The ocean spray was the only recognizable sensation that Mr. Anthony Press could register. Complete exhaustion coupled with what was a rapidly growing sense of debilitating pain quickly followed. Gulls circled overheard, cawing in pleasure as they swooped down for fish, feasting upon the literal metric ton that was spread upon the beach. Razors of light sliced into the darkness of Anthony's eyes as he slowly managed to open them, above him stretched the coastal sky, gray and distantly, furious with what could only be the ire of the most terrible of gods. Groaning aloud he turned his head to the right nearly fainting with effort. Twisted and mangled, upon the beach lay what remained of The Lilac, Anthony's livelihood and prized possession. From the hold spilled the fruit of his labor, fish that would've sold well in Galveston or one of the other seaside resort towns of Texas. Distant thunder and the occasional howl of the ocean wind recalled images of the terrible hurricane that had in only a few hours destroyed what had taken Anthony Press a lifetime to build. Lying upon the beach shuddering with pain, he could only be thankful that he was alive.
Was he alive? Grinding his teeth, Anthony tried to sit up and immediately collapsed into a heap of writhing white-hot pain. The grating sound suggested that his ribs were broken and after pausing for a moment he realized that more than his share of teeth were missing too. Thinking back to the wreck he realized that as he was being flung from the deck he must've collided with the railing, which would explain the terrible state he now found himself in. Sinking a hand into the sand, Anthony tried again this time cursing gratuitously as he forced himself into a sitting position.
Dizzy from both pain and exertion he realized now that he was not alone upon the shore. Smiling in relief as his swimming vision came to focus on what was obviously a police pickup, he allowed himself to fall back onto the sand. Filled again with mind scattering pain he faintly heard the crunch of approaching footsteps before closing his eyes in what proved to be a horribly painful fit of coughing. When he opened them and his eyesight focused he saw above him a thickly built man dressed in the khaki of a Sheriff. The man took off his sheriff's hat and knelt down beside him, patting him gently on the shoulder before keying his radio and saying, “Andre here, I'm going to need a paramedic to the junction of twenty seven and eighty two, got a man hurt on the beach on the ocean side of Mud Lake.” After a brief pause a grainy voice answered, “Roger that Sheriff Garcin, we'll get an ambulance out to you in ten.”
Anthony shuddered again realizing that on top of the debilitating pain he was also freezing cold. Numb lips tried to form words to thank the Sheriff but instead his vision swam again and he felt the stifling hand of unconsciousness claim him, finally dispelling the thought scattering pain.
*
Unlike before Anthony's first registered sensation was warmth. For a few moments he savored the feeling, also noting that he no longer felt pain but rather a sort of sleepy comfort that no doubt was the product of medicine. Struggling a bit he opened his eyes and blinked away the chemically induced sleepiness to find himself in a sterile looking hospital room. Seated at the foot of his bed was the Sheriff who promptly rose and placed a hand upon Anthony's chest, softly saying, “Woah now Mr. Press, you've had a helluva trip. Parlez-vous Francais? Closing his eyes and breathing slowly Anthony replied, “No.” Sheriff Garcin smiled, sat back down and said, “English will be fine then. So can you tell me a bit about what happened? We assumed it was the storm but you never do know down here...”
Anthony tried to nod his head but found that the gesture his medicated body made was something between an exhausted flop and an epileptic seize. After another instant he murmured, “Yes sir, the storm.” Rising slowly the Sheriff patted Anthony on the shoulder and said, “Right, well thank you very much Mr. Press, I'll leave you now in peace.” As he left the room Sheriff Garcin waved over a nurse and softly ordered, “Put that man out, he's been through a lot and I imagine in a day or two we'll transfer him to Tulane Medical Center.”
*
Bumps in the road woke Mr. Press just as the glossy black van pulled into Tulane Medical Center. With a start Anthony realized that he must've been out for at least a day as the sun was still rising while he clearly seen the Sheriff's watch as being high noon when he had last been semiconscious. Craning his neck as far as it would go, he could see at least two other patients in the vehicle, neither conscious. Facing the rear of the van, he had no idea if there were another two behind him, or who was driving. Whining slightly the vehicle promptly stopped and the rear doors opened. Bright light streamed in and two orderlies began to transfer the read two patients to waiting gurneys. Strapping them in securely they looked back towards Anthony and instead of jumping back in to grab him as well, they closed the rear doors of the van.
There was a moment's pause before the vehicle lurched forward, driving now to some unknown destination.
*
New Orleans was a paradise for those who knew where to look. Wealthy from a combination of Mississippi River tolls and a recent growth in the shipbuilding industry, the city had more than it's fair share of opulent neighborhoods and wealthy citizens to populate them. While the rest of the non-Layartebian mid-continent territories were stuck in a cycle of lawlessness and abject poverty that was heightened by every short-lived Empire to rise up out of the chaos, New Orleans and by extension the Louisiana Region was doing well. Like a parasite stuck on the ass-end of an apex predator, the city and region could leach off of the Empire, drawing tourists and millionaires alike with it's five star luxury restaurant and resorts as well as it's flexible legal system.
While it was true that the authority of the City Management Commission did not extend into the swamps or the northern stretches of the region, it was not these locales that the respectable guests frequented. Instead all of the money like the roads of Rome, led to one destination and instead of the Eternal City it was the Big Easy. Guided by a quasi-democratic Oligarchical City Management Commission, the Big Easy had in the course of only a few years reversed the seemingly cursed position of the North American South, that of being the spoils left over by the Empire for any little warlord to play-with. Instead there was an open road to the rich markets of Texas and Mexico, with some talk of efforts to appeal for recognition on the part of the big economic players, Africa, Rome, the Slavic Union.
However the first task would be to formalize the order of the City Management Commission, something that would be far more difficult than it appeared. Wrapped up in miles of red tape, the process to amend the form of government of the City and Territory of New Orleans was possible only with a strong glass of strong drink. Commissioner Joseph Piernes sipped a mint julep and pretended to read the stack of papers before him as the twelfth meeting dedicated to sorting out the reorganization dragged on. Hailing from a prestigious landowning family from up near Baton Rouge Joseph was what most members of the City Management Commission would call, a “legacy” member. While just under half of the council was directly elected by citizens of the parishes of New Orleans, just over half were members for life from some of the most wealthy families in the region, Joseph was the youngest of these men and yet already considered the informal leader. These families typically had distant but potent ties to commercial interests in the Empire and quite often could also boast of an African or Cottish acquaintance as well. Unlike the Citizen Commissioners, these Oligarchs were the real power-holders and for them the meetings were a mere formality. Anything worthwhile was handled in private where the passions of the common folk were not at risk of corrupting the city's priorities.
With a start Joseph realized that the speaker had droned himself into silence and that the whole chamber was waiting on his word to either terminate or continue the meeting. Trying not to smile he rose to his feet and said first in French and then in English, “The meeting will be concluded tomorrow gentlemen.” There was an audible groan from the left-half of the chamber, the Citizen Commissioner side, but regardless all members filed out in an orderly fashion after a few moments. Forced by position to be the last one out of the terribly stuffy room, Joseph casually pulled out his special work only cellular phone and texted a number of other Commissioners, “Dinner in a state of Rapture tonight?” There was only a brief pause before a flurry of message in the affirmative trickled into his phone, it seems that his fellow Oligarchs had a desire to settle the matter of reorganization slightly faster than death by bureaucracy.
*
It had been hours but the vehicle finally came to a stop. Anthony had no idea where he was but was resigned to soon finding out. He had some half an hour earlier been able to catch a short glimpse of three other patients behind him and like him they were also strapped into rear facing seats. With a sort crunch the lock disengaged on the rear door and three men opened opened it. The sun was setting it seemed, or rising, as the light was that of a beautiful dusk or majestic dawn. One of the men raised a flashlight and shined it in the eyes of the three patients before waving the other two forward. Methodically but not without kindness they carried the patients out of the van and strapped them into waiting gurneys. The gurneys were then wheeled down a small paved pathway to a dock that jutted into a silt filled brown river.
Anthony had no idea what was going on but when he tried to speak found that his lips wouldn't move. Straining with all of his might he soon found that none of his limbs would obey him and that for all intents and purposes he was completely paralyzed. Within ten minutes a large air-boat pulled into view, crewed by men dressed all in tight fitting black clothing. They tied up to the dock and exchanged low words in French with the men from the van who each received an envelope before returning to their parked vehicle. Without a word they drove off, leaving Anthony and the other two patients sitting on the dock, now presumably in the care of the men from the boat. Quickly they were loaded onto it's flat deck and secured with thick ropes before it too zoomed off down the dirty brown river.
After a few snakelike turns they split off from the larger river and raced down a narrow canal. The crewmen didn't speak but Anthony was able to appreciate their level of skill as they navigated the tight channel with seeming ease. Finally they began to slow and then coast towards a small dock that was obscured by a thick mixture of netting and a felled willow tree. Once tied up to the dock Anthony was then able to perceive a slightly dilapidated gothic mansion rising up out of the gloom, utterly isolated by the miles of surrounding swampland. He and the two others were taken and wheeled slowly up a simple gravel pathway before being swallowed by the darkness of the mansion's shadow.
Still knowing nothing, Anthony could not help but feel a wave of terror sweep over him as even the light of the quickly rising moon was obscured by the cold stone of the mansion.
*
Joseph Piernes smiled across the table at a particularly attractive young socialite. He didn't know her name or what family she came from, but the rigid rules of socialization meant that he had to at least fake interest in whatever she was saying. If the dazzling young woman had been admitted to the dinner then she must come from one of the old families of the territory, perhaps from up north near St. Franscisville which would explain why Joseph didn't know her. Turning to his left once the young woman paused in the conversation he quietly suggested that it was time for the Commissioners to retire to the drawing room to discuss what was to be done about the reorganization of the territory.
Smiling a second time to the young blueblood, Joseph invited her to call upon him when they returned to New Orleans and then swiftly rose. Matching him the other twenty two Commissioners stood and followed. Winding their ways through a series of dazzling if a bit decayed rooms they emerged in a breathtakingly tasteful library. Floor to ceiling bookshelves held ancient leather bound tomes that were all in the process of decaying slowly in the Louisiana humidity. Above a large stone mantle towered a colossal abstract painting that depicted some otherworldly being, it was undoubtedly an original Pickman, exceedingly rare since the destruction of his works in the 20s.
Seating themselves in a loose semicircle the assembled Commissioners all received glasses of a fine Roman wine before Joseph called the meeting into order. One by one the Commissioners announced what family they represented, in time demonstrating the quilt of social connections that made the unity and prosperity of Louisiana possible. When the final family was announced Piernes stepped into the center of the semicircle and said, “My dear colleagues and fellows, the stars are right, we must make a decision.” In unison the twenty one other Commissioners replied, “The Black Man will speak.”
Turning to face the doorway, Joseph Piernes rang a handbell and shouted, “Bring the first speaker in!”
*
Anthony was the last patient left in the comfortable but strangely quiet room. The other two had been wheeled out by nurses, the first one more than a two hours ago while the second had left only twenty minutes before. Breathing slowly, Anthony still couldn't move his limbs but found that it was possible to speak now, though in nothing louder than a whisper. He had no idea what was going on, but the fact that he was still being periodically provided medicine or at least injections of something that made him feel relaxed was a reassuring sign. Every person he saw was dressed as a nurse, though from time to time he observed smartly clad servants who suggested that this was a hospital for the worthies of Louisiana. Relations between the Territory and the Texan Cities had always been warm, perhaps they were keeping him in an exclusive hospital until the Texan Council could be contacted?
As if to answer his mental questions two large men in scrubs appeared and began to wheel him out of the room. They passed through corridor after corridor, until finally stopping some ten or twelve minutes later before a large wooden doorway. One of the men respectfully knocked answered by the call of, “the final speaker my friends, let's see if he says the same thing as the others.” With a soft grunt the lead man opened the old doorway and the second rolled Anthony into what at first glance appeared to be a library of some kind. Momentarily overcome by the darkened lighting and the smell of incense, it was only after being lifted from the gurney and carried towards an aristocratically dressed man that Anthony realized the man was covered in blood.
Terror again gripped him as he saw a chipped oak table upon which the grisly remains of the two other patients lied. Dismembered completely, they appeared to have been smeared this way and that, resembling the ancient practice of trying to see the future in an animals entrails. Laid gently upon the table, Anthony was unable to do more than whisper-shout in terror. Leaning over him the aristocratically dressed butcher softly asked, “What is the Black Man saying?” As the knife entered his side Anthony found the ability to scream.
*
Covered in the blood and shit of lesser beasts, Joseph Piernes stepped away from the table and once more faced the other commissioners. He stood silent for a moment, savoring the residual feelings of engaging in holy communion with his god. While many would say that the art of intestine reading was nothing more than superstition, Joseph and the Oligarchs of Louisiana had acted according to the signs in the blood for more than a dozen generations. Raising the still dripping knife in salute to the Pickman painting above the fireplace, Joseph intoned, “The Black Man has spoken.” He was answered with a chorus of, “Praise the Haunter of the Dark!” Joseph waited for the echoes of the grim prayer to fade into the night before continuing, “His will has been made known. In the blood and flesh of the speakers I have seen a city, our city, ruled by us not as a Commission but as a Senate. Like the ancient Roman Republic we shall guide our city according to the will of the gods and the wisdom of our laws yet unlike them we shall endure for more than a thousand years! It is his will that we in time grow, snaking along the Mississippi-the great artery of this land, building an order guided by the holy words that I can perceive in the ichor of the speakers.” As he expected the commissioners responded, “Then it will be so.” Stifling a smile he concluded with, “Tomorrow by the order of our god you will elect me as Executive of the Louisiana Republic and guided by the wisdom of the Black Man I will bring us into a new era of prosperity.” Again the commissioners responded, “It will be so.” Pushing his luck Piernes concluded with, “By the order of the Haunter in the Dark I shall then decree that I will rule for life. Such is the will of Nyarlathotep! As expected they again chorused, “Then it will be so.”
Smiling internally at how easily the old and religious were to manipulate, the new lifelong President of Louisiana thought, “Then it will be so.”
