Chase the Morning

‘What use had I for them, after all? What could they show me but the mirror of myself, the follies of love and hate alike? Upon reaching manhood I was sent into society for a while – and there they presumed to reject me. They – I! Those strutting popinjays the men! Those lovely women, who should have been flattered to uncover the fires they kindled! They laughed foolishly behind their fans and passed on. Bored – jaded – and have you not felt as much, señor? – I sank myself in my work, my ambition I drove my slaves with fear and pain to labour to their miserable limit, I grew incomparably rich as the world measures riches; yet I valued wealth only as an emblem of success – a banner I could brandish in the face of the world. As, señor, I am sure you understand.’

I’d never been anything like rich – and yet, though part of me revolted violently at the idea, I found myself nodding automatically. I did understand. Somehow that unsettling note in his voice, part pleading, part persuading, and still somehow dominating, compelled me to face up to it, to admit how alike we were. And yet …

I couldn’t help protesting. ‘But I’ve never done anything like … like you! Never wanted to! I had ambitions, yes. A career – politics, maybe, one day … But the feeling of achievement, I didn’t really want more than that. Knowing I was succeeding … showing it –’ Success – the successful man’s image – that’s what it was. A badge, a seal of approval to prove how much I mattered, how important I was. To drive home my status in other people’s eyes. To shield me from their questions, their doubts – and from my own. You can’t argue with success …

He saw my hesitation, and nodded benignly; he forgave me. ‘Ah, I might have been thus content, señor, in my turn. For what else remains to those the world will not give their due? Were it not for a most fortunate turn in my affairs … Though I admit it did not seem so at the time; as your present situation, perhaps, does not to you. There came an outbreak of the vomito negro, that you call the Yellow Jack fever, and I was infected. It took that. It took weeks of fever and delirium and spectral visions, of lying close to death and weeping lest it claim me still young, before I had found out what it was to live. It took so much to lift me out of my narrow sphere to that which my talents truly deserved.’ He smiled.

‘As it has taken all this for you, I doubt not. For in my delirium I walked strange paths, saw visions, understood for the first time that there must be worlds beyond the limits of our own. And I saw myself. It was at the very crisis of that mortal distemper that the truth came to me – that it was death itself that gave life meaning. That one never lives so intensely, or clings so keenly to life, but in death’s presence. Then, señor, then I understood; it was the driving of slaves that truly fulfilled me, and not the result. And never more so than in the dealing out of life and death, the slow or sudden tipping of the scale.’

The Knave smiled faintly. ‘I had of course already become acquainted with the many and curious varieties of religious practice my purchased creatures had brought with them from their African homelands. Many, naturally, benign and insipid, or mere crude raucous release. But others were more promising. And among the Maun-dangues, from that region you call by the barbarous name Cangau, I now discovered beliefs and techniques which though unrefined were quite peculiarly to my taste. So the elect few who knew of them I spared and studied – oh, in a spirit of simple amusement, at first, I assure you! Until I began to perceive that within these bloody barbarian games there were real forces at work, and greater gains to be had than mere diversion. Then I set myself to learn. I sat at the feet of those who bore my fetters, even embraced them as brothers in blood – I, a grandee of Spain!’ He tapped the ground with his cane, twice; and the chill of it seemed to flow up into me, numbing my heart. ‘But only by such abasements is enlightenment attained. Regard, if you please, these inconveniences you now suffer in that light; for from them, believe me, I intend that you shall gain! Every bit as much as I did. And that was great.’

His voice had dropped, yet I hung upon his every word. ‘For I became a houngan priest, in touch with the Invisibles. But that was only a first step, a shallow one. The true depths are dark, and to darkness I turned, to the most wicked and corrupt among that servile race. I learned from them the arts of malice and compulsion, of sorcery and necromancy; I became a bocor, an adept of the dark. And within a short time, my inborn mastery asserting itself, I became the greatest among those who had taught me, and cast them down to tremble and suffer with the rest of their kind.’