‘Caligula?’ The dark man seemed amused. ‘Hardly; for he was but a mortal who dreamed himself a god. Whereas I –’ He looked at me again. ‘At first, I assure you, I had no such thoughts. I sought only to enhance an existence grown burdensome, to find … satisfactions beyond the conventional.’ He chuckled slightly, as a man might at some naïve childhood memory. ‘With the wealth my creatures made me I bought ever more, and devised me ingenious amusements. Some I sent to deaths swift and painful. Others I spared to tread a narrow line, loosening little by little their holds on life, watching them cling all the faster to the dwindling, deluding shreds left them. From that death in life I gave them, fast or slow, I learned to draw new life to refresh me, and that was much; yet even that paled. For once I held the race of slaves in the palm of my hand, once I as both master and bocor could lash not only their cringing bodies but their thoughts, their dreams, their hearts – then the strength I could draw from their torments grew thin. Even then I had come to depend on it, to sustain my very being. Even then blood was the wine I drank, anguish the air I breathed. I must needs cast around for some new source. But as yet I lacked the courage and the vision to seek the Absolute. So, limited as I still was, I turned – as a man must, must he not? – to my own people.’
The Knave smiled. ‘Not that it was altogether without satisfaction. Poor fools! Their cruelties had been almost as great as mine, but idly practised, without purpose. The island seethed beneath them, yet still they drifted fecklessly through their masques and levees and futile festivals. Upon them I unleashed plagues and poxes and contentions unnumbered, and filled their graveyards. And then out of them I awoke some of them, those who had most offended me, and the loveliest. Them I led through many a rout of my own devising.’ He shook his head with nostalgic indulgence. ‘It is said memories of some still linger among the walls of my old home – you saw, perhaps? Even so. That was satisfying, of course; yet some artistic touch seemed called for, to cap the jest. So I took my hold over the slaves, and turned it into a stronger whip than their masters’. A cult of blood and revenge – with rites of such enormities that they left those who took part stripped of restraint or fear; for they had already done the worst. I became as a god among them, almost one of the Invisibles myself; and I lashed them into savage and merciless revolt. Triple irony!’ He tittered faintly. ‘That I, their tormentor, should win them their freedom! Though of course I saw to it that the aftermath was suitably bloody, that little peace has come to them down the years. A greater irony still, then, that they by their worship should set my faltering feet on the path to power.’
All this time nobody had spoken; it wasn’t hard to guess why. But at that, abruptly, a head lifted, and a voice croaked ‘Thou? Their most bestial of tormentors they’ve worshipped as their liberator? The Petro rites, the living spirit of the slave-folk’s vengeance – the cult of anger, the bloody offerings – all thine?’
To my astonishment – and by the look of the man, to his – it was Mall who had managed to speak. Bedraggled, blood-streaked, wan – but alive and awake. My heart almost literally leapt at the sight of her. The man whom she had called Don Pedro seemed to feel very differently. His dark glance flicked over her like a snake’s tongue, and he bowed, stiffly this time, almost guardedly.
‘The señorita is correct,’ he said. ‘Mine, all of them. The mob embrace him who will pour out blood before them, and fail to see it is their own. Was it not ever so, with liberators?’
She said nothing more, only struggled to hold her wavering gaze on him. He turned away from her in a billow of cloak, and to me once again. ‘I am Don Pedro, whom they name Petro; and as one of the Invisibles themselves have I become, and into my hand their powers are given.’ He clenched it, solemnly, slowly. ‘I had lived many centuries, when at last I took the great step. I had brought my inner purpose to blossom, come into my true strength. And yet next to the Invisibles I was still as nothing. To be feared, to be obeyed is much; yet those who obeyed were but the poor folk of a wretched island, easily cowed and driven. And god though they thought me, still I was no more than an intermediary, able in subtle ways to call upon the powers of the Invisibles, but wielding little that was mine. The powers of the Invisibles! They did but remind me more fully of my emptiness. The want of them burned within me, reduced my most refined joys to ashes. The agonies of a very race seemed too cheap a gift to console me for what I did not have! So I probed constantly, I summoned, questioned, bargained – till at last I understood that to gain my greater end I must first lose all I had. So I took the last step, the greatest. I loosed my bonds. I set the Inner World behind me, and cast myself adrift upon the currents of Time, in constant quest of some still closer, deeper, more fulfilling union with Death. I sought – and I found! Among the Invisibles themselves I found One forever hungry for dominion over the rest, and over a wider world – over all the worlds that might be, in the end. Yet even He could not assert it, not alone. Infinitely beyond mine was His strength; but my driving intelligence – that He lacked! Till He came to me and joined with me, poured himself into my hollow heart! I found – and for the first time in all my long life I tasted fulfilment! From the heights to the depths I was filled, I was complete and more than complete!’
He pressed his hand to his chest. ‘Thus blended, we became a greater One – greater than His fellows, and master among them. Able to bend their strengths to my will, to torment not merely mortal men but higher forces, and draw out their strength for my own. To put blood in Erzulie’s eye, searing fire in her thighs! To drive Agwe to a storming frenzy, to have Damballah shake the Earth within his coils! All must obey me when my drums beat, when my rite is chanted – when over my stone the lifeblood streams!’
The fires crackled and flared suddenly, and though he stood with his back almost squarely to them an answering gleam seemed to leap and flicker in his eyes. ‘I attained the highest power I sought – and in that timeless hour I first tasted true joy. And that, señor Esteban – all that is what I offer you – and you dare to hesitate?’
‘What –’ I was croaking. ‘What are you going to do?’
The long fingers rippled like descending rain. ‘Tonight our rites shall call down the loas – and they will come. Come to you! But not in their bland natural forms, no, to make bestial festival with fools. They shall come as I will them, in the power and the terror that we shall unleash upon that unsuspecting Inner World, you and I! And through it, all the infinite universes, all the time and times which spiral out from it! They will be our winepress, in which we tread the hearts of men and higher forces alike, tread them out to the bitter lees! From the agonies of a single child to worlds that go down in slow fire!’
He must have caught the look on my face. He made a deprecating gesture. ‘Of course, these are but mysteries to you now. You do not yet appreciate them – how could you? But I expected more – ambition, shall we say? Less mired in the passing fates of others. Still, I assure you, all will be clear to you, soon, soon. When you in turn are fulfilled. When the loa takes his place within you, when you are no longer the shell you have left yourself – then you will understand. Reach out, Señor Esteban, accept with joy the cup that is offered you! It is a great honour; but one which, if you are wise, you will not refuse.’ His voice faded to a soft crooning whisper. ‘Indeed, in all conscience I could not allow you to.’