They followed a winding cement walk across the huge lawn fronting the mansion. Grand old cypress and oak trees dotted the meticulously tended carpet of green grass, and artistically arranged flower gardens lent a touch of elegance to the den of iniquity.
Ferret stared at the mansion. Earlier, when the tonton macoutes had escorted them from the pier to the prison tower, they had hiked along the base of the south wall directly to their cell without much opportunity to study the estate. Now he noticed a row of cages on each side of the portico and heard growls and hissing noises. “What are those?” he asked.
“The Baron’s prized collection of relatives of yours,” Captain Francois said, and snickered. “Beastly mutations.”
Ferret and Gremlin looked at one another.
“The Baron has been collecting for over a decade,” Frangois related.
“Every hunter and trapper in the bayou knows they will receive a hefty reward if they bring in the kind of creatures the Baron likes.”
The animal sounds grew in volume as their party neared the mansion.
Various scents were borne to Ferret’s sensitive nose by the cool night breeze: bear, bobcat, raccoon, deer, and others. Overriding them all was the tangy odor of primal fear. Ferret felt a strong sympathy for the creatures being confined.
Six tonton macoutes were posted as guards outside the front door, three on each side, and all six promptly snapped to attention when that door unexpectedly opened and out strolled a man and a woman.
Ferret sensed a change in the officer and the men in black serving as the escort, a subtle tensing of their bodies, a barely concealed air of sheer dread. Such a reaction convinced him the pair on the portico must be the Baron and Majesta, and he studied them with interest.
Majesta was a woman in her thirties, possessed of a full figure, long black hair, and features akin to chiseled marble. She wore an unusual green dress that scarcely covered her jutting breasts, the shape of the fabric resembling the twisted coils of a snake.
The Baron wore all red. His hawkish, cruel visage perfectly fit the man.
Dark, malevolent eyes regarded the approaching party without a hint of friendly emotion. From his right hip, suspended in an ornate sheath, hung a dagger with a bejeweled golden hilt. “So these are the genetic deviates,” he declared by way of a greeting.
“You’re not exactly the cream of the crop yourself, sucker,” Ferret responded, and instantly regretted his rash impulse when a man in black spun and clubbed him on the right temple. He staggered but stayed erect.
“Leave him alone, yes!” Gremlin spoke up.
“Neither of you will talk unless addressed,” the Baron informed them imperiously. He came down the steps slowly, examining the prisoners intently. “Amazing. Truly amazing. You’re the first mutations I’ve seen who are so closely similar to man.”
“They not only have the power of speech, your lordship,” Captain Francois stated with a slight bow, “but they can also operate firearms.”
“Really?” the Baron responded. “If we’re not careful, someday these deviates will rise up against us and try to take over.”
Ferret had taken all the insults he could tolerate. “Who are you calling a deviate, you misfit? We’re half human, and we—”
A stocky tonton macoute, at a curt nod from the Baron, began beating the hybrid on the head with a vengeance. Ferret tried to raise his hands to protect his face, but another man in black struck him in the small of the back, causing him to fall to his knees.
“No!” Gremlin cried, stepping to his friend’s aid. He stepped between the stocky assailant and Ferret, using his own body as a shield.
“Enough!” the Baron commanded, and grinned. “How touching. They claim to be part human and demonstrate brotherly loyalty. But in the final analysis they are still genetic aberrations. These two are quite unique, but they would pose too many problems if I added them to my menagerie. You were right in your estimation, my dear captain, but I had to see for myself.” He paused and glanced at the woman. “What do you think, Majesta?”
“Damballah would enjoy them.”
“My thoughts exactly. They would be delightful appetizers,” the Baron said, and faced the officer, “Very well. Take them back to their cell. It’s ten-thirty now. In forty minutes bring them here so they can join our procession to the houmfor. We must be on time and commence the ceremony at midnight.”
“As you wish, my lordship,” Captain Francois said.
Ferret heard the words through a veil of pain. He grimaced and managed to straighten with Gremlin’s assistance. Footsteps pounded on the walk to their rear and another man in black raced past them to halt in front of the Baron.
“What is it?” the head of the Black Society demanded brusquely.
“Forgive this intrusion, Great One,” the man stated, and bent at the waist. “A speedboat has just arrived from New Orleans.”
The Baron frowned. “I gave specific orders that the speedboat is only to be employed on special occasions. It uses too much of our precious fuel to be utilized without proper justification. Who has committed this oversight?”
“Sergeant Valmy, sir. He sent me on ahead to tell you the news and explain his reason.”
“This had better be good.”
“The sergeant has captured another mutation like these two, your lordship.”
“What?” the Baron exclaimed.
“Yes, sir. He was on routine patrol along the shore of the bayou. The creature he has captured is a cat of some kind. He also has a woman with him, and he suspects she is a member of the Resistance.”
“Does this woman have a name?”
“Sergeant Valvy told me she was unconscious when he found her, but she has been revived and persuaded to talk. Eleanore DeCoud is her name, great one.”
The Baron placed his hands on his hips and laughed uproariously, then twisted to stare at Majesta. “All things come to those who worship Damballah.”
“Indeed,” the mambo said, smirking wickedly. “The Snake God will feast well tonight.”
Chapter Eighteen
The tonton macoutes spotted him.
Blade had only one option. Retreating into the undergrowth where the snappers lurked was out of the question. Trying to outrun the boat along the shoreline couldn’t be done. Since the enemy had seen him and now voiced loud shouts while slanting their boat in his direction, he decided to use the time-tested strategy advocated by skilled fighters down through the centuries.
The best defense is always a good offense.
The Warrior raced the ten feet to the edge of the bayou and dived into the water, his huge form cleaving the surface smoothly. He found the depth to be a mere five feet and quickly made for the deeper area farther out.
From the south came the distinctive buzzing drone of the boat’s outboard.
Blade stayed close to the bottom, sweeping strands of underwater vegetation aside with his forearms. He gazed upward, gauging the depth, pleased when it increased to ten feet, then 15.
The underside of the craft appeared, moving quite slowly, and the heads and shoulders of several men in black were visible although distorted by the water. They were in the boat and peering into the bayou.
Would they see him? Blade wondered, holding steady, hands moving back and forth. He placed his feet on bottom, testing to determine its sponginess. Once assured that his legs wouldn’t sink in the mud, he crouched and waited for the right moment.
The craft weaved slightly from side to side, coming ever closer.
Blade watched the boat creep almost directly overhead, its motor making a put-put noise, and he launched himself at the underside like a human missile, his arms sweeping up out, hoping the element of surprise would enable him overcome his six armed foes.