Seward scowled looking out at a group of eager young and old savages on their way to the fire with bowls in their hands. The smell of roasted flesh was strong in the air.
His last count had shown only two people in the cage. Neither he nor Jacob would ever dwell upon what they’d seen of the other two captives who must have been drugged, or otherwise cowed, because they’d gone to their deaths without a word of protest.
They’d stretched out on the butcher block and a big savage in a red skull-mask had prepared them for the grill.
The old ranger had figured out pretty quickly that the whole village was celebrating the death of the ape that had once claimed ownership to the rotten head his captors had brought into the village. Drums, singing and dancing parades had taken up most of the day, though the savages had also been curious about their prisoners, too.
And none of them was shy about teasing.
Most took turns at the window shouting what had to be profanities—though the ranger couldn’t tell from the lingo. There were a few bad apples that pitched stones and others that made none-too-subtle “eating” gestures with their hands and mouths.
That had thrown Jacob for a loop because despite a long life, and that starting out a slave, he had never imagined ending up a meal for some godless savages that were playing pirate.
Seward wasn’t bucked too badly by the crude taunt having already come to that conclusion, since he’d identified the necklaces of finger bones that everybody wore.
It wasn’t the first time he’d run across cannibals either. Seward remembered capturing and hanging bandits who had turned to the damnable behavior after his ranger troop had chased them deep into the desert without food, water or horses. A trail of gnawed bones had told the tale.
The savages had returned to the window to look at them throughout the day, and Seward was amazed to see that the women and children also went about disguised with paint covering their variously deformed faces or infected limbs. The most popular was to have a skull drawn on the face in light gray and black pigment, with a pair of bones that ran from shoulder to shoulder and crossed over the sternum.
Most of the men wore the stylized bone-masks, while others had adopted a painted version of the covering. Actually, Seward had seen that many of them did both, revealing face paint when they removed their masks to eat or drink.
With everybody so disguised, the ranger reasoned it was to hide their disfigurements, or was a superstitious way to ward off whatever was ailing them.
And something was surely ailing them.
He’d seen and heard of stranger things done by Indian tribes back home who wore face paint and adornments for fear of ghosts, ancestors, eagle gods or what have you.
The slaves on the strange jungle ship stood out for their lack of such disguises, the rough bits of clothing and the iron bands clamped around their necks. Another defining factor so far as he could see, was that the slaves were the only people who did any work.
Seward had looked past the debauching skull-masks to see the slaves tending little herb and vegetable gardens growing along the inside of the palisade and the daylight view had shown through gaps in the fence where slaves worked bigger plots beyond it.
Those same chinks in the palisade allowed him to see slaves skinning animals, tanning hides and making baskets. From the way they were working, he reckoned their masters could do with a few more able bodies because these ones worked non-stop.
“Captain!” Jacob whispered suddenly, drawing him from his reverie. “Someone’s coming.”
Seward looked up flustered, clearing his throat, uncertain whether he’d just dozed off, or how much time had passed.
“Remember the plan!” he said softly, moving to the door.
They had decided to attempt escape at any opportunity, and the only possible tactic would be to ambush anyone entering their cell.
The prisoners stood to either side of the door.
Outside in the hall they heard a heavy clatter, and then scrape and ring of iron on stone. Glancing at Jacob, the ranger nodded and made fists of his hands, only to realize from the flicker of torchlight around the door that the action had come from the main entrance and had continued past their cell.
Seward chanced a glimpse out the peephole window and saw a group of some eight black people, half of them no more than children chained at the foot and neck, moving wearily along the corridor with masked savages carrying torches to the front and rear.
Jacob glanced out after Seward as they passed from view, and his face went gray. The manservant’s shoulders slumped and he turned to the ranger shaking his head.
“It isn’t right, Captain,” he muttered, eyes imploring. “Children...”
The ranger growled and with him searched along the edge of the door for a grip...
...but a strange coughing noise brought them both around.
A shadow was at the window that Seward took for a masked man’s until strong, white fingers slipped around the iron bars. Flames flared up from the grim feast and threw the stranger into silhouette, and for a second, the captives saw a great shaggy head with two red eyes blazing like fire.
“God all mighty!” Jacob cried, clutching at Seward’s arm, and the ranger was ashamed to feel the man’s fear paralyze his own limbs. “It’s the Devil!”
Seward gritted his teeth and stepped forward just as another sound came, like a bark, and the stranger turned his head slightly. The light from the cook fire showed a man with broad cheekbones on an aquiline face set with noble features. His pale skin looked even paler framed by
