Chapter 14 - Do You Believe In Magic?

The two aspects of the voudoun soul, the ti bon ange and the gros bon ange, the 'little good angel' and the 'big good angel' are described as a double shadow, a dark core and then a lighter penumbra like the halo that sometimes surrounds the full moon.

The image at the center is the gros bon ange, the life force that all sentient beings share, it enters the individual at conception and functions only to keep the body alive. At clinical death, it returns immediately to God and once again becomes part of the great reservoir of energy that supports all life.

The ti bon ange is that part of the soul directly associated with the individual. The gross bon ange provides each person with the power to act, it is the ti bon ange that molds the individual sentiments within each act. It is one's aura and the source of all personality, character and willpower.

The z'etoile is the one spiritual component that resides not in the body but in the sky. It is the individual's star of destiny, and is viewed as a calabash that carries one's hope and all the many ordered events for the next life of the soul, a blueprint that will be a function of the course of the previous lifetime. If the shooting star is bright, so shall be the future of the individual.


Wade Davis
The Serpent And The Rainbow

..............


Dee:  Is my Book of Soyga of any excellency?

Uriel:  That book was revealed to Adam in Paradise by God's good angels...

Dee:  ...Oh, my great and long desire hath been to be able to read those tables of Soyga.


-- John Dee and the Archangel Uriel March 10th, 1582
-- Mysteriorum Liber Primus
                                                                            

             

.................



A half moon exuded a shine of half light into the night casting a jagged image of it's double into the bay as the boat sat at anchor rocking gently with the tide.


Emlyn waited impatiently with Sebastiao for the return of Raimundo with Alice, hopefully. And soon. They had been waiting for an hour now and patience had never been Em's strong suit.


'But, Haiti, Sebastiao!' Emlyn whispered, trying to keep her voice from carrying over the water, 'Why ever Haiti?'


Sebastiao was silent for a time, his eyes roving about the trees and brush on the shoreline, anticipating the arrival of their friends.
  'It is the voudoun.' He shrugged. 'A special magic is known to them that would be helpful; to Alice, and to Frank.'


'I don't know...it does seem rather mixed up with curses and walking dead, the stuff of dark magic.' Em had heard things. And read sensational novels.


'No, no...' he sighed, 'I mean, yes, sometimes there is that. A left hand and right hand side to it, you know. What Frank requires is angel magic. The good kind: "ti bon ange" as they say.'


Magic of the angels? Where had Em heard that before?
  Western magical traditions made use of the angels, she knew; there was the Enochian path of John Dee and Edward Kelly, court magicians to Elizabeth I.
  '"The Little Good Angel"?' Emlyn had not heard of such.


'Shh! Something comes...' Sebastiao pushed Emlyn down with a gentle hand as they ducked quickly and peered over the side at the sound of brush cracking; the bushes parted and, glory! -- Em spied Raimundo holding Alice by the hand as they emerged from the foliage. They uncovered the dingy of it's brush camoflauge and eased it into the water, rowing to the yacht as silently as possible.


Sebastiao had the rope ladder over the side in a trice and soon Emlyn was helping Alice onto the deck and into a fierce embrace.
  'I, is it Em? Really you?' Alice held Emlyn apart, staring hard, and shook her once to make sure she was solid and real.
  'In the flesh. Oh, Allie...' Emlyn smiled through happy exhausted tears.


'Below. Now.' Raimundo ordered, ushering them into the cabin below deck.
   Sebastiao remained on watch.

............


'So, you see, I couldn't go through that again, and neither could Frank,' Alice had recanted her tale, a long and thirsty one. She held out her mug for more lemonade.


Alice was much changed, Emlyn could tell,  even by the low lamplight as she refilled their drinks. She was brown as a hazelnut now, which seemed to well suit her. She also sported rather colorful jewellery bearing marvelous gemstones which sparked lights of emerald, sapphire and amethyst about her wrists and neck. Her hair was completely white now and braided with rainbow strands of floss  through the many long braids arranged about her head. Emlyn was impressed.
                                                                              

She had been speaking of their life in South America, Brazil in particular, where Alejandro/Raimundo's gypsy tribes were congregated. Apparently all had gone well enough until a couple of years ago...Frank began disappearing again. And when he did return, there was less and less of him to be seen; his image was fading with every new disappearance.

'And you believe that a voudoun practitioner is the right source to appeal to for help?' Em had her doubts.

'There is a mambo, a priestess, very knowledgeable, very adept,' Raimundo now joined them, 'she is from Haiti. But, we have heard that she may be here in Mexico. It is she that we seek, she knows the actions of a double spirit.'

Emlyn relaxed somewhat. 'So you may not actually have to travel so far as to the island, then?'

'Perhaps not.' Alice sat back, looking tired now. 'But I will do whatever I must, even if it means traveling all the way there, to her island home.'

Emlyn studied her friend, thinking.
  'You know, there may be another aspect to this.' She made certain she had their attention.
  'You recall Jack's Uncle Daryl, don't you Alice?'


Alice frowned. 'Vaguely...wasn't it he  Jack was railing about all the time? The wicked magician who left him that old cold mansion back east?'

Oh, mercy...thought Em. What will Alice think now to learn that she had nearly married 'that wicked magician'?
  She needn't know.


'The very same. Only, he isn't quite as bad as Jack would have him. Anyway, long story short, Allie, I am living now, in San Francisco at his house there. Daryl's house.' She noticed Alice now had rather a confused look about her.


She sighed. 'In that house, my father used to conduct experiments, with Frank there as well. They were part of a secret society of scientists and wealthy benefactors who were backing his projects...'


Alice stirred. 'Ye-ess...I recall Frank mentioning something about that. Long ago. Didn't know it was in San Francisco. It was before we were married.'
   Emlyn locked gazes with her friend. 'Daryl reported recently having SEEN Frank there, Alice. There, in the basement laboratory, during an experiment.'


'Frank was there? With Jack's uncle? He is part of this society as well, then?' Alice became agitated.
      'No, no -- he's not. Daryl was there in spirit only,' Em clarified. 'His astral had traveled to that particular point in time, sometime in the past. Daryl saw my father there, with these well-to-do men, there in the lab, and Frank had...appeared, apparently when my father, the professor, had manipulated some hand-held apparatus he was aiming at Frank.'
                                                                                    

Alice and Raimundo looked at each other. Then back to Em.
  'I wish I had known this earlier,' Raimundo stood then and shook his head, clearly unnerved by the news. 'But what good does it do...is Daryl still missing then?'


Emlyn sighed. 'Oh, yes. At least he was when I left.' She turned to Alice. 'He has been disappeared 4 months now.' She looked at her hands, bereft of ring. 'I wish he were here! He may have been able to shed some more light on all of this.'


'Well,' said Alice looking toward Raimundo. 'I, for one, am very happy you came, Em.' She took Emlyn's hand in both of hers. 'But whatever were you doing, Emmeline, living in such a place?'

'We have been wondering that ourselves...' Raimundo smiled a know-it-all grin, giving up his pretense at annoyance, 'In the very belly of the beast.'

Emlyn found herself suddenly wondering the same. And wishing Daryl were back again. Not for the first time...

.............

'La vie sacre'e de la loa...,' Daryl shook his head slowly, refilling his wineglass. 'The sacred life of the loa, of  the voudoun. How will that aid you, St.John? I  must admit to some bafflement.'

'You have answered my question without answering,' St.John declared, pushing  aside his plateful of seafood shells emptied of their contents. 'You  obviously know nothing, or very little...'

Daryl was less interested in Haitian voudou than empty oyster shells. He sat back with his wine and smiled. 'You have me there. '

St.John glowered. Daryl wasn't biting.  He signaled Sergei and murmured something in his ear regarding 'port' and 'chocolate mousse'. Let us see what other bait may tempt the enigmatic antiques dealer...he will bite the mousse', that much St.John would bet on.

Daryl finished his wine and gazed about the room. Musicians had gathered now to practice for the evening supper sessions.
                                                                             

  'I am through with my...experiments in other times and worlds,' Daryl continued. 'Well and truly have I been there and have done with all that.' He smiled, but his eyes betrayed a certain regret.


'I see...' St.John appeared regretful as well. 'Ah, my...well, time does catch up with us all, I suppose. We are, neither of us, the reckless, adventurous young bucks we once were!' He spied Sergei crossing the room with a tray. 'Ah, and now a little something to help fill up the corners, eh?'


Sergei served the mousse in silver bowls over crushed ice and poured a drop of port for St.John, who sniffed,  sipped and nodded. 'Well, we needn't worry about chipping a tooth on mousse, eh? Genteel, we have become in our autumn years, indeed.' He handed a cut crystal glass of port to Daryl.


Daryl eyed him and his mousse' with some suspicion.
    However...Yvonna's chocolate mousse' could not get by him without a taste.
  'You know you can't entice me into anything, St.John. I will indeed turn my hand to genteel pursuits, as you say. ' He polished off the mousse in short order, and turned his attention to the excellent port. 'Gardening, for instance, has long been an interest of mine...'


St.John allowed himself a spate of cackling over Daryl's confession.
   'My dear Daryl...I can just see you now, trundling down Nob Hill, pushing a wheelbarrow  of melons to market, hah!' A mirthless laugh escaped him as he poured the port afresh.  'Well, well then...' he sighed, gazing about at the players as they tuned balalaika and violin, giving the conversation some breathing space.


Daryl frowned and fidgeted, wondering what had nettled him so. He was used to St.John's
needling.
 
'So then,' St.John swung his gaze back to Daryl, his deep set eyes couldn't hide a bright sparkle, 'What are your plans for the evening, eh? Weeding watermelons, digging tubers and the like? '
 
Daryl held his tongue in his cheek. He relented a bit then...'Actually, if you must know, I am making supper for myself and a friend.'


St.John nodded sagely, sipped and remarked, 'Rather nice this...' His gaze took in Daryl, head to toe.
  'Ah, well, a proper  gentleman farmer like yourself, would hardly be interested...hm, perhaps, you would, though... just as a matter of newsworthy information...' St.John hemmed and hawed a few moments, relieving himself of his serviette and dishes.
  'You are, or were, rather a history buff,  at one time, were you not?'


'Oh, that will never change. Always have been, and shall ever be. What is this news then, you old pirate?'


'Privateer, please!' St.John held up a hand in mock dismay. He sipped up his port and emptied the bottle into their glasses.
    'Well, then perhaps you would be interested to learn, purely as an amusing trifle, that certain reliable sources have let it be known that some archaic -- and rather nefarious -- manuscripts have appeared to have surfaced.  Have you ever heard of the Liber...oh, what was it now..."Liber Lochgath"? Is that it...? Can't quite recall...part of John Dee's "Mysteriorum Sextus et Sanctus" I believe...'
                                                                           

Daryl sat up, all ears now. 'The "Liber Loegaeth"? It can be found in the MS "Sloan 3189", eh, mostly...' He frowned. 'It has never been translated. Not all of it was ever found...'

'But a work of prime importance just the same,' St. John eyed Daryl narrowly. "IF, of course, if it were found, in extant, complete.'


'Indeed,' Daryl resumed a more relaxed stance, seeing where this was now headed. A wild goose chase...
    'It was rumored to be the one book which would restore all knowledge, all history that was lost since the beginning...it was said,' Daryl lowered his voice, 'to be prophetic, and that the truths it contained would bring about the unity of all faiths and end all religious conflict. And, that it would usher in the New Age.'
                                                                           

'Hm. All that, eh?' St.John seemed mildly impressed.

'Yes. All that.' Daryl appeared rather smug. 'And, yes, if it were found, and a translation brought to bear...it might be something rather of interest. But, whatever you have heard, whatever was unearthed, it most certainly cannot be the Liber Loegaeth.'

'And why not?' St.John was fumbling about his jacket for a cigar. Time to be off, thought Daryl...
    'Because, it simply no longer exists.'

However, it wasn't a cigar that St.John brought forth from the folds of his tweed, but an envelope. He handed it to Daryl without a word.


Gently openinging the manila envelope, Daryl glanced within and looked up at St.John.
'Did you touch this? With your hands?'
    '-- Gloves.' St.John's eyebrows danced. 'It is encased in thin sheets of glass and framed. Just a peek, now, mind you.'

Daryl pinched the top of the document within, which was encased about the edges by a frame of sorts. He lifted it gently up enough to study it, frowning all the while.
  'It is foolscap, or appears to be. Would have to have the inks examined...'

'It all checks out; authenticated as to the time period...' St.John sighed, as if bored now.
'Return it, do; you have no interest any longer and, it IS of interest to serious collectors, Besides,  you now have your potatoes awaiting that shovel...oh, yes...and supper to prepare...'

Daryl glowered, but returned the document within and passed St.John the envelope.
He smiled. 'Yes. Potatoes.'

........................

After Daryl had left the restaurant, St.John approached Anna and requested the use of Madame's telephone.
    Anna frowned slightly, but recovered. 'Of course. It is in the shop. This way...'


Making certain that Anna was out of earshot, St.John dialed a number and waited.
  'Hello? Yes. He has just left. No, a cold trail there. He seemed not the least interested in Haiti. Perhaps your contact was mistaken. What? Ah, perhaps. He did seem rather intrigued with the document...could be. He claims he is done with all that. Ah, yes, we will see. Until then!' And with that, he hung up the receiver, grasped his wolfshead cane and turned on his heel to head off into the early summer evening, whistling a jaunty tune as he made his way back down to dockside...
 ....................
 CLICK TO LISTEN: Yemaya Assessu song to the Ocean Mother
Yemaya Assessu - Where the River Joins the Sea

Chapter 13 - Please Read The Letter

..::There was a roar, then breaking glass. All at once the room was alive with rain and swiftly flowing air. Nora gasped and struggled to sit up, as the bed's canopy ripped away. The wind found her. It nudged, pushed, shoved her, so forcefully it felt as though she could touch it..


The torrent of air moved restlessly about the room, breaking chairs and tables into kindling then into matchsticks. With another roar, it exited through the window, and Nora, gasping, went with it.


At first she thought she was falling. So this is flying, she thought, strangely calm because this was too incredible to be real.


She had flown in dreams, but never so far or fast. Fierce gusts of wind hurried her along, flinging her up and down like a ball.


The wind picked up speed again, shifting course toward a hilltop with a stone structure. She swept toward the stone wall. She was going to hit it. No, she cleared the wall, and found herself dropping -- too fast-- into a dusty courtyard.


Someone was waiting for her in the middle of it, a dark-clothed man with a pale, dour, upturned face. The wizard::..


Emily Croy Barker
The Thinking Woman's Guide To Real Magic
                                                                                                                                                  

                                                                         ......

The time between first and second sleep is neither slumber nor waking. Too much dark and your mind will stay at rest, too much light and your dreams will surely flee. Use this time wisely -- for writing spells, summoning spirits, and, most important, remembering your dreams. Queens have been crowned, schemes hatched, fortunes gained, demons defeated, lovers found -- all provisions born in the stillness of the night. In dreams, our souls are given the eyes of fate. Dreams must be encouraged by all possible means.


Ami McKay
The Witches of New York

.....

A Witch is born out of the true hungers of her time.
-- Ray Bradbury



                                                                                                                                  

     

..................                                                    


When Athena came downstairs the following morning, she found no sign of Daryl in the kitchen. Making tea and toasting a bun, she sliced up an apple, wondering how Emlyn was faring south of the border...


Sipping of her mug, she wandered into the parlor finding it dark, the fireplace cold. Surely he hadn't remained in the study all night? Wasn't that where Cup and Box resided, she pondered, fearing the worst?


She did not knock as usual, but carefully opened a door and crept into the library, just in case he had fallen out onto the sofa overnight.
   Padding softly, Athena gracefully snuck about the room lightly as a fairy stealing new milk. Sneaking up slowly behind the sofa, she thought she espied a knee poking up. But, Daryl was not sleeping. He was reading.
                                                               

 'I hope you brought coffee,' Daryl told her, not taking eyes from book.
  Athena reached over the sofa's back, plucking the volume from his hands. '"Swordsmithing Throughout The Centuries, Vol. 12",' she read, handing it back to him. 'I suppose you were here all night reading volumes 1 through 11.' She took a wingchair near the hearth.


Daryl merely smiled, eyes still glued to page. 'I trust you slept well, cara?'
  'Better than you, I'll wager.' Athena sighed. 'You are a cipher, my dear Daryl.'


'With regrettable timing, I fear.' Daryl shut the book, frowning. 'To think I missed Emlyn by minutes.'
  '-- Hours,' Athena amended.
  'Yes.' Poorly faking nonchalance, Daryl asked, 'Anything else you could tell me about this meeting betwixt the four of you, before Em sped off into the wild blue with the Portuguese navy?'


Matching Daryl's casual attitude, Athena replied, 'Actually, Raimundo is Brazilian. Sebastiao, however --'
  '-- Whatever!' Daryl tossed book to the floor with a hearty *whump*!


Smiling inwardly, Athena was much pleased by Daryl's discomfort.
  'Well, then, no. Not really.' She finished her tea. 'In fact, they both seemed rather close-mouthed about the voyage. Raimundo refused to answer Emlyn's questions, only saying they had to set sail pronto.'


'That's right...' Daryl was tapping a finger to chin in thought. 'Raimundo is Brazilian. And St.John was my initial contact for him.'


'Sinjin...' Athena repeated Daryl's English'd pronunciation of St.John. 'I've heard you speak of him before. He acts as a rather dodgy antiques dealer, among other, even shadier lines of endeavor, I believe?'


'That's him, the old fox!' Daryl stood and stretched then, arms reaching vainly to the sun, now hidden by remorseless fog.
  'Aah...I wonder if he is still about?' He bent, picking up the discarded book, hefting it in thought as he gazed out the windows.   'I'll warrant he isn't far, after I baited him fulsomely with Yvonna's caviar and champagne at her Tea House on Russian Hill.'


He glanced to Athena, smiling now.
  She returned his glance with a frown. 'You have had an idea. I can tell. Will this one get you disappeared as well, now?'


'My dear Athena, fear not. I merely wish to contact my wayward...ward.' He dared not call her novia now. 'And I just may have recalled another contact for Raimundo. I could get a letter to her, at least. Let her know I am here. And awaiting her return.'


'A letter!' Athena was surprised. 'Truly?'
                                                                         

  'Well, apparently; Mexico is rather a large area to cover, sans map with 'X marks Em' on it...'


Daryl began to pace.'I also need to tell Raimundo and Sebastiao that I have not deserted my post, as it were...' he was frowning again, shaking his head slowly.
  'It might seem to the Order as if I weren't taking duties seriously! But I acquired the sword specifically to keep Cup and Box safe, secured behind doors both closed and locked!'


Yes, of course that is what anyone would think when someone risks all and winds up disappeared, Athena mused, but said nothing.


Rummaging about the study desk, Daryl began stuffing items in his pockets, then went to his wall safe, opened it and taking a roll of bills, also stuffed this into his breast pocket.
  'Leaving again so soon?' Athena wondered what the hell now.


'Indeed.' Daryl locked up safe and desk, patting his pockets. 'I do hope you will stay on, Athena, keep me company, if you will?'
  'Ah, so you plan to return this time?' Athena raised a wry eyebrow.


'I had planned to return last time, as well as every time, my dear Athena...' He accented the 'dear' as though he could spit nails upon  utterance, but rallied.
   'Please do stay, cheri; Rosa is gone, and Emlyn. I will need to cook for someone other than Manuel and myself.'
  He came round behind her chair and buss'd a gentle kiss upon her cheek. 'Please stay.'


Athena reached behind her and stroked his cheek in return.
   'You are the most charming diablo, Diego.' She sighed. 'Yes, I will stay on. And I will be keeping an eye on you!' She looked up at him hovering over her.


'I hope so.' He strode about the room, 'Have I forgotten anything?' He muttered to himself, glancing at his pocketwatch. 
  'St.John may be heading for lunch soon, and I'll bet I know where!' He stopped at the doors, glanced back at Athena, 'I may be out most of the day, but should return in time for supper tonight. Do enjoy the day -- mi casa es su casa, as always, cara mia!' And with a flourishing bow, Daryl was gone.


'Off again, the rascal.' Athena stood and moved to the sofa now that Daryl was gone, eased down and closed her eyes.

..................

Whistling a rather ragged "Bonny Ship the Diamond", through a bit of a spacey molar on one side of his teeth, Daryl had managed to be feeling his oats again, despite Em's, temporary absence.


And what if she was off on a wee sail? Mexico then; shouldn't take so long, there and back. Frankly, he was happy just to have escaped Axelis, and Thelene, as unscathed by his adventure as well as he had. A new lease on life, so it was.


Not really expecting to find St.John at his warehouse 'office' on the docks, Daryl nonetheless stopped and rapped smartly at his door a while to make certain, using the agreed upon code of knocks.
   Hearing nothing from within, he checked his watch again, nearing one o'clock now. Right; off to the Tea Room, it is.


 '"The Diamond is a ship, my lads for the Davis Strait be bound
   And the quay it is all garnished with bonny lasses round."'                                                              

Daryl resumed his sailor's tune as he turned to head back up the streets to Russian Hill to renew acquaintance with old friends.

...............


'What do you mean Madame Yvonna is not here?'
   Daryl was most nonplussed. Yvonna was always here, especially for lunches and dinners. This was her shop and tea room; where she 'lived moved and had her being.'


'Pardonne, Monsieur,' the young girl with dark hair held her own against Daryl, clutching menus tightly and tilting high her chin as she tried to reason with this brash and mannerless American.
   'My esteemed Aunt Yvonna is most certainly in Sitka, not here at present. I am sorry, but she will not be returning for some weeks.' She proffered a menu.
   'You vill be joining us for lunch, monsieur?'


'I, I really...' Daryl muttered to himself, debating this unexpected knot in his shorts; when he suddenly thought he heard a familiar voice from the back room call out for '-- rather more oysters, I believe!'


'St.John!' He assured himself, snatching a menu from the girl's hand. 'Ah, yes, mam'selle, I will be lunching here after all...at St.John's table, if you please.'
                                                                                

Daryl followed the petite mini-Yvonna to the back room, peopled by a party of one, although to view the immensity of oyster and other shells piled high, empty bread baskets and bottles, one might have imagined rather a party of marauding Cossacks had dined here instead, celebrating a victory over bi-valves and crustaceans.
                                                                           

'Monsieur St.John prefers to dine alone, usually, Monsieur.' The girl tossed a questioning look over her shoulder to Daryl. 'But, we shall make the attempt.'


'Oh, so Monsieur St.John prefers dining alone, does he?'
   Daryl English'd up his swagger just a mite for his old friend's sake as he rounded upon the older gentleman, large bib tucked into his collar, just as he was adding yet another oyster to his gullet.


The rather stout gent was otherwise immaculately and expensively appointed for his luncheon with pinstriped three-piece suit and gold watch and chain, not to mention several rings bearing large stones winking with gold, blue sapphire and emerald lights amongst the  detritus.                                                                                                                                  


'Well, well, look here! And just in time for luncheon. Indeed, my dear boy, do have a chair...' St.John nodded, and waved a gracious hand about the table. 'I was just warming up with a bit of appetizer, do join me.' He frowned slightly as Daryl took a seat, but smiled warmly at the girl.
  'Anna, my dear, will you bring more wine and bread for my companion and myself? We will be ordering soon, I think.'

.........


Neither man said a word for some minutes.
  Then: '...I assume you are here to contact Raimundo.' This from St.John.
  Daryl was wondering how he knew. Or what he knew.


'I am, actually. I was hoping I could get a letter to him somehow.' Daryl played it close to the vest for now. Surely St.John knew nothing of Emlyn's...escape?
     Anna and the headwaiter showed up then, wine bottle and bread on trays. After ordering, Daryl insisted upon opening, and poured. When they were alone once more, the men resumed their conversation.


'That...may be possible,' St.John allowed, leaning back in the booth, wine in hand. 'But, not for some time yet.' He sipped his wine leisurely.


'How much time?' Daryl groused, unable to keep his sangfroid.
  'Ooh...a few days...perhaps a week.' St.John twirled the wine glass stem, relishing having Daryl on the hook once again.


Daryl glowered at the table, silent. What now? Well, he'd just have to be patient, wouldn't he? Not Daryl's strong suit, that. But he supposed it beat scouring the deserts and jungles of Mexico.
   'All right,' he agreed.


St.John held forth one hand, palm up. Daryl grimaced as he reached into his breast pocket and gingerly placed the envelope in the old scoundrel's eager hand.
  'Do you, or your messenger, also require certain funds?' Daryl supposed so, business with St.John usually did.


'Noo...' Uncharacteristically, St.John pocketed the envelope, 'Not at this time. I actually was considering getting hold of Raimundo myself. He could perform a service for me as well, while he is, south of the border.'


'Isn't he usually, though?' Daryl inquired. 'South of the border, that is? I just assumed that he was based in Brazil.' Let's see how St.John manages that one, Daryl mused to himself.


'He is wherever he needs to be, at any given time.' St.John brow lowered, as he gazed narrowly at Daryl. The old crow wasn't about to be cornered that easily, it seemed.


Topping up their wineglasses, St.John continued, 'If you must know, I am at present working on brokering a deal betwixt Raimundo, myself and certain Haitian contacts...'


The arrival of young Anna with a new bottle of wine and waitstaff with platters of pasta and slithering seafood gave Daryl an excuse to pause and consider...Haitians, eh? That was...interesting. Bordering on disturbing.


As he uncorked the new bottle and poured, he gave notice to Yvonna's niece, Anna, was it? She was a smaller, darker version of her aunt, pretty and petite. She seemed to be filling Yvonna's shoes, or ballet slippers? -- rather well. Daryl graced her with a small smile. She noticed, and blushed.
  'Anything further you may need, simply let Sergei know at once.' And off she betook herself back to the kitchens in a flounce of ruffles,.
  'Madame Yvonna left things here in good hands, it would seem,' Daryl handed a glass to  St.John.
                                                                          

                                                         
'She did.' He took it, sipped and proceded to dig into a pile of pasta. 'And, I might add that her business in Sitka is also a concern of mine...'


Daryl frowned, toying in turn with his wineglass stem. 'Indeed? How so?'
  'Pelts!' St.John barked. 'Seals aplenty up in Pribilofs. New seal coats for Madame and Mlle; caviar and pelts to sell for myself.' He tucked into the business of putting away pasta by the pound.


Daryl speared a prawn, staring it down. '...And the business in Haiti?'
   St.John appeared busy with his luncheon for some time. At last, he accepted a roll Daryl offered, and said, 'Medicine.'
  'Truly?' Daryl tried to hide his sideways smile. 'I never thought of you as the great white hope of Haitians, St.John. What sort of doctoring are you up to there?


St.John leaned back in the booth, allowing himself to spread along the bench. It was his turn to frown, seeming to simmer in his saline juices. He reminded Daryl suddenly of  that awesome Devourer, Moby Dick, the Great White Whale of Ahab!
                                                       

 

   Then his visage cleared into a mask of sangfroid as he refreshed his glass and asked,
  'What do you know of Voo-Doo, my dear Daryl?'

.............


The last rays of the southern sun were sinking in the west as Emlyn gazed out upon the open sea, wondering if she would ever be lucky enough to view the mysterious 'green flash' when the sun just dips beyond the horizon and a luminous green light arcs briefly above the water.


'Not tonight.'
Raimundo had quietly approached, interrupting her reverie. She turned, regarding him questioningly.
   'The weather,' Raimundo continued, 'It is still too humid for the green light.'
                                                                 

Em smiled. 'You always seem to know what I'm thinking.'
  Raimundo sat on a crate, Em joined him. 'Quiet now.'
  He was silent for some time, and then, 'We are going to attempt to steal into port by way of a small lagoon just north of it. There, we can hide the boat and I will then meet with Alice.'


'But, she will be coming back here, yes?' Emlyn was anxious. She hadn't seen much of Raimundo during the trip and in fact had spent most of the time sleeping below deck.
    'She is.' Raimundo replied. 'But we must bring her...elsewhere. I cannot say. But you will have some time with her here,' he relented.


Emlyn sighed. All this time and effort, for a few stolen moments. But, it was all she had.
  'That's...that's fine. Just so I can see her again.'


Raimundo took her hand then, in an uncharacteristic act of empathy.
  'I know it means much to you. She will be, surprised to see you here.'
  'I bet.' Em wasn't so sure about this venture. 'I hope, she doesn't mind.'
  'It should be all right.' Raimundo was very sparing with any information so far. 'But, we must stay as still as possible. No motors, no lights here on.'


'Is she being watched?' Emlyn hoped not.
   Raimundo shot her a frown. 'Not sure. But we must always assume so. And look out for that possibility.'
  'Where are we heading then, once we pick her up?' Emlyn hadn't been able to get anything from Sebastiao regarding their plans.
  'South.'
   Well, that told her something. And nothing. 'Far?' She queried.
  'Not far.'


Emlyn sighed again. Getting nowhere with her guide thus, she changed tacks. 'Wind is favorably W x SW...'
  Raimundo nodded. 'Sim. We had planned on this night for the winds...
once we reach the river, we, Alice and I, will be able to take a small boat heading easterly.' He regarded Emlyn seriously.
   'We are crossing over beyond the jungles. You will not be able to come with us, Em. You, and Sebastiao will return to the Village.'


Emlyn was somewhat startled by this. 'But, where are you going? Why must you make this trip, at night, through dense jungle...where to, Raimundo? Where are you headed east of here?'


Raimundo looked down, considering. How much to tell her? What all does she know already? She is not ignorant of the night side...she should understand.
  He sighed then.
 'Alice and I...have an appointment in Haiti.'
                                                                       

                                                      
..................
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Robert Plant Alison Krauss - Please Read The Letter
Robert Plant and Alison Krauss Please Read the Letter