Grantville Gazette 36

Chapter Twenty-Five: Breakfast of Champions

Beach Camp of the Redbird Castaways, South Coast of Mauritius

Pam slept like a stone. The marvelous aroma of coffee brewing wafted through her little window and summoned her from slumber just half an hour after dawn, bringing her forth to blink at an already too-bright sky filled with enormous cotton clouds. She managed to stagger down to the cook-fire to join the men waiting for breakfast. The Swedish crew always treated her with deference but this morning they all leaped to their feet, except Rask who was still nursing his injuries but who looked much better as he smiled widely at her, and then made much fuss about finding her the most comfortable seat next to the fire. She leaned over to Gerbald and quietly asked him in German, "What's up with these guys? Since when do I get the star treatment?"

Gerbald smiled his best "You have asked the Fount of Wisdom" smile at her. "Pam, you really don't know? Think about what you did yesterday! It was you who lead them to victory! You even killed a number of the enemy yourself! You are their hero!"

Pam blinked at this revelation and then smiled, though her brow remained furrowed.

"Well, Howdy Doody," she muttered in English. "Now I'm a hero. I just wish I felt like one." Dore handed Pam her coffee but she just stared into its steaming darkness for a while, savoring the aroma along with a growing feeling of pride.

Dore seemed completely unfazed by the wild events of the day before and was going about her tasks with her usual efficiency. As Pam began to sip the wonderful native coffee from her coconut-shell mug, she was pleased to see that her friend had concocted some kind of culinary miracle from the final remnants of Redbird's food stores, ingredients Dore had been jealously guarding and doling out slowly over the months of their isolation.

"No point in saving all this now! Much longer and it all would have gone bad anyway," she said brightly, stirring a rich broth of salt pork, beans, dried onions, and butter, all thickened with the last of the flour and seasoned with a variety of herbs and spices. Everyone was beginning to crowd around the cook-pot, staring at it with hungry eyes.

"Stay back now, you fellows. There's enough for everyone and we need to save some for the men on the ship!" Dore chided them, but in a tone set at a less stern pitch than usual.

Pam, beginning to achieve caffeinated consciousness, now noticed that Dore hadn't put her beautiful burnished brass and silver streaked hair up in its usual severe bun this morning. Instead she wore it in a loose braid over her shoulder, tied with a string to keep strays out of her eyes. Pam smiled to see this development. Dore was definitely wound a bit less tight today. Evidently a little "harlot dancing" had been just the thing for her ever-serious friend.

After filling themselves with the delicious and hearty soup, they all stood up, stretched and made ready for the solemn duty they had to perform this morning. Singing a Christian hymn that was ancient even in the seventeenth century, many of the words of which Pam couldn't catch, the Swedes carried their dead down the beach with all the respect one might have afforded the kings of old.

The dodos followed along behind the procession, forming a peculiar kind of honor guard, cooing and chuckling softly but keeping a polite distance instead of engaging in their usual snack begging. Pam thought they must be able to sense the somber mood and once again was surprised at their intelligence. The dodos really were not dummies. They had just evolved in a place where there was no need to fear bands of roving carnivorous apes. The sight of what to Pam was almost a mythical creature, alive and thriving right before her wondering eyes, made her heart race yet again, and brought a modicum of good cheer to her heavy heart. All this fuss, all this trouble is really for you, funny birds! she thought at the exquisitely odd creatures.

At their lonely little seaside cemetery, Pam saw that two graves had been dug already. Getting up early for hard work was nothing new to sailors and Pam respected them all the more for it.

There were four grave markers now, all made of sturdy boards salvaged from Redbird, their epitaphs painted on with Pam's waterproof acrylics and further protected by a coating of amber-tinted tree pitch. Each bore the name and rank of their fallen and, if known, their birth date and birthplace, followed by their country, Sverige, the date and, lastly, the name of their ill-fated ship.

The fourth marker had gone up this morning along with Fritjof's and Mard's but there was no grave at its feet. It was a memorial to their captain, Pam had been putting off looking at it for a while and finally decided it was the right thing to do and she would have to face it. The marker read: Torbjorn, Captain of the Redbird. After the official names and dates Pam had added, "He stayed behind to save us all. Lost at sea, we pray this brave man yet lives." She had done the work alone in her hut, not wanting the others to see her tears as she painted this memorial to their lost friend, a man who, if he was still with them, maybe, just maybe, would have become something more to her. Now, standing among her band of castaways all gathered for a funeral yet again, she sent a brief thought across the rolling waves. Torbjorn, if you are out there somewhere please know we haven't forgotten you! I haven't forgotten you! Please be alive!

The burial ceremony was brief but emotional. The bosun spoke the Lord's Prayer and the twenty-third Psalm in Swedish, his voice cracking, the loss of his long time friends and shipmates having hurt him deeply. Pers stood beside him, lending his quiet support. The bosun then asked Pam to recite Tennyson's Crossing the Bar as she had for First Mate Janvik. She managed to get through it in a calm, clear voice despite the great sense of loss within her. Pam had brought along the photo of Kristina that Fritjof had prized so much. She considered burying it with him but decided the fine old gentleman would have been more pleased to have it hanging proudly in a place of honor on their next ship. Holding it to her breast she spoke quietly to her fallen friend as he was gently lowered into the sandy grave.

"I won't ever forget you, Fritjof. I will do as I promised and tell the princess of your bravery in battle and your dedication to her cause. I will tell her of the great love you felt for her and how you served her so well, just as soon as I see her again." An unwelcome thought intruded. If. If you see her again. Pam looked out at the captured Oriental junk floating in their lonely bay, its vivid colors glowing ethereally in the morning light. Our chances have improved by a lot. She left a small bouquet of wildflowers beneath each of the four markers, whispering "thank you" to each. Then she walked back down the beach, trying hard not to think too much on all they had lost and concentrating instead on what they might now hope to gain.

Gerbald caught up to her and gave her the look that said "Is this a good time?" He knew Pam's emotions ran deep and that sometimes she just needed to be alone. She saw his cautious approach, smiled and took his arm, something she rarely did. He patted her hand in an awkward, big brotherly way, glad that she wasn't taking things too hard. They walked together in silence for a few minutes then Gerbald said, "Pam, this morning the bosun told me it will take a day or two to make this junk ready to sail. They 'need to figure out if this fancy painted contraption can be sailed by Christian men.' I believe those were his words." They both laughed. Pam had watched the bosun studying the junk from the shore during breakfast and couldn't tell from his expression if it was love or loathing he was feeling for the strange new ship he would be responsible for.

"He's a smart guy. They all are. They'll figure it out."

"Indeed, I have the highest confidence. In any event, it seems we have a little more time to spend here and I thought of something you might like to do."

Pam's eyebrow's arched up at him, her gray eyes sparking with curiosity. "Ooh, what, do tell! Do you have a box of chocolate cherry bonbons and a bottle of kirschwasser hidden away for me?"

"Nothing so immediately gratifying." He laughed. "We are getting low on coffee and who knows when we might come across it again? I thought we might hike back up the mountain and resupply ourselves, perhaps even bring back some live specimens. That is, if you feel up to it." Gerbald's face was perfectly straight but she detected the tiny wrinkle around the corner of his mouth that revealed he was terribly pleased with his idea.

"I take back everything I said about you, Gerbald. You are a real stand-up guy, a real pal." Pam kidded him, slapping him on his sturdy bicep with her free hand. They both grinned, Gerbald knowing the teasing praise was really sincere.

Pam noticed that the dodos had fallen in around them, cooing contentedly, spread out around their path in search of sand fleas and bits of seaweed.

"I have an idea that will go well with yours," she said, nodding at their avian companions "Let's take them with us."

"I'll get some nuts and dried fruit from Dore for the bait. I'm sure she will be happy to provide. She won't be missing what she has come to refer to as 'those flightless pests!' It is only her deep respect for your wishes that has kept them out of her stew pot." Gerbald grinned.