Haitian Gold

by Steven Becker

  When the lock was within arm’s reach, I peered into the corridor. The light from a lantern danced against the walls, allowing just enough light for me to see the keyhole. I bent down, pulled one of the men toward the gate and reached for the key ring on his belt. The third key worked.

  “It’s open,” I whispered to the men and pulled the gate open just enough for us to slide inside. Rhames took the lantern and we moved down the corridor. The sound of men snoring came from the dark interiors of several half-open doors as we silently crept down the hallway. A hundred feet in, we reached an intersection and had to make a decision.

  I had seen several illuminated windows on the right side when we approached and guessed these were the women’s quarters. We stayed against the near wall, not wanting to expose ourselves around the frequent turns, and moved quietly forward. After another hundred feet, I signaled a halt and listened. Laughter, clearly female, could be heard ahead.

  “See if there are guards,” I whispered to Blue.

  He readied his blowgun and was quickly swallowed by the dark corridor. I stared into the space, looking for his figure ahead. Finally I saw a hand waving us forward. We moved together toward a door with two empty chairs beside it. Light came from a crack between the door and the jamb and I went toward it.

  The scene was similar to the ribald drawings I had seen from some of the ships we had captured, and I stared for several second before I gained my wits and saw our advantage. With the guards entertained, it would be easy to take them.

  The orgy halted and a dozen eyes were on us when we barged through the door. Before the two men could react, Rhames and Swift pulled them away from the women and knocked them out with the butts of the rifles. They lay naked on the floor and I bound them.

  The women grabbed for their clothes, but showed no sign of fright. None called for help.

  “Pierre sent us,” I said in English, hoping someone would understand me.

  “Where is he, then?” a voice came from the group. A woman came forward. She was different from the other women; besides her beauty, she carried herself like a queen.

  “Are you Cloe?”

  She nodded.

  “Pierre sent us for you.”

  Her face changed. “He is alive?”

  I could see tears welling in her eyes. “Yes, but the story has to wait. We need your help.”

  She said something in French and the other girls gathered around. “What is it you need us for?” she asked.

  It was a bit of luck to find her and the fact that she spoke English was an added bonus, but not surprising. These islands had changed hands many times over the years and were a true melting pot of cultures. I explained our problem and she translated for the other women.

  Off to the side I saw Rhames and Swift enjoying this encounter—each with a girl under each arm. I gave them a stern look, which they acknowledged but didn’t move.

  “We’ll be ready when you need us,” Rhames assured me. “But if we’ve a bit of time …”

  The women giggled when he grabbed their breasts and I turned to Blue and Cloe. “Can you take us to his chamber?”

  “I can, but I want first shot at the prick,” she said.

  “So long as we recover the doll and get out of here undetected, he’s all yours,” I said. She left the room and returned a minute later with a homemade shank.

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” she said, brandishing the sharp point.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The woman led us through a narrow hallway and up a flight of stairs. Swift gladly remained with the other women to ensure none were loyal to Jean-Jean and would set off an alarm. I only hoped he would not be lured in by their charms and miss something.

  We stood in front of a locked door. I slid the key ring from my pocket and tried the keys, but this time my luck failed me—none worked. “Anything we do is going to alert the guards,” I said, staring at the solid slab of wood.

  “It was never locked when Henri was here. Jean–Jean does not call for us. He likes the children,” Cloe said.

  “Ah, different tastes.” I glanced at Rhames to see if he had any ideas.

  He removed a pistol he had taken from the guards, placed the tip of the barrel against the lock and cocked the trigger.

  “We can’t afford the noise,” I said. “Let me have that shank,” I ordered Cloe.

  “I mean to take my revenge on him with it,” she said.

  “You’ll have your chance if we can get in.” She handed the homemade blade to me. I took it and placed the sharpened tip in the keyhole. It was narrow enough to fit, but I soon felt resistance. The metal was thin enough that I feared it might snap off inside, foiling any future efforts, and I withdrew it. I worked the blade on the stone wall, making slow passes and watching small filings of the soft metal fall to the ground. I tried it again and it slid in further, but did not reach the mechanism.

  “We can’t be playing thieves all night,” Rhames whispered.

  “One more try,” I said and began to work the metal against the stone. The shank had a needlelike point now and I went back to the lock. It slid all the way in this time and I wiggled it around trying to feel for the restriction that would free the pins. With my eyes closed I visualized what the key would look like and how it would interact with the mechanism. I pulled it out slightly and turned it again. This would be my only chance. If it failed, the tip of the blade would break off inside the lock.

  I felt something move and, with a snap, the lock opened. Rhames quickly moved in front of me and pushed the door open, and the woman leaned over and pulled the blade from the lock. We entered the room and stood side by side, staring at the empty chamber.

  “Christ the lord,” the woman said. “He’s not here.”

  I looked around the dark room, the only light coming from the moon through the windows. The bed had been slept in. I went to it and put my hand on the sheets—still warm.

  “If we’d blown it, we could have taken him by surprise. It was the scratching of the lock that alerted him,” Rhames said.

  “Search it,” I told him, expecting he had taken the doll with him. Until he knew for certain that Pierre was dead I doubted he would let it out of his sight. I started to search the dressing table just in case. “And don’t take any prizes.”

  The double doors leading to the castle burst open and we found ourselves staring at the barrels of half a dozen rifles. Jean-Jean pushed his way between two men of the men, gathering his silk robe around him. The soldiers followed him into the room, staying in a tight semicircle to protect him.

  “Take them down to the dungeon,” he ordered. “These two, that is. They’ll know where Pierre is hiding. The bitch you can take out back and have your way with her. When she’s used up—kill her.” He went towards the woman and slowly scraped her face with his nail. Blood dripped from the wound, but she did not scream. “Take her before her blood taints the floor,” he ordered the guards.

  Just before they grabbed her, a flash of light caught my eye and I saw the shank slide from under the folds of her dress. She leaned toward Jean-Jean as if to say something, and waited as he drew close to hear. She whispered again and as he closed the gap to hear her, I saw the razor-sharp blade enter his stomach. He groaned and pulled away, but she held her ground and twisted the shank. He screamed and fell to the ground grabbing his entrails. Rhames pulled the woman back.

  “We’ll have that doll and be going now,” I said and snatched it from his neck.

  “It’s too late,” he said. “I have released him from this world.”

  Cloe broke free of Rhames’s hold, taking all of us by surprise. She lunged across the room, landing the knife in his heart.

  The guards stood spellbound, unsure what they should do. I suspected their loyalty may have been forced, but it was not worth the risk. I signaled to Rhames, and we slid behind them, using the brief moment while they stared at Jean-Jean’s dead form and wondered what to do. We grabbed their rifles and rendered t
hem unconscious. “Hurry, back the way we came.” Already I could hear voices and boots in the hall. I meant to take advantage of the confusion that would ensue.

  We ran from the chamber and saw two of the women standing in the doorway staring at the fallen man. They fled ahead of us and we were met by an excited group when we reached the room. They gathered around us, asking what had happened, and if the general was really dead. The mood had changed to one of celebration, but we were reminded of our duty when we heard a gun fire in the hallway. Voices yelled something in French and the women scattered, each seeking refuge behind whatever they could find to conceal them. I heard men coming toward us and looked to Cloe.

  She looked me in the eye. “Leave me the rifles and bring Pierre back. We will take care of this.” She pushed me toward the door.

  I knew better than to argue with a woman once her mind was made up and went for the door. Blue, Rhames and Swift followed me down the hallway, through the gate and into the night. Before we turned off the road, I heard several volleys and could only hope Cloe could handle the situation.

  We ran through the night, staying to the road whenever possible, trusting Blue to find our way back to the village. Instead of climbing the road to the Citadel and following the route we had taken, he led us downhill toward the coast. The road ended at a small town near an anchorage. The sun was rising now and we moved off the road to make a plan. We ate some of the food we had pilfered along the way and drank water while we caught our breath, listening for any sign of pursuit.

  “We’ll be needing a boat anyways,” Rhames said. “Might as well take one from here. Those canoes I saw in the village are going to be worthless once we hit real water.”

  He was right. I looked toward the village and saw a small pier with several craft tied to it. From this spot I could not evaluate them, but any would probably do.

  “Take Swift and go. Blue and I will work east away from the village, you can pick us up there.” I figured it would look better to have two white men together than the three of us and Blue. I was protective of him ever since the slavers had taken him in Cuba.

  Rhames checked his pistol and they moved out. Blue and I went the other way and were soon clear of the town. I was suspicious that there was no pursuit and tried to work the political angles through my mind as we moved. Jean-Jean was clearly hated, as much as if not more than Henri was before him. If Cloe could convince the guards that Pierre was alive and would return, they might be placated. In any event, the paranoid general had left no successors. There would be a power struggle and that would at least give us time to slip away.

  I followed Blue down the shore, fingering the doll in my pocket and wondering about its alleged power. Whether it could actually cure him or not, the purported magic put fear in the hearts of the locals. We were on a long section of beach now, the mangroves yielding to the white sand. I went to the water, busy with small boats out fishing and collecting sponges. Without knowing which craft Rhames had taken, we had no choice but to let him find us. I pulled the doll from my pocket and stared at the crude likeness of Pierre. Blue came up beside me, but shied away when he saw the doll.

  Suddenly my arm pulsed and Blue jumped back.

  “It is the voodoo. It has you now. We must go. It is telling you something.”

  I thought little of it, attributing the spasm to our exertion and lack of water. Blue was frantic and reached for the doll. He touched it as if it were a child and placed it gently in the pouch he carried.

  “You must show it respect,” he said. “It is telling you that Pierre is alive and needs our help.”

  How he’d gathered that I didn’t know, but he was resolute. I didn’t believe in the magic, but trusted his instincts. With a last glance over my shoulder, we turned inland. I hoped Rhames and Swift would figure it out and wait near the river mouth.

  Blue pushed through the brush with a sense of urgency. Where he was normally careful to avoid leaving a trail and often stopped to listen for pursuit, now he blazed a path that even I could follow. His reckoning was right on, though, and we emerged covered in sweat, scrapes and bug bites in the village before noon.

  We soon had a crowd around us and Shayla and Red came running from the hut where we had left Pierre. “How is he?”

  Before they could answer, the chief pushed through the crowd. “You have the doll?”

  Blue looked to me and I nodded. He removed the figure from his pouch and held it with two hands, as if it were a living thing. I reached out to stop him before he could hand it to the chief. “The women first. We have done our part.”

  He called out and Shayla and Lucy were brought forward. I breathed a sigh of relief. They looked unharmed. My next concern was Pierre. “How is he?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Shayla answered. “Much better. He seems no longer to be in pain and the convulsions and fever have passed. The spell remains, though. He has not wakened. The only sign of life we have seen was a peculiar thrashing of his arm this morning.”

  The chief went to Blue and held out his hand for the doll. I nodded and Blue released it. He took it carefully and studied it. Without a word he walked towards the hut Pierre was being held in.

  “Wait. The women. We had a deal,” I called out.

  He still looked perturbed, but called out to release them. Shayla ran into my arms and I held her tightly, never again wanting to experience the pain of losing her. “There is something else.” He turned to look at me. “Jean–Jean is dead. Pierre’s woman killed him.”

  The chief rose and produced a huge bellow of laughter, then went around and slapped us on the back. He seemed to relax now and we followed him to the hut. Pierre was unconscious, but I could see his chest gently rise and fall with his breath. There was no sign of the pain that had previously racked his body. Lucy brewed tea and while we waited for it to cool, we recounted the adventure to the chief. After a few minutes, Lucy tested the dark liquid and slowly poured it into Pierre’s mouth.

  The chief looked unsettled again and started pacing.

  “He says that this will not work. Only the magic he has can help Pierre. We are to follow him. He is ready to conduct the ceremony.”

  We looked at Lucy, who had just finished pouring the last of the tea into Pierre’s mouth. She looked at his face and turned to us with a shrug. “We will see,” she said.

  The chief seemed anxious and left the hut. We followed him through the village. The cooking fire was blazing, the tips of its flames reaching high into the sky, nearly touching the branches of the overhanging trees. He had the doll in his hand and squatted off to the side, where he opened the crude rendering and removed the nails and hair clippings, carefully handing them to Lucy. Then he started to walk in a circle around the fire, reversing his direction every few revolutions. We could do nothing except stand there and stare at him as he increased his speed and started to chant. The heat was intense and sweat flew from his body as he gyrated around the fire, clutching the doll over his head. The chant turned to a scream and suddenly he threw it into the blaze.

  To my amazement the fire hiccupped as if it was about to refuse the doll and sputtered. The chief screamed again and the fire roared back to life.

  Exhausted, he came to us. “It is done.”

  A scream came from the direction of the hut. We left the fire and ran through the village. I expected the worst, but on entering was relieved to find Pierre awake and struggling against the restraints.

  Lucy went to him and performed a brief examination. “Release him,” she said.

  Red and I untied his bonds and he sat up. There was a wild look in his eyes and we all took a step back. Slowly he came under control and collapsed onto the table, asleep. Lucy went to him and wiped his brow.

  “He will sleep for a while.”

  We stood there watching his inert body. Indeed, he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. “When can we move him?”

  “Morning,” Lucy answered.

  She remained in the hut to
watch over him and I marveled at her dedication, knowing she had done the same for me after the panther’s attack in the grasslands of Florida.

  We assembled around the fire, which was slowly dying down to its normal size, and ate from the feast the village had prepared to celebrate the general’s death. They passed around gourds, which I assumed contained alcohol, and I had to give stern orders to Red to stay sober.

  The group looked at me for direction. “It is late now. If Pierre wakes in the morning as Lucy says, he will either follow us or return to find Cloe. It is his choice. Either way we will head downriver and find Rhames.” If there was no treasure to be had here, I wanted off this island.

  “Why not just leave now?” Red asked.

  “He’s part of us, and I won’t abandon him like that.” That was a bit of the truth, but I also wanted to see if he had any ideas about the treasure. Lucy joined us and said that he had woken, but gone back to sleep. She checked Red’s wound and I took the opportunity to take Shayla aside.

  We sat together for a while, content just to hold each other, until finally I broke the silence. “What are you thinking?” I asked her.

  “I want off this cursed island,” she said. “Treasure or not, this is a dangerous place.”

  “It is,” I agreed. “Rhames and Swift should have a boat in the river mouth. Tomorrow morning we will find them.”

  “What about Pierre?” she asked.

  I thought for a moment. “He’s part of the crew, but it is his choice. Cloe is back at the palace and I suspect the opportunity to take power will probably keep him here.”

  “But if there is no treasure, he will not have a chance.”

  I looked at her, surprised by her political acumen. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s his decision either way.” I was about to pull her closer, but was interrupted by a call from the clearing.