A Woman of the Swamp

11. Houses of the Dead

Marie rode in the van's back seat, enjoying the respite of air conditioning. They had been driving for hours and she hadn’t felt a twitch of magical energy. It was a long and boring day. As a result, she spent her time listening to Lopsang and James swapping stories. Much like Nick’s, they were far from the realm of normal but were at least a little bit closer to believable. From what she could tell, James was the honest one of the group, wearing his heart, albeit sarcastically, on his sleeve. Lopsang was supposed to be the muscle, which struck her as odd given his diminutive stature, but he certainly carried the confidence for the job.

“Alright, coming up on the next one Marie, get ready,” Lopsang had been calling out each mausoleum they’d passed throughout the day, which meant he was busy. In New Orleans, there were houses for the dead every few miles, and with the city’s tendency to store the dead above ground, each was a viable target for necromantic activities.

Marie looked out the window. They were at the city's edge, but it was still midday. She couldn’t imagine anyone trying to break into a crypt so early. White monoliths rose above iron-wrought fences, flanked by polished white marble chambers. The pristine nature of the graves meant they were new or owned by the ultra-wealthy. Poorer gravesites would show the effects of humidity and inclement weather. Just like in life, money remained king. Groups of tourists milled in and out of the mausoleum’s gates, some on guided tours, others just showing a passive interest in the macabre.

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, I don’t think anyone would rob a mausoleum in broad daylight.” Her suggestion had been to wait until the evening before setting out, but Shirley was insistent.

“I know, I know.” James drummed on the steering wheel as they approached. “But you heard the boss. One more necromantic slip up and we’re all in deep shit.”

“And probably getting paid less,” pointed out Lopsang.

Marie shrugged and did her best to sense magic power. Feeling the pull of the staff had been a fleeting affair and completely out of her control, but she owed it to them to try something. Concentrating, Marie remembered what it felt like to hold the staff, the wood grooves smooth to her touch. She reached out, trying to sense it, but the strain did nothing other than contribute to a growing headache. “Got nothing back here. What are you going to do with all that government money anyway?”

Lopsang laughed. “You heard I crashed my plane, right? All that money wasted on pilot school… I had just figured out a smooth landing too.”

“That’s not the way Nick tells it.”

Lopsang chuckled. “Alright, less bumpy, but the point stands. I crashed my plane and I’m not going to find a deal like that again.”

Marie’s hand suddenly leaped toward the window, nearly colliding with the glass. “Woah, what the hell?!”

James slammed on the brakes, sending puffs of white smoke out from behind the van. The car behind them screeched to a halt and laid on its horn. “What is it? Everything ok?”

Lopsang turned to stare at her.

Marie felt suddenly naked and wished she had more control over the action. It was like a particularly motivated cramp. Her hand spasmed and groped, reaching out toward the mausoleum of its own volition. “I guess you need to find a parking spot. I’m not sure what’s here, but I’m feeling something.” The suddenness of the motion unnerved her, and its unyielding persistence sent cold dread down her spine. You are stronger than a staff.

You and I both know I’m more than wood and bone.

Marie shut her eyes, willing the voice to go away.

James put the car back in gear and looked for a parking spot.

“May I?”

Marie opened her eyes and found Lopsang reaching for her hand. The tenderness in his eyes put her at ease. “You can certainly try.” As James pulled farther from the cemetery, her fingers extended in a painful grasping motion, flexing every muscle in her hand.

Lopsang grabbed her hand. His palms were rough. Slowly, he pried her fingers open, despite their constant attempts to curl in a grip. The spasms wracked her with pain. Lopsang muttered words in a foreign language and pressed his thumb into various points on her hand. Aching soreness radiated from his touch as the muscles in her fingers relaxed and stopped trying to escape. In thirty seconds, she was able to gingerly move her fingers again.

“That’s a neat trick.” She flexed her hand.

Lopsang nodded. “We used it on climbers in my village. When someone took a particularly bad fall or had a near miss, their hands would often freeze like that. They’d keep reaching for the next ledge or trying to grab the rope to keep themselves safe. The pressure points help release the body’s tension and act as a reset.”

Marie took a few deep breaths. “Where is your village?” she asked, trying to draw her focus away from her fear.

“Deep in a mountain region called the Kwiyae, nestled in the Himalayas. Most people don’t even know it exists.” A smile crept over his face. “I doubt I’ll ever convince Nick or James to go back, but I do miss the mountain wine.”

“Some of us died on that mountain.” James’s tone was matter-of-fact, rather than harsh or barbing. “I’m not sure I could go there again without hearing the yeti’s roar. There’s not enough wine in the world to drown that sound out.”

“On that, you might be right.”

James pulled into a spot and the three of them sat in silence.

Eventually, Marie broke it. “Well, the staff is here. What now?”

“Nick and Shirley are dark until this afternoon, so we can’t call them for backup.” James gave the cemetery a longing look.

Lopsang did the same. “She did ask us to stop the necromancer, right?”

“That she did,” agreed James. “Marie, about how long would you say it takes to get what you need out of a crypt?”

Marie thought about it. “If they’re any good, fifteen minutes tops. Any longer, and someone is likely to spot you, especially now.” While waiting for backup was the safe plan, Marie felt a subtle yearning in her chest. She wanted to go into the cemetery and confront whatever it was that had taken her staff.

“Way I see it, we’re out of options.” James opened the door.

Lopsang did the same.

Marie followed.

James went around the back and pulled open the van’s double doors. “They didn’t leave us with much equipment, but luckily, I’ve inherited some of Nick’s paranoia. We’ve dealt with the undead before and there are certain things you just don’t leave home without.” He checked for passersby and rolled out a large duffle bag. Inside were several, shiny sharp implements ranging from a short sword to daggers. Several glass baubles jangled as they brushed against each other.

“Pick your poison.”

Marie looked down at the cavalcade of death. The only weapon she had ever wielded was the staff, and even that had been fleeting. Sure, her cousins took her shooting in the bayou as a kid, but that wasn’t the undead. “This might come as a surprise to you, but I’m not exactly prepared for this. The undead I had to put down were usually clinging to life by a few rotting sinews. Whatever this other necromancer is conjuring is likely going to be stronger.”

Lopsang picked up two hand sickles and a pair of belt clips. “Maybe just stick to what you can hide.” He grabbed a few glass baubles and shoved them in his jacket pockets.

“Most of this stuff doesn’t work against the undead anyway, but as Nick says, if you prepare for everything, you’ll die to nothing.” James cocked his head at the words. “Saying it out loud is a lot less poetic than it came across in the manual.”

“I thought you’d stopped reading that thing.”

“Well, Lopsang, unlike you, I’m not exactly here freely. Nick is a friend, but the apprenticeship contract I signed is ironclad. He says the secret to completing it is somewhere in the manual, so until I find it, I’m stuck reading his drunken ramblings.”

Marie picked up a dagger. “Sounds like a typical internship.” She swung the blade in a short arc. “I don’t like getting this close to the undead, but it’ll have to do.” One bite and she was going to be in much worse trouble.

“Try this.” James handed her a small metal tube about the size of her hand with a black button set into the middle.

She took it and ran her thumb across it.

Both James and Lopsang jumped back.

“Jesus!” James continued to step back. “Don’t push it here. I wasn’t finished. It’s a collapsible spear. Press that button and it expands with sharp bits on both ends. Don’t point it at anything you’re not comfortable losing.”

Marie nearly dropped the item in her surprise. “In the future, that’s an instruction you should give before you hand this to someone.”

James stepped back toward the car, careful to avoid the spear’s extension angle. “Fair enough. But that should keep you at a better distance, and you can use the daggers for throwing.” James picked up a few baubles of his own and clipped a short jumble of metal to his pant leg. “Collapsible harpoon gun. Nick thinks we forgot to bring it, but I just figured I’d need it more. Besides, half the time it ends up going off in his coat pocket anyway.” He loaded a few spare harpoons into a quiver and closed the back of the van. “Who’s up for a walk?”

The trio made their way toward the open mausoleum gates. Unlike any of the resting places in New Orleans proper, there was no admission or reason required to enter. A solitary tour guide milled about outside, hoping to catch tourists who didn’t know any better and just wanted to see some stone buildings with corpses inside.

“You all looking for a tour?” he asked, eyes hopeful.

“Piss off,” replied Marie, and then under her breath whispered: “God damn funeral profiteers.”

James and Lopsang shared a passing glance but said nothing.

The tour guide retreated. “Sorry, ma’am.” He trembled.

Marie ignored him and walked into the cemetery. Once they were out of earshot, she giggled. “Poor kid.”

“It was a little mean,” said Lopsang.

“But necessary. Want to avoid any extra attention if we can, right? If I hadn’t said anything, he would have followed us in and tried to sell us historical facts for a tip. Working this far out of the city is barely a paying gig, and my guess is, he’s desperate.” Marie worked plenty of jobs outside the city before she found a touring company that would give her a license. No license, no access. No access, no pay.

“Huh, wouldn’t have thought of that.”

A recently polished cobblestone road ran from the entrance down the center of a tomb-strewn street. Thinner paths ran off towards the edges of the cemetery. Monolithic tombs stood in the center, casting shadows over the smaller graves at the edge. Marie saw a group of mourners gathered off to the left, but the cemetery was otherwise quiet.

“Well, where to?” asked James.

Marie walked up to the nearest tombs, inspecting their seals and looking for any signs of rubble. There were none. She held out her hand to the road, hoping to feel the pull of the staff. There was nothing but the warm breeze. She sighed. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

James let a hand rest on his harpoon gun. “Alright, let’s stick together and run it row by row. Place isn’t that big.”

They moved slowly, trying to keep quiet. Mausoleums towered on either side of them. On their right, a miniature Grecian marble temple stood, complete with columns flanking the entrance. Inside was a simple three-walled room covered with plaques bearing the names of the deceased. A fire burned in a metal brazier on the floor. “That’s a family tomb,” pointed out Marie. The name LeBlanc was stenciled across the top. “Rich from the looks of it.”

“I’ll never understand why people would pay to be buried in a place like this,” said Lopsang.

Marie had always found quiet peace in New Orleans’s cemeteries, but she supposed it was a factor of being raised in them. “It’s a way to keep your family close even in death and honor them. But in modern culture, it’s excessive.”

Lopsang nodded. “Some of the living don’t have places to shelter and yet we’re obsessed with buildings for the dead.”

James cleared his throat. “I don’t know, it seems like a nicer way to honor someone rather than pushing them off a mountainside, strapped to a sled.”

“That was a traditional mountaineer’s burial, you should be honored.”

“Oh, should I?”

Marie was only half listening as conversation flared into argument. Ahead a pair of marble buildings stood high on either side of the path. Each was a full ten feet higher than the perimeter wall. “Now that’s excess,” she breathed. One of the iron gates blocking the entrances to the graves was bent and open. She stopped.

Lopsang and James’s argument died as they followed suit.

Marie pointed a finger at the mausoleum. “That looks like tomb robbing.” She pulled the collapsible spear out of her pocket and held it at her side.

James pulled the harpoon gun out and crept toward the tomb.

Marie followed, keeping her finger lightly above the spear’s button. Beyond the door of the mausoleum was another room like the one they had seen before. Plaques rose high toward the ceiling indicating walls filled to the brim with the dead. Above, a painted domed ceiling depicted a watchful god looking down on all of them. The strange thing was the floor, or rather, where the floor should have been. A ragged hole opened in the stone, revealing a staircase that led down beneath the mausoleum.

“No one builds catacombs in New Orleans,” whispered Marie. “They’d have to be very rich, and very stupid.”

Dull scraping echoed from below.

The trio stopped at the entrance.

“Well, that seems suspicious.” James slowly unfolded the harpoon gun. “Think it’s our necromancer?”

“Almost certainly, but something isn’t right about that tomb. The whole city is below sea level. Catacombs leave you with a bunch of soggy corpses floating up every time it rains.”

“Is it possible they built an airtight chamber down there?”

Marie nodded. “I guess, but highly impractical, especially given the size of the above ground family.”

“Could be a big family?”

“Sure, but I don’t think it’s that simple.” She looked at the other tall tomb across the way. “Dueling families maybe. Wanted to be able to spit on each other’s graves, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Either way, we’re in a short window here.”

Marie looked back toward the tomb. She wanted to feel a sense of caution or perfectly rational fear, but her hand was pulling her forward. It wanted to go down into the earth, wanted to see what evil was at work below, and worst of all, wanted to be reunited with her staff. “You’re right. Be careful though. Whatever’s down there, we’re going to be in close quarters with it.”

Lopsang pulled a few of the glass baubles out of his jacket.

The three of them made their way inside.