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The children giggled at this and teased Moses, who rolled his eyes. But from his lopsided grin, it was easy to see he was pleased to be called out by Memphis. The adults had come over to hear the story now. Looking at these good people Memphis had come to know, he thought about the danger they were in, not just from the flood. He didn’t want to scare them. But he did want to warn them so they wouldn’t be caught unawares if the dead came calling. They deserved to know.
“See, the Voice of Tomorrow has to fight the evils of the world. There’s a man in a tall hat, goes by the name the King of Crows.”
One of the kids cawed, and this set off a round of cawing until Nate told everybody to “hush up now and listen to the man’s story.”
“How come he’s called the King of Crows?” Moses asked, giggling. “That’s a funny name.”
“Crows are messengers from the land of the dead. They can bring messages from spirits, from the ancestors. The land of the dead is where the King of Crows works his magic to unleash it on us out here.”
A little girl pursed her lips. “There’s no such thing as a land of the dead.”
“Yes, there is, too. And it’s a place you don’t want to be. That’s why you should never make a deal with the man in the hat.”
Some of the children looked a little scared, and Memphis wondered how honest he should be here. Wasn’t that how fairy tales worked? You told just enough of the terrible truth—There are cruel people. Not all parents love you. The world isn’t fair by a long shot.—and you dressed it up in ogres and brave princesses and giants. Mostly, you reminded people that the evils of the world had to be fought. Even if you weren’t sure you’d win. You still had to go into the monster’s den. You had to face your fears. You still had to stand up to the monster. So he told the children sitting outside the tents in the mud of the Mississippi about that trickster god, the King of Crows, who would stop at nothing till he ate up the country, and then the whole world, unless he was stopped by people being brave.
“The ghosts are here. Walking around this country. You got to be looking for ’em, all right? Look for the little things—birds that fly up and take off real sudden. A sound that makes the back of your neck prickle up, or a cold fog that rises out of nowhere.”
The children had gone stone quiet. Memphis was struck anew by the power of story. Before he had wanted to write himself, before his weekly visits to the 135th Street Library, there had been his mother telling him about François Mackandal and the Maroons up in the hills, plotting rebellion. All those stories about her homeland, a place Memphis had never seen but felt he had because of her stories. She’d instilled a resistance in him with every word.
“Would you bargain with the King of Crows?” Memphis asked.
“No!” the children answered, a thunderous cry.
“Well, now. I don’t think the King of Crows is gonna get a lick of sleep tonight. I think he heard that cry all the way in the land of the dead. And he knows that the Voice of Tomorrow is coming for him.”
“You need to be careful with that Voice of Tomorrow stuff,” Bill scolded later as they lay on the cold, damp ground and tried to get some sleep.
“Why? Why shouldn’t they know? They need to be able to protect themselves. Can’t do that if they don’t know the truth.”
“Because the wrong person might hear.”
Sometimes, Bill got under Memphis’s skin with his nagging. “Who’d be looking for us in a refugee camp on a levee in Greenville, Mississippi?”
“These Shadow Men, they got eyes ever’where. The Red Cross. National Guard. The police and the Klan. Those Fitter Families folks hunting for Diviners. Yeah, they looking for us all right. Jake Marlowe needs us. The King of Crows wants us.”
“Why hasn’t the King of Crows just taken us, then?” Henry wondered.
“Don’t know. He’s got some plan at work. Toying with us for fun,” Bill said.
“Maybe he’s afraid of us and what we can do,” Memphis said.
“I wouldn’t bet money on that,” Bill said.
Memphis couldn’t sleep. He left the tent and sat with a view of the mighty Mississippi and the other overflowing river—the tent city stretching out for miles. He wondered what difficulties Isaiah and Theta and the others were facing, wherever they were.
“I just wanna see my brother and my girl again. I just want them to be safe. That’s all I’m asking,” Memphis said, praying to a god he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore. A god he wasn’t sure believed in him, either.
SPELLS
When all the people had gone home and the fairground lights were dimmed, the circus folk gathered in the cook tent for their supper. Soon, the roustabouts would yank up the pegs and bring the Big Top down in a puddle of canvas. Then everything would be loaded onto the trains for transport to the next town.
Doc Hamilton was enjoying generous swigs from his bottle of “Gentlemen’s Elixir” and was on his way to being quite drunk. Polly looked on disapprovingly.
“Want some?”
“Some of us have to keep our wits about us,” she said in English that carried a Romanian accent. Bella rested his bald head on her shoulder. “I can’t perform tricks if I’m not in best shape. If I’m not—what is it you say, Samuel?”
“Pushing on all sixes,” Sam said.
