Second Chance Bird, Episode Four
Chapter Eighteen: Birdwatching
SouthCoast of Mauritius
The days passed by slowly on their stranded shore, becoming weeks, and now nearly two months. Pam Miller, her companions Dore and Gerbald and the survivors of Redbird's crewbusied themselves with various projects to increase their comfort and safety. The sailors used the tools recovered from the shipwreck to improve their shelters, Dore and Pam gathered the fruits and nuts they were sure were safe to eat, while Gerbald searched for game-birds (with Pam's rare blessing for such activities) and fished the bay along with the sailors. They were all alive and in reasonable physical health; staying busy was what they did to remain sane. Despite these various distractions they all felt the world was leaving them farther and farther behind with each passing day.
Old Fritjof had taken it upon himself to be Pam's caretaker. He had cut all the underbrush out from under her stilted hut and made sure that there were no creepy-crawlies lurking there. He cleared a sandy trail from her door down to the beach and swept it clear of leaves and debris every morning before she woke up, but not before leaving a coconut bowl full of cool water from the spring on her porch. Pam was embarrassed by the attention and told him he didn't have to go to all that trouble over her but the white-haired gentleman just shyly nodded and continued to look after her anyway.
"It is no trouble for me, Frau Pam. It is good for a man to have work to do and even better when it is in the service of a fine and important person such as yourself. Don't fret now. You have the princess' work to do. Just call on Fritjof if you need anything. I will be there for you."
Pam was touched by his eagerness to please and thanked him profusely, asking if there were anything she could do for him. Fritjof smiled with his few remaining teeth, his blue eyes still bright and sparkling in his long lived and wind wrinkled face.
"No, no, I am a simple fellow and have few needs. But, if it were no trouble to you, one day when you meet again with Princess Kristina I would be greatly honored if you would pass my humble respects to her. That would be a true kindness to a faithful servant of the Vasa such as myself."
Pam promised to do so, and didn't say it aloud but intended to make sure that on that future day Fritjof would be right there with her to give his respects himself. That would be a real treat for the old guy. I'm going to make that happen. He can get that precious photo autographed in person! The thought gave her a very warm and pleasant feeling. She realized that she had grown very fond of these stouthearted men of the north and that it was a blessing to be caught in such trying circumstances with such trustworthy people around her. Some day I might even look back on this castaway life and miss it . . . but not too much.
One overcast morning Pam and Gerbald, finding they were stocked up with enough food to last several days and utterly bored with life at camp, decided to follow the river into the interior. They had been too busy to explore further since the triumphant discovery of coffee a few weeks prior and Pam was absolutely itching to get back to her search for the elusive dodo.
The going was fairly easy. They passed through a corridor of grassy meadows between the river and the forest's edge. The sun burned the clouds off around eleven, at which point it became hot enough to chase them into the shade of the woods. The forest floor was clear of thick underbrush, a mossy parkway through ancient tree trunks. Pam kept her eyes open for new birds along the way, occasionally stopping to observe and sketch one of the myriad species that inhabited the island. She had decided that her best bet on finding any dodos was to simply stop looking for them, contenting herself with the many other amazing birds that inhabited these isolated forests. She wondered how she would ever manage to catalog them all. It would take ages to do it right . . . but then again she might have that kind of time if they couldn't find a way off this mysterious island. If she could find natural substitutes to replenish her diminishing paper and pencil supplies.
That thought made her mood sour despite the beauty of the venerable groves and soon she was just slogging along in a funk, not really paying attention to her surroundings at all. Just as she was sinking into a really bad mood Gerbald let out the low whistle that meant "Look at that," one of the signals they had developed in their years spent birdwatching in the wilds of the Thüringerwald. Pam froze, carefully scanning the tree limbs for a choice specimen. Gerbald gave her a nudge with his elbow and pointed downward with a small movement of his head.
Pam followed his gaze to a large, odd-looking bird standing just six feet away from them. It had sturdy yellow legs and cracked a nut with its grotesquely large and powerful bill. The bird regarded them calmly with a bright yellow eye turreted in a beak that covered nearly all of its head. Overall it was awkwardly-shaped and a bit comical looking, with fluffy white tufts of feathers puffing out at its tiny wings and arched tail, just as it was in all the illustrations she had seen. It stood a bit more upright and was slightly thinner than it had been portrayed in art. Pam's eyes were wide as she marveled at the living creature here, its breath moving the downy gray feathers of its chest, its ponderous beak clacking softly as it swallowed the nut. It was the strangest bird she had ever seen, a bird she had once never hoped to see, a bird lost forever in her former world. It was the poster child of the doomed and extinct, now, now alive right in front of her stood the dodo.
The three of them stood there for a very long time, content to stare at each other. At last the dodo gave them a dismissive coo (just like a dove!) and dipped its plated head to search for another nut. It found one and the powerful beak anchored on its large skull effortlessly crushed the shell with a satisfying crack, sending the meat down the gullet. Pam felt her face grow hot and wet, she was crying, crying the tears of joy a child might if through some happy magic she found herself in the living presence of a real Santa Claus, stepped out of the chimneys of legend in jolly flesh and blood.
"It's so ugly!" she said softly with a laugh in her voice "And it's also the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" She took Gerbald's hand for confidence, then together they took first one, then another step closer to the dodo, which simply ignored them as it continued its nut-cracking. At last Pam reached out with trembling fingers to gently touch the downy gray feathers. "It's real." she whispered. "This is really happening." She gasped as she saw two more dodos foraging nearby, blithely paying no attention whatsoever to the humans among them.
"Congratulations, Pam," Gerbald told her in the solemn tones of one who has witnessed something wonderful. "Now we know they still live and our sacrifices were not in vain. One way or another we will find a way to save the dodo. Your mission will be a success, Pam, I swear this."
Chapter Nineteen: Dodo Do's and Don'ts
The news of Pam finally meeting the elusive dodos face to face was met with cheers back at the camp. The sailors understood that finding those odd birds was very important to her and to their princess even if they were still a bit cloudy on why. They offered whatever services they could give in supporting Pam's efforts to study the dodo although Pam couldn't think of much they could do beyond the daily task of making sure they had enough food. Pam knew that the men were growing more and more frustrated with their isolation. She realized they were keeping quiet about it in order to give her time to study the dodos now that she had found them, waiting for her to satisfy her needs before making any attempts to leave their encampment in search of the colonists and possible escape from the island. For her part, Pam felt guilty at letting her desire to observe the dodo supersede looking for the very likely captured colonists, but it was a guilt she decided she would accept, just for a while. They had, after all, come all this way! Rationalizations well in hand, Pam and Gerbald marched off into the woods daily, enjoying their prize.
Pam was in a state of bliss as she began her studies. It was as if some beloved cartoon characters from her childhood had come to magical life before her eyes, going about their daily habits for her sheer joy and entertainment. She sometimes shook her head in wonder that she was actually seeing living, breathing dodos. Finally, something good about time travel! Following quietly along behind the humorously waddling creatures Pam observed their behavior with delight. Their rare cries reminded Pam of young geese and they also chuckled to themselves while foraging, a sound much like a pigeon makes. Increasingly Pam thought they might be descended from or perhaps cousins of pigeons.
"Pam, are the dodos eating pebbles?" Gerbald asked, no longer bothering to whisper as the dodos completely ignored their presence. As long as they didn't make too many sudden movements the dodos were unconcerned at having large primates in their midst.
"They don't actually eat them, they swallow them down into their gullet to help digestion. The stones aid in grinding up the food, making it easier to digest," Pam answered, watching a young specimen in hot pursuit of a stumbling beetle.
"I should try that the next time we have dried squid," Gerbald mused.
The dodos could move surprisingly quickly in pursuit of scuttling prey. Like many bird species they were opportunists, consuming whatever they could manage to get their ponderous beaks around. A sudden lunge and the dodo's sharp bill might snap up a juicy frog or wriggling worm. Pam was sure that amazing appendage could deliver a nasty wound if a dodo was provoked and stayed well clear of it, always moving calmly and not getting too near its business end. As far as the dodos were concerned, Pam thought they must consider her and Gerbald tremendous bores. They were ignored totally as the clucking, contented dodos went about their endless and not too difficult search for food.
Gerbald managed to find out just how powerful those beaks could be when he accidentally stumbled through a dodo nest. The nest was a rather unimpressive shallow depression dug in the mulchy forest floor, lined with a bit of down and twigs, but it was home to a magnificent white egg as big as softball. The mother of said egg, who was eating some nuts nearby, let out a shockingly loud whistle like a kettle on the boil and charged Gerbald with credible speed, her beak clacking loudly and gray, downy feathers fluffed out to give her a more menacing appearance. She was a lot larger than a turkey if not nearly as big as an ostrich and her head rose nearly to his abdomen. Gerbald shouted "Yikes," one of his many American TV-isms, and backpedaled away from the angry creature.
Pam watched all this from the safety of a nearby tree. As soon as the ruckus started she had gone up the nearest one, standard procedure for non-climbing critter attacks in the Thüringerwald, good for wild dogs and boars but not much help against bears. As Gerbald turned to break into a run the outraged mother stretched her neck out farther than Pam would have guessed possible and closed sharply around his booted ankle. Gerbald yelped even louder, then managed to shake the dodo loose with a twist. Pam thought that the bill's sharp tip might have pierced the leather. The dodo seemed satisfied at having exacted her toll in flesh and doubled back to make a big scene of stalking around the nest while squawking loudly, a clear message that anyone else wishing to disturb it was going to get the same thing that guy had. By now Gerbald himself was up a tree, massaging his ankle.
"Jesus crippled Christ on crutches cut from the cross!" he cursed in an accent that was more West Virginian than German, his voice full of annoyance. Pam wouldn't say her friend had been afraid during the encounter. Gerbald didn't do fear, but this was as discombobulated as she had seen him in a long time.
"Good gawd, where did you come up with that bit of blasphemy? Dore would pop a vein!"
"Thanks. It's a Gerbald original. That hurt like hell! Mother Dodo put a hole in my boot and even broke the skin!"
"Consider it a sacrifice for science. Ya know, I never would have gotten to witness that nest protecting behavior without you because I'm not dumb enough to actually piss one off." Pam started laughing despite herself. The whole thing, from her safe vantage point, had been nothing short of hilarious. "Channel Thirteen Mega Monster Afternoon Presents: Gerbald the Fearless Dinosaur Hunter vs the Menace of The Mad Dodo Mama!"
Gerbald laughed along with her. It was only his pride that had been in any danger. The dodo, despite its bluster and fearsome beak, hadn't been any kind of real threat to him.
They stayed in their trees for a while, watching as the mollified hen settled down on her lovely big egg, from which vantage point she favored them both with stern glares until, ruffled feathers at last relaxing into their normal softness, she fell asleep.
On their way back to camp that evening, Pam looked back on the mother dodo's defense and began to feel sad. Gerbald had been caught off guard, but if he had really wanted to he could have dispatched the creature with ease. She realized now that all his actions had been to avoid having to injure the dodo rather than to protect himself. Pam now felt embarrassed at having teased him. Even an inexperienced woodsman, say a sailor or a farmer, would ultimately prevail against the big flightless birds.
A darker thought came then, something she knew she must eventually face. Even if she could control human depredations against the dodo, there was still the danger posed by introduced species. Humans had killed their share of the poor things, creatures evolved with no natural predators present and completely unequipped to deal with any serious threats. But from all Pam had read and surmised, the major threat to the dodo's future would be the foreign animals that would inevitably arrive with humanity, whether by design or not. Yes, she would try to stop that invasion and she would make some difference. After all, she had not allowed her colonists to bring along any mammals other than some horses, cattle and sheep, but the rats would be on that ship, too. Even immaculate Redbird carried vermin, despite her and Dore's efforts to eradicate them. How many rats had swum ashore during the wreck? Would they find today's nest and break that pretty shell into a hundred sticky pieces while the poor mother squawked and chased them about in vain?
Gawd, Pam, she thought, there is no point in fretting about this now. We haven't even gotten from Point B to C yet in this mess and here you are worrying about Y. She smiled, deciding to chew on the problem a little more anyway. Well, it's going to come up eventually. Might as well have a plan.
Dogs, cats, pigs, rats and, according to the books, monkeys would be her enemies in the future and she would have to come up with ways to control their populations on the island. She shook her head, knowing that if she lived to see it the day would come when she would find herself in the role of island animal control officer and did not relish the prospect much. Getting the bats out of the Baptist church had put her off dealing with mammals of any sort. She had been able to manage that episode humanely without resorting to killing the poor things, but it would be otherwise with stray invaders on Mauritius. She would have to be ruthless.
Satisfied with her initial studies, Pam began her next project, painting portraits of the dodos. This was for scientific purposes, of course, as well as the genuine pleasure the art gave her. The problem was, despite their general appearance of ungainliness, the big birds covered a lot of ground in a day, sometimes traveling many miles on their sturdy, yellow, four-toed feet. Upon finding them in the morning she would get her bamboo easel, a hand-crafted gift from the bosun, and her precious watercolors all set up in a nice, sunny clearing, but before she could even finish the initial sketches the dodos would plow through the area's edible matter and then wander off, leaving Pam alone to repack her gear and follow. This happened again and again, she was beginning to get frustrated until she hit on an idea.
She and Gerbald spent the next morning gathering nuts, seeds, fallen fruits, beetles and whatever else they could find for dodo treats. After they had a sizable store in hand, they caught up to the dodos at their latest hangout. Overall, the birds seemed to move in a very loose but discernible flock, groups and subgroups working over their various territories in what Pam thought must be a slow, weeks-long, loop, allowing the foraged land time to replenish before coming around to it again. Pam sat up her paints and got to work. A while later, just as the dodos were about to move on, Pam reached into her bag of goodies and threw a healthy hand full of dodo treats across the clearing to the ever hungry birds.
"Here you go, sweeties! Eat it up, yum, yum!" Pam called and cooed while Gerbald rolled his eyes toward the heavens. The dodos looked at Pam with their uncanny yellow eyes, then looked at the treats scattered at their feet. With what Pam felt for sure was a shrug of their tiny wings, they began pecking at the unexpected offering.
"I don't think this is a good idea," Gerbald muttered. "Didn't you say we don't want to make pets of them?"
"I'm not! I'm just feeding a few pigeons in the park, that's all! Just look at this sweet afternoon light. This is great for painting!" Whistling a merry tune, she went back to it. A quarter of an hour later, the dodos had eaten all of Pam's treats and were beginning to move off again when Pam called out a friendly "Yoo-hoo!" and threw them yet another double handful. This time without a pause, the dodos began to eat while Pam went back to painting. After several more repetitions, Pam beamed at what was turning out to be a fine painting. It might even be the one to use for the happy little chapter she would add to her book, Birds of the USE, detailing how the dodos would not be going extinct in this world, thank you very much.
After several hours, Pam decided that anymore work on the piece would just be fussing, so she set about getting her gear ready for the hike home. The dodos were finishing up their latest treat as she woke Gerbald from the nap he had been taking, not part of his standard bodyguard and look-out routine, but then back in Grantville they hadn't been out in the field every day, all day, either. Deeming these woods safe enough and Pam having as nearly a good an eye and ear for intruders as his own, Gerbald got some extra sleep in the way of old soldiers from time immemorial, wherever and whenever he could.
"Come along, Rip Van Winkle. It's almost the eighteenth century. Let's get back."
"Wake me when its the twentieth century or as soon as every European owns a colored TV," he mumbled sleepily from beneath the wide and warped brim of his floppy, mustard-colored hat. He rose languidly to his nearly six feet and stretched like some gray-whiskered, but still deadly, jungle cat. Pam marveled at his ability to sleep anywhere as she finished packing up her gear. As she made ready to leave the clearing, she noticed that the dodos, although finished with their snacks a while ago, hadn't moved on. Instead, they all stood around staring at her.
Pam smiled, a bit surprised at this new behavior. Then she laughed a bit as she realized what was going on.
"Oh, I see, you want another treat! Sorry, kids. I gave you all I had. You're on your own again!" She turned away from them, pleased with her cleverness and the nice piece of art it had yielded and began to walk toward the trail leading home. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Gerbald had not fallen into step with her and was still watching the dodos.
"Um, Pam? You best have a look," he said in a very calm voice.
Pam turned around to see that the dodos, rather than melting back into the forest in search of food, had all moved closer to her, a group of six adults and a couple of youngsters now just a few yards away. They stood in a loose clump, their somehow disconcerting yellow eyes all trained unblinkingly upon Pam. Frowning a bit, Pam took another two steps toward the edge of the clearing. The dodos did the same.
"Shit! They think I'm going to give them more treats."
"One dares not utter the phrase 'I told you so.' Oops. I uttered it," Gerbald commented.
Pam screwed up her face to stick out her tongue at him. She took another step and the dodos followed again. Exasperated, Pam waved her arms around in front of her in what she hoped would be seen as a gesture of discouragement and called out "Shoo! Go on now, I don't have any more for you, now git!" The dodos' heads bobbed around watching her arms gesticulate and then took a moment to sniff around their leathery feet to see if their treats had been let loose by these actions. Not finding any, their gaze returned to Pam.
She looked to Gerbald for support but he just shrugged his shoulders.
"Don't look at me! You're the bird lady," he told her. "Let's just try walking away. They will get bored eventually."
Nodding nervously, Pam turned and headed down the trail at a brisk-but-not-too-brisk pace, followed closely by Gerbald. The dodos came along after, one by one down the narrow path through the forest. Pam was worried that the large, and in such numbers, potentially dangerous, birds might try to rush her, but so far the dodos were content to politely wait for more treats. Following the treat giver seemed their best bet.
An hour later they emerged along the shore near their encampment. Pam and Gerbald, followed by a neat line of dodos. Pers saw them first and whistled up Dore from her kitchen to come have a look. Soon all the sailors stood watching the bizarre procession.
"I feel like the Pied Piper," Pam grumbled, but managed a smile for them, looking for all the world as if she were completely in control of the situation.
"Are these the famous dodos?" the bosun asked, regarding the unusual creatures with wide eyes.
"Yes, indeed they are. Dore, do you happen to have any nuts stored away?" Pam's voice held just enough tinge of desperation to send her friend hurrying into the kitchen to find some. The dodos formed a semi-circle facing Pam, all waiting expectantly for their next feeding. Dore returned with a banana leaf basket full of nuts, which she cautiously handed to Pam, never once taking her suspicious eyes off the gathered birds.
"Gawd, I really hate further associating humans with food, but at this point I have to do something," Pam told Gerbald, quietly.
"I'm not sure why you are so edgy, they are just pigeons in the park after all," he teased. Pam gave him a quick scowl then turned to her flock.
"Here chicky-chickies, have some more nuts!" she called sweetly and threw a heaping handful to the dodos, who eagerly gobbled them up with a gentle clacking of their bills.
"Here, hold this," she ordered Gerbald, thrusting the basket into his hands. Before he could protest she slipped around behind him and made a beeline for her hut, climbing the stairs and slamming the door shut behind her with a loud slap of bamboo. In the meantime, the dodos had finished their snack and were staring at Gerbald and the basket of nuts he now held.
Dore began laughing as did the sailors, all of whom were carefully backing away from the strange creatures in their midst.
"Ha!" Dore called back to her flummoxed husband. "It looks like you are left holding the bag!" she kidded him before disappearing into the safety of her grass-roofed kitchen.
Gerbald shook his head ruefully at being so easily duped. With a sigh he smiled graciously at the waiting dodos.
"Come along then, my feathered friends. Let us see if Gerbald can give you the slip." The dodos followed him as he led them away down the beach into the twilight. Pam wouldn't even come out for dinner that night and eventually Dore sent Fritjof with something for her to eat, growling that she finally understood why the uptime phrase "for the birds" implied something foolish or worthless.
The next day the dodos were hanging around a little ways down the beach, scavenging the tide flats for bits of seaweed and snails. Pam watched from what she considered to be a safe distance through her birding scope as one of the larger dodos managed to catch a scuttling crab. Gerbald was taking the day off from scientific study in order to pout. He had been up well after dark playing a game of hide and seek with his erstwhile followers and had little use for Pam at the moment. Pam just smiled. She knew he'd get over it sooner than later, understanding that no trickster ever enjoys being among the tricked.
The dodos decided to make the beach their home for the time being, sleeping under the palms and occasionally wandering through camp in search of a treat. Although Pam warned everyone not to feed them, they inevitably did anyway. The ugly-cute critters were just too hard to resist. The lonely sailors enjoyed the novelty of having pets about, even ones as odd as these. The only member of the party who was immune to the dodo's charms was Dore, who had no fear of their sharp beaks and who shooed them away from her kitchen and gardens with the mighty force of her bamboo-handled grass broom.
During their stay on the island, the Redbird castaways had been relying on seafood for their protein. There were very few birds present that might be considered game. Gerbald had snared a few black-feathered marsh birds along the river. Pam thought they might be some kind of moorhen, but they tasted pretty much like a mudflat might and had little meat on their sharp bones. They had also tried several species of sandpiper and gull, but the rubbery flesh stank of fish and was so unpalatable they ended up using it all for bait.
The dodos had been among them for several weeks now and their novelty had worn off. Pam realized, to her horror, that the attitude of the men toward their pets had subtly changed. Pam now saw a look of hunger on their faces as they watched the fluffy dodos wander around the camp. Dodos were the largest and juiciest bird they had seen since being marooned, resembling in many ways a plump turkey. They no longer were feeding the dodos for amusement sake, it seemed, but rather to fatten them up for the cooking pot! Even Dore was sneaking a predatory peek at them as she worked on the crab and coconut curry they were having yetagain for the noonday meal.
Pam decided she had better head this disconcerting development off right at the pass. As the men finished their breakfast she walked out into the morning sunlight and harrumphed for their attention.
"All right, you guys," she announced. "I know everybody is hungry for meat but just let me tell you, don't even think about eating a dodo, not even one! Besides, the books all say they taste terrible!" She was really getting mad now and stomped around among the stunned sailors, making sure they all got a good look in her eyes and understood that she meant business! "You lot know how to fish don't you? Well, get off your butts and start fishing! Now! Move!"
The men, hardened navy seamen all, leaped up at her fiery command to prepare the various fishing tackle they had contrived, while Gerbald hastily repaired into the underbrush to gather materials to weave into a new fish trap. Dore hunched over her coconuts with a guilty expression, while Pam continued to stalk up and down the beach keeping a watchful eye on the oblivious dodos. We had better get out of here before history repeats itself Pam thought darkly, denying to herself that she, too, was beginning to wonder what a nice fat dodo might taste like.
Chapter Twenty: Strangers Come to Call
Pam and Gerbald were climbing over the steep southern bluff to walk the next beach over in search of as yet unseen species as well as possible new food sources, when an unexpected splash of color out on the water caught Pam's ever watchful eye.
"Gerbald! Look!" Pam hissed back into the trees. She was now on her belly in the tall grass crawling up to the cliff edge. Gerbald slithered up next to her with practiced grace.
"A ship! But what kind?" his eyes were bright as they focused on the vessel anchored in their bay. Pam carefully grasped the black neoprene strap at her neck to pull her precious birding scope out of its chest pocket home. She cupped a palm over the outer lens to prevent any reflection from the bright southern sun giving away their position. Focusing in she was surprised to see a brightly painted vessel with elegantly carved touches to its woodwork: dragons and sea turtles and cranes. The back and front were both set high and the sails were an odd squared-off shape.
"Hmmm. I think it's some kind of a junk," Pam said.
"Really? I am no seaman but it looks like a perfectly seaworthy boat to me, although shaped rather oddly." Gerbald squinted at the vessel curiously.
Pam stifled a laugh. "No, not that kind of junk. I mean a Chinese junk, a type of ship from the Orient."
"Ah, another one of those homonyms. A rather annoying feature of English, I must say."
"I agree. Christ all mighty, we have to get back down to the camp. Do you think they've seen it, too?"
"Master Bosun always sets a watch. The Swedish sailors are resourceful and well-trained men. We are lucky to have them."
"Darn tootin'!" If one were to be shipwrecked, a friendly band of resourceful Vikings was definitely the way to go.
Pam watched the swarthy-complexioned men going about their tasks on the deck. "They don't look Chinese," Pam whispered, even though it was very unlikely they could be heard against the wind at such a distance. She handed Gerbald the scope.
"Indeed, at least not any such as I have seen on TV or at the movies, although I think some of those were actually white people in poorly done make-up. These fellows look to be some kind of Moor. By their white robes and headgear I would say they are followers of Allah the Merciful." The last came with an ironic chuckle from the old soldier.
"Arabs?"
"Perhaps, or some relative. Turks, possibly. They are well armed with those curved blades, and handle themselves like fighting men. Several have firearms, although those look rather primitive. Oh- oh my." His tone turned dark.
"What?" Pam asked, growing more and more uneasy.
"It's ugly, but you had best see it for yourself. Look there, hanging from the bowsprit."
Pam looked and to her horror saw several severed heads with silky black hair hanging there, grisly trophies swinging in the sea breeze. Despite the state of decay she was sure their features were Asiatic.
"My God, they killed the Chinese who owned the ship! These guys are some kind of pirates!"
"Indubitably." That was one of Gerbald's favorite two dollar words, gleaned from watching TV, of course. "This is not good," he added, with a frown.
"Have you ever fought any like them before?"
"There were some with faces like these amongst the Spanish. Fierce fighters." He handed the scope back to Pam. "Don't worry, they will bleed," he added, his voice taking on a cold edge. Pam looked at the former soldier, still fearsome in his fifties, as his hand went instinctively to the deadly shortsword that hung at his belt.
"No doubt they will. Let's git."
Very carefully, they eased their bodies back from the cliff edge through the grass, leaving little trace of their presence. They made haste through the shadowed wood, down the rocky hillside to their castaway camp. They arrived to find Dore clutching her biggest cleaver, waiting anxiously near the hidden path which was their designated escape route, which led to a refuge in the forest they had prepared for such emergencies. Seeing her loved ones arrive, she puffed out her typical exasperated breath. Before they could begin to tell her what they had seen, Dore addressed them in hushed and serious tones.
"You are late. We know about the boat, too. We were not seen and the sailors have already set up an ambush. They think those men will come ashore for fresh water. They are no Christians by the looks of them. The bosun says they are murderous pirates."
Gerbald nodded, allowing himself a grim smile at the prospect of combat. Pam leaned on her grandmother's walking stick, catching her breath and calming her nerves as she watched Gerbald slip silently into the brush to confer with their men, becoming invisible to any onlooker within an instant. Thanks to his training, she knew how to do that, too, and in a situation like this she was glad of it.
"Come on, Dore, let's get undercover. This is one time where I am more than happy to let the men do their macho warrior thing and stay out of the way."
"Such boys they are. They relish this, you know. Fools."
Chapter Twenty-One: Pam Hatches a Plan
Pam silently led her friend farther down the escape route, a trail nearly imperceptible to any who didn't know it. Dore followed with remarkable grace. For the first time it occurred to Pam that Dore had lost a lost of weight since their voyage had begun. Her sturdy, buxom build had taken on a bit of youthful slenderness. She moved as silently as Pam did. Having been a soldier's wife and camp follower for many long years, Dore was no stranger to slipping behind cover when the weapons came out. They paused at a fallen log in the shade of the trees, not far from the hideout and waited there silently, listening for any sounds of struggle from back at the camp. An hour passed and then two, according to Pam's self-winding, waterproof Timex, more valuable than a chest of jewels in this century. They began to get restless.
"What if they don't need fresh water?" Dore asked quietly.
"Then they won't need to come ashore. I sure would like to take that boat from those bastards, but I don't think our guys can win an attack by sea, even with the pinnace. By the time they got it in the water, those Arabs or whatever they are, would have plenty of time to either pull anchor and scram or prepare to hold them off. They would have a huge advantage." Pam rubbed her chin and began to think about the problem at hand. If they didn't do something, the stranger ship might just sail away without giving them any opportunity to capture it, which was beginning to seem like a very important goal. They were all ready to take a chance to escape in a seaworthy craft at this point, even if the risk was high.
The pinnace just wouldn't cut it on a long voyage. According to the bosun, it was really only supposed to hold half their number safely, being designed as a close range ship-to-shore ferry and lifeboat. Short of being rescued by a friendly ship, which was extremely unlikely this year, they needed to get their hands on something big enough to carry all of them away from this lonely coast. Ideally something big enough to mount that lovely up-time inspired cannon, which would give them a fighting chance next time they encountered bad guys. Pam squatted on the fallen log, going into what she thought of as thinking cap mode, working the problem in her head.
After a while a grin came to her face. "Oh, goodness . . ." she mumbled.
Dore's ear's pricked up. "You have an idea," she stated, knowing Pam's nuances well by now.
Pam nodded carefully as if afraid to lose it. It was ridiculous of course. It was utterly ridiculous and it would probably work. She took one of Dore's firm, wash-worn hands in hers.
"Yes, I have an idea. I think I saw it in an old movie, or maybe on Gilligan's Island, that old TV show Gerbald likes so much. Now, it's pretty crazy but you are going to have to trust me on this, it's going to work. It's going to work because it is crazy" She leaned closer to her older friend and outlined her new plan while Dore listened, eyes growing larger and larger.
"What!" she almost shouted when Pam had finished outlining her plan, then caught herself and hissed, "You want us to what?" Dore's face had a look of shock that Pam had rarely seen before, the look of a very conservative Christian woman who has been asked to do something beyond the pale. Pam continued to nod, now more sure than ever.
"Listen, Dore honey, it's the only plan I've got and I know it sounds bad, it's totally nuts in fact, but we have to do it. There's not much time. The guys' ambush isn't working. It needs bait. It's time for us girls to step up. I know you are made of strong stuff. Now please put your misgivings aside and help me do this. I need you, Dore. I need you to do this with me."
Dore narrowed her icy blue eyes at Pam, her best friend, her adopted little sister, in some ways the child she never had. The formidable, all-purpose, soldier's wife harrumphed mightily and fiddled with her apron strings, lost in thought. Disapproval and mistrust showed in every twitch of her powerful fingers. Pam waited for her to work it out, hoping that Dore would realize the necessity of her bizarre proposal. Seeing the look of fading hope on Pam's face, Dore gripped Pam's hand hard and said, "For you, my dear Pam, only because you would have it. May the Good Lord forgive us."
Shortly she and Dore were in a huddle behind the camp with Gerbald, the bosun and Pers while the other sailors kept their positions. The anchored ship's crew had finished most of their work and looked as if they were getting ready to either set sail or take a late afternoon nap.
Having heard Pam's plan, Bosun exclaimed rather loudly, "You want to what?" His face was a study in astonishment. Young Pers had turned a new shade of pale, his eyes wide as China plates. Gerbald laughed silently into his hand, his entire frame shaking with mirth until Dore slugged him in the bicep; not on his sword arm Pam noted. Gerbald gasped rather too loudly and shook his head. There were tears in his eyes, he was so struck with the pure outrageousness of what Pam proposed. Barely controlling his hilarity, he announced, "I like this plan!"
Dore glared at him menacingly. "As you would, you disgusting goat. To see your own women folk half-naked and dressed like these harlot dancers would appeal to an impious sinner like you. May God have pity on your black and shriveled soul."
"Not harlots, Dore, hula! Hula dancers. Big difference. It's a cultural thing. They live in a warm climate, so they just don't wear as many clothes as we do. Come on, let's go get dressed. It's time to lay the bait."
Gerbald continued to chuckle impiously at the proceedings, making Pam snarl at him with uncharacteristic vehemence "That's enough out of you, dick-head. I need her calm and you are not helping!" She slugged him in the arm, hard, just like Dore had done for good measure. I didn't hit him in the sword arm either, we're going to need that,she thought darkly. Pam was sure he was immune to any physical pain she could inflict but her fierce tone and epithet silenced him immediately, his mirth replaced by a pitiful "I'm sorry" look.
Pam turned to the bosun. "Tell Löjtnant Lundkvist what we're doing. I want the men ready to get between us and them fast." The bosun nodded his understanding somberly. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you fellows that anyone who makes fun of us is going to have to deal with me when it's all over and I won't be as nice as the bloody damn pirates," Pam growled as she led Dore away to the costuming department, her gray eyes brooding like a dangerous storm front. Two voices came back with very earnest yes, ma'ams and one made a strangled cough, trying to cover a fresh round of chuckles. Men can be such pigs, Pam thought as she stalked off. Thank God they're here.
Dore's face was miserable as Pam led her into the cool dimness of their camp's main hut, where they held meetings, stored food and ate their meals.
"Come on, Dore. You need to buck up and get into character. We need to be good actors." Her voice was full of false, but hopefully convincing, cheer.
"Actors? Those sin lovers who appear in all manner of un-Christian garb in your uptime entertainments. Oh Dear Lord, strike me down where I stand." Dore looked up at the grass thatched ceiling of the hut with imploring eyes.
Pam suddenly lost her patience. There wasn't much time and the stress was becoming too much to bear. She grabbed Dore by the arms and shook her with quite a bit of strength, Dore being a very solid individual. Pam raised her voice as loud as she dared. "Damn it all, Dore, listen! We are not sinners. We are doing this to save ourselves and get off this fucking rock, got it? God is merciful, right? He would want us to fight for our lives, right? So whatever we do today, He's going to forgive us! Now grow up and help me pull this off!"
Dore's eyes focused on Pam with startled wideness. Her dear Pam, shaking her and lecturing her as if she were a stubborn child, was an unpleasant first, another of what was shaping up to be a very long day of such unpleasant firsts.
Pam released her grip to hug Dore tightly as she would have her own mother and spoke in a shaky small voice, all trace of anger gone. "I'm so sorry, Dore, but I can't think of anything else to do!" Dore, her arms now released from Pam's surprisingly powerful grip, hugged Pam back for a moment, then gently disentangled herself from her friend's frantic embrace.
"It is I who should be sorry, dear Pam. Sorry for questioning your sincere efforts and being such a pious old fool. I know you would only ask such of me in desperate times, as these are. It is indeed time I 'grow up' and be a help to you." Dore took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She even managed a small smile. "Now tell me, what must we do to appear as harlot dancers?"
That made Pam laugh, her tone a little desperate but warming quickly to the intrinsic hilarity of their situation. She stepped back and eyed her old friend who now stood courageously ready for Pam's orders. Pam, relieved, got started. "Well, first you have got to lose that apron. It's so last century."
Chapter Twenty-Two: Harlot Dancers
As Dore began untying the many clever knots she made her husband navigate through in the private hours, Pam reached up to set free the pony tail she usually tied her hair in to keep it mostly out of her way. She shook her head to loosen up the dishwater blonde flyaway locks, fly, be free! then mussed it all up with her hands to make it look even wilder. Next she carefully emptied her pockets of any valuables such as her scope and put them into her trusty rucksack, which she hid carefully behind a rafter in the shadows of the grassy ceiling. She took off her shirt and stood a little self consciously in her bra, careful not to let Dore see her own shyness. Dore looked at her approvingly as she hung her apron on a branch of one of the hut's primitive support beams.
"You are such a lovely girl, Pam, and still so young. If I were your age and still single I might let the men know it, in a properly modest way of course. You are a candle that hides its light."
Pam was forty-five years old and didn't consider herself either lovely or a girl, but smiled at Dore's praise anyway. She had never been a bombshell of any sort but she was attractive in a "step or two ahead of Plain Jane" sort of way. Her years tromping around the forests and fields downtime had trimmed away any trace of the fat that she felt had made her so unattractive in her late thirties and early forties, the self-pity-cherry-bon-bon-eating years that had followed her divorce. She took a deep breath, sucked in her proudly hourglass waist, and stuck her ample-enough-for-another-look chest out. It seemed things were still holding up well there. She allowed herself a rather pleased grin.
"Maybe I do still got something, huh? Let's hope it's something an Arab pirate type might appreciate." She took a careful step toward Dore. "Now it's your turn, darlin'." Dore made no move and simply nodded to Pam with a Please, do what you must look so Pam gently reached out and began loosening the complex knot-work of braids Dore kept her hair so severely bound up in. To Pam's great surprise, long, lush locks the color of burnished brass laced with strands of silver fell down to nearly her waist.
"Talk about holding your light under a bushel! Good golly what I would give to have hair like yours! You keep it tucked up so tight, I had no idea!" Pam reached out and felt a lock, it was thick and smooth, nothing like the thin, dry feel of her own hopeless hair. Dore blushed a little and quietly admitted that Gerbald was quite fond of it and that's why she kept it long for him, despite the nuisance of its required care.
Pam nodded approvingly. "I'll bet he likes it. It's gorgeous, Dore." Pam shunted aside the bit of jealousy that crept around her mind and said in what she hoped was a firm yet comforting tone, "Okay, next we got to free up your bosom. Take off the smock." Dore complied and the drab gray piece of utilitarian clothing came off.
Like many downtime worker women Pam had seen, Dore kept her bosom tightly confined. Accomplishing this was what appeared to be some kind of wrap made of sturdy canvas. At Pam's silent nod Dore loosened the straps on the dour down-time version of a modesty-defending brassiere. Pam's eyes widened. She knew Dore had plenty in the chest department, but the reality was, well, larger than expected. Jean Harlow, eat your heart out! Dore's chest thrust out heroically like that of a mighty warrior queen, nothing at all like the grandmotherly flaccidity she had expected. Dore, bare to the waist with her hair down had ceased to resemble the humble washer woman Pam had grown accustomed to thinking of her as and was revealed as a Wagnerian goddess, a lovely and fearless Valkyrie. Dore was solidly built, certainly. Even after the island diet the hourglass was perhaps a bit thick, but now that her true buxom, healthy beauty was revealed the effect was something close to ravishing.
Pam let out a long, almost catcall of a whistle. "I'm going to call you 'Wonder Woman' from now on. You are a hottie!"
Dore blushed even harder. "Gerbald, he tells me I am beautiful, but you know him. His sweet talking is shameless. When I was a young girl in my teens I remember the village boys thought well of me and I often felt their lustful looks, but that was so long ago."
"Girl, I'm here to tell you, you still got it and then some! Gawd, Dore, you're gorgeous, and not just in a 'for a woman your age' kind of way. You could make the village boys get down on their knees and beg right now! Shit, I guess that makes me Maryann 'cause you got Ginger nailed."
Dore's face burned the scarlet of a summer sunset. At last she smiled widely in an open way that Pam had never seen before. A day for firsts indeed. A bright bit of Psychology 101 popped into Pam's head and she put it to The Plan's advantage right away.
"Look, Dore, just pretend you are a silly seventeen year old again and these pirate types are the village boys! It's perfectly all right to be a bit naughty in a situation like that. We are just pretending, to save our skins. So just let go and be a little more flirtatious than you would have allowed yourself back then. Well, a lot more flirtatious. We need these clowns to want our bodies badly!"
It was Dore's turn to laugh now, in a shy but pleased way. "The village boys! Yes, I was a flirt sometimes, oh the shame. Very well. I can do that, Pam. We will make this work."
"Right. Now, off comes the bottom parts." Dore's face changed rapidly from glowing sunset to kitchen flour again. Pam thought she heard her mumbling a prayer for forgiveness under her breath as she began to unclasp the ties of her exceedingly modest dresses.
A short time later the women emerged bare-chested, wearing simple grass skirts over their under-garments in materials hurriedly reassigned from the hut's walls, making sure to show quite a bit of leg. Dore's legs were those of an athlete, well-muscled from years on the road and standing at work for long hours, but still shapely. The strings of clam shells they had made to decorate the place while fighting the sheer boredom of their existence were now draped around their necks and bunches of hapless orchids growing nearby had been firmly woven into their free-flowing hair. Each carried a large basket full of that evening's dinner fruit and Pam had used some of the berry juice to brighten up their lips.
"We are some glorious and sex-starved hula harlots in need of some male attention and we always get our way!" Pam announced bravely, and they both nearly lost control to a fit of nervous giggles.
"Now, Dore," Pam said breathing a bit hard to retain composure, "remember these guys are dangerous. We don't want them to get too close. Let's try to lead them back up the trail where our guys can get the jump on them and the fight can't be seen from the ship. When the killing starts, we run like hell, okay?"
"Got it." Dore resembled some kind of wild and dangerous heathen chieftainess, a tigress of lust. If Pam had a mirror she would have been both shocked and proud of her own wanton and wild appearance. She figured she at least somewhat resembled a Caucasian Hollywood extra made into a faux-Polynesian girl, last seen throwing flower petals in the path of Fantasy Island's latest guests. Obviously a counterfeit wahine, but still easy on the eye. A sudden burst of confidence filled her, Goddamn it, we are looking fine!
As they sashayed down the path to the beach as seductively as they could muster, Pam began to feel eyes on her. She tried not to look right or left in order to avoid giving away her men's positions but out of the corner of her sharp and well trained birder's eyes she could make out some of the sailors hidden in the bushes, their mouths open in pure astonishment tinged with a bit of dawning appreciation. You goofballs better keep your eyes on the pirates when we come back this way she tried to radiate back at them. These treats are not for you! All too soon they left the cover provided by the last line of palms perched along the high tideline and sauntered casually onto the still uncomfortably hot sand. Pam stifled a grimace and whispered loudly, "Remember, we want them to come ashore. We must be alluring sirens. Let's get their attention now."
Dore called out sweetly in German, "Come, oh wretched and lustful goats from yon ship. Come and feel my ample breasts in your greasy, godless hands!" Pam almost lost it again but realized they would be better off not revealing their identity as Europeans beyond the paleness of their skin, which she hoped would pass for pleasingly exotic in these latitudes. She stage whispered to Dore, "Don't speak German or English to them. We want them to think we are savages."
Dore's brow knitted below her wreath of exotic blossoms. "What should I say, then?"
"Just use nonsense talk, like to a baby. Boo-loo ooh-loo gaga waga! But make it sound sexy!"
"Boo-loo ooh-loo! Rhumba rhumba!" she crowed back with unfettered heathen delight. "A rhumba is one of those shameless dances Spanish-speaking papists engage in up-time. I saw it on TV," she whispered proudly to Pam.
"That's perfect, Dore. More like that!" Pam whispered back. "Calypso bistro, bongo wongo marimba hoochi-koochi!" Pam shouted at the top of her lungs while performing her best imitation of a parade float beauty queen's welcoming wave. In the distance she could see the junk's crew beginning to rouse to their racket.
About halfway down to the water's edge they set their baskets down on the sand. Pam squinted to see if they had the pirate's attention and found that they did. The sheet-wrapped goons were beginning to chatter and point at them. Pam motioned to Dore to follow her lead and set the baskets down, slowly to make sure there was a nice long view of that which was unfettered and freed to gravity's whims, then began motioning to their abundant offerings with alluring gestures of invitation that would put any game-show co-hostess to shame.
"Ooga, beluga! You swarthy schmucks! We got'sa some froota loopas for you-ah!" She turned again to Dore who was mimicking her gestures. "And now, we dance!" Pam whispered to her blushing, but gamely seductive, friend.
"You start!" Dore hissed at her.
"Ka-looka looka kooka looka!" Pam sang at the top of her lungs as she began to shake her belly and her breasts as hard as she could in a move she had seen on a Don Ho TV special when she was a kid. She continued to vibrate as she slowly turned around to give them a three-hundred and sixty degree view of all the available goods. Dore followed her lead, turning in the opposite direction, her shaking was a speed or two slower but she added a warbling bird-like cry in her powerful church choir alto. Go, girl, go! Pam grinned at her as they came back around again. Next Pam stopped shaking and began a circular swaying of the hips while her arms lithely made gestures of come hither toward the boat.
To both Pam's relief and growing trepidation at what would come next, she saw their ploy was working. Several of the odd-looking ship's invader crew were slapping each other on the backs in what was surely an exchange of lascivious dares. Several more worked to untie a small craft lashed to the deck, a longboat that they proceeded to lower into the water. They've swallowed the hook, line and sinker! Time to reel in! Pam and Dore continued to shake and gyrate their scandalously half-clad bodies as if trying to stay upright in a fearsome earthquake.
Suddenly an older captain-type fellow emerged from the upper decks and began shouting at the crew. He had enormous white handle-bar mustachios and wore a ridiculous oversized turban right out of a storybook. The men just pointed at the beach and looked back at him with shamed but imploring grins. The captain-type narrowed his eyes to stare across the water at the distraction, so Pam and Dore both waved coyly and blew kisses to him. With a dismissive snort and wave of the hand, he marched back into his cabin. Whatever happened next would be no responsibility of his.
The majority of the men immediately began crowding into the boat, stepping on and over each other as they vied for a spot. Still, a few others remained on the deck, either unimpressed by the beachside burlesque show or under strict orders to remain on watch, their faces scowling fiercely. They would have to deal with that bunch of fun fellows later. At least they had most of the moths coming to the flame.
"Oh shit, here they come!" Pam hissed out of the side of her mouth to Dore, who had really gotten into the spirit of the thing and was busy pushing her prodigious breasts up with both hands, in offering to the oncoming boatload of hormones. Pam's eyes widened at this impressive display of wantonness and, not to be outdone, began a snaky, pelvis-thrusting, dance that included some low front bends complete with jiggling. She couldn't be completely sure but she thought the pirate types were now rowing faster. If this wasn't so damned dangerous, I'd be having a pretty good time,she admitted to herself ruefully. Thank the Lord, the Methodist ladies of Grantville aren't seeing any of this!
When the boat hit the shallows and the pirates were just starting to clamber out into the gentle surf, Pam and Dore began their backward retreat to the trail. They left the fruit baskets where they were, hoping to slow them down a bit more. Walking backwards as rapidly as they dared while still beckoning and cooing coquettishly, they reached the line of palms just as their admirers reached the baskets. Pam and Dore both began pantomiming eating the fruits and a fair number of the men paused to fill their hands with the offering, biting into the luscious fruit with sly smiles that anticipated more delights to come, their eyes never leaving the women for very long. Good, now most of them have their hands full of nice, juicy, slippery fruits instead of on their weapons. Pam had caught a good look at the wicked scimitars, daggers and several exotic-looking pistols they wore shoved into their belts and lost any doubts she might have had that they were facing dangerous pirates, or whatever passed for a seagoing scoundrel in these parts.
Pam winked at Dore, mission almost accomplished and began to edge back into the trees, still cooing and beckoning their prey on. Come on, you ass-holes, follow the pretty ladies!
There was some discussion amongst the pirates, undoubtedly as to whether to proceed into the trees or not. This didn't last long as the pirates seemed to feel they were in no danger and if any unfriendly "natives" appeared they would be able to make short work of them. Overconfidence and lust proved to be just the right combination. The pirates assumed they were being led to where the real party would start and gamely followed along.
Pam and Dore had not quite reached the spot where the ambush awaited. Unfortunately, some of the pirates had grown impatient and were catching up to them more quickly than expected, their hands eager to get a hold of offerings intrinsically more alluring than fruit. Pam gave Dore a small push, a signal to move faster. A pirate caught up to Pam just then and grabbed her wrist, hard. Pam felt a note of panic ring through her but kept smiling. Dore paused and was looking back, allowing a look of worry to cross her face. Pam gestured with her chin for Dore to move on but she knew her friend wouldn't leave her. A second pirate was closing fast. The plan was in danger of falling apart and Pam's heart began to race. The one who held her who now used his free hand to grab one of Pam's breasts, causing her to yelp.
That was all the signal Gerbald and the Swedes needed. Pam watched in amazement as a large sage green and mustard-colored blur came rocketing out of the brush. Suddenly the man pawing Pam was sporting a bright red gash where his throat had been, the work of Gerbald's deadly katzbalger shortsword. Pam knocked the dying pirate's still clutching hands away from her, they were all that was keeping him upright. He collapsed into a growing pool of his own blood as if all the bones had gone out of him. An identical fate met the next pirate closest behind, who hadn't even had time to begin to think of pulling out his own weapon. Good. Pam thought, her blood running cold. The decaying, tortured faces of the beheaded Chinese sailors flashed in her mind, and any shreds of guilt at planning the death of these people evaporated.
Pam and Dore began running, Pam pushing Dore ahead of her as much as Dore was pulling Pam into the tall grass away from the action. From a relatively safe distance, she saw Gerbald down a third pirate with his katzbalger as the bosun shoved his cutlass deep into the gut of a fourth. The Löjtnant, not to be outdone, skewered another through the chest with an ornately decorated longsword. No one fired a shot in order to keep the action inland a secret from the remaining pirates at anchor. One or two of the pirates managed to get their weapons out, but Gerbald and the Swedes outnumbered them now and made quick work of them. It was finished as rapidly as it had begun. The sailors dragged the pirates' bodies off into the tall grass to hide them, then scuffed fresh sand and scattered leaves across the trail to cover the drying pools of blood just in case anyone else came looking. Pam hoped they would, since the same fate awaited them as befell their brother pirates.
Pers, for his keen eyes and Rask and Torgir, both experienced marines, remained on watch at the ambush site while the rest of them went back to the camp to regroup. The bosun, in his early fifties although aged prematurely by years of sea winds and the relentless sun, was doing his level best not to look at Pam, and losing that battle. This was possibly the most bare female flesh he had ever seen outside of a dimly lit dockside whorehouse and the poor fellow was obviously shaken. Pam smiled at him patiently and quickly got back to business as he did his best to focus on a nearby palm tree yet still appear to be listening to her.
"Good job, everyone. That worked really well. I have an idea for part two, so tell me what you think." All the men listened intently to Pam's next plan, mostly managing not to stare at the ladies' exposed expanses. Dore stood unashamed beside her, a lioness gazing proudly at her brave and clever young companion, head and other assets held high. Gerbald grinned like a fox in a henhouse, obviously pleased to see his Christian wife of so many years standing before him in unfettered heathen glory. Dore saw his look and rather than become annoyed as she once would have, gave her husband a serene smile. Pam saw this exchange out of the corner of her eye. Oh gawd, what have I unleashed? When Pam finished outlining part two of her plan the men all coughed and mumbled their agreement before fleeing the sight of so much female flesh. Pam giggled as she and Dore retired to the main hut to get ready for their next show.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Boarding Party
The shadows had already grown long. Dusk followed quickly, so they didn't have much time to prepare. On board the anchored ship the pirates had grown increasingly agitated but it seemed there was only one landing craft and it was out of reach on the beach. So far no one had volunteered to swim ashore and check how their comrades might be enjoying their shore leave. The mustachioed and ornately turbaned captain was close to having a conniption fit. He stomped around the deck, sometimes shouting at the empty shore in a menacing bellow.
Just after sunset, during the last few minutes of natural light, a procession of the island's inhabitants came down the trail to the beach carrying torches and more baskets of fruit. Now the two women were joined by a slender male youth dressed in the same grass-and-flower style, whose shyly downcast face was a study in red. The captain shouted himself hoarse at them but all they did was wave as the youth pushed the pirates' longboat back into the water. The two women got in the front while he sat in the back, paddling the unfamiliar craft clumsily toward the junk, canoe style. The women stayed seated so as not to tip the odd craft over, but put their upper bodies to good effect in a shimmying and swaying dance, all the while crooning in their incomprehensible tongue. Slowly they drew nearer to the larger craft. The youth's piloting was unskilled but they were making headway. Nearly all of the crew aboard were gathered at the rail to watch the bizarre shore party approach.
"It's working, it's working," Pam said just loud enough for Dore and Pers to hear. They were singing I've Been Working on the Railroad because it was one of the few the few uptime songs Dore knew the tune to, replacing the words with the same sort of nonsense babble they had used earlier. The giddiness that had helped her get through the first round had faded. Fear ran through her, a cold tingling in the balmy night. She had washed the spattered blood from her face, but she still felt unclean somehow. Her smile was forced and she began to worry that the enemy would see through their act too soon. She jiggled her scantily covered breasts a bit harder in an effort to distract these frightening and undoubtedly ruthless men from the terror that was threatening to creep across her painfully smiling face. Whatever mad confidence had taken hold of her earlier had fled. She was literally naked and exposed.
I can't believe this is really happening it's some kind of a nightmare oh God oh God! As they drew nearer the boat she took a deep breath and forced the inner voice of her fear to stop its nattering. Now was when it mattered most that she stay cool. This was the part that really counted. She could see Dore reflected in the water, waving the torches in a graceful arc. The more distraction the better, plus the light might blind the pirates somewhat to the darkness beyond. They were only a yard away now, Pam coyly fluttered her eyelashes up at the captain, whose outrageous curled mustachios dripped with sweat. She instantly regretted doing that as it sent the already upset fellow into a rage, eyes bulging and face cartoonishly crimson.
With a nerve-jarring shriek, the porculent old pirate captain vaulted over the rail to climb deftly down a rope ladder with a grace that belied his awesome girth. He jumped the last few feet to land in the front of their longboat, causing the craft's back end to rise dangerously out of the water. Dore dropped one of her torches into the water in order to take hold. Pam was bounced upward and back to land painfully on her bottom between her and Dore's bench seats, getting another nasty jolt when the pirate captain began making his way toward them and caused the craft to fall to the surface again with a splash. Suddenly Pers leaped over her, placing himself between them and the invader, armed only with his paddle. Pam looked on in horror as the enraged captain knocked the paddle from his hands and then began pummeling poor Pers with meaty fists. The youth was knocked backward just as Pam had been and was in bad position to defend himself. A kick of the pirate captain's boot knocked the wind out of him and he slumped into the boat's planked bottom.
Pam felt something hard and cool jamming painfully into her shoulder blade. She knew it was the butt of the up-time Smith and Wesson .38 caliber pistol Gerbald had insisted they bring with them for this part of the mission, which Dore had hidden in her fruit basket. She thrust the pistol into Pam's hand.
"Shoot, Pam, shoot! I know you know how!" Dore hissed in her ear.
Pam's eyes narrowed. She was filling with a deep and powerful anger. Pers was no more than a boy! So much like my own Walt! She had naturally grown very fond of the lad and his sunny disposition. The fat captain had stopped beating the boy and was reaching for a nasty-looking curved long-knife at his belt. A cold rage she was sure was founded in deep maternal instinct went through Pam, a partially physical sensation, electrified emotions buzzed through her blood and brain. You really do see red! she thought as tiny red stars began to sparkle in her vision. She gripped the pistol firmly, feeling its weight, clicked the safety off and pointed it at the approaching foe's chest.
I've shot pistols before a hundred times back at Uncle's farm. Hold it steady, get your target in your sights, deep breath, squeeze slowly . . . Pam felt as if she was moving in slow motion but the pirate captain, angling his knife for a murderous stab paused when he realized Pam was armed. His cruel eyes widened. There was a flash and loud crack as if lightning had struck.
Pam watched, half in horror, half in glee, as the pirate captain fell with a bullet through his heart. He hit the boat's side heavily at his waist, then tipped into the water, turban first, with a sizable splash. The heavy pistol had kicked back into her hands hard, jarring her muscles painfully, but she kept it under control as her uncles had taught her, despite her awkward position.
"ARGGHHH!!" Pam's wordless, primal wail was lost in a wider cacophony. The bitter gunsmoke stench helped clear her head. With a twist and a heave, Pam began to extricate herself from between the seats, carefully keeping the pistol pointed away from her friends. Dore helped lift her as best she could with her free hand, she still held the torch, its light flickering crazily across the boat as it swayed and bounced with their frantic movements.
Pam saw that the second part of their ruse was in full effect. During the noisy show they had put on, Gerbald and the Swedes had launched the pinnace and had carefully circled around to the seaward side of the anchored junk. They had succeeded in boarding and were now locked in close combat with the Arab pirates.
There was a loud boom as Gerbald downed one charging pirate with one barrel of his pistol grip Snakecharmer shotgun while sticking his katzbalger shortsword deep into the gut of another. He moved around the deck with the practiced grace of a ballerina, dodging and killing with silent precision. Another boom from the next barrel and two more charging pirates fell, screaming and pawing at their shot-destroyed faces before dying. This is what Gerbald was trained for, how he had made his living from his youth to just a few years ago. War was his first calling and he was very damn good at it. I'll have to remember to thank Walt for giving him that crazy shotgun pistol, Pam mused as she watched him quickly reload it. The Snakecharmer soon fired again, killing one pirate and maiming another, which the katzbalger finished in a single, swift stroke.
Dore grabbed her shoulder and pointed, a pirate trying to flee the losing battle was halfway over the rail and poised to drop into their longboat. Pam shot him in the back, his falling body struck their bow with a sickening thunk before splashing limply into the water. Pam let out a long, low stream of curses under her breath.
Dore gripped her shoulder harder, bringing her face close behind Pam's ear. "It is good, Pam, you help our men! There, shoot that one!" Dore pointed at a pirate who was closing on the bosun, occupied with an opponent, his cutlass clashing and clanging against a blood-streaked scimitar. Pam stared for a moment at the wet, red blade in the enemy's hand. That's the blood of one of ours. She took aim carefully, supported by Dore's firm grip on her shoulders. Her finger squeezed. Now accustomed to the bang and flash, she didn't flinch afterward. She calmly watched the pirate she had shot through the neck drop limply to the deck. My shot went a little high but he's still dead as a door nail.
The bosun separated himself from his dueling partner with a mighty shove. The taller, thinner pirate skidded backward on the blood-drenched deck. The bosun glanced a question at Pam, with a barely perceptible nod she drew on the bosun's opponent as he regained his footing and shot him in the gut. Pam looked away from the messy results, her own gut suddenly sinking, as if meeting a sudden drop on a roller coaster. The deck went suddenly quiet but for the moans of the dead and dying. No pirates were left standing. Löjtnant Lundkvist looked down to see Pam still holding her smoking pistol. He saluted her. Pam's hands lost their strength and she laid the pistol down heavily on the seat in front of her as Dore eased her grip on her shoulders.
"It is all right now, Pam. It is over," Dore told her. "You did well, my friend. It was you who turned the battle's tide. You never even missed!"
Pam thought of each man she had shot and fought throwing up. She had barely eaten a thing all day so it wouldn't have helped much anyway. She looked to the deck where Gerbald had finished hurrying the enemy injured along on their journey to hell.
"Let us leave none alive," he said to Löjtnant Lundkvist and the bosun as calmly as if he were ordering a hamburger at the Freedom Arches. The Swedish marines took the lead in searching the ship, cautiously entering the captain's cabin and then the lower decks, pistols ready. While Dore went to the aid of injured Pers, Gerbald motioned for Pam to join him on the deck. Somehow she managed to climb the rope ladder with nerveless fingers until Gerbald dragged her over the red-lacquered rail. Dore clambered up onto the deck next. Standing unsteadily, Pam saw bodies in the flickering torch light and not all were dressed in bloodstained white. Gerbald looked at Pam proudly.
"Nice shooting, Tex! Four shots, no misses! You turned the battle in our favor!" he told his ashen faced friend, who just blinked at him, half in a state of shock. He saw where Pam was looking and his voice took on a solemn timbre. "Rask is injured very badly. We have lost Mård. Rask and Fritjof are sure to follow him. He is asking for you, Pam."
Pam felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Not the nice old fellow who loved that photo of "The Princess" so much!
"You are sure about Fritjof? Not making it, I mean?"
Gerbald nodded sadly. "I am sorry, Pam. He fought bravely. Please, follow me. Dore, see what you can do for our wounded."
"Pers has also been hurt, but not too badly. I shall tend to Rask first," Dore replied calmly, being used to aftermaths such as these.
Gerbald led Pam to where Fritjof lay, his head cradled by an exhausted bosun. He couldn't stay, as Dore called for his help with Rask. Fritjof's face was pale except for a line of blood trickling into his white beard. Someone had placed a cloth over his wounds, Pam could see that it was dark and soaking wet. Her gorge wanted to rise, but she forced it down.
"Fritjof, Frau Pam is here to see you," the bosun said softly into his ear. The old man's eyes opened, bloodshot and wild, darting about in search of her.
"I'm here, Fritjof," Pam told him, kneeling next to him and taking his hand. Although they were cold and bloodless, his long, thin fingers grasped hers with surprising strength.
"Frau Pam, thank you, thank you. I haven't much time now. I am no longer the fighter I was when I was young but I take two of these dogs to their graves with me."
"You are very brave, Fritjof. I am so proud of you. I know the princess will be, too," Pam told him, tears forming in the corner of her gunsmoke-stung eyes.
"The princess. Will you tell her? Will you tell her that I served her to my last?" His sentences were now punctuated with heaving gasps as his punctured lungs fought a losing battle for every breath.
"I will. I will tell her all about you, Fritjof! How brave you are and how you loved her and how you kept her photo. I will tell her of good Fritjof, loyal friend and fearless soldier!" Her voice caught and she fell silent, trying not to lose herself to weeping, not yet. Fritjof tried to say more but his gasps were coming more rapidly, stopping him from further speech. Pam took the damp cloth from the bosun and began to wipe his face, tears streaming now, mixing with the cool water and cooling blood. The touch of her hand seemed to calm him and he was able to speak again.
"Thank you, Frau Pam, thank you. I see the faces of my ancestors now. They have come for me in the ships of the old times. I see their sails, red and gold. Soon I shall join them." His grip on her hand tightened and his eyes were able to focus on her for a moment. "You were always kind to me. It is you who are the brave one, Frau Pam. All we men see it. I am glad to have you as my captain here at my end." Before she could answer Fritjof convulsed, a final ragged breath and then silence. His grip loosened and his hand fell limp to the deck. Pam let out a low wail, still wiping his forehead with the cloth. The bosun gently pushed her hand aside and closed the old sailor's eyes.
"Fritjof lived a long life, Frau Pam, longer than most who go to sea," the bosun told her in a tone of utmost kindness. "He is with his people now in the next world. Don't weep so."
Pam somehow ceased her keening cry and took a deep breath. She wiped her tears with her arm, her hands shaking.
"Come, good lady. Let us now help those who stay with us in this world." The bosun stood up, his movements those of one bruised and battered in cruel battle but still filled with strength. He took her trembling hands in his and lifted her to her feet. Pam embraced him for a moment, nearly knocking the wind out of the poor fellow, then released him to peer about the deck with tear-burned eyes. She shook herself, then spoke from an icy, calm place in the maelstrom of grief and disgust heaving about her mind.
"I'll go check on Pers. I think he's all right, just badly bruised."
The bosun saluted her, then turned to pull the blanket over the face of their fallen comrade.
Pam returned to the rail to see Pers was beginning to come around in the longboat. The boy was black and blue and he had a bloody nose but his eyes focused on Pam and his pupils weren't dilated.
"How do I look?" he asked cheerfully. Pam let out a laugh, more of a growl really, and told him, "You look like an elephant stepped on you, but you'll live. Stay put there and pinch your nose shut until I come back and tell you to stop." He did as she ordered while Pam went to join Dore where she ministered to Rask.
"Oh, dear. It is not good. A deep cut to the thigh here, and a gash to the side of the belly. I must find out how deep." No stranger to battlefield medicine, Dore went about her examination with the same deft swiftness she would preparing a chicken for the boil, ignoring the man's gasps and moans of pain. Pam was suitably impressed that Dore had developed such sophisticated first aid skills during her years as a camp follower. She knelt down to assist however she could. Under Dore's direction they made quick progress and stopped the bleeding.
Pam cursed under her breath and wished for up-time antibiotics. Back at camp she had a precious plastic bottle of Bactine, an over-the-counter antibacterial and mild local anesthetic she kept in her birding pack's tiny medkit for cuts and scrapes on the trail. She had been hoarding it, using it only sparingly, but she knew she would give it all if needed to help this man. With Rask stabilized and resting as comfortably as they could make him, they stood up wearily.
"I have some antibacterial medicine in my hut," Pam told Dore.
"Good, we will use it. Here come the men. Let us thank the Lord we have prevailed and pray that He welcome the souls of our brave men in His heavenly kingdom." Dore lowered her head and clasped her hands in silent prayer, a common pose for the upright German lady made utterly unearthly by her half-naked condition. This night Dore was a grass skirted and savage warrior queen with flowers in her hair, blood spattered and solemn as she sent the power of her unwavering faith to aid the souls of their fallen on their journey to Paradise.
****
To be continued . . .