The Guild Chronicles Books 1-3

by J M Bannon

  “I meant no offense, but it just sounded strange to my ear.”

  “None taken,” said Dolly.

  The guild master turned to the maitre’d “you can bring a menu for the Detective, si vous plait”

  “So, you’re looking to nab this Voodoo priestess and bring her to justice?” asked Dolly.

  “Our intentions align, Detective. You need to catch a murderer. I need to keep this primitivism from getting out of the jungle,” said the guild master.

  “What can you share with me to apprehend the killer?” asked Dolly.

  “Her name,” said Gerard as he drank his tea.

  “You know the name of the person who killed Moya?” Dolly reiterated as he took out his notebook.

  “Her name is Angelica Du Haiti, and I have met her.”

  “If you don’t mind, I will take some notes,” said Dolly while he wrote the name in his book.

  “The guild has been aware of the Voodoo practices in the New World for some time. Your Doctor Melbourne wrote a treatise on some of the pagan rituals, but it was more anthropologic than spiritual. To gain understanding, we had emissaries meet with the Voodooists and study the arcana. Ten years ago, I was part of the necronist mission to Haiti, and that is where I met the woman in question.

  “France had just abolished slavery in the colonies, and plantation owners were concerned that practice of Voodoo would lead to the organization of the recently freed slaves and eventual revolt. We French know how ugly a revolution can be, and the Minister of Colonial Affairs contacted the guild to help assess the situation. We were intrigued, of course, to see if the tales were true of the ability to control and raise the dead. On the tour, we determined that there was a population of slaves that believed in the religion of Voodoo, but they were not practicing any arcana. It was a religion with no control or understanding of metaphysics,” said Gerard as the memories of his past came back to him.

  Ten years had passed since Saint-Yves, a young silver seer, had the privilege to be part of a delegation to investigate the threat of Voodoo to the French colony or the Emperor. The guild was happy to have the government of France fund the expedition to evaluate Voodoo. This primitivism intrigued the necronists as it appeared to engage death magic in ways like what necronists were experimenting with in clandestine research.

  His mind drifted back to the expedition under Guild Master Huey.

  They tramped through the hot jungle of Haiti for six days. His urban upbringing in Paris left him unprepared for the long slog through the humid insect infested tropics. The trek was grueling even with the troop of porters and guides. His feet became blistered from walking and cracked from waterlogged shoes. Mud clung to his legs and made his steps heavier. His robes that he was so proud to wear absorbed the sun and held the sweat and humidity. Eventually, they found the secluded village. They had followed an estuary that led to the awe-inspiring waterfall, where the village had developed at its foot. Gerard was physically uncomfortable, sweating in his black necronist robes and morally unsettled observing a village filled with nearly naked men and women.

  They were not greeted with open arms. Many of the inhabitants were escaped slaves and those that had grown up in the village had heard the stories of the cruel life on a plantation and had a genuine dread of the white man. As they closed in on the village, it became clear that they were being followed and were surrounded and outnumbered. At the edge of the river, just before where the village started, they were met by the Voodoo king and his retinue. His name was Papa Lafayette, a wiry old man with only a loin cloth for clothing and coated in a sheen of sweat and musky from the unwashed life of the jungle. He stood with his Ju Ju staff, the mantle of his power. The staff was horrifying. The tall warped and petrified wood had four human skulls attached to it. These were the heads of the past Voodoo kings, who imbued the staff and the present king with all of their power. The Frenchmen could speak with the king through Lafayette’s interpreter, a mixed-race girl. A true vision, the type of person you will always remember the first time you saw. Remarkable in her natural beauty and the glimmer of her aura. Even with his limited training, Gerard could detect the shimmer of her mortal and metaphysical charm.

  Gerard came back to the present and chose carefully what to share. “There was, however, a village that was folklore to the slaves, where runaways who reached it settled in paradise under the safeguard of the gods of Voodoo. It was there I met Angelica. She was likewise an initiate at the time to a powerful Voodoo witch doctor. She was his protégé and interpreter.”

  “You saw her conduct rituals that killed men by removing their soul?” asked Dolly.

  Gerard thought back. His mind raced with the memories from a decade ago, back to the initial contact. He recalled in his mind’s eye Lafayette and the vitality and raw power he exuded, how his ebony skin glistened from the humidity. Papa boldly told the mission that they were not welcome and they were to leave. As Guild Master Huey attempted to parley with the Voodoo king, Lafayette began working a thralling incantation; the guides and porters quickly fell under his influence, and they broke and ran in fear. Huey was impressed at the strength of the invocation the king was fabricating and the king equally impressed with the necronist’s defenses against it. Huey and Gerard saw through the Voodoo illusion and stood their ground.

  The acknowledgment of each other’s capacity to wield such power became the thread of common respect that the two parties could build on. The necronists were the first outsiders allowed in the sanctuary. The two parties learned from each other. The necronists could articulate the science of the metaphysical, and Papa Lafayette could help them to find a way to a primal connection with the arcane. That was the weakness of the necronist way: their connection to the supernatural was an intellectual one, not visceral. The necronist path to the metaphysical was books, learning and experimentation; the Voodooist path was spit, sweat and blood.

  Huey understood the tremendous opportunity the necronist had after the group witnessed a Voodoo ritual where Papa Lafayette summoned the spirits of past Voodoo kings back to earth to possess the dead. It began more like a frenzied bacchanal with naked practitioners dancing themselves into a trance, so contrary to the puritanical dress and demeanor of the guild. Gerard, a talented necronist, was adept at scrying messages from the afterworld and beginning to hone his skills at controlling the wills of others, but what he saw that evening was raw and pure necromancy.

  The village was located at the waterfall for a purpose. The falls were a rift point into the afterworld, a doorway for Ju Ju spirits to move from one plane to another. Papa Lafayette was in the center of the ritual, directing the ceremony. Four corpses were brought into the circle. Lafayette recited his incantations, and the dead rose. They became the mortal vessels of spirits that had passed. The savage could do what the necronists could not, reanimate the dead and do so by bringing spiritual energy from the afterworld.

  “No. She did not have those powers then, but Papa Lafayette did, and I saw primal necromantic arts being performed. They were ignorant of the metaphysics behind what they were doing, but he still could wield the power of life and death.”

  A few nights later, the necronists were invited to Papa’s hut. He had the three necronists sit with him on the floor around a small clay pot. He was brewing some concoction. Angelica was there, but she was standing on the outside acting as the interpreter. The Voodoo king said that he had decided that he would train the necronists on the condition that the necronists guaranteed the safety of his people. Huey wholeheartedly agreed to the pact. Lafayette said to seal this pact the four of them would drink from his pot. He ladled the foul-smelling soup into wooden bowls and each man drank. He smiled and gestured for them to drink it all. When done, he laughed and talked to Angelica. Her face lost color. The old man kept repeating to her the same words. She then told Gerard and the others their fate.

  She explained how all four of them had just consumed soul worm eggs. Their flesh and eternal Ju Ju would be consumed
by the Great Devourer when the worms hatched and grew. They were all bound by a death pact. In six months’ time, the worms would hatch, and in a year from that day, those that were not cleansed would be dead. Gerard and the other young Seer Hume would stay in the village and train alongside Angelica. Guild Master Huey would return to France to secure the written agreement of sanctuary. Upon his return, the four men would again sit in this hut, and he would brew the potion to cleanse them of the eggs or larva.

  Huey left the next day. Gerard and Hume became pupils of Papa Lafayette alongside Angelica. Saint-Yves and Hume’s learning became fundamental to the most important of the necronists metaphysical discoveries. Ten months later, Huey returned with the compact signed by the Emperor himself.

  “In the end, we learned what we could, and we gave the witch doctor and his tribe sanctuary. It was a worthwhile tradeoff for the guild, and now we know the true extent of the Voodoo power,” said the necronist.

  “How are you sure it is this woman that is our murderer?” Dolly followed up.

  He remembered the stories she and Gerard shared about their pasts and dreams of their future together. He remembered the times they laughed as he fumbled incantations and how disappointed he was that she chose not to return with him to Paris to join the guild. His younger self wanted so much to share Paris and the guild with her. He knew her natural spiritual manipulation would bring her to the rank of guild master and they could continue to be together, but that was not what he would share with the Englishman.

  “First, I know the innate talent she had, and if she continued to progress at the speed she was learning, she would now be capable of these acts. Further, there is a connection to the murdered. She was a runaway slave before she joined Papa Lafayette. She shared with me that it was a Moya Plantation where she was born. The older Moya’s cause of death was impossible to determine and the state of his body was attributed to the house being burnt to the ground. When I heard about the younger Moya being killed and the condition of the body, I was certain that it is her.”

  “Do you know if she has any family or associates in London?” asked the detective.

  “No. She had never been off the island, and she would not leave until she learned everything from Papa Lafayette.”

  Gerard observed the patience of the detective. This man would sit in silence and wait for him to divulge more. He needed to see the detective’s commitment to stopping the threat.

  “Detective, have you ever heard of Nicolas Fouquet?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Nicolas Fouquet was the minister of finance for the Sun King. Louis the XIV. He was a trusted advisor and very influential in the court. The Prime Minister, Jules Mazarin, passed to the aether, and Nicolas very much wanted the job. He decided to throw a magnificent party in honor of the King in hope of impressing his allegiance on him.

  “He opened his Chateau to all the court, he invited the greatest minds, he even had a special play written and directed by Molière in honor of the King. There were endless courses of food, some never seen before in Europe. After dinner, Fouquet invited the crowds to walk his garden, where he held a fireworks display as grand as there could be. Can you guess what happened the next day?” asked Gerard.

  “He got the job,” said Dolly.

  “No. He was arrested for embezzlement of taxes. It’s true. He did embezzle, but the King was complicit in the misuse of the taxes. Fouquet was sent to solitary confinement for the rest of his years. You see, the King did not see his actions as adulation, but as a rivalry to his own greatness. Now do you see where Angelica Du Haiti and Nicolas Fouquet made their mistake?” asked the guild master.

  “You don’t want some primitive occult to diminish your spiritual science,” said Dolly.

  The guild master’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled “Yes, Nicolas and Angelica outshine the master. That is why we are aligned in our purpose. You cannot let a murderer run around freely, and the guild cannot have some primitive witchcraft look more powerful than what we wield. So, I can help you make sure that she does not leave this island alive.”

  Dolly put his notebook in his jacket and stood up. “Guild Master, that is where you and I are not aligned. My purpose is to find the criminals and bring them to the Queen’s justice. What is fitting of the crime is not my business. I leave that to the judge and the barristers. I bring the criminal, the evidence, and the witnesses. It appears to me you have already passed judgment.”

  Gerard had misjudged the Englishman. He was more committed to the principles of his profession than to what it would take to keep people safe. “Please have a seat, Detective. I am sorry if I misspoke. My command of English may have led to misusing of words. What I mean is that you have my commitment to capturing Angelica, but you also have my commitment to do everything in my power to stop her from killing more English. Now, please sit down. I did promise you the best lunch in London, and they have not even taken our order,” said Saint-Yves.

  The Detective returned to his seat, and that was enough of a sign to the guild master that the door was still open to get the cooperation he would need from the English police to act against the murderer of the Moyas and Sir Chilton.

  13

  Tuesday the 22nd of June

  9:30 AM, Muster Point A, near the Baden Gaswerks

  Dolly was slow to arrive at the scene. Upon finding Keane, he quickly got up to speed on the situation. The operation would go ahead in thirty minutes. He met his fellow detective east of the plant at the Woolwich Road muster point. Here, squads one and two would divide up and seize the north and west gates, while squads from the two other muster points would take the south and east gates. The police were setting up a cordon to limit traffic into the neighborhood of the works. Unseasonably hot, the city was nearly unbearable as the humidity caused the coal ash and soot to hang heavy. This weather would only pump more pressure into an already over-pressured boiler. Dolly hoped they could methodically release that pressure before the proverbial boiler blew up and hurt someone.

  Two duty sergeants discussed the present situation. The area was occupied with police loitering and talking idly, but the momentum was picking up as Sergeant Eakins issued orders for last-minute alterations to the positioning of equipment and men. At least twenty constables stood at the ready as mounted patrols drew up the horses and formed up to take the front line.

  Dolly was in good spirits until he heard protestors had blocked all the entry gates to resist and impede the right of way. That meant arrests and possible bloodshed.

  “Morning, Callum Keane. What have you been up to this fine day?” asked Dolly when he met Detective Keane.

  “I’ve been working with Wells here to prepare. In another twenty minutes, we will have groups ready. I’m aiming to remain with the force for the west and observe the crowd,” replied Keane.

  "Sorry for my delay. I have been down at the docks and to the train stations circulating pictures of my suspect,” added Dolly.

  “What picture? Let me see it,” requested Keane.

  Dolly pulled out one of the few remaining bills he had in his coat and passed it to Keane. In the process, he felt his pipe. He resolved if they had a half hour before the operation he would enjoy a smoke.

  Keane studied the poster bill. It showed a hand sketch of an African woman’s face, including the title:

  Wanted for questioning at Scotland Yard

  Ms. Angelica Du Haiti

  Aged 28-34

  Notify a constable immediately

  Keane looked at Dolly with a peculiar look of shock and apprehension. “How did you come to know this name?”

  “I’m a detective, Keane. It’s my business is to identify criminals. I’m certain that’s my girl.”

  “How did you come to know her name, her likeness?”

  Dolly’s buoyant mood washed away at Keane’s strange interest in his case. “I obtained intelligence from sources, multiple confidential sources.”

  “It was that witch, wasn�
�t it?”

  “Oh, it is a legitimate corroborated lead, I assure you.”

  “I am asking you, who? If corroborated, who are the two sources? Tell me,” demanded Keane.

  Dolly had never seen Keane act like this and was reticent in sharing too much. “By the Foreign Office. What is up with you Keane?”

  Keane continued to deliver a cold stare, remaining silent as if he was pondering about what to do next.

  Dolly ripped the bill from Keane's grip. “Don’t you mind who I work with. Rose’s methods are as reliable as yours.”

  Annoyed, Dolly stalked over to the side street, where a row of steam-powered paddy wagons lined up to transport prisoners and one of the new command wagons, the latest in mobile communication technology. It was grander than a paddy wagon about the size of a mover’s truck with a wire type and tape clacker. The wagon was capable of splicing into the telegraph wire system and providing up-to-the-minute communication. Two police clerks were in the back sending messages back to Scotland Yard and to the other muster points.

  The detective strode up the wooden steps to take a glance at the latest in police communication machinery. “Hey, gents,” he said to the two young constables that were clerking the wire-types.

  “Good morning, Detective Sergeant,” replied the youthful clerk holding the clacker tape.

  “Do you mind not smoking in the van sergeant? It’s a little stuffy in here, and this is all sensitive gear."

  “No worries, mate."

  As Dolly turned to step down, Keane was right on his heels, glaring at him. “What the fuck, Keane? You’re on me like a case of the crabs," barked Dolly.

  Keane just glared at him.

  “Are you alright? You look like you need a lie down.” said Dolly.

  An ear-shattering blast snapped the two men out of the conversation. More than just a sound came. The shock wave reached everyne’s bones, and it was accompanied by debris showering down across the muster site.