That Night in Lagos Read Free Page B

entangled with the reins.
    “What do you have to secure these men?” I asked as I glanced about the wagon. There was nothing in it but dirt, dust and an unconscious driver.
    Wordlessly, the Inspector pulled a set of manacles from underneath his jacket. After securing the driver, he scrambled off the wagon and dragged his assistant away from the nervous little horse. The poor beast had seen more excitement in the past few minutes than it had witnessed over its entire sorry life.
    A crowd had gathered about us by that time, curious and yet not particularly alarmed by our dramatic appearance. I could only suppose that this was providing the sleepy town a sort of entertainment normally only found in the theatre. Still, I scanned the crowd for any energy that would signal hostility or aggression. There was none, only amusement and amazement.
    Inspector Jones hauled his hapless assistant into the wagon and procured a bit of rope from a nearby fruit vendor, which he used to tie the assistant’s hands. He then retrieved my walking stick and handed it to me. With not a glance toward the gathered assembly, he snapped the reins. The overly taxed horse shuffled forward with the enthusiasm of a convict being led to the gallows.
    I spared a glance at our two prisoners and saw that the assistant’s shirt sleeve had been torn in the scuffle, revealing a stick-like tattoo coloring his upper arm. I was about to lean over for a proper look when I was distracted by my companion.
    “Well, Miss Bee,” Inspector Jones said in his clipped accent, his thin mustache emphasizing the tightness of his lips. “I believe you owe me an explanation.”
    I sighed and swiveled to face forward. How was I to handle his request? The Mandates of the Society for Paranormals & Curious Animals were quite clear on this point: normal humans were to be left ignorant of the membership and activities of the Society, for everyone’s protection. Of course, there were always exceptions. Once in a while, some of those unfortunate souls had to have their memories wiped out, again for the good of everyone albeit the inconvenience of a few.
    On the other hand, I mused as I polished the metal fist atop my stick, I was in new territory here and Inspector Jones’ assistance would prove necessary if I was to maneuver through the town and discover what fiend was behind the Brownie smuggling. And I wasn’t one to hastily eliminate a person’s recollections merely because he had the misfortune to be caught in the middle of a paranormal battle.
    “That was an Obayifo,” I announced, having made my decision.
    Inspector Jones’ lips tightened further, almost vanishing they were so thin. He glanced at me with a look that would’ve killed me if he’d been a warlock.
    “It’s a vampire sorcerer,” I explained. “A very dangerous combination, I might add. Although it’s not a fan of direct sunlight, it’s not as sensitive as the European vampire. And it can influence the minds of its victims which, as you can well imagine, does prove to be somewhat tiresome.”
    There was a moment of silence before the Inspector exclaimed, “Miss Bee, do you really expect me to believe such nonsense?” He slapped the reins against the horse’s swayed back as if to emphasize his exasperation at my ridiculous notions. “And how am I, in all seriousness, supposed to include that in my case report, pray tell?”
    I glanced up at the sky, as if hoping for divine intervention, preferably in the form of a bolt of lightning. It didn’t happen, more’s the pity. “Then what do you believe you saw?” I countered, incredulous at the ability of the human mind to deny its own observations.
    There was no response and I allowed the silence to settle against our skin along with the oppressive humidity and heat. I determined to enjoy my tour of Lagos, and so ignored the Inspector’s fuming countenance and gazed about instead at the colorful chaos.
    Everywhere there were people buying, selling or