The ABC AFFAIR 2019- E is for Endymion
Mar. 10th, 2019 11:00 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuIIllya was quite awake when he heard Napoleon leave, and seeing the note stating that he was going down to the hotel bar for a drink answered the Russian’s only question.
He was fairly confident his partner wouldn’t leave the premises as he’d most likely become entwined with a member of the fairer sex staying here at the hotel.
They had a 7 o’clock appointment to keep, and an agent like Solo wouldn’t miss it, at least that what Illya hoped. Then again never knew for sure with the American and his voracious libido.
Napoleon had a few cocktails with a pretty young thing named Lula, but for some reason he found himself losing interest in her. She wasn’t the brightest bulb on the string and though he wouldn’t have minded getting laid, he was more in the mood at the moment for intelligent conversation than anything else. He looked at his watch; it was time to go either way.
As soon as Napoleon returned Illya sat up with a yawn.
“So what was her name?” He mumbled as he ran his fingers through his mussed hair.
“What makes you so sure I was with a woman?”
“I can smell her perfume. Jean Naté by Revlon, I believe.”
“How the hell would you know that?”
“I am a chemist as well as a physicist and I have been able to replicate...”
“Never mind I don’t want to know, but next time I need a gift for one of the ladies in headquarters maybe you could mix me up a batch.”
“Sorry, that would be illegal,” the Russian smirked.
“Very funny, and just so you know I only had drinks with a dish named Lula, who ended up being a dud.”
“Good, because we need to get going.”
“I know, that’s why I came back,” Solo crinkled his nose at him sarcastically.
Getting to the cemetery was easier said than done as the only route they could use found them smack in the middle of the Krewe of Endymion festivities.
Apparently this Krewe was so popular that onlookers began saving their viewing spots in the wee hours of the morning, even though the parade didn’t start until much later on.
Endymion hosted the Samedi Gras, advertised as the greatest block party on earth, drawing tens of thousands from the mid-city neighborhoods to help kick off Endymion. The Krewe’s motto was ‘Throw ‘til it Hurts!” They estimated that they would toss thousands of baubles from their floats along their parade route.
Samedi or better known as Baron Samedi was one of the loa in the religion of Voodoo and considered master of the dead. Loa were the spirits of Voodoo. also referred to as mystères or the invisibles, and were intermediaries between Bondye, from the French Bon Dieu, meaning ‘good God,’ the Supreme Creator and human kind.
Samedi was often depicted with a top hat, wearing a black tailcoat and resembled a skeleton. He was sometimes known to carry a large snake on his shoulders and enjoyed smoking cigars.
The sun had already set and the festivities were in full swing as the two U.N.C.L.E. pushed their way through the throngs of revelers, many of whom were dressed as the Baron while frolicking in the street as well as on several floats.
Napoleon and Illya finally reached the cemetery with little time to spare, but oddly the gate was unlocked and ajar.
They peeked inside, using their flashlights as the light from the nearest street lamp did little to illuminate the area.
As they had observed in their previous visits to a New Orleans cemetery, they found nothing but rusty ironwork and tombs with the dark stains of time running down their outer walls. Many of these above ground sepulchers dated back centuries, some were crumbling in disrepair.Angelic statuary, crosses and the roofs of the many mausoleums faded like wraiths beyond the agent’s small flashlights.
The sounds of cicadas along with the noise of the Mardi Gras celebrations filled the air. Dotting the landscape inside the cemetery were flickering votive candles still burning, left there by the relatives of the dead.
This was a Catholic cemetery but it still contained the remains of the Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau, the 18th century Creole priestess.
Napoleon and Illya’s past experiences at the mausoleum of that woman would be something they’d never forget, or share with anyone else as they’d be instantly be sent to the Psych department for extended evaluation. *
No matter how many times the agents had been in cemeteries around the world, the experience still sent shivers up and down their spines. Being around so many dead people might make anyone nervous, but perhaps it was because most of these dead were entombed above ground. It put one’s self closer to the corpses than if they were buried six feet under.
New Orleans, being built below sea level meant that when there was a flood, any coffin buried in the earth would rise and float away. The solution to that problem were the mausoleums and weighted grave stones that were now used.
“You don’t suppose our contact went inside do you tovarisch?” Napoleon looked at his watch as it was now five minutes past the pre-arranged meeting time.
“I hope not. Our previous ordeals here were enough to last me a lifetime,”Illya whispered.
“Agreed. Wait, isn’t this the place where you opened your wallet and a moth flew out?”*
“Very funny. Keep it up and see if I help you out of a bind when you need money again. Remember, you better repay me the cost of those shoes..”
“Don’t worry that blond head of yours, I’ll pay you back. I promised I would, remember?”
“You said Scout’s honor, and whenever you use that phrase you are usually lying.”
“Well I wasn’t this time.”Napoleon was beginning to get annoyed with his partner’s incessant reminders and he ended the discussion lest an argument ensue. Now was simply not the time or place.
They waited another ten minutes until rapid footsteps came running towards them. Both agents drew their weapons as a breathless man approached.
“No time for code, here take this...they’re coming! Go! “ The man’s white shirt was red with blood and he shoved a manilla envelope into Solo’s hand.
He collapsed to the ground and Illya knelt, quickly checking for a pulse; he shook his head after finding none.
Multiple footsteps came close.“Get ‘em,” one of the presumed Thrush goons shouted. It was obvious Napoleon and Illya had been seen.
The Endymion parade was now in full frenzy and they’d never make it through the crowds that lined the route. Their only choice was to head into the cemetery.
Inside was a rabbit warren of alleys and aisles, tombs erected oddly with no rhyme or reason to their size or placement and seemingly not in consideration of the others around each of them.
There were lichen covered headstones and statues everywhere, making it difficult to see if there were real people lurking there in the shadows waiting for Napoleon and Illya.
As the agents darted amongst the many family monuments, they encountered even larger mausoleums devoted to a handful of societies such as the New Orleans Musician’s tomb, or that of an Italian society.
They hid behind one of these weather stained structures as they listened for signs of their pursuers. The din from the parade seemed distant, almost ethereal as it echoed in the air around them.
They were surrounded by dampness, mold, mildew. The stench of old death filled their nostrils as they remained motionless there in the dark.
Who knew what was there ready to pounce on them, human or perhaps not.
Napoleon and Illya had plenty of inexplicable experiences in cemeteries so what would make tonight different from any other foray they’d made into a place of supposed eternal rest…
They continued to hear the footfalls, now becoming distant along with the muffled voices. They seemed to be giving up, or at least that’s what the UNCLE agents hoped.
It was like holding one’s breath, waiting for the exact second it was safe to exhale and breathe again...
* red "That voodoo that you do so well"
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Date: 2019-03-10 07:31 pm (UTC)I'm trying to get ahead as next week is going to be buys. I have 2 gigs. Yay! Hope my back holds up.