The Lazarus Curse by Tessa Harris

Author:Tessa Harris [Harris, Tessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2014-08-27T04:00:00+00:00

In the refuge of his own laboratory, Thomas sat staring into the dying embers of the fire. He was pondering on Sir Joseph Banks’s disclosure about the purpose behind the mission to Jamaica. There was something that troubled him deeply about their last meeting, something that told him the great man was still holding back. He was convinced that somewhere in this tangle of secrecy and intrigue lay vital clues as to who may have killed the young artist.

He strode over to his desk and pulled out from a drawer a folio containing several of Matthew Bartlett’s sketches and began leafing through them until he came to the drawing of the branched calalue. He walked over to the wall and tacked the sketch onto a wooden board that hung there. Taking a few paces back, he studied it. The tropical herb, with its long-stemmed, egg-shaped leaves, and small white flowers, looked innocuous enough, yet, in all probability, it would possess the same properties as its European relative, the deadly nightshade. It was beautiful, but lethal if taken in sufficient quantities. Yet Dr. Welton, from what he could glean from Sir Joseph, also had faith in its narcotic powers.

Glancing over to the bookshelf, he resolved to discover exactly what was known of the plant’s power. He strode over to consult one of the many tomes, seeking out an ancient volume belonging to Dr. Carruthers that listed all known herbs and their properties. He soon found it and, blowing the grime from its cover, he leafed through its well-worn pages. He quickly came to the page with the heading Solanum nigrum. Yet, instead of answering his questions, the entry in the pharmacopeia only served to disturb him. With mounting unease he read: Also known as Pretty Morel, an herb sacred to Hekate, one of the Titans, who holds the keys to the Underworld. Often associated with lunar magick or works related to death, and in witchcraft.

Thomas slammed the book shut, sending clouds of dust billowing into the air. “Witchcraft,” he murmured, his thoughts darting back to one of John Perrick’s letters that had mentioned what he called a “kind of witchcraft.” What was it called, he asked himself. Obeah. Yes, that was it. Obeah, a form of religion practiced by the Negroes.

Rushing over to his desk, he rifled through his drawers once more and pulled out the sheaf of Perrick’s letters from a leather wallet. There remained only two or three that he had not read. He scanned one of them quickly, then another, until he came to the fourth page. Moving over to a lamp, his eyes widened as he read Perrick’s words. There are those whom slaves hold in high regard called obeah-men. They practice witchcraft or sorcery using narcotic potions, made with the juice of a herb (Calalue or species of Solanum). The ingestion of such potions will induce a trance or profound sleep that can last for several hours, depending on its strength. The guileful spectators are thus convinced that these priests possess the power to resurrect the dead.

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