“You can’t be suggesting that we fight the French—or any country in Europe,” Sebastian said. “We’ve lost that war before it’s begun.”
“No, they would never fight us directly, that would be too much of an international embarrassment. They would just arm the Grebo and set them against us, and then call it a civil war. All of Europe would claim what’s left in the aftermath.”
“That does not sound like a very promising future, yet you continue to do business here.”
The merchant smiled. “And you have not run away and hopped aboard the first ship bound for America. We all believe there is something here worth dying for. Do we not?”
Sebastian thought it was funny how easily the man talked about war though he had never fought in one. The last thing Sebastian wanted to think about was fighting in a war, but Sebastian hadn’t fought in a war, Shadrach had—and he never wanted to bring that sad figure back to life.
“Fortunately, there are other ways to obtain arms. Cuba is in the midst of a revolution. Once the War Between the States ended, tobacco and cotton prices stabilized. This was a heavy blow to their economy, and the turbulence that followed set the stage for their rebellion against Spain. Smugglers are making their way to the Caribbean to supply the insurgents with weapons in exchange for cash crops.”
“What does Cuba have to do with us?” asked Sebastian.
“Cuba is a small island. There are only so many guns one can sell there, and America has a surplus as well. All the guns are floating around the Atlantic. They shall find their way to Africa soon enough.”
• • •
The day after the performance at Mary’s home, he went looking for Sonya in the city. She wasn’t at the ACS boarding facility, but he learned of Jacob’s condition. He found them at the hospice, but did not make his presence known. He recognized Jacob’s condition at once: the telltale signs of malaria. He peered in at them and left. He had to leave; it had been a long time since he’d been around death and sickness. He did not miss it. He covered his mouth with his handkerchief and hurried out of the hospice. He struggled to breathe in the humid air. A memory of war had begun. He undid his collar and rested his hands on his knees. He took in deep, hurried breaths as the memory unfolded. The voices spoke to him from Beyond and he listened. When they had finished, he gathered himself and went back into the hospice.
• • •
Hunching his shoulders, halving his long body so as not to make an easy target for the Confederate soldiers. He was back there in those woods—as they existed in his memory. The most frightened he had ever been, and he was alone, separated from his regiment. No sense in fighting his way back.
He heard a moan in the darkness. A wounded animal? No, a wounded man. He crawled toward the sound. It was hard to see in the moonlight, but it did well enough to reveal the Union blue of the man’s uniform. It could be a trap. He scanned the dark for immediate threats. The man had been shot in the leg, in the back, and stabbed in the left cheek. The bullet had passed through the leg. A bullet still remained close to his rib. Sebastian had managed to keep his medic bag: rags, forceps, but no more of the laudanum or alcohol, just herbs he had gathered. He broke off bitter leaves and placed them in the man’s mouth, had him chew when he could. Sebastian felt around the wound, the bullet forming a round hill of flesh. The man winced. “You’ll have to be quiet. I can see it’s painful, but I don’t want to learn from experience.” The man nodded. Sebastian put the forceps into the wound and fished around for the bullet. The man thrashed like a hooked fish. The wound made a wet, popping sound as Sebastian withdrew the bullet. All of this under moonlight. He put a rag, stained with the blood of ten other men, to the wound. “At sunrise we’ll make a better compress. This should do ’til then. Are you feeling better?” The man nodded. “What is your name?” Sebastian could tell that the man wanted to lie, but was too weak to be dishonest.
“Archer,” the man said.
“You just rest, Archer. We’ll take better care of this at sun-up.”
The sunrise woke Sebastian. He had drifted off, despite his promise to hold vigil. He went to check on Archer, but he was gone. Archer may have wandered off and died in the tall grass. He stayed low and crawled around the area. He found a body, but it was not the white Yankee he had helped the night before. It was a colored soldier. He still wore his pants, but his shoes, shirt, and cap had been taken. His eyes were open. There was a gash in his throat. He stared at the morning sun. Sebastian closed the dead man’s eyes.
54
Yerby’s Cave
“Captain Yerby?”
A voice came from the darkness. Yerby turned. One of his men walked slowly from the shadows. As he came into the light, there was a knife at his neck. A man dressed in black held the weapon. Other men armed with guns rushed the cavern like ants. Two of them ran up to Yerby and forced him to kneel with his hands raised. A call was shouted outside the cave. A man entered, dressed in the same fashion as the others, but there was something regal and frightening about him. “Do you know who I am, Captain Yerby?”
Yerby nodded. “I believe so. Ten Dragons.”
“Good. Then you realize it would be pointless for you not to cooperate. The outcome will be the same.”
“You can have the weapons,” said Yerby.
“I know I can have the weapons, Captain Yerby. But that is not the only reason that I have come here. You have something else that I want.” He motioned to one of his men to retrieve the man from his cell. Now in the light, all could see the horrific things that Yerby had done to him. He had no nose, no ears, waxy scars where his eyebrows should have been. Three fingers were missing from his right hand. Everyone tried to suppress their disgust. “Did Yerby do this to you?”
The man nodded.
The leader placed a knife in the man’s good hand. “Make him pay.”
He looked at the knife. “I cannot. He must live with what he has done. That is punishment enough. I do not want my soul burdened with his death.”
“That is very admirable. I envy you, but I am not so enlightened.”
“I am sure you believe revenge is the answer. But he has been humiliated—a strong punishment for someone who has believed himself invincible for all these years. Let him live to remember this defeat.”
“Wise words, friend. Tell me, what is your name?”
“My name—”
“Wait, is it Xiao Pei?”
The disfigured man nodded.
“I thought it was you. Let me tell you a story. When the Emperor ordered that all stores of opium be destroyed, his men came to my village. They found a small warehouse on the water. They entered and found one crate of opium. One. My father and four brothers were inside that warehouse. They were tied up. The opium and the warehouse were burned with them inside. Five men for one crate. You oversaw ridding the Empire of opium. All that happened because of you. Do you deny it?”
“No, I do not deny it. I was a different person then. My time here has changed me. I have the name of the man you seek, but I am not the same man.”
“I understand how this place must have changed you, but while your soul has been lightened, mine remains heavy.” A breeze came into the cavern, candles flickered, and blood spurted from Xiao Pei’s neck.
Yerby screamed as Xiao Pei fell. “I was not finished with him yet!”
The leader placed a comforting hand on Yerby’s shoulder. “He wasn’t yours to kill. Whatever he did to incur your wrath was petty compared to what he did to my family.” He walked away and gave a signal to one of his men. When he had left the cavern, his man pulled the trigger. Yerby collapsed in a pool of Xiao Pei’s blood.
Jupiter and Archer’s cell opened. Barrett appeared before them. “You two look surprised to see me. I’ll explain in due course.” He clapped sharply. “Quickly, now, chop-chop. Let’s load those guns.”
Stunned, J
upiter and Archer followed quietly.
Barrett stopped at Yerby’s collection of jarred curiosities. A severed head floated in a large glass container. It seemed strangely at peace. He tapped the glass gently. “Sleep well, Greil,” said Barrett.
• • •
Now free from Yerby’s cave, Jupiter and Archer pressed Barrett for the details of his escape. Barrett obliged, but kept some things to himself. . . .
His arms were tied behind his back. Greil followed with his rifle pointed at him.
They walked deeper into Yerby’s cave, into darkness and a narrow passageway of cold wet stone. Barrett saw torchlight up ahead and five cells, all of them empty except one. A disfigured face and hand came to the bars as he passed. Barrett stared. Xiao Pei, he felt compelled to say, but didn’t.
The prisoner retreated to the shadows of his cell.
“Your work?” he asked Greil.
“You’ll learn soon enough. Move.” Greil jabbed Barrett’s shoulder with the weapon. Barrett continued to walk until the cave opened up to a blue sky.
Sunlight flickered through the trees as they walked. Insects buzzed and birds chirped, rustling the leaves as they flew from branch to branch. Barrett heard the ocean—the sounds of waves that had circled the earth and come back again. It had just stopped raining. Barrett ducked wet, low-hanging vines, and walked carefully over the muddy and rocky terrain. It was hard to manage with his arms tied behind him, but as all his muscles strained for balance, Barrett noticed that the binds at his wrists were starting to loosen.
“What tribe do you belong to?” asked Barrett.
Greil didn’t answer.
Barrett tried to force his wrists apart as Greil remained silent. “There’s something about your hair and your skin—not fully European. It’s hard to place you, but you look like one of your forbearers might have been from Papua. Am I right? Yes. I have heard my share of chilling tales about them. Supposedly they are fearsome warriors, but they fuck their daughters and eat their young.” Barrett laughed and flexed his wrists. Nothing came from Greil. They went down a slope and through a stream. Barrett stepped clumsily around the muddy banks and fell on his back. Something sharp—an unseen rock—tore into his forearm. He winced, and felt the cool gray mud on his wrists, then he realized that his binds were caught on the stone. He shifted his weight and worked the ropes against the rock. He felt his hands slipping through. “I hear the men of your tribe fuck their sons too,” said Barrett from the ground.
Greil laughed.
“I hear they make the old men watch.”
Greil laughed harder.
Barrett laughed too. “You think it’s funny that Papuans eat men and fuck children?”
Greil stopped laughing. “Yes. I am not Papuan. My grandmother was Maori—so I’m told.”
Barrett laughed.
“I’m glad that you’re feeling talkative. I won’t have to hurt you as long.” Greil poked Barrett with the rifle. “Up.”
Barrett slipped his hand from the bind and knocked the rifle away from him. Greil pulled the trigger, barely missing Barrett as the rifle slipped from his hands. Greil pounced on Barrett, sending a flurry of fists at him, and then lunged for the rifle that had fallen nearby. They fought for it. Barrett scrambled and managed to grab it as well. Both men gripped the barrel with two hands. Greil rolled and shifted his weight so that he was on top of Barrett and pressed the rifle down onto Barrett’s neck. “Ever think you’d die in a mud pit, old man?”
Barrett tasted sweat and blood. He heard waves crash against the shore as his throat fought to bring in air. Greil’s face—inches above Barrett’s—began to ripple like a reflection on water. Greil laughed again. Barrett opened his mouth and bit into the lip of the other man. He bit until he tasted the blood and saliva of the other. His jaw clenched until he felt the flesh tear away.
Greil screamed and let go of the rifle. Barrett rolled over, gasping. The torn half of Greil’s lip dangled. He brought his hand to his mouth, the blood dripping through his fingers. He looked away from his bloody hands to the rifle in the stream. Barrett was already crawling toward it. Greil lunged for the rifle, but only managed to grab the barrel. Barrett seized the butt, and then found the trigger. The bullet tore through Greil’s neck. He fell to his knees, his head barely attached by the remaining sinews.
• • •
He returned to Kalana’s camp and watched as they burned her on the pyre. The ocean roared as the fire took her. He had lost a ship and a daughter too close together. It was not a good omen. He thought of her mother, the young native girl who brought joy to a weary sailor trading sugar and sandalwood. How she brought his hand to her rounding belly and named the child inside. Kalana. A man of the sea journeys everywhere and is rarely there when he needs to be. He was not there when she was strangled by a sailor whose advances she refused. A part of him was grateful that she had not lived to see their child die. How Kalana must have screamed when she was left to fend for herself. He was not there to hear it. No matter. A man cannot let the screams of his child go unanswered.
With the fire dying behind him, Barrett took three of Kalana’s men and slipped away on her two-masted schooner. While on a ship, it was bad luck to speak of the recently departed, so they mourned and sailed in silence.
• • •
To get Yerby, Barrett needed to lure the dragon out of his cave. Ten Dragons and his men ran the underworld in Shanghai—and few people knew it. To do business with Ten Dragons, one must have displayed a zeal for discretion and corruption. He armed and financed warlords and the most secret of secret societies. When the Small Swords seized Shanghai during the Taiping Rebellion, they sought out Ten Dragons for weapons—weapons sold to him by Barrett.
Barrett walked past the brothels, opium dens, and gambling halls, and entered a small shop. A sign that read George and Ascalon Tea Trading Co. hung above its door.
There was no aroma of tea in the air, but there was an elderly clerk who barely bowed at Barrett. Barrett returned the bow and addressed the clerk in Chinese, Power is sent by heaven. The strength to use it is heaven-sent.
The clerk stared at Barrett and then ushered him to a wall of crates that obscured a door. Barrett entered, then raised his hands.
He stared at the slight man with a cherubic face, flanked by three muscular men on each side. “Barrett,” said Ten Dragons. “The last time I saw you, you were selling guns to the imperial army. I swore I’d kill you if I ever saw you again. Many people died because of those guns.”
“You have a good memory, Ten Dragons, you always did. But I remember selling guns to your men as well—much cheaper than I sold them to the Emperor’s men, I might add.”
“Lower your hands, Barrett. It makes you look suspicious.”
Barrett did as instructed.
“What do you want, Barrett?”
“I need your help.”
“That is obvious.” He took in Barrett’s woeful appearance.
“I have a treasure and I need your help in retrieving it.”
Ten Dragons laughed. “Why should I help you retrieve your treasure? I hope you never find it.”
“I didn’t say it was mine. It’s yours if you will help me.”
Ten Dragons took a moment. “What is it?”
“Guns.”
“This is Shanghai. I only need to stroll along the Whangpu.”
“You know as well as I do that your stroll would garner you nothing but broken promises.”
“I do not know that. However, I know you, and helping you is dangerous. Why should I risk my life for your guns?”
“Not just guns,” Barrett smiled, “but Xiao Pei as well.”
55
Liberia
Jacob was soaked with sweat. He had not said a word in days.
“Ma’am,” the doctor addressed Sonya, “though it pains me to say t
his . . . I think it’s time that you prepare for the worst.”
Prepare for the worst, she thought, isn’t that what she had mastered all of these years?
“The fever affects some differently than others,” the doctor continued. “We have done all we can do. At this point, it is up to the boy to decide how badly he wants to live.”
Up to the boy to decide? Weren’t they in a Christian hospital? And yet there was no talk of the Almighty giving the innocent child any assistance. It was up to that weak boy, his blood ravaged by parasites, to muster the strength, while wavering in and out of consciousness, to decide his own fate.
He didn’t have to say it. She knew how desperately he wanted to be in this world. The unlikely event of his conception, how he endured inside her womb, while she endured a host of external traumas. A mother can tell how badly a baby wants to enter the world while it’s inside her. Some babies don’t want it as badly. Maybe it’s those sounds it hears, muffled, mysterious, and ominous, that scares them. Maybe it scares away their strength to endure. Sonya knew from experience.
There was still no word of Jupiter. A ship that he could have been on had docked without a sign from him. Maybe it was for the best. This was a horrible way to be reunited.
“How is he?”
She heard the voice, then saw Sebastian’s face.
“I came looking for you. They told me what had happened.”
She started to speak, but her lip trembled. He put his arms around her. She sobbed into his chest. It was a while before she spoke again. She took another attempt at the sentence she began upon seeing Sebastian. “The doctor says it’s likely that he won’t survive . . . but I don’t believe it.”
“Then you shouldn’t,” said Sebastian. He looked at the boy, then squeezed her arms. “You shouldn’t.” He let go of her, knelt, and touched the boy’s cheeks. He muttered something to himself that Sonya couldn’t hear. He pulled back the blanket and lifted Jacob’s shirt, noticed the ghoulish play of light and shadow made on the boy’s emaciated body. Sebastian nodded as he stood. “I’ll be back shortly.”
The Abduction of Smith and Smith Page 19