Gerbald gave her an unconvinced smile. "A risky proposition at best. The Swedes will be tired and weak from ill use. Just trying to contact them at all while they are under guard will be risky. They are bound. The ropes we can cut through quickly but the chains will require either more time or a key. It will be difficult." Gerbald's expression was grim.
"Okay. We told Second Chance Bird to give us a week out here in the field before taking further action. Let's take our time, lay back and watch for a while. Once we know more about the routines here, we can move."
Gerbald grinned at her with wry amusement. "Yes ma'am, Captain Pam!" he said in his best West Virginia drawl. He was always full of pride in his mastery of the accent and American slang and seldom missed a chance to show it off. "And when we're ready we can open up a king-sized can of whoop-ass all over them suckas! KA-BLAM!"
Pam rolled her eyes as the two of them vanished back into the shadowy forest, sly and silent as foxes.
****
Pam and Gerbald watched the slave colony from various vantage points over the next three days. The Swedish colonists looked fairly healthy despite their ordeal, at least from a distance. They were a robust lot and were weathering the hardships as well as could be. At night they were housed in makeshift huts in an open meadow fenced with an imposing array of ten-foot high bamboo stakes. The few children they had brought along were kept in the enclosure all day, tended by the expedition's few elderly. Pam saw that even this group was given work to do, weaving rope and baskets. The sight of the children and the old folks put to work by their new masters made Pam's blood boil.
Oh, I'm going to put the hurt on those froggie bastards just as soon as I'm able, she thought redly, a part of her shocked at the depth of her own wrath. The men had been put to work logging and constructing the growing fort. Many of the women were sent out to the fields to tend newly planted crops. Other small groups of women were made to forage for fruits and nuts along the forest's edge, always under the watchful eye of a slaver.
They decided it was one of the latter groups they would approach, since they were the least heavily guarded and cover was nearby. They were confident in their ability to remain unseen by the enemy among the trees and brush. Gerbald stayed back, prepared to distract or even kill the guard if necessary. Pam did her best to disguise herself as a colonist by wrapping her head in a dirty gray cotton towel she had taken from Second Chance Bird's galley and draping a brown wool blanket from Redbird's pinnace over her shoulders. Slipping silently out of the underbrush with the practiced stealth of a long-time birder, she joined the group of foragers.
Walking slowly, as if bound, she made her way from the deeper woods to the forest's edge, joining the women at the trailing end of their party farthest from the guard. She stayed low, endeavoring to be seen but unseen, just another slave. Ahead of her was a tall, statuesque woman in her late twenties, her fair features now deeply tanned and careworn, her golden blond hair tied back in an unkempt pony tail. Pam studied her for a while, before making the decision to approach her. She looked like the calm sort, not someone who would react loudly and stupidly to a stranger in their midst. Pam, following her gut, came up behind her, keeping the tall woman's larger frame between her and the guard who stood some twenty yards off.
"God dag, van." Good day, friend, Pam greeted her quietly in Swedish and continued in that language, her months with the sailors serving her well. "Please don't look back at me, just keep working while I talk."
The woman almost turned to look over her shoulder, but caught herself. One sea-green eye regarded Pam from its corner for just a moment, after which she turned slowly back, continuing to gently pick small berries. Pam briefly wondered how they knew they weren't poisonous but didn't want to think of the likely answer.
"I will listen," the woman replied quietly.
"Good. My name is Pam Miller, I'm an American from the United States of Europe. There are more of us who remain free. Can I trust you not to betray us?"
The woman nodded firmly, her shoulders tightening under her ragged blouse.
"Good, good, I knew I could. We have some soldiers and we intend to free you colonists, but there aren't enough of us. We have to find a way to set your men free to fight with us when we make our move. We will probably want you women to create a diversion to distract your captors while we do that. Are there those among you who are brave enough to help us?"
The woman turned slightly back toward Pam and hissed proudly under her breath. "All of us! We will do anything to be free again."
"I thought as much. I've come to learn Swedes are just as tough as us West Virginia hillbillies! All right then, I need you to spread the word that we are coming, but only to those who really need to know. You can let the rest in on it when the time comes; the secret will stay safer that way. We will make our move from a few days to a week from now; we need some time to get prepared. I'm not sure yet how we are going to pull this off, but I will get word to you people the same way I am now. Make sure it's you or someone trustworthy taking up the rear of your foraging expeditions from now on."
"It will be so. You are the American Bird Lady who led our expedition, yes? One of the future people?"
"Heh heh, yeah, that's me, the Bird Lady of Grantville. Call me Pam."
"I am Bengta. I am very happy you are alive. We feared the worst."
"Nice to meet you, too, Bengta. Just hang in there, we are going to do our best to get everybody out of this, I promise."
"I am so happy!" the woman's voice was quiet but filled with emotion. Suddenly she lowered it even further, a furtive hiss, "Pam! The guard comes this way; you must go!" Bengta continued to pick berries and kept her head low, avoiding the surly man's look. No answer came and she soon realized that Pam the Bird Lady was already gone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Plan is Hatched
The Second Chance Bird at anchor near the site of Poste de Flacq
That evening, after a quick celebration over dinner at Pam and Gerbald's safe return, the senior staff gathered on the high castle deck. The Swedes' faces were a study in smoldering rage as they heard the news of their colonist's enslavement.
Lojtnant Lundkvist shook his head slowly. "I don't see how such a small force as ours can take on so many, even with our skill and experience. But if you order it we shall try, Captain Pam."
"Actually, Gerbald and I have been working on a plan. Trickery has worked so far, so we intend to stick with it," Pam said, her voice full of a sly eagerness.
"It seems that it is our turn for a masquerade, gentlemen," Gerbald told the men with a positively wicked smile. "Beware Greeks bearing gifts."
****
The next morning Pam and Gerbald were rowed to the shore again. They made their way quickly through the forest to where the foraging party was again working their way along the freshly cut forest's edge. Pam winced at the destruction of so much timberland. These renegades were definitely not following her zoning plans. She quickly spotted her contact trailing along at the end of the group. Pam came up behind her, hidden in the underbrush.
"Hello again, my friend. I have news."
"As do I."
"Tell me."
"We have done as you asked. We are prepared to make our break. We have hidden weapons, tools, stones, whatever we could manage. When your signal comes we will fight."
"That's good. I forgot to ask you last time, what became of the Muskijl's crew and soldiers?"
"The sailors are working on building the fort. Some of them, the officers and marines mostly, are being held captive in the French warship. We all fear for their health greatly; no one knows what condition they are in. Those filthy French bastards and their foreign dogs hung the captain of the Muskijl when he refused to cooperate, as an example to us all. If we weren't so useful, I doubt any of us would have been spared." Bengta's voice was thick with controlled anger. "Do you see that heathen devil who guards us? When the signal comes I intend to stove his skull in with a stone, may God forgive m
e."
Pam nodded solemnly. "I killed four like him myself with a pistol a few days ago. It was necessary, God forgives. Just be careful." Pam reached into her rucksack to pull out a bundle filled with sharp knives, a few hammers and some chisels she had collected from the Second Chance Bird. "I've brought these for you; can you keep them hidden? They may help."
"Yes, indeed they will. I will make sure they get to those who can use them best. Thank you, Pam, you are our savior!"
Pam blushed at the woman's fervency. "I'm just doing my duty. I got us all into this mess and I'm getting us all out. So, here's what's going to happen; make sure only your most trusted leaders hear this part. Tomorrow afternoon you are going to see a strange-looking ship pull into the dock; it's called a Chinese junk and you won't be able to miss it . . ."
As Pam outlined the plan, the woman's face grew bright beneath the grime of the brutal captivity she suffered.
Pam finished up. "The signal to raise holy hell is going to be 'Save the dodo!' When you hear that, go to work."
"'Save the dodo!' Yes, the princess' funny birds. They are rather cute, I think. We have done as you asked and try to protect them, driving them into the woods when we find them so the heathens can't eat them."
This bit of news almost made tears of joy erupt from Pam's eyes.
Bengta stole a quick glance back to smile at her. "It shall be as you say; we will be ready. You will have our gratitude, Pam Miller. You are a very brave woman. We have seen that these swaddle-headed fools greatly underestimate women and they shall die regretting it." Bengta turned briefly to check on the guard, who seemed to be dozing at his post. When she turned back Pam was gone.
"Go with God, Bird Lady," Bengta whispered into the trees.
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
"You want to what?" The expression on the bosun's face was a mixture of horror and astonishment. Pam had expected this and repeated herself in a calm voice.
"I want all you men to shave your beards, hair and eyebrows off." Looking around at the sailors gathered in the early dawn on her main deck, Pam realized that while she didn't quite have a mutiny on her hands, what she had to say was not popular with the crew. Tough, she thought, feeling firm in her resolve. "Look, I know it sounds awful, but honest, it grows back! If I'm going to make you guys look like Orientals of any stripe, we have got to lop off those golden locks, like it or not! We are stretching the boundaries of believability to their limits, and this is the best way I can think of to start making you look non-European. Hopefully the make-up will finish the job and we can pull this off."
A sea of unhappy and even downright angry faces glared sullenly at her, the sound of grumbling emanating from their midst. She looked to Gerbald for support but found that he had made his way to the back of the crowd and was attempting to hide behind a mast. Now that he was actually having to go through with the plan he had helped hatch, it seemed his enthusiasm had taken a powder. Pam grimaced and was about to start to speak when Dore stepped up beside her, brandishing a sturdy pair of scissors and a straight razor as if they were sword and dagger.
"That's enough whining. What are you, cowards?" Dore bawled at them so loudly it made them all take a fearful step back. "The captain has given her orders. Now line up and get ready for your haircuts! You, there hiding in the back, the celebrated German sergeant, front and center. You shall be first! Make a good example for these men or you might find my hands become shaky!"
The sailors all parted to make a path for Gerbald, whose usually unflappable face had turned a flushed shade of red. He nodded resignedly and came forward, head held high, to sit on the chair they had placed on the deck for the day's barbering.
"Here, let me take your hat," Pam said a little too eagerly.
"I think not, I shall hold it myself," he replied, giving her a wary look and clutching the misshapen monstrosity of mustard-colored felt to his breast.
"It was a good try, Pam," Dore told her as she set to work. Gerbald kept his salt-and pepper-hair close-cropped and shaved regularly in the up-time style so the task didn't take long. When Dore came to the eyebrows, he flinched.
"Must you, Delilah?" he asked in a pleading tone.
Pam patted him comfortingly on the arm. "Yes. It will make you look incredibly odd, and that's the point. We need to do all we can to convince these renegade French and their lackeys that you are some kind of Asian traders. Look at it this way, Gerbald. You are playing a part in a play and simply doing what is needed to complete the costume. You'll be a real actor after this!"
That seemed to mollify him and he closed his eyes tightly as Dore carefully shaved his eyebrows off. When she was all finished, there was no trace of blood and Gerbald resembled a shiny new dodo egg. Some of the gathered men couldn't resist a chuckle, including the bosun.
Gerbald gave the man a fierce glare. "Ah, Herr Bosun. I'm sure you will want to go next. Here, have a seat."
All good humor evaporated from the bosun's face as he realized there was no escape. He managed a weak kind of smile for the benefit of the other sailors and took his turn in the barber's chair, looking for all the world as if he faced the gallows. It was Pam's turn and she started by snipping his chest-length gray beard right to the chin. She thought he might start crying, so she moved around in front of him and was as gentle as she could be. When she was all done, she paused to admire her work.
"My goodness, Dore, doesn't he look like a younger man now?" she asked her friend with just the slightest eyebrow twitch in her direction.
Dore caught the signal and nodded her agreement enthusiastically. "Oh yes, Captain Pam. You have cut at least twenty years away along with all that fur. Herr Bosun, you are truly a handsome fellow!"
When it came down to it, they weren't kidding. The bosun had a good, strong chin and he sincerely did look a lot younger without all the gray hair. He pointed his chin forward proudly and grinned as he rubbed it, his cheeks a brighter red even than their usual cherry flush.
A couple of hours later, the entire crew was lined up for inspection as Pam and Dore admired their work. At first glance they faced a collection of strangers, a very good start indeed.
"All right, take a break and get something to eat. In half an hour be back on deck for your makeup, and don't be late," Pam ordered them.
She and Dore took their leave, retiring to Pam's cabin. Once the door was closed they both broke into helpless fits of laughter.
"You thought that was fun," Pam managed to gasp, "just wait till we paint them all bronze!"
****
To be continued . . .
Playing Nice in Someone Else’s Sandbox: An Examination of the 1632 Universe and the Grantville Gazette
J. D. McCartney
What is the 1632 Series? A Short History of the (Alternate) Universe
The year is 1631 AD. The place is an insignificant patch of land in the middle of the Germanies (Germany as a united country did not yet exist). The historical backdrop is the Thirty Years’ War, a bloody and terrible struggle between Catholic and Protestant nations for control of central Europe. In the midst of this scene, a miracle appears; a perfectly circular ring of flame burning so high it can be seen for miles throughout the surrounding countryside. When the flames die, what the Ring of Fire[1] left behind may be still more miraculous: a modern-day West Virginia town from the future, the year 2000 AD, full of the normal assortment of farmers, miners, scoundrels, champions, hippies, reactionaries, and folks just trying to live their lives. In West Virginia, in 2000, they were just ordinary people, but in this time and place, they have the power to shake the world . . .
This is the setting for Eric Flint’s first novel in the 1632 universe, entitled 1632[2]. The book follows a fairly familiar alternate-history plotline; a modern American (or a group in this case) is dropped without warning into an historical time period in a foreign land, and are forced to adapt to their new surroundings. In this case, the hillbillies (a term that is used with pride throughout t
he series) adapt by setting up a new democratic state in Thuringia, one of the Germanies, with the assistance of the fortuitously encountered King of Sweden and leader of one of the Protestant sides of the war, Gustav Adolf. That’s when things begin to get complicated.
As its main premise is to alter history, the events in the 1632 series start to diverge fairly quickly from the recorded timeline. Battles are fought out of sequence, new alliances are forged, new dynasties produced, new technologies introduced, historical personages refuse to die “on schedule,” pianofortes are introduced before the end of the Baroque period, and most of North America is bought up by Cardinal Richelieu, sold by King Charles to help finance a war in the Baltic Sea.
These are only a few of many examples of alterations the series has produced in OTL (1632 shorthand for “Our Time Line”). Each new book in the series takes the reader a little further down the path of the altered timeline, and as Eric Flint is opposed to the “Great Man[3]” interpretation of history, the stories often cover several interlocking subplots with different casts of characters, and sometimes different authors as well. There are, to date, over four-and-a-half million words in print, and the printed books in this series are just the tip of the iceberg. It would take a small army, or at least a platoon, to keep track of all these details; fortunately Eric Flint has enlisted one.
What is the Grantville Gazette?
It started with an online discussion forum. The forum was called the “1632 Tech Manual,” and it was set up by Baen Books for fans of 1632 to discuss the series, and for Eric Flint to solicit technical advice on relevant questions. That was its original purpose, but when fans gather together online, fan fiction is sure to follow.
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