“There you go,” Fáton said. “My source assures me it was taken from the skull of a Gusii chieftain. I cannot offer independent verification, but that’s of trivial consequence with something of this rarity. As you can see, it is close to a perfect circle. I also think it worth appreciating the even, regular scrape marks around its edges, where the cranial hole was made. All in all, a beautiful specimen. One that would have required an expert bit of filing and scraping with the omobari’s knife.”

Begela stared at the object, his hands still gripping the arms of his chair.

“Why?” he said. “Why do you come here with such a thing—?”

“I shall not repeat myself,” Fáton said. “Surely you know that a patient would be trephined to rid him of demons believed to have lodged within his skull. Similar practices were used in medieval France when surgeons looked to remove pierres de tête—stones of madness—from the brains of idiots and the delusionally insane.” A thin smile touched his mouth. “I don’t know if any were ever found, Etienne. But your people are enamored of French tradition, yes?”

The minister sat in silence. Beads of sweat had gathered in the depression above his upper lip.

“Take it,” Fáton said. “Carry it as a talisman around your neck, or in a pocket over your heart. How you wear it is not my concern . . . just so long as it stays on your person.” He continued to smile faintly. “May it guard your head against poisonous thoughts, and serve as a reminder of what can happen to a man who succumbs to them.”

Begela looked at him. Then he slowly lifted a hand off his chair, reached toward the desk, and closed his fingers around the rondelle.

“What should I do next?” he said in a dry rasp. “About the Americans . . .”

“You needn’t do anything for the moment—but I appreciate the fact that you’ve asked. It already signifies a new mental clarity.” Fáton rose and put on his hat. “Between us, I’ve planned an intense study of the enemy that should determine our tactics against him in coming days. Find what he treasures most, and you’ve identified his greatest vulnerability. Take it from him, and you hold the key to his defeat and destruction. It is a simple doctrine that can prove complicated in execution . . . but a game without challenge is hardly worth playing, don’t you agree?”

The minister had lowered his eyes onto the back of his own clenched, trembling hand.

“Quite so,” he said.

Fáton stood before the minister’s desk, his smile growing until it showed a row of small, even teeth.

“I’m glad we agree,” he said in an indulgent tone. “It seems to me we’ve made progress here today. And progress, Etienne, is always a delightful lift.”