The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman- Freedonia

  The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman: Freedonia

  Balogun Ojetade

  Copyright © 2015 Balogun Ojetade

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1481183508

  ISBN-13: 978-1481183505

  DEDICATION

  For my mother, Almeater Swan, Harriet Tubman and “Stagecoach” Mary Fields, who taught me the true meaning of “Warrior Woman.”

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  i

  1

  The Story

  1

  2

  A country called Freedonia

  Pg #

  3

  It’s Tastier than Bacon

  Pg #

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Since there is a trend among authors to thank famous people – some they met, some who transitioned long ago – shamelessly name-dropping to make them look bigger than perhaps they really are at the moment, I will jump on the bandwagon. After all, who am I to buck tradition? And who knows, perhaps – like those other authors who do this must – I will receive some benefit. So here goes. I wish to thank the following people: the Honorable Marcus Garvey and the Honorable Elijah Muhammad for promoting Black literacy; famed author and Poet Mari Evans, who held my son at dinner when he was a baby, as did Sonia Sanchez, who handed him to Mari Evans after he tried to bite Ms. Sanchez’s nose; actor and martial arts master Ron Hall, who called me one day and said, “I like this Steamfunk Movement you’ve created and would like to work with you on a Steamfunk film project one day soon”; Harriet Tubman, who inspired me to write about Black heroes from history; Walter Mosley and Nnedi Okorafor, whose books are always before and after mine on bookshelves, and whose names always appear before and after mine in almanacs and many lists of Black writers – thanks for always being there, y’all; and last but not least, James Brown, the Godfather of Soul, whose daughter once helped me produce a film and who is a founding father of funk, which led to calling the Black / Afrikan expression of Steampunk Steamfunk, which gave birth to this novel you now hold in your hands.

  There are many more people I could thank, but I am much too modest to do so, thus I will stop here.

  CHAPTER One

  September 5, 1870

  The tiny Mount Gilboa Chapel – Oella, Maryland’s only church for its small, Black population – was an eye sore to the white mill workers who lived nearby. They dared not touch the 28 feet by 42 feet structure of ashlar and rubble, however because something dark and powerful protected this place. And it wasn’t Baby Jesus or the Heavenly Hosts.

  The millworkers did not know what dark forces haunted that church, but the few men who ventured to burn it down all met terrible fates. One among the unfortunate, a rotund fellow with the surname of Snodgrass, was found on the road outside the church with the heel of his left foot stuffed into his mouth and his navel pressed against his buttocks. After the Snodgrass incident, the millworkers decided it would be best to leave Mount Gilboa in peace.

  Although the populace of Oella – even the members of the church – believed Mount Gilboa Chapel to be haunted, something more frightening than any ghost lived twenty feet below its flooring. In a secret sub-basement lived the Alchemist; Professor Amschel Kleinhopper; Benjamin Banneker.

  One of Banneker’s human-sized knolls – his sentient constructs of grass, soil, stone and clockwork – pushed its master’s gurney into a nearly upright position.

  Banneker stared at the doorway before him. The plague doctor’s mask that he was cursed to wear for all eternity concealed the sardonic smile stretched across his face.

  A tall, lanky white man crept into the room. The man was well tanned, with leathery skin. His wrinkled face was nearly buried under a thick, grey beard.

  “John Brown,” Banneker crooned. “I am honored by your intrusion. What brings you to fair Oella?”

  “We need your help and are prepared to pay you handsomely for it,” John Brown replied.

  Banneker tilted his head. “We? That fetid aroma, underneath the Florida water you wear in an attempt to cover it, must belong to whomever – or whatever – accompanies you.”

  “Hey,” a muffled voice came from beneath John Brown’s shirt, vest and town-coat. “I can hear you.”

  “Interesting.” Banneker nodded toward Brown’s chest. “Show me.”

  John Brown unbuttoned his vest and the cotton shirt underneath. Caleb Butler – the cowboy King of the Ghuls – batted his eyes, which were irritated by the dozens of candles that illuminated Banneker’s office.

  Caleb smiled. “Mr. Banneker, I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Banneker’s voice was warm and congenial. “Good things, I hope.”

  “As good as they can be, for a nig…” The words seemed to die upon Caleb’s lips. “For a man of your…persuasion.”

  “I can be quite persuading when I need to be,” Banneker replied. “How about you?”

  “I pray we can persuade you to help us out,” Brown said. “As you can see, we are in quite dire straits. We are sure you can help us out, though.”

  “You want to separate from each other.” Banneker said.

  “Yes, sir,” Caleb replied. “We’ve been closer than flies and cow patties for five years, which was fine at first, ‘cause we thought it’d make it easier to kill that old witch Harriet Tubman and her compadres, but they went into hidin’ after Stagecoach Mary and that old Giantess, Mama Maybelle damn near killed each other.”

  “I can certainly help out,” Banneker said. “But, as you said, it will cost you handsomely.”

  “Name your price!” Caleb replied.

  “I want you to kill Baas Bello,” Banneker said.

  “Hell, that’d be our pleasure!” Caleb said.

  “Thank you, for making this easy on us, Dr. Banneker,” John Brown said. “We intended to kill Baas Bello for aiding General Moses, anyway.”

  “Killing Baas Bello by conventional means is no simple task,” Banneker replied. “His infernal gadgets are unmatched and, as you already know, he is protected by Harriet Tubman and Stagecoach Mary. That is quite a formidable trio.”

  “What do you suggest, then?” John Brown asked.

  “I suggest killing Baas Bello,” Banneker answered. “But not the Baas Bello of this reality.”

  Caleb snickered. “You talk like there is some other reality. This some of that jungle mumbo-jumbo?”

  Banneker tapped the plush leather padding of his gurney three times with the back of his head. A low hiss escaped the back of it, accompanied by a blast of steam, which shot toward the ceiling. The gurney rolled forward a few feet, stopping inches from Brown and Caleb. “Hundreds of years ago, Baas Bello became aware of the existence of another universe; one identical to ours in every way. Each of us has a double there. Baas was somehow linked to his. They were fully aware of the existence and goings on of each other.”

  “Baas is the only one with such a link?” Brown inquired.

  “Apparently, we and our doubles are merely reflections of the same spirit in different realities,” Banneker replied. “Thus, when our double dies, we die also. Baas is the only one known to share the same thoughts and feelings with his double, however.”

  “And how do you know all this?” Caleb asked.

  “Baas confided this to Marie Laveau when they were married,” Banneker replied. “Shortly before Madame Laveau’s last encounter with Baas – one you rudely interrupted, from what I am told – she revealed these amazing truths to me, in hopes it would help me kill the old bastard in case he did not comply with her demands.”

  “But isn’t Baas Bello protected by Moses and Black Mary in that reality
, too?” Brown asked.

  “I do not know,” Banneker answered. “However, I do know that the people in that reality do not possess the gifts that we do. Except for Baas Bello, that is.”

  “So what…we just gon’ leave this reality and fly on off to another one?” Caleb said. “That’d be one hell of a dirigible, wouldn’t it?”

  Caleb and John Brown laughed. Banneker was silent.

  Banneker cleared his throat. When the laughter subsided, he spoke again.

  “Baas created what he calls the Spirit-Engine. It tears a chasm in this reality that leads into the next.”

  “And where is this Spirit-Engine?” John Brown asked.

  “The Whitechapel District of London, England,” Banneker replied. “My ship – Kraken’s Almanac – will get you to London posthaste. The rest will be up to you. Once I have proof my old master is dead, I will grant you what you wish.”

  “Agreed,” Brown said with a nod.

  “Always wanted to see England,” Caleb said. “I hear those British girls got good…”

  “I will have my carriage take you to Kraken’s Almanac,” Banneker said, interrupting Caleb. “The crew will be prepared and ready to set sail.”

  CHAPTER two

  “I suggest killing Baas Bello, but not the Baas Bello of this reality.”

  The words echoed in Mary Elizabeth Bowser’s ears. In fact, the entire conversation between her employer and the man – or was it two men – who visited him played back in her mind’s ear, over and over. She recalled every word, just as she did with everything else she heard or witnessed. It was a gift she possessed all her life; a gift that made her the perfect spy.

  After the war, the Union had no more use for the Black Dispatches. In fact, most were feared because of their skills and their gifts and virtually unknown outside of their covers. Only Harriet Tubman had gone on to find success. Monsters would always need to be hunted. Thankfully, she had stayed in contact with the old soldier, for it was Harriet who introduced Mary Elizabeth to Baas Bello and it was Baas who hired her to keep a close eye on Benjamin Banneker.

  She had taken on the cover of Betty Brown, a mentally challenged, but very skilled and experienced housekeeper. Banneker “caught” her stealing food from his steamboat one night. She was almost killed by a patrolling knoll, but Banneker stopped the creature and spared Mary Elizabeth’s life. He looked into poor Betty Brown’s background and found she had skill in the domestic arts, but could barely find work because of her mental deficiencies. Banneker took her in. She was the perfect employee for him – capable of caring for his lair and his Steamboat, but not enough sense to articulate what she witnessed to others or to report his murders and other crimes to the authorities.

  Mary Elizabeth rapped on Banneker’s office door with her tiny brown fist.

  “Come in,” a voice on the other side of the door called.

  Mary lumbered into the office, flashing a crooked smile at Banneker, who lay nearly upright on the gurney he was always strapped to. “Mo’nin’, Missuh Banka! How you be?”

  “I’m just fine, Betty,” Benjamin Banneker replied. “How can I help you?”

  “I-I jus’ got dis letta from de man,” Mary Elizabeth replied, holding a piece of paper above her bowed head. “He wouldn’t read it to me, do’.”

  “Do you want me to read it?” Banneker asked. His voice was always kind with poor Betty.

  “If you’d be so kind, suh,” Mary Elizabeth said. “I-I knows you a busy man…”

  “Nonsense,” Banneker replied. “I always have time for you, Betty. Bring it closer, so I can see.”

  Mary Elizabeth walked toward Banneker’s gurney, holding the letter at the level of his eyes.

  She could see his eyes under his mask. They flitted back and forth as he perused the letter’s words. “It’s from your brother, Elijah. It says your mother has fallen very ill and that they need you to make some concoction for her breathing.”

  “I makes a tonic for her lungs, jus’ like my granny taught me,” Mary Elizabeth said. “Ol’ Betty ain’t as dumb as folks say.”

  “That’s right, Betty,” Banneker crooned. “I believe one day, you will prove to be smarter than I.”

  Mary Elizabeth blushed. “Aw, now, Missuh Banka, don’t be funnyin’ me!”

  A whistling chuckle slithered from under Banneker’s mask. “I tell you what, Betty…go back to Chicago for a few days. Attend to your mother and then come back after she’s back on her feet.”

  “Oh, no suh, Missuh Banka,” Mary Elizabeth gasped. “I couldn’t do dat! I gots to tend to you!”

  “The knolls will take care of me until you return,” Banneker replied. “I insist. In fact, I’ll pay for your trip there and back and throw in a few hundred dollars to ensure your comfort while you are away.”

  “Thank you, suh!” Mary Elizabeth squealed. “Thank you!”

  “Thank me by coming back and telling me your mother is once again doing well,” Banneker said.

  “I will, suh,” Mary Elizabeth said. “I’m gon’ go pack, now. God bless you!”

  “Betty,,,”

  Mary Elizabeth could hear the disappointment in his voice. “Suh?”

  “What did I say about God?”

  “De only real ‘God’ is de scientis’.”

  “Right!” Banneker replied. “And the only true religion?”

  “Science,” Mary Elizabeth said, staring at the floor.

  “Very good!” Banneker said. “If I could move my hands, I would applaud you.”

  “I believe one day you will be able to,” Mary Elizabeth said, mimicking Banneker’s voice. “An’ I ain’t funnyin’ you, neither!”

  The room was filled with Banneker’s whistling, wheezing laughter.

  Mary Elizabeth laughed with him, but could not wait until she was finally out of his presence and on her way to Chicago to report to Baas Bello.

  CHAPTER three

  September 7, 1870

  A pair of large dice, carved from a bear’s femur and covered by its fur, danced erratically against the brass handlebars of the monowheel as Harriet Tubman peeled out of the driveway leading from Trail’s End – the stately mansion of George Lemuel Woods, Governor of Oregon – onto Lincoln Street.

  Harriet flexed her right wrist backward, revving the monowheel’s engine. She released the clutch, which was built into the left handlebar and shifted the monowheel into fourth gear with her left foot.

  The engine hissed; the stack that protruded from it belched a cloud of steam and then the monowheel jetted forward.

  Cold wind smacked Harriet’s body, pinning her soft, blue cotton dress to her short, sinewy frame. The large, triangular lapels of her leather jacket fluttered against Harriet’s smooth, hazelnut-toned face.

  She zipped through the bustling neighborhood in the heart of Salem, quickly closing upon a towering, brass skeleton clock that loomed in the distance.

  The aether torch at the apex of the clock – affectionately called ‘Shiny Bones’ by the residents of Salem – glowed with an intense, white light.

  Shiny Bones also served as the lighthouse for the airships that patrolled the skies over Oregon.

  Harriet darted into the Constabulary’s parking lot, speeding past the fleet of steam-powered, horseless carriages into the section marked ‘Gatekeepers’.

  She slid into her parking space – lot number 010 – and then leapt from her seat. Her shoes struck the pavement with a dull thud.

  “Hey, Gatekeeper…how are you this fine morning?”

  Harriet turned toward the source of the rich tenor voice. “Constable Kojoe! I told you, I ain’t no Gatekeeper; I’m just here for a short spell, until I help get yo’ problem with them Rogues fixed once and for all. But anyhow, how you be?”

  Constable Kojoe’s lips curled upward into a broad grin. His brilliant, white teeth were in stark contrast to his nearly black skin. “I’m better, now that I’m laying eyes upon you.”

  Harriet rolled her eyes and shook h
er head. “You better keep yo’ eyes on Liu Fong, there.”

  The shackled giant standing at Constable Kojoe’s left flank leered at Harriet. “No worries, Gatekeeper; I’m a kinder…gentler man, now that I’m married and all.”

  “You just broke your father-in-law’s jaw, four ribs and his right femur,” Constable Kojoe said, yanking on the iron cuffs about Liu Fong’s wrists.

  “I didn’t kill him,” Liu Fong replied. “But I will kill you, if you yank on those cuffs again.”

  “I am so afraid,” Constable Kojoe snickered, yanking the cuffs a bit harder.

  Liu Fong snarled and clinched his fists. His massive forearms flexed, expanding his thick wrists. The handcuffs snapped open and fell to the ground.

  The giant hammered his elbow into the back of the constable’s head.

  Constable Kojoe collapsed to the ground.

  Liu Fong turned and darted across the parking lot.

  Harriet gave chase.

  She exploded upward, pouncing onto Liu Fong’s massive back.

  The giant tried to shake her loose, but Harriet already had her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs clamped about his waist, holding him in a boa constrictor-like grip.

  Harriet squeezed hard with her arms, compressing Liu Fong’s neck to half its girth.

  The giant’s scowling face went slack and then he collapsed to his knees.

  Harriet released his neck and the giant fell, face down, onto the pavement.

  “Sleep tight,” Harriet said, patting Liu Fong on the top of his bald head.

  She then sprinted over to Constable Kojoe, who pulled himself to his knees as he gently massaged the lump on the back of his head.

  “Did you get him?” Constable Kojoe asked.

  “He’s out like a baby after breastfeedin’.” Harriet replied.

  Harriet helped the constable to his feet. “Better go get him before he wakes up.”

  Constable Kojoe sprinted toward the unconscious giant. He paused for a second and called out to Harriet. “Let me repay you for this…how about dinner…tonight?”