The Hoodooman

Chapter 2 of the science fiction novel Elis Royd

Elis Royd

Chapter Two

The Hoodooman

“Son…”

Governor Wilde gripped Lance’s shoulders, pinning him to the bed. “I want you to know you’re a hundred percent safe here. Regardless of what you may have heard in the Hall: those are just rumors. The Hoodooman can’t get past the Guard.”

The scene was as laughable as it was touching--Lance was thirty-one years old, fully bearded and feverishly balding. Physically, he was much larger and stronger than his father; mentally, he was an eight-year old going on six. On a bad day, and today had certainly been a bad day, the tantrums would kick in, the convulsions take hold, and Lance’s blubbering yelps would grow in intensity until they tore right through his quarters’ walls. Once again the governor would be forced to sing the boy down or, that failing, haul out the restraints before Council, once again, played the son’s illness against the father’s office.

“Lancey go sleep now,” Wilde sang coldly, “splash in crystal streams.” (This was a proud and independent man, forged with the instincts of a bull terrier.) “All of Lance’s friends now, come play in Lancey’s dreams.”

The storm was over. Wilde stepped to the window, placed his hands on the sill, and breathed in the night. His son’s room was on the second floor, some thirty feet above the crushed earth and cartwheel-scarred cobbles.

The governor looked up, craning left and right. No limbs close enough to grasp. Bricks too old to support a man’s weight. A number of dried-out vines still stuck to the wall; he shook one and it broke off in his fist. Only an acrobat could reach this window.

His thoughts were interrupted by a series of sharp triple raps.

“I’m busy,” Wilde snarled.

“The Council requests your presence. Immediately.”

“Tell them I’m on my way.” To Lance he said, “I have to go now, sweetheart. You heard.” He walked to the door, cracked it, and turned.

The face on the bed was staring straight up, eyes frosted from within. “You’re perfectly safe in here, son, and Daddy’s not going to tie you down this time. So please just go to sleep. Don’t call for me, even if you think you hear the Hoodooman; I won’t be able to come.”

The head didn’t move. Wilde froze against the door, waiting for the least sign of acknowledgment. A boy in a man’s body…a vegetable for a successor…his genetic reflection--no! He wouldn’t go there--the boy took after his mother. The governor ground his teeth and whispered: “Rockabye, pumpkin pie. Sleepy little angel, tucked in a sigh.” He grabbed his sash and quietly stepped outside.

* * *

Council Chambers: a structurally decrepit room as grim as any in Earth Administration. Blame it on the black asteroid’s natural oppressiveness, blame it on a thousand and one meetings packed with contentious Earthmen marinating in their own sweat. All throughout the Officers’ Complex, and all down the Main Hall, overhead fans barely stirred the stale air. Half the Guard looked ready to faint.

The Council triad appeared to have been stewing there forever, but the governor strolled in with an air of complete indifference.

The Elder immediately banged his gavel. “Now that we’re all here, this meeting is convened. Governor Wilde, you will please take a seat.” He wiped his neck and brow. “You’ll notice Chambers is conspicuously lacking in familiar faces--this is not a court in the regular sense; Scribe is not present, and there will be no records kept. Every member with half a wit is already fast asleep--we, however,” and he tapped a gnarly fist over his heart, “have business to attend to. This is strictly a private matter, to be held close to the chest between we four very close…associates.”

The Elder made a great show of getting comfortable. “Now, let’s get right down to it. We’re all perfectly aware of this growing unrest among the royds. Their having a murderer on the loose is their business, but having one of the victims found on Administration grounds is another matter altogether. Those jabberers outside West Gate won’t be the last--and I don’t care how many times they call it a body of inquiry; those brutes can only mimic civilized behavior.

“They’re claiming the murders are not the acts of a royd…it’s the damnedest thing, but you’d swear there’s a straight thinker among them. Who knew they were even capable of being rallied? Well, they’re now demanding the capture of that same silly ‘Hoodooman’, and, I suppose, expect us to lead the posse.”

The Guard Commander rose angrily. “Doesn’t anyone catch the inference? Why should this ‘Hoodooman’ contain the suffix ‘man’ in the first place? Am I the only one here intelligent enough to realize these royds are attempting to implicate Earthmen by way of nomenclature?”

“Trash and nonsense,” said the Administrator. “Implication is a concept way over their heads. This is obviously a word they have transmogrified from our lexicon. Remember, in adopting English as the official language of Earth they received access to uncountable terms and phrases of great antiquity. I doubt even they recognize an inference. Simple coincidence.”

“Nevertheless,” the Elder mused, “this latest instance lends a veneer of credibility to their claims. To be frank, I can’t stomach the thought of entertaining even one of those nightmarish creatures in a legal capacity.”

“No royd body,” the Governor interjected, “may impress itself upon Earth Administration without first introducing into Chambers a duly elected official. That requires focus, research, and at least a little hard planning. As you implied, Elder, they’re incapable of organizing on their own. So if they do get this far we’ll know for sure there’s an alert presence in their midst.”

The Elder said sarcastically, “A ‘Hoodooman’?” He tugged his lower lip. “Still, they’re protected under the Constitution.”

He glared at the Commander. “‘The only one here intelligent enough’, are you? Why weren’t you intelligent enough to have your men drag the damn body back off the grounds?” He drummed his fingertips and stared at the ceiling. “These are extraordinary circumstances.”

“There is nothing extraordinary about any of this,” Wilde said. “What we have are royds acting like royds. They don’t have the brains to have rights. But…if this hypothetical presence did coerce them into dragging one of their victims onto Administration grounds, well, I’d call that conspiracy.”

“Governor Wilde.” The Administrator swiveled regally. The old man, with his head notched back and his robes clenched about him, resembled nothing so much as a fading eagle with folded wings.

“I will be blunt. This body, sir, is preparing a charge of kidnapping and rape to our list of what is now four royd murders. This latest act, involving an elderly Betsu female of no conceivable attraction to any sane man of Earth, took place within the very walls of Administration. That is to say, the female was abducted in the bogs and sexually assaulted and killed herein.

“We are all aware that any Earthman can exit these premises unmolested: it is therefore within our intellectual purview to entertain the notion, no matter how troubling, of an Earthman doing his mischief off-premises. Re-entering the grounds is another matter altogether; the Guard would have to be circumvented. This would require intimate knowledge of shifts and patterns, and at least a cursory overview of the fortification itself.

“Gentlemen,” the Administrator turned back, addressing the Commander with his left hand and the Elder with his right, “only ranking officials are privy to that information. A less than scrupulous officer could conceivably, perhaps unwittingly, pass this data to a colleague, a friend, or even a family mem--”

“Do you dare state--” Wilde seethed to his feet “--do you mean to imply for a nanosecond that my son has anything to do with this?”

“We only mean to consider the possibili--”

“For the thousandth time you intend to use my son’s infirmity as a wedge against my office!”

The Elder blew it. “Governor Wilde! I defy you to point out anything in the Administrator’s statement of a personal nature. This is pure paranoia; no one’s out to get you. Now, I’m sick of adjudicating at this level--sick of it! And it’s precisely why I elected to do this in closed session.”

He lifted his glass and drained it in three long, deliberate droughts. When he placed it back down he appeared to have regained his composure.

“Nobody’ll lose any sleep over the deaths of a few royds, regardless of the circumstances. A royd rape and murder on Administration grounds, however, is untenable to the civilized mind.” The Elder rhythmically locked and unlocked his fingers.

“Governor Wilde, our resolution was set prior to your being summoned. It is the earnest suggestion of this Council that you, sir, find and arrest this criminal forthwith. Upon that act the royds will be mollified, and the air permanently cleared of this most unprofessional innuendo. Take however much support you feel necessary. If you have any objections I suggest you air them now.”

Wilde threw up his arms. “And you wonder why I’m paranoid. So we all ‘agreed’, now, did we?”

“You are not under coercion, and may withdraw at any time. I’m certain there are several good men willing to fill in for you.”

“I can hear them champing now.”

“Decide.”

“You’ll get your Hoodooman,” Wilde vowed. “And when I bring him in I don’t want to hear any more of this bul--this innuendo.”

“Then show up bright and early and we’ll make it all official. Godspeed. This body is dismissed.”

Wilde was almost to the door when the Elder’s voice caught up with him. “And Governor, about your son.”

The Administrator and Commander stopped where they were. Their faces boldly studied the Governor’s.

“You will kindly make sure he remains confined to his quarters until the investigation is concluded.”

Wilde’s eyes burned across the room.

“Should he at any time leave said quarters, the office of Governor shall be held in contempt of Council. Do we understand each other?” He gave a light, perfunctory tap of his gavel. “Consider yourself forewarned.”

* * *

“Son.”

Wilde placed his palm on Lance’s hot crown.

“I’ve been ordered to go and find the Hoodooman. Daddy’s going to catch him and chop off his head for you, okay? You don’t have to worry: the Guard is assigned to watch this room, and for your safety you’re not to go out that door. I promise it won’t be for long.”

Lance was much improved from only an hour ago. Wilde laid his head on his son’s chest and closed his eyes.

“When your mother was alive it was the same thing. She just got sicker and sicker, and they tried to use that sickness against Daddy too, just like they attack me whenever you’re unwell. But it wasn’t her fault, and it’s not your fault either. Do you understand, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Some day we’ll move out of here. I don’t want the stupid position any more; not under these circumstances. And they’re obviously not happy with me. I’ll retire, soon enough. We’ll move somewhere far away.”

“Not with the royds, Daddy.”

“No, darling, not that far away. I don’t like those ugly little things either. Nobody does. We’ll find us a place somewhere on Administration’s fringes, far from these stale old men.”

Lance’s head rolled to one side of the pillow. A few seconds later it rolled back. “No royds.”

“No, angel. It’ll just be you and me, safe and sound.”

Wilde slid his hand down Lance’s forehead and face, using two fingers to close the eyes.

“When I come back there’ll be one dead Hoodooman. That much I promise. And not for those dusty pigs in Council, and not for the stupid Guard.

“For you.”

* * *

The Commander and Administrator had been assigned as the Governor’s personal little launching party, complete with gifts of cakes, sheaths, and official papers bound in silk.

The Governor smiled down on them, his eyes distant, his head full of fresh sights and sounds. So like the Elder to mask his closest spies as well-wishers. The Commander provided three of his best riders, and the Administrator a short checklist.

Wilde, dressed for the hunt, stroked his steed’s shining mane, feeling almost a kid again.

“You are armed and provisioned?” asked the Administrator.

Wilde indicated the rifle slung in its saddle sheath, then showed him his saber and bow. “Don’t worry. And the riders are carrying plenty of food and water.”

“You were issued maps and a compass? All things must be in order.”

Wilde raised a compass and crude map. “Tell the Elder to relax.”

“You carry medical supplies? A journal for detailed analyses? Restraints?”

“We’re fine!” He indicated the bags on the last rider’s steed. “Go ahead and check for yourself.”

The Administrator did so, meticulously and repeatedly. “Then you are on your own. On my advice, you will not return without someone to show for our troubles.”

“Advice noted,” said Wilde. He whipped his steed’s flank, the riders followed suit, and soon the Commander and Administrator were just two bitter old scarecrows silhouetted against West Gate.

“Good riddance to bad apples!” called one of the riders, and the others laughed.

Getting out unsupervised was a thrill for all the men; it’d been years. They navigated by eyes and ears--the map was a joke, and the compass a useless relic on an asteroid with a magnetic mind of its own. Anyway, royds are notorious for relocating willy-nilly.

The riders pressed on until they encountered a group of Ceptu loitering about a narrow steam-fed stream.

“You there,” called Wilde, still high with the moment. “I am Governor Quentis Wilde of Earth Administration. We are looking for an individual responsible for a rape and murder within our walls. He goes by an alien name, a royd name. He is known as the ‘Hoodooman’. I demand you assist us in this search, by either fingering the perpetrator or directing us to someone who will. Failure to readily yield will have dire consequences.”

Ceptu are a wiry species; horned, webbed, and armed with extremely sharp teeth and nails. The group of eleven confabbed, members occasionally staring back at the riders.

Wilde sat higher. “Answer!”

In a minute one loped up to the governor’s horse and showed a long curling tongue. “Hoo…doo…you!”

Wilde drew his whip and lashed the offender repeatedly. “Damn you! I asked a question!”

The Cept staggered back to his group and hissed threateningly.

“Bow,” Wilde said.

The rider to his right handed him his bow and a single arrow. The governor closed an eye, aimed, and expertly put the shaft straight through the Cept’s throbbing green throat.

The Ceptu squealed and hopped into the hedges.

“After them!” Wilde cried. “Bring me one alive!”

But the Earthmen were no match for the marshes and brambles; the Ceptu, perfectly adapted to Elis Royd, vanished into places that appeared utterly without cover. The governor bellowed with frustration, stamping his horse in circles. The riders regrouped.

“Wing the next one you see,” Wilde puffed. “We’ll see how tough they are when it comes to a little sophisticated persuasion.”

And they never saw another. The men pushed through a marsh and came upon a broad field of weeds and half-gnawed roots. In the center of that field, suspended fifteen feet above the dirt, sprawled a massive wood sunscreen tied to cornering trees, and beneath that screen were perhaps two dozen bramble huts painted with pitch.

One of the riders commented, “The Xhul. They can’t bear the light. But watch out. They move fast when they have to.”

Wilde called out, “You in there. Come out in the open where we can see you. I am Governor Wilde, here on official Administration business.”

In a minute a hide flap was pulled aside, and a smallish male figure peered out. He was swathed head to foot; even his mouth and nose were covered.

“Send in a messenger. We are not free to move around in the light.”

Wilde snapped his whip feverishly. “Did you not hear me? I am the Governor! You will stand before me at once!”

A second pair of eyes joined the first. The flap closed.

“Ingrates!” Wilde punched his riders with the boss of his whip. “Burn them out! Teach them some respect!”

The riders obediently set fire to the huts, and the fleeing Xhul were quickly run down and cowed under the rearing steeds.

Wilde leaned from his saddle, repeatedly lashing any royd within reach. “Who is the Hoodooman?” he demanded. “Where are you hiding him?”

The Xhul howled with the torment of direct light.

“Who is the Hoodooman? I must know! Who is he?” Wilde brought his horse to rear and stamp, crushing the screaming royds with its hooves.

“Who? Who? Answer, you b******s! Who?”

The closeness of their steeds eventually tangled up the riders, allowing the Xhul to scramble out and dash across the field, arms thrown over their heads against the light. It was impossible to run them down. Wilde was reduced to pressuring a captured female and her infant.

He wrapped the whip around her neck and hissed in her ear: “I know you can understand me. I won’t kill you if you tell me exactly what I want to hear.”

The female screamed and struggled wildly.

“Stop screaming,” Wilde said reasonably. He snapped his whip. “Who is the Hoodooman? This is government business. You are a royd. I am an Earthman. You must tell me what I want to know. Stop screaming!”

But now she was shrieking out of control.

“Stop it, I said! Stop screaming!” Wilde went berserk with the lash.

His three riders cheered him on, then, sensing his official capacity was no longer a restraining factor, grabbed their rifles by the barrels and got in some licks of their own. The female dropped and went into convulsions.

Governor Wilde staggered back against his steed’s flank, and it wasn’t until her body seized up that he realized it was Sirius’s light that had proved lethal. The infant gave one tiny wail and was still.

As the men rode away, the governor gave vent to a brief grudging soliloquy:

“How can it be that the greatest race the universe has ever produced can be utterly foiled by the most mediocre? What mad deity invented irony, anyway? Is it possible--can all royds be so low on the evolutionary ladder that even basic respect is beyond their ken?”

After that they rode in silence. It wasn’t just these two misplays that had the governor so down--a novel resilience in the royds caught him completely by surprise. Wilde was already toying with the idea that he just might be coming home empty-handed after all.

“There,” said a rider.

In the slight shade of a rare copse rested a small caravan of Rauna coaches, their beasts unhitched and grazing. The Rauna are royd gypsies; a wandering species that gave up on naturalization generations ago, and now clatter along horizon to horizon in bizarrely dressed coaches pulled by exotically crossbred steeds. Rauna are hideous creatures; all warts and wattles, with ratty persimmon-colored fur lining their limbs and torsos.

“Stay where you are!” Wilde called out. “Men, form a circle. I am Governor Quentis Wilde of Earth Administration. I’ve been directed to get some answers out of you things, and by the stars I swear I will! Who speaks for you?”

The Rauna hunched and glared. A few moved toward the coaches.

“Who?” Wilde demanded. “Guard!”

The riders unsheathed their bows, pulled arrows from quivers, and took random aim.

In a minute a little old female separated herself from the group, stepping up with a dignity that made Wilde almost burst with anger.

“What do you wish to know?”

“You will address me as ‘Governor’!”

After half a minute she said, almost inaudibly, “What do you wish to know, Governor?”

“The identity of your Hoodooman.”

Her warty head notched back. “And how are we to divine this?”

“Everybody knows you Rauna are mystics. Your people see beyond the senses. So you can see what awaits you if I don’t get a straight answer. Who is the Hoodooman!”

“This knowledge, Earthman, you can better live without.”

“You old fool! Don’t you know who I am? Don’t you realize what I can do? To you? To your spawn and your elderly?”

The Raun female considered a space between Wilde’s steed and the adjacent rider’s. When she looked back up all traces of compliance had left her expression.

“Go back to your plush sanctuary. Your Administration administers only misery.”

The governor went rigid in his saddle. “You’ll mind your tongue, old witch.” He slipped out his saber. “Or I’ll cut it out for supper.”

She didn’t budge. Wilde felt the hint of a stroke…the heat--and the moment had passed. His heavy chin dropped to his chest.

“Open your mind, Governor. It is your son--it is he who is this ‘Hoodooman’.”

Wilde shook his head sharply. He placed the blade under her chin and pressed up until she was standing on her toes. “Very carefully;” he said quietly, “very clearly explain yourself.”

The female’s eyes squeezed shut and her mouth twisted halfway up her face. Blood began rolling down both sides of the blade.

“I read you,” she managed. “And you know.”

Wilde lifted the little female clean off her feet. The blade tore through her lower palate and tongue, emerging between her lips. She shook madly as though being electrocuted. The governor hurled her down.

“Torch the coaches and slaughter the steeds. String these little monsters up.” He leaned down and wiped the blade on her homely burlap dress. “Why are they standing up for themselves? Who’s providing their backbone?” He swung his free hand in an all-encompassing circle. “No matter! I’ll not suffer another disparaging of Earth Administration!”

It was grisly work.

The group hanged the Rauna one by one, hoping a weakling would break before they’d gone through the lot. But Rauna are a tough species, and at last the Earthmen found themselves contemplating a dozen swinging corpses surrounded by burning coaches, with barely enough energy left to butcher the Rauna steeds.

As the group pressed on in their quest, a kind of mania came over them. Newly encountered species were strung up after only the briefest interrogations; after that royds were simply shot on sight, or forced to lynch their own under threat of torture. Mile upon mile the hangings went on, and when at last Wilde was forced to admit defeat and turn home, he made it his personal campaign to leave whole tribes strung up as his calling card.

Most royds were too timid or too ignorant to resist; skirmishes are rare outside Earth Administration. The sharpest fled when word came of the approaching massacres. The slowest were caught unbelieving, and were shot in the back while their property burned. Wilde and his riders hanged royds all the way to Administration’s gates, and by that time it was dark and they were completely spent.

The governor came clopping through West Gate barely able to carry the dignity of his office. He dismissed his men and made the long walk to Chambers while slicking back his hair and dusting off his bloody clothes.

The Council was waiting for him.

“Another late session?” he called. He raised his head and marched up the aisle like a Reformist approaching his execution.

“You come alone,” Council Elder said slowly. “From our spires we see countless executed royds along the road to Administration, but no captive criminal. Perhaps we did not make it clear that this was to be an exercise of law, rather than of sport.”

“The royds are non-compliant,” Wilde heaved. “They’re being programmed, I tell you; they won’t say a word, no matter how they’re pressed.”

“Be that as it may very well be,” Elder said, “they were most vocal at the Gate, not an hour ago. There they complained of a fifth rape and killing; this time a pre-pubescent Hila female. The atrocity took place even as you were gallivanting about the countryside, further inciting our very accusers.”

“I was on Administration business,” Wilde grated. “At your behest. I can’t be in two places at once. And I’ll take my sport where I find it.”

The Elder slapped down a hand. “You were not given carte blanche to engage in the wholesale eradication of our royd population! You didn’t pause to consider the ramifications? Our mint depends on a continuous flow of precious metals--a dead royd produces nothing! Then there is this confounding business of a growing royd self-awareness. Who knows what you may have stirred up.

“Your tactics, Governor Wilde, have proven heavy-handed and entirely inefficient. We have discussed this matter thoroughly in your absence.”

“Ah! And let me guess.”

“It is the verdict of this body that you very seriously consider vacating your office. The benefits of retirement are a world apart from the rigors of impeachment. We now leave you time to weigh your option.”

Wilde stalked out of Chambers and into the Administration’s Officers’ Complex. Here the Guard stood in pairs, covering each individual residence.

Wilde moved up to one and said quietly, “William, I’ll need a firearm. Let me borrow your personal revolver. I’ll have it back to you in two shakes.”

William let his breath hiss out. “Governor,” he said, just as quietly, “you know that’s illegal. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to refuse.”

“Come now, William. It’s not like I intend to put a bullet in the back of that Elder’s ugly old head or anything.”

He looked up with a boyish gleam in his eye. “How long have we worked together, William? We’re practically family.”

The guard smiled tautly. “And serving you has been my pride and joy, sir. But this is just one of those professional things--I really can’t. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Indeed I do.” Wilde slipped a solid gold Elis Eagle from his waistband, placed it in William’s hand. “Really I do.”

William peered down without lowering his head. He removed an ancient handgun from a hip holster and pushed it into Wilde’s waiting palm.

Wilde verified the chambers were loaded.

“Sir,” William said uncomfortably. “I’d prefer this little transaction remain private. I’m sure you just want to use it for target practice, but if anything should go wrong, I mean, well, I’d feel a whole lot better knowing…”

Wilde smiled up at him. “Of course, William. What goes on in the family stays in the family.”

He slid the gun under his coat and winked at the guards watching his son’s room.

“Just a quick bedtime story to put him out. The kid’s all nerves over that silly Hoodooman myth.”

Wilde cracked the door and peered in. He could see Lance’s left eye gleaming in the light. The governor slipped the gun from under his coat and quietly made his way inside. He closed the bolt, crept to the bed, went down on one knee. Lance was breathing hard. He’d been out; he smelled of roots and hedges.

“Son,” the governor breathed.

The heaving chest paused.

Wilde placed his left hand over the heart. His right hand pushed the gun across the pillow and eased it to Lance’s temple.

“Son,” he whispered. “Son! Are you the Hoodooman?”

Lance froze. Wilde moved his face up until they were eye-to-eye. Their breaths mingled. Lance bit his lip and his whole body shook.

He nodded.

“I love you, son,” Wilde whispered, and jerked back his head as he pulled the trigger. The gun’s recoil and the kick of Lance’s body knocked the governor to his feet. He pulled off the top sheet and wiped away the gore before draping it over his son’s head.

Wilde dragged himself to the window. Outside, a billion stars were enough to half-light the brooding shapes of lynched royds rotting over the bogs.

A great commotion blew down the hall. The Guard, responding to the shot, were running up from all sides.

The governor attempted to address the cosmos.

Finding the night too large for words, he said simply, “Forgive me. I have failed. Somehow…” There was a hard thump at the door, and another. The bolt bent and gave.

Wilde placed the barrel in his mouth, closed his eyes, and calmly pulled the trigger.