Louison was in the unhappy Afro-Caribbean tradition of ruler-patriarchs with heavy voodoo. Guys who were all Papa Docs and Step-pin’ Razors and Whippin’ Sticks. Looking up the hill, Laura had a sudden clear mental image of old Louison. Skinny, yellow-nailed geezer, tottering sleepless through the fort’s torchlit dungeons. In a gold-braided jacket, sipping hot goat blood, his naked feet stuck in a couple of Kleenex boxes ...