Patriot (A Jack Sigler Continuum Novella) Read Free

a graveyard for a select few, dat da Catholic church deemed unsuited for consecrated ground. Pirates, bokor and at least one excommunicated priest had rested here, until about a hundred and twenty years ago. A hurricane swept through—da wrath of da Almighty, some said—and washed da graves out to sea. Da l’wa Ghede had protected dis place, and guarded dose who sleep wit’in from harm by da living, since time immemorial. After da loss of deir charges, da Ghede had nothing to guard…nothing to protect…and it nearly ended dem.
    “Sixteen years later, a dashing white captain with a crew of…well, a very strange crew indeed…landed on da island after a valiant battle. Some of his crew were severely wounded. A few were even dead, oddly to da captain’s surprise. Da captain himself suffered from a fate far worse dan any other. He was, it seemed, weary. Of da world. Of life itself. He made a deal with da Ghede, and da mambo bokor at da time, who served dem. And he and his dead shipmates have rested here, ever since.” She pointed forward, past two withered weeping willows with roots jutting up from the rain-soaked soil. “Beyond da Willow Gate, lies da boneyard. Da one you seek lies wit’in, but so does da Brave Ghede …da Guardian of da Dead.”
    Greer stepped forward with an irritated sneer. “Spare us the theatrics, woman. The loa are nothing more than a demonic lie. Christian men have nothing to fear from such things.” He gestured for the crew to follow him, and he moved toward the willows.
    “Stop!” the bokor said. “Only three may approach da Brave Ghede and hope to appeal to his mercies. To dishonor dis command will bring death on all who enter.”
    Greer barked out a berating laugh, and motioned once more for his men to follow. But Finkle was the one to stop the parade of men this time. “I will remind you, Mr. Greer, that I am in command of this expedition. I have put up with your abusive and intolerant behavior up to this point, but no more. You will respect this lady’s wishes. You and I will enter, along with another of your choosing.”
    “But I must protest…”
    “And I must insist. Or would you rather I choose another from your men to accompany me? I’m sure Captain Reardon would be interested to learn how you’ve second-guessed me at every turn.”
    Greer glared at the old man, then sighed. Although it was the quartermaster’s job to hold the captain accountable in times when his decisions came into question—to protect the interest of the crew—he was only permitted to do so when not on the ‘hunt.’ Greer had harbored his doubts about Washington’s quest from the very beginning—and certainly questioned Josiah Reardon’s judgment in allowing this annoying old man to run command of his men—but now was definitely not the time to voice those doubts. “Very well.”
    He turned to his men, and appraised each one. He already knew who he’d choose, though he wanted to make a bit of a show about it. Greer was convinced that they were walking into an elaborate trap, orchestrated by brigands or pirates. The woman obviously was part of some criminal enterprise, whose job was to lure them into an ambush. The theory explained so much, including the piece of fruit thrown at him earlier. It was all part of building the expedition’s apprehension, and the fool Finkle was falling for it.
    So with that in mind, Greer had decided on the best possible choice to deter would-be thieves. The black man who’d been spouting the superstitious nonsense earlier. Though he was certain the man would quake in his boots from tales of evil spirits and the damned, buried within the graveyard, the slave’s immense size and foreboding countenance would intimidate any would-be cutthroats lying in wait for them on the other side of the willows. Yes, he would play along with the harlot’s games…for now. But he would most definitely be prepared.
    “William!” he shouted, rather amused when the black man