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The mule was nowhere to be seen but when I came to the rear of the mansion I saw Tobias's buggy still hitched to his great gray mare. The mare was just standing there
with her back leg crooked so I knew she was asleep.
Gently I roused her by rubbing between her eyes and then
I led the sleepy horse and buggy back toward the barn.

As I was crossing the yard someone shouted, in a raspy
dry voice, "Hey you, boy."

Coming toward me was a white man with a pronounced
limp. As he shambled closer I was able to make out various
details about his features. His head was bald, that was the
first thing I noticed. After that I made out the eye patch. A
shiver went through me and I was so frightened I didn't
even think about running.

Closer still I could see that the skin all about the top of
the man's head had been sewn like leather.

"Stay right there," the man said, and I knew it was Mr.
Stewart.

"You dead," I said.

"Hallelujah and I am risen," he replied, a big smile
crossing his ugly maw.

In his right hand I could see the bullwhip. And even
though I was healed I could feel the pain of my twelve
lashes all over again. He raised his arm and released the
lash but before it could reach me
before I could even
think I was a quarter of the way across the yard looking at Mr. Stewart from the side. After the bullwhip cracked in
the air he turned and smiled.

"You lookin' a little taller, Numbah Forty-seven," he
said. "Look like you gotta new master too."

Again he swung at me and again I moved faster than I could think.

"Neither master nor nigger be," I said, standing at a
spot eight feet from where Stewart's bullwhip bit. "Fool," he said, and then snapped his whip again.
Six times he swung at me and six times I avoided the whip. On each swing the lash got closer. The last time I
felt the breeze caused by its passage.

But I was ready to run again. What I hoped was that John
would hear us and come out. I didn't want to call to him because then Mr. Stewart would have known that I had an
ally. If I kept my friend's presence a secret I hoped that we
could overcome him by stealth if not by strength of arm.

There I was in the year 1832. There was no electricity
yet or flying machines or laser beams; the glorious miracles
of the twentieth century had not been invented and so
when I looked upon the walking corpse of Mr. Stewart I
could only think of magic, evil magic. Somehow a spell had
been evoked and Stewart had become a zombie. He was
the walking dead and everybody knew that a walking dead
man could only be put back in the grave by the use of salt or silver
and I didn't possess either one.

The onetime overboss was maybe twelve feet away from
me but I was prepared to defend myself. Somehow I had
gained the speed of a wildcat. I knew that there was no
man in Georgia who could catch me. I waited for him to
draw back his whip but he surprised me and jumped!

He hurtled through the air even faster than I could run.
I made it four steps and he came down, catching me in the
crook of his right arm.

Everything that happened next came to pass in a few

seconds but those few seconds felt like many long minutes.

As Stewart's arm curled around my waist I stepped up

on it and over his grasp. I skipped a step away but before I

could run he caught hold of my ankle. I turned around
then and pushed on his hand, moving my foot before he
could get a solid hold. We were face to face for a moment.
I could see that his skin color was paler than it had been
and he smelled wild, like a dog after he's rolled around in something foul. I had no time to consider those things be
cause the one-eyed man pushed me and as I fell he rose up,
intent upon falling on me.

I made it into a crouch but I have never in my very long life been in a tighter spot. If I turned to run the human Cy
clops would jump and take me down. If I stayed there all
he had to do was reach out and seize me.

In that standoff, which lasted no more than two sec
onds, I noticed that Mr. Stewart's eye-patch was made
from wrought iron. All across, the metal was etched with
delicate designs. In spite of my situation I wondered,
Where
could he get such a thing?

Mr. Stewart bent down a bit and I knew he was about to
jump. I prepared to avoid his lunge but my chances, I knew,
were no better than even.

The slave boss grinned.

"Begone!" The word boomed all around us.

I was amazed by the splendor of that voice but Mr.
Stewart grabbed his head and fell to his knees. When he
went down I could see John a few paces behind him. He
was standing tall and regally.

"Begone!" he intoned again, and Stewart raised up on
all fours and scampered away like a cur running from a lion.

"Quickly," John said to me then. "We must be away

from here."

"What about Mama Flore?" I cried.

"There is no time," he said. "Big trouble will be here

soon."

20
.

The next thing I knew we were running through the
woods, moving quickly between the boughs and branches.
My feet were sure and swift and I didn't have to rely on
holding onto my friend.

After we had had run for some time I stopped. When
he realized that I was no longer following him John
stopped too.

"Come on," he said. "We have to get away from here
before he comes."

"You already chased Mr. Stewart away," I argued.

"Not the ghoul but his master," John said.

"Who?"

"The one you know as Andrew Pike."

I remembered the tall man on the chestnut mare who
had interrupted poor Ned's funeral. For some reason it set
off a thrilling in my heart. But I refused to give in to fear.

"Why would he be coming after the Corinthian?" I
asked. "I thought he was only after you and that green
powder."

"He is," John said. "He thinks we're on the plantation.
He'll go there first. In the meantime we can get away. You
don't know enough yet to protect yourself from his power."

"But what will he do to the peoples on the plantation?"

"I don't know," John said. "But I'm sure that he will
come in force."

"But what about Mama Flore and Champ and all the

other slaves?"

"All we can do is hope that they survive the attack," the
strange bronze-colored boy said, hanging his head down.

"Attack? What attack?"

"It's like I told you before. Pike wants something that I
have
my machine. It has the power to dig into the earth
and excavate the green powder. With that he could start a
chain reaction that would disrupt the entire universe. He would kill every being on this planet to obtain my ma
chine. So you see I can't go back and help the others."

Something about the light that John put into my chest
allowed me to understand his words. I understood the
word
planet
and what that entailed. I could almost see all
the species of life throughout the world: trillions of hearts
and minds from the lowliest insect to the great sperm

whale.

"But every life is holy," I said, somehow knowing this
was the truth. "And without Mama Flore I'm sure I would have died a long time ago. If she had let me die I would
never be able to help you and your people."

"We can't go back," John said.

"We have to," I countered.

When our eyes met I understood the relationship between the disguised alien and me. He had seen stars up
close and the infinite variety of the place he called Uni
verse. I had seen suffering and hard-won survival for every
moment of my brief existence. And, while he knew much
more than I did, I had a deeper knowledge of what it
meant to be on the brink of losing everything. That's why
he needed me, because I would make the choice for living

against any odds.

I think these same thoughts went through Tall John's

mind because he bowed his head again.

"You are the chosen hero," he said. "I must follow."
And even though I wanted him to say that he would go

with me to try and help my slave family I had to wonder

why he would do so.

"What do you mean
chosen?" I asked. "How was I

chosen and who in hell chose me?"

"The answer, like your true name, Forty-seven, is in
your blood. You and a few others like you have the perfect
blood code to hold the powers of the Tamal. And you, un
like many others, have a pure heart and an innocent view
of the world. Even the fact that you would go back to your
friends after almost being killed by Wall's ghoul proves
that you have a brave soul and true spirit."

"What happened to Mr. Stewart?" I asked then.

come upon him before the vitality had gone out of his
blood. Wall resurrected him to do his bidding."

"If he can do all that then why can't he build his own
machine to dig down in the ground for that powder?"

"The Calash are not as evolved in technology as are the Tamal," John said. "They work mainly with biology. They even travel through space using certain unique qualities of
their anatomy. Wall needs my machine or it will be more
than a century before he will receive the power to try again."
"So it's our job to keep Wall from getting to your ma
chine?" I asked.
"Yes."

"I promise to help you do that if you help me save
Mama Flore and Champ and as many slaves as we can."
"As I said," John replied, "I will follow your lead."

When we got back upon the Corinthian Plantation it was
just before dawn. Everything was calm.

"Are they still under your spell?" I asked John.
"No. Everyone is sleeping normally. But look." John
put his hand on my shoulder and pointed to the woods on
the other side of Tobias's mansion. Somehow his touch allowed me to see what he could with his superior alien per
ceptions. Suddenly I could see behind the woods, making
out a group of a dozen or so heavily armed men. The one-
eyed ghoul, Mr. Stewart, was in their lead.

All of the men were white, armed with rifles, and had pistols-

stealthily toward the big house and the workmen's dor
mitory.

"Quick," John said. "Hurry down and release as many
slaves as you can while I warn Tobias and his men."

Before I could run he added, "I will be weak from the
effort of waking the slave master's clan, Forty-seven. You
will have to save your friends alone."

Maybe if I had time to think about his last words I
would have changed my mind. But I was mostly thinking
about saving my friends.

"Where I find you aftah?" I asked John.