The Reverend William Sheppard silently recited the Lord’s Prayer as he waited for the cannibal to finish filing his teeth. The Basongye tribesman held a bone rasp in one hand and a mirror in the other as he crouched by the fire. He sharpened an incisor to a finer point, smiled admiringly at his handiwork, then finally stood.
The tribesman towered before Sheppard, standing nearly seven feet tall. The cannibal was dapperly dressed in long pants, polished boots, and a buttoned shirt. He could easily be mistaken for a fellow classmate of Sheppard’s at the Southern Presbyterian Theological Seminary for Colored Men in Tuscaloosa, from which the reverend had graduated. Only, as was typical for the cannibal’s tribe, the giant here had shaved his eyebrows and plucked his eyelashes, creating a frightening countenance, especially with his shark-toothed grin.
Sheppard sweated in a white linen suit and tie, and a matching pith helmet. He craned his neck to face the leader of the Zappo Zaps. The warlike tribe had allied themselves with Belgium’s colonial forces and served as King Leopold’s de facto army. The infamous Zappo Zaps had earned their name from the rattling blasts of their many guns. Sheppard noted the long rifle slung over the cannibal’s shoulder. He wondered how many innocents had died because of that one weapon.
Upon entering the village, Sheppard had observed dozens of fly-crusted bodies. From the piles of scorched bones, it was evident many others had already been eaten. Nearby, a tribesman set about carving a fresh bloody slab from a severed thigh. Another Zappo Zap rolled leaves of tobacco inside a hollowed-out skull. Even the fire that stood between him and their group’s leader served to smoke a set of severed hands, skewered on bamboo sticks above the flames.
Sheppard did his best to ignore the horrors here, even as his senses were assaulted. Clouds of black flies hummed in the air. The stench of burned flesh hung in his nostrils. To keep down his bile, he fixed his gaze on the tribesman. It would not help his cause to object or to show any squeamishness.
Sheppard spoke slowly, knowing the cannibal knew both English and French but was far from fluent in either. “M’lumba, I must speak to Captain Deprez. It is of utmost important that he hear me out.”
M’lumba shrugged. “He not here. He gone.”
“Then what of Collard or Remy?”
Another shrug, but the man’s expression darkened. “Gone with the capitaine.”
Sheppard frowned. Deprez, Collard, and Remy—all members of the Belgian army—led the Zappo Zaps in this region. Sheppard had come to know the trio after he had established a Christian mission along the Kasai River, a tributary of the Congo. The Belgians’ absence here was unusual, especially when their group collected its “rubber tax” from a village—not that any of the officers would have stopped the atrocities committed here. In fact, the trio encouraged such brutality. Deprez even carried a bullwhip, knotted out of hippo leather, that he used to flay the flesh from his victims at the least offense. For the past few months, the captain had been leading this group in a rampage along the Kasai River, terrorizing village after village, heading inexorably north.
It was for this reason that Sheppard had left his mission in Ibanj and sought out this group. Another tribe, the Kuba, had sent an emissary from their king to plead with Sheppard, asking for the reverend to stop the murderous Zappo Zaps from entering their territory. He could not refuse this request. Two years earlier, Sheppard had been the first foreigner allowed to enter the Kuba kingdom, mostly because he had taken the time to learn their language. After proving his fluency, he was treated graciously by the royal court. He found the people to be honest and industrious, despite their beliefs in witchcraft and a king who had seven hundred wives. While he had failed to convert any of them, he had still found them to be great allies in this hostile region.
Now they need my help.
He had to at least try to make his case with Deprez, to convince the Belgian captain to spare the Kuba from the spread of this slaughter.
“Where did Deprez and the others go?” Sheppard asked.
M’lumba looked to the east, beyond the Kasai River, which flowed a sullen course nearby. He cursed in Bantu and spat in that direction. “I tell them not to go there. It is alaaniwe.”
Sheppard knew the Bantu word for “cursed.” He also knew how ingrained superstitions were among the local tribes. They believed in ghosts and spirits, in spells and magic. As a missionary, he had found it nearly impossible to break through that veil of pagan beliefs and replace it with the bright word of the Lord. Still, he had tried his best, while also chronicling the horrific acts committed here, armed with only a Bible and a Kodak box camera.
Sheppard frowned his frustration. He knew it would take something significant to draw off all three officers. “M’lumba, why did Deprez and the others leave? What were they looking for?”
“Pango,” the tribesman muttered, using the Bantu word for “cave.” Then he scowled and pantomimed digging, while looking at Sheppard for comprehension.
Sheppard squinted, then understood. “Do you mean a mine?”
M’lumba bobbed his head. “Oui. A mine. In a bad place. At the Mfupa Ufalme.”
Sheppard stared across the river, translating the cannibal’s last words.
The Kingdom of Bones.
While it was an ominous-sounding title, Sheppard paid it little heed. He knew there remained many unexplored places hidden in the trackless jungle. In fact, he had even discovered a new lake himself and had been invited by the British Royal Geographical Society to speak of this accomplishment in London in a few months. Still, more prevalent than the superstitions rampant among these lands were the countless rumors of lost treasures and hidden kingdoms. Such tales had lured many men to their doom.
And now maybe three more Belgians.
“Why were they looking for this mine? Sheppard asked. “What were they hoping to find?”
M’lumba turned and barked to an aged tribesman, whose face was heavily tattooed, marking him as the group’s mganga, or witch doctor. The Zappo Zaps never traveled without a shaman among them, to help ward off visuka and roho, the vengeful ghosts and spirits of those whom they had slaughtered.
The wizened elder joined them. He wore only strips of a loincloth and a necklace festooned with carved ivory and wooden charms. His lips were greasy from his recent feasting. M’lumba made some demand to the mganga in a Basongye dialect that Sheppard could not follow.
Finally, the shaman scowled and shifted through the tangled mass of his charms. He freed a braided loop from around his neck. A single totem hung from it. It appeared to be a metal disk, no larger than a thumbnail. The elder shook it at M’lumba, who took it and passed it to Sheppard.
“Capitaine Deprez found this. Around neck of another village’s mganga. The capitaine whip and whip to make the peoples speak. Screams for two nights. Then mganga tell him where it come from.”
“From Mfupa Ufalme . . .” Sheppard muttered. The Kingdom of Bones.
M’lumba nodded with a deep scowl, clearly angry about something.
Sheppard examined the charm. It appeared to be a coin, blackened by age, drilled through its center to hang from the braided cord. One side had been rubbed enough to reveal the sheen of gold.
Sheppard felt a sinking despair.
No wonder Deprez had been so brutal . . .
For such a depraved man, the promise of gold had to shine far brighter than any quota of ivory or rubber. Of all the rumors of secret cities and treasures hidden in the jungle, none stoked the lust of the greedy more than stories of lost gold. For ages, explorers had been scouring the jungles, searching for such caches. Legends continued to persist of mines dug out by vanished Roman legions or even by the Old Testament forces of King Solomon.
Sheppard sighed, knowing all too well how many explorers had died in such foolhardy pursuits. He started to lower the bit of gold—when a glint of sunlight revealed writing on the coin’s opposite side. He lifted it again and turned it askance to reveal what was faintly inscribed there. He squinted, then his eyes widened in shock. He rubbed it clearer to be sure, revealing a name, written in Latin.