The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff (13 page)

“
Geist Führer
, I call upon you.” Verdiss's voice echoed through the tent. Steam folded in on itself until it formed the monster's exact expressions. A middle-aged man with dark hair parted, and a toothbrush mustache. “Now, look upon my dark master, freedman! See the horror and the end of your despicable race!" Verdiss flung his hood back.
 

“Verdiss,” said the
Geist Führer
. “You've attained the Pharaoh's Staff?” His accent was harsh like cheap whisky.
 

“No, dark master," Verdiss said as he pulled his gloves off, revealing his misshapen hands. “I have not.”

“Then why contact me! My time is precious. I have much to do.”

“Why,
master!
” Verdiss unbuttoned his robes. “To expose you for the foolish Brutus that you are! And to show you he who has served you so long.” Revenge boiled in Verdiss's voice. “Behold what I am!” He yanked his robe off, exposing a black malformed chest, stomach, and legs.
 

The
Geist Führer
grimaced, his face screwed up in disgust. Jeb stared.
No, how can he be black? A black man leading the Klan? It makes no sense. Why?
 

“
Et tu, Brute
?” Verdiss sneered. “I know of your assassin, your plans to slay me and keep the staff for yourself,
master!
The Pharaoh's Staff will be mine. You have failed
Geist Führer
. Your war is over. I will do what you cannot.
I
will erase the slaves and their ilk from this earth." The demon in the steam growled something then wisped away. Verdiss slipped back into his robe. He pulled the hood up and slid his gloves back on.
 

“Now you see how we are alike. Now you see the true terror that I am." Verdiss turned to Jeb. “I was born from one of your women, who made me into the monstrosity that I am. La Croix, my father, was so disgusted by his own son that he buried him within the cellar. Where he spent a decade. At least, he had Shakespeare to read," Verdiss reflected. “Suffice to say, La Croix was murdered by several of the leeches who raised him after his whore-mother died." His voice was cold and bitter like a winter night. “They did have their use, performing their rituals on him, strengthened his body. In the end, they gave him the power he hungered for." Verdiss sighed. “I glimpse a certain unscrupulousness in your eyes, as I'm certain is in my own. For that I shall take pity on you.

"Instead of death you shall watch 'the royal banner and all quality, pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war!'”

“You and me ain't nothing alike!” Jeb pulled himself up from the ground into a fighter's stance. He focused on Verdiss, studying his position.

The two stood in silence for a moment, each waiting for the other to make the first attack. Jeb used this time to pull his hands free from their restraints. In that short moment, hours of thoughts passed through his mind.
Is Keturah and Bettina safe in New York?
Crispus, my brother, I'll avenge your death. Kill.
 

Maybe he could use the amulet Lafayette gave him to bring Crispus back to life. But he didn't believe in the magic—as much as he wanted to. It should've been him. Another child died, because of him.
Is the Staff of Narmer really worth all this?
 

Jeb lunged at Verdiss, knocking over the pot of boiling water. It hissed as it splattered on both of them, cooking flesh. Jeb ignored the pain as he plowed into the Grand Dragon, sending both to the ground. He scrambled atop Verdiss, landing punch after punch to his face, though they seemed to have no effect. Verdiss grabbed him by his shirt and tossed him across the tent.

“No pathetic abhorred beast is a match for me." Verdiss made a mark in the air with his gloved finger. When Jeb tried to stand, he keeled over in pain, clutching his stomach. It felt like someone booted him from the inside.

“Your damned tricks won't stop me from tearing you apart," Jeb growled, staggering to his feet, still clutching his belly.
Think of Keturah. Bettina. You'll see them soon. Ignore the pain.
 

“You are defeated once more." Verdiss stepped aside and pushed Jeb facedown on the ground.
"'When sorrows
come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.'" He
snickered, then pressed his foot on top of Jeb's back. As much as he struggled, Verdiss was too strong. Jeb relaxed his body, giving up the fight. He looked up to see two Klansmen enter.
 

“Grand Dragon, yer all right?” asked one of the Klansmen. Not a gross-looking man, but lanky. Stringy, brownish-blond hair, accompanied a pointed chin and several missing teeth.

Jeb couldn't place it, or maybe because he was drowning in agony, but he'd remember that face.

“I am fine, thank you, Hoyt," said Verdiss. “Would you and Davis escort this rat back to his tent?" He motioned to Jeb. Verdiss released him and strode to the cauldron that lay tipped over on the ground. He lifted it and put it back atop the fire pit.

The two Klansmen heaved Jeb up by his arms. “Also, Grand Dragon, the pickets have spotted Major Jones and his men heading this way through the city,” said Davis, a short, bald man with a smile.

I'll remember you too.

Verdiss wheeled on them. “What! And you only mention this now, Davis? Perhaps it would have been wise to inform me of that first!"

Jeb used the Klansman's reaction to try to wrench himself free, but they managed to keep hold of him. “I am sorry, Grand Dragon. It'll be my last mistake . . . I swear,” said Davis as he and Hoyt backed out of the tent, pulling Jeb with them.

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

 

Metal rang out when it struck the earth. Throughout the day it'd grown hotter. Yet somehow, Davis and Hoyt forgot to retie Jeb's hands, so he'd been free to check Crispus for a pulse. Slight, but it was there. Jeb feared not for long. He looked over his brother-in-law's body. The wound was deep, his skin paled, no way to tell how much blood he'd lost.

He couldn't let Crispus die. The fool was family. All Jeb had, save Keturah and Bettina. If Crispus died, Keturah would be destroyed. She raised him. Moses's and Rufus's deaths were on Jeb's hands—they'd been real kids. It'd been his job to look out for them. And he failed them. He couldn't fail Crispus, he'd fail Keturah...he couldn't count how many others.

Jeb pulled off the rope necklace, stroking the talisman. He traced the pine tree charm with a finger, feeling every crevice in the wood. “Please work.” He held it to his chest. Leaning over Crispus's body, Jeb began. He spent ten minutes motioning the charm over Crispus's wound, placing it on the gash several times.
Believe
.
Believe! Believe!
Nothing made the magic work the way Crispus had.
 

“You must believe in the
majik
for the magic to work.” Jeb recalled what La'Rita said. He'd hoped somewhere inside he could make himself believe. Crispus was doomed because Jeb didn't believe in something he'd seen—something that'd been performed on himself, no less. He shrank back on the earthen floor, dismay and failure teeming in his heart.
 

Excitement came from outside, the sounds of digging vanished. “The staff! Grand Dragon, we found it! We found the staff!” Joyous howls reached Jeb's ears. The Klan found their "ultimate weapon." Crispus is dead, and he was next. Jeb sighed.

The flaps opened. He heard soft footfalls and waited for them to grab him. “Psst! Jeb!” A hand grasped his shoulder and shook him. “Get up.”

He opened his eyes to find Fallon standing over him with a sack of equipment over his shoulder. The tattered green cape in hand.

“Skedaddle, boy. They got the staff. Nothing more to be done about it." Jeb lay on his side, avoiding Fallon's eyes.
Don't let the whelp drag you into any more of this. Just lay here and die. Just go wherever the dead go.
 

“But we got to try . . . I have to try. I owe it to my father. To—I overheard Verdiss saying he's going to kill General Sheridan. With the staff, he'll be able to do anything. Like—” Fallon began to protest.

“Your point?” Jeb recounted the pointless deaths his search for the Pharaoh's Staff caused.
Crispus. Rayford. Elle Mae. Lafayette. La'Rita.
 

“The Grand Dragon . . . um. . . ” Fallon stumbled over his words. “Knows where your wife and girl are. He's plannin' to kill them.”

“Gimme my traps." Jeb snatched the satchel from Fallon's shoulder, dumping the equipment on the ground. Sorting through it, he sheathed his saber at his belt, slid the custom Colt pistol into its holster, and shoved the long dagger into his boot.
Revenge. Murder.
Killing Verdiss wouldn't do, no, torture would.
 

“Is he dead?” Fallon leaned down, inspecting Crispus.

“Not yet...I can't get the thing to work." Jeb tossed the charm of
Ayizan
to Fallon. “You believe. You believe, don't you? You can do it. Make it work!”
 

“I-I can try...” Fallon nodded, examining the pine tree talisman. Gunshots cracked through the camp. Roars of panic echoed the gunfire. The smell of gunpowder reached up into Jeb's nostrils.

“Best hurry, boy!” Jeb glanced outside. Smoke rolled through the encampment like the Mississippi, gunpowder bursting from a host of firearms. Federal troops clothed in blue uniforms and armed with Springfield Rifles scurried through the campsite. The repeating blast of a Gatling gun roared overhead.

“I can't think!”

But Jeb heard it, even over the death screams and blaring thunder outside. Fallon rubbed the pine tree ornament against Crispus's wound. The magic hissed like melting butter.

Jeb looked over his shoulder to see his brother-in-law's eyes quivering open. “Good Lawd!” Jeb hurried to his side. “You're alive!” He felt the skin where the wound had been. It was real.

“Where—what—how did I get here?” Crispus faltered, trying to sit up.

Jeb eased him up, then embraced him. “I thought I lost you.”

“Ouch—easy, Jeb.” Crispus let out a moan. “What—what's going on out there?” He jumped at the gunfire and unending blasts from the Gatling gun.

Jeb pulled Crispus up. “There ain't time to waste. We got to get the staff and be out of here. Get your things.”

Crispus nodded. Both Fallon and Jeb rushed to stand by the entrance, poised to open the flaps and join the fray. “They found it?” Crispus shouted.

Jeb pulled aside cloth and crossed the threshold into madness with Fallon following behind. Before he could survey the scene, a bullet hurtled passed his head and struck a wooden support pole, sending bits of shattered wood into the air.

A sea of troops and Klansmen surged against each other, rifles firing in bursts of smoke, swords and bayonets clanging. The Gatling gun loomed overhead, manned by several troops. Shells exploded on the battleground. Goblins were torn apart as they fought onward through the battle.

Verdiss stood ten yards away, the staff in one hand, and an antique saber in the other. Engaged in battle with several Federal troops, he wielded his sword with grace, spilling blood.

How does he fight like that?
The voodoo!
Jeb narrowed on the staff, a faience scepter, a foot and a half long topped by a falcon's head. It looked coated in centuries' worth of dirt, but seemed intact. Nearby, Narce wrestled a soldier to the ground, ripping a Springfield rifle from his hands. Darkness had its jaws locked firmly on the soldiers ankle.
 

“When I get the staff away from Verdiss, use that cape and disappear with it, all right, Crispus?” Jeb glanced back and lobbed the cloak at Crispus. He didn't wait to see him catch it “Lit's go!" Jeb nodded to Fallon. Then he sprinted to meet Verdiss in battle, his saber in one hand and Colt pistol in the other. He tried to keep track of Fallon trailing behind him, but lost him in the fray.

Blood sprayed outwards when Jeb dragged his blade
across a Klansman's stomach. Pushing him out of the way, he lunged at Verdiss. Their sabers met with the twang of metal, each attempting to push the other back. Jeb pressed the barrel of his pistol to Verdiss's stomach and fired.
Mortal wound!
He almost cackled as the Grand Dragon stumbled back, clutching his belly.
 

“'Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.'" Verdiss stood and moved his hand to reveal the bullet left nothing more than a flesh wound.

“Devil!” Jeb took a diagonal swing at Verdiss. His blade sliced through the Grand Dragon's robe, scraping against thick hide.

Another projectile cut through the air. It burst through Verdiss's robe, just missing his shoulder.
That came from above?
Jeb and Verdiss exchanged a confused glance. Verdiss inspected the gash in his robe.
 

Fallon broke past Jeb, driving his dagger into Verdiss's gut. “No, boy!" Jeb reached for him, but was too late. The Grand Dragon backhanded Fallon, tossing him sidelong, into Narce.

He grabbed the boy by his collar and hauled him off the ground. “I got you, you liddle traitorous shit!” shouted the brute of a Klansman. He laid his head into Fallon's face. Blood hemorrhaged over both of them. Fallon grazed Narce's flank with his knife. He grunted in pain, dropping the boy to the ground. Then drew his Smith and Wesson pistol.

Before Narce could fire his weapon, he lurched forward and collapsed on his stomach, a knife buried in his back. Jeb turned on Verdiss who seemed lost in discovering who fired on him.