Grantville Gazette 37

Chapter Thirty-Six: Contact

French slave colony near the site of Poste de Flacq, Mauritius

"This is not good." Gerbald peered through the scope, scowling while Pam did the same with her binoculars. They were on the top of the high bluff that formed the point, laying under ferns and watching the harbor below, a deep one with a fairly impressive set of docks already in place. There they saw their would-be guardian, the Muskijl, damaged but still afloat, tied up to the dock behind the massive French warship that had claimed it. There were also several medium-sized lateen-rigged boats, certainly belonging to Arabs or other such denizens of these far seas. Their hearts sank as they saw the Annalise and Ide laying at anchor nearby. Now they knew how these people had accomplished so much building in the months that had passed: Swedish slave labor.

There was a town taking shape on a gently sloping hillside behind a five-meter wall of heavy timbers running some twenty meters back from the shoreline, the beginnings of what would eventually be an imposing fortress. They could see sturdy Swedish men tethered together in work crews making it all happen. To Pam's surprise, their overseers looked like black Africans dressed in white robes with their heads covered, nearly the same garb as the Muslim pirates they had defeated to take Second Chance Bird. Pam was no history expert but, like many Grantvillers, she had become a lot more interested in the subject since she had been thrown backward through it. She knew the West African slave trade was largely run by Africans themselves and that must have been where the French had found these fellows. Pam bit her lip as the slavers shouted at the colonists in what sounded like broken French; the snap of a whip echoed across the quiet bay, making her cringe. Out on the end of the dock, she saw several French soldiers passing around a wineskin and enjoying a little fishing, while their mercenaries oversaw the work for them.

"Scumbags," Gerbald muttered under his breath.

"There are a lot of them, aren't there?" Pam muttered darkly.

"Yes. Not just the French, who are probably renegades and pirates, but their black slave drivers as well. At least a hundred of the enemy would be a good guess."

"We'll need help, then." She bit her lip as she scanned farther back from the harbor. There she saw men and women carrying barrels and performing menial tasks, their feet bound or chained. "We have to free the enslaved colonists and the crew of the Muskijl and use them against their captors." Gerbald looked doubtful. Pam gave him an encouraging nudge with her elbow. "Come on, that's how they do it in the movies! It's worked for us so far."

Gerbald gave her an unconvinced smile. "A risky proposition at best. The Swedes will be tired and weak from ill use. Just trying to contact them at all while they are under guard will be risky. They are bound. The ropes we can cut through quickly but the chains will require either more time or a key. It will be difficult." Gerbald's expression was grim.

"Okay. We told Second Chance Bird to give us a week out here in the field before taking further action. Let's take our time, lay back and watch for a while. Once we know more about the routines here, we can move."

Gerbald grinned at her with wry amusement. "Yes ma'am, Captain Pam!" he said in his best West Virginia drawl. He was always full of pride in his mastery of the accent and American slang and seldom missed a chance to show it off. "And when we're ready we can open up a king-sized can of whoop-ass all over them suckas! KA-BLAM!"

Pam rolled her eyes as the two of them vanished back into the shadowy forest, sly and silent as foxes.

****

Pam and Gerbald watched the slave colony from various vantage points over the next three days. The Swedish colonists looked fairly healthy despite their ordeal, at least from a distance. They were a robust lot and were weathering the hardships as well as could be. At night they were housed in makeshift huts in an open meadow fenced with an imposing array of ten-foot high bamboo stakes. The few children they had brought along were kept in the enclosure all day, tended by the expedition's few elderly. Pam saw that even this group was given work to do, weaving rope and baskets. The sight of the children and the old folks put to work by their new masters made Pam's blood boil.

Oh, I'm going to put the hurt on those froggie bastards just as soon as I'm able, she thought redly, a part of her shocked at the depth of her own wrath. The men had been put to work logging and constructing the growing fort. Many of the women were sent out to the fields to tend newly planted crops. Other small groups of women were made to forage for fruits and nuts along the forest's edge, always under the watchful eye of a slaver.

They decided it was one of the latter groups they would approach, since they were the least heavily guarded and cover was nearby. They were confident in their ability to remain unseen by the enemy among the trees and brush. Gerbald stayed back, prepared to distract or even kill the guard if necessary. Pam did her best to disguise herself as a colonist by wrapping her head in a dirty gray cotton towel she had taken from Second Chance Bird's galley and draping a brown wool blanket from Redbird's pinnace over her shoulders. Slipping silently out of the underbrush with the practiced stealth of a long-time birder, she joined the group of foragers.

Walking slowly, as if bound, she made her way from the deeper woods to the forest's edge, joining the women at the trailing end of their party farthest from the guard. She stayed low, endeavoring to be seen but unseen, just another slave. Ahead of her was a tall, statuesque woman in her late twenties, her fair features now deeply tanned and careworn, her golden blond hair tied back in an unkempt pony tail. Pam studied her for a while, before making the decision to approach her. She looked like the calm sort, not someone who would react loudly and stupidly to a stranger in their midst. Pam, following her gut, came up behind her, keeping the tall woman's larger frame between her and the guard who stood some twenty yards off.

"God dag, van." Good day, friend, Pam greeted her quietly in Swedish and continued in that language, her months with the sailors serving her well. "Please don't look back at me, just keep working while I talk."

The woman almost turned to look over her shoulder, but caught herself. One sea-green eye regarded Pam from its corner for just a moment, after which she turned slowly back, continuing to gently pick small berries. Pam briefly wondered how they knew they weren't poisonous but didn't want to think of the likely answer.

"I will listen," the woman replied quietly.

"Good. My name is Pam Miller, I'm an American from the United States of Europe. There are more of us who remain free. Can I trust you not to betray us?"

The woman nodded firmly, her shoulders tightening under her ragged blouse.

"Good, good, I knew I could. We have some soldiers and we intend to free you colonists, but there aren't enough of us. We have to find a way to set your men free to fight with us when we make our move. We will probably want you women to create a diversion to distract your captors while we do that. Are there those among you who are brave enough to help us?"

The woman turned slightly back toward Pam and hissed proudly under her breath. "All of us! We will do anything to be free again."

"I thought as much. I've come to learn Swedes are just as tough as us West Virginia hillbillies! All right then, I need you to spread the word that we are coming, but only to those who really need to know. You can let the rest in on it when the time comes; the secret will stay safer that way. We will make our move from a few days to a week from now; we need some time to get prepared. I'm not sure yet how we are going to pull this off, but I will get word to you people the same way I am now. Make sure it's you or someone trustworthy taking up the rear of your foraging expeditions from now on."

"It will be so. You are the American Bird Lady who led our expedition, yes? One of the future people?"

"Heh heh, yeah, that's me, the Bird Lady of Grantville. Call me Pam."

"I am Bengta. I am very happy you are alive. We feared the worst."

"Nice to meet you, too, Bengta. Just hang in there, we are going to do our best to get everybody out of this, I promise."

"I am so happy!" the woman's voice was quiet but filled with emotion. Suddenly she lowered it even further, a furtive hiss, "Pam! The guard comes this way; you must go!" Bengta continued to pick berries and kept her head low, avoiding the surly man's look. No answer came and she soon realized that Pam the Bird Lady was already gone.