Chapter One
Dampness covered the underground tunnel like a layer of thin skin, it threatened to cover Remy in a moistened embrace. She navigated the dark tunnel with her hands, being careful not to trip. Falling in this complete void would be the end of her, no one would come to the rescue. Remy realized she had forgotten to let Jeremy know where she was again. She swallowed thickly and focused her senses.
Stopping for a moment, Remy pulled out her architectural map of the Castillo of San Cristobal and her pocket flashlight out of her knapsack. Sticking the lit flashlight in her mouth, she studied the map. She was ten paces away from the opening.
Remy reached the darkest part of the tunnel, it felt as if she was under water in her scuba gear. She ran her hands on each side of the wall, searching for an opening. Pausing in the middle, she placed her knapsack down on the ground.
“Of course. It wasn’t going to be easy.” Remy said out loud, her voice bounced down the hall, like a rubber ball.
She called out again. Remy remembered reading about the soldiers in the castle and their skills in stealth. To make a sound in the tunnel was to give themselves away to an enemy who had invaded. If this was anything like her expedition in Peru a couple of years ago, then sound was the key.
Practicing different tones, Remy whistled. Nothing had changed as she swept the walls again. Putting her 5 years of singing lessons as a child to use, Remy sang: Do Re Mi Fa So La Ti Do. When she got to So, a scraping sound emerged. Again, she sang So. Another scraping. Remy sang until the scraping stopped. Sliding her hands on the wall, she almost fell through the opening.
Adjusting her knapsack, Remy headed down a short hallway and into a chamber. Having conserved her pocket flashlight for this moment, she pulled it out and surveyed the room. A thin mucus-like layer covered the walls and rotting furniture huddled in a corner. Remy approached the wooden writing desk and pointed the beam towards the old parchments. Yellowed and torn along the edges, she could see the faded lettering. After slipping into a pair of gloves, Remy gingerly picked at the documents. The journal should be here somewhere.
The beam revealed several crooked drawers below, Remy began to pull each one out. They mostly held more documents and writing instruments. On top was an ornate hutch with two deep cupboards. Each one was empty. I guess the Governor took everything with him when the ruling military organization ended in 1900.
Remy flashed the beam inside one of the cupboards again and noticed something odd. A piece of ribbon clung to the side of cupboard. She placed the flashlight in her mouth and gently pulled at the ribbon, the whole wooden panel popped out. She almost dropped the flashlight as she saw trinkets stashed towards the back. Remy took out piece by piece each item. These must be mementos or things he took from prisoners. Laying on its side was the journal.
Her gloved fingers trembled as she took the journal out. I’m getting closer papi. Pulling a plastic ziplock from her knapsack, she placed the journal inside. As she turned to leave, she knocked into the bizarre stone that she had pulled out from the secret compartment. A loud crack resonated against the walls. Examining the stone with the flashlight, Remy could see that it was some part of a shrine. Could it be Santeria?
There were cowrie shells placed on the oval shaped stone which made up what was left of the face. Remy held the shrine closer. Her head jerked back as a filmy veil emanated from the crack on the stone. She stumbled back as it continued to spew forth, her flashlight bouncing up and down from between her teeth. The smoke appeared to take shape and hovered in front of Remy. As if being sucked towards her, the smoke pushed its way through into her eyes and mouth. She didn’t have time to react.
All went dark as the flashlight hit the ground. Remy stood panting and rubbing her eyes. What happened to me? What was that? Grabbing her flashlight and knapsack, she dashed out of the chamber. Her footsteps echoing behind her.
#
With her knees propped up under her chin, Remy sat at her writing desk scanning the pages of the journal. Turning the pages gently, she searched for the name that her father had given her – Gustavo Cadenza. Cadenza was an arts dealer who had a wide circle of influential people; including the Governor Garcia Cambia of Puerto Rico. The journal sometimes read as an entry at other times it was a list of names. None of the other names were familiar to Remy.
Remy yawned. Even with the Philco radio blaring in the background, she was still sleepy. The curiosity shop was empty of customers since it was almost midnight according to the Art Deco style clock on the wall. Remy stared at the clock. It was the first thing that her and her father had put up when she first purchased the shop.
Only three years old, the curiosity shop had managed to pull in enough money for Remy to pay back her parents and to pay rent for the upstairs apartment she lived in. She felt at home in Pennsylvania, with her part time position in Cockrell college also nearby. With the help of Jeremy and a couple of staff, the shop was more than she ever hoped for. Where is Jeremy?
Jeremy was scuffling about earlier in the back office and now it was silent. Remy closed the journal and headed to the back. The lights were off. She patted the wall for the switch and flicked it. Remy screamed as she caught site of something looming against the wall.
Her frightened reflection stared back at her. With her hand to her chest, Remy leaned towards the mirror. Something throbbed in the corners of her eyes. It looked as if it was a cloud; smoky, hazy. Remy touched her face.
“What happened?” Someone asked from behind.
Remy jumped and yelped, swinging her fists. The person grabbed her wrists and held on tight.
“It’s me!” Remy peered at Jeremy, still holding her wrists.
“Oh God, Jeremy! You scared the living daylights out of me!” Remy said, she glanced back at the mirror.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, yes. I scared myself with this mirror.”
Jeremy glanced at the mirror. “Reading those horror pulp books again, Miss Remy?”
“No, I’ve been studying the journal I got from the Castillo of San Cristobal.”
“Not wasting any time are you? I just flew you back earlier today.” Jeremy said as he placed his bulky form onto one of the wooden stools nearby.
“Jeremy, you know I can’t be dilly dallying. I need to find that vase.” Remy said she had pulled out her handkerchief and was twisting it.
“I know. But you ain’t going to be getting nowhere if you end up ill. I’ve been flying and driving you everywhere, from Venezuela to Portugal. With no rest in between.”
“I’ll rest when I find it.”
“Alright Miss Remy. Then I suppose you’re not going to be going to bed anytime soon? Jeremy said and stood up.
“No, I probably won’t.”
“Well, I guess you don’t need rest for that appointment you have with the curator at the Mads Natural Museum of Science in five hours then.”
“Oh, no! I’m going, I’m going.” Remy said over her shoulder as she clamored up the iron stairwell.
Stifling a yawn, Remy sat rigid in the lobby of the administration offices of the Mads Natural Museum of Science. She barely had time for breakfast as she quickly prepared for the appointment. I hate early mornings. Remy observed the photographs on the wooden walls, many of which were of digging sites and landscapes. At the end of the lobby was a well-dressed secretary, she was busy at her typewriter, her red hair bobbing with the effort. Next to her desk, the door opened slightly; the secretary glanced up and nodded.
“Miss Remy Von Guesson? Mr. Archibald will see you now.” She said, nodding at the door.
Inside the ornate office, there were specimens and artifacts on display. It was a small, private museum inside a museum. For a moment, Remy forgot why she was there.
“Miss Von Guesson, please have a seat.” Mr. Archibald said in a nasally voice, he pointed to a replica of a royal chair.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll get to the point, since I’m quite busy today.” Mr. Archibald rubbed his thinning hair down and sat. “There is a team in the Hashemite Kingdom of Iraq with a couple of our staff collaborating with the dig. Due to a drought a massive shrine has been discovered at the edge of the Tigris River with many pieces of artifacts, which we have a claim to a few of them.” Mr. Archibald spread out photographs on his desk.
“These are magnificent.” Remy said as she examined each one.
“There is one piece that we are having trouble allocating. It’s a Cuneiform tablet and it has been found in a small chamber deep into the Earth. None of the locals are willing to go in to get it and the authorities are keeping the teams from trying.”
“How do you know it is there?”
“The locals had a child enter the chamber. He was afraid to take it because he believed that there was a curse.” Mr. Archibald said, his lips drawn tight.
“A curse?”
“He claimed that there was moaning and that he felt a presence with him.”
“Poor child, he must have been frightened out of his wits.” Remy said as she placed the last photograph down.
“Yes, well, we are willing to pay for you to fly to Hashemite and retrieve the tablet before the other team figures out a way to. All other expenses will be paid, of course.”
Remy smiled broadly. “When shall I leave?”
Chapter Three
The wind kicked up viciously at Remy’s slacks as if it were being clawed by a domestic cat. She stood on a small dune overlooking the archaeological site. The Tigris River glimmered through the sand and grit in the distance. The teams had scattered to hide from the stinging gusts. Remy gripped her headdress tightly, covering her mouth and nose. There was no venturing into the chamber now.
She went back to her tent and pulled out Cambia’s journal. Laying on the cot she concentrated on reading the entries, with the howling wind being a challenge. Remy paused and glanced at the opening of the tent. Did someone speak? She stood up slowly. No one stood at the flap. She waited, the wind continuing to blow.
“I am Eleggua”
Remy spun around in place. “Who said that? Who’s there?”
“Eleggua. I am Eleggua.”
“Where are you?”
“I believe I am inside you.”
Panting, Remy shook her head. “That’s impossible!”
“No, it is possible. I need a body to exist in this world.”
“Jeremy is right! I need to rest. I’m going to sleep now.” Remy hopped onto the cot and squeezed her eyes shut.
“I need to speak with you.”
“No! I don’t need to speak with you. I need to sleep.”
“I will not let you sleep.”
“You’re not real!” Remy said as she turned to her side.
There was silence. Remy opened her eyes and rolled onto her back. Before her, a cloud shaped into a man hovered at the edge of the cot. The cot almost flipped over as Remy scrambled to get away.
“Stop!” The cloud said, raising his billowing arm.
Remy’s body tense as she waited for the hit.
“I am Eleggua. You being of the white culture, I would assume that you do not know who I am.”
Remy nodded.
“I am the first of the Orishas. I have witnessed the creation of this world and have seen the fates of many. I am worshiped by Santeros and believers alike.” The cloud drifted out and returned. “I was captured by a dark arts priestess and placed inside the shrine that you have broken.”
“Santeros? You are a saint of the Santeria religion?” Remy asked, leaning towards Eleggua.
“Yes.” His body flickered again. “I need to return to your body, I can not exist without a vessel.”
“Can’t –” Remy was interrupted as Eleggua entered her. Her body felt occupied, filled with too much substance; as if her whole body was full from a meal.
“I don’t want you inside my body! Can’t you find something or someone else?” Remy said to herself as she noticed shadows passing by outside her tent.
“This is the only way for now. I have been inside the shrine for many years. I would like to know what has become of the world of my worshippers.”
“For now? How can I get you out?” Remy said, clutching at her handkerchief.
“If you help me to find my worshippers, then I will help you solve the excavation of the tablet.”
“How do you know about that?”
“I can read your mind.”
“What? No this is not going to work! I don’t want you doing that!”
“If you are concerned that I will tell people your secrets, you must not worry.”
“Well, it’s not only that. My secrets and thoughts are mine alone.”
“I understand. I will not do this again.”
“Now if I find your people, would that be enough?”
“Yes, but you will also need to find the priestess who captured me.”
“She would be dead by now!”
“No, she is not. She ages slowly. Her dark arts keeps her alive longer.”
“How is that possible? How is this possible? I must be going mad.” Remy said pacing in her tent.
“You are not going mad. These things are not meant for everyone to see, but nonetheless they are real.”
Remy buried her face in her hands.
“Do we have a compromise?’ Eleggua said, his voice fading into the recesses of her mind.
“Yes, I don’t think I have a choice anyways.”
Remy shimmied her small, pear shaped body legs first down into the chamber as sweat began to spread across her forehead. The sun was directly above her giving her some light. Though it was burning her back, the choice in waiting until the middle of the following day was wise; the more natural light Remy had the better. She plopped down onto the ground with a plume of sand kicking up around her.
Fanning her hand in front of her face, Remy squinted in the gloom. Bas reliefs lined the lower parts of the chamber walls, in the center lay a crumbled statue. She couldn’t figure out what or who it had depicted. There were short openings on the left and in front of her. Before descending into the large chamber, Remy was told that the tight space where the tablet was being held was in the room in front of her.
Lowering her head, she walked through the opening. She pulled her pocket flashlight from her slacks and scanned the room. Besides the bas reliefs, there were oval recesses on the walls. The artifacts were probably taken by the teams. Remy found the tight opening to the chamber. She paused.
“Yes, you can fit.” Eleggua said.
“Hey! You said that you weren’t going to do that.” Remy said, her voice echoing.
“I was only trying to help you. It seems as if you were going to stand here all day pondering it.”
“No, I wasn’t!” Remy said and she got down to her hands and knees.
Scraping her belly and knees on the grainy ground, Remy noticed that she was crawling through a collapsed chamber. Inching along as slow as a slug, she pulled herself up into an area the size of her shop’s broom closet. A moan stretched across the tight space. It must be an air pocket.
“Or it could be a demon or spirit.” Eleggua said.
“Don’t be silly. I don’t believe –” Remy stopped, realizing that it was silly of her not to believe it.
She didn’t feel the need to be in the closet-sized room any longer and began searching the space for the tablet. Remy almost missed it, the tablet was blended in with the sandy wall. It was laying on its side as if someone had placed it there. Out of her other pocket, she produced a set of gloves. Gingerly grabbing its corners, Remy glanced at the Cuneiform. She knew a little, having studied some in a university. The moan returned even louder. Placing the tablet into her tote, she turned back.
Remy wasn’t sure if she felt the presence of Eleggua or something else, it was different from what she was feeling with his spirit. Scrambling, she crawled through the space. There was a pull on her right foot. Oh no! I’m wedged in. Whimpering, she tried to remove it.
“Stay calm. I will guide you through this.” Eleggua said
Silence. Remy felt as if something was lifting out of her. Is he gone? For a moment Remy’s panic intensified. She didn’t like that he was in her body, yet she didn’t want to be alone. A gust pushed through the crawl space. She spit out sand as she squinted. Her foot released and she scratched her way out. The filling sensation returned.
“We need to get out of here.” Eleggua said.
“No kidding!”
Voices called out to her from above. She headed towards the opening. Arms were reaching down through the hole. Her shoulders ached as she was hauled out into the bright light.
The Iraqi military surrounded the excavators. Remy clutched her tote and pushed it towards her backside. She tried to pick up what they were saying to one of the lead excavator.
“We are shutting this down! No more digging.” One of the military men said, gesticulating. “No one was supposed to go down there.”
“We lost something, she was getting it for us.” The lead excavator said.
“You think I’m a fool? We know what’s down there.”
“No, sir. Of course not!”
“Everyone needs to vacate the area by nightfall. We will be keeping watch and checking bags.If we find the tablet, all of you will be in jail.” The military man said and turned to leave.
Returning back to her tent, Remy began dumping her extra clothes and accessories into her box luggage. Shadows of the other excavators dashed back and forth outside of the tent. A stinging pain brought Remy to the cot. Pulling down her socks, she saw that there were red finger-like marks on her ankle of the foot that was wedged.
“That wasn’t a rock that did that.” Eleggua said.
“What do you mean?” Remy asked, rubbing her ankle.
“A demon spirit had grabbed you by the foot.”
“Why would a demon be down there?”
“It was protecting the tablet.”
“First you and now a demon. What’s going on? Am I a magnet for spirits now?” Remy said, throwing more things into the luggage.
“I am the connection between here and the underworld. I am a doorway, the spirits can come in and go out through me.” Eleggua said.
“Well, you failed to mention that before!”
Shouts from outside the tent brought her back to the present. She dragged the luggage to the tent flap, the tablet slapping against her body. The tablet! I still need to figure out how to get it past the military. Removing it off her shoulder, she glanced around for an answer.
“Leave it to me. Place the tablet inside your box.” Eleggua said.
“What are you going to do?” Remy asked, gripping the tablet.
“You’ll see.”
Remy had no choice but to trust that Eleggua had a plan, having trusted him before when he saved her from the demon spirit. Not waiting until sundown, she proceeded to the makeshift check point that the military created for the excavators. One of the men yanked the luggage from Remy’s hands and placed it on top of the hood of his car.
Huffing under the heat, the rotund soldier tossed the insides about. He paused as he found the tote bag. The emptying feeling returned to Remy. For a moment, the soldier’s hands didn’t move and his face pinched. He closed the lid and snapped the luggage shut. Giving it back to Remy, he grunted for her to get moving. Feeling full again, Remy dragged the luggage away.
Chapter Four
Mr. Archibald leaned over his desk as he examined the tablet. He had a magnifying glass and was making a sound with his throat as if he was clearing it. Remy tapped her fingers on the arms of the chair, glancing every few seconds out the ornate window.
“Outstanding.” He finally said as he peered at Remy.
“Yes, it is.”
“How did you manage to get it out of Hashemite? I heard that issues arose with the military.”
“I hid it in a secret opening built into my luggage.” Remy said, her eyes wide.
“Clever!” Mr. Archibald said as he waved to an assistant nearby to remove the tablet. “Miss Von Guesson, if you are available, we have another expedition we would like to send you on.”
“Actually, Mr. Archibald, I have a prior engagement that needs immediate handling.” Remy rose to leave.
“Well then. Again thank you for retrieving the tablet and hopefully we can work together in the near future.”
“Actually I have an inquiry before I go.” Remy sat back down. “Do you know anything about Santeria?”
“The Yoruba religion? Yes, some.”
“I am searching for a clan of Santeros, who might be a descendant of a powerful priestess.” Remy paused. Eleggua you never told me her name.
“What is her name?” Mr. Archibald asked.
“Her name was Manuela Ramirez Saltana.” Eleggua whispered.
“Manuela Ramirez Saltana.” Remy blurted.
“Sounds vaguely familiar.” Mr. Archibald said and stood. “Follow me.”
In the cavernous library of the Mads museum, Remy followed Mr. Archibald up the staircase and past rows of shelves. Every few steps, she found herself sprinting to catch up, it was like following a giraffe since he had long legs to match. A sharp turn down the aisle brought them to the world religion section.
Running his fingers along the spines, Mr. Archibald scanned the titles rapidly. With the half sound of what Remy thought would be a sneeze, he pulled out a large volume. Cracking it open, followed by a puff of dust, Mr. Archibald flipped the pages gently.
“Here it is.” He said as he jabbed his thin index finger on a page.
Remy leaned over on her tippy toes since he held the book high in front of him. A drawn, black and white image accompanied the name of the priestess. Unlike what Remy had imagined, the priestess stood tall and wore a fitted hooded cape, her face poised with confidence and menace. The text mentioned her passing about 65 years ago, in 1875.
“Are you sure she is still alive?” Remy asked Eleggua.
“Yes. This book was written by one of her subordinates.” Eleggua said.
“According to this, Ms. Saltana practiced on the island of Cuba for some time and then moved to Benin. It claims that she was seeking a ‘deeper connection’ to Santeria by being in the birthplace of the religion. She passed away in TBF.” Mr. Archibald said.
“Well that’s a start.” Remy said.
“Do you plan on venturing to Benin?”
“Perhaps.”
“Mads is chartering an expedition to nearby Nigeria to excavate bronzes. We have enlisted Deacon since he has extensive knowledge and experience in African anthropology and geology.” Mr. Archibald said, his eyebrows arching.
Remy balled her hands into fists behind her back. Of course he would be leading it! She cracked a smile and nodded.
“Between you and I, Miss Von Guesson, I would have preferred you over him. He’s a bit of an unscrupulous fellow.” Mr. Archibald said as he leaned towards Remy.
I can think of other adjectives to describe him. Thief is on the top of the list! He’s the one person I plan to steer clear of in Africa.
Pulling the open luggage off the floor and dropping it onto her bed, Remy began tossing in her clothes and items. With its worn shell and tarnished corners, the luggage was perpetually left on the floor next to her brass bed. The phone rang, interrupting her train of thought.
“Hello?”
“Remy darling.” It was her mother.
“Mami! How are you? Is papi alright?” The same line Remy would say every time her mother called.
“Everything is fine. Your father is still in the same condition. I just wanted to talk to you. It’s been so long.”
It had only been a week since Remy called.
“Oh, I’m getting ready to go on an expedition to Benin.” She tried to pack and talk at the same time, the phone cord getting wrapped around her calf.
“I thought it was Puerto Rico?”
“I was there, I just came back a couple of days ago.”
“And you’re going on another one? Remy, you need to rest. You don’t want to end up sick like your father.”
There it goes. This time she said it sooner.
“I know, mami. I’m still trying to find the vase.”
“Yes, I remember. I’ve told you that it’s not important.”
“It’s important to papi!” Remy said, throwing a compass into the luggage.
There was a pause, she could hear her mother breathing on the other end.
“I’m sorry.” Remy ran her fingers through her curly hair. “I will take a vacation after this. I will visit you and papi. Maybe we can rent a yacht out of Valencia for a couple of days.” Remy said.
“I would like that. But you know your father will not be able to stay out for too long.”
“Uh huh.”
“We will be waiting then. Te amo. Take care, darling. Bye.” Her mother said.
“Te amo también. Bye mami.”
Remy sat on the corner of the bed and glanced at the picture of her and her mother and father. It was taken on a trip to Barcelona, some time before she left for Colorado. Before her father fell ill with tuberculosis. Remy knew that something was wrong when her father visited her to help with the curiosity shop. He seemed weak and frail, yet he denied feeling sick. A few weeks later, the phone call from her mother that would put her on the mission.
“Remy?” Jeremy called from the doorway.
“Yes?”
“There’s going to be some bad weather blowing through Western Africa, a sandstorm.”
“Well, there can’t be an adventure without a natural phenomenon happening.” Remy said and got back to packing.
Chapter Five
Jostling in her seat violently, Remy gripped the arms of the seat tightly, causing her knuckles to turn red. She dared not glance out the window and instead kept her eyes closed. Even though she was confident in Jeremy’s skills, Remy couldn’t help but feel frightened.
“We’re almost there!” Jeremy said from the cockpit.
Remy sighed.
The plane dropped and she could sense her stomach bottoming out. Gasping, Remy realized that the plane didn’t pull up. Through the sound of the scraping sand on the aircraft, she heard something else.
“Left engine is out!” Jeremy confirmed.
“Oh, dear.” It was all she could think to say.
“This flying machine is going to come down from the sky.” Eleggua said.
“Don’t say that!”
“What did you say?” Jeremy said, his voice shaking.
“Can we get the engine back up?” Remy said.
“I don’t think so. It’s clogged up.” Jeremy said, glancing back. “We’re going to have to land now!”
Remy tightened her seatbelt.
Only the storm could be heard now. Her eyes snapped open.
“Right engine is out! We’re coasting!” Jeremy said, his whole body shaking. The muscles from his exposed arms rippled.
The plane’s nose dipped at a sharp angle. Remy’s body pulled forward.
“We should pray.” Eleggua said.
“No good that would do us!” Remy said.
“It will help you enter the afterlife.” Eleggua said.
Remy shook her head. She glanced up towards the cockpit. Sand continued to splatter on the windshield along with palm trees. Jeremy yanked at the wheel and the plane tilted up slightly.
“Hold on to something!” Jeremy said.
Remy jerked upwards, the seatbelt strangling her shoulder, as the plane bounced and skidded. On the ground it progressed with momentum, taking down more trees. Gradually the plane slowed and turned diagonally. Panting, Remy unbuckled herself and rushed over to the cockpit. Jeremy sat as if he was waiting for a waiter to bring his meal over.
He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Well, pretty damn good landing if I say so myself. It reminds me of when I landed my old troop a few years back in South Africa.”
They headed to the door and tested the handle.
“Like I thought. It’s probably stuck with a pile of sand on the other side.” Jeremy said.
“Maybe we can radio in when the sandstorm passes.” Remy said.
“That’s probably the only thing we can do.” Jeremy glanced around at the cargo, “and also check our stuff.”
Inside the plane’s cabin, the temperature dropped. Remy found herself layering some of her clothes on. Having come from Detroit, Jeremy didn’t seem to be fazed at all. The two of them managed to organize the cargo, some of the items had minor damages.
Inside the plane’s cabin, the temperature dropped. Remy found herself layering some of her clothes on. Having come from Detroit, Jordan didn’t seem to be fazed. A wave of fatigue washed over Remy as she shakily lowered herself onto a crate. She touched her forehead, her head swimming. Jordan hadn’t noticed what had happened and was busying himself with moving crates.
As much as she protected her independence, Remy was grateful for Jordan. He was the only exception when it came to her asking for help. She smiled as she remembered the day Jordan entered the antique shop inquiring about her help-wanted sign. It took her a moment to adjust to his large frame and polite demeanor. He had returned from Europe, having fought in World World II as a pilot. With no work and family to turn to in Detroit, he made his way out west, searching for a place to call home. After a few questions, Remy hired him on the spot. She couldn’t get over how he spoke and twisted his red handkerchief in his hands as if he was nervous with her.
“Miss Remy, are you alright? You look mighty pale,” Jordan asked, his handkerchief askew on his neck.
Remy blinked and nodded slowly. “I just felt a bit dizzy there.”
“You rest now; I’ll take care of this. It looks like there ain’t a whole lot of damage. But we won’t be able to take it all with us.
“I figured as much.”
“I’ll make a pile of what we can take, and then in the morning, we’ll try to make our way to the Sokoto. We weren’t too far from it, I believe we landed somewhere between the Sahara and the Sahel.”
Remy found a duffel bag to lean on and closed her eyes.
“Are you there Eleggua? Where do we go from here?” Remy asked.
There was no response, yet she could feel his presence.
Chapter Six
Remy awoke to a shuffling sound. Jordan was up and was at the cockpit staring at the windshield; they were nearly covered by sand. She groggily stood and removed some of the clothes she had on; the temperature was beginning to rise even though it was only morning. Near the opening of the cockpit, Remy saw a pile of supplies and assumed that it was the pile Jordan had talked about.
“Morning, Miss Remy. I think we can get out through this way. There is a crack in one of the windows,” Jordan pointed at a long crack that ran most of the length of the window. “if I can smash it, then we’ll escape.”
“What do we have to use?” Remy asked.
Jordan grabbed a massive mechanic’s wrench off the floor. “This should do,” He held it like a baseball bat. “This takes me back to when my brother and I used to play near our home in Detroit.”
“William?” Remy asked softly.
“Yeah. May he rest in peace.” Jordan said, genuflecting. “Damn consumption,” He said, and with his strength fueled with anger; he swung at the window.
A dull crack and then a stream of sand began to pour in, pooling at the bottom of the plane. It reminded Remy of an hourglass and of time, time that her father had very little of. She shook the sleep that clung to her and grabbed the first equipment to shove through the open window. Jordan poked at the remaining glass as the sand continued to create a mound.
Like an assembly line, Remy passed the supplies one at a time to Jordan, and he tossed them out the opening. The last piece was her satchel, and she threw it over her shoulder; inside was Ponce de Leon’s journal, which had survived the plane crash.
“Alright, we’re going to have to crawl over the dash controls and hope that the sand doesn’t pull us back down,” Jordan said.
He took hold of Remy’s hips. “Forgive Miss Remy,” Jordan said, he avoided looking at Remy’s eyes.
Pushing her upward, Remy placed her hands on either side of the window frame and pulled herself up. Sweat began to slick her forehead as she struggled to pull through. Jordan steadied her feet with the palms of his hands. The sun smothered her vision, causing her to blink rapidly as she clawed at the sand. I must still be feeling unwell, or I’ve gained weight!
“You are a little heavy,” Eleggua said.
“Hey!” Remy said; she rolled onto her back, breathing hard.
“I’m coming up right behind, Miss Remy,” Jordan called out from below.
“I called to you last night,” Remy said to Eleggua.
“I was resting,” Eleggua said.
Jordan’s head popped up like a prairie dog, and he scrambled to gain footing. Remy held his hands, and she gradually stood, anchoring her feet into the sand and leaning back. Jordan raised his right leg out of the opening and used it to propel himself out. With his weight rushing towards her, Remy let go and fell back. The momentum caused her to roll down a dune; she closed her eyes from the spinning landscape. The ground plateaued, and Remy abruptly stopped.
“Miss Remy!”
“Are you injured?”
“I’m fine!” Remy said.
Peering up, she noticed that the plane sat precariously on a high dune. Jordan, appearing uncharacteristically small, was waving down at her. Remy stood and brushed the hot, coarse sand off. Glancing up, she noticed that Jordan was looking at the plane. The plane was shifting, and it was doing so towards her side of the dune.
“Miss Remy! Run! Cloudburst is coming your way!” Jordan said, cupping his mouth.
As if Jordan’s voice accelerated the movement of the dune, the plane began to slide down the sand. Remy dashed, her feet sinking slightly. She had to pump her legs harder to gain some ground. The roaring of hinged metal was behind her; then, there was a slam as the plane made contact with the bottom. Remy threw herself to the side and covered her head with her arms. Another crash near her feet drew Remy’s attention. Cloudburst had dug its nose in and flipped onto its backside, the tail almost taking out Remy’s legs. She lay trembling with her arms still shielding her.
“You are safe now. Relax,” Eleggua said.
The trembling subsided, and Remy’s breathing slowed; she straightened her body with her back touching the steaming earth. Remy watched as Jordan plowed down the dune, his grunts echoing against the sand.
“Miss Remy, are you alright?” He said as he clutched her shoulders.
“Yes, Jorgie,” Remy said and meant it. Whatever Eleggua did, it worked to calm her down.
Jordan rested a hand on the plane’s tail. “Poor Cloudburst. She was only three years old. I remember the day I bought her. I had to borrow money to do so, but it was worth it.” He said as he helped Remy to her feet.
“You borrowed money?” Remy said.
“Uh, yes. But it’s not a big deal.” Jordan said, and his eyes lifted up to the sky. Remy knew all too well that that look was of shame, shame from lying.
Remy nodded, not wanting to acknowledge it.
“Well, then, I suppose we better see if there are any supplies that came rolling to the bottom,” Remy said.
“There some over here,” Jordan said, rushing towards the other side of the plane.
Chapter Seven
After rummaging through the leftover supplies, Remy and Jordan find a compass, a torn map, and a couple of rags they wrap around their heads. None of the provisions that they had packed were found. Having moved directly above them, the sun glared at the glass window of the compass that Remy held. As the wind briefly picked up, she avoided breathing too hard to avoid any sand scraping the insides of her nostrils.
“With no food and water, we better find some village fast,” Jordan said.
“According to his map and what we had calculated before crashing, we’re somewhere over here,” Remy pointed with the compass over an area.
“We’re not too far from Sokoto then. Maybe a day or two at most.”
“Maybe,” Remy said as he folded the map and tucked it into her trousers. “It’ll be like the time when we were in Egypt. Remember, we got screwed by a merchant who misled us into the middle of the Sahara.“
“Yes, I remember that. We nearly died.”
“But we didn’t! And we found the treasure; he wasn’t that clever. Poor fellow ended up dead by his own partner.”
“I am starting to believe that you live a reckless life.”
“It’s not reckless; I call an occupational hazard of relic recovering. All these artifacts that people call treasure belong in a museum somewhere.”
“It’s any wonder that you are not dead.”
“I’m still standing.”
“I suggest you take heed of your health.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Remy asked, her pace slowing.
Her mind was silent.
“Where are we supposed to go, anyways? I’m depending on you to tell me where this priestess is?” Remy said.
“We need to get to Lagos. From there, I will sense where there are the most believers.”
“Are you some sort of radar?”
“Rah-dah?”
“Radar. It’s a machine that can detect something within a certain radius or distance,” Remy said, trying to use the simplest terms.
“Orishas can feel the connections to their worshipers, and I believe that if we find the highest concentration, we will find her.”
“That’s it? We are going by your fate?”
“I always expect it from my followers,” Eleggua said
“But I’m not— forget about it,” Remy said.
Deacon skirted around the crowd with his suitcase in the bustling section of Carter Bridge, with Deckard close behind him. Cars coasted by while sharing the road with bicycles and pedestrians. Passing by an open market, merchants called out for their attention. Deacon ignored them as he scanned the buildings, looking for the Lagos Hotel. Much had changed since he last visited almost ten years ago; back then, he had a willing Deckard who was just shy of his mid-twenties. He glanced back to see if his son was following or had been lost in the sea of people. Deckard met his eyes with a grimace as he towed his suitcase with two hands.
It seemed to Deacon that the older Deckard got, the more difficult he became. He blamed his wife for it, who had left him with a mess to clean up in his son. All the smothering and leniency she gave Deckard made him into a man Deacon loathed. As a child, Deacon was never allowed to cry or laugh too loudly; his father would chastise him with a spanking.
Deacon saw the peeling paint of the signage to the Lagos Hotel and turned to Deckard. “This is it. It’s not the best in town, but it’s not too far from the boarding house where the crew are staying.” He said.
“When do we meet Mr. Danjuma?” Deckard said.
“He had some other business to attend first. We’ll be having a late dinner with him, about eight, I think, in the Gidan restaurant up the block here.” Deacon said as he paused in front of the entrance to the Lagos Hotel to point up the street.
Inside the hotel, the lobby was a welcoming site without the noise and commotion from the outside. On both sides of the walkway to the concierge desk were lounge chairs and coffee tables. The attendant took their names and began the process of checking them in. Deacon turned towards the lobby, leaning against the counter. He noticed one lone figure sitting at one of the chairs perusing the latest edition of Life magazine with NY Giants’ Rookie Rucker on the cover.
The profile was unmistakable, the long grey-brown hair, the smooth white skin accentuated with a rounded short nose. Deacon stared at his wife as she gently placed the magazine on the coffee table and gradually turned to look at him. Deacon jumped as the clack of keys being dropped on the counter brought him back. He spun towards the counter and realized that Deckard and the attendant were staring at him. Deacon patted his mustache and grabbed the room key.
“Are you alright?” Deckard asked him as he led them to the staircase past the concierge desk and down the side hallway.
“Yeah, yeah,” Deacon said.
“You look like you saw a ghost or something.”
Deacon glanced back to see that the lobby was empty.
The Gidan restaurant was more like a cafe than a restaurant, and Deacon crinkled his mustache at the blank walls and small tables as he and Deckard made their way to the bar in the middle. After asking the bartender for Mr. Danjuma, he was told to go behind the accordion wall across the bar. Deacon and Deckard slipped behind and waited as the petite man sitting at the table stood to shake their hands.
“Good evening, Mr. Ellis and Mr. Ellis,” Mr. Danjuma said with an accent.
“Thank you for having us, Mr. Danjuma,” Deacon said as he glanced at Deckard, who only nodded at Mr. Danjuma.
“I was told by one of your colleagues that you were looking for information on a particular artifact?” Mr. Danjuma said.
“If you don’t mind, before we get down to business, I would like to order some food. I’m starving.” Deckard said and raised his hand at a waiter who was passing by.
Deacon patted his mustache and groaned softly.
“Yes, yes, of course. I do apologize,” Mr. Danjuma said, spreading an arm across the table, indicating for them to proceed. “I would suggest the Balangu with coconut rice; it’s goat meat.”
“That sounds great; I’ll have that,” Deckard said over his shoulder as the waiter jotted the order down.
“Make that two,” Deacon said, anxious to return to the conversation.
Mr. Danjuma took a spoonful of what appeared to be soup and slurped, causing Deacon’s ear to prickle.
“To answer your question, Mr. Danjuma,” Deacon said loudly, hoping to drown out the sound. “My colleague mentioned that you are a professor with knowledge of Nigerian history and that perhaps you can tell us about some of the artifacts found in the area.”
“Any in particular?” Mr. Danjuma asked.
Deacon hesitated; he didn’t want to give up too much information and risk being ambushed by interested parties. “We aren’t sure of what we are looking for yet. Maybe you can tell us of any that were of great significance.” He said and glanced at Deckard, who frowned at him.
“I see.” Mr. Danjuma said as he pressed down on his fez. “Recently, an archaeological site in Igbo-Ukwu was found by a man who was digging out a well. It is said that he had found some bronze pottery.”
“How about something much older than that? Perhaps the 1500s or 1600s,” Deacon asked.
“There is Juan Ponce de Leon’s goblet which supposedly held water from the Fountain of Youth,” Mr. Danjuma said.
The waiter returned with two plates in hand, steam rising out as they were placed in front of Deacon and Deckard. The utensils barely made contact with the table as Deckard took the fork and began to eat. Deacon tried not to stare at his son.
“Go on,” Deacon said to Mr. Danjuma.
“You are after the goblet, Mr. Ellis?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I don’t believe it belonged to Ponce de Leon.”
Deckard paused and looked at his father. Deacon raised his hand at Deckard.
“Just cause you don’t believe it doesn’t mean it’s not true,” He said.
“Mr. Ellis, there is little evidence on its whereabouts if, in fact, it was found here in Nigeria.” Mr. Danjuma said.
“Mr. Danjuma, we wouldn’t have come all this way from America for nothing,” Deacon said, barely touching his meal. “Tell us what you know.”
Mr. Danjuma peered at Deckard and back to Deacon. “From what I was told, the goblet was found somewhere in Ogun State in a crumbling fortress said to have housed Ponce de Leon and his soldiers.” Mr. Danjuma paused as the sound of shuffling feet was heard on the other side of the accordion wall. “The scavengers who found it immediately assumed that it was Ponce de Leon’s goblet and that it had some water from the Fountain of Youth. Yes, Ponce de Leon was here helping the Portuguese colonize my people, but this flim-flam about the goblet…” Mr. Danjuma said, shaking his head.
“What happened to the goblet?” Deckard said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“It was sold to a merchant,” Mr. Danjuma said and rose. “Well, I’ve had enough bedtime stories for tonight. Good luck on your hunt, and good night.” He said, dropping a couple of West African pounds.
“I don’t think he liked that we wasted his time,” Deckard said.
“Well, it wasn’t a complete waste of time for us,” Deacon said with a smile.
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