“Henri is missing,” Jacques stated. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”
“As a matter of fact I do. He should be halfway digested by now,” Blade disclosed.
Jacques’s bafflement showed. “Pardon?”
“Henri is history. He was swallowed by a huge snake,” Blade told them, and was immediately surprised by their reactions. Every man appeared stunned and they exchanged startled glances.
“What do you mean, man?” Jacques asked harshly.
“Just what I said. Pétion was eaten by an enormous black snake about forty feet long. He let the thing come right up to him. Even talked to it. Talk about nut cases.”
Jacques swallowed and moved closer to the Warrior. “Did he call this snake by name?”
“Yeah. He kept calling it Damballah.”
“Liar!” Pierre suddenly exploded. He aimed his submachine gun at the giant’s chest. “You rotten liar! You’ll die for your blasphemy!”
“No!” Jacques cried out, and stepped between them. “Don’t shoot him.”
“You heard the lie he just told about Damballah!” Pierre declared. “He deserves to die on the spot.”
“That decision isn’t up to us. Only the Baron can determine this man’s fate.”
Slowly, demonstrating a marked disinclination, Pierre lowered his weapon and fixed his mirrored sunglasses on the strapping prisoner. “I hope the Baron will give you to me. I’ll make you pay for mouthing such foul fabrications.”
“The truth hurts, huh?” Blade cracked.
“Enough of this,” Jacques barked. He nodded at the hybrids. “Finish tying these creatures and we can get the hell out of here. We must inform the Baron about Henri.”
“You don’t believe this bastard do you?” Pierre queried.
Jacques studied the giant critically for a moment. “I don’t know what to believe. But I do know we must report to the Baron right away. So get the furry one and the gray one tied, s’il vous plaît.”
“Right away,” Pierre said, and moved to obey.
“What’s all the fuss over a reptilian mutation?” Blade casually inquired.
“Damballah is no mere mutation, man,” Jacques replied. “Damballah is our God.”
“You worship a mutant?”
“Didn’t you hear me? Damballah is the Snake God, the living source of our power. Others may worship mere symbols. We worship our god in the flesh.”
“How fitting.”
“What do you mean?”
“You think you’re worshipping your god in the flesh, yet this so-called god will eat your flesh in one gulp if you give it half a chance.”
Thoughtful lines etched Jacques’s features. “If it’s true what you say, if Damballah truly did eat Henri, then Henri must have done something to displease our great lord.”
“The only mistake Henri made was forgetting the basic rule of dealing with animals.”
“Which rule is this?”
“Never trust an animal that can eat you for din-din.”
Jacques actually grinned. “You have a sense of humor, Monsieur. Je l’aime beaucoup.”
“You speak French fluently,” Blade noted.
“A little French, a little Spanish. Mostly I speak English. And Creole, of course.”
“Never heard Of it.”
“Then you are not from New Orleans or anywhere within a hundred miles of the city. Everyone in these parts knows about Creole. It’s a French dialect, but it includes many Spanish, Indian, and English words,” Jacques related, and cocked his head to one side. “So where are you from, big one?”
“That’s for me to know and you to wish you did.”
“Will you at least tell me your name?”
“Dieneces.”
“A very unusual name, man.”
“Not to Herodotus.”
“Who?”
“Never mind,” Blade said, suppressing a smile.
Jacques turned toward the hybrids. “And what are the names of these most unusual creatures?”
“Why don’t you ask them.”
“Very well, man. I will.” Jacques stepped over to Ferret and Gremlin, who stood side by side with their wrists tied. “Who are you?”
“I often wonder the same thing,” Ferret replied.
“Sorry, but that’s secret information, yes?” Gremlin said.
Mildly exasperated, Jacques placed his left hand on his hip and hefted the Uzi. “You won’t tell me?”
Ferret looked at Gremlin. “He’s pretty sharp for a moron.”
“Must be a fluke, no?”
“That’s enough out of you. Neither of you will speak unless spoken to,” Jacques declared.
“Fine by me, camel-breath,” Ferret retorted.
In one stride Jacques was standing directly in front of the feisty hybrid.
He brutally rammed the Uzi barrel into Ferret’s stomach, doubling the mutant over, and then slammed the submachine gun against Ferret’s temple.
Staggered by the blow, the hybrid dropped to his knees.
“I’ll teach you to badmouth me, man,” Jacques said, and raised the Uzi to deliver another strike. Only it never landed. A pair of steely arms unexpectedly looped over his head and constricted around his neck, instantaneously cutting off his air, choking him with frightful rapidity. He started to struggle and a flinty voice spoke in his right ear.
“My wrists may be tied but I can still break your neck like a twig if you hit him again. Tell your buddies to lower their weapons.”
Jacques glanced to the right and the left, and saw his companions had swung their weapons to cover the giant. If they fired at such close range, they would inevitably also hit him. The pressure on his neck slacked off slightly and he blurted out, “Don’t shoot!”
“I can nail him in the back,” Pierre said from somewhere to the rear.
“No, you fool! The bullets will pass completely through him and hit me!” Jacques cried. “Don’t fire!”
“Tell them to lower their weapons,” Blade repeated.
Jacques took a deep breath and responded boldly. “No.”
“No?”
“They won’t lower their guns, man. Look, I know you can kill me if you want. But what would it gain you? My men would mow you down where you stand. Why not be reasonable? Release me, and I give you my word I will not hit your furry friend again. What do you say?”
Blade had no other option. The tonton macoutes held the upper hand for the moment. He was surrounded and outgunned. Besides, he had accomplished his purpose in saving Ferret from a further beating. “All right,” he said, and lifted his arms over the sergeant’s head, then took a pace backwards.
Jacques spun, rubbing his sore throat, and appraised the giant with a mixture of anger and fear. He stared at the prisoner’s bulging biceps and triceps respectfully, knowing full well he could easily have been killed.
“Okay,” he stated, a bit hoarsely. “Move out. Pierre, take the point. The three prisoners will be in the middle.”
Gremlin helped Ferret to stand.
“And not a peep out of any of you,” Jacques warned the trio.
Blade moved closer to his friends, and in seconds they were underway, tramping eastward, hemmed in by their enemies. He smiled reassuringly at Ferret when the hybrid glanced back appreciatively. Holding his arms next to his body, he began working at the nylon cord, surreptitiously flexing his arms as far apart as they would go, relaxing, and repeating the action. Sooner or later he would loosen the cord sufficiently so he could slip his hands free.
Then the tonton macoutes had better watch out.
There would be hell to pay.
Chapter Twelve
“Stay where you are!” the man in black called out.
Lynx’s mind raced. Where there was one scuzzbucket, there were probably more. If he didn’t do something—anything—and do it fast, the woman and he were as good as caught. The SOB was too faraway to take out, which meant resorting to evasive action. “No problem!” he shouted, and stood, blocking the man’s view of Eleanore.