of those who came. There were no councils,
no civic guards, no warrant chiefs, no vigilantes, no peace officers.
Nothing but a haphazard collection of rogue communes in the
western armpit of the Savanna Belt. It was generally agreed that any
soul without a wish to be absorbed into this colony was to remain on
the northward trade routes that sprouted from Chugoko, a real city.
It was advised not to turn even one’s neck westward, let alone one’s
kwaga.
Except, of course, if one wanted to turn their sights on Chabo in
search of something that did not wish to be found.
Five mooncycles into the second season of the Red Emperor, a
wagon carrying five men turned westward like so, sidling the Soke
mountains and border moats, and set themselves upon the Lonely
Roads West to Chabo. Each man was dressed in armoured hunthand
garb—skirts, chest plates, iron headwear—and bore a short spear
and long blade. Faces half shielded by veils, eyes alone betraying
grim temperament. In their wagon: shackles, blindfolds, an iron
crossbolt.
They rode in the open wagon and spat in the browning grass by
the wayside, not an eye taken off the roads, minds focused on the
colony ahead of them. They camped without event on the first day.
By the next day, they came upon the first person they had seen in a
long time: a wrinkled old desertlander who sat in the dust and
batted flies from his lips.
They kicked aside his alms bowl and shoved a worn leaflet into
his nose.
“In the name of the Red Emperor, tell us what you know of this,”
the leader of the hunthands—a dark man with tribal marks etched
into his cheeks, remnants of his hinterland origins—said in halting
Savanna Common.
The almsman cocked his head and licked his dry, cracked lips. He
squinted at the sheet of paper, struggling to make out the faint
markings in the glare of the sun. It was unclear what language the
words were written in. Besides, the man couldn’t read. He shrugged
after trying, pointed at his ear, then at his head, to say he
understood neither their words nor the markings.
“We seek the jali who made this,” said the leader, switching to a
smoother border pidgin, more easily understood. “We are led to
believe it came from Chabo.”
The almsman shrugged again. The leader smacked him on the
cheek.
 “Listen, you millipede,” he said. “This jali and his accomplices are
fugitives of the Red Emperor. If you have seen a Shashi in Chabo,
you better tell us now.” When the almsman struggled to process the
word Shashi, the leader added: “He rides a dead bat that is not
dead, and can call on lightning. He may be travelling with a
yellowskin.”
The almsman blinked at that, then stifled a chuckle, and that was
all it took.
One of the men punched him in the face and broke his nose.
They left him bleeding into the dry grass, red reflecting in the hard
heat of noon.
Next, they came upon a nomadic group of cattle and goat
rearers. They stopped and asked the same questions. The rearers, a
ragtag group of poorly armed men, said they sounded ridiculous. A
bat-riding Shashi and a yellowskin? They had walked the length and
breadth of this Savanna Belt and had never seen such things. They
waved the hunthands aside and asked to be left alone.
One of the hunthands took off his veil to reveal his mouth: lips
sewn shut, copper wires criss-crossing top to bottom, leaving dark,
reddish patterns where they pierced.
Immediately the nomads saw this, they fell to their knees, heads
bowed in the sand. “We did not know you were the Red Emperor’s
peace officers,” they pleaded. “We thought you were bandits or
swindlers trying to take our goats.”
The lead hunthand, in response, mounted the crossbolt and shot
it between three goats. The rearers swallowed their hurt and rage
and sorrow as the hunthands made them chop up the meat, dry it
over a fire, and salt it for the rest of their trip.
On the third day, a few hours outside of Chabo, the hunthands
met another vagabond.
This man happened to be headed away from Chabo, toward
Chugoko, and luckily for them, knew about the tract. He had seen
others like it being read back in Chabo, passed from hand to hand.
All nonsense stories, he said, lies about the Red Emperor and Bassa.
But it was popular in the colony, often read around night-fires
among the companies that plied their trade there.
 They thanked him, but for good measure, stripped him of his
belongings.
They had barely gone another hour when they met another
vagabond, this one cloaked in every sense of the word. Their
wrappers went up to their wrists and ankles, and a veil shielded their
face, leaving only their eyes visible. Even their hands and feet were
wrapped in strips of cloth, as if they’d once been buried beneath the
sand.
Upon sighting the hunthands from afar, the vagabond stopped in
the middle of the road.
The men, unsure of what they were dealing with, disembarked
from their wagon. The leader shouted his questions—in Savanna
Common, in Mainland Common, in two border pidgins. None evoked
any response. Then the man with the sewn lips revealed his face,
and the vagabond snickered.
“If you were truly peace officers,” the vagabond said in High
Bassai, “I would already be dead.”
The leader’s eyes narrowed. The man with the sewn lips removed
the false wiring, tossed it in the sand, and wiped the fake blood from
his lips.
“Who are you?” asked the leader.
“Come and find out,” said the vagabond, then ducked into the
bush.
The men moved before they thought, drawing, unsheathing, a
synergy born of seasons of hunts together. They piled into the bush,
but one ran to the wagon, mounted the crossbolt, aimed it in the
general vicinity of the vagabond, and fired. The iron bolt whizzed
through tall grass, parting vegetation, headed for the retreating
figure’s spine.
Out of nowhere, a flash of colour, as a gem-hilted blade appeared
and struck the crossbolt clean in the head, altering its trajectory. The
bolt missed the vagabond narrowly, tearing through their wrappers,
splintering one tree, embedding itself into another.
“Ambush!” cried the leader, but it was too late. The vagabond had
stopped running and had now turned to face them.
A second figure materialized in the grass: a man in a boubou
kaftan, head in a turban, the curved sword in his hand pointed at
the hunthand leader. Various people dressed and armed in a similar
manner began to appear, their curved swords pointed likewise. In a
moment, the hunthands were outnumbered, outarmed, outfoxed.
“If you know what is good for you,” the man in the boubou said,
“drop your weapons.”
The lead hunthand, though not fully understanding the Savanna
Common spoken, recognised the language of a well-executed trap.
Especially once he spotted the vagabond from much earlier—the one
who’d told them about the tract—among the group.
He surrendered his weapons and signaled for his men to do the
same.
The cloaked vagabond stepped forward. Up close, he could see it
was a woman: young, low-brown, desertlander. Raised scars peeked
out near her collarbone, stretched and leathery, as if belonging to
some other skin.
“You will be returning those,” she said, of the belongings they
stole.
The lead hunthand nodded solemnly, then asked again, softer this
time: “Who are you?”
“We,” she said, “are the Gaddo Company.”
 Lilong

Chabo
Fifth Mooncycle, 21, same day

LILONG RODE BACK TO the colony beside Kubra, in the lead and on the
kwaga gifted to her by the company. This was how crucial she had
become to company affairs over the few mooncycles since her
arrival. So integrated, in fact, that she barely spared a thought for
their targets anymore, especially when they deserved it like the
hunthands they had just stripped of everything and abandoned in
the savanna.
It’d started with Kubra asking her to join their raids. Not a
request per se: It was customary for Bassa escapees to work off the
cost of their escape. Between the four in her group, Lilong was the
best choice, being the most skilled, most easily adaptable, and least
recognised.
Initially, she’d accompanied them only on food raids, robbing
Bassai merchant caravans along the trade routes. But the caravans
soon became harder to defeat as the routes saw increased patrols
by the Red Emperor’s bounty force of peace officers. So Lilong opted
instead to provide first points of attack closer to home, fitting so
seamlessly into the role that, within the season, she had become
Kubra’s second-in-command.
They rode into the colony through the widest of the four
mainways, that which contained both the depository and the public
house. At this time of day—early evening—a motley selection of
people milled about at the height of their business. There were no
stables, so most tended to their mounts—camels and kwagas both—
in back corridors. Most also trained their wild beasts in the street,
like the feral camel that spat in Lilong’s direction as they went by,
the owner trying to rein it in.
Chabo welcomed them as it often did: by paying no attention at
all. The colony had a character of its own, a spirit of organised chaos
that possessed all who arrived here. It had to be a possession,
Lilong surmised, since no matter how deadly a vagrant one was
before joining the colony, it was only a matter of time before they
turned out differently (though worse in other ways, she thought with
an eye on their tattered clothing, rotten teeth, and general lack of
hygiene).
There was an odd sense of belonging one developed to the place,
something Lilong had sorely missed in all her time traipsing the
mainland. The full-bellied laughter of colourful strangers who did not
wish her death, and whom she did not want to strangle in turn.
Singing by the night-fire. Combat training with fighters she barely
knew yet shared a common goal with.
But that feeling, she reminded herself often, was dangerous. No
one here had anything in common with her. No one here had to
return home—a home that awaited with jaws open—to reclaim their
family’s honour. No one here held the future of the continent in their
hands.
“It’s time,” said Kubra, pulling Lilong out of her thoughts.
She blinked. “For what?”
“The meeting. The audience with Gaddo you asked for?”
Lilong’s eyes narrowed. “You said after fifty successful raids. I
have not done fifty.”
“And yet they would like to see you anyway,” said Kubra.
“Something urgent. Come by our quarters tonight and I’ll take you.”
Lilong wanted to allow herself a moment to exhale, to scream
with joy and say, Finally, Lilong, you’re going home! She wanted to
envision her daa’s face, pretend he was still alive (until she knew
otherwise for sure). She wanted to imagine her siblings’ excitement
when she returned with the Diwi in hand. She wanted to envision
the Elder Warriors of the Abenai League patting her on the back for
doing the right thing.
None of those things were going to happen. But that was not the
reason for holding her breath.
She didn’t detest the Gaddo Company. She could even say she
enjoyed working here. There was recreation, camaraderie, gifts like
the kwaga. Two mooncycles in, Kubra bestowed upon her a “colony
name,” which the company used in the field in lieu of one’s true
name. (He named her Snakeblade—snake for her ability to, in his
words, “shed skin,” and blade for her skillful ability with her short
sword). It was a nice gesture, even though it was in keeping with
the Code of Vagabonds—the loose list of rules of conduct by which
every resident of the colony lived—which stated: Never inquire about
a person’s past or their true name—a colony name and all the past
they offer is sufficient. (Other rules: Stay within assigned territories;
keep weaponry unconcealed at all times; company leadership must
remain secret.)
Regardless, her impending journey east was an open secret.
Traversing the Savanna Belt to the eastern coast where the Forest of
the Mist lay would be a perilous task. There was a bounty on her
head. Peace officers prowled the region. Bandits and wild beasts
littered the open savanna. Even if she could somehow overcome
these, there was the little matter of food, water, and reliable
transport for the length of the trip, costly things she could not
afford. She’d learned the hard way on her initial trip to Bassa that
lacking these could kill you just as quickly as a sword.
So she’d requested a meeting with Gaddo to ask for help.
The Gaddo Company was one of the largest companies
headquartered in Chabo, bigger than the Savanna Swine, Ravaging
Mongrels, Tremor of the Sands, and other fledgling companies
roaming the savanna but keeping base here. The Code of Vagabonds
ensured that every company adhered to Chabo’s rules, but also
served to strengthen the standing agreements between the
companies and the law, which once consisted solely of vigilantes
employed by Bassa-ordained warrant chiefs. But with peace officers
now in the region, the warrant chiefs’ vigilantes no longer held as
much sway—not even in Chugoko. The identities of company
leadership were now at a premium. A headless group is a multi-
headed one, Kubra had said, not as prone to decapitation.
So Lilong ended up never meeting Gaddo, despite working for
them for a season and a half. But suddenly, out of the dust, an
invitation?
“Tonight is not good,” said Lilong. “That is no time to prepare.”
“There’s nothing to prepare,” said Kubra. “They know all there is
to know about you.”
Lilong eyed Kubra. “What have you gossiped?”
“Me, gossip?” Kubra chuckled. “Your suspicion knows no bounds,
Snakeblade. You four need to keep an open mind until the meeting.”
Lilong lifted an eyebrow. “Us four?”
“Yes: you, the Whudans, the jali. Gaddo wants to meet you all.”
Lilong did not like the sound of that.
“And speaking of the jali,” Kubra continued, “can you tell him to
stop distributing those tracts? We have better things to do than
intercept hunthands.”
Lilong pursed her lips. “He is… going through some things.”
“Then he better go through them fast,” said Kubra. “Or one day, it
will land in the hands of a peace officer who can read, and then we’ll
all be doomed.”
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 TO ROAST GROUSE.

Handle the birds very lightly in plucking off the feathers; draw
them, and wipe the insides with clean damp cloths; or first wash, and
then dry them well; though this latter mode would not be approved
generally by epicures. Truss the grouse in the same manner as the
black game above, and roast them about half an hour at a clear and
brisk fire, keeping them basted, almost without intermission. Serve
them on a buttered toast which has been laid under them in the pan
for ten minutes, or with gravy and bread sauce only.
1/2 hour to 35 minutes
Obs.—There are few occasions, we think, in which the contents of
the dripping-pan can be introduced at table with advantage; but in
dressing moor game, we would strongly recommend the toast to be
laid in it under the birds, as it will afford a superior relish even to the
birds themselves.
 A SALMI OF MOOR FOWL, PHEASANTS, OR PARTRIDGES.
(ENTRÉE.)

This is an excellent mode of serving the remains of roasted game,

but when a superlative salmi is desired, the birds must be scarcely
more then half roasted for it. In either case carve them very neatly,
and strip every particle of skin and fat from the legs, wings, and
breasts; bruise the bodies well, and put them with the skin and other
trimmings into a very clean stewpan. If for a simple and inexpensive
dinner, merely add to them two or three sliced eschalots, a bay leaf,
a small blade of mace, and a few peppercorns; then pour in a pint or
rather more of good veal gravy or strong broth, and boil it briskly until
reduced nearly half; strain the gravy, pressing the bones well to
obtain all the flavour, skim off the fat, add a little cayenne and lemon-
juice, heat the game very gradually in it, but do not on any account
allow it to boil; place sippets of fried bread round a dish, arrange the
birds in good form in the centre, give the sauce a boil, and pour it on
them. This is but a homely sort of salmi, though of excellent flavour if
well made; it may require perhaps the addition of a little thickening,
and two or three glasses of dry white wine poured to the bodies of
the birds with the broth, would bring it nearer to the French salmi in
flavour. As the spongy substance in the inside of moor fowl and
black game is apt to be extremely bitter when they have been long
kept, care should be taken to remove such parts as would endanger
the preparation.
 FRENCH SALMI, OR HASH OF GAME. (ENTRÉE.)

Prepare underdressed or half-roasted game by the directions we

have already given, and after having stripped the skin from the
thighs, wings, and breasts, arrange the joints evenly in a clean
stewpan, and keep them covered from the air and dust till wanted.
Cut down into dice four ounces of the lean of an unboiled ham, and
put it, with two ounces of butter, into a thick well-tinned saucepan or
stewpan; add three or four minced eschalots (more, should a high
flavour of them be liked), two ounces of sliced carrot, four cloves,
two bay leaves, a dozen peppercorns, one blade of mace, a small
sprig or two of thyme, and part of a root of parsley, or two or three
small branches of the leaves. Stew these over a gentle fire, stirring
or shaking them often, until the sides of the saucepan appear of a
reddish-brown, then mix well with them a dessertspoonful of flour,
and let it take a little colour. Next, add by degrees, making the sauce
boil as each portion is thrown in, three quarters of a pint of strong
veal stock or gravy, and nearly half a pint of sherry or Madeira; put in
the well-bruised bodies of the birds, and boil them from an hour to an
hour and a half; strain, and clear the sauce quite from fat; pour it on
the joints of game, heat them in it slowly; and when they are near the
point of boiling, dish them immediately with delicately fried sippets
round the dish. When mushrooms can be obtained, throw a dozen or
two of small ones, with the other seasonings, into the butter. The
wine is sometimes added to the vegetables, and one half reduced
before the gravy is poured in; but though a sauce of fine colour is
thus produced the flavour of the wine is entirely lost.
 TO ROAST WOODCOCKS OR SNIPES.

[In season during the winter months, but not abundant until frost sets
in.].
Handle them as little and as lightly as possible, and pluck off the
feathers gently; for if this be violently done the skin of the birds will
be broken. Do not draw them, but after having wiped them with clean
soft cloths, truss them with the head under the wing, and the bill laid
close along the breast; pass a slight skewer through the thighs,
catch the ends with a bit of twine, and tie it across to keep the legs
straight. Suspend the birds with the feet downwards to a bird-spit,
flour them well, and baste them with butter, which should be ready
dissolved in the pan or ladle. Before the trail begins to drop, which it
will do as soon as they are well heated, lay a thick round of bread,
freed from the crust, toasted a delicate brown, and buttered on both
sides, into the pan under them to catch it, as this is considered finer
eating even than the flesh of the birds; continue the basting, letting
the butter fall from them into the basting-spoon or ladle, as it cannot
be collected again from the dripping-pan should it drop there, in
consequence of the toast or toasts being in it. There should be one
of these for each woodcock, and the trail should be spread equally
over it. When the birds are done, which they will be, at a brisk fire, in
from twenty to twenty-five minutes, lay the toasts into a very hot dish,
dress the birds upon them, pour a little gravy round the bread, and
send more to table in a tureen. Woodcock, 20 to 25 minutes; snipe, 5
minutes less.
 TO ROAST THE PINTAIL, OR SEA PHEASANT.

[All wild-fowl is in full season in mid-winter: the more severe the

weather, the more abundant are the supplies of it in the markets. It
may be had usually from November to March.].
This beautiful bird is by no means rare upon our eastern coast, but
we know not whether it be much seen in the markets generally. It is
most excellent eating, and should be roasted at a clear quick fire,
well floured when first laid down, turned briskly, and basted with
butter almost without cessation. If drawn from the spit in from twenty-
five to thirty minutes, then dished and laid before the fire for two or
three more, it will give forth a singularly rich gravy. Score the breast;
when it is carved sprinkle on it a little cayenne and fine salt, and let a
cut lemon be handed round the table when the bird is served; or omit
the scoring, and send round with it brown gravy, and Christopher
North’s sauce made hot. (For this, see the following page.)
20 to 30 minutes.
 TO ROAST WILD DUCKS.

A bit of soft bread soaked in port wine, or in claret, is sometimes

put into them, but nothing more. Flour them well, lay them rather
near to a very clear and brisk fire, that they may be quickly browned,
and yet retain their juices. Baste them plentifully and constantly with
butter, and, if it can be so regulated, let the spit turn with them
rapidly. From fifteen to twenty minutes will roast them sufficiently for
the generality of eaters; but for those who object to them much
underdressed, a few additional minutes must be allowed. Something
less of time will suffice when they are prepared for persons who like
them scarcely more than heated through.
Teal, which is a more delicate kind of wild fowl, is roasted in the
same way: in from ten to fifteen minutes it will be enough done for
the fashionable mode of serving it, and twenty minutes will dress it
well at a good fire.
 A SALMI, OR HASH OF WILD FOWL.

Carve the birds very neatly, strip off the skin, and proceed as for
the salmi of pheasants (page 292), but mix port or claret, instead of
white wine, with the gravy, and give it a rather high seasoning of
cayenne. Throw in the juice of half a small lemon before the salmi is
served, place fried sippets round the dish, and send it to table as hot
as possible.
For a common hash boil the skin and trimmings of the wild-fowl in
some good broth, or gravy (with a couple of lightly fried eschalots or
not, at choice), until their flavour is imparted to it; then strain, heat,
and thicken it slightly, with a little brown roux, or browned flour; add a
wineglassful of port wine, some lemon-juice, and cayenne; or
sufficient of Christopher North’s sauce to flavour it well; warm the
birds slowly in it, and serve them as soon as they are thoroughly hot,
but without allowing them to boil.

[The following receipt having, from inadvertence, been omitted

from the chapter to which it properly belongs—as the reader has
already been informed—a place is given to it here.]
 CHRISTOPHER NORTH’S OWN SAUCE FOR MANY MEATS.

Throw into a small basin a heaped saltspoonful of good cayenne

pepper, in very fine powder and half the quantity of salt; add a small
dessertspoonful of well-refined, pounded, and sifted sugar; mix these
thoroughly; then pour in a tablespoonful of the strained juice of a
fresh lemon, two of Harvey’s sauce, a teaspoonful of the very best
mushroom catsup (or of cavice), and three tablespoonsful, or a small
wineglassful, of port wine. Heat the sauce by placing the basin in a
saucepan of boiling water, or turn it into a jar, and place this in the
water. Serve it directly, it is ready with geese or ducks, tame or wild;
roast pork, venison, fawn, a grilled blade-bone, or any other broil. A
slight flavour of garlic or eschalot vinegar may be given to it at
pleasure. Some persons use it with fish. It is good cold; and, if
bottled directly it is made, may be stored for several days. It is the
better for being mixed some hours before it is served. The proportion
of cayenne may be doubled when a very pungent sauce is desired.
Good cayenne pepper in fine powder, 1 heaped saltspoonful: salt,
half as much; pounded sugar, 1 small dessertspoonful; strained
lemon juice, 1 tablespoonful; Harvey’s sauce, 2 tablespoonsful; best
mushroom catsup (or cavice), 1 teaspoonful; port wine, 3
tablespoonsful, or small wineglassful. (Little eschalot, or garlic-
vinegar at pleasure.)
Obs.—This sauce is exceedingly good when mixed with the brown
gravy of a hash or stew, or with that which is served with game or
other dishes.
 CHAPTER XVI.

Curries, Potted Meats, &c.

The great superiority of the oriental curries over those generally

prepared in England is not, we believe, altogether the result of a
want of skill or of experience on the part of our cooks, but is
attributable in some measure, to many of the ingredients, which in a
fresh and green state add so much to their excellence, being here
beyond our reach.
With us, turmeric and cayenne pepper prevail in them often far too
powerfully: the prodigal use of the former should be especially
avoided, as it injures both the quality and the colour of the currie,
which ought to be of a dark green, rather than of a red or yellow hue.
A couple of ounces of a sweet, sound cocoa-nut, lightly grated and
stewed for nearly or quite an hour in the gravy of a currie, is a great
improvement to its flavour: it will be found particularly agreeable with
that of sweetbreads, and may be served in the currie, or strained
from it at pleasure. Great care however, should be taken not to use,
for the purpose, a nut that is rancid. Spinach, cucumbers, vegetable
marrow, tomatas, acid apples, green gooseberries (seeded), and
tamarinds imported in the shell—not preserved—may all, in their
season, be added, with very good effect, to curries of different kinds.
Potatoes and celery are also occasionally boiled down in them. The
rice for a currie should always be sent to table in a separate dish
from it, and in serving them, it should be first helped, and the currie
laid upon it.
 MR. ARNOTT’S CURRIE-POWDER.

Turmeric, eight ounces.[95]

Coriander seed, four ounces.
Cummin seed, two ounces.
Fœnugreek seed, two ounces.
Cayenne, half an ounce. (More or less of this
last to the taste.)

95. We think it would be an improvement to diminish by two ounces the

proportion of turmeric, and to increase that of the coriander seed; but we
have not tried it.

Let the seeds be of the finest quality. Dry them well, pound, and
sift them separately through a lawn sieve, then weigh, and mix them
in the above proportions. This is an exceedingly agreeable and
aromatic powder, when all the ingredients are perfectly fresh and
good, but the preparing is rather a troublesome process. Mr. Arnott
recommends that when it is considered so, a “high-caste” chemist
should be applied to for it.
 MR. ARNOTT’S CURRIE.

“Take the heart of a cabbage, and nothing but the heart, that is to
say, pull away all the outside leaves until it is about the size of an
egg; chop it fine, add to it a couple of apples sliced thin, the juice of
one lemon, half a teaspoonful of black pepper, with one large
tablespoonful of my currie-powder, and mix the whole well together.
Now take six onions that have been chopped fine and fried brown, a
garlic head, the size of a nutmeg, also minced fine, two ounces of
fresh butter, two tablespoonsful of flour, and one pint of strong
mutton or beef gravy; and when these articles are boiling, add the
former ingredients, and let the whole be well stewed up together: if
not hot enough, add cayenne pepper. Next put in a fowl that has
been roasted and nicely cut up; or a rabbit; or some lean chops of
pork or mutton; or a lobster, or the remains of yesterday’s calf’s
head; or anything else you may fancy; and you will have an excellent
currie, fit for kings to partake of.
“Well! now for the rice! It should be put into water which should be
frequently changed, and should remain in for half an hour at least;
this both clears and soaks it. Have your saucepan full of water (the
larger the better), and when it boils rapidly, throw the rice into it: it will
be done in fifteen minutes. Strain it into a dish, wipe the saucepan
dry, return the drained rice into it, and put it over a gentle fire for a
few minutes, with a cloth over it: every grain will be separate. When
served, do not cover the dish.” Obs.—We have already given
testimony to the excellence of Mr. Arnott’s currie-powder, but we
think the currie itself will be found somewhat too acid for English
taste in general, and the proportion of onion and garlic by one half
too much for any but well seasoned Anglo-Indian palates. After
having tried his method of boiling the rice, we still give the
preference to that of Chapter I., page 36.
 A BENGAL CURRIE.

Slice and fry three large onions in two ounces of butter, and lift
them out of the pan when done. Put into a stewpan three other large
onions and a small clove of garlic which have been pounded
together, and smoothly mixed with a dessertspoonful of the best pale
turmeric, a teaspoonful of powdered ginger, one of salt, and one of
cayenne pepper; add to these the butter in which the onions were
fried, and half a cupful of good gravy; let them stew for about ten
minutes, taking care that they shall not burn. Next, stir to them the
fried onions and half a pint more of gravy; add a pound and a half of
mutton, or of any other meat, free from bone and fat, and simmer it
gently for an hour, or more should it not then be perfectly tender.
Fried onions, 3 large; butter, 2 oz.; onions pounded, 3 large; garlic, 1
clove; turmeric, 1 dessertspoonful; powdered ginger, salt, cayenne,
each 1 teaspoonful; gravy, 1/2 cupful: 10 minutes. Gravy 1/2 pint;
meat, 1-1/2 lb.: 1 hour or more.
 A DRY CURRIE.

Skin and cut down a fowl into small joints, or a couple of pounds of
mutton, free from fat and bone, into very small thick cutlets; rub them
with as much currie-powder, mixed with a teaspoonful of flour and
one of salt, as can be made to adhere to them: this will be from two
to three tablespoonsful. Dissolve a good slice of butter in a deep,
well-tinned stewpan or saucepan, and shake it over a brisk fire for
four or five minutes, or until it begins to take colour; then put in the
meat, and brown it well and equally, without allowing a morsel to be
scorched. The pan should be shaken vigorously every minute or two,
and the meat turned in it frequently. When this is done, lift it out and
throw into the stewpan two or three large onions finely minced, and
four or five eschalots when these last are liked; add a morsel of
butter if needful, and fry them until they begin to soften; then add a
quarter of a pint of gravy, broth, or boiling water, and a large acid
apple, or two moderate-sized ones, of a good boiling kind, with the
hearts of two or three lettuces, or of one hard cabbage, shred quite
small (tomatas or cucumbers freed from their seeds can be
substituted for these when in season). Stew the whole slowly until it
resembles a thick pulp, and add to it any additional liquid that may
be required, should it become too dry; put in the meat, and simmer
the whole very softly until this is done, which will be in from three
quarters of an hour to an hour.
Prawns, shrimps, or the flesh of boiled lobsters may be slowly
heated through, and served in this currie sauce with good effect.
 A COMMON INDIAN CURRIE.

For each pound of meat, whether veal, mutton, or beef, take a

heaped tablespoonful of good currie powder, a small teaspoonful of
salt, and one of flour; mix these well together, and after having cut
down the meat into thick small cutlets, or dice, rub half of the mixed
powder equally over it. Next, fry gently from one to four or five large
onions sliced, with or without the addition of a small clove of garlic or
half a dozen eschalots, according to the taste; and when they are of
a fine golden brown, lift them out with a slice and lay them upon a
sieve to drain; throw a little more butter into the pan and fry the meat
lightly in it; drain it well from the fat in taking it out, and lay it into a
clean stewpan or saucepan; strew the onion over it, and pour in as
much boiling water as will almost cover it. Mix the remainder of the
currie-powder smoothly with a little broth or cold water, and after the
currie has stewed for a few minutes pour it in, shaking the pan well
round that it may be smoothly blended with the gravy. Simmer the
whole very softly until the meat is perfectly tender: this will be in from
an hour and a quarter to two hours and a half, according to the
quantity and the nature of the meat. Mutton will be the soonest done;
the brisket end (gristles) of a breast of veal will require twice as
much stewing, and sometimes more. A fowl will be ready to serve in
an hour. An acid apple or two, or any of the vegetables which we
have enumerated at the commencement of this chapter, may be
added to the currie, proper time being allowed for cooking each
variety. Very young green peas are liked by some people in it; and
cucumbers pared, seeded, and cut moderately small, are always a
good addition. A richer currie will of course be produced if gravy or
broth be substituted for the water: either should be boiling when
poured to the meat. Lemon-juice should be stirred in before it is
served, when there is no other acid in the currie. A dish of boiled rice
must be sent to table with it. A couple of pounds of meat free from
bone, is sufficient quite for a moderate-sized dish of this kind, but
three of the breast of veal are sometimes used for it, when it is to be
served to a large family-party of currie-eaters; from half to a whole
pound of rice should then accompany it. For the proper mode of
boiling it, see page 36. The small grained, or Patna, is the kind which
ought to be used for the purpose. Six ounces is sufficient for a not
large currie; and a pound, when boiled dry, and heated lightly in a
dish, appears an enormous quantity for a modern table.
To each pound of meat, whether veal, mutton, or beef, 1 heaped
tablespoonful of good currie-powder, 1 small teaspoonful of salt, and
a large one of flour, to be well mixed, and half rubbed on to the meat
before it is fried, the rest added afterwards; onions fried, from 1 to 4
or 5 (with or without the addition of a clove of garlic, or half a dozen
eschalots); sufficient boiling water to nearly cover the meat:
vegetables, as in receipt, at choice; stewed, 1-1/4 to 2-1/2 hours: a
fowl, 1 hour, or rather less; beef, 2 lbs., 1-1/2 hour, or more; brisket
of veal, 2-1/2 to 3 hours.
Obs.—Rabbits make a very good currie when quite young.
Cayenne pepper can always be added to heighten the pungency of a
currie, when the proportion in the powder is not considered sufficient.
 SELIM’S CURRIES.

(Captain White’s.)
These curries are made with a sort of paste, which is labelled with
the above names, and as it has attracted some attention of late, and
the curries made with it are very good, and quickly and easily
prepared, we give the directions for them. “Cut a pound and a half of
chicken, fowl, veal, rabbit, or mutton, into pieces an inch and a half
square. Put from two to three ounces of fresh butter in a stewpan,
and when it is melted put in the meat, and give it a good stir with a
wooden spoon; add from two to three dessertspoonsful of the currie-
paste; mix the whole up well together, and continue the stirring over
a brisk fire from five to ten minutes, and the currie will be done. This
is a dry currie. For a gravy currie, add two or three tablespoonsful of
boiling water after the paste is well mixed in, and continue the
stewing and stirring from ten to twelve minutes longer, keeping the
sauce of the consistency of cream. Prepare salmon and lobster in
the same way, but very quickly, that they may come up firm. The
paste may be rubbed over steaks, or cutlets, when they are nearly
broiled; three or four minutes will finish them.”[96]
96. Unless the meat be extremely tender, and cut small, it will require from ten to
fifteen minutes stewing: when no liquid is added, it must be stirred without
intermission, or the paste will burn to the pan. It answers well for cutlets, and
for mullagatawny soup also; but makes a very mild currie.
 CURRIED MACCARONI

Boil six ounces of ribband maccaroni for fifteen minutes, in water

slightly salted, with a very small bit of butter dissolved in it; drain it
perfectly, and then put it into a full pint and a quarter of good beef or
veal stock or gravy, previously mixed and boiled for twenty minutes,
with a small tablespoonful of fine currie-powder, a teaspoonful of
arrow-root, and a little lemon-juice. Heat and toss the maccaroni
gently in this until it is well and equally covered with it. A small
quantity of rich cream, or a little béchamel, will very much improve
the sauce, into which it should be stirred just before the maccaroni is
added, and the lemon-juice should be thrown in afterwards. This dish
is, to our taste, far better without the strong flavouring of onion or
garlic, usually given to curries; which can, however, be imparted to
the gravy in the usual way, when it is liked.
Ribband maccaroni, 6 oz.: 15 to 18 minutes. Gravy, or good beef
or veal stock, full pint and 1/4; fine currie-powder, 1 small
tablespoonful; arrow-root, 1 teaspoonful; little lemon-juice: 20
minutes. Maccaroni in sauce, 3 to 6 minutes.
Obs.—An ounce or two of grated cocoa-nut, simmered in the
gravy for half an hour or more, then strained and well pressed from
it, is always an excellent addition. The pipe maccaroni, well curried,
is extremely good: the sauce for both kinds should be made with rich
gravy, especially when the onion is omitted. A few drops of eschalot-
vinegar can be added to it when the flavour is liked.
 CURRIED EGGS.

Boil six or eight fresh eggs quite hard, as for salad, and put them
aside until they are cold. Mix well together from two to three ounces
of good butter, and from three to four dessertspoonsful of currie-
powder; shake them in a stewpan or thick saucepan, over a clear but
moderate fire for some minutes, then throw in a couple of mild
onions finely minced, and fry them gently until they are tolerably soft:
pour to them, by degrees, from half to three quarters of a pint of
broth or gravy, and stew them slowly until they are reduced to pulp;
mix smoothly a small cup of thick cream with two teaspoonsful of
wheaten or of rice-flour, stir them to the currie, and simmer the whole
until the raw taste of the thickening is gone. Cut the eggs into half
inch slices, heat them quite through in the sauce without boiling
them, and serve them as hot as possible.