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 Lojtnant 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 h
er 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.
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