by Vic Connor
The Noh mask tilts to the right.
Abe narrows his eyes. “Never a bad thing t’ have yarr ship ready before t’ storm hits, aye. Henry Morgan always be sayin’ so himself.” He nods and glances at my fettered legs. “An’ considerin’ ya be in no shape to be fightin’ like ya used to, it be makin’ damn good sense t’ change how we handle ‘em things. What ya be wantin’ us t’ do then, lad?”
I maneuver to sit down, then select a small pebble and place it on a clear patch of ground. “This be me.” I grab a twig and draw a circle around the pebble. “Eight paces around me—” I pat the pistolón at my back “—our new Spanish friend and me, we can handle anything, of that I’m certain.” I tap the common pistol on my right thigh. “And any of these will also be a lot more effective at this range, anyway. All we need, my guns and I, is enough time to aim.”
Miyu’s onyx-black nails gleam as she picks up a second pebble between her index and middle fingers. She places the stone right on the border of the circle I’ve just drawn.
“Naginata,” she says, staring at me.
I nod.
Abe grins. “Ol’ salty dogs can be playin’ this game too.” He places a large stone not far from Miyu’s pebble, also over the circle’s border.
I smile back at him. “Ye just make certain to be leavin’ some space between yerself and our polearm-wielding lady, Ol’ Abe me mate. I don’t think I’ve remembered all I used to know about shooting faraway targets, so I much rather save ammo…” I draw a few straight lines from my pebble in the center of the circle toward the outside. “Still, if the opportunity presents itself, I’d like to give things standing thirty paces away a shot.”
“This be similar to how ‘em Royal Navy ships do.” The pirate nods approvingly, looking at the drawing. “Thems be stayin’ in a straight line as thems foes approaches, an’ be shootin’ at ‘em foes while thems do so, instead o’ rushin’ head-on at ‘em all pirate-like.”
I pat his huge shoulder. “There will be times to think like a pirate, me mate, Ol’ Jake swears to ye!” I say. “But for our next struggle, yes: Let’s try for you and Miyu to hold the line about ten paces ahead of me. I’ll unload a couple of my common pistols at our faraway enemies, while you curse and goad them into a frenzy. That should be enough to taunt them into approaching us.” I point at the circle’s border, between Miyu’s pebble and Abe’s large stone. “You two block them here, and when any of them tries to rush past you, or flank you, and sets foot in here—” I tap inside the circle “—I can be of a lot more use to you than if you are thirty or forty paces away.”
I stare at the onyx-black beads behind Miyu’s mask. She tilts it backward, making the mask’s smile more pronounced.
“An’ what if ‘em foes use this same trick on us?” Abe asks. “What if ‘em start shootin’ at us rather than approachin’?”
The Noh mask tilts slightly forward and to the right, the faint smile now looking like a slightly mad smirk. “Jake kiai,” she says.
Skill Unlocked!
Command: Charge!
I produce a twisted smirk of my own.
“I think ye know what happens then, Abe me mate,” I say. “If holdin’ the line not be workin’, I’ll yell ‘Charge’ at the top of my lungs, and Miyu an’ ye be free to unleash hell upon them foes.”
Abe’s grin grows wider. “Ya be soundin’ more ‘n’ more like t’ Ol’ Jake we all knews, lad.”
“Aye!” I laugh. “So, that’s the plan, then. We spread out just a bit. We taunt them and shoot them until they come for us, and then you two hold the line while I take care of those flanking or rushing you. And, if it doesn’t work and them foes don’t come at us, I will shout ‘Charge,’ an’ when I do, ye scurvy dog better be chargin’ faster than if Beelzebub’s own demons be runnin’ after yer worthless hide, yarrr!”
I mean it as a joke, but Abe’s face turns somber, as if thick clouds had covered the sun…
Memory Unlocked…
Failed!
…and he gawks at me for a long, long while.
“Very well, lad,” he grumbles at last. “The lady and the pirate will hold t’ line ‘till you says otherwise. Then Ol’ Abe be chargin’ at thems foes like he has Devil ‘imself after his hide.”
We wait some more.
A question suddenly strikes me. “Why didn’t she go shape-shifted?” I ask. “I mean, why didn’t she turn into a bird or something, fly over there, and fly back to us?”
Miyu grabs her silks and shakes them a little, making them wiggle…
Memory Unlocked…
Failed!
…nothing rings a bell. “I don’t know what that means, Miyu. Or, at least, I can’t remember.”
“Somethin’ ‘bout that cursed red, black, ‘n’ blue garment t’ witch wears,” Abe tells me. “Full o’ wicked magicks from ‘em false pagan idols she always be prayin’ to.”
“If her poncho be full o’ magicks, Abe Ol’ mate,” I say, “then them pagan idols be closer to real than false, methinks.”
The pirate crosses himself. “Ya shall not bows down t’ false gods, nor serves ‘em,” he mutters.
I keep quiet, waiting for him to explain.
“T’ witch, she be needin’ her cursed garment t’ change back into a woman,” he grumbles at last. “At least as far as Ol’ Abe can tells.”
“Do you mean that if she had changed into a bird while she was with us, she would’ve had to leave her poncho behind to fly to Villarica? So she wouldn’t be able to turn back into a human once she reached the town?”
“Told ye, me lad; Ol’ Abe don’t—”
He stops mid-sentence as his eyes dart toward the forest, right hand creeping toward the hilt of his cutlass.
Miyu springs around to face the same direction, lowering her naginata to hold it with both hands, blade aimed at the foliage…
…my butt still on the ground, I pull out the common pistol from my right thigh and aim it toward the jungle, peering into the grayish dawn light as my eyes struggle to reveal danger lurking among the tree trunks…
…five thumping heartbeats later, Miyu relaxes, stands erect, and places her weapon’s butt on the ground. “Onibaba,” she says.
The pirate lets go of his cutlass and adjusts the dirty, yellowish bandana around his head. “If ya still be curious ‘bout t’ witch’s choice of garment, ya can be askin’ her yerself.”
As he finishes talking, I can make out the faint buzzing of a bee, approaching through the tree trunks. It zigzags around us, as if making sure of our identities and intentions, then goes back the way it came to the jungle.
18
Duurstad
“’Bout time ya made it back, ol’ woman,” Abe growls.
Juanita looks exhausted, like she’s spent the whole night running at a brisk pace. But she is otherwise unharmed and in one piece.
We wait for her to wolf down one of the pirate’s rock-hard cookies, and Miyu’s sleeves produce the small, round canister with a curved beak. Juanita washes down the stony biscuit with a long gulp.
“Spit it out already,” Abe grumbles.
“She is not there—” Juanita admits.
Abe cuts her off, cursing under his breath. “Lord Almighty be me witness, if ‘em Spaniards have—”
“—but she should be alive,” she finishes. “Although I do not know where they took her.”
She crunches the first half of another petrified wafer while giving us time for her news to sink in.
“Was she kept captive by Barboza?” I ask. “Did he take her along with him when he returned to his plantation?”
She shakes her head as she battles against the stubborn biscuit, which sounds like it’s putting up one hell of a tough fight. The fingers of her right hand caress the rows of crude, red, black, and blue glyphs tattooed on her arm and shoulder.
The Noh mask lets out soft, melodic wail, like the chorus of faraway ghosts longing for the lost warm embraces of their loved ones.
Mem
ory Unlocked:
Rows of Glyphs
Booming voice and twisted grin, the auctioneer presents the chained men and women one by one.
Gesturing like the announcer of a fighting match about to present the main event of the evening, he reads aloud the glyphs on their arms for the onlooking crowd to hear: age, former tribe, the crime they were sold for.
“She’s been bought,” I explain. “Barboza took Uitzli to Villarica and sold her there.”
The pirate’s hands ball up into fists, and he stands tall as a huge tree. The anger welling in his chest is palpable, yet his coarse voice is calm and even. “Who bought her, witch?”
“I do not know,” she confesses. “There was an auction the day before yesterday. That, it would seem, was in part the reason Governor Mendoza held a large celebration four days ago, and for which Barboza went to Villarica.” She takes another sip from Miyu’s flask. “A large ship called Reina Isabel had arrived with its hold full of metal trinkets from the sunrise lands, to exchange them with the Aztec flesh traders…”
Abe’s narrowed eyes open wide as his anger transforms into horror. “Lord Almighty have mercy…”
Damn it. “Was she sold to the Spaniard ship, Juanita?” I ask. “Is that what you mean?”
The color has left Abe’s face, and he leans against a tree for support. “That ship, Reina Isabel… She be well known, that ship.” His throat seems to struggle to let air through. “She be sailin’ from Spain to Villarica an’ be droppin’ guns and metal tools ‘ere. Then she be fillin’ her holds t’ the brim with flesh, then she be sailin’ … me Lord helps us…”
“The ship takes its cargo all the way far, far to the south,” Juanita says. “To the sugarcane plantations that the Portuguese own in Pernambuco, deep in the jungle where the endless river flows. Or even farther south, to the city of Buenos Aires, in the wide sea of green grass that lies past the lands of the Inca, where the Spaniards rule unopposed.”
Abe chokes, as though invisible ropes are strangling him.
“Wait,” I interject. “Has Reina Isabel set sail already?”
“Yesterday, just before dawn,” she confirms. “With good wind, or so I have heard.” She puts the second half of the rocky biscuit in her mouth and munches on it slowly.
The pirate’s huge hands cover his face. It’s hard to tell if his guttural growls are rage or bawl.
“Yesterday at dawn,” I mutter, then say aloud to Juanita, “You didn’t see Uitzli getting onboard the ship, did you?”
She shakes her head as she chews.
“So, it could have been somebody else sold, instead? Not her?”
She shakes her head again. Gulps. “They auctioned a young Aztec girl with milk-like skin and moonlight hair two days ago, along with four dozen others. Everybody was talking about her, the sasamauak, the white-skinned girl, and the high price she fetched.” She looks straight at me. “They auctioned our Uitzli the day before yesterday, young Jake, as certain as night follows day. Traded for metal goods brought from the sunrise lands.”
Miyu’s spooky musical wail floats in the air.
“But did she board that ship?” I insist.
A tiny spark of doubt flickers in Juanita’s eyes.
“Could they have taken her elsewhere?” I ask. “Maybe someone else bought her, I mean, and she wasn’t traded to Reina Isabel like all those other poor souls were?”
Abe clings to my words like a castaway clutches the flotsam of a shipwreck. “Ya didn’t sees her onboard t’ ship, did ya witch?”
“I did not even see the ship itself,” Juanita says thoughtfully. “It had already sailed away by the time I arrived to Villarica. All I know is the bits I overheard from drunken Spaniards, and the words I could exchange with their servants. I did not hear who bought the moonlight-haired girl.” Her eyes glaze over, lost in thought. “And I did not hear about her getting onboard Reina Isabel, either.”
“Harvesting sugarcane requires strong arms and a strong back,” I rationalize. “And, above all, a skin that can withstand the punishment of the tropical sun.”
The Noh mask tilts backward a little.
“Aye, that be t’ honest to God truth!” Abe exclaims. “With skin so pale, she be as useful at a plantation as gloves on a fish, our sweet lil’ angel!”
“And she fetched a large price, I heard it many times.” Juanita smiles. “Nobody would pay such a handsome sum for flesh doomed under the sun, plodding through sugar canes.”
Memory Unlocked:
Uitzli’s Glyphs
Seen from up close, the white-haired girl must be about my age, thirteen or fourteen years old. It’s because she’s so short and so thin from malnourishment that, at first glance, I’d thought she was only eight or nine.
She gulps down whatever Juanita puts in front of her as if she hasn’t eaten in ages.
“What did she do?” I ask.
Unlike Juanita, the girl has just two glyphs on her milk-white left shoulder: both in bright green and red ink, both drawn neatly and precisely.
“Born with the gift,” Juanita explains, touching the one on top. It looks like a hand holding something like a broken bone. “Healed somebody who should have remained injured,” she adds, touching the glyph below.
“Somebody recognized her as a healer,” I recall. “Like you did,” I add, glancing at Juanita, “when you bought her on my family’s behalf—quite a long time ago. Somebody realized that Uitzli’s hands are gifted, and would pay a lot for that gift.”
Juanita holds my gaze. “I pray to Lord of Here and Now you are correct, my child. I cannot deny that there is wisdom in your words.”
“That damned dog who buyed her, could thems be from Villarica?” Abe asks. “Could she still be there?”
“I would have heard about it,” Juanita tells him. “It is not a large town.”
“True, that,” Abe mutters, lowering his head. “When compared t’ London, ‘tis like a nutshell t’ a galleon.”
“But she’s still on this island,” I remind him. “Hopefully.”
“Our good Lord be hearin’ ya, lad.”
“I heard other bits of gossip,” Juanita says, looking now at me. “Do you remember the map you inherited from your father, my child? A map of this same island?”
That frigging map again…
Memory Unlocked…
Failed!
…no, nothing.
“Nothing comes to mind, no,” I admit. “And a damn shame to boot, because remembering how that map looked like would come in handy.”
Miyu’s left fingers draw a circle in the air. “Shima no chizu.” After a thought, she adds, “Mappu.”
Shima…? What the heck is that?
Memory Unlocked…
Failed!
…although I guess “mappu” is a map?
I shrug, raising my palms upward. “I can remember nothing.” I pat the pistol on my right thigh. “Nailing that memory is like shooting in the dark. With no bullets.”
“Now c’mon, me lad,” Abe says. He stretches his arms as if holding a three-foot wide piece of paper. “It be this damn fine map that ya be always carryin’ around. So nice an’ fine, not even ol’ Henry Morgan be havin’ a map like such.”
A large, finely drawn map…
Memory Unlocked…
Failed!
…“God damn it!” I growl.
Abe hurls me a fiery gaze. “Don’t ya call Lord’s name in vain, lad! Or bones ya’ll be!”
“That be pretty damn funny comin’ from ye, my foul-mouthed, foe-cursing friend!” I snap back. “So just lemme add, fer clarification: By all of Beelzebub’s stinkin’, reekin’ farts, an’ all of his yellin’ demons from down below, give me a god-damned break!”
He opens his eyes wide, then cracks a smile. “Ya not bein’ half bad at hurlin’ them words. Almost as good as a seasoned cabin boy, me lad.”
Juanita lets out a long sigh. “Are you two gentlemen done polishing your skills at insulting your gods and yo
ur demons?”
“Oi—” Abe starts.
I cut him off. “We’re done.”
“The map you do not remember, my child,” she tells me, “it was sold, too. Whoever among Barboza’s men looted it off your dead body peddled it when they reached Villarica.”
New Quest:
Find Your Father’s Map
“Now that’s interesting…” I say thoughtfully. “But let me guess: they sold it to somebody who isn’t from Villarica.”
She gives me a quizzical look. “How did you know, my child?”
“Call it a hunch,” I grin. “A hunch about how these things tend to work. Do you happen to know who bought it?”
“Yes, young Jake.” She nods. “As it happens, I do.”
“That was an easy choice, for a change,” I said.
“Not the usual bitch, boss?”
“Not this time, no.” I leaned into the plushy comfort of my hover chair. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much, baby,” I said, reveling in the distinctly different sensation from spending a night among the roots and leaves on the jungle’s floor. “Sorely missed you, too, Svetty dear.”
“I bet you tell this to all your assistants.”
“I do, my dear. For a man in my position, it pays to be polite to his every minion and underling.” I straightened my silk tie. “But it’s only with you that I mean it sincerely.”
“All right, boss.” She grinned, standing up. “You’ve earned your coffee.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have something more substantial, would you?” I asked as she walked to the coffee table. “Like, say, a double-cheese pizza with extra meatballs? Or one thick, juicy triple-bacon burger?”
She turned around and inspected me over her glasses. “Hungry, sir?”