She was in the emptiness, then she was in a room full of stars, drifting, floating about the velvet silence. A woman was there with her, older than her but not yet old. She had auburn hair, with a few silver and red-gold strands. She seemed familiar. The woman said something to Anne, her lips moved, but it was like she was out of sync. Anne tried to talk to her as well but nothing came out of her moving lips. It was like a glass wall separated them. Anne felt like she knew her from somewhere. The darkness swallowed them both and thought ended.
The intervals between pain and oblivion became shorter. The pain recessed, more into dullness that could be endured and overcome, not just survived.
Anne awoke. The light hurt. She had a headache and the acrid taste of some herb clung to her sticky, coated mouth and lips. Her throat was raw, but the pain lessened with each swallow. Her arm was wrapped in bloodstained cloth soaked in some solution. Her stomach was wrapped as well. Everything was sore, stiff and achy. Sharp pain met her first attempt to move her injured arm, nothing she couldn’t handle. She gingerly touched her nose, and felt the slight shift in it. Third time broken in roughly twenty years of living and scraping. She wiggled it and it didn’t hurt. She smiled; that didn’t hurt too much either.
“You still have all your teeth, too, if you were curious,” Adu said, stepping out of the beams of sunlight into the shade before her bed.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“The royal palace,” Adu said. You are a guest of King Agaja. We all are.”
Anne pushed her greasy, sweaty hair back. She smelled like a bilge rat. Her head was resting on a rattan headrest, a kind of wooden pillow. The sleeping mat she was lying on, made of woven ncema grass, was stiff with her dried blood. Adu crouched on his haunches next to her.
“‘Throw them in irons guest’ or ‘guest’ guest?” she asked.
“‘Guest’ guest,” Adu said.
“I won?” she said, struggling to sit up. Adu nodded, a pleased look coming over his face.
“You did,” he said. “In a most unorthodox way, I might add. You nearly danced her to death.”
“Nearly?” Anne said, then added, “Wine, grog?”
“Yes, you spared her life at the last moment. Very surprising, I must admit,” Adu said, handing her a gourd cup. “Water for now.” Anne made a face and then drained the cup, making a little sound of approval as she did, then drank three more. Adu filled the cup each time. Anne belched and then clutched her stomach. “Easy,” Adu said. “You were nearly dead. You had a nasty infection from the stomach wound, but you fought through it.”
“Gut wound,” Anne said. “I hate gut wounds. They usually kill you.”
“King Agaja has some excellent healers,” Adu said. “And I know a few tricks I picked up in Egypt and Greece.”
“Thanks,” Anne said, leaning back with a groan. “So what happens now?”
“You keep resting, keep healing. You drink every foul concoction they bring you without grousing about it. You sleep. When you are whole again, we will discuss the next leg of the journey and complete our business with the king.”
Anne felt the weariness of her slight exertion from sitting up and drinking catching up to her. She adjusted herself on the headrest and mat, wincing as she did. “Who was that you were talking to while I was out?” she asked, yawning.
“She is known as Oya,” he said.
Anne’s eyes fluttered. “Oya,” she said. “Is that any relation to Odu?”
“‘Odu’ is a Yoruba word, it means ‘container,’ literally,” Adu said. “‘Oya’ is a title of sorts. Her birth name is Raashida.”
“Odu Ifa,” Anne muttered, almost asleep. She touched the claw scars on her forearm, gently. “The kite … The bird…” Her breathing deepened and she slept.
Adu covered her with a blanket, and stood. “… and the witch,” he said. “Yes, soon.”
* * *
“I kept my bargain, now keep yours,” Anne said, pouring herself another cup of wine. Two more weeks had passed and she had grown stronger every day. For the past few days she had been eating solid food instead of the damn broth she had been subsisting on, and having herself a few drinks, thanks to the generosity of Belrose.
“What are you about, and who are you?” she asked. “What kind of man culls the scum from a city’s streets for no personal gain, or talks in such bold words before the throne of kings? You made your voice like thunder and the torch flame change. You are no guide, Adu, and no mere sailor. I nearly died, and you promised me answers.”
Anne and Adu sat outside alone on one of the patios of the palace beside a roaring fire pit. It was late summer and tonight the air was cool and damp. Gray, brooding clouds hid most of the stars. Adu wore his normal garb, but had added a brown leather frock coat. Anne was wrapped in a heavy blanket, her legs tucked up near her chest. She insisted on wearing no shoes outside. Old pirate ship habits died hard.
Adu tended the fire for a moment. He nodded, thoughtfully. “Yes. I did, and I will. You may not choose to believe what I tell you; you most certainly won’t like most of it, but it is the truth.
“To begin, in answer to your question, the kind of man who does such things is a man who has lived long enough to see too much ugliness to bear it any longer, too much injustice to allow it to stand. I have known enough kings to know they are not divine agencies; they are men and they deserve to be spoken to as such, just as how you treated Agaja. As you get older, Anne, the value of life becomes more about quality than quantity.”
“You’re not all that much older than me,” Anne said.
“Look in my eyes,” he said. “Tell me true, what do you see there?” Anne leaned forward. They were very close. Her eyes, wide and quizzical, bored into his. Less than an inch separated them.
“An old soul,” she said, “sad, wise.” For an instant, she thought of kissing him but there was something in his eyes that made the notion feel like she would be kissing a mountain or the sky. Adu pulled away.
“There was a great worm,” Adu began, “long ago. It bored deep into the earth, and made a great hole, a cave. From that cave, I and my brothers and sisters walked out much later. I do not know what I was before I emerged from that cave for the first time, I have no memory of an existence before that moment, I have no knowledge of a creator, or a childhood. I walked out exactly as I am now, standing before you, unchanged after all these long eons.
“The same was true for the other six men and five women who also emerged. I knew we were brothers and sisters, and I knew their names, and they knew mine—Adu Ogyinae—but nothing more. To the best of my knowledge, we were the first humans on Earth.”
“That would make you pretty damn old,” Anne said. “You bunkmates with Methuselah by any chance?”
Adu smiled. “You are at least open to the possibility I am telling you the truth,” he said. “Good. I am old. As I told you, I’ve traveled quite a bit in my time. Like you, I had my young, foolhardy days and I hope I’ve learned a bit from my mistakes, my madnesses, my loves. I’ve been many men in my time—Gangleri, Enkimdu, Ziusudra, Markandeya, Barabbas, Merlin, a few others, here and there.”
“If you’re so old and mighty, mind telling me what you’re doing muckin’ up my life right here, right now?” Anne asked. “I’m nobody in the grand peggin’ scheme of things. Seems to me one of the first men on Earth would have a few better things to be doing.”
“Not really,” Adu said. “It’s been a dull millennium.”
“If I shot you, what would happen?” Anne asked leaning forward, grinning.
“I would yell at you, and curse you, I’d bleed a lot, fall over and depending on how badly you shot me, seem dead. Eventually I’d get up and ask you not to do that anymore, and I’d have to pry the ball out of me. Not an enjoyable way to spend an evening, I can tell you.”
“So you can’t die,” Anne said. “Bollocks.”
“Oh, no, I can most certainly die,” Adu said. “And I have an intuitive understanding o
f the one thing that can kill me. But if you think I’m telling you, you’re more of a bobolyne than I thought you were.”
“So why me?” Anne asked again. “Bored? Do you wander around and see if you can get random non-immortals killed for a good rib-tickler?”
“No,” Adu said. “Well, not usually, anyway. This is about a city, a city made from the dead. It’s called Carcosa, and you will find the greatest treasure of your life there, Anne Bonny, if you survive to claim it.”
“How do you know about that?” Anne asked. “Did I say something while I was burning up? You go through my ditty?”
“No,” Adu said. “Secrets are currency of trust and power. Your secrets are safe with me, and they are my secrets too. I know about the city of bone because I helped to build it. I am also the one who crafted the map fetish you found in the box. In my travels I learned many types of Bo. What the Yoruba call juju, and your people call witchcraft or sorcery.”
“So you’re not only one of the first men, you are also a hexer,” Anne said. “You get around.”
“I dabbled at first,” Adu said, “seeking answers about my origins, but then I discovered I had the time to master these practices and I undertook to learn as much as I could, from whoever could teach me.”
“So what did you learn?” Anne asked.
“That there is no such thing as a master in these spheres,” Adu said. “The more you learn the clearer your choices become. Either you get more humble, more divorced of self, or the craft eats you alive. As to my origins, I discovered only that the world is a mosaic of beliefs, perceptions and powers. Where you stand in this world defines which realms of power you inhabit. There are thousands of different stories about the origins of man, the creation of the world, and they are all real, and they are all myth. Their power, their reality, lies in the strength of belief.”
“Sounds pretty useless,” Anne said. “I know I’m real, and I know I’m real all over! I know what I can do. Why put your trust in a gowpenful o’ anything—gods, spirits, magic—that you can’t rely on to be there when you need ’em?”
The cold wind diminished. “That is exactly why I’m with you now, Anne. You may be exactly what we’re looking for, what is needed. You asked me when we first came here about the Purrah, remember?”
“Aye,” she said.
“What I am about to tell you is forbidden knowledge to any who have not been initiated,” Adu said. “I’d argue that you are on the initiation path now, so I will tell you a little. The Purrah is a secret society of men across Africa that directs many things. There is a companion society, called the Sande, which has women exclusively as its members.
“Africa holds the deepest secrets of the human soul, Anne, and more: secrets of the first humans and the countless civilizations that came before them. Some powers, some beliefs, live on long after their memory has faded due to the sheer magnitude of their impact on the worlds. They cast echoes, powerful echoes, across realms, across myths, as the stars we see are the influences of long-dead memories. Africa is home to many of these ancient, undying powers.
“Deep in wilderness never touched by human foot is the Den of the Animal Kings—beasts with minds and voices like men. This land is home to the last of the Serpent Men of long-fallen Valusia, who worship alien gods locked away in vaults of gold and star-metal, hiding from the justice of time. So many lost cities, lost civilizations here—Houssa, M’bwa, Kor, Bolgoni, Opar, and the place you seek, the great city of bone, mankind’s first city, the monsters’ graveyard, a memorial to the first terrestrial war … Carcosa.”
When Adu whispered the city’s name, a cold, sharp wind stirred on the patio, making the fronds of the palms shudder and hiss.
“So many secrets here, Anne Bonny,” Adu said. “So many treasures beyond imagining. It is the sacred duty of the Purrah to protect those secrets, that treasured knowledge, to hide it from all who would use it to enslave or destroy.”
“So you were sent out by this Purrah of yours to stop me from reaching the city?” Anne asked. Adu shook his head.
“No, not exactly,” Adu said. “I was alerted to your intent when you opened the box at sea and incurred the wrath of Mami Wata. One power dislikes the incursion of another unbidden into its realm. When you survived against the water spirit and arrived in Badagry, I had already been in contact with the High Purrah, the great council of elders, as to your possession of the box and the map. Once I saw how you behaved witnessing the plight of the slaves, I had confidence that you may have been exactly who she had been looking for for a very long time, to heal her and restore her faith.”
“Who’s this ‘she’?” Anne asked. “This ‘Oya’?”
“Yes,” Adu said.
“Well, what if I don’t want to be a part of her whatever-the-hell-it-is,” Anne said. “I’m going to bring a spring upon her cable, thank you! I’ve got my own plunder to be about!”
“Yes,” Adu said, “the city, its gold. If you fail the tests on the way there, I’m supposed to make sure that you die and that the secrets of Carcosa remain undiscovered. The Purrah will it.”
“Not a ringing endorsement to trust you,” she said.
“I didn’t have to share any of this,” he said. “I kept my word to you and I felt you deserved to know, especially after your success at the trial of combat.”
“Well, ain’t I a lucky little wagtail,” Anne said. “So you talked me up to the king and said I called out his personal war chief. Thanks.”
“Yes,” Adu said. “It’s my obligation to see you guided to each trial. But I sincerely believe that you will succeed at all of them. I want to help you as much as I can.”
“Then why didn’t you magic me up all better,” Anne asked. “Instead of letting me nearly bleed out or die from fever?”
“Pain is highly instructive,” Adu said, “you know that. It teaches you lessons nothing else can. And I did aid you, more than you know. My broths and elixirs helped pull you through a few rough spots.”
“So what next?” Anne asked. “Drop me into a viper pit?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Adu said. “You conclude your business with Agaja and Nourbese, and then we go where the map leads us.”
“But you already know where we’re going,” Anne said. “Why not just lead me to the city?”
“Actually, the terrain has changed quite a bit since I was last there,” he said. “The map knows the true way. We follow it.”
“We?” Anne said. “So you can get me into more trouble?”
“Most likely,” Adu said, “but I’ll be there to help you too.”
Anne rubbed her face and expelled air with a weary whoosh from her lips. She regarded Adu and the ancient man knew she was judging him, weighing the risk of trusting him against the gain. Finally she spit into her palm and thrust her hand out to Adu.
“All right,” Anne said. “I’m game, you old bastard. I’ll beat your trials. I’ll beat your city of the dead, I’ll show up your peggin’ Purrah, and whoever this Oya thinks she is. I’ll steal the dosh, and I’ll look fucking brilliant while I do it. And from here on out it’s on my terms, we understand each other? No more setting me up. If I’m walking into something dodgy, you tell me true. This is gonna be on my terms, my way, or you can fuck right the hell off. Do we understand each other?”
“Perfectly,” Adu said. “Agreed.” He spit into his own palm and they shook hands. “Tell me, do you know any other way for things to be, than on your own terms?”
“Not that it matters a piss,” Anne said.
15
The Seven of Pentacles (Reversed)
Charleston, South Carolina
May 20, 1871
The gavel banged a few minutes after ten and the assembled gallery and participants all sat down at Judge Davenkirk’s command. There were considerably more observers in the gallery today; it was almost full, and mostly men. Several other reporters besides Cline now sat among the Charleston participants who had heard about the trial an
d were eager to amuse themselves with the airing of the wealthy Anderton’s dirty laundry and the novelty of a woman practicing law. Martin and Maude were both composed, now. If you had not seen the earlier outburst in the well, you’d have never known anything had transpired.
“I have reviewed the agreement between the parties,” Davenkirk said. “It looks acceptable to me if everyone is on board with it.”
“We are, your honor,” Rutledge said.
“As is the plaintiff, your honor,” Arabella said.
“Mrs. Mansfield, are you ready to proceed with your arguments?” the judge asked.
“We are, your honor,” Arabella said.
“Proceed,” the judge said. Arabella looked at Rutledge and then the gallery for a moment; she glanced to Maude and smiled, and then turned to face the judge.
“The plaintiff’s maternal great-great-great-great-grandmother, Bonnie Cormac, left the entirety of her estate, to wit, the plantation, manor house and all the contents thereof, as well as the grounds and surrounding property, to my client, as well as considerable funds, the exact amount disclosed in the papers filed with this court.
“Prior to marriage, an agreement was drafted between my client’s deceased husband, Arthur Stapleton, and her father, the defendant. This agreement gave my client’s husband control of the property and the funds as long as Martin Anderton agreed to the use of the property and the dispensation of the funds. My client agreed to this contract and signed it, with the understanding that her father was acting as her guardian, since the late Mr. Stapleton was not experienced in the governance of such a vast estate.”
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