The Indigo Ghosts

by Alys Clare

  Henry’s head shot up. ‘But you can’t—’

  I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘I have no choice,’ I said. ‘But you can trust him. That I promise you. I shall return here early in the morning’ – I sent up a silent prayer that no patients would arrive at my door needing immediate aid – ‘and bring more medicine for your father, and what new attire I can lay hands on.’

  ‘But—’ Henry protested. Then, appearing to slump suddenly, he said, ‘Very well. Thank you, Doctor, and we shall expect you in the morning.’

  As I hurried away, I heard Jonathan say quietly, ‘God go with you.’

  I found Theo still in his office, although all his officers had left. The appetizing smells of the coroner’s supper that came sneaking down from the family’s quarters made my mouth water and my stomach rumble.

  Theo was sitting at his desk and leapt up as I went in. ‘You are unharmed?’ he asked urgently. ‘No sword fights with foreigners in your woods?’

  ‘I’m unhurt, and I don’t think they were ever there. I’m sorry it’s so late, but—’

  He waved away the apology. ‘You have news for me, Gabe,’ he said as we sat down, ‘as have I for you. I’m going first, for I have news of those very foreigners.’

  And he launched into an account of a visit from Sir Thomas Drake, concerning a dark-eyed stranger who demanded a private audience with him and asked about a red wood box whose contents he would not divulge, and how this man had hidden a musket in the undergrowth by the imposing gates to Buckland Abbey, which was enough, apparently, to convince both Sir Thomas and Theo that this stranger had been the man who had shot the dead man found by the river. Bartholomew Noble, as I now knew.

  ‘So I sent Jarman Hodge to seek out Sir Richard Hawkins,’ Theo went on before I could begin on my own tale or even comment on what he’d just told me, ‘and Jarman says he’s returned to his Plymouth house, although his wife and family remain at Slapton, and what do you think?’

  ‘I’d guess from your expression that he too has received the same enquiry from the same dark-eyed stranger,’ I said, ‘and that in all likelihood he also sent the man on his way.’

  ‘You’d guess right!’ Theo exclaimed triumphantly. ‘This vexing puzzle begins to reveal its heart, Gabe, and—’

  I let him ramble on for a few moments. Then, interrupting him in mid-flow, I said, ‘I know where this red wood box is, Theo.’

  He looked dumbstruck. He frowned, as if momentarily cross that I appeared to have overtaken him on the road to the truth, then he whispered, ‘How do you know?’

  So I told him.

  ‘I believe,’ I went on, ‘that whatever the box contains, it is very valuable and very, very secret. Simoun Wex stole it, I think, although he himself maintained it had been entrusted into his care. He knew what it was and where it was, and he kept back the information even under great torment.’ Briefly I told Theo what Simoun had told me, and he looked as horrified as I had been.

  ‘Those poor men,’ he muttered. Then, frowning, ‘So this foreigner pretending to be a merchant who is asking after the box …?’

  ‘I would guess,’ I replied, ‘he belongs to the organization from whom the item was stolen. Not when it came into Simoun’s possession, but when the English sea dogs originally took it.’ I hesitated, then said, ‘I believe they are Spanish priests, and that what was stolen was something of very great importance, and that they have sent some of their own to fetch it back.’

  Theo shook his head as if to clear it. ‘So Hawkins or Drake took something from the Spanish priests, and it was given to Simoun when he was put ashore and left behind … Why?’ he demanded.

  ‘If it was in truth given to him,’ I replied, ‘then I can only think it was because whoever handed it over reckoned he had a greater chance of surviving than anyone aboard a vastly overcrowded, damaged ship trying to sail home across the width of the Atlantic.’ I noticed Theo’s expression. ‘No, I don’t really believe that either. I think Simoun Wex used the confusion aboard the Minion at San Juan d’Ulúa to steal the box and its contents. Or maybe he’d already stolen it before that.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘Hmm.’ Theo looked at me shrewdly. ‘And what does he propose to do with it?’

  ‘He’s probably hoping a member of the Drake or the Hawkins clan will buy it. They were both there, you know, that day.’ I had told Theo a little about what happened at San Juan d’Ulúa, and now I told him some more.

  ‘D’you think they’re here for vengeance?’ he asked softly. ‘An eye for an eye, not with Francis Drake or John Hawkins because they’re dead but with some close relative? Or maybe they’ll demand a vast payment in exchange for not spreading the story?’

  ‘It had crossed my mind,’ I said, ‘but I think I was wrong. What you’ve just said about the foreigner disguised as a merchant, and the lengths he’s going to, convinces me just how valuable this item in its red wood box must be. I reckon that’s all Simoun Wex and his son need to assure their future. Provided,’ I added, ‘Thomas Drake or Richard Hawkins wanted to buy it, which it appears they don’t.’

  Theo sat back in his chair, a distant expression in his eyes. ‘What do you imagine it is, Gabe?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  But, I thought as I got up to go, I intend to find out in the morning, as soon as Simoun Wex has recovered sufficiently to take up his tale again.

  Judyth had left by the time I finally reached home. I had been secretly hoping she might have stayed to see me, but given the late hour, it had become more and more unlikely. ‘She was truly all right?’ I demanded of Celia as she came to greet me.

  ‘Yes, Gabe, it was only a shallow wound and I helped her to patch it up. She was much more cross about her gown,’ Celia added, ‘which now has a neat little cut in it.’

  I will buy you a new gown, I said silently to Judyth. I will buy you a gown of pale silvery silk to match your eyes. The memory of how she had felt when I’d held her in my arms was very vivid.

  Celia was clearly waiting for me to speak, a wry expression twisting her mouth. So I just said, ‘I’m sure she’s handy with a needle and will be able to mend the tear,’ which was about the dullest, most lumbering remark I could have come up with, as my sister’s face clearly told me.

  ‘I said she was welcome to stay and have supper, and to spend the night here,’ Celia said, ‘but she clearly preferred to go home. I offered to send Samuel with her, or to lend her my mare, but she was adamant.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘She’s a very independent woman, isn’t she, Gabe?’

  ‘Yes,’ I muttered. Then, unable to stop myself, ‘She really was all right?’

  Celia tucked her arm through mine. ‘Yes, Gabe. Now, listen,’ she went on, her eyes alight with excitement, ‘because I’ve been going through your papers and your books and journals and I’ve discovered something really interesting, and I think I now know where your Falco men were abandoned and why, and although I don’t know what happened subsequently I feel I can make a very good guess, and—’

  I hated to do it. Hated to spoil her moment. And, even as I prepared the words, I was thinking how hard she’d worked, how brilliantly she’d done, and that she’d discovered right there in my own study what it had taken me so long to find out, and I’d only done so because a father and son had just told me their story.

  I put my arm around her, hugging her to me. I dropped a kiss on her smooth hair and said gently, ‘Dearest Celia, I already know. Now, I’m going to need some of those spare clothes of yours.’

  She recovered so well. When she understood the full extent of the plight of the Falco fugitives, she swallowed her disappointment over not being the one to enlighten me and threw herself into offering a different kind of help.

  I was quite surprised that she had indeed brought more than a considerable amount of Jeromy’s clothes with her, and she must have noticed.

  ‘They are made of very good fabrics, Gabe,’ she said briskly as we knelt side by side up in her litt
le sitting room rooting through the largest chest. ‘And he hadn’t even worn some of these garments.’ There was a defensive tone in her voice. ‘I wasn’t going to waste them!’

  We selected fine linen shirts, simple wool tunics, hose, cloaks, a pair of boots. ‘Outfits for three men, you said?’ she asked as a thorough search revealed no more footwear. ‘Then they’ll just have to fight over these.’ She shooed me out of the room. ‘Go and get something to eat – Sallie’s long turned in for the night so don’t wake her – and then for heaven’s sake go to bed, Gabe, you’re worn out.’

  ‘But—’ I gestured feebly at the pile of garments and the boots.

  ‘I’ll see to those,’ Celia said firmly. ‘I’ll pack them up and have them by the door when you’re ready to leave in the morning. GO!’ she said with mock anger.

  I did as she commanded.

  NINETEEN

  ‘Puma’s mother was a vodou priestess – a bokor,’ Simoun Wex began.

  Then he fell silent, looking round at his audience as if allowing time for that remarkable statement to sink in.

  We were back in the deserted house, Simoun, Henry, Puma, Jonathan and I. It was the middle of the morning of the next day. I had hoped and intended to be there sooner, but I’d had callers at my door even as I gobbled down a hasty breakfast and it had taken some time to attend to them. Once again there was that gloomy, darkening mist outside, but the fire was burning brightly, chasing the shadows into the far reaches of the room. The dark, thin boy was alert now although he still kept to his corner, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around the lean torso as if in self-defence, hugging his blanket tightly to him.

  Puma.

  As if he felt my thoughts bent upon him, suddenly he turned his head and looked at me. His dark eyes were so shiny that they appeared like tiny mirrors reflecting the flames of the fire. I had the sensation that the inside of my head was being … raked, was the best way to describe it; it was as if minuscule probes were searching through my mind, hunting out the very nature of me. The sensation wasn’t exactly painful but it was hard to endure nonetheless. Just as I was about to protest, or to move away so that those brilliant eyes were no longer looking right into me, it stopped. Puma dipped his head in a swift nod, and I saw what could have been a smile briefly cross his dark face.

  Simoun, I thought, had observed the exchange. He waited, watching Puma and me, and as Puma lowered his head, he resumed his story.

  ‘She was a powerful woman, much respected, much feared,’ he continued. ‘She had strange symbols painted on her body, black eyes that burned into you, and she had power over the dead.’

  He had spoken in so matter-of-fact a tone that it took a moment for the meaning of what he’d just said to penetrate.

  ‘She – what?’

  Even as my exclamation rang out, I felt Jonathan’s hand on my arm. ‘Wait, Gabriel,’ he said very softly.

  ‘But he speaks heresy!’ I hissed back.

  The pressure of Jonathan’s hand increased. ‘Wait,’ he repeated.

  I stared at him in amazement, a dozen questions filling my head and demanding to be asked. But his expression was stern, and I bit them down. I turned back to Simoun, and he took this as a signal to continue.

  ‘You find such claims hard to stomach, Doctor? So did we, but we had the advantage of hearing them when we lived alongside those people on the indigo plantation, and we witnessed such things with our own eyes. Puma’s mother was called Atashua.’ Puma looked up sharply at the sound of his mother’s name, and Henry muttered a brief reassurance. ‘She controlled people brought back from the other side of the grave by means of her magic. She was her son’s teacher, and he in turn spread her teachings to his friends the English sailors on the plantation. He was a solitary youth, always left well alone by his own people because of who he was, and we had befriended him, and Henry here and Bartholomew were his friends when the boys of his own people shunned him because they were afraid.’

  I opened my mouth to protest, for Puma was a boy even now and Henry was a grown man. Simoun, smiling, forestalled me.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Doctor. Puma is not what you imagine him to be. He looks like a boy but he is not.’

  I nerved myself to look at Puma again. He was already staring straight at me as my eyes fell upon him. And I saw what Simoun meant.

  Puma was slim, built more like a girl than a boy, and not very tall. His face was unlined, the skin smooth and showing no signs of a beard. But the eyes, those large, deep, dark, shining eyes, were as old as time. In a flash of alarming insight, I realized something: they reminded me of the glitter I thought I’d seen between the dead and desiccated eyelids of Mama Tze Amba when she was still pinned to the rib in Falco’s hold. Moreover, now I came to think about it, there was a resemblance in the facial features …

  Another frightening thought struck me, but once again Simoun picked up my thought before I could put it into words.

  ‘No, Doctor,’ he said very softly. ‘An ancestor, of that there is no doubt, but from a very long time ago.’

  My heart was beating uncomfortably fast. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Jonathan murmured something – I wasn’t sure what it was – and I muttered curtly, ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘Both mother and son responded to the men’s interest,’ Simoun resumed. ‘It was a novelty for Atashua to find foreigners who wanted to listen to her, for otherwise she and the other practitioners were reviled by those who claimed to be their masters’ – he poured a world of venom into the word, his voice loud and full of passion – ‘and who utterly refused to recognize that their beliefs had any value; who dismissed the bokors as trash and their followers as ignorant savages quite incapable of recognizing or understanding the deep mysteries of faith and the abstractions of the spirit world.’ He paused, his anger having made him breathless. ‘Denying their faith, of course,’ he resumed, ‘makes it easier for the masters to treat them as if they were not human. To all those vicious, cruel soldiers, priests and overseers, they are just slaves, brute animals.’

  He stopped. His words were still ringing in my ears.

  Presently Jonathan said calmly, ‘What is the essence of this faith, Simoun?’

  Simoun turned to him, surprise on his face, as if he was saying, you of all men should ask that? Jonathan met his questioning eyes with a smile.

  ‘It is not easy to sum it up, Father,’ Simoun said after a while. ‘In brief, seems to me it’s to do with trying to understand the natural processes of life, and in particular our own spiritual nature. The ancestors, the animals and their spirits … there’s life in everything, see, and it all needs to be in harmony. When it isn’t, the rupture has to be healed, so that we live in peace with ourselves, with one another, with God.’

  ‘Amen,’ Jonathan said softly.

  Animals …

  I heard myself say, ‘When I was in that secret hold with – er, with the lady’ – I indicated the tiny white-clad figure – ‘I had a vision of a beautiful female face that slowly turned into a crocodile.’ I looked at Simoun.

  He glanced at Puma, then back to me, surprise in his face. ‘Did you, now,’ he murmured. ‘Then you—’ He stopped, and after a moment said in a different tone, ‘They revere all creatures. The snake is important for it represents earth, and the rainbow is heaven. All men and women have their spirit animal, and the crocodile is—’ But Puma made a sound – a swift, violent sort of cough – and Simoun did not go on.

  ‘To continue answering your question, Father’ – Simoun turned back to Jonathan – ‘the faithful believe there is one Almighty God, and that it is abstract. Below it, spirits called Loa rule different aspects of the world, made manifest via natural elements such as wind, rain, thunder and lightning, rivers, oceans … anything you care to think of. They appeal to the ancestors for guidance and protection, and a specially-trained person known as the griot memorizes long lists of family history, as well as the legends of the people.’

  ‘A
nd you and your fellow exiles learned all this?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Aye,’ Simoun replied. ‘The men were willing pupils and some of them became adept. We had nothing to lose, remember, and the way we’d been treated by those fucking Spanish priests had turned us brutally away from the faith we were born into.’ Once again his voice had risen in anger, and we waited as, breathing hard, he brought himself under control. ‘I apologize, Father, if I offend you.’

  ‘You do not,’ Jonathan said quietly. ‘Please, continue.’

  Simoun sighed heavily. He glanced briefly at his son, then at Puma, but if either knew what he was about to say – and I guessed they probably did – neither tried to stop him.

  ‘Trouble is, there were bad things to be learned along with the good,’ he said heavily. ‘I can only say in our own defence that we were desperate. We’d been left in an alien land, the Europeans we’d gone to for help had turned on us, beaten us, tortured us, burned and hanged our companions, enslaved the rest of us, and we were full of fury, willing to grab at anything that offered the chance of revenge. No,’ he corrected himself, ‘we weren’t after revenge, we were trying to survive. So many of us were already dead.’

  He dropped his face in his hands, and I saw his shoulders shake as he remembered and his grief briefly overcame him.

  Jonathan said, ‘They are gone now, beyond their pain and suffering, and let us hope they have found their way to a kinder place.’

  Simoun nodded. ‘Aye. Thank you, Father.’

  Presently he lowered his hands and went on.

  ‘They taught us their ways, and how to use the power to intimidate, terrify, overcome. They knew how to send a person into another’s dreams, so that one man may achieve control over another.’

  I made as if to protest, but again Jonathan stopped me.