A Plague of Zombies: An Outlander Novella by Diana Gabaldon Page A

lieutenant who stood behind Captain Accompong lifted his voice and said something sceptical in a patois that Grey didn’t understand—but from the man’s attitude, his glance at Cresswell, and the murmur of agreement that greeted his remark, Grey had no trouble in deducing what had been said.
    What is the word of an Englishman worth?
    Grey gave Cresswell, grovelling and snivelling at his feet, a look of profound disfavour. It would serve the man right if—then he caught the faint reek of corruption wafting from Rodrigo’s still form, and shuddered. No, nobody deserved
that
.
    Putting aside the question of Cresswell’s fate for the moment, Grey turned to the question that had been in the forefront of his mind since he’d come in sight of that first curl of smoke.
    ‘My men,’ he said. ‘I want to see my men. Bring them out to me, please. At once.’ He didn’t raise his voice, but he knew how to make a command sound like one.
    Accompong tilted his head a little to one side, as though considering, but then waved a hand casually. There was a stirring in the crowd, an expectation. A turning of heads, then bodies, and Grey looked towards the rocks where their focus lay. An explosion of shouts, catcalls, and laughter, and the two soldiers and Tom Byrd came out of the defile. They were roped together by the necks, their ankles hobbled and hands tied in front of them, and they shuffled awkwardly, bumping into one another, turning their heads to and fro like chickens, in a vain effort to avoidthe spitting and the small clods of earth thrown at them.
    Grey’s outrage at this treatment was overwhelmed by his relief at seeing Tom and his young soldiers, all plainly scared but uninjured. He stepped forward at once so they could see him, and his heart was wrung by the pathetic relief that lighted their faces.
    ‘Now, then,’ he said, smiling. ‘You didn’t think I would leave you, surely?’
    ‘
I
didn’t, me lord,’ Tom said stoutly, already yanking at the rope about his neck. ‘I told ’em you’d be right along, the minute you got your boots on!’ He glared at the little boys, naked but for shirts, who were dancing round him and the soldiers, shouting,
‘Buckra! Buckra!’
and making not-quite-pretend jabs at the men’s genitals with sticks. ‘Can you make ’em leave off that filthy row, me lord? They been at it ever since we got here.’
    Grey looked at Accompong and politely raised his brows. The headman barked a few words of something not quite Spanish, and the boys reluctantly fell back, though they continued to make faces and rude arm-pumping gestures.
    Captain Accompong put out a hand to his lieutenant, who hauled the fat little headman to his feet. He dusted fastidiously at the skirts of his coat, then walked slowly around the small group of prisoners, stopping at Cresswell. He contemplated the man, who had now curled himself into a ball, then looked up at Grey.
    ‘Do you know what a
loa
is, my colonel?’ he asked quietly.
    ‘I do, yes,’ Grey replied warily. ‘Why?’
    ‘There is a spring, quite close. It comes from deep in the earth, where the
loas
live, and sometimes they will come forth and speak. If you will have back your men—I ask you to go there and speak with whatever
loa
may find you. Thus we will have truth, and I can decide.’
    Grey stood for a moment, looking back and forth from the fat old man to Cresswell, whose back heaved with silent sobs, to the young girl Azeel, who had turned her head to hide the hot tears coursing down her cheeks. He didn’t look at Tom. There didn’t seem much choice.
    ‘All right,’ he said, turning back to Accompong. ‘Let me go now, then.’
    Accompong shook his head.
    ‘In the morning,’ he said. ‘You do not want to go there at night.’
    ‘Yes, I do,’ Grey said. ‘Now.’
    * * *
    ‘Quite close’ was a relative term, apparently. Grey thought it must be near midnight by the time they arrived at the spring—Grey, the
houngan
Ishmael, and