Queen Mzilikazi opened her eyes and was greeted with a strange environment. It was a room filled with numerous strange objects. There was a sturdy wooden desk with a leather seat placed behind it. Behind the seat contained bookshelves, and the walls were adorned with paintings. Red, red was plastered on the walls. On flags, on books, and in the choice of flowers. The motif of red was widespread. She admired the place and looked at the painting of an elf right behind the desk.
It was an elf hailing from the Shona people that she had to fight while conquering the lands known as Zimbabwe, as the locals called it. Seeing no reason to not adopt the customs of the locals to better integrate them into her kingdom, she decided to call it Zimbabwe as well. She wore a suit, with a tie. Her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, and her short black hair barely reached her shoulders.
She stared intensely back at Mzilikazi, who fumed upon seeing this Shona elf daring to send such a gaze upon her. She reached for a spear but found no spear by her side. Before she could go over and further inspect the painting, the door opened, and the woman in the painting showed herself.
The woman took a couple of steps back in surprise, clutching her hands against the doorknob.
Bellowing “Who are you!” in a strange language that those who came from the sea used, she quickly closed the door. The sound of footsteps could be heard growing softer and softer.
Mzilikazi thought of chasing after her but decided to further inspect the books. The situation was weird enough. The Shona did not speak like a Boer, so she could rule out any influence from the Boers. But the words she spoke reminded her of the words used by the missionaries who call them Scotsmen. English? Could it be? She shuddered and wondered if those missionaries are secretly funding Shona resistance to her rule.
It seems she will have to crack down on the Shona, and further integrate them into her rule. She must let them know of their new masters under her and her Matabele.
Picking up the book, she found a scythe and hammer crossing with one another. They were yellow, contrasting against the red book. She felt the texture of the book and admired the exquisite dyes that must have gone into such a book.
The door creaked open. The elf was back, and she brought two men with her. They were pointing those weapons known as firearms right at her, but the designs were so wildly different from Boer weapons, that she wondered what exactly were they.
Completely black, the elf held it using two hands, one supporting the weight of the front, while the other was rested against the trigger. A strange metallic device stuck out on the barrel, and the Shona soldier looked through it. She closed an eye while doing so, aiming it carefully at her.
Mzilikazi snarled.
“Where am I?” She spoke in Zulu.
The other elf freaked out and rapidly pointed at Mzilikazi. The soldiers pulled the triggers of their weapons, and let loose numerous rounds of lead into the Queen.
Mzilikazi’s eyes widened as she found multiple rounds coming out of those firearms. They were impossible! If she remembered correctly, those Boer weapons could only fire once at a time, but here they are firing multiple rounds a minute.
She braced herself for the pain that is to come but the bullets phased past her.
“What is the meaning of this!” The elf demanded in her language. The soldiers continued unleashing every round they had from the rifles, but they all passed harmlessly through her.
Gloating, Mzilikazi took a couple of steps toward the elf and looked down towards her. This Shona thought she could easily put her down, but she is wrong! She must especially reward her war doctors, for letting bullets leave her unharmed!
“I am Queen Mzilikazi of the Mthwakazi Kingdom. Who are you, Shona? Tell me your name so that I can end your life.”
The elf paled and doubled back as the soldiers took positions before her. They were nervous. Watching their trusty weapons become useless before this elf was a nightmare to them. And the name she described herself with, could it be, the Ndebele people have summoned their great ruler in revenge?
Regaining her confidence, the elf declared, “I am Robert Mugabe of the Shona people. Do not trick me with your nonsense titles, Ndebele. I do not know what kind of sangoma you have looked towards for this power. But I will put you down like the rest of your people.”
Once again, the elf, calling herself Robert Mugabe, spoke using the language of the foreigners. English. Mzilikazi confirmed the language the elf spoke. She did pick up some words from the Scottish missionaries, so she could somewhat understand Robert.
“It will be you who will perish, Mugabe,” Mzilikazi spoke in Zulu and lunged towards Robert who began fleeing her office. The soldiers tried to block her, but she easily knocked them against the walls of the room.
“Why are you running Mugabe? You said you wanted to put me down, I’m coming to you!” Mzilikazi chased after Mugabe who yelled for help. They ran through the labyrinthine hallways and Mzilikazi naturally closed the gap. Her skirt allowed her to outrun whatever heavy attire Mugabe was wearing. Just about when she was about to grab onto Mugabe, she relished the fear in her prey’s eyes. Before she could snap her neck, the next thing she knew, the face of her sangoma greeted her.
“That was a strange dream,” Mzilikazi remarked groggily, holding her head. Her sangoma helped her to the side, and she rested on her seat. She slowly recalled the contents of her dream and tried to decipher the wisdom her ancestors were showing her.
A smile grew on her face.
“Any luck finding what you wish, Mzilikazi?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Aye. Could you relay this to the chiefs? I want them to root through every Shona and find if anyone one of their names contains Robert or Mugabe. Afterwards, have them and their entire family summarily executed. That is the wisdom that our ancestors wished to impart.”
The sangoma nodded in acknowledgement and left Queen Mzilikazi’s tent, where she began pondering about the more important things.
First of all, Princess Cetshwayo’s establishment of a Great Palace has displaced a great many elves in the Free States. It brought some trouble to her, some of them fled to her lands and begged her for some land for their cattle. She had them absorbed into her army, finding them more useful against the Shona. The Shona outnumbered them 4 to 1, and she could always use more loyal men that would help administer the new territories.
She was a little worried about the Princess’ actions. Yes, she didn’t mind that she established herself a little, the decline of the Zulu Kingdom that she hailed from greatly saddened her. But did she want it to reach the level that her old commander Shaka reached? No. She doubted that Mpande’s descendants had much charisma or power of Shaka, but the risk was still there.
Still, if she did expand. She could always encourage her to funnel her attention to the Tswana. They could focus on dealing with the meddlesome Tswana, and finally obtain her revenge against the Boers that defeated her with their weaponry.
Potgieter sighed as the Tswana Chief complained about the influx of elves entering their lands. They hail from the newly conquered Zulu lands and were seeking pastures for their livestock to graze on. The Tswana Chief hoped to have Potgieter’s continued support for their cause, and if the relationship was unamenable, he could come and help them evict the elves back to their original lands. Back under the Zulu maw.
He glared at the Commando who sat by the side reading a book about the VOC.
“Commando Jan, I did warn you about the consequences. Now, there are a lot of eyes on our activities. The Xhosa, Tswana, and Sotho peoples have all been affected by the latest Zulu conquests. Let’s not forget about the Zulu refugees who seek to escape the infighting. The blood is on your hands.”
Slapping a folded piece of paper onto the page, he closed the book. Sitting up straight, Jan looked towards the Commando of Potchefstroom.
“Potgieter, you were the primary signatory of the document. If there were blood on my hands, then the blood on yours would have to be even greater.”
Potgieter shook his head.
“Sooner or later. The Tswana are going to fight those refugees. So, what then? They go back to Zulu lands and become absorbed into Cetshwayo’s domain, strengthening her power. That’s not what I worry about though. I worry whether we could even pay her the exhortation fee as she sits right between Pietermaritzburg and Potchefstroom. She has obtained great leverage over all of us.”
“Give it a month or two once the Zulus complete their control of the region. I do not think there is anything to worry about. We could delay payment for a month or two. Use the time to build up trade between the two towns. We’ll flood Zoutpansberg with goods that the Boers there want. And perhaps the dwarves may also desire. We will be able to obtain much gold that way.”
Potgieter momentarily looked outwards his office window and sighed. Huts were being put up on his town’s outskirts. Inside, were the refugees of Princess Cetshwayo’s conquest.
“We have carried out untold suffering on these elves. Even on my allies, who wish no harm on us.”
Potgieter let his words sink in, sitting back down on his seat.
Jan bit his lip.
Truly, what had he done? Hundreds to thousands were probably killed due to his actions. He needed some to guarantee the safety of the trade routes. What better bulldog than the Zulu themselves, but even he took some time to process the repercussions of his actions.
He took a deep breath and ignored the refugees right by the outskirts of town. It was like reading a newspaper about people dying in an incident. One will feel sad for a few seconds, before moving on. And perhaps he should learn the prowess of the Americans, able to ignore the homeless and poverty-stricken sleeping in the streets, especially in California. This is all so; he could sleep better at night.
When the Dutch first settled in Cape Town, they traded with the local Khoikhoi tribes. Some popular items were tobacco and alcohol. Vices that are still prevalent in modern society. The Khoikhoi grew addicted to these substances, and some, seeking to procure more of the addictive substance, worked in the fields of the VOC.
Now clearly, Jan needed a way to get gold, lots of it. Industrialization needed to be funded. And the people with gold were the Zoutpansberg Boers and the Zoutpansberg Dwarves. The Zoutpansberg Boers had little gold since all their gold was obtained from panning gold, where the yields are pathetic. As pathetic as the performance of any gold mining company on the stock market. He wanted to kick himself for buying them, thinking they were cheap because they cost pennies, but their prices never went above a penny.
The real money maker was the dwarves. And he planned to implement a tactic the old VOC used. Tobacco and Alcohol. But these will not suffice. He will need to claw immense amounts of gold. So, he would play the special drug that the Chinese loved, Opium. He saw no reason to not let loose this drug amongst the dwarves. It was good pain relief and would help ease the pain of miners while working in the mines.
The consequences of smoking too much opium? Well, there were consequences for drinking too much. Plus, those dwarves planned to have him killed along with his men. A suitable punishment ought to be levied to show that Boers aren’t people to be so easily bullied.
Writing a note to his successors’ running Port Mpande, he directed them to purchase opium from India. They were specifically ordered to not procure the goods from British merchants but from small-time merchants. He borrowed Potgieter’s messenger once more and had him deliver the message.
“You asked to meet the men from Zoutpansberg. They are here today,” Potgieter explained, pointing at the door, where two men walked in.
“Potgieter, good to see you. I hope you have plenty of guns for us. We prepared the gold we’ve panned at the same time,” One of them spoke in Elfrikaans, and Potgieter gestured to him to come closer.
The man began placing gold nuggets on the table. Potgieter frowned.
“This is lesser compared to last month. Why?”
“Gold panning does not bring a constant stream of gold. The yield could increase or decrease depending on luck. However, there is still gold to be found.”
Potgieter shrugged.
“Then the guns you receive will be lesser than that of last month as well. I won’t budge on this.”
“Potgieter, the first time you set up shop here, we were rather generous with you. Why can’t you extend that same generosity to us?”
“Generous? You all showed up with guns and told us to get lost when I trekked near Zoutpansberg. Do you call that generous? Might want to get your heads checked.”
The two men stared at one another.
The Boer looked down from his higher vantage point while standing, whilst Potgieter had to look up. In a contest of intimidation, the higher Boer would win, but Potgieter was not backing down.
The Boer threw in the towel.
“Very well. Hand over the guns. We did not need much this time to resupply our stocks anyway.”
Potgieter tapped his table before the men turned to leave.
“Before you go, let me introduce this young man over here. This is Commando Jan Boddewijk, and he has some matters he would like to discuss with you,” Potgieter pointed at the young man, who put his books away and stood up.
The Boer nodded.
“What do you need Jan? Gold? If you want our gold, then provide something we want.”
“Just asking, but do you trade with the dwarves at Zoutpansberg? How about with Buysdorp?”
“Uh. We do trade with them from time to time. Those bastards don’t offer much. But we do not know they have lots of gold. We tried to take it by ourselves. But it is impossible with the mountain as their fortress. Buysdorp does provide them with their crops as food, but there is nothing special about the half-elves that live there.”
“Have you tried selling the dwarves alcohol and tobacco?”
“Of course we did! But they took a sip and called our drink piss. We tried every kind of alcohol we could get our hands on. We even tried pushing the alcohol brewed by the elves. But they didn’t want any of it. They claim that the alcohol they brew is much better than ours. When I wanted to try it, they wanted me to hand over all the gold I panned for the day. Fok! However, tobacco is a different matter. They did enjoy tobacco, but few purchased tobacco from us. Plus, there is not much we could ship, considering how cut off we are,”
“Well, gentlemen. I just have the perfect addictive substance for you. It is very famous in China. The Chinese love it. Especially for those who work as coolies ferrying goods off ships. They mix it with tobacco and smoke the mixture. The substance is known as opium, and it should be brought over to Potchefstroom in a couple of weeks,”
“How? A couple of weeks is very fast. How are you able to get such goods?”
“Well, my friends who live by Zoutpansberg, you’ve missed out on important events that happened recently…”
Jan began explaining the new trade route between Pietermaritzburg and Potchefstroom that was created due to his Zulu friends establishing them between the two towns.