The Devil's Workshop

by Donnally Miller

  Famularis and Akoko, late in the day following a raid on one of the surrounding settlements, were sorting through the spoils. Famularis knew he was tipping his hand to Snivel every time he conducted one of these sorties, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d been naive thinking the Forest would provide for their needs. The Forest had proven an unstinting source of malaria and that distemper they called ‘the vomit,’ of fevers and insects, but it did its best to withhold the food and protection his people required. He enjoyed the hours such as this one, spent with Akoko. She was the only one with whom he felt secure. Her talk had advanced beyond simple gestures of the hands and face first to a meager half-articulate speech, and now to the point where she could put her ideas into sentences and speak them aloud, though she didn’t always use the right words.

  “If I was them,” said Famularis, “I would not mount another large attack. No, what I would do: I would send in a few men to shoot me dead first. Once I be down, who do they have to fear? But they seem not to do this.”

  “They are tools,” said Akoko. “You are a fool. You have been shaped by density.”

  “You must try harder to get your words straight. You still have much to practice. They be the fools, and I the tool of destiny.”

  “But what are density’s plans?”

  “To learn this we must await events as they’s unfolded to us.”

  “I dun’t so stink. Often density must be taken in hand. It is an old man that does it.”

  “A bold man. Not an old man. Can you practice saying that?”

  “A bold man.”

  “Good. You’re learning.” He held up a broad bandolier that carried many cartridges and looked at it admiringly. “Cast your eyes on this. I tell you bullets is more precious than rubies.” A slave entered and bowed before him. “What is it.”

  “Two white men have entered the camp. Their weapons were taken from them and they are being guarded. They ask to speak with you.”

  “Did they give their names?”

  “One did.”

  “What was it?”

  “Fergus.”

  “I don’t know this man.”

  “Shall we kill them?”

  “Of course. But bring them to me first. I would learn what they know.”

  The slave bowed and departed.

  “Perhaps these are the ones you spoke of. They’ve come to kill you.”

  “If so they wouldn’t walk in and introduce themselves, would they?”

  “I dun’t know. Beyond your hard.”

  Day had been just on the point of turning to night when the traveling man, with Fergus at his side, had been met at the perimeter of the slaves’ camp by a pair of burly, angry-looking Negroes. These were two hard working field slaves recently arrived in camp. Their master, thinking they cut notable figures, in a moment of levity had named them Archimedes and Euclid. These two now ordered the newcomers to dismount and turn over their weapons. The traveling man was struck right away by a number of differences between this camp and the one in which he’d first met Famularis. The most notable difference was, “That smell, what’s it from?”

  One of the Negroes answered, “The latrines have not been getting cleaned out on a regular basis.”

  The other added, “Also there’s some dispute as to where the latrines are located.”

  “I’d think Colonel Snivel wouldn’t have any trouble tracking you down. He could just follow his nose.”

  A runner had been sent to Famularis when the men first arrived, to find out what should be done with them. When the runner returned with word to bring them to Famularis’s tent the two Negroes took charge of the white men and led them through the campsite. On the way, the traveling man had an opportunity to see how the newest arrivals were adapting to their lives as free men. They seemed to be still bunched into separate groups, just as they had been upon reaching the camp. No process of assimilation with the original band or other new arrivals was taking place. Some groups were composed entirely of young men, while others were just a couple, a man and a woman, with perhaps a child. Most of them looked quite forlorn and distrustful of their neighbors, whom they doubtless suspected were planning to rob them of the few possessions they had brought with them. And of course this was the case. Those who had been with Famularis a long time were particularly avaricious, feeling that having been supporters of freedom from the outset, they were justified in taking the clothes of the newcomers, their own garments having become so threadbare they could only be described as rags.

  A shallow stream near the encampment was evidently the source of the water used for drinking and bathing, but at many points it was clogged with refuse. Some of the older and weaker slaves were lying listlessly on the ground, perhaps sick or trying to sleep. Also several young men with rifles, who were notably better fed and more alert than the others, could be seen walking the grounds or sitting on low-lying branches. The traveling man took all this in, unlike Fergus, whose attention was fully occupied by improvising on his harmonica, which he’d fallen back on ever since Fleet Cougar had destroyed his banjo, asking their guards from time to time, “Tell me, have you ever heard anything like this?”

  “You I recognize,” said Famularis when the two were in his presence. “But when I knew you before, you had both your ears. Now your right ear be missing. A man who loses an ear, someone was very displeased with him.”

  “I displease many. If you recall, I displeased you when I said if you didn’t move you’d die. But you’ve learned that lesson well.”

  “Oh yes. And now the tide be in our favor. Our example draws others to us. You see how we’s increased in numbers.”

  “This is how men were meant to love,” said Akoko. “In my bold hand there were no jewelries of plaster and slave.”

  “Old, not bold. I’s told you.”

  “Men were born free,” said the traveling man, “but since the first moment of recorded time they’ve been trying to live in ordered ranks and files. However, this is about to change. The revolution is upon us. Men will be retaking their old freedoms. We’ll tear everything down, every last shard and shingle of the old regime.”

  “They be bold words,” said Famularis. “But the time for words is passed. Now you must put them into effect.”

  “When last I left you I left a gift, a gift of blood. You know whereof I speak.”

  “Yes.”

  “There, you’ve felt it. That’s freedom. Can words give you that? You can pass that gift on to your people.”

  “Yes . . .” Famularis drew the picture in his mind, and it pleased him very much. Slaves would run, but werewolves . . . “Are you proposing I create a fraternity of werewolves?”

  “A society of werewolves. Not only brothers, sisters as well, all of you werewolves. What civilized force could stand against you?”

  “You forget the one most disagreeable aspect of the werewolf. Before, when I was entirely a man I felt myself to be a man and I knew my strength and my power was mine every day of the month. But now, when I’s more than a man, I feel myself to be something less, because I has my full power and my strength only one day of the month. On the other days I’s trapped by weakness that wants me to waste away and die to no purpose, as if I’s in a cage and the world and all I would do be locked away where I cannot get to it. So the gift you’s given brings more disquiet than I would have otherwise.”

  “What then is your wish?”

  “To be a man no longer. I wish to be a wolf always.”

  “That time is coming. Soon the moon will be full every night, and we will all be as we truly are. It is only necessary to throw off the last trappings of reason, and that work is well in hand. Tonight you must begin the creation of the army of which I spoke.”

  “Yes. It will be done.”

  “What will you do?” asked Akoko.

  “You will be first.” As he said this he took a knife and slashed a wound in the base of his hand. Blood oozed from the gash. He held his hand up to Akoko. “Drink.”
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  Akoko looked at the bleeding hand with dread and trembling.

  But what was that? Everyone was abruptly alert. Was that rifle fire?

  “Was you followed?” Famularis demanded of the traveling man.

  “I’m certain we weren’t,” he answered.

  “I’m certain you was.” Famularis burst from his tent. “Come! To me!” he called to those that were his followers. Now was when he should be a wolf, but he was only a man who felt the rage and passion of a wolf. “We will destroy these soldiers now!”

  The first stars were twinkling in the sky, which was now quite dark, but not so dark that Colonel Snivel could not see to shoot. He aimed carefully through the sights of his rifle and pulled the trigger. One slave went down. He had them now. He put another in his sights. There was no question of finding an abandoned encampment this time. Blam! Another slave killed. These were not going to be rounded up and returned to their masters. Oh no. This was a hostile force. He was going to stamp out this slave rebellion and no question about it. There would be no survivors. He noticed Captain Squeak slowing down and turned to see why.

  “I’m not so fast as I used to be,” said Squeak with a put upon air. “And I’m a quartermaster. It’s ridiculous I have to do any actual fighting.” He watched as Snivel, with a contemptuous gesture, hastened towards some barricades that were still offering resistance, leaving him behind. He stopped and caught his breath. It’s true the slaves were totally unprepared. It was just a matter of mowing them down, really. He could handle this. He saw Nero dressed in a soldier’s red coat holding a rifle and running past him a few yards to his right. “Where’d you get that coat?” he shouted.

  Nero couldn’t be bothered to answer. He could hardly even be bothered to shoot the other slaves. He was looking for the tent of Famularis. He had a vivid memory of what it looked like. Since he was not stopping to aim and fire he quickly found himself coming to the center of the slaves’ camp. A bullet twanged just past his ear. He sighted the slave who had aimed at him and fell to one knee. Quickly bringing his rifle to his shoulder he aimed and fired and was rewarded by the sight of his enemy falling to the ground. Now that he was kneeling he looked around and saw there were others like the one he’d just killed, slaves armed with rifles defending the camp. And there, he saw it, Famularis’s tent. He looked behind for Snivel and the soldiers but all he saw was the trees and the backs of slaves. He was torn for a moment, wondering if he should rejoin the others and lead them to the tent, or if he should proceed on his own. He started crawling back, but just then he saw a short man in a broad-brimmed hat emerge from the tent followed by a red haired youth looking intently at the harmonica he carried in his hand. These two were not slaves, and he was intrigued as to what they were doing here. He crept closer to overhear what they were saying.

  “It’s time to get out of here,” said the man with the hat.

  “Well don’t hold back on my account,” said the youth. “Those bullets are a lot closer than I like.”

  “Look,” the man with the hat was pointing to the sky, “the witches.” Their dark profiles could just be made out fluttering between the clouds. “The coven is assembling. Hurry!”

  They started off, just as Famularis, wearing a bandolier full of bullets across his chest, came out after them. “Wait,” he said. The two paid no attention, hastening quickly away. “Seize those two!” he shouted. Two heavily muscled slaves burst from the tent and set off in pursuit. Famularis watched them for a moment before reentering the tent and then emerging a few moments later carrying his rifle. As soon as he did so he was confronted by Nero standing with a rifle aimed directly at his chest.

  “Hold it right there, Romeo,” said Nero, “and drop that gun.”

  Famularis, enraged, shouted, “Nero! What’s you doing here?!”

  “I said drop it!”

  “Why’s you pointing that gun at me? And what’s you doing in that red coat? Has you sold yourself to the army now?” He laughed at the idea.

  “I am not joking. I will shoot you if you don’t put that gun down right now!”

  “I never said you could have a rifle!” Famularis strode forward and ripped the gun from Nero’s hands. “This is loaded! Who gave you a loaded gun?!”

  Akoko now walked cautiously out of the tent. She was fearful on account of the darkness and the gunshots and the other sounds of fighting. “Who are you talking to?” she asked.

  “This idiot has reappeared, just when we needed him least.” He handed her the rifle he’d taken from Nero. “Here. Shoot him if he tries anything.” Then he set off after the others.

  Akoko held the gun uneasily on Nero. “Were you sin?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been wrong penny plays. Were you sin all this dime?”

  “You jabber like a monkey. Can’t you talk like a person yet?”

  “I talk like I talk.”

  “Tha’s ‘cause I didn’ teach you. You got a lot to learn. Akoko, I’m a better man than he is. He’s not even a man. I came back to rescue you.”

  “Putt I live him.”

  “Put down that gun and come with me. You deserve better than this.”

  “Pots! Dun’t drum drear. I’ll shoot.”

  “We’re wasting time. I will make you a queen.”

  There was a burst of shooting nearby and many slaves ran past, firing guns and shouting loudly. Famularis stumbled back fatally wounded. “The stupid slaves just run away,” he shouted, falling into Akoko’s arms. Akoko wailed a lament, dropping the rifle. Muscles stood out like cords on her arms as she crushed him to her breast. “You run too,” he urged her. “Don’t let them take you.”

  “Come, my liver, come. We must escape.”

  “I can’t. I’m dying.”

  “You will not die for a long time. You cannot die. I live you.”

  “Akoko, you’s my greatest joy.” Tears poured down Akoko’s face as he went on, “They can kill me, but I made myself a man. They can’t unmake me. My last sight be your beautiful face. Promise you’ll never let them make you a slave.”

  “Never will I be a slave. I will die with you. Shoot me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Dun’t leave me aloonly.”

  Famularis tried to raise his rifle to shoot, but Nero hit him and knocked him down. “Nero,” he said, “go fight your foes . . . the men who’s made you in their . . .” Then he breathed his last.

  “Image,” said Akoko. She renewed her sobbing.

  The soldiers had the upper hand. The woods were dense with running figures, but Nero and Akoko stood motionless over Famularis’s corpse. Slowly he walked to her and put his arm around her shoulder. She shook it off.

  “Kill me too,” said Akoko. “My love is not worse living.”

  Captain Squeak, meanwhile, had entered into a fighting frenzy and was busily finishing off any wounded slaves left behind when their companions fled. He almost fired at Nero before recognizing him in his red coat. “Nero, the day is ours,” he said.

  “The night is more like. Allow me to introduce you to Akoko. I have rescued her from the fate of her companions, and I have killed Famularis. His body lies here.”

  Snivel arrived with a platoon of soldiers. “Jasper, what are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’ve captured these two and killed Famularis.” He pointed to Famularis’s body.

  Snivel walked to where the body lay. “Yes, this is him. Good work.”

  “Actually, I was the one who killed him,” said Nero.

  “That’s not possible. You’re my prisoner. And take off that coat. Do you realize there are actual soldiers who don’t have coats? And you’re wearing this. It’s a disgrace.”

  Just then a group of eight or nine slaves threw themselves at the soldiers’ feet, crying, “We surrender. Please, don’t shoot us.” They threw their weapons, which amounted to an assortment of wooden clubs, hammers and other implements, to the ground and held out their open hands. Among the group were two women an
d a child.

  Snivel looked them over. “We’ve won the battle,” he said. This was a moment he’d looked forward to. “Gather them together,” he told his troops. “Find all the slaves you can and bring them here. The battle’s over. We’ve won . . . And get each one to bring some brush, or fallen branches – wood we can use for kindling.”

  The troops spread out, rounding up the demoralized slaves. Very few had any fight left in them. Most were happy to drop their weapons and give themselves up, as though they’d known all along this wasn’t really going to work. Before long there was a considerable crowd gathered together, mostly men, but also women and a few children, looking about disconsolately, some smiling and making small talk with the soldiers who surrounded them.

  Squeak said, “We can’t take prisoners. We have nothing to feed them. We don’t have the men to take care of them and we don’t have enough supplies.”

  One well-muscled black who took it upon himself to act as a spokesman for the rest said, “We’ll find our own provisions. We’ll find yours too.”

  “How? You think we’ll let you loose to forage in the woods? You’ll escape,” said Snivel. He turned to Squeak, “There’s nothing to do but kill them. It’s actually merciful. We’ll shoot them.”

  A number of soldiers seemed disturbed when they heard this. They looked at one another, exchanging confused glances in the ever-darkening glen.

  “These aren’t really people,” said Snivel. “They’re enemies.”

  “We’ve surrendered. You can’t kill us,” said the black, as it dawned on him why they’d been told to gather kindling. “We promise not to escape. If you let us, we’ll all go back to our masters. We promise.” There was general assent and shaking of heads at this from the other captives.

  “Shoot them,” Snivel gave the order.

  A few of the soldiers brought their rifles to their shoulders and aimed, but most stood their ground, unwilling to shoot the captives milling uneasily in front of them. “Even the women and children?” one asked.