A rear door swung open slowly. Madam Glow stepped inside. “Mr. Cane,” she said, bowing her head. “I heard stories about you.” She seemed ageless. Maybe the tales of her immortality were true. Madam Glow had closed-cropped hair under a tight white and red turban, matching the crimson satin of her dress. Her coffee-colored skin had only hints of wrinkles, but was otherwise smooth. She folded her hands as she sat down, pausing only to smooth her dress.
“What sort of stories, ma’am?” Cane asked, removing his broad-brimmed hat. He let Madam Glow stare straight into his scarred face. “I’d be curious to hear their telling.”
“You are a dead man, Mr. Cane.” Madam Glow arched her thin fingers. “And you were given life in the war. I know your story. Whispers of it drifted in from the bayou and I learned their truth. It was a Confederate plantation owner who created you, after his sons had gone to die for his beloved south. He knew that the Confederacy could never win without manpower, so he took the body parts from countless corpses and forged a single man out of them, using dark science, black magic and even the Voodoo of his slaves to grant the patchwork man life.”
Cane said nothing. He merely rested his thick hands on his knees and stared at Madam Glow. Her tone was easy, like she was discussing the weather. A slight French accent drifted in and out of her words, light as a breeze.
“You were to be the first of an army – a legion of the living dead. He made you a monster, who knew nothing but bloodlust and battle. But before you were complete, Union river cruisers bombarded his mansion, blasting it to splinters. You ran from the Yankee shots and fled into the swamp. And when the war ended, you emerged – a soldier without a battle to fight.” She smiled sweetly. “Is that not correct?”
“Yeah.” Cane glared at her, knowing that each word she said was true. He hated hearing them. He hated being reminded of what he had been created to be – and what he was. “But I ain’t here to talk with you, Madam Glow. I’m looking for a friend of mine and I reckon you know where he is.” He came to his feet, his hands drifting down to the revolvers at his side. “His name was Isaac and he’s been dead for years and resting under the earth, where I buried him. But you dug him up, Madam Glow. Some of the local swamp folk saw you and your men do it. I’m keen to know why.”
Madam Glow’s eyes twinkled. “Why do you think I did?”
“I don’t fathom the minds of devil-worshippers and witches.” Cane’s hand fell to the revolver at his side. Randolph reached for his own pistol and the two guards at the door raised their rifles. But Cane kept his grip firm. “I bet you cleaned him off and breathed life into him, making him into a goddamn zombie. I don’t know why and I don’t rightly care. I won’t have it. Isaac deserves to rest and I will see that he does.” He stared down at Randolph. “No matter the cost.”
“You cared for this man, Isaac?” Madam Glow came to her feet. She took a step closer to Cane.
“He cared for me,” Cane replied.
“Then think before you act, Mr. Cane. The spell of the zombie is not something I undertook lightly. I turned Isaac into no ordinary dead man, but one with the burning rage of his ghost lurking inside. Such a zombie can never be stopped, until whatever remains of its ghost is finally pleased. Perhaps I had a purpose – one that Isaac himself would approve of.” She looked over Cane’s shoulder and her eyes settled on something out in the street. Cane turned to see what it was.
A jagged chunk of brick slammed into the glass window, shattering it. The brick thudded onto the rich carpet as Randolph ran to Madam Glow and pulled her back. The two riflemen went to the window, leveling their weapons. Cane looked through the window and saw a small mob of rough men, some of them on horseback, out in the street. Some of them were uniformed police officers, their dark blue cloaks looking black against the night, with rifles on their shoulders. Others were simple street toughs, though they too had a kind of uniform, consisting of a gray coat and a plug hat. A few carried torches which casted flickering shadows on the cobblestones.
Cane recognized the men in gray, as he knew almost every street gang from the Sydney Ducks of San Francisco to the Dead Rabbits of New York. These were the Live Oak Boys, a loosely connected gang of New Orleans brutes, who congregated to the service of whoever promised them money. They were named from the tree under which they gathered.
“You got the Live Oak Boys and the law after you?” Cane asked Madam Glow.
She shrugged. “In this town, the police are worse than the criminals. They both serve whoever has the most money.” She pointed with a thin figure to a man on horseback, riding slowly behind the assembled mob like a general commanding his arm. “And Colonel Dowling Swann is that man.”
Colonel Swann rode closer and Cane saw him, outlined against the flickering torches. He was a stout man, with a narrow nose and a round chin coated in scraggly white hair, giving him the appearance of a distinguished gentleman mixed with a craggy mountain. One of his eyes was missing, covered with a neat patch, which was of the same gray cloth as his frock coat and weskit.
Swann pointed at the manor and raised his voice. “Madam Glow!” he roared. “You heathen sorceress! You rebellious darkie strumpet! You’ve ruled these streets for far too long!” His voice was a bellicose booming, resounding across the street. “God-fearing white folk have been afraid of your witchcraft for too long! You’re finished in New Orleans, you godless hussy!”
“Pious prig. He used to run a plantation and now he’s my rival to control the French Quarter. Places that pay off to me don’t pay off to him and he’s jealous – so he plays Christian and runs to the other lowdown ofay trash who are always looking for a fight.” Madam Glow cursed to herself in fine French. “He keeps his hands under silk gloves, so the blood stains don’t show. If you knew the things he did, Mr. Cane – before, during and after the war – then you’d look on him with disgust.”
“Yeah,” Cane muttered. “I can imagine.” He gripped tightly to the handle of his revolver. “Looks like he’s hell-bent on running you out of town. You gonna go quietly?”
“By the Loa Gods of my ancestors,” Madam Glow whispered. “I’ll do nothing of the sort.” She closed her eyes and whispered a hushed chant. Cane could hardly hear the ancient syllables, spoken like they were part of the same breath. He looked up at Randolph, who simply shrugged. It was best not to question Madam Glow.
But then the Live Oak Boys and the New Orleans police moved in. They raised their guns and opened up with a sudden barrage of fire. Cane hurled himself down, bullets roaring into the manor. The wide windows shattered, glass tumbling down and crashing against the carpet almost musically. Refined furniture was chewed up by the gunfire. One of the colored riflemen died as well, as bullet neatly splitting his skull.
“Go on and get them!” Colonel Swann shouted orders from horseback. “Get me the negress alive! Kill the rest!”
The Live Oak Boys heeded his command, charging for Madam Glow’s mansion. Randolph grabbed Madam Glow’s arm and tried to haul her back, even as she continued her chant. Cane heard more pops and cracks as rifles and revolvers went off, then the crunch of boots on shattered glass. The Live Oaky Boys were getting closer. Hatchets and clubs swung down, hacking their way through the door.
When they finally smashed through, Cane came to his feet with his revolvers in his hands, blazing away with all the skill and deadly accuracy of the killing machine he was. The Live Oak Boys were forced back, two of them dying in the first blaze of gunfire. They tried to fire back, but Cane was the equal to a battalion of men and his revolvers didn’t stop until they clicked empty and he ducked for cover. He reloaded quickly, sliding open the cylinders and calmly slamming in new shells as the Live Oak Boys scrambled up to the porch again.
But this time, there was something else beside lead to meet them. Cane heard one of the policemen screaming, followed by the panicked snorts of a horse, and then the sound of something only semi-solid splattering on the cobblestones outside. He risked a glance up and saw a frog lying in
a bloody puddle at the feet. Another fell next to it, this one live enough to hop madly for the gutter. Cane stared into the sky. Frogs were plummeting down like the wrath of heaven – and they weren’t alone.
“Jesus!” One of the Live Oak Boys ran back, a hissing water moccasin snake falling in a shining coil around his neck. The snakes followed the frogs, coming whistling down in twisting, hissing lines. The vipers lashed out soon as they were close enough, and the ranks of the cops and Live Oak Boys shattered as they ran for cover from the descending serpents.
Cane heard hooves pounding down the street. He glanced up to see Madam Glow on a sleek sorrel mare, a riding hood and cloak wrapped around her form, galloping like mad away from her manor. Randolph and more of her bodyguards followed in a buckboard wagon – with a coffin secured in the back.
“Hell,” Cane muttered. That had to be where they were keeping Isaac’s body.
Before he could move, a shotgun blast tore into the floor next to him, spraying splinters in the air. Cane came to his feet, both revolvers aimed at the door – until he saw that it was a constable who had fired the shot. More policemen charged inside, aiming all their guns at Cane. He considered opening fire, but he knew that little good would come of putting a bullet through a badge. Cane tossed down his revolvers and raised his hands.
From the street, the Live Oak Boys and officers still struggled with the fallen snakes and Cane heard an occasional gunshot or scream. He just looked at the doorway and then saw Colonel Swann approach, flanked by two of the Live Oak Boys. A viper fell from the ceiling and landed in a hissing mass on the colonel’s shoulder. He grabbed its tail and hurled it away, as casually as he would a fallen leaf. He walked inside the manor. Colonel Swann’s boots crunched on the shattered glass. Cane looked up and stared hard at him.
“You want him killed, sir?” wondered a cop with an upturned moustache. “He sure is an ugly specimen.”
Colonel Swann drew closer to Cane. His eyes flashed with recognition. “Show a little respect, boys,” he said. “We’re in the presence of a legend. This is Clayton Cane, or El Mosaico, as he’s been called—the famed bounty hunter.” He reached out and touched Cane’s cheek, moving his fingers over the scars. “My, he is of a strange and terrible appearance.” Colonel Swann turned back to his men. “Take him with us, back to my estate! Maybe I’ll find a place for him in some cabinet of curiosity!” He strolled away, humming slightly to himself as he walked back into the panicked street.
The constables slapped handcuffs on Cane and picked up his revolvers. They jabbed a shotgun in his back to make him move. Cane glowered and said nothing. Isaac’s body was getting further and further away.
Colonel Dowling Swann resided in an old mansion on the edge of New Orleans, with its back to a patch of dark swamp. The place was almost a fortress, with the Live Oak Boys and bribed constables standing guard. Cane was taken to a balcony overlooking the swamp, where Swann was waiting for him in a wicker chair. The colonel had a cheroot cigar smoldering between his thick fingers. Cane stood still, feeling naked without his revolvers. He stared off of the balcony, looking at the mass of dark trees and tangled vines that made up the bayou country.
“I find myself in the presence of a legend,” Colonel Swann said softly. “And I find myself unsure how to proceed.” He jabbed the cigarillo in his mouth and came to his feet. “Clayton Cane. El Mosaico, as the Mexican peasants call you. I’ve heard stories of you, sir – grand stories. And they’d be grander still, if you had been what you were intended to be.”
“And what’s that?” Cane demanded.
“A knight. A crusading warrior for the Confederate States of America – may god rest the souls of all who died for her glory.” Swann raised his cigarillo in a slow salute. “Circumstances, alas, prevented you from fulfilling your destiny.” He turned to look at Cane slowly. “But perhaps you still can.”
“How do you figure?” Cane asked.
“The War Between the States is over. The war between god-fearing Christian men of character of virtue against the jungle-dwelling heathens of Africa is currently being fought in the streets of New Orleans.” Swann came to his feet. “I’d have you work for me, Mr. Cane. You were created for war – fight it against Madam Glow and the darkie scum that follow her banner.”
“To make sure all the saloons and dance halls pay off to you.” Cane glared at Colonel Swann. “You’re a fine Christian, colonel. A regular upstanding gentleman.”
“And you’re a killer of men.” Swann shrugged. “You’re a fighter. Why not fight for me?”
“You mind answering me a question?” Cane asked.
“Of course, Mr. Cane.”
“You ever know a fellow named Isaac? A colored fellow?”
Colonel Swann stared at Cane. He tossed his smoldering cigarillo off the balcony. “I’ve known many Blacks. Used to own a plantation full of them, before the war. Their names and faces run together.” The cigarillo fell with a splash into a dark green ribbon of swamp water that bordered the mansion. Cane watched the tiny ripples as the ash floated on the stream’s surface. “Is he a freedman now?”
“He’s dead,” Cane replied.
Before Colonel Swann could respond, there was a knocking on the balcony door. One of the Live Oak Boys stepped out, a shotgun tucked under his arm. “Sorry to disturb you,” he said, removing his plug hat and bowing his bald head. “But there’s, well, there’s someone outside of your house. A dead man, sir. He ain’t doing much but standing around, but he’s all rotten and stinking.”
“A dead man?” Swann folded his hands. “More of Madam Glow’s witchery, I’ll wager. Bring him in – but keep him covered.” He nodded to Cane as the gunman stepped quietly off the balcony. “You have not yet replied to my offer. Rest assured, Mr. Cane, you are a creature of war. You need a battle to fight, like the fish needs water or the birds need air. I’m offering you something more than just another pathetic outlaw to hunt or loudmouth to thrash in a barroom brawl. I’m offering you service in a war that will never end. Now, what do you say to that?”
More than ever, Cane wished he still had his irons. “The hell with your offer,” he said. “And the hell with you.”
“Yes.” Swann nodded. “I rather suspected that would be your answer.” He smiled as four of the Live Oak Boys approached the balcony, a single, lurching form walking between them. “Well, what have we here?” he said, his grin widening. “Another dead man, Mr. Cane, to keep you company.”
They stepped onto the balcony. The four Live Oak Boys all had their shotguns and rifles aimed at the walking corpse between them. Cane looked over the dead man. He saw the blackened skin, now pitted with the holes of maggots and worms. He looked into the hollow sockets and the wrinkled, peeling skin of the corpse’s face, with pale bone shining in the moonlight. Cane recognized what was left of the face, as well as the simple black coat and homespun shirt of his old friend.
“Isaac,” he said.
“Yes…” Colonel Swann’s eye flashed with recognition. “You’re right. This is Isaac.” His hand fell to his eye patch. “In truth, I do know him, Mr. Cane – or knew him, I should say. He picked cotton for me, back in plantation days. He had a sister, by the name of Isabel, a lovely girl. I killed her, for a reason that I cannot for the life of me recall.” He shook his head. “Perhaps it was simple disobedience that raised my ire. Perhaps she denied me some small pleasure. It doesn’t matter now, I suppose.” He pointed to the living corpse. “But her brother was enraged. He attacked me and ripped out my eye and escaped into the swamps and I could never find him – and now he walks in through my front door!” He turned back to Cane. “What was he to you?”
“A friend,” Cane said simply.
“Well, you’ll die together.” Colonel Swann pulled up his coat, revealing both of Cane’s revolvers in his belt. He drew the pistols out and leveled them at Cane’s gut. “Walk outside, sir, to the swamps. I shall feed you both to the gators. They’ll eat anything – living or dead. They might
even find you tasty, Mr. Cane.”
Cane had no choice. He raised his arms and let Swann and the Live Oak Boys lead him down to a curling stairwell at the edge of the balcony. The Live Oak Boys prodded along Isaac and the corpse went willingly. Cane knew that it was Madam Glow’s doing which had brought Isaac to life as a zombie and walked him to Colonel Swann’s estate. Madam Glow said she was trying to help Isaac get revenge, doubtlessly for his murdered sister. Cane knew that she was making a mistake. The Isaac he knew was a peaceful man, who turned away from all violence. He never even told Cane about what happened to his sister, or how he gouged out a man’s eye.
And now Madam Glow had dug up his body, filled it with dark Voodoo energy and brought it to Colonel Swann’s doorstep. Cane didn’t know if any of his old friend’s soul was left in Isaac’s desiccated frame, but Cane swore he’d return the body to its rest –and grant him the revenge he never sought in life.
They walked along the bank of the little stream, Colonel Swann holding Cane’s own pistols and jabbing them into the back of their owner. It was very dark now, and the bayou seemed to cast its own shadows on the stream, which grew deeper and blacker as they moved further down its length. They soon came to a deep pool, with still water resting under the shade of trees. It was like looking into an ink well. Swann grabbed a handful of grass and tossed it into the water, which shattered as the snouts and jaws of alligators reared up in a thrashing, hungry maelstrom.
Colonel Swann turned back to smile at Cane and Isaac. “I am curious,” he said, stroking the white wisps that served as his beard. “How do you know this dead darkie? Tell me, if you would be so kind, before I have you both fed to the gators.”
The Road to Hellfire Page 6