A man of words and not of deeds,

Is like a garden full of weeds.

Out of the way of the mob that was forming outside in the smoke-filled streets, a woman repeated a rhyme from long ago. To any educated patron that rushed by it might be recognized as a poem from a famed playwright. But to a native of New Orleans, one more practiced in the ways of the spirits and the mystical, it was a simple incantation taught to the youngest of Haitian women and girls. It was thought to be powerless. Unless of course, your ancestors were around long before the Englishman stole their words to make a profit.

And when the weeds begin to grow,

It's like a garden full of snow.

And when the snow begins to fall,

It's like a bird upon the wall.

And when the bird away does fly,

It's like a raven in the sky.

And when the sky begins to roar,

It's like a tiger at the door.

And when the door begins to crack,

It's like a stick across your back.

And when your back begins to smart,

It's like a penknife in your heart.

And when your heart begins to bleed,

You're dead and dead and dead indeed.

As the hysteria continued to build, the woman simply pulled her cloak over her head and slipped further into the shadows. While she hadn't had an encounter with the law and order officials of late, she knew it was best to keep her head down and stay out of trouble. The frenzy of the witch trials in Salem may have been long over, but the rise of Voodoo priests and priestesses had the crescent city on edge. The young woman did not want to be a victim of yet another of the mortals' cleansing of the supernatural.

As she could hear the frantic and panicked screams of the mortals running from the fire that threatened the entire block, the woman turned the corner towards the church bells ringing in the distance. Just across the street, was the shop she had been looking for.

"It is about damn time, Madame Laveau." A voice spoke at the opening of the door.

Across the small front room, a man stood facing the roaring fire swirling his drink in his hand. "I thought I was going to have to find someone else to entrust my treasure with."

The room was lit only by the glow of the flame in the large brick fireplace. It was April in New Orleans and the fire was only for show, a way to set the mood. Pirates always seemed to have a flair for the dramatic.

As the man turned to face his guest, the backlight only highlighted his basic features. A man of average height, hair longer than most, flowing loosely to his shoulders. His body was relaxed but there was something in his posture indicating that he was ready to run at a moment's notice. It was all she could see at the moment but there was no need for anything more, she knew exactly who this man was.

"I thought you would be long gone by now. Off to Galveston or the islands. Has Jean Lafitte given up his pirate ways?" Her voice was laced with sarcasm.

Grand Isle, off the Louisiana coast, had been Lafitte's base of operations for years. Since the war, he stationed his outfit on the small island, giving his men great access to naval ships not just from Britain, but from France and even Spain. The port of New Orleans was a host to all nations and those claiming no allegiance to any country. And with that came great treasures and money to be made.

"Piracy is in my blood. Just as magic is in yours." Jean spoke.

"Why did you ask me here, Lafitte?"

She wouldn't consider Lafitte a stranger but she certainly would never have had a reason to visit his blacksmith shop. Not when they were both on the wrong side of the law. Two people with strong ties to the city and to sin. Both only looking to help themselves and those they cared about.

"I need you to keep something safe for me and give it to my brother when he is free from prison."

"You've broken him out once before. What is stopping you this time?"

"I have to leave tonight. Pierre has another year behind rusty bars." He explained as quickly as he could. "I need this to get to him. He will know what it means."

From beneath a velvet cloth, Jean revealed a large book. It was clearly not meant for reading. The front cover held a type of lock. It bound the entire book together and was obviously meant to keep anyone from getting inside unless they had the secret code.

"A puzzle book? You want to give me a puzzle book? I thought you said you were entrusting me with your treasure."

It had been known far and wide that Jean Lafitte had accumulated a large quantity of some of the world's most precious items. It was rumored that he hid gold from South America that could be tied to El Dorado. Marie didn't care where it came from, all she cared about was what that treasure could buy. She had dreams of running the city and only money and fear could help her achieve her goals.

"Oui. But everyone knows that no good treasure comes without a hunt. This is Le Chiffre Indechiffrable." His index finger traced over the spinning wheel of the lock on the book's front cover. "An unbreakable code. It requires a word to open and only two people know what it is, ma chère."

"Ah. You are giving me a clue to the actual treasure." Her interest was still high. If he did not tell her the way to unlock it, she would use her own ways. There was a spell for everything if you wanted it bad enough.

"Oui."

"And what is this treasure?"

"All I will say is the city will be missing it dearly. I have written to my brother. He knows to come find you. Keep it safe."

Without another word, he left the clue book to be safely guarded in hopes that his brother would retrieve it.

But the Queen of Voodoo had other ideas. She spent the next sixty years of her life trying to find the word or words that would open the clue book. She used every spell she could think of from every coven in the city. When magic failed her, church was her next step. Everyday Madame Laveau would attend mass at St. Louis Cathedral in hopes that the sermon that day would reveal something that would help her obtain the clue. Yet every evening she was left staring at a book that only taunted her.

Upon her death, the book had been hidden away. If the greatest Voodoo priestess was not deemed worthy enough for a treasure such as this, Laveau made sure that no one was going to have it. She set in place rumors of Lafitte's greatest treasure and that the clue to finding it was buried away in New Orleans in a place only she knew. She made sure that even in her afterlife she would have mortals praying and worshipping her in hopes of one day finding the treasure.

And that they did.