Sandra said, "I promise."
Decker turned around. Hicks was waiting in the kitchen doorway and gave him the thumbs-up. "Is the So-Scary Man still outside?" he asked Sandra.
Sandra nodded. "He's saying something, inside his head. Like a prayer."
"All right, then. Hold tight."
After a while, Sandra closed her eyes and began to mutter. Decker couldn't hear everything she was saying, but he
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recognized some of it. "Babami Chango ikawo ilemu fumi alaya tilanchani nitosi . . . "
He went back to the middle of the room, took off his glasses, and stood very stiff, in the same way that General Lee had posed for so many photographs and engravings. He tried to look calm and unafraid, even though his heart was galloping like a panicky horse and he kept seeing flashes of Queen Ache, hopelessly holding up the stumps of her fingerless hands, with sticks of bone showing above the flesh.
Sandra muttered, ". . . Ni re elese ati wi Change) alamu oba layo ni na ile ogbomi." She paused for a while and then she opened her eyes.
"Is he moving yet?" Decker asked.
Sandra said nothing. Her eyes seemed to be focused on nothing at all.
"Sandra? Is he moving yet?"
"He's already inside," Sandra whispered. "He's standing by the door."
Decker narrowed his eyes, trying to see any disturbance in the air, but without his glasses the middle distance was a blur.
"He's coming nearer. He's walking past the kitchen. He's here. He's right in front of you. He's staring at you."
Decker cleared his throat. "Major Joseph Shroud?" he asked, gruffly.
"He's still staring at you," Sandra said. "He's got his hand resting on his sword handle."
Decker said, as grandly as he could, "I've received a dispatch about you, Major Shroud, from Lieutenant General Longstreet."
"He's taken his hand off his sword handle. He's lifting his arm. He's saluting you."
"General Lee, sir? Is that really General Lee?" Major Shroud's disembodied voice was husky with emotion.
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"It seems that the army of northern Virginia owes you a considerable debt, Major Shroud."
"I only did what was required of me, General."
"No, Major Shroud, you did much more than that. You sacrificed yourself for your country. Single-handed, you drove back the enemy, and you safeguarded our capital and our cause. In recognition of your valor and your devotion, I am hereby promoting you to the rank of colonel."
"I'm honored, General."
"Yes, Major Shroud. You are honored. Not condemned, not reviled. But honored. Let me see you now, so that I can grasp your hand."
"He's giving you a funny look," Sandra warned.
"Come now, Major Shroud," Decker urged him. "Where is your hand?"
"You can't see me, General? How did you know I was here, if you couldn't see me?"
"I sensed you, Major. I can always sense bravery. I can smell it on the wind."
Seconds ticked by. For a long moment, Decker thought that Major Shroud had recognized him behind his disguise, and that there would be no way of stopping him from inflicting the Nine Deaths on him—or even, God forbid, the Ten Deaths.
But then Sandra whispered, "Look." And gradually, the air in front of Decker began to curdle and thicken. It formed in dark, shadowy lumps, and then veins and arteries began to wriggle from one lump to the next, and bones took shape, and in less than a minute Major Shroud had materialized, in his crow's-feather hat, and his long gray topcoat, and his boots.
"At your service, General," he declared.
Decker gave a grave, dignified smile. He stepped forward
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and took hold of Major Shroud's hand and shook it. Even through his buck gloves it felt as if it were nothing but knuckles and finger bones.
"Major Joseph Shroud, I hereby promote you to the rank of full colonel in the army of northern Virginia. You have your country's unceasing admiration and thanks, and the name of Shroud will enter the annals of this mighty conflict as a name forever associated with valor and with duty faithfully performed."
It was then, while he was still gripping Major Shroud's hand, that he said, quite quietly, "Now, Hicks."
Hicks came out of the kitchen shaking the brown paper bag. "Chango! Chango, listen to me! I bring you an offering! I bring you fruit and and spices! I bring you rum!"
"What is this?" Major Shroud demanded. "Who is this nigger?" He tried to pull his hand away but Decker held it tight.
"Chango!" Hicks sang out. "Leave this host and refresh yourself! Kabio, kabio, sile!"
"General Lee! Release me!" Major Shroud shouted. He was powerful, and his bony hand was knobbly and awkward to hold on to, but Decker didn't loosen his grip.
"I honor you, Chango" Hicks cried. "I give you everything you hunger for!"
He tore open the bag and scattered the fruit and the herbs across the floor. "Kabio, kabio, sile! Welcome, Chango"
Oh, God, this is not going to work, thought Decker. Chango isn't going to leave him. And with a sudden twist that almost sprained Decker's wrist, Major Shroud tugged his hand free and immediately went for his saber. He drew it out of its scabbard with a metallic sliding sound that set Decker's teeth on edge.
"Chango! I welcome you! Chango!"
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Decker shouted at Sandra and Eunice Plummer, "Back—both of you! Get into the bedroom!"
Major Shroud advanced on him, his eyes glittering, his teeth bared in the black briar thicket of his beard. "You're no more Robert E. Lee than I am, are you? You're that damned Martin! Well, now, Martin, you're going to see where downright treachery gets you!"
Decker knew that he couldn't shoot him, not while Chango still protected him. Changa's anger at being attacked would be a hundred times worse. But all the same he drew out his own sword, Billy Joe's wrist breaker, and he waved it defiantly from side to side.
"You want to cut me to pieces? Okay, you throwback, let's see you try!"
Major Shroud lunged forward and his sword clanged and clashed against Decker's saber and almost knocked it out of his hand. Decker swung his arm and managed to deflect another lunge, but then Major Shroud performed a quick flurry of movements and the point of his sword jabbed deep into Decker's left shoulder.
Decker hardly felt any pain, but now he was seriously worried. Major Shroud began to press him harder and harder, his sword flashing in crisscross patterns that Decker could hardly see. He kept clashing his saber from side to side, and he managed to parry most of Major Shroud's lunges, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to hold him off for very long.
Retreating, he fell backward over the arm of the couch. Major Shroud raised his sword high above his head and smacked it down on the seat cushions just as Decker rolled off them onto the floor. Multicolored sponge stuffing flew up like a snowstorm.
Decker tried to crawl away, but Major Shroud had him
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now. He stabbed him in the back of his right thigh, and then his right shoulder, and then he straddled him and gripped him tight between his knees.
"The Nine Deaths, Martin," he grunted. He reeked of stale sweat and gunpowder and filthy clothes and herbs. His hair was seething with lice.
Decker twisted himself around and tried to seize Major Shroud's wrist, but Major Shroud sliced him across the palm of his hand, at least a quarter inch deep, and blood poured out between his fingers and down his sleeve.