Pers guided her to her bunk and gently aimed her so that when she fell her head was near the pillow and most of her body off the floor. He picked up her dangling legs and placed them on the bed, then located a light blanket which he covered her with. Even a balmy night like this could get chilly before dawn.
Pam was still awake, or semi-conscious at least. She reached up to take Pers' hand and squeezed it softly. "Yer a goo'boy, Perzzz." she mumbled, eyes mostly closed, her face the very portrait of pickled contentedness.
Pers smiled down at her and gave her hand a squeeze back, which he doubted she could feel. "I didn't know my real mother very well," he told her as he very gently lifted her head and slid the pillow under it. "I was so young when I left . . . but I do know one thing: You are a lot more fun than she was. Sleep well, dear Pam." He stroked her hair lightly and turned for the door. Before he closed it behind him he could hear the gentle breathing of the fast asleep.
A little while later Pam opened her eyes again, awakened by noises nearby. Listening carefully she heard muffled thuds and giggles coming from the cabin beneath hers. Gerbald and Dore's cabin. Dear Gawd! She grabbed a couple of pillows and crammed them over her ears to shut out the far too intimate sounds emanating from below. It must be like their second honeymoon. No, it was probably their first honeymoon. Pam looked up at the cabin's ceiling, softly lit by dim starlight reflected off the waves and through the open windows. Yes, she was happy for her friends and yes, maybe just a tiny bit jealous. To distract herself she reviewed the day's triumphs. Memory became mixed with dream as the waves rocked her back to sleep and the last clear thought she had before drifting off again was, I'm Pam Miller, pirate captain! Who'd have ever thunk it?
Chapter Thirty-Four: Anchors Aweigh
The decks of the Second Chance Bird at anchor in Castaway's Cove
Nobody was up early the next morning except the few unfortunate marines assigned to the watch. Pam woke to a splitting headache and after some debate swallowed a couple of her precious aspirin with the carafe of water Pers had thoughtfully left for her the night before. "I'm giving that kid a promotion," she mumbled through dry lips.
After a while the drum corps marching band in her head settled into a less driving beat and she decided she might be able to get dressed. This took much longer than usual, considering the clothing was of an unfamiliar design and her hands felt like she was wearing oven mitts.
"That's the last time I drink that much," she growled, ignoring the annoying voice in her head reminding her that she said that every time she had a hangover. Finally managing to pull her new boots on, Pam made her way to the door. She opened the door, allowing a shaft of bright sunlight into the room and closed it again as quickly as she could. The beam of light still seared in glaring orange across her closed eyes.
"Dear God, I swear, I'm going straight." She sat down for a while, cursing herself for not thinking to bring her up-time sunglasses on this little jaunt. Looking around, she found a floppy hat with a wide brim that resembled the ones she had seen Dutch merchants wear. She put it on, trying not to think about how it had ended up here. It was a bit large, so she tied a scarf around her head to make it fit better. She caught a glimpse of her red-eyed, exotically-clothed self reflected in a silver platter on the table and laughed aloud.
"I'm either a pirate or a pimp! Grandma would be so proud." Pushing her hat's brim low over her eyes, she made her way out of the door into the late-morning sun.
The decks below resembled a zombie movie. Everyone seemed to be stumbling along in slow motion, their usually tanned faces bleached a deathly shade of gray. Except for Gerbald.
Gerbald was the proverbial cat who had dined on canary. Pam watched him swagger around the decks, grinning as only a man who had gotten totally laid the night before can. She rolled her eyes at him as she gathered him up and headed out to find the bosun. They found him running his hand over the junk's delicately curved, crimson- lacquered railing, Pam wasn't sure over the noise of the surf, but she thought he might be softly cooing. He looked up with a grin that made Gerbald's giddy expression seem droopy in comparison.
"Captain Pam, Herr Gerbald, good morning! What are your orders, ma'am?" The bosun, a cheery sort to begin with, was as bright as the new dawn, in the highest of spirits. Apparently he was immune to hangovers and Pam stilled an annoyed twinge of jealousy.
"Well, I think we ought to discuss that. Let's have a meeting." Pam saw that the bosun was now distracted by the sails, which resembled giant Venetian window blinds to Pam's eyes. "So, Herr Bosun, what do you think of our new ship now that you've gotten to know her a bit?"
"Oh, Captain Pam, she's lovely," and then he really did coo, making Pam and Gerbald's eyebrows arch in surprise. "She looks ungainly at first glance, but there is a swan hiding within this duck. See that high aft deck? I thought they were mad, but now I think it's there to keep us dry in a following sea. The bottom is flat, but she's got a kind of a wedge keel, we can go shallow with her and even beach her with ease, but she should go confidently in high seas as well. I'll wager she's watertight, too. The hull is some kind of a sealed box. I'm not sure yet how they did it, but they're a clever lot, all right! And look here, these paneled sails and rigging are going to give us far more control than a regular rig, once we master their ways. We haven't sailed her as much as I'd like, nor have we had any foul weather to try her with, but I'm already sure she's the best damn boat I've ever set foot on! We've nothing like her in the North Sea, and I'd take her into those cruel waters with no fear."
Pam nodded with a smile at the bosun's boyish enthusiasm. She understood many of the nautical terms from her hours pacing the decks of the Redbird on the long journey around the cape, watching and listening to the sailors at their work. She was very pleased the bosun had a new love in his life, and left him to his bliss to go find the lojtnant.
Soon, the senior crew were all gathered on the dizzy heights of the junk's castle deck. It was time to make some serious decisions. Pam felt calm despite the mantle of authority that had somehow found her shoulders to fall on, definitely not something she had ever expected. "Okay, we've got a real good ship, the bosun tells me. We can sail her?"
"Yes, Captain Pam!" The bosun's pride in his shiny new vessel resounded in his voice. "Our men are learning her ways quickly. We shall master her."
Lojtnant Lundkvist spoke up, "Captain, you should know that this ship is not without teeth. If we are attacked, we can fight back if we must. There are two guns of Chinese make on each side. They are odd of course, but they look well-made and surely operate on the same principles as our own. With your permission, we would like to test them."
Pam nodded her assent.
"Also," the lojtnant continued, "we have mounted the Redbird's carronade on the foredeck on a swiveling turret we were able to improvise. Its range is short, but its firepower is devastating. The perfect thing for cutting those smug French assholes down to size." This was definitely the happiest Pam had ever seen the fellow, a military man with shiny new weapons on his way to test them out on a much-despised enemy.
"Please, do your tests. I don't need to tell you to be careful. It's good to know we can give somebody a bloody nose if need be. Although, it makes me wonder how the pirates originally captured this vessel. There would surely be damage, like what we saw happen to Muskijl when the French took her."
The lojtnant answered, "The Second Chance Bird is in fine condition, no signs of battle damage. They probably captured her in the same way we did-through subterfuge."
"Yeah, must have. I suppose we'll never know." Pam pushed the thought aside, yet another mystery. They had things to do here and now. She gave them all a determined smile. "All right then, gentlemen, which way do you think we should go?"
The bosun rubbed his chin, considering. "Well, Captain Pam, the colonist fleet was last seen headed northeast up the coast. Undoubtedly, they, too, were captured. I would suggest we follow that course slowly, looking for signs of wrecks, begging pa
rdon for saying so, and hoping to find our folk in good health in some safe harbor. On your maps of the island from up-time, there are several places to check. We believe the site of Vieux Grand Port will be the first such we meet, followed by Poste de Flacq, among others. It would be best if we were not seen and if we are sighted to have plenty of distance to run in."
Pam nodded her approval. "Sounds good to me, Herr Bosun. Let's do it. Slow and steady."
Gerbald spoke up then. "We must consider what happens when we do find the colonists." Gerbald's face was stony, the mood Pam had come to think of as his warrior mode. "Muskijl was badly outgunned by those bastards and though our new vessel may be better armed than Redbird, I doubt she can match a French warship. We must be prepared to face a stronger enemy-one that has captured a source of labor for establishing a military stronghold on this island-with the comparatively few men we have."
Lojtnant Lundkvist nodded his agreement. "If that is the case, we must do what we can to help our people. We may be small in numbers, but we have proven ourselves in combat! Please, Captain Pam, whatever happens, let us do what we can to aid our people if they are being so poorly used!"
"Absolutely! Maybe we can't fight a sea battle, but we can go in by land and we can hit them hard. They won't be expecting us. They must have been sure we went down and didn't even bother to come look for survivors after the storm, figuring it would have finished us off if their hits didn't. Well, guess what, messieurs! We ain't dead yet." There was real steel in Pam's voice. A powerful anger had grown in her over the months since her expedition had been upended by the French. She intended to make them pay.
"Up-time, the French had control of this island for a hundred-odd years and now they have decided to stake their claim early. Their spies must have found out about the Swedish colony plan and so they sent their warship in a bid to beat us to it. Well, they succeeded, for now, but we are back in the game. Gerbald, Lojtnant Lundkvist, please work on plans of attack for any situation you can think of." She smiled a smile that any she-wolf on the hunt would be proud of. "Think sneaky and fast. The element of surprise is what's going to do it for us, just like when we captured this ship."
After a moment's thought, Pam said, "Bosun, have all the men continue to wear the Asian clothes and have them tie up their hair in scarves. We want to look local from a distance."
"Aye aye, Captain!" The bosun looked positively jolly, a man back in his element and ready to work. "We'll look like real heathens and run before anyone can get close enough to see we are good Christian soldiers."
They all grinned at each other. Some of the tension of the last months was melting away, replaced by a healthy excitement. The odds might be steep but at least they were back in control of their destinies, free men and women with a good ship to carry them on their mission.
"All right, let's get going! Anchors aweigh!" she shouted at the top of her lungs into a rising antipodean wind. On the decks of the Second Chance Bird, the men smiled as they made ready to sail.
Chapter Thirty-Five: Smoke on the Water
They followed the coast warily, always prepared to turn tail and run if they saw another vessel, since it was unlikely that any such would be a friend. They looked for signs of human activity along the shores. Perhaps the other boats had been wrecked by the battle or the storm and their passengers now castaways such as they had been. They took their time, anchoring quietly at night in what safe coves and cover they could find, keeping their lights dim and their voices down. The Second Chance Bird was on the prowl.
On a slightly overcast morning, they saw their first sign of people. They had set sail at first light, heading for the large, natural harbor at Poste de Flacq, one of the proposed destinations for the colony ships. Pers knocked politely on Pam's door to summon her to the wheel. She hastily put on one of her new Chinese suits, and arrived on the bridge sleepy, but resplendent in red and gold brocaded silk. Before she could greet the bosun, Pers reappeared with coffee for her, served in a deep ceramic bowl decorated with evergreen trees. She took a long, grateful sip before trying to speak.
"Uhh, report, please." She looked to the bosun.
He spoke in the hushed tones they had adopted during their hunt. "We've sighted a lot of smoke coming from behind that point, Captain. Looks to be from a number of what might be cook fires or possibly land clearing." That made Pam grimace. The bosun continued, "It's a pretty certain sign there are people there. Plus, we are fairly sure this is the site of Poste de Flacq on the up-time maps. A good place to build a fort."
"Okay. Yeah, that could be good or bad, depending on just who it is having breakfast over there." The caffeine, in somewhat less concentration than the coffee up-time, began to kick in. The discovery of a possible human presence made Pam's heart race with excitement.
The lojtnant spoke next. "May I suggest we row the longboat that we captured with this ship along the shore and have a look around? We can keep close to shore and stay hidden among the rocks along that point. The seas are fairly calm today." He was obviously eager to find out what was coming.
"No, I think it's too risky that you'd be seen. Gerbald and I will go have a look overland. You can put us in over there behind the point. It's wooded and will give us plenty of cover."
The bosun didn't look very happy at that prospect. "Begging your pardon, Captain, but it's likely going to be very dangerous. They will have sentries."
"Don't worry, friend. Herr Gerbald and I are very good at staying hidden in the woods. They will never know we were there."
Gerbald nodded his assurance, his eyes gleaming at the opportunity to do some scouting in his favorite environment, the forest.
After a quick breakfast-which Dore insisted on and to which there was no saying no-Pam and Gerbald arrived on deck ready to head out on their spy mission.
Pam was dressed in whatever green and preferably not-too-shiny clothing she could find amongst the ship's unusual collection. Unfortunately, it was all pretty gaudy. With a grim smile she strapped on the leather gun and ammo belt Gerbald had fashioned for her from materials found on the junk. The Smith and Wesson .38 caliber pistol she had used on four pirates was officially hers now and Gerbald insisted she bring it with her. The truth was, she liked the feel of its deadly weight at her side and would not hesitate to use it again when the time came.
Gerbald, of course, had on his perennial outfit of sage green wool long-coat, a black T-shirt featuring a faded Lynyrd Skynyrd band logo, brown breeches, knee high leather boots and crazy old mustard hat, along with his trusty katzbalger shortsword and pistol grip Snakecharmer shotgun hanging from his wide belt. He was the very picture of a new-fangled USE bad-ass, the toughest stuff of up-time and down-time rolled into one dangerous package. He took a look at Pam's bright green silks and laughed aloud.
"You can fly, you can fly, you can fly!" he sing-songed as he pointed merrily at her undeniably elfin looking outfit.
"That's pretty funny coming from a guy who looks like he's just come from Beyond Thunderdome. By the way, Dr Seuss called and he wants his hat back."
They shared a brief laugh, then boarded the trusty pinnace, sitting quietly until they were put ashore. The sailors wished them luck and a safe return. They watched until their two spies had vanished into the trees before rowing back to Second Chance Bird with worry etched on their tanned faces.
Chapter Thirty-Six: Contact
French slave colony near the site of Poste de Flacq, Mauritius
"This is not good." Gerbald peered through the scope, scowling while Pam did the same with her binoculars. They were on the top of the high bluff that formed the point, laying under ferns and watching the harbor below, a deep one with a fairly impressive set of docks already in place. There they saw their would-be guardian, the Muskijl, damaged but still afloat, tied up to the dock behind the massive French warship that had claimed it. There were also several medium-sized lateen-rigged boats, certainly belonging to Arabs or other such denizens of these far seas. Their hearts
sank as they saw the Annalise and Ide laying at anchor nearby. Now they knew how these people had accomplished so much building in the months that had passed: Swedish slave labor.
There was a town taking shape on a gently sloping hillside behind a five-meter wall of heavy timbers running some twenty meters back from the shoreline, the beginnings of what would eventually be an imposing fortress. They could see sturdy Swedish men tethered together in work crews making it all happen. To Pam's surprise, their overseers looked like black Africans dressed in white robes with their heads covered, nearly the same garb as the Muslim pirates they had defeated to take Second Chance Bird. Pam was no history expert but, like many Grantvillers, she had become a lot more interested in the subject since she had been thrown backward through it. She knew the West African slave trade was largely run by Africans themselves and that must have been where the French had found these fellows. Pam bit her lip as the slavers shouted at the colonists in what sounded like broken French; the snap of a whip echoed across the quiet bay, making her cringe. Out on the end of the dock, she saw several French soldiers passing around a wineskin and enjoying a little fishing, while their mercenaries oversaw the work for them.
"Scumbags," Gerbald muttered under his breath.
"There are a lot of them, aren't there?" Pam muttered darkly.
"Yes. Not just the French, who are probably renegades and pirates, but their black slave drivers as well. At least a hundred of the enemy would be a good guess."
"We'll need help, then." She bit her lip as she scanned farther back from the harbor. There she saw men and women carrying barrels and performing menial tasks, their feet bound or chained. "We have to free the enslaved colonists and the crew of the Muskijl and use them against their captors." Gerbald looked doubtful. Pam gave him an encouraging nudge with her elbow. "Come on, that's how they do it in the movies! It's worked for us so far."
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