THE HINTERLANDS
published by Medallion Press
Historical Fiction
Ologboshere sat on a stool brought out for the occasion. The two victims were already kneeling on the wooden pedestals they would use to hoist them up the sacrificial Iroko tree, and the usual skulls and bones were strewn about as though the residue of a particularly rowdy celebration.
Brendan strode right over to Ologboshere and demanded, “We can stop the joke now! This is too much.” Ologboshere smiled with one side of his mouth. “But you wanted to scare them. They are not scared yet. Look, the man has gone to sleep.” Brendan didn’t need to look to know Rip Bowie had fainted, but he didn’t know the word in Edo. “He is not sleeping, Ologboshere…he has…” He didn’t know the term for “keeled over” either.
Onaiwu assisted. “He has collapsed from fright.” Brendan nodded. “Yes. And there has been a big mistake. These people aren’t from Liverpool. They are from America, Boston, the same place I am from. They are countrymen.” The Edo thought all Americans were from Boston, as that was where all the merchant ships hailed from.
“They have had the impudence to enter Edo without an invitation. The last time an Oyinbo came here, we were tricked into a mistaken treaty that there is no way we can uphold without losing power. The man shows respect by not wearing any clothes, but Ighiwiyisi, we need to make sure these people go back and tell everyone we are such blood-thirsty crazy men never to attempt to come here again.”
“Yes, but if you crucify them, how are they going to tell anyone?”
“Hey!” It was a lusty, smoky shout, from the female L who had disturbed Brendan so much. He saw her more fully now as she kneeled on the platform with her hands bound with tie-tie in her lap. Her upper arms crushed her bosom prominently into view, but Brendan was able to look at her face now, all round shapes, glistening lips as though stained with berries, and handfuls of shiny auburn hair that tumbled about her shoulders. She was much more darkened by the sun than other Oyinbo women Brendan had known, but then, if she was with the New York Anthropology Society, that would explain it.
“You American! Why are you doing this to us? What is wrong with you, you good-for-nothing toad?”
Brendan paused; that was some talk coming from an anthropologist. Weren’t they supposed to be gentle, and concerned about native peoples? “Miss, there’s been a mistake,” he started to shout, but two of Ologboshere’s emada attendants jumped between him and L, and Ologboshere was commanding George, that sallow wretch in the blue dressing gown, “Interpret for me.”
The emada stood stiffly between Brendan and L, but he could still hear George telling L, “The leopard hunter says you are to die, but the good warrior Ologboshere says you are to go free and...” George looked back at Ologboshere, who reminded him, “Go tell everyone in Old Calabar what devils live in Edo.”
Tearing the emada brutally aside, Brendan shouted at L, “These are all lies, Miss L! This lousy varmint has been telling you a pack of lies!” But he was grasped by the upper arms and enveloped in an entire crowd of emada who, with their combined hands upon his limbs, entombed him like a mummy so he could not move.
He could sure enough hear Miss L shouting, though. “Oh, I’ll tell everyone what devils live in Edo, all right! But it isn’t the Africans; no, they’re perfectly civil! It’s the cracked Americans who think they’re Africans and walk around with necklaces made of teeth and leopard skin loincloths carrying spears and poison arrows who are the devils!”
"Mercury's masterpiece of historic fiction with a dash of romance guarantees her readers a roller-coaster ride of action..."
~ Roundtable Reviews, April 2005
"Mercury's research is thorough, and it was refreshing to learn about this lesser-known chapter of history."
~ The Historical Novels Review, August 2005
"The characters are full of wit, humor, and dimensions that will have the reader rooting for them to succeed."
~ Love Romances, May 2005
"There are glimpses of H. Rider Haggard and similar Victorian authors who used Africa for wild adventure tales..."
~ Coffee Time Reviews, April 2005
read Reviews
"The hinterland, the hinterland
We're gonna sail to the hinterland
And it's far far, far far far, far far far away
Its a far far, far far far, fa da, da da da"
David Bowie ~ "Red Sails"
© 2012 Karen Mercury :: All Rights Reserved :: site designed by
