Jake yanked Harriet toward him.
Harriet’s head snapped back from the force as her feet skittered across the dirt and dry foliage.
Jake opened his mouth wide, revealing a mouth full of vicious canine teeth. He closed the toothy maw down upon Harriet’s shoulder, rending sinew and bone.
Harriet thrust forward with her carving knife, sinking it deep into Jake’s chest.
Jake staggered backward, coughing as a crimson cloud of ichor spewed from his mouth.
Harriet collapsed to her knees. Jake fell onto his back, convulsed once; twice; and then, lay still.
Harriet crawled to a large tree and rested her back against it. The pain in her hand and shoulder made it difficult to think; to understand what just happened. Darkness encroached upon her, blurring her vision.
“Still alive, eh?”
Harriet turned her head toward the voice. Jake stood beside her. She turned his gaze toward Jake’s beastly form, still lying where he fell.
“How?” Harriet coughed.
She wanted to leap to her feet and run, but the pain would not allow it.
“What are you?”
“What was I, you mean,” Jake replied. “The thing you hunt.”
Jake pointed toward Harriet’s wounded shoulder. “Well, hunted. Now, you have the blessing, too.”
Tears ran down Harriet’s cheeks. “I…I’m gon’ turn into a thing like you, now?”
“Maybe,” Jake answered. “You become what your spirit is.”
“I’m gon’ kill you!” Harriet cried.
“You already have,” Jake said, nodding toward his corpse.”
Harriet shut her eyes and succumbed to the darkness.
****
Harriet awakened, naked on cold stone. She sprang to her feet, beating back encroaching nausea and then studied her surroundings. She was still in the sub-basement at the brothel, but it was different. The room was now a wine and rum cellar by the look and smell of it, not a sanctuary for the Spirit-Engine.
Harriet stepped on something soft, wet and cold. She moved her foot and then looked down.
“Oh, no!”
Half of Mary’s face stared up at her.
Harriet perused the floor. Bits of Mary were all over it.
Harriet collapsed onto her knees. Her body shook as tears poured down her face. “Mary, you was so hard headed! I could have handled Caleb, myself. The Lawd done showed me he here and he more powerful than ever, but I can kill him. It might cost me my life, but I can kill him, just the same.”
Harriet wiped her face with the back of her hand and then stood and walked toward the ladder. “You wasn’t ‘spose to die here, Mary. You wasn’t ‘spose to be here at all. You were one of my best friends – a sister, really – a real soldier, sho’ ‘nuff and one of the best people I ever knowed.”
“Aw, I didn’t know you loved me so, Harriet!”
Harriet snapped her head toward the source of the voice.
Something like smoke floated before her. The smoke took on the shape of Mary.
Harriet sucked her teeth. “Cryin’ fo’ the dead and sayin’ good words on they behalf is just the Christian thing to do.”
Mary shook her head. “You cold, Harriet…but you lyin’, too. You know you love me. Who don’t?”
“Obviously not you,” Harriet said, pointing at the mess that was once Mary. “Look what you did to yo’self!”
Mary scratched her phantom head. “Yeah, I’m all messed up. We gotta fix that.”
“Ain’t nothin we can do,” Harriet said. “Maybe Baas can. The Lawd ain’t let yo’ spirit enter Heaven – or wherever you belong – fo’ a reason.”
“So I ain’t a ghost, cursed to haunt this brothel for all time?”
“Naw.”
“Damn, that would have been kinda fun!”
“Mary! Lawd!” Harriet said, shaking her head. “Well, I reckon I can only sees you ‘cause of my visions the Lawd bless me wit. Let’s find Baas befo’ you waste away altogether.”
Harriet ascended the ladder. She crept through the whorehouse, with Mary’s spirit floating behind her.
****
Whitechapel Street was blanketed in shadows. Harriet prayed those shadows would conceal the pink, lace-trimmed skirt and burlesque tailcoat she had stolen from one of the prostitute’s chest-of-drawers while she and her paramour slept.
“Over there,” Harriet said, pointing toward a shop nestled between a candy shop and a dentist’s office. The sign above it read Telegraph Office. “I saw somebody in there. Maybe they can give us a clue where we can find this world’s Baas.”
“Or maybe not,” Mary said. “It’s awful late for folks to be workin’. And I can sniff things out, bein’ a spirit and all.”
“Yeah, I know,” Harriet sighed. “The Lawd guiding me here, though, so I’m gone follow.”
Mary sucked her teeth. “The Lawd? Harriet, you need to stop! You been at this a long time. You know something ain’t right. You lookin’ to get into a scrap, is all.”
Harriet strode toward the shop. “Now, why would I want to do that?”
“’Cause you’re wearin’ some whore’s clothes, lookin’ like a lollipop and you ain’t heeled.”
Harriet frowned. “I loved that Bello Mule. Lost that, my goggles, all my stuff.”
“Hell, I lost a whole body,” Mary said. “What you frettin’ ‘bout?”
“True,” Harriet whispered. “Now, pipe down, I don’t want these folks to think I’m talkin’ to myself.”
Harriet entered the telegraph office. Three men were in the shop. Each sat before a telegraph machine.
“How can we help you ladies?” One of the men asked, looking up from his machine.
Harriet frowned. She took a step back toward the door.
“Oh, don’t worry,” the man said, smiling. “Negro money spends here.”
“That’s not my concern,” Harriet said.
“What, then?” The man said, rising from his chair.
“Well, considerin’ my friend here is a haint and y’all can see her, y’all must be haints, too.” Harriet replied.
The man directed his attention to Mary. “You’re a ghost, correct?”
Mary shook her head and then raised her index finger. “A spirit.”
The two other men stood.
“We’re ghasts,” the man said. “A bit…stronger than our ghost brethren,”
“Hmm…ghasts,” Harriet said, studying the trio. “Never had the pleasure of killin’ one of you. A friend of mine said you fast and can possess a body for days at a time.”
“Who are you?” The man asked. “I, by the way, am Mr. Longshanks. My colleagues are Mr. Brown and Mr. Stein.”
Mr. Brown and Mr. Stein nodded.
“Not pleased to meet you,” Harriet replied. “I’m Harriet Tubman.”
Mr. Longshanks scowled. “Now that’s not nice! I have been forthright with you. I expect the same.”
“Excuse me?” Harriet said.
“Don’t sell me a dog!” Mr. Longshanks spat. “You lie, you die.”
“I ain’t lied to you, monster,” Harriet said, tilting her head from side to side to stretch her neck. “But, forget all that, let’s get to the part where you make me die.”
“Harriet Tubman is the Vice President of Freedonia,” Mr. Longshanks hissed. “I doubt she would be roaming the streets of Whitechapel at night dressed like a clown.”
Harriet smiled. “See, I was gonna just walk away, on account of I got somewhere to be. But now, I gots to hurt you.”
Mr. Longshanks shook his head. “You can be Vice President, the Queen, hell, even Jesus Christ…we’re not taking any beatings in here.”
“Oh, you won’t have to take it,” Harriet replied, raising her fists to her chin. “I’m gon’ give it to you.”
The trio of ghasts exploded forward. Harriet leapt forward to meet them.
The ghasts were quick; frighteningly so. They darted around Harriet, pummeling her with pu
nches, headbutts and knees.
Harriet slumped over a telegraph machine, panting. Blood poured from her mouth and pulverized nose.
Mary swung at the back of Mr. Longshank’s head. Her hand went through it as if it was air. “Damn it!”
Mr. Longshanks turned slowly on his heels until he faced Mary. A grin was stretched across his pallid face. “Your fighting days are over, Negress. You cannot help your friend. We have lived in Whitechapel for a thousand years, feeding off the flesh of the downtrodden; possessing the bodies of the well off who hate them so. Now, we will consume your fr…”
A telegraph machine slammed into the top of Mr. Longshanks’ skull. The ghast’s head disappeared in a crimson cloud.
His headless body collapsed to the floor in a wet heap.
Harriet punched Mr. Stein and Mr. Brown in their chests. Her fists sinking into their torsos up to her wrists. “Y’all fast; I give you that. But your bodies are softer than a velvet bathrobe on a bed of feathers.”
The ghasts’ eyes rolled back into their heads.
Harriet withdrew her fists.
The ghasts fell to the floor with a loud thud.
Harriet nodded toward Mary. “Thanks for distractin’ them while I healed.”
Mary returned the nod. “I got your back, as best as I can.”
“We gon’ get you straightened out, Mary,” Harriet said. “I don’t know how, but I know we just gotta get to Baas and he gon’ figure somethin’ out.”
“We best get a wiggle on, then,” Mary replied.
Harriet walked toward the exit.
“Harriet?” Mary said.
Harriet peered over her shoulder at Mary. “Yeah?”
“Do you think what that ghast said about you bein’ Vice President is true?”
“He ain’t have no reason to lie. This world look the same, but obviously it ain’t the same. At least we got that clue the Lawd promised me.”
“So, we goin’ to that…uh…Freedonia place they was talkin’ ‘bout?”
“I reckon that’s as good a place to find Baas as any,” Harriet replied. “the Lawd tellin’ me he shol’ ain’t here.”
CHAPTER twelve
The SS Savannah was hailed as one of the most innovative designs in the arena of steamships. The ship was built normally enough, primarily of wood with some metal reinforcements. It was luxurious, with each of the cabins that comprised the Texas deck sporting plush carpets that covered the entire floor and fine quality furniture.
The ship carried forty crew members and up to one hundred passengers. Each of the twenty first class cabins had its own steward while the forty remaining cabins was assigned a steward for every four cabins. The SS Savannah’s galley – staffed by two chef’s, one from the United States and one from Sicily – was open late to satisfy every culinary whim at whatever hour the passengers desired.
But all these amenities were not what made the SS Savannah so unique. The big difference from a more conventional steamship came from the addition of the large windmill-like constructs built all over the top of the ship. Each windmill’s vane was connected to elaborate clockwork below decks. When wind struck the vanes, the energy was fed into the iron clockwork, which, in turn, transferred some of its mechanical energy to a series of generating engines that converted the mechanical energy into electrical power.
The electrical power, stored in huge batteries, was used to power the lights, telegraphy and – for a short time, should the ship run out of wood for the steam engine – the ship’s propeller.
A strong wind whipped across the deck of the SS Savannah, nearly knocking Caleb’s crown from his head.
“This wind is a blessing!” Captain Hunt shouted from the pilot house, which sat at the top of the ship, near the bow. “We’ll have plenty of energy to recharge our batteries.”
“How long before we eat youngin’?” Caleb shouted over the wind. “I’m famished and the galley ain’t got nothin’ fit for a Ghul King.”
Captain Hunt stared at the chronometer on his console. “I had the chefs put the boy on the grill two hours ago. It shouldn’t be long now.”
“Damn it! I knew a girl would be more tinder,” Caleb replied. “You will learn to…”
The ship rocked violently as something heavy struck it on the starboard side. Caleb staggered sideways. He stretched his arm to nearly four times its length toward the railing ten feet away. He grabbed the railing, steadying himself.
The ship rocked again.
“What the hell is that?” Caleb shouted. “A wave?”
“No,” Captain Hunt said. “The wind is strong, but the water is calm.”
“Then, what is it?” Caleb said.
Seemingly in answer, a gargantuan ship rose from beneath the surface of the water less than ten feet from the SS Savannah.
“God damn!” Caleb gasped.
“All hands on deck!” Captain Hunt cried into a brass funnel that protruded from his console. His voice sounded throughout the ship. “A Geobukseon is attacking!”
Caleb craned his head toward the pilot house. “A hot book son? What?”
“A Geobukseon – ka-BOOHK-suhn,” Captain Hunt answered. “A Joseon turtle ship.”
The Geobukseon was clad in iron plates and the topmost deck featured an iron roof covered in iron spikes. The body of the ship was a combination of wood and iron plates.
Around the sides of the ships several ports opened and cannons protruded from them. On the Geobukseon’s main deck, two turrets, built from iron, rose from the deck. Each turret housed a multi-barreled gun that reminded Caleb of a Gatling Gun. The turrets had a wide traverse, allowing it to fire on targets in a 180 to 270-degree arc.
Under the cannons were scores of oars that whirred and clicked as they moved the ship. From the sound, Caleb figured they were powered by machine, not man.
“Joseon…those are Can’ardly people, right?” Caleb asked.
“Can’ardly, your majesty?: Captain Hunt replied, confused.
“As in ‘they can’ardly see with those squinty eyes’,” Caleb replied. “Orientals, man!”
“Oh. Yes, your majesty.”
A panel in each turret on the Geobukseon slid open.
“Get down here, Dick!” Caleb ordered. “Somethin’ is happenin’.”
The crew and passengers of the SS Savannah – now ghuls in service to Ghul King Caleb – all sprinted onto the deck. Most stopped in their tracks when they saw the turtle ship.
Connor and Colin stood at Caleb’s flanks. Captain Hunt stood beside him.
“I believe they are about to board us, your majesty!” Captain Hunt said, his voice trembling.
Caleb turned up his nose and shook his head. He turned toward his subjects. “God damn! In my world, our kind don’t fear nothin’. They got half your brain, but ten times your heart. Whatever comes out of that ship is gon’ be human. We more than that. Much more. So, if them damned Can’ardlies want a fight, then let’er rip! Y’all with me?”
The ship shook from the din of a hundred voices shouting in unison. “Yes, your majesty!”
Out of the open panels in the turrets erupted hundreds of men dressed in the traditional uniform of the elite Hwarang warriors of Joseon: their hair was pulled into a topknot, with a red manggeon headband used to keep the hair in place; on their torsos they sported a maroon, blouse, over which they wore a redwood leather vest that held three rockets in their sheaths; on their lower bodies, they wore maroon baji – shin-length, baggy trousers – and pointy-toed, red leather hwa – boots. Each warrior held a steel sword at the ready as they soared out of the turret, riding wooden sleds powered by large rockets tied to their undersides.
The flying Hwarang cast a shadow over the deck of the SS Savannah like a thick cloud heralding a torrential rain. The smell of gunpowder pervaded the air.
“Gather ‘round!” Caleb commanded. “These slanty-eyed bastards worship dragons, so let’s bring ‘em face-to-face with their God!”
The Ghul Army gathered ar
ound their king. Caleb guided them to join together; to melt into one another until one’s arms became one’s legs, became one’s torso, and became one’s organs.
Within seconds, the army had become serpentine, forming a giant dragon, with Caleb visage embedded in its massive head. Caleb’s crown remained atop the Ghul-Dragon’s skull.
The Ghul Dragon coiled and then sprang upward, rushing to meet the descending Hwarang warriors.
The dragon opened its mouth wide.
Scores of Hwarang fell, screaming, into the Ghul Dragon’s maw.
The surviving Hwarang landed on the deck of the SS Savannah.
Almost in unison, they drew their wooden seungja-chongtong hand cannons from the sheaths on their backs and then, with incredible speed, loaded a rocket into them.
The Hwarang fired.
The volley of rockets ripped into the Ghul Dragon’s flesh.
A dozen charred ghuls fell to the deck, screaming in agony as they burned away into nothingness.
The Ghul-Dragon turned its gaze at the SS Savannah. It opened its mouth wide again and then dived toward the deck.
The Hwarang fired again.
More charred ghuls plummeted toward the deck.
The Ghul-Dragon swallowed the surviving Hwarang.
The ghuls separated into their individual selves. At their feet lie the swallowed Hwarang, writhing and shaking violently.
Caleb held his fist high. “Brothers and sisters…that is what victory feels like!”
The ghul army cheered.
“Now, let us prepare to welcome these new soldiers into our ranks,” Caleb said, waving his hands over the infected Hwarang. “Soldiers, I present to you…the Can’ardly Division!”
The ghul army roared.
Caleb grinned. He was sure that soon, this world would be his.
CHAPTER thirteen
Harriet combed the docks for hours, searching for a steamship pilot, or even a sailing ship pilot, who could transport her to this strange place called Freedonia.
“No ship from Freedonia has been here in over a year,” the Dock Captain grunted, waving his cigar about with pudgy fingers. “The SS Savannah left about two hours ago. It was headed to the United States, that’s close enough, but I doubt he would have given you passage on his ship.”
The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman- Freedonia Page 7
