“I hope this is truly important, since we’ve already discussed it before,” said the village chief. “I want everything to be clear. And please, do not take my words the wrong way.”

  “Good afternoon, Chief Daouda Gassama,” Maguette replied in his usual diplomatic tone. “What you’re saying is true — you are right. But to avoid wasting time, I’ll go straight to the point. A scandal has taken place, and many people know what happened. When I saw Nogaye, I understood the purpose of this meeting, because she keeps saying that we are in danger due to some kind of criminal association. Please, I ask you to listen to Madiaw Thiam, since he is the one who called for this gathering.”

  “Indeed,” said Madiaw Thiam, scanning those present. “I came to confirm what she has been saying everywhere.”

  Hearing this, Nogaye lowered her head, intimidated. But Madiaw continued:

  “A village of criminals you cannot possibly imagine,” he said gravely. “It is worse than you think.”

  “What catastrophe?” asked Chief Daouda Gassama.

  “This must remain secret,” said Assane Diouf.

  “Why?” the chief pressed.

  “To avoid panic,” Assane replied. “Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. My name is Assane Diouf, and this is my companion Souleymane Ngom. We are friends of Madiaw Thiam. We greet you all.”

  The assembly returned their greetings.

  Souleymane then took the floor.

  “We were present — Madiaw Thiam, Assane Diouf, and myself — when Tierno Diagne, the young man who was stabbed, told us his story. We were drinking tea. We encouraged him to reveal what he refused to tell anyone else, not even the police. It would be disastrous if Nogaye were to spread this everywhere.”

  “She understands now,” said Cheikhou, a shy tailor who rarely left his workshop, stepping in to defend Nogaye.

  “Yes,” added Maguette. “And I volunteer — with anyone willing to join me — to go to this village and attempt to reason with them. We could even offer concessions before the situation worsens.”

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  “Not a bad idea,” said Abdoulaye. “My son Salif has already suffered because of them. I am certain those people are not innocent. I agree with your proposal.”

  “Agreed,” declared Chief Daouda Gassama.

  “Three men will go,” the chief continued. “It must remain discreet. Two would be dangerous.”

  “Indeed,” Abdoulaye nodded.

  “Nogaye, keep this secret to yourself,” the chief ordered, scanning the room. “You, Abdoulaye, Madiaw Thiam, and Biram — you are chosen. You are the most suited for dialogue. Do you accept?”

  “We do,” said Madiaw.

  “Maguette, it is better that you stay here,” the chief added. “The meeting was held in your home. It would draw suspicion. Once you return home, speak of this to no one.”

  The assembly agreed — not because they were eager to leave, but because the decision seemed wise.

  The meeting ended.

  At around two in the morning, in Lambay, the three men — Abdoulaye, Biram, and Madiaw Thiam — would quietly depart for the village of the Dal. Leaving at such an hour could raise suspicion. Slipping away in the middle of the night always invites questions.

  They left as planned.

  By morning, their families began to worry.

  Many went to Maguette seeking answers, but he resisted as best he could. Sometimes he claimed that traveling at night was less exhausting — though even he knew the excuse was weak.

  Tierno Diagne told Madiaw’s family only that he had left on a trip whose destination must remain secret.

  Amina grew irritated at her husband’s sudden departure and turned her frustration toward Tierno.

  “And now things are being hidden from me?” she snapped.

  “He didn’t want to wake you,” Tierno replied calmly.

  “Why not tell me before sleeping?”

  “He must have forgotten. You know he’s a good man.”

  “Better than you,” Amina teased with a smile. “Sorry, I’m just bothering you.”

  She walked away, leaving Tierno smiling to himself.

  At Abdoulaye’s house, Nabou questioned her sister in front of Salif, who pretended not to understand anything while glancing elsewhere — though he desperately wanted to know.

  Feigning an errand outside, he positioned himself near Nabou’s window to overhear.

  Their mother, however, knew the truth. Abdoulaye, deeply in love with her, believed the best way to leave at night without upsetting her was to inform her — but he made her swear secrecy.

  Absatou paid no attention. She continued chatting with the fermented milk vendor, a familiar face in the household. Her son, Babam Ba, was a close friend of Salif and the other boys.

  Nogaye, invited to sit, tried to intimidate her sister.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked aggressively.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Nabou replied gently.

  “No…” Nogaye softened.

  “You’re the only one who knows where Father went.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Don’t treat me like a fool.”

  “You should ask Mother.”

  “You know she won’t tell me.”

  “You really think I’m your only source of information?” Nogaye blurted out — then instantly covered her mouth, realizing she had said too much.

  “I knew it!” Nabou laughed. “Go on. Spill it.”

  Exposed, Nogaye finally gave in.

  The secret fell into the ears of a third, hidden listener — who walked away murmuring with a smile:

  “As foolish as she is clever.”