Short Fiction
Mame Bougouma Diene

The Satellite Charmer

Ibrahima looked at him, and then away, back at the beam. Perhaps the Caliphate did get paid in return, perhaps the Caliph was sitting on velvet cushions drinking water teased from honey and dew. Perhaps. But the same way the tingling in his veins felt like he owned the world, he knew something more sinister was at play.

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