The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff (12 page)

“You don't believe in the magic remember? It won't work for you.” Crispus tried to snatch the tattered cloth back as he stormed after Jeb.

A yelp from Fallon struck Jeb, and he wheeled on him with his sword drawn. Grand Dragon Verdiss held the boy up in his thick gloved hands. At six feet tall, he towered over Fallon. His ceremonial red and white robe flapping in the wind seemed to enshroud both of them in evil.

“Surrender your weapons, vermin, and I will spare this child. The little boy who found his heart.” He chortled.

“All right. All right." Jeb dropped his sword, Colt, and dagger to the ground. Then put his hands up. Crispus did the same, trembling.

“On your knees, vermin.” Verdiss tightened his grip. Fallon squeaked, clawing at his throat. “I would offer your life for his, but your kind boast no such honor.” His voice revealed a sneer hidden by the hood of his robes.

Jeb scoffed. “Honor? You's nothing but a pie-eatin' blowhard. A boy picking on a boy." Jeb ignored the horror on Crispus's face.
Angry men don't think straight. If he was gonna kill Fallon he'd have done it by now...I hope. Moses...
 

“
O you beast! ‘ I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron, that you shall think the devil is come from hell!'" Verdiss tossed Fallon away like a ragdoll and pulled his hood down, revealing a
face of ruin. His eyes shone red like blood.
 

Jeb gasped. “Lawd a mercy."

Then Verdiss pulled off his gloves. His hands weren't hands, more like swollen claws. “See now the monster you face, for it is your last time. Your people have been a plague to this country for hundreds of years. Now with your blood spilled, their existence is at an end." Verdiss's engorged lips split to form a canyon of a smile. He leered at Jeb as though he relished in his horror. Then he redressed himself as several robe-clad Goblins approached. “Take them to the site.” Verdiss motioned to the Goblins.

“I'll see you dead," Crispus shouted and charged at Verdiss, but two Klansmen dragged him to the ground.

Damn fool.
Jeb didn't bother to fight, nor reach for Crispus. They were prisoners of war now...slaves at the mercy of their sworn enemies.
Nothing to do but surrender.
 

“Ah. See
me
dead? No, vermin, I shall see
you
dead." Verdiss grabbed a saber from a nearby Klansman. He strode toward Crispus, his robe flowing with pomp. With a graceful flick of his wrist Verdiss slid the blade into Crispus's stomach. Blood spilled out, Crispus looked down, and slouched in the Klansmen's hands.
 

“No! No! No! Jesus, no!” Jeb fought to free himself, throw the Goblins off him, lunge at the Grand Dragon. Agony. Disbelief. Anger. Hate. Murder. “Crispus! Not you! Why not me?” He spat at Verdiss. “I'm gonna kill you. It'll be an honor killing you!” To hell with the staff. It didn't matter anymore. Verdiss would be dead soon, torn apart, his blood filling Jeb's mouth as he'd rip his throat out. He
craved
the taste of that fiend's blood.
 

“I sincerely doubt that, vermin," said Verdiss. He closed the distance between he and Jeb, examining the look in Jeb's eyes. “But . . . then again . . . 'Come not between the dragon and his wrath.'" Jeb heard a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Verdiss motioned the Goblins to haul them away.

“I'm gonna get you, motherfucker! I'm gonna get you.” Jeb struggled to stay as long as he could, staring at the Grand Dragon, while the Goblins dragged him away. “You best kill me now, cause I'm gonna kill you.”

Verdiss met his eyes as Jeb lost sight of him. But he heard the Grand Dragon, “Perhaps you and I are not so different."

 

 

Chapter Twenty

As Zelig intended, Galin died an agonizing death. He fell to the ground, convulsing and foaming at the mouth. He squealed for a few moments, before he seized. Neither Major Lydell Jones nor his men bothered to question it, leaving his corpse behind. They continued onto Baton Rouge. Halfway there, Zelig realized Jones's men meant to find and massacre the Klan, so he slipped them a fake shortcut to the city. He couldn't have a mess, it'd reveal too much. It'd need to be clean, untraceable. He'd wait until Verdiss found the Pharaoh's Staff. Take him out with a single shot—it'd be nothing for Zelig—then disappear with the staff.

Zelig left Jones and his men, saying he needed to stop by his aunt's cottage before heading into the city. Hours later, he'd found a good position for recognizance, thick brush on the Mississippi's banks, south of the Klan. He watched the campsite stir in the dead of night from a mile away. Zelig pulled his eyes from the binoculars and pocketed it.

“This will take some finesse.” It felt good to speak German again. If even to himself. English was such a filthy language. No elegance to it. He dug through his satchel and retrieved the components of his battle rifle. Zelig clicked and wound the pieces together, making sure each fit perfectly. He took another hour to tend to the sniper scope, cleaning it several times, fine-tuning it before snapping it into place.

Louisiana's bizarre heat was like a thick layer of quark clinging to his skin. It made everything stink like it too. Zelig removed his shirt to escape the heat. He gathered his possessions and marched off to find a suitable area where he could take his shot from. Somewhere with shade. He decided the cliff overlooking Verdiss's camp would be best. It offered enough of an aerial view. Not to mention, these primitive idiots didn't have binoculars. They'd never see him. By the time Verdiss heard the thunderous clap, it'd be too late—Zelig's bullet would've crushed his skull. He started his trek up the cliff to establish camp before
tomorrow.
 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-One

 

 “I am an unwelcomed stranger in an unholy land, Major Jones.” General Philip Sheridan sat back in his cushioned chair. “No one enjoys my presence here in the Fifth Military District, neither Texas nor Louisiana. Nor myself, most of all." He took another puff of his cigar, slender fingers wrapped around it.

Major Jones nodded, still impressed with himself that the general asked for him.

Sheridan's office befitted one of the greatest generals alive. A spacious room lined with bookshelves containing hundreds of military manuals and encyclopedias. It'd take Jones a lifetime to read them all, if he could. Sheridan sat behind a desk of dark oak lined with gold. Even Jones's chair was lined with gold. A well-stocked bar stood against the right wall, a large black piano against the left, and a blazing crystal chandelier hung overhead.
He's one hell of a big wig.
 

“I was informed the Klansman you captured died suddenly.” The General reached over the desk to ash his cigar into a glass bowl. An odd-looking man, his torso seemed longer than his body. The great Abraham Lincoln once said Sheridan resembled a short, no necked, gorilla. Jones smirked, the president said it right.

“Yes, General,” answered Jones, stifling his thoughts. “I suspect the drifter, Zelig Von Falkenstein poisoned him. My men are top rail, but don't know their rear ends from a Zu Zu when it comes to medicine. Our sawbones is fresh fish, too.” He chuckled.

Sheridan put out his cigar in the cut-glass dish, concern across his face. “I am unsure of this assassin's role in these recent events. We live in a trying time, Major. My dear friend Lincoln is dead, Reconstruction has strained the country's unity, and we stand on the last battlefield against these wicked men who call themselves Goblins.” He clenched his fists. “Grand Dragon Verdiss has already scarred Louisiana and her people. Allenville is dead and gone. I will
not
allow this nefarious monster anymore room to move. I tire of struggling with these prejudiced
rustic boys." Sheridan leaned forward, his eyes flashing with anger.
 

“I understand, General," said Jones.

“I will supply you with another two hundred fifty guardsmen. As well as a Gatling gun. I want you and your men to
crush
this beast,” Sheridan growled and slammed his fist on the desk, sending ashes from the glass tray into the air. The ashes drifted down like falling snow.
 

“Yes, sir.” Jones focused on each particle of ash as it fell on the general's desk. The tiny cloud brought memories of his days during the War Between the States, days spent on battlefields covered in winter frost and the frozen dead.

Sheridan scooped the spilled ashes into his hands. “Verdiss and his men have been seen in the Old South Baton Rouge area. They have prisoners as well, Major.” Sheridan cleaned his hands off, then nodded to Jones. “Dismissed.”

The Major stood and left the study.

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

Jeb spent the night in a cramped tent with Crispus's body. Petrified by the geyser of blood drying in his brother-in-law's stomach. He caressed the charm of
Ayizan
, the Goblins did a poor job of binding his hands.
Believe in the magic. Believe in the magic and you can heal him.
But, Jeb didn't after hours of torture, watching Crispus's body. Sounds of the Klan digging taunted him. Day crept over the horizon. As he drifted off, a yell from outside pulled him from whatever horrible dream he'd have.
 

“Bring that boy out here!”
Narce's voice
.
 

Two Goblins barged into the tent, their white robes stained with dirt. They grabbed Jeb and dragged him out onto the dirt, clouds of it enveloping him. Stumbling to his feet, Jeb tried to stand straight.
Don't show any fear.
 

Empty holes and mounds of earth crisscrossed the camp, which consisted of a dozen tents. The Mississippi's thunderous crashing mixed with the clamor of digging in a bizarre battle of noise.

“Looky ‘ere! Dis boy stayin' on ‘im feet.” One of the Klansmen laughed and poked Jeb's chest.

Narce watched from the center of the camp, his hand resting on a pit bull at his feet. Around him, Klansmen dug with picks and shovels, pushing deeper into the earth. The Klansmen dropped Jeb at the Nighthawk's feet, chuckling. Jeb grunted, then climbed to his knees. He returned Narce's icy stare.

“You failed, boy. The staff'll be ours soon. Yer people be damned!” Narce sneered. His white robe couldn't hide his muscles, a poor match for his egg-shaped head. “Yer kin's dead, and now you agonna dig yer own grave." He threw a shovel at Jeb.

Jeb flinched, but let it fall. “I ain't doing that," he said, glaring. Narce and the Goblins answered him with gales of laughter.

“'What's here? The portrait of a blinking idiot.'" Verdiss appeared at Narce's side, his red and white robe fluttering in the early morning breeze.
 

“
You!
” Jeb lunged at the Grand Dragon, but the two
Goblins dragged him back. Narce's pit bull snarled, jumping to its feet.
 

“He need not dig." Verdiss turned to Narce.

“What? Why?” Narce eyed Verdiss then Jeb. “Grand Dragon, him a—”

“I made my decision, Narce. I have further use for the freedman." Verdiss stepped closer toward Narce. “I also warned you before about questioning my authority in the presence of others.” His crimson eyes drifted to Jeb and the two Klansmen.

“I'm sorry, Grand Dragon.”

With a slight motion of his gloved hand and a
voodoo
word, Jeb caught but couldn't make it out, Verdiss sent the Nighthawk to the ground gasping for air. Narce clawed at his throat, choking on nothing.
 

“All is forgiven, friend.” The Grand Dragon turned and motioned the two Klansmen to pick Jeb up. “Quickly, bring him to my quarters.” They left Narce, still clamoring to breathe, on the ground, and entered Verdiss's tent at the base of the camp.

A fucking voodoo priest? He said voodoo! How's this possible?
Jeb scanned the tent for any clues. Spacious and filled with delicate items: a short stove, a feather bed with a fine-woven Oriental rug, and an iron pot over a fire pit. The two Klansmen dropped Jeb with a thud. Verdiss snapped, “Leave us.” The two hurried out.
 

“What you need me for, monster?” Jeb grinded his teeth, trying to keep his thoughts straight.
Kill this thing. Avenge Crispus. How'd he use voodoo?
 

“My purpose with you, vermin, is revenge. He who betrayed me will be exposed as the ignorant fool that he is." Verdiss went over to the bed, reaching underneath and dragged out a satchel. He withdrew a handful of herbs. “You will not die now, but you and your kind are soon to be eradicated from this world." He tossed the herbs into the pot and made a motion with his hand. The pit burst into flames, liquid gurgling up from within the pot. Steam billowed out in thick plumes.

“You killed my brother. Destroyed my home. If it's the last thing I'm gonna do, I'm gonna kill you." Jeb tried to twist his hands free of their restraints.
More voodoo!
Creole words sputtered from Verdiss's mouth quicker than Jeb could put them together. The thing was performing some
sort of
voodoo
ritual! Why? How the hell did a Klansman—a Grand Dragon—know how to work
voodoo
?
 

The motions of Verdiss's hands seemed to control the flow of the cauldron's steam. It wafted that way and this way. “You think me a white man?” he asked.
How does he know what I thought!
“Oh, wait and see, my blinking idiot!" Verdiss cackled and the steam exploded upwards from the cauldron. It took shape...a man's face. Jeb went to scramble away from the cauldron, but couldn't move. Some evil kept him there, watching as this devil called out to its master. That dark king.