Altogether he looked extremely like the devil. What
was more, he was a devil in a bad temper, for the first words he said
embodied a reproach to us for not having asked him to partake of our
"holy drink" with Babemba.
We offered to make him some more, but he refused, saying that we
should poison him.
Then Babemba set the matter out, rather nervously I thought, for
evidently he was afraid of this old wizard, who listened in complete
silence. When Babemba explained that without the king's direct order
it would be foolish and unjustifiable to put to death such magicians
as we were, Imbozwi spoke for the first time, asking why he called us
magicians.
Babemba instanced the wonders of the shining shield that showed
pictures.
"Pooh!" said Imbozwi, "does not calm water or polished iron show
pictures?"
"But this shield will make fire," said Babemba. "The white lords say
it can burn a man up."
"Then let it burn me up," replied Imbozwi with ineffable contempt,
"and I will believe that these white men are magicians worthy to be
kept alive, and not common slave-traders such as we have often heard
of.
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