The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff (26 page)

"Lots a money. And I'd always see them eyes a hers, like she pitied them runaways. But I swears she pitied me more. Never understood it.

“Maybe if I was one of them it'd awork.” Narce scoffed. “Shit. Look at me. Runnin' my jaw off like it matters.” He stood, shaking his head, trying to jiggle the thoughts away. With a deep exhale he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

 

 

 

Chapter Forty
 

Night waned over New York City. Rays of dawning sunlight cast pale shades of pink, yellow, and red that destroyed and pushed away the darkness. Vendors, town criers, and urchins already filled the streets, crooning, and hawking their goods. It reminded Jeb of an off-key minstrel show Major Jones used to make the fresh fish put on. Unlike that torture, no matter where he went in the city the racket followed him.  Even inside the museum's storage building.

He hadn't slept in the last day. It'd be a matter of time before Verdiss and his rednecks realized they left Baton Rouge—if they didn't already know.
This is war.
So Jeb knew his family would be Verdiss's first target. Capture them to use against him. Figuring he'd trade the staff for wife and child. Verdiss was right to think that. Thanks to Major Jones, Jeb anticipated it. As uneducated as Jones was, he was a shrewd tactician. He breathed easier knowing he'd reached Keturah in time and sent her, Bettina and Jupiter somewhere safe. He didn't know where, and didn't want to know. If
he
couldn't find them, how could Verdiss?
Unless he uses that black magic...
 

Second to his family, the Pharaoh's Staff weighed on Jeb. Though if he believed Crispus it should be his first. Against his better judgment, Jeb let Crispus carry off the staff to face a
bokor
-possessed scholar.
The whole thing's absurd
. But the thought of carrying around a five thousand-year-old staff turned Jeb's nerves to jelly. If he and the Klan crossed ways before he reached Keturah...and if it
were
magical he might break it.
Then who the hell knows what would happen.  
 

Cornelius sat at his desk against the back wall, engrossed in parchments. Only stopping to tug on his thick beard and sip tea from a porcelain cup.

“No. No. No. That's not right. Ugh! Shut up, will you?” The dwarf spun around in his chair, glaring up at Jeb. “I'm trying to work here, and you're over there muttering to yourself like some blasted fool. Let me work in peace.” Cornelius pushed his wire-rimmed spectacles farther up on
his bulbous nose. Satisfied, he turned back to the parchments on his desk.
 

I didn't say anything, you old coot.
Jeb scowled then took another bite of cracklin' bread. The fried hog fat mixed with corn bread simmered in his mouth. He couldn't remember the last time he had anything
this
good to eat—or anything to eat, for that matter.
 

“This is just like him. I give him a chance and he disappears all night. You said he lives a few blocks from here?” asked Jeb through chomps of bread.
He'd
returned several hours after midnight. Sitting anxious waiting for Crispus and Fallon.
 

“Yes. Yes. Now be quiet. Can't you see I'm busy?”

“I got another question." Jeb swallowed the last bit of cracklin' bread. Sorry to see it go. He leaned over the dwarf's shoulder. “Can this scepter be broken—”

“Of course.” Cornelius dropped the parchment he was reading, irritated. “
Everything
can be broken. What kind of stupid question is that? Where are those dolts? I don't know why you would want to break such an artifact. It could change how we view Egypt.”
 

Tall tales couldn't teach anyone anything, so there must be something more to the staff than Jeb saw.
Just a stick.
“What can this thing do?” The way Cornelius' face lit up at the question somehow irked him—the bastard cared more about some dead king's cane than his brother-in-law and friend.
 

“Well! You see, Narmer was the first pharaoh after the Scorpion King.  That's the first ruler of all Egypt. I believe Narmer lived in the thirty-second century BC. Yes, that's correct, thirty-second.” Cornelius tugged on his beard. His gaze seemed to drift past Jeb and into the past. “He united the country. Upper and Lower Egypt. Into
one
kingdom. He was a great warrior, a wise and just king. He took warring peoples and brought peace to them all.”
 

Nodding, Jeb tried to put the story to memory. Certain he'd need it later to convince Crispus to destroy it.

Cornelius leaned forward, his eyes shifting as if looking for spies. “This is where the legend comes in. Only a few have heard of what I'm about to tell you. My colleagues would laugh at me if they heard it.
I
found an odd passage in the
Magus Liber
and if I translated it correctly...Narmer knew he'd die soon. He also knew his enemies would
plunge the kingdom into anarchy. Great king's know the power of self-sacrifice.” He took another big gulp of tea. “Pharaohs were considered godly and all. So, Narmer charged his priests with putting him to death in order to channel his power into the staff. The priests secreted the staff away, afraid Narmer's enemies would use it to seize control of the kingdom.”
 

Another fairytale? Even he seems to believe it.
Jeb sighed.
 

Oblivious to Jeb's expression, Cornelius continued like an excited child...or Fallon. "Legend says that whoever possesses the Pharaoh's Staff gains Narmer's powers. Fascinating story, really.” He leaned back, seeming to expect Jeb to respond like some bewildered child. When he didn't say anything, instead lost in his own thoughts, Cornelius grunted. “Ignoramus.” And turned back to the paperwork in front of him.

This all can't be real. I might just have to steal the staff and destroy it myself.
He didn't like the idea, but if he had to, Jeb would.
 

Bang!
The door crashed open. Fallon shuffled in with Crispus leaning on him. “We got it!” came Fallon's voice.
 

Jeb rushed through the maze-like warehouse to find both men slumped against a wall. Red gouges caked with blood crisscrossed Crispus's face and neck and his jaw swelled like a watermelon. “You got it?” Jeb didn't mean to sound surprised. But he was...the leather-bound book tucked under Crispus's arm.

Leaving Crispus against the wall, Fallon tugged at Jeb's sleeve. “Crispus got it.”

If not so concerned with Crispus's injuries, Jeb might've offered a few encouraging words. But coddling a man could be dangerous. Instead, he helped Crispus off the wall and over to a chair by Cornelius's desk. “All right. Sit down." He eased Crispus into the seat. “What happened? You look like shit."

Crispus glared at him, and mumbled something through his engorged jaw.

“He can't really talk. His jaw is all busted up, but you should have seen him, Jeb. He was great. Took on two...two...I don't know what they were. Then he killed that Nathaniel fellow who
was
trying to kill us.” Fallon swung his arms, mimicking a fight. “Here, Mr. Cuthbert. Here's
the
Magus
Liber
." He pulled the aged book from underneath Crispus's arm and placed it on the table for the dwarf to see.
 

“Excellent. Excellent.” Cornelius grabbed the tome and flipped through the pages. Yellowed and dried from age, with each flip the pages sounded like they might crumble. “It'll take me some time to find the right passage. Longer to translate and study it. You should all get some sleep. You all look horrible. I'll wake you up when I'm finished.” Cornelius waved them away. He looked as if he wanted to climb inside the book.

“Where do you want them to sleep?” Scowling, Jeb glanced around the maze of artwork. “They ain't sleeping on the floor.”

Frustration bubbled in Cornelius's voice. “All around you.”

With a sigh, Jeb set to rearranging several stacks of books to make a suitable place to rest. When he finished, Crispus had already fallen asleep in his chair. Snoring. Jeb scowled. “Looks like you get the book-bed.” He motioned Fallon to the stacks. “I'll just take the floor.”

Fallon smiled and hopped onto the books. “Thanks, Jeb.”

A grunt was all Jeb could offer as he plopped down against the books.
No idea I was this tired
. Not tired enough for his mind not to wander. Simple things—sitting at home with Keturah, telling stories to Bettina, working his field during the hot summer. Sharing a drink with Crispus at the tavern in Allenville. He didn't know if he were dreaming or not anymore, but the thoughts were better than what he now faced. A bleak reality—a reality that spelled certain death at the hands of murderous hatemongers, or, worse, falling into Verdiss's hands. That's what waited for him when he'd wake up.
Maybe I've been making myself not believe in all this shit that's happened.
A horrible thought. It meant if Jeb came face to face with the Grand Dragon again, the magic could destroy him...
 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-One

 

A banging at the door woke Jeb. He grumbled, rubbing his eyes. Climbing to his feet in a sleepy stupor, he glanced around. Fallon was sprawled atop the stack of books and Crispus slouched in his chair, hand pressed underneath his swollen jaw. There were another series of bangs.

Cornelius still sat at his desk, absorbed in the pages of the
Magus Liber.
“Aren't you going to get that?” he asked, taking a sip of tea.
 

Jeb stretched his back and let out a sigh. It took the five minute trek through the warehouse for him to fully wake up. When he reached the door, the banging grew strong enough to send trembles through the wood.
Shit.
Why didn't he realize it could be the Klan before? Drawing his colt, Jeb pushed himself against the wall. He waited.
 

“Who's that?” He clicked back the hammer.

“Sergeant Wren Tallman of the New York Guard,” came an irritated voice. “Open up. I've been sent by Governor John Thompson Hoffman of New York to inform you—” his voice was dull as if reading from a paper.

To hell with this. I'm not running from the police no more.
Jeb flung the door open in mid sentence and jammed his pistol in whoever's face was there.
 

An obese greasy-haired man in a blue federal uniform stood in the afternoon sun shower. Eyes narrowed on the barrel pressed against his nose, the soldier trembled, parchment in hand.

He was fat for a Federal troop. Too fat. “You a Sunday Soldier or something?” Jeb made it clear he was eyeing the soldier's potbelly.

“No—no. An—expressman. I don't even have a pistol.” The soldier glanced at his belt. Jeb followed his eyes and found a satchel hanging there, not a holster.

Soldiering had gotten the best of Jeb. He'd forgotten about minding his manners, not every white face hid a Klansmen. Laws of society still held true even though he'd been thrown into a world of insanity. Jeb clicked the hammer forward and holstered his gun. “Fo'give me, suh. I done thought yah was a robber.“
Make him think you're
some ignorant boy who doesn't know better.
 

Jeb recognized that arrogant look well. The white man thought Jeb learned his manners. Tallman nodded. “I take it you're Jebidiah Johnson?”

“Yessuh.”

“
As
I was saying, I bring a message from Governor John Thompson Hoffman of New York.” Tallman went back to reading from the note. “Members of the Ku Klux Klan have been tried, convicted, and executed in Mississippi this past June. Members in South Carolina are to be tried in federal court next month. It has come to Governor Hoffman's attention, by way of General Phillip Sheridan of the Fifth Military District, that several Klansmen planned and acted upon an assassination attempt on his life.”
 

“Wh'happen, suh?” asked Jeb.

Tallman ignored him and continued, “The attempt failed. General Sheridan was unharmed. The remainder of the Klan in Louisiana have been captured. Again, by way of General Sheridan, Governor Hoffman has learned that the devious Grand Dragon . . . Ver . . .
Vedriss
, I believe his name is, has arrived in New York City. General Sheridan has a spy within
Vedriss's
band. We know that you and your men have been dispatched to deal with the issue.”
 

“Yessuh,” said Jeb.
Finally someone's stepping into this mess
.
The
National Guard should've been doing this. Where the hell have they all been?
 

“The spy has indicated Grand Dragon
Vedriss
is accompanied by ten men. They have positioned themselves in an abandoned farm several miles outside the city. For...” A sneer crossed Tallman. Even his eyes laughed at what the parchment said next. “They're preparing a ceremony for tomorrow night. Religious in nature. Witchcraft?” He scoffed. “Be at the farm sometime tomorrow. It doesn't say when. Here are the directions. Can you even read?” Tallman handed Jeb the parchment, a smug smile on his lips. “Governor Hoffman deputizes you and your men. You are to go on his behalf and kill the Klansmen.