The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman- Freedonia Read online

  “Nkisi,” Baas replied. “In-KEE-see. An nkisi is a statue or some other container that holds medicines and a soul combined to give it life and power. When I built this place to hide the Spirit-Engine, I brought him here and tethered Jek – who now calls himself Jack – to it.”

  “And this Jack is powerful enough to kill John Brown and Caleb?” Harriet asked.

  “Jack is the fastest creature I have ever encountered,” Baas said. “And his claws could easily rend even Mary’s flesh. He is cunning and brutal. Jek is a slave to his appetites, though and therein lies the way to defeat him.”

  “Hopefully, John Brown and Caleb didn’t find the way,” Harriet said.

  “Let’s hope not,” Baas sighed.

  Baas entered the room. The bed had been moved and the coat and blanket that concealed the door in the floor were on it.

  “They found it,” Baas said.

  “Lawd!” Harriet replied.

  Baas opened the metal door. “The Spirit-Engine is located in the room below. Jek is chained to it. The chain is long, but not long enough to reach you. I will go down first and assure…”

  Mary shoved Baas aside. “Last one down is a rotten egg!” She leapt down the hole.

  Baas rolled to his feet. “Mary is so reckless! I swear, I…”

  “I gotta see this Jack befo’ Mary kills him!” Harriet said before she disappeared down the hole.

  Baas covered his eyes with his hand. “Why do I even bother?” He descended the ladder into the darkness. At the bottom, Harriet awaited him. Mary stood over the tattered halves of John Brown’s corpse.

  “No sign of Jack,” Harriet said.

  Baas ran to the chain, which was in a neat pile at the center of the room. He inspected it and found bits of flesh all over it. “Intestines! No!”

  “Those probably come from John Brown, here,” Mary said. “He’s all messed up.”

  “Where is Caleb?” Baas asked.

  “No sign of him,” Mary replied.

  “He must have used the engine, Baas,” Harriet said.

  Baas slumped onto his haunches. “No. Jack is free and Caleb is now well on his way to killing my other self.”

  “Guess we’d better get me over there so I can end him befo’ he succeeds,” Harriet said.

  “Yes,” Baas said leaping to his feet. “Let’s hurry!”

  CHAPTER eight

  Caleb leapt through the crack in reality and landed on the floor of the sub-basement of the brothel with a thud. A moment later, he fell to his knees and vomited. He panted heavily as he wiped the sputum from the corners of his mouth.

  He struggled to his bare feet and looked around – no Jack; no Spirit-Engine; no torn apart John Brown. The room was well lit by three ormolu chandeliers, each housing nine candles. The walls of the room were perforated by hundreds of slots. Within each slot was a bottle of wine. In each corner of the room sat a barrel that, from the smell, was filled with rum.

  Caleb knelt at a barrel and put his mouth under the oak spigot. He turned the lever and then savored the spiced rum that poured into his mouth. He pushed the lever back to its original position and then lumbered toward the ladder. He ascended it, sliding the door aside at the top. Two pairs of big hands grabbed him under his armpits and yanked him off the ladder and into the room, which was empty save for a desk upon which sat several sheets of loose paper.

  Colin and Connor held his arms behind his back.

  “Stealin’ our spirits, ay?” Colin spat. “And bare as a baby’s arse, to boot. “What, were you and one of the girls tryin’ to powder the hair without payin’ fer it?”

  Caleb shook his head. “Naw, I was just…”

  “Don’t sell me a dog!” Connor barked, interrupting him. “Don’t lie to me! I can smell it all over ya’. Yer half rats, already.”

  Caleb smiled. “Y’all gon’ make great soldiers in my army!”

  Connor’s thick brow furrowed “Your what? Are you mad?”

  Caleb’s arms slithered around the brothers’ wrists and pulled them, kicking and screaming, into his back, which opened like a gaping maw. The twins disappeared inside Caleb’s torso and his back closed. Caleb licked his lips. “Naw, not mad; just hungry.”

  Caleb sat on the desk, thumbing through the papers. “Nothing here about Baas Bello. Where would that nigger be? Hell, why should I care? Me and John Brown are separated now. Poor old John. But Harriet Tubman…I owe her for killin’ my twin. Gonna find yo’ double and make her pay, Harriet Tubman! You hear me? I’m gon’…”

  Caleb pressed his palm to his belly. “Aw, my achin’ guts! Feel like I got the backdoor trots!”

  Caleb squatted. A rumbling din rose from his stomach. A moment later, a deluge of liquid feces erupted from Caleb’s backside.

  “What a relief!” Caleb sighed.

  An ocean of excrement covered the floor of the room. Caleb smiled at his handiwork.

  The ordure began to close in on itself; to become solid. Within a few minutes, the dung had formed into brown statues, roughly in the shape of Colin and Connor. The feces became more and more defined, until it had taken on the perfect form of the twins. The excrement effigies shifted and swirled, twisting and turning about on their heels until, finally, they had taken on the human flesh appearance of the twins.

  Colin and Connor, now Ghuls, knelt before their king. “How may we serve?” They said in unison.

  “Get me some clothes; somethin’ fancy,” Caleb replied. “And a crown. Every king needs a crown!”

  CHAPTER nine

  Baas pulled the lever on the Spirit-Engine and the indigo light on top of the machine turned off. The violet chasm opened before Harriet.

  “Harriet, step through the chasm, now!” Baas shouted. “You have about eight seconds before it closes. If you miss this window, we’ll have to wait another hour for the engine to recharge.”

  Harriet leapt toward the chasm. The tear in reality seemed to pulse and then the world tilted.

  “Not now, Lawd,” Harriet thought.

  Harriet collapsed onto the ground before the chasm.

  Mary sprinted toward her. “Damn it, Harriet! You and your doggone sleepin’ sickness!”

  Mary snatched Harriet up from the ground and then held her at her hip like a sack of flour.

  “Toss her in, Mary!” Baas said. “Quickly!”

  Mary peered over her shoulder at Baas. A toothy grin was on her face. “I got a better idea.”

  “Mary, no!” Baas shouted. “You’ll be torn asunder!”

  Mary leapt through the chasm with Harriet still held aloft at her side. “My hide’s too tough for all tha…”

  The chasm closed.

  Baas pressed his forehead against the front of the Spirit-Engine. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed. “Mary.”

  CHAPTER ten

  Caleb wondered if he had really gone anywhere at all. The world looked the same as before he stepped through the tear in space. Whitechapel was just as filthy as it was two days ago when he first set foot in the East End. Perhaps Banneker had played some grand trick on him for calling Banneker a nigger. Perhaps Banneker knew all along that the separation from John Brown that he promised would be at the hands of that bastard, Jack. He would be sure to get answers from Banneker once he had eaten Harriet’s heart and made his way back home.

  Connor and Colin stood at the intersection of Whitechapel and Dorset, keeping an eye out for trouble as Caleb sat next to Bertrand Plummer on his stoop. Bert was just as young, Caleb observed; just as rosy cheeked; just as blind.

  “I’m back for more information,” Caleb said.

  Bert leaned in closer to Caleb as if to hear him clearer. “Back, sir?”

  “Well, I was with a man you spoke with,” Caleb replied. “He paid you two pounds for information on a nig…a fuzzy who frequents Mama Koko’s.”

  “Two pounds!” Bert gasped. “I wish what you say was true, sir, but I ain’t never talked to such a man. If you meet him, send him me way, if you’d be so ki
nd, sir.”

  “Maybe I am in a different world,” Caleb thought.

  Caleb patted Bert on the knee. “Well, I tell you what, if you can point me in the right direction, I guarantee I can give you new eyes. You’ll be able to lay eyes on every mudsill, curly wolf and four-flusher in this outhouse y’all call a town.”

  “I don’t speak yank, so I don’t rightfully know what those things are,” Bert said. “But I would sure like to see them if you be able to work that sort of magic, sir.”

  “I can,” Caleb replied. “And I don’t speak no damned Yank, neither. I’m a Southerner, through-and-through!”

  “Then ask away, sir!” Bert said.

  “Ever hear of a fuzzy named Bello comin’ round here?”

  “Bello, sir?”

  “Yep. He is usually in the company of at least one woman who goes by the moniker of Harriet Tubman.”

  Bert sat bolt upright. “I never heard of this Mr. Bello, sir, but anybody with half a brain knows who Harriet Tubman is.”

  Caleb leaned forward on the stoop. “Who, pray-tell, is she?”

  Bert smiled. “Why, the Vice President of Freedonia, of course.”

  Caleb fell back as if he had been shot. He pressed his palm to his chest. “The what of where?”

  “The Vice President of Freedonia,” Bert said again. “Me mum calls Freedonia the Land of the Fuzzies. Well there and their neighbor, New Haiti.”

  “Goddamn! I am in another world,” Caleb whispered.

  “What was that, sir,” Bert inquired.

  “Nothing,” Caleb replied. “Thank you, for that information. Now, I’ll make good on my end of the bargain.”

  “I’m ready, sir,” Bert said, smiling.

  “I doubt that,” Caleb said, pointing his index fingers at Bert’s dull irises.

  Caleb pushed his fingers forward, slowly sinking them into Bert’s eyes.

  The boy wailed in agony.

  Caleb drove his fingers deeper.

  Bert convulsed wildly.

  Caleb withdrew his fingers and Bert collapsed in a quivering heap on the ground before his stoop.

  Caleb stood and sauntered toward the twins.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Connor handed Caleb a jewel encrusted crown. Caleb slipped the crown onto his head.

  Connor and Colin took a knee before him.

  “Where to, your majesty?” The twins asked.

  “To the docks,” Caleb answered. “We need to catch a ride on a ship.”

  “Yes, your majesty!” The twins said.

  “Get ready, boys,” Caleb said. “You’re going to America!”

  As they walked off, Bert sat up on his haunches. He smiled as he looked at the world for the first time. Then he frowned. He was hungry and he could not wait for his mother to return so he could have his fill…of her.

  ****

  At the docks, Caleb spoke to the Captains and crew of several ships. All were British ships headed for India and China except for one: the SS Savannah, a hybrid screw propeller steamship and sailing ship. The SS Savannah was the first steamship credited with crossing the Atlantic Ocean between the United States and Europe. Word was it was leaving England for the United States within the hour.

  “Howdy,” Caleb said with a tip of his crown as he sauntered toward the SS Savanah. Connor and Colin lumbered behind him.

  The captain of the ship ceased his examination of the ship’s manifest. He peered up from his copy-holder and smirked. “Kinda busy, your kingship. State your business, please.”

  Caleb continued to approach, stopping less than an arm’s-length from the captain. “My name’s is Caleb Butler. The gentlemen behind me are Connor and Colin.”

  Caleb extended his hand. The captain shook it.

  “Captain Richard Hunt, at your service.”

  “How much would it cost for me and my compañeros to hitch a ride on your ship?” Caleb asked, still holding on to Captain Hunt’s hand.

  Captain Hunt thrust the manifest toward Caleb’s face. Stopping a half inch from his nose. “You see this? It’s the ship’s manifest. We’re full. We can’t take one more passenger, let alone three.”

  Caleb pulled the captain’s hand to his chest and tightened his grip. “Relax…Dick. I know, I know…you are an El Capitano. Most times, you speak to folks anyway you damned well please and they take it. But this here? This ain’t one of those times.”

  Captain Hunt glared at Caleb, unblinking. “Release my hand right now, or…”

  Caleb slapped him.

  The captain’s knees buckled. His scowl twisted into a mask of fear.

  “Do I look like a nigger to you?” Caleb said.

  “Huh?” Captain Hunt croaked.

  Caleb slapped him again. Harder.

  Captain Hunt collapsed onto one knee. Caleb pulled him to his feet.

  “Do I look like a nigger to you?” Caleb repeated.

  “N-no, sir,” the captain cried.

  “Then, don’t talk to me like one!” Caleb said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Caleb released the captain’s hand and patted him on the cheek. The captain, fearing another slap, sank his head between his shoulders.

  “Now, if you’d be so kind as to show us our sleeping quarters,” Caleb said. “After that, get your face checked out, looks like I scratched your cheek.”

  Caleb peered over his shoulder at the twins and smiled. The twins snickered.

  Captain Hunt led Caleb to a large room in which there were several iron cages lining the walls. Within each cage lay a child, no younger than nine and no older than thirteen, by the looks of them. The children did not move when Caleb and the twins followed the captain into the room.

  “Apologies,” Captain Hunt said. “This is the only room with enough space for you. I will bring blankets, pillows and food.”

  “What’s wrong with them?” Caleb asked, pointing at the cages.

  “I…I don’t know why I am telling you this…”

  “That would be the scratch I gave you,” Caleb said. “Welcome to the Ghul Army, son! Now, go on…”

  “We have given them an herb I picked up during my travels in Southeast Asia,” Captain Hunt replied. “They will sleep until they are given another herb that will awaken them…”

  Caleb patted the captain on the chest with the back of his hand. “You are a bad boy, tricky Dicky! Gonna sell ‘em to some rich yanks up North, huh?”

  Captain Hunt tilted his head and squinted at Caleb. “Up North?”

  “The Northern States, ring a bell?” Caleb said. “As in not Virginia, Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, Texas and other great Southern locales?”

  “All those States you mentioned belong to Freedonia, sir,” the captain replied. “Well, all except Texas; that belongs to New Haiti.”

  Caleb spun on his heels. His jaw fell slack and his eyes looked as if they would pop out of his head. “What in the Hell? Freedonia? New Haiti? The niggers – hell, can I even say nigger now? – the niggras done just took over everythang! Boy, I’m hot as a whorehouse on nickel night!”

  “Sorry, sir,” Captain Hunt said.

  Caleb paced back and forth. “I need to infect a few more folks, to relieve some of this stress. Let’s turn the crew, the passengers…everybody except these youngsters.”

  “Are we still going to sell them, sir,” Captain Hunt asked. They sell for top dollar in Illinois and Wisconsin.”

  “Hell no!” Caleb spat. “No more selling the youngins! We eat them. Ain’t nothin’ more tender. Now, let’s get to it!”

  CHAPTER eleven

  The soles of Harriet’s feet were on fire. Pine cones and dry twigs bit into her flesh as she sprinted through a dense forest. The full moon cast a silver glow upon the leaves that crackled beneath her heels. The din of hounds barking and growling drew closer. Harriet increased her pace.

  She no longer heard the dogs, or the curses of the slave-catchers, so she stopped to rest her weary muscles and catch her breath. “For a
short spell,” she thought.

  “Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly.”

  Harriet whirled toward the source of the voice, raising a silver carving knife – still sticky with the blood of some unfortunate catcher – chest high.

  The most handsome – no, beautiful – man Harriet had ever laid eyes upon stepped out of the shadows. The corners of his full lips were spread in an inviting smile. “I’m sorry, did I frighten you?” His husky voice revealed a hint of an English accent.

  “You obviously ain’t from around here,” Harriet said, studying his tall, muscular frame. “You sound like this thang I hunted once, go by the name of Talbot.”

  “I’m from London, England,” the man said. The East End, in the district of Whitechapel. I moved here a while ago. I bought my freedom from…wait…hunted? What did you hunt?”

  “Monsters,” Harriet replied.

  “And now, it appears that you are the one who is the prey,” the man said.

  “Seem so,” Harriet said.

  The man spread his sinewy arms wide. “Well, you are safe here for the night. The locals are afraid of this forest. They say a terrible beast roams these parts.”

  “Then, what you doin’ out here?” Harriet asked.

  “I love the outdoors,” the man replied. “Besides, beasts don’t frighten me; men do.”

  “Well, this wo-man won’t do you no harm,” Harriet said. “My name’s Harriet, by the way. Harriet Tubman.”

  “I’m Jake Malloy,” the man said, offering his hand.

  Harriet took Jake’s strong, mahogany hand in hers and shook it. “Pleasure, sir.”

  Suddenly, Jake’s hand became a vice around Harriet’s fingers, crushing the dense bones as easily as if he was squeezing an egg in his fist.

  Harriet screamed in agony.

  Jake threw his head back. A growl escaped his throat. He snapped her head forward, fixing his maddened gaze on Harriet. His beautiful face had been replaced by what Harriet could only describe as the visage of a rabid wolf; a rabid wolf with familiar eyes.

  Harriet tried to snatch her pulverized hand out of Jake’s grip, but she was too strong and the pain was too great.