“You don’t look very happy, mon ami,” the sergeant commented.
“It’s all this air pollution.”
“Beg pardon?”
“When was the last time you took a bath?”
Jacques, surprisingly, chuckled. “Definitely a fine sense of humor. What a waste.” He glanced at the man seated at the stern. “Get underway. The other boats will follow us.”
Blade listened in resignation as the outboards were started and revved.
He stared eastward as the lines were hauled in and the three boats headed across the bayou.
“We have a long trip ahead of us,” Jacques mentioned. “Feel free to talk if you want.” He removed his sunglasses.
“Why are you being so kind?”
“A condemned man should not be made to suffer during his final hours on this world.”
“I’m condemned, am I?”
“Not yet. But you will be tonight at the ceremony. The Baron will consign you to the sacrificial altar.”
“What if I don’t want to go?”
“I’m afraid you won’t have much choice in the matter. The ceremony must be held so that our magic remains strong and effective.”
“What kind of magic are we talking about here? The sort where you pull a rabbit out of a hat?”
Jacques snorted. “The Black Snake Society doesn’t indulge in child’s pranks, man. We practice black magic, the only real magic. With it we control our destiny. We can make others do our bidding. When we call on the spirits, they do as we wish. Black magic is power, man. True power.”
“And we all know absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” Blade said, and gazed out over the bayou. “Where exactly are we headed?”
“To Baron Laveau’s estate.”
“In New Orleans?”
“No. North of the city in the swamp,” Jacques said, then added for emphasis, “far back in the swamp.”
“How long have you been a member of the Society?” Blade casually inquired, while between his legs he strained against the nylon cord without being obvious about his effort.
“Six years.”
“You must like it.”
Jacques studied the giant, his brow furrowed. “Why these questions, man? What do you care?”
“Humor me. I’m slated to die, remember?”
“Fair enough. I respect a man who has courage, and I think you are a man who has a lot,” Jacques stated. “And I like being in the Society. What else is there? If I wasn’t one of the tonton macoutes, I’d be a nobody in New Orleans, one of the faceless masses living from day to day, hand mouth, with no hope for a future.”
“You sound as if you’ve given the matter a great deal a thought.”
“Of course I have. Joining the Society is not an act a person does on the spur of the moment, not when taking a vow means you are bound to the Society for life.”
“What vow?”
“The oath of allegiance to the Black Snake Society promise to serve Damballah for all your days. If a member breaks their oath, they are hunted down and taken back to the Baron.” Jacques stopped and seemed to shudder. “You can’t imagine the fate they endure.”
“Pretty horrible, huh?”
“Horrible isn’t the word, man! Traitors are skinned alive, then hung by their heels over a pit of alligators and slowly lowered down, an inch at a time. I’ve seen three men die in such a manner.” Jacques closed his eyes for a moment, “Their screams will haunt me forever.”
“I get the impression you’d quit the Society if you could.”
Startled by the statement, Jacques glanced at the two men behind the giant, then glared at the Warrior.
“No way, man! Where did you ever get a crazy idea like that? The Black Snake Society is my life. I serve the Baron and Majesta willingly and happily.”
“Of course you do,” Blade stated, amused by the fleeting panic in the man’s eyes.
“Don’t be talking like that, man.”
“I wont do it again,” Blade promised. His arms ached from the sustained strain and he felt either sweat or blood trickling down his hands.
“Jerk,” Jacques snapped.
In order to continue distracting his captor, Blade kept the conversation going. “You never did answer me earlier.”
“About what?”
“Your rank as a sergeant. And you mentioned a captain too. The tonton macoutes must be a quasi-military organization.”
“There needs to be someone in charge, no?”
“You must be good at your job if you’ve been appointed a sergeant.”
Jacques squared his shoulders. “I’ve never let the Baron down.”
The cord binding Blade’s wrists slipped just a hair. He rested his chin on his chest, pretending to be deep in thought, and pondered his strategy.
At the rate he was going his arms would be almost loose in ten minutes.
Should he make a bid for freedom then or wait? If he waited until they reached the estate escape might be impossible. The wisest resource was to swing into action before then.
But when?
The Warrior decided to wing it. When the right opportunity presented itself, he would know. He lifted his head and watched colorful birds frolic in the trees on a nearby small island. Approximately 100 feet to the south were several tall white birds with long, sticklike legs. They resembled cranes, but weren’t. “What are those?” he asked.
Jacques shifted in his seat. “Egrets, man. Great egrets, I think.” His eyes narrowed. “Where can you be from that you don’t know about egrets?
They are widespread in the south.”
“You know, you’re right. I had one as a pet when I was five but forgot all about it.”
“Egrets make lousy pets. And you are a pitiful liar, mon ami.”
Blade focused on the distant city. “How many people live in New Orleans now?”
“About two, maybe three thousand.”
“And they let the Black Snake Society walk all over them?”
“What else can they do? They’re not permitted to own guns. Years ago all firearms were confiscated. And they can’t stand up to Damballah with clubs and knives.”
The vivid memory of that gigantic snake devouring Henri Pétion made Blade’s lips curl downward. “No, they couldn’t. One day, though, they’ll rise in revolt.”
“Never happen, man. They’re sheep. They lack the courage to piss without permission.”
“Someone has courage. Someone sent a distress call.”
“And the message brought you here? Then you’re a fool for becoming involved in matters that are none of your concern.”
“Tyranny and oppression are rightfully the concern of every person who cherishes freedom.”
“My, my. You would make a great Resistance fighter.”
“Why won’t you admit the days of the Black Snake Society are numbered? If a resistance movement has already sprung into existence, then you’ll be looking for a new line of work shortly.”
Jacques laughed and twirled the sunglasses in his left hand.
“Keep dreaming, Dieneces.”
Shrugging, Blade feigned an interest in a hawk winging high above the bayou.
“Dieneces isn’t your real name, is it, man?”
“What was your first clue?”
“I’ve never heard such a name before. It’s too—strange— to be a legitimate name.”
“Dieneces was a warrior in ancient Greece.”
“Where?”
“Greece. You know. The small country on the north side of the Mediterranean Sea.”
“Is this sea connected to the Gulf of Mexico?”
“Not quite,” Blade replied, glancing at the sergeant. “Geography isn’t your strong suit, I take it.”
“I don’t know very much about the world.” Jacques admitted.