Kage Baker: Or Else My Lady Keeps the Key

The figure sagged, twisted, seemed in pain. It spat out the rum, pursing its lips in distaste, wiping its mouth. It opened eyes white-pale as the moon and spoke in a woman’s voice, infinitely reproachful.

“Oh, Bandele, how could you be so cruel? Look at them! Lost in a stranger’s country. No rites said over them, no one to look after their souls. They’re hungry. They’re cold. They’re lost. Some drowned in the wrecks, some were beaten to death, some were worked to death. Who’s going to help these dead children, lost on this shore? Who’s going to pull them up out of the water and set them free?”

Sejanus found his voice. “What do they want with me?” he said, very quiet.

The figure stood taller, worked its shoulders easily, spoke in the voice of a serene and magisterial male. “You know. You know in your bones. Your daddy was a weak man, but his blood was strong. Your mama was an ugly woman, but her blood was lovely. They came of mighty lines and you are their child, born here . Your power is here in this new place. You were marked for us from the moment you touched this earth.”

“But I don’t believe,” said Sejanus hopelessly.

The figure grinned. “Oh, child, you know . You don’t have to believe. You don’t have to give us maize or peas or liquor. You don’t even have to love us. But you will help those poor souls rest because you know you must.”

“But how? How am I to help them?” shouted Sejanus.

The figure shrank, bent, and once again Mr. Tudeley could almost be discerned. The little chuckle came again, scornful. “Oh, now he wants our advice. Mr. Sejanus Walker, the high-and-mighty atheist. Serve you right if we closed our mouths again and let you figure it all out for yourself. You’re a smart child; you could do it. But maybe we’ll help, a little. You’ll have to wait and see…”

Abruptly the presence, or presences, were gone. Mr. Tudeley dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and lay motionless beside the fire. The silence broke; once again they heard the surf pounding on the beach, the distant rumble of thunder as the storm moved away to the north. A wind rustled the palm leaves and swept the smoke of the fire up in gusts, to the clearing sky where a few stars shone out.

Something moved, black against the stars. Something was fluttering down out of the night, turning over and over as it fell. It dropped at Sejanus’s feet. Both he and John stared at it.

It was a man’s hat, in the most elegant cut of the latest fashion, all black watered silk. It had a black rooster’s tail for a cockade, held on with a silver pin in the shape of a cross. Sejanus bent and picked it up, cautiously. He began to swear, in a despairing kind of way.

John looked over at the palisadoes and saw the dead were gone. He looked back and met Sejanus’s gaze.

“Now, I’ll tell you where this came from,” said Sejanus, turning the hat in his hands. “This was some Frenchman’s, or Spanish lord’s hat. That hurricane must have swept it off his head, from some ship out at sea. It just blew around in the upper air until it came down here. That’s all.”

“Right,” said John. “You going to put it on?”

Sejanus looked at the hat with profound dislike. “No reason not to. It’s just a hat. Stylish hat, too. Doesn’t mean anything if I try it on.”

He set it on his head. It fit; it even suited him. It made him look rakish and wise.

“Mr. James,” said a calm voice near the ground. John nearly jumped out of his skin, and looked down to see Mrs. Waverly staring up at him from underneath the shelter. Her eyes were wide and terrified, for all the control she had over her tone. “I believe I should like it if you would be so kind as to sleep with me tonight.”

So John lay down and slept with her, and that was all he did. He couldn’t have got his prick up that night even if she’d been the queen of Sheba.

MRS. WAVERLY WAS A little cold to him next morning. John would have thought she’d have made some comment about the ghosts and spirits that had come calling, but no indeed; only the fact that John hadn’t been up for a jolly tumble seemed to weigh with her, this morning.

Mr. Tudeley also had no memory of the night past, it seemed. He lay like one dead by the fire until just after sunrise, when he scrambled up on his hands and knees and puked into the coals. The resultant blast of flame therefrom singed off his eyebrows. Afterward he sat in the shade and complained peevishly about the damned poor quality of the rum.

Nor did Sejanus seem to have any desire to mention his unwanted guests. He wore his new hat, however, when they walked back down from the camp to work on the pinnace.

John crawled into Mrs. Waverly’s little boudoir of canvas that night, by way of apology, but she minced no words in explaining to him that she hadn’t offered a standing invitation to her person by any means.

The pinnace took shape quickly. If it wasn’t the most elegant craft ever built it was at least seaworthy, as they found when they floated the hull after it had been well tarred with some of the Dutchman’s stores. They put in thwarts and stepped a little mast, made from one of the Harmony ’s spars, and rigged a jib sail. All that remained was to finish a bit of a half-deck at the stern, where cargo might be stored or Mrs. Waverly might retire in privacy.

In regard to which, the lady seemed to have thought better of her adamantine chastity somewhat, at least as far as what hands and lips might do; for she lured John away two nights running for a stroll along the beach at sunset. There she eloquently persuaded him of her lasting devotion and fond hope that he’d squire her around the Continent, after they should claim the four thousand pounds. So pleasantly she backed her words with deeds that John barely noticed the dead men the last tide had brought up to festoon the sand, though they were getting pretty disgraceful now.

“These are the last I could shake free,” said Mr. Tudeley, struggling over the sand with a netful of coconuts. “Really, need we bring any more?”

“You’ll want ’em if we get becalmed on our way,” said John. “I make it two weeks to Leauchaud. Six coconuts per person per day, that’s three hundred thirty-six coconuts.”

“There’ll be no room for us in the damned thing, then!”

“Ah.” John laid a finger beside his nose. “We load ’em in the boat and tow it after us, see? Which will be handy to have anyhow in case the pinnace sinks.”

“It won’t sink,” said Sejanus, loading in the little chest of navigational gear. “Have a little faith.”

“Faith in what exactly?” said John, glowering after him. “That bit of high wind brought you your fancy hat?”

Sejanus shrugged. “I have all the faith I need, in myself. I don’t plan on dying just yet. Too much to do.”

“There’s some palms in a grove the far side of that rock,” said John to Mr. Tudeley. “Whyn’t you go see what you can collect over there?” When Mr. Tudeley had gone tramping off with an empty net, muttering savagely, John turned back to Sejanus.

“What’ll you do now, after you leave us off at Leauchaud?” he asked. “Sign on with the Brethren? Or set up shop as an obeah man?”

Sejanus raised an eyebrow. “No reason I can’t do both, is there? The one’s a good way to finance the other, seems to me. But I won’t be serving the orishas. I’m no houngan; I have other things to do.”

“You don’t believe in ’em?” John stopped work and stared at him. “After what happened the other night?”

“Chah! Of course I believe in them . Not impressed. Didn’t you hear ’em, all pushing and shoving to talk through one poor little old white man? They’re weak; this isn’t their country. But it’s mine.” Sejanus looked out on the Caribbean. “I’ll have to imagine something new. Buy myself a fancy coat, maybe, to go with my hat, and a walking stick to impress folk. Deal a little in the old tricks. Good luck charms, poppets for barren women, fortunetelling, just to build a reputation, you see?