“You done tol’ me ya didn’t care what I done with ya.” Louis laughed.
“That was before I knew you were bringing me to Marie Laveau!”
“What you got ‘gainst my brother’s poor widow?” Louis asked, gripping Barbara tighter.
“I…” Barbara sputtered.
“You don’t believe all them things folk say of her?”
“Please, release me!” Barbara squealed.
“Come, Girl, ain’t fair judgin’ a woman you don’t even know.” Louis shook his head. “Maybe she can help you.”
“I don’t want Marie Laveau’s kind of help!”
“You know Marie?” Louis asked.
“Yes.” Barbara spat.
“Well, then, I’m sure she’ll be glad for ta see ya.” Louis smiled.
“I doubt that.” Barbara tried again to pull away.
“See, Girl, I got instincts. Keen instincts.” Louis said firmly. “I’ll bet ya that Marie’s gonna be right glad when I bring you home.”
Meanwhile, in the ethereal chamber within Julian’s body, Mr. Punch stood up and stared into the empty room. “Here, what’s that you said.”
“I am Guignol.” The heavily-accented voice responded plainly.
“Guignol? The French Mr. Punch?”
“Not exactly. We’re not the same. Guignol is his own man.” He responded.
“But, I don’t know you.” Punch frowned.
“Don’t you?” Guignol answered, still not present in form, but only in voice.
“Again with the questions.” Punch grunted. “What for?”
“Don’t you recall when you were on the ship?” Guignol asked. “You saw the Guignol man with his puppets and became excited. Then, you declared that Guignol was your cousin. You knew me then. Why not now?”
“But, that were just a puppet.” Punch scowled.
“And, isn’t that what we are?”
“No.” Punch said. “I’m a man, I am.”
“Are you?”
“If you don’t stop askin’ me questions, I’ll…”
“What?” Guignol asked. “Hit me with your stick.”
“Maybe.” Punch lowered his eyebrows. “If I could see ya.”
“Fine, then,” Guignol answered, suddenly appearing before Mr. Punch. “Here I am.”
Mr. Punch studied the newly formed figure. Guignol was lean, dressed in a long scarlet robe. A black, boxy hat sat atop his head—trimmed in gold, and behind him, a long queue of dark hair hung down. His face was round and pink with a small nose and almond-shaped eyes.
“You see me,” Guignol smiled. “Will you strike me now?”
“Don’t feel like it.” Punch grumbled. “But, I might later.”
“You do know me, then?” Guignol asked. “You know me and you trust me.”
“Why should I?” Punch growled.
“Because you know I wish you no harm. We are cousins, Mr. Punch. We are part of the same being. I’m here to serve you…to serve our master.”
“How come you’re here. Thought it was just me and me master. Thought I knew everything. I’m the keeper of secrets.”
“You are, Punch.” Guignol nodded. “You are the keeper of secrets. You know more than all of the rest of us combined. You are the powerful one. The name and the body are those of His Grace, but the world, Mr. Punch, is yours. Think of it. We each serve a purpose. Scaramouche is His Grace’s anger, resentment and greed. Jack Ketch is his guilt and his desire to punish himself. They’re just small parts of the whole. You, cher Punch, you are his spirit, his strength, his softness and love. You are his adventurousness and his bravery, his loyalty and his passion. You are the greatest part of him. Himself, His Grace, is fear and timidity. But, you, you are his joy and wonder.”
“What are you, then?”
“I’m his sense of practicality. I’m his ability to be rational.” Guignol replied. “I am the smallest part of all. I am the least used part, and the one that, until now, had remained untested. I am weak, Mr. Punch. But, perhaps, you can give me strength.”
“What? So you can be the strong one?” Punch asked.
“No. So His Grace can be the strong one.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-287? If so, you can read them here.
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