The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff (10 page)

“What may that be, Galin?” he asked.

“During the war, I had my men hide in trees and drop on any Union troops that came by. It wasn't the best tactic, but it worked.” Galin often wore a smug smile, his voice rife with arrogance.

How easily I could crush you,
Verdiss leered underneath his hood. If they'd seen his face, he was certain the braggart would piss himself. “That is a brilliant idea, Galin. Arrange it. I will make my way to Baton Rouge alone.” He'd no longer be encumbered by a ill-fit regiment. Verdiss wouldn't abandon them, but Galin's plan spared him the decision.
 

“No! No, we can't do that!” Fallon came running, his hawked nose covered in tears. “What about Percy? He's our friend. He needs a good Christian burial!” He begged Verdiss with his eyes—
so innocent
. “We can't just leave him out there with them gators and bugs!”
 

Galin gave Verdiss an irritated glance. “Shut up. You put that damn crucifix on him. That's good enough!” He turned and slapped the boy. Fallon crumbled to the ground, holding his cheek and wailing. Galin turned back to Verdiss. “Sorry, Grand Dragon, we had to settle something.” He was nonchalant.

Verdiss narrowed his eyes on the cruel windbag. “You should not strike the boy.” If they'd been alone he'd have torn the man's skull out to use as a candleholder. “A
man
ought to have the same concern for friends as he does for himself. One day, Fallon may have the power to hurt
you.
Some of the most unlikely boys become the strongest men.” He pulled his hood back, revealing his deformed face marked with welts. He relished the sight, Galin's face screwed up in terror. Verdiss pulled his hood back over his head. “If you
ever
reveal what you have seen to any of our Klan, you will suffer a painful death.” He enunciated each word with a cruel flick of his tongue.
 

Verdiss glanced at Fallon and nodded. The gleaming red eyes sent a shiver over Fallon. Verdiss saw himself in the boy, he'd been that child hurt and quivering in the dirt. Perhaps the child had been wronged as he was. The boy wouldn't realize why for many years. It'd taken Verdiss decades to understand it. And when he did, he didn't care.
Death to them all.
 

Galin went to help the boy up, trembling himself. “Um . . . here, go and get my things.”

“
No!
” Fallon pushed Galin away with surprising strength and got to his feet. His face twisted, and with his hawked nose, Verdiss mused he looked like a furious bird of prey. “I hate you! You're not a man! None of you are! There's nothing about any of yawl that makes you men. Yawl don't care about me. Yawl didn't care about Percy. Or anyone!” Fallon's screams attracted the attention of the crowd of Klansmen. “Yawl are evil. I seen you kill
white
men back in Allenville. You ain't trying to protect good white folk—you just want to kill. If you can't kill black folk, then you kill whoever's in front of you. Yawl are devils." Fallon pointed at the throng. “And
you
,” he turned to Verdiss. “You're the goddamn antichrist!”
 

Verdiss cracked a smile.
Interesting.
 

Jeers exploded from the Klansmen.

"Shove off!"

"Go boil your shirt, damn Yankee!”

“Kill the copperhead!”

Verdiss watched the boy run off into the woods followed by rocks and gunfire. He caught a look of hurt wash over Galin's face. He'd probably never been rejected in his life. And his pain set Verdiss alight like nothing before.
Now you know how it feels!
 

“Forget him. He's bad luck,” Galin shouted at the roaring Klansmen. “Let's set the trap.”

 

 

 

Chapter Sixteen

“I'm gonna kill those crackers.” Jeb grimaced, his weathered face folded in wrinkles. It'd taken until dawn to reach Baton Rouge, where they rented a room at the Po'boy Inn, so they could inspect his arm. “It hurts!” he groaned through clenched teeth. His flesh had melted away in black gunk from  the after burn. The pain seared through his arm and into his bones, threatening to drag him into a blackout.

Crispus ignored him as he examined the wound. “I honestly have no idea how to treat it.” He scratched his ear.

“Use this. The
houngan
says it can heal, if you's believe.” Jeb let out another groan. “And—I'm—sure you believe in—this junk.” He pulled out the strange talisman Lafayette gave him. “Some
voodoo
spirit,
Ayizan
or something. You know about this nonsense, don't you's?” He eyed the wicker palm tree hanging from the rope necklace. Speaking Lafayette's name meant he'd acknowledge his death. It didn't feel right doing so.
 

“Only the fundamentals.” Crispus examined the talisman. “Prayers are sacred.” Seeming satisfied, he held the palm tree charm over the wound. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.

Nothing happened. Nor did anything happen for the next
five
minutes Jeb watched him play with the trinket. “Balderdash.”
 

Then the dead, melted skin sizzled, bubbling over like boiling water. Jeb gasped as the wound seeped away, revealing unmarred skin.

“It actually worked!” Crispus gasped.

“Lawd Jesus.” Jeb rubbed his arm. “How...it don't even hurt no more.” He must've imagined it, or the wound wasn't as bad as he'd thought.

Crispus smiled. “Heh. Magic—What do we do now?” Crispus asked, desperation in his voice. “Narce and his men are coming for us. They're going to kill us.”

“If they can find us.” Jeb tossed the shabby green cape on the ground. “Remember, your
mambo
says this'll hide
you.” He scoffed. Then glanced around the cramped room. Those monsters could be anywhere like cockroaches scuttling across the floor. And after what he'd just seen who the hell knew what was real or not. Crispus gathered the cape, his hands trembling.
Can't let him see me like this. Be strong for him...how the hell did that voodoo work?
 

“We best find a ride to Old South Baton Rouge—I thinks it's in the Eastern quarter, on the Mississippi. Less you want to wander the city for a few hours." Jeb sighed, grabbed the talisman from Crispus, and slipped it back over his head. “Go on, find us a buggy. I got to take care of something.” He motioned his brother-in-law to leave. “Meet me back here in an hour, all right?” Jeb stabbed a finger at Crispus. A smile crossed his face. Keturah did the same thing.

Somehow the parchment in his hands comforted Jeb as he caressed its folded edges. Images of Keturah and Bettina filled his head. Bettina laughed, trying to drag him to the ground. Keturah yelled at him in her English-patois:
Bumbaclaat! Mi wa yuh to cut the shit.
 

Jeb opened the letter and read it over again:

Muh beeloved famly,

I hope you maad it to Unkle Jupiters in Nu Yurk. I miss y'all vary much and hop you ar having fun. Do knot worrie abut mi and Krispus. We ar fyne and thengs ar callming down hear. I well bee joyning you vary soon. Till Jupiter I am cratefil for taking kare of y'all. Keturah, Hear is a phew dollars for Bettina. Lit her spend it on sum candi or toys. How I lung for yur lips too kis and too have yur body in my armz. Mising you causes mi great pain, butt I mus go now. I luve you and giv Bettina all my luve and a big hugg.

Wit much luve, yor husband

Jeb.

Satisfied with the letter, Jeb folded it and shoved it in a pocket. He left the Po'boy and headed for the post office. It was a long walk, but
if
he could've found a buggy that'd take him he couldn't afford it. Instead, he tramped through the filthy streets lined with beggars and merchants. The post office was no different than finding a buggy. It was twenty minutes before any postman would answer his calls. Then another ten minutes to haggle his way into affording a stamp for his letter.
 

Grumbling, Jeb stepped outside into the street. Some
white, scrawny, hawk-nosed boy crashed into him. Jeb kept his eyes down, “So sorry, suh.”
Play the part. Just let him say whatever he's gonna say.
But the kid stared up at him wide-eyed, his face pale.
This little shit?
Jeb grabbed the Klan Ghoul by his collar and hauled him into a nearby alley.
 

“You! I know I seen you before!” Still holding his shirt, he shoved the boy against the wall. “Where your deadbeat murdering friends, huh!” Jeb slammed him into the wall again. A pathetic yelp escaped his lips as he struggled to free himself from Jeb's clutches.

“I'm not with them! I'm not! Please! Please stop!” he gave a pained squeak.

“What you mean, boy?” Jeb demanded, tightening his grip on the scum. Ready to snap the life from him. He burned red with rage. The dagger in his boot was an instant away. It'd be easy. Drag the blade across this kid's throat and leave him there for his gang to find.
One for many—this is war!
 

“I . . . I'm not with them no more. I was wrong to be with them. They . . . they're wrong. They just left my friend Percy out in the swamps to get eaten by them gators.” The kid sniffled. “I'm...I'm sorry for everything they done to you and yours. It ain't right. They're liars. They're murderers.” He wiped the tears from his eyes.

Jeb lessened his grip and let the kid drop to the ground. He kept his eyes on him, ready to draw his pistol. The boy buried his face in his sleeve and cried. In a pathetic way that said he might be telling the truth.
I almost killed him. He can't be that much older than Bettina. Maybe he didn't know what they were
. Jeb stumbled back and slipped onto the ground, his back against the alley wall. If he'd done it, spilled this kid's blood out on the pavement, he'd be the same as those monsters who hung Lafayette. Who knows how many children they killed that night? He almost added another one to the list.
 

“You telling me the truth?” said Jeb.

“I am . . . I am.” The boy sniffled, wiping his face on his shirt. “I didn't realize how bad it all was. I don't know what I thought it was. They took care of me. No one's taken care of me—I thought my pop died cause of yawl...but I suppose he died
for
yawl. I need to make things right . . .” he trailed off. “My pops fought for the Union. Tried to keep me a
Yankee.” His hand went to the Starr pistol at his belt. “He'd be wrathy with me for what I done.”
 

“All right then.” Jeb nodded. “What's your name again?”

“Fallon—Narce and his men are coming!” He jumped to his feet, mangling his words in a burst of energy. “We have to go! We have to go!” he shouted, pulling on Jeb's arm.

Jeb scowled, then climbed to his feet, adjusting his sword at his belt. “How's they supposing to find us?”
This could be a trick.
 

“No! They're coming for the Pharaoh's Staff. The Klan knows where it is. We need to stop them.” Fallon continued to pull Jeb out of the alley by his arm. “If Verdiss gets ahold of it, the
Geist Führer
—”
 

“What does all that mean?” said Jeb. It had to be the war the
mambo
told them about.
Is Crispus right?
No, some dead Egyptian king's "magical" scepter couldn't wipe out everyone some other imaginary king thought impure.
It's all balderdash
. Jeb tried to put it all together as Fallon led him through the streets of Baton Rouge. But, he couldn't accept it. None of it made sense. Then Fallon explained everything he knew about the war sixty some-odd years in the future and the
Geist Führer.

  
 

 

Chapter Seventeen

 

Darkness enveloped Louisiana by the time Verdiss reached his grove of weeping willows. It'd been more difficult to find it tonight. It seemed as if the night
swallowed it, trying to hide it from him. Gloom dampened the lanterns he'd lit around his iron pot.
Something is conspiring against me
.
 

“I call upon you,
Geist Führer
, through the voids of space and time.” He commenced the ritual to open the barrier of time, or what his master called time. Knowing the Pharaoh's Staff's location, he'd earned the
majik
weapons his master promised.
Now
no one could match his power. In a burst of steam, the water boiled alive, the
Geist Führer
taking shape in the vapors. His hair still kept in a ridiculous hairstyle with highbrow class.
 

“
Verdiss, I assume you are contacting me to report you know the staff's location.” The harsh voice rumbled from the cauldron.
 

“I have, Master. I now require the weapons you swore to me. The slaughter of these vermin is at hand and without those
majik
weapons, the war's fate is uncertain.” Verdiss's tongue flicked out of his mouth. He'd delayed his trip to Baton Rouge. Any excuse to seize the power the
Geist Führer
owed him
. Slaying the thieves wouldn't be difficult, but it'd be the perfect opportunity to test the
fenwa majik
weapons on them.