Gods of New Orleans

• Gods of New Orleans
  
• Copyright
  
• Dedication
  
• Historical Note
  
• Chapter 1
  
• Chapter 2
  
• Chapter 3
  
• Chapter 4
  
• Chapter 5
  
• Chapter 6
  
• Chapter 7
  
• Chapter 8
  
• Chapter 9
  
• Chapter 10
  
• Chapter 11
  
• Chapter 12
  
• Chapter 13
  
• Chapter 14
  
• Chapter 15
  
• Chapter 16
  
• Chapter 17
  
• Chapter 18
  
• Chapter 19
  
• Chapter 20
  
• Chapter 21
  
• Chapter 22
  
• Chapter 23
  
• Chapter 24
  
• Chapter 25
  
• Chapter 26
  
• Chapter 27
  
• Chapter 28
  
• Chapter 29
  
• Chapter 30
  
• Chapter 31
  
• Chapter 32
  
• Chapter 33
  
• Chapter 34
  
• Acknowledgements
  
• About the Author
  

Copyright

Copyright © 2016 by AJ Sikes

This is a work of fiction. Characters and events portrayed in this work are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons or events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher. The rights of the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Cover Design by Eloise J. Knapp

www.ekcoverdesign.com

ISBN-10: 0997437510

ISBN-13: 978-0997437515

Dedication

To Colin, for helping me get Brand’s story on the airwaves in the first place (anything that’s happened since then is entirely my fault)

Historical Note

Between the years 1936 and 1966, Harlem resident and US postal worker, Victor Green, published a slim volume of travel destinations under the titles
The Negro Motorist Green Book
,
The Negro Travelers’ Green Book
, and, finally,
The Travelers’ Green Book
. In the book were names, numbers, and addresses for locations where African-Americans using the nation’s roads and railways could find lodging, food, and other needs and comforts.

From beauty salons to nightclubs, the
Green Book
lit the way for safe traveling during the worst years of Jim Crow and through the early stages of the Civil Rights Movement.

This novel is a work of fiction, and of alternate history. Here, the
Green Book
makes its appearance in New Orleans, in the year 1929, and with a different intended readership.

Readers interested in learning more about Victor Green’s travel guide are encouraged to visit the New York Public Library’s online archives of Public Domain titles:

http://publicdomain.nypl.org/greenbook-map/

~•~

The term
krewe
isn’t specific to New Orleans, but is perhaps most commonly known to refer to groups and communities that support the annual Mardi Gras festival there. Mardi Gras does not appear in this book, but I do use the term
krewe
, and have taken more than a smidgen of poetic license in doing so.

Most of the
krewes
in Gods of New Orleans may be better described as gangs, though the word is not strictly used in that sense. A
krewe
, here, is any group of people united by a common aim, sensibility, or ethnicity.

Chapter 1

Emma wrapped a hand around her empty gut and took a good long look out the cockpit windows. The long wooden structure of the Memphis mooring deck stretched in both directions beside the airship cabin, but it was empty of anything like what Emma expected to see. Any mooring deck in Chicago City would have had a crew on it waiting to fuel up the first airship to get in line. But this place may as well have had a sign up saying NOTHING DOING.

Emma had been staring at the silent deck for the past few minutes from where she sat in the pilot’s seat in the
Vigilance
. The airship’s motors thrummed and rumbled behind her, close to using up the last drops of gas they had.

The fuel pumps on the deck below sat quiet and calm. Emma snugged her heavy wool coat tighter when she felt her gut turn over again, this time from fear. What if this was the wrong place?

She’d spotted the fuel station earlier than she expected. It should have been another mile to the west, right up against the outskirts of Memphis. Unless the map she had was out of date. That was possible, but something didn’t smell right. She’d made two calls over the wire and still no answer.

Cracks around the cabin door let in another thin whisper of night air that stung her left shoulder, and Emma gave a cry as a shiver forced its way down her back. To her right, the windows over Brand’s desk were buttoned up against the chill. The airship cabin still felt empty and cold.

Because it is
.

But she had five other people on the ship with her. If something went wrong . . .

Emma tried to ignore her worry and checked the station house flag again, to make sure she had the right call sign for the deck.

“Memphis. WMR, sure enough. So what’s with the silent treatment?”

The automatons on the deck hadn’t moved a step. The mooring beacon glowed red in the gathering dusk, but it spoke more warning than welcome. The station house below had no lights on, and she couldn’t see any movement in the small airfield adjacent to the deck.

Emma tried the radio one more time, muffling her voice in her collar like she’d done before. “Airship
Vigilance
requesting refuel on Farnsworth Wind and Water account.” She gave the account number and drew in a slow breath. Maybe her father’s account had run dry.

Been emptied is more like it.

The old man hadn’t bothered to say good-bye the day he shot himself. Didn’t even leave a note.

Didn’t have to. He came back soon enough, from back there where the gods and monsters live behind the city.

Emma stuffed down the memories of her father dressed in a tramp’s rags and fighting off the monster that chased her through Chicago City. That was all behind them now, her and the others on this ship. But there’d be nothing in front of them if they didn’t get some fuel, and soon.

She reached for the radio again, but paused with her hand on the dial. A light flared in the station house and quickly went out. Then it came back and stayed steady.

The station house door cracked open, spilling a thin wedge of firelight across the threshold and into the gray light and shadows around the building.

Up on the deck, the two automatons came to life, stepped out of their shed, and clattered down to the mooring controls. As soon as she saw the gearboxes move, Emma felt her worry fade away like a ghost. She even cracked a smile while she waited for the gearboxes to work the ratchets and winches that would moor the
Vigilance
.

On the ground, two farmer types now stood beside the station house. The men shifted from side to side, shaking warmth into their boots even though they were bundled in heavy coats and hats. The station house door swung closed behind them and the dark night swallowed them up for a minute.

A small lamp glowed to life on a set of wooden stairs leading from the airfield up to the mooring deck. One of the men carried a lantern as he climbed up. The other man waited at the bottom of the stairs.

Up on the deck, the first man waved to Emma to indicate that the ship was secure. She thumbed her acknowledgment and silently hoped the guy wouldn’t tumble to her being a woman.

Everything seemed fine; the gearboxes had connected the fueling hoses. Emma was prepared to unlock the valves when the man on the deck shouted an alarm. She thought something might be wrong with the ship and left her seat to open the cabin door. She froze mid-step when she saw the man holding a pistol in his hand. He had it pointed straight at her through the cabin glass while his partner climbed the ladder up to the
Vigilance
.

~•~

Aiden woke with a start, feeling a twisting in his guts that carried over from his dream. The darkness of the bunkroom threatened to choke him, and he quickly shuffled the blanket off his legs, untangling himself from the chair beside the bunk. His pa was up already and at the door. Aiden went to stand with him and drew up short at the sound of a muffled shout from inside the cabin.

In a flash, Aiden’s pa rushed out of the bunkroom and made for the cabin. Aiden spared a look at his ma then. She lay on the bed, with her brown hair all around her head in a tangle. She was just staring up at the ceiling.

Aiden saw the rise and fall of her breathing, and he stepped back to whisper to her to stay hush, just in case someone rough had got on the ship somehow. Ever since they’d left Chicago City, Aiden’d worried they’d be nabbed by a patrol boat.

“Just going to check on Miss Farnsworth. Okay, Ma? Me and Pa. Okay?”

His ma didn’t move or say anything in reply, but her eyes flicked at him for a moment, like she’d heard him but didn’t care he was there.

Another muffled shout came to his ears, and Aiden knew that Miss Farnsworth was in trouble. Then his pa added his voice, and Aiden felt his stomach flip over with fright.

“Hey, how about just settling down? We don’t want any trouble. We’re just here for some fuel and then we’ll be on our way.”

Aiden bit his tongue when he heard a man reply and with a voice that spoke of hard times on harder streets. It was a voice Aiden heard plenty back in Chicago City, back when he’d spent his days delivering papers up and down the stem.

Tough birds and tougher crooks made a habit of snatching papers from him and only sometimes pitching a nickel back at his feet. The way they sneered when they said, “Thanks for the paper, kid,” sounded just like the voice in the cabin now.

“I’ll say it again, and this’ll be the last time. Sit down and shut up.”

Aiden went to the bunkroom door. He risked a look down the corridor and into the cabin. His pa was backing up against Mr. Brand’s desk. Across the cabin, Miss Farnsworth leaned against something.

No.
Someone.

Whoever it was had a hand wrapped around Miss Farnsworth’s mouth, and the barrel of a pistol poked out next to her ribs, aimed at Aiden’s pa.

The unseen man spoke again, with more force this time.

“I said sit down. Now hop to, buddy.”

A rustling came then, followed by a third voice. Somewhere in his mind, Aiden felt a snag, like a memory wanted to come out where he could see it and hold it. He rubbed at his eyes and shook his head clear, thinking that if he could see the memory, he’d have a reason to smile again.

But Miss Farnsworth was screaming, and Aiden forgot about smiling and ran into the cabin.

~•~

Emma stayed put. The touch of cold metal from a gun barrel still lingered on her cheek. The guy hadn’t wasted a second when he’d come into the cabin. He stuck the snub nose in her face and forced her to back up as he’d climbed into the cabin. Now Emma searched the cabin with her eyes for anything she could use to defend herself.

She’d been such a dope. This wasn’t the Memphis fueling station; it
was
a pirate outfit run by two-bit tough guys, no better than the mobsters who’d rustled power off her father’s plant for years.

She knew it sure as she knew they’d never make it to New Orleans.