The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff (3 page)

The
houngan
shifted his weight, trying to hide how the words Grand Dragon disturbed him.
 

“Ya know how to rile
mwen
bones. What do ya want from me?”
 

“Two things. I'd like a blessing for my kin and me. And...good
houngan
...can you hide Crispus here a day or two?”
 

“Done.” Lafayette climbed to his feet. He ambled over to one of the many shelves. Pushing jars and vials aside, he grabbed a talisman. He held it up for Jeb to see. Some old rope necklace.

“What's that?” Jeb stood, squinting at the trinket.

“Dis,
mon ami,
is dee symbol of
Ayizan.
It is very powerful.” Lafayette stepped toward Jeb. On the rope, hung a tiny charm in the shape of a palm tree pointing upward.
 

“What it do?” Jeb asked.

“
Enbesil!
It blesses dee wearer and his family. Very potent healing powers. Here, put it on.” Lafayette put the rope necklace over Jeb's head, letting it fall to his neck. “Dis I give to ya free...with one condition,
mon ami
.”
 

Shit, what the hell can I give him?
Jeb eyed him, “What condition? I ain't got much to give you.” He dug into his pocket, feeling his Colt pistol, a few coins, and pocket lint.
 

“
Okenn,
nothin' of any material, black man. Something far more important than that.” Lafayette pointed to Jeb's chest. “Whom dis belong to?”
 

“Huh?”

“
Enbesil!
Your heart. It belongs to a black man. And dis black man belong to who?”
 

Jeb stared.
Voodoo
priests were supposedly more than medicine men and magic-users—they knew things, things regular folks like Jeb didn't know. “It belongs to a Freedman?"
 

Lafayette smiled. “Never forget that,
mon ami.
These
bakas
mean to frighten ya with anything they can. Do not be afraid, change is comin',
mon ami.
I have heard many stories from me mother, out in dee bayous. We got dee chance to stop wars from comin'. Do not be afraid to work wit whites. They help us now be Freedmen, no? True that lots of them
bakas
hate us—they's evil. Wit time, dee whites and us live in peace, no?” He walked to where Jeb had been siting and grabbed a nearby stick. Then traced two concentric circles in the dirt.
 

Help us? Sakes alive, they put us in the fields
.
This ain't the North.
“I don't think that's gonna happen. I'm friendly with some whites, but it go no farther than that. I seen too many of them things they do to us. How can we stop wars? I seen wars, I been in wars. I appreciate your help, and you hidin' Crispus. But no black folk ever gonna have the power to do what you say. We're Freedmen, but the whites try to enslave us at every turn.” Jeb shook his head. It was
true; when he'd gone to vote for some representative after the war, he was ‘escorted' for his safety to the ballots, and then locked in an abandoned building.
 

Lafayette finished tracing the symbols in the dirt. Sailboats at each side. “Ya have seen more past crimes dee
bakas
commit against us. I see dee futures of us all. Me mother, she shows me dee future. If ya do not believe dee
houngan,
then go try dee
mambo.
Ya know her through dee
bakas
tales, she that lives in dee bayous. Dis map ya brotha seek. It leads to a great Egypt-ian treasure I tell ya. A Pharaoh's Staff.” Lafayette gave a mysterious smile only a magic-worker could give.
 

Jeb nodded and headed to the door. “Thank you, wise
houngan
. I'll be back in a few hours with Crispus.” He left the
badji.
Studied the pitch-black sky above him.
Must be two-thirty in the morning.
He pulled his coat tight around him, trying to hide from the chilled howling wind.
 

“Hope there's enough time,” Jeb muttered, and then headed off toward the jailhouse.

 

 

Chapter Four

 

Three-thirty in the morning and Jeb was racing against the sun. Bits of light grabbed at the horizon, trying to pull daylight up over the land. Jeb's legs ached after running from one part of town to the next. The jailhouse came into sight and he concealed himself in the shadows. He crept closer, trying to move like a predator stalking his prey. He didn't intend to let anyone see who snatched a black man out of jail. Stopping at the door, he put his ear to the wood and listened for a few moments.

Snoring, loud and piggish. Panic washed over Jeb. His nerves screamed at him to run, go home, and forget about Crispus. Could he sneak in, not waking anyone and free Crispus? Would he have to kill white men? He'd condemn every black in Allenville—and could he have cold-blooded murder on his shoulders? He'd killed too many during the war, but not like this. Cold. Methodical. Avoidable.

He jiggled the doorknob. It was unlocked. Either the Goblins fell asleep, or got drunk and fell asleep. Jeb opened the door, hoping the hinges were well oiled. Inside, a single Klansman slept at the table, head down. Jeb stepped in, shutting the door. How'd he manage to stay light on his feet at his age?

Across from the table where the Klansman slept, Crispus sat in the cell. Jeb moved across the room and reached his arm in to wake Crispus. He jumped, turning to face Jeb. Like the aristocrat Crispus wanted to be, he wore a black suit. However, it was caked in blood. Jeb couldn't stop from chuckling at Crispus's round face, bushy eyebrows and large ears. They reminded him of a circus elephant. It wasn't funny now, maybe a little, but Crispus's face sported a patchwork of bruises and streams of dried blood.

“Shush.” Jeb put a finger to his mouth.

“Thank God you came for me. Hurry, he's got a key under his robe,” Crispus said as though they weren't alone, or in a jailhouse. Jeb put his finger to his mouth again, but Crispus smiled.
 

“He's drunk! He's been out for hours.” Crispus laughed, pointing at the Klansman draped over the table.

Jeb retrieved the key from his pocket. He opened the cell door. “Lit's go. I need to get you to Lafayette's.” Crispus left the cell like a peacock strutting along.  

“No, we have to find it. Help me look.” Crispus set about a frantic search around the jailhouse, tossing open a chest behind the table. “Dang it! Where is it?” He rummaged through a heap of clothes.

“Let's go, you dang fool! This bastard's gonna wake up and I ain't gonna be here.” He headed for the door when Crispus let out an excited yelp.

“I got it!”

Jeb wheeled on him, about to give Crispus a worse beating than the Klan had, when it caught his eyes. “That's the map?”

Crispus held up a tattered scroll tied by a red string. He unrolled the parchment, looked it over for a moment, and rolled it back up. He put the scroll aside on the floor and continued shuffling through more clothes. A moment later, he pulled out a scroll case. Jeb watched Crispus, stupefied.
There was the map, what caused all this trouble. He wanted to see what it lead to, where it lead to. Maybe it'd tell him what brought the Klan to Allenville. A
real
reason, instead of whatever nonsense Crispus would come up with.
 

“It took me weeks of spying on Klan rallies at the Nighthawk's plantation. Since the end of the war, they had been looking for this map. It leads to a relic left behind by Narmer, the first ruler of Egypt.” Crispus pocketed the box and stood to face his brother-in-law. “This is of importance to our whole race, to all oppressed people.” He stepped toward Jeb, his eyes sparking with excitement.

This
was Crispus's explanation. The fool got arrested every other week for being a damn nuisance. Well educated, but impulsive. It'd almost gotten him almost killed more times than Jeb could remember, and the fool got someone else killed.
Don't think about that.
 

“I need to go to the
mambo's
. She can tell me where the map leads. I cannot understand most of the symbols. Are you coming or am I going alone?” Crispus asked, clearly trying to sound more confident than he was.
 

Fool's trying to goad me into following him.

The Klansman mumbled to himself, stirring from his stupor.

“Quiet,” Jeb whispered. He reached for his saber and slid it from its sheath. With a quick strike, Jeb struck the pig upside his head with his sword hilt.  His head
thumped
against the table. Jeb sheathed the saber and motioned Crispus to help him drag the pig into the cell. Jeb locked the metal door and, not wanting to leave evidence Rayford had given him the key, he swallowed it. It hurt like hell, but he'd suffered worse.
 

“We got a short time before folks find out what happened here.” He glanced at the Goblin in the cell. “I told Lafayette you're coming to hide at his place. So forget about the
mambo's
for now,” Jeb scolded Crispus. “Dang.” He looked out one of the barred windows. The sun was pushing up over the horizon with streams of light, scattering any shadow the two could've hid in.
 

“Listen, Jeb. I will go and hide with Lafayette.” Crispus rolled his eyes. “Only because I don't want to risk being seen going to the
mambo's
home—but tonight . . . I'm going.”
 

Jeb nodded. “All right. I'm going to check and make
sure Keturah and Bettina are safe.” He edged the door open. “Tonight we're gonna go to the
mambo's
.” Jeb held the door for Crispus.
 

Crispus took a quick look into the streets, which glowed brighter as the sun rose. Seeing no one in sight, he ducked low and ran toward the
houngan's
badji
. Jeb waited ten minutes before he left the jailhouse, making sure he locked the door behind him.
 

Jeb sweated bullets as he walked the streets.
It's a quarter till seven
. Or so he thought. Farmers, merchants, and fisherman were already up, bustling through town. Jeb's heavy coat cooked him in the sun, but he held it close. He was just another a black, he eyed the white faces as he moved. Allenville was already dangerous enough for a black man once the Klan had come, but now with a black man broken out of jail, it'd be worse. The town was on a spit over a fire, and it was about to burn. Every white face that looked at him was another heart-pounding escape, and by the time he'd made it to the muddy main road, he'd had fifteen of them.
 

Once out of town, Jeb took off running. Soon his clothes were caked in dried mud. It didn't matter. He focused on the road ahead of him, his feet pounding the earth. He needed to make sure Keturah and Bettina were safe. His legs stung and threatened to give way. Jeb didn't pay attention. His commander Lydell Jones taught him well.

His house appeared in the distance. Jeb ran into the yard. A quick look to the left and he knew the cornfield was still standing.
Thank the lord
. Jeb shot up onto the porch. He threw the door open and collapsed onto the floor.
 

“Keturah! Keturah!” Jeb lay on the floor, coughing amidst his screams.

There was movement above him. Jeb watched the hatch to the attic open. Keturah poked her head out from the hatchway, her long black hair dangling like a loose cloak. “Jebidiah! Are yah all right, love?”

Jeb gazed at her a moment.
It's not a dream.
“Yeah, I'm all right.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Bettina's okay?” he hurried to shut front door. He took a position by a front window, keeping his eyes on the road.
 

“She jus scared is all. She want to know what happen,” said Keturah.

Jeb ran to his desk without thinking, throwing papers off as he looked for his whetstone. He grabbed it from the floor and set to sharpening his saber. Then he pulled desk drawers out onto the floor and found his dagger. He ignored whatever Keturah was snapping at him and slipped the dagger into his boot.

“Keturah!” Jeb shouted. “Get down here!”

In an instant, the hatchway stairs unfolded and Keturah climbed down. “Quiet, child, I be right back.” She called up to Bettina. “What is going on?” She kept her voice low.

Jeb grabbed Keturah by the waist and yanked her away from the hatch. He couldn't let Bettina know—things had to be different for her. The war, the deaths, the struggles had to be for
something
.
 

“I went to the jail. Something big's going on with them Klan boys. Crispus stole something from them,” said Jeb.

 “Wa someting?” Keturah demanded.

Jeb couldn't explain what happened so his wife would understand. He wasn't sure he understood it himself. But he'd been pulled into something and in his bones he couldn't stop now.
This
could be his chance at redemption. Pushing his thoughts aside, he rummaged through his pockets and pulled out two dollars. “Take this, love.” Jeb placed the wrinkled bills in Keturah's soft hands. He loved those hands. They were the opposite of his—born to a field hand and raised a field hand, Jeb's skin was more a thick layered callous. A gift from 79
th
Union Colored Troops of Louisiana.