The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff (9 page)

“
Se byen
.” La'Rita dismissed it with a wave of her hand. Then she opened the case. Stared, and withdrew the paper. Its fine red string fell away like mist. La'Rita unrolled the scroll, her blank eyes scrutinizing it. “Ah,
mes amis!
This leads to dee Narmer's staff. A relic from dee first king of Egypt.” La'Rita continued, “Narmer brought hees lands together, dee South and dee North. Hees staff lived after him death. They say it give a man power. Great powers.” She set the map on the table.
 

“Wise
mambo
, what about this war?” Crispus asked.
 

“Forget about the war! Nothing like that is gonna happen. Just tell us where the map leads to,” said Jeb.

“That is all I know about dee war.” La'Rita waved it off. “But I do know wat dee map says. It says dee staff was found here in Louisiana ‘round 1791. It
sold to a collector in New Orleans. A slave stole it to sell it for himself. So he tryin' make it to dee Mississippi River, but him get scared. Dee slave hunters come after him. When he reached dee river, he bury dee staff on its banks. They hunters caught dee slave and kill ‘em. But he never speak of dee staff to them. Dee map says it still on dee banks, where dee river meets Baton Rouge. Just east of dee city.” La'Rita finished reading the paper.
 

Jeb eyed Crispus throughout the story.
Look at 'em. He's listening like this shit is real. Like a little boy—hope Bettina's all right.
 

The air shattered and thunder erupted in the room. A moment passed before Jeb realized La'Rita and Crispus were on the ground covering their ears.
What is that—
another gunshot sent Jeb to his feet. “They're here!” He ran to the window, his colt in hand. A throng of Klansmen trod in the mud. Their torches casted a swampy glow over them. They resembled that mass of ghost-like monsters he'd so often imagined them as.
Run. Run, you fool, run!
 

In a chorus of shouts, the Klansmen overturned Rayford's wagon to use as a barricade. On a tall black horse sat Verdiss, his white and red robe revealed nothing. Only his hands hidden by thick gloves.

“Shit!” Jeb couldn't see Rayford anywhere. Gripping his pistol, he raced through battle tactics.
Nothing we can do but run
.
 

Then Verdiss spoke, “'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances.' Do not make this night your exit, vermin. Give me the map and no more will die for your lost cause.” Jeb swore the Grand Dragon smiled—his voice filled with fiendish glee. “Wherever you have been, you have brought a curse upon those you have encountered.”

La'Rita climbed to her feet with Crispus's help. “Dee line of dust will protect us from those who believe. That is dee way dee
voodoo
works. But dee ones who do not believe. Them can enter,” she said. The door crashed open. Rayford lay on his back, crawling inside. A trail of blood followed him
 

“Them no account . . . bastards . . . stuck me.” He kicked the door shut. He grabbed the tabletop and tried to pull himself up. Crispus rushed to help him stand.

“We have to do something. Get out of here somehow. They'll kill us all.” Crispus panicked, holding the wounded constable. La'Rita set off rummaging through chests of clothes.

“You may have barred me from entering, witch, but you are a caged animal, and all I must do is set your pen ablaze.” Verdiss's voice echoed from outside, the Goblins screaming him on.
 

“Burn them out!”

They snapped and snarled at each other like a pack of wolves. Jeb couldn't think.
Keturah. Bettina. At least they'll be safe if Verdiss kills us.
 

A score of Klansmen charged over the line of dust. Others couldn't bring themselves to pass over, scowling in confusion. Torches crashed onto the porch, flames exploding over the home.

He panicked. “How we getting out of here?” Jeb rushed over to clean the blood from Rayford, who had spit a glob of it on himself. Heat and smoke filled the room, stinging Jeb's eyes. La'Rita still tossed clothes out on the floor as though looking for her Sunday best. “
MAMBO!
” He went to grab her, but the door splintered and flames jetted inward. It caught Jeb's arm, cooking his flesh in hellfire.
 

“Ah, here it is.” La'Rita turned and tossed a worn green cape at Jeb. “Use this, they no see you.” Before he could argue about how the hell a fucking cloak was going to save them, the windows broke out in a shower of glass, slicing through flesh. Flames consumed the floor, surging to engulf the whole hut.

No thought, instinct seized him. Jeb pulled the cape over Rayford and himself. “Crispus, help me get him out!” He pushed Crispus toward the door, keeping the cloak over all three of them.

“Go . . . I'll . . . distract them.” Rayford spit more blood, and pulled his pistol from his belt. “I already . . . killed one of them . . . rednecks.” He managed to stand by himself. “Now . . . get out!” He shoved Jeb away. Then headed toward the fiery doorway. Jeb turned and pulled La'Rita off the shelves as she clawed to reach her jars.

“We got to leave now!”

“
Okenn!
I need to take dee moths. People's souls in them. Dee moths die dee bad souls go free. You go, I stay and go wit dee spirits.” She hacked on the smoke pouring through the hut.
 

Jeb left her and ran to grab Crispus. “We're going. They want to stay, we let them.” He hunched over, pulling Crispus to the door, using the constable as a shield.

Rayford stepped out onto the porch, firing his pistol in popping succession. One Klansman went down—then another, and another. Jeb kept the cape over himself and Crispus as they rushed to the back porch. While he released repeated shots from his Colt, Jeb stumbled over a rotund klansman lying dead on the verandah.

A rain of lead bombarded the constable, the uproar merging with the roaring fireball that engulfed the
mambo's
home. Jeb dragged his brother-in-law off the porch and into the sinking muck. He glanced back, hoping to find Rayford still firing shots. But the constable's body lay crumpled.
 

“'Now thou art come unto a feast of death!'” Verdiss shouted over the roaring flames. “The witch may have you hidden, vermin, but we
will
find you!”
 

Crispus growled as Jeb forced him further into the bayou, covered by the cape. “We shouldn't have left. We can save the
mambo
.”
 

“No, we couldn't have. This is how it got to be. Rayford kicks the bucket so we can live.” Jeb kept his tone cold.
He needs to see you brave. Don't let him see your fear.
He turned away from Crispus.
 

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

General Philip Sheridan and his Federal Troops had come to Louisiana twice since the "War of Northern Aggression," as the South called it. New Orleans's bloody race riot of 1866, in which thirty-four people of color were lynched triggered his immediate arrival from the same business in the Lone Star State. A related incident led to Sheridan dismissing the Texas Governor James W. Throckmorton, stating he was "an impediment to the Reconstruction of his state."

Later that same year, General Sheridan returned to Louisiana to remove Governor James M. Wells from office, because he was a "political trickster and dishonest man." These were hard times during Reconstruction. General Sheridan, who oversaw the Fifth Military District which Texas and Louisiana were known as, couldn't decide which state was worse—though Texas had a great dislike for him after newspapers in 1866 quoted him as saying, "If I owned Texas and Hell, I would rent Texas and live in Hell."

For the third time, Sheridan would return to Louisiana, after having heard reports of the Ku Klux Klan overrunning a small town, killing, raping, and razing its black population. With the Force Act of 1870, which banned the malicious group, he feared that it'd result in a resurgence of their popularity among the rural whites. That was why he himself had come to Baton Rouge and set plans in motion to hold a discussion with the current Governor, Henry C. Warmoth. In addition, General Sheridan sent a hundred troops to Allenville under the charge of Major Lydell Jones. That's what the Major heard, at least.

“All right, boys, these rednecks want a fight, we'll give 'em one!” Lydell shouted from atop his horse, plopping through the swamps.

Major Jones had seen the carnage at Allenville and left fifty soldiers to clean up the mess and restore sanity to the town. He and the rest of his men set into the swamps to rout out the Klan.

Troops in blue uniforms marched through the mud with ease, their backpacks strapped on and large muskets over their shoulders. Instructions were simple: march, shoot Klansmen on sight, and if unable to find any, report to Baton Rouge. No one spoke during the hike, except for the major, who urged his men on.

By late afternoon, the platoon came upon a slouched building charred by fire, and collapsed in on it self. “Major, opine those secessionists are behind this.” A soldier pointed toward the ruined home.

“Aye.” Lydell climbed off his horse, pulling his old Starr pistol from its holster. “Lay low, boys. There may be some sentries about.” He moved through the swamp, close enough to see the bodies. Six or seven Klansmen littered the front of the home, their bodies drenched in blood, some shredded from gator bites.
Look like Goblins. No big wigs.
Lydell caught sight of a crucifix on a Klansman's chest. He grumbled.
 

“Somebody blessed this man—a God-fearing man." He pointed to the corpse. “You don't fuck with that. It'll bring a hex on you. This is
voodoo
land.” Lydell motioned his platoon forward.
 

“Bully for you.” A soldier chuckled as the company moved shoulder to shoulder with Lydell.

 “He was a better soldier then you are, Mulligan,” Jones said, remembering days of the War Between the States. “Opine, he a better man, too.” He gave a half smile.

“I don't know. I'm scarce as a hen's teeth.” Mulligan nudged the man beside him.

Jones scoffed, still surveying the scene. He spotted the constable's destroyed body in a pool of its own bile. “The damned pie-eaters killed the lawman!” Fury rose from his belly. “Pick him up. We'll take him to Baton Rouge for a good Christian burial." He nodded to his men. Several soldiers rushed to wrap up Rayford's body. “While we're at it, boys, bury that man.” Jones pointed to the round Klansman. “Someone's marked him a good Christian. We'll respect that enough to bury him right.”

Two men wrapped the shredded body in a linen sheet. It took several more to lift the carcass.

“On to Baton Rouge?” a soldier asked.

“Aye, backtrack out the bayou and move on. I hope we meet Verdiss and his scum along the way. Remember, boys, nobody kills our people. Whether they black, white, or fuck, Mexican. They all the same as us. Killin' a black is
the same as killin' a white. Murder's murder. I know we're all huffy and want to get our hands around them rednecks, but toe the mark. And we'll kill them
all
.” Jones mounted his horse. “Move out!”
 

The platoon turned about face and marched out from the swamp.

 

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

The witch told Verdiss everything he wanted to know—after he tortured her, of course. He killed each of the moths.
Voodoo
workers used them to absorb the sins of a person when they passed so they could ascend heaven with a clean soul. A kindness Verdiss had manipulated himself. But he released them all, their evil spirits went free to wreck havoc upon the world. Then Verdiss cut off the
mambo's
dreads, sliced her boils open, and removed her eyes. The death blow was a keen dagger dragged across her throat. Life ebbed out of her and into the swamp.
 

Verdiss led half the Goblins out of the bayou, heading south to Baton Rouge. He ordered Narce to lead the remainder further into the swamp after the two thieves. Energized, Verdiss hurried his men on to Baton Rouge.

The Pharaoh's Staff lay buried some six miles away. He'd almost completed the
Geist Führer's
orders. Then Verdiss would have the weapons promised him. He didn't need the map now, though it'd be helpful—but all that mattered was finding the Pharaoh's Staff. His enemies couldn't find it before him. They were weak, unintelligent, and easy to be rid of. What bothered Verdiss more was having to scour the banks of the Mississippi River. If only he knew a ritual or spell to help find it.
We're looking for a grain of sand on the shore.
 

They'd managed to avoid General Sheridan's federal troops while escaping the bayou.
It won't be for long. Major Jones will order his men into a forced march.
His men are military trained. Mine are racist laymen. There are a few former Confederate soldiers and Redeemers
.
If only Reconstruction hadn't banned a Southern army.
 

“Grand Dragon, I have a line of attack against them damn Yankees.” Galin approached him atop his mare. He'd served during the War of Northern Aggression, even promoted to sergeant. Verdiss made certain to know his men well. To control the man, you must know the man. Verdiss halted his horse. The noon sun tortured his men. They groaned under their gear, sweat glistening on their skin. Verdiss enjoyed the heat—cool sweat was one of the
few sensations his husk-like skin recognized.