In Search of Spice (34 page)

They left the last of the atolls behind and sailed out of sight of land for a week, before sighting a substantial island. This was not a volcano, or at least not a live one. The Pahippians concern mounted; Hinatea remembered sneaking past as a child, her mother wary of disturbing the inhabitants.

On the second day of circling the island, they came upon a small village, with a larger one further up the beach, again on a river. The river flowed wide, slow and brown, full of silt carried down from the hills. The larger village sat upstream of the mouth. Again, the beach was fringed with the feather trees they now knew to be coconut palms producing copra.

This time the canoes and fishermen fled for the shore and disappeared.

Suzanne called a council of war on the poop deck, with the Queen Rose anchored in the mouth of the river.

“We need a landing party. Mactravis, take however many men you need and make contact.”

“What a wonderful idea,” said Sara. “The natives will see us land a boat full of heavily armed soldiers and come rushing out to kiss them. Come on, Suzanne, you know the Ummayads raided Pahipi, you can bet they raid here as well. The way the natives fled indicates they will expect an attack.”

Nettled, Suzanne shifted uncomfortably, reflecting it would be better to make Sara Captain. “So what do you suggest?”

“It needs a woman leading the party, so we don’t look dangerous or threatening. I’ll go down with some of the Pahipi girls and half a dozen soldiers.”

“We not go,” interjected Hinatea with some force. “Bad island, bad men, bad god.”

This set Sara back on her heels, but before she could question her Mactravis broke in.

“I agree with your thoughts, your Highness, however I strongly oppose you going ashore. You are the Crown Princess of the Realm and no way should you go into a situation like this where we know nothing of the terrain or the intentions of the locals. Yes, you have been in serious situations in the past, but each time you knew all about the enemy and their intentions. Here you do not even know if they are enemies, let alone how they will react.”

“Well,” replied Sara, ready to battle for this adventure, “I don’t see there is an alternative. It is not possible to send Captain Larroche or Brian and who else would have the experience?”

“Send the Bosun; that would frighten the fuck out of them!”

“Corporal Little, I do not recall you being invited to attend this meeting?”

“Thought you might need a soldier’s view, Sir!”

“Yes, yes, that is quite enough,” said Suzanne, intervening at the sight of the Bosun swelling up. “Bosun, kindly keep your hands off Little till after this meeting.” She drummed her fingers on the chart table for a moment. “Perhaps Pat might do? He is experienced in meeting other peoples - do you know anyone else who can speak Dwarf and Elf? A young boy would be equally un-threatening.”

“He may be experienced in talking with them, but not in opening negotiations. We would be at a disadvantage for sure. We need some experience here, which is why it must be me. There is no alternative.” Sara’s certainty convinced the Bosun and Taufik, while Mactravis’ expression showed did not agree and Suzanne’s own brow creased with annoyance.

“If it is experience required, you don’t have any in meeting new people.” Suzanne spoke with finality ignoring the rising heat in Sara’s cheeks. “You are well trained, I admit, but not with experience. I, on the other hand, possess plenty, as I am sure you will agree men are a different species, never mind race. I’m not really the Captain anyway, you can manage without me.”

“Fine,” said Mactravis quickly, before a furious Sara could speak. “I’ll come with you with the soldiers and we’ll take Pat and his dog, they’ll be useful. I want Rat too, the boy is good at sneaking and I want another scout. No Spakka, though, they frighten the life out of everyone.”

Sara settled back on her heels, her thoughts flying. She realised she needed to think politically, rather than with her heart, if she wanted to win arguments. She knew she had lost this one.

“Very well. I don’t agree, but I shall abide by the decision. I will prepare a force of Spakka and Pahipi girls ready to land at a moment’s notice to support you.”

Suzanne nodded. “Good. It is agreed.”

The pinnace, the largest of the ship’s boats, went up the river and tied up to a well-constructed jetty made from bamboo, a new wood to the Harrheinians. Mactravis sent out scouts - Pat and Mot to the right, Grey Fox and Rat to the left. The rest of the party came out in arrowhead formation, Mactravis and Suzanne in the centre, leaving Sergeant Russell and Garson guarding the pinnace.

Mot checked a clump of bushes a hundred metres to the right and went in, Pat on her heels. Grey Fox went into a small stand of trees a similar distance to the left and faded from sight, Rat went up a tree and disappeared.

The point man, Graves, walked forward, eyes scanning, Corporal Strachan behind him and the arrowhead moved up the path to the village. Every now and then a brief movement on either flank showed the path of the scouts.

The village consisted of wooden huts made from bamboo on stilts made from coconut trunks. It was empty, without a sound bar a few chickens scratching in the dust. Beneath one hut an animal stared at them malevolently, hauled itself to its trotters and waddled into the woods. Suzanne stared in astonishment. Hugely fat, black and with a great sag in its spine as if broken, it looked decidedly pregnant, but enormous testicles proclaimed otherwise. Peculiar looking beast, whose familiarity nagged at her till she realised with a start it was a pig. There were bushes outside the huts, some fruit trees with curious looking red bell shaped fruits, and the flamboyant red flowers the Pahippians called hibiscus.

The village was clean, and the odd bush with spidery green-yellow flowers lent a sweet scent to the air.

There were no people.

The arrowhead reached the gate of the village and stopped. Pat appeared from the right and shook his head. “In the huts,” he hissed, turned and slipped back into the bushes. No sign of Mot.

Suzanne spoke to Mactravis, who set the men down in all round defence with no weapons showing, signalled Pat first, then Grey Fox and gave the patrolling command.

They waited.

Suzanne laid out gifts in the street in front of the gate. She stood and turned carefully around in a circle, her skimpy outfit proclaiming she was not armed.

They waited.

Pat slipped wide through the bushes to the edge of the village, where the fields grew strange vegetables. He crouched low under a shrub and studied the countryside. A distant movement caught his attention and he saw three heads in the long grass on a hilltop about three hundred metres away. They were watching the centre of the village.

Moving through the bushes he came upon a trail leading up the hill and could see the signs of passage in the dust. Bare feet, lots of them, no animals. Looking across the trail, he saw a bush tremble, but Mot showed no concern, so he showed himself and indicated the hill. Grey Fox appeared and nodded, then used Elven sign language to tell him to report while he watched the hill.

He circled the village and slipped up to Mactravis and Suzanne, who jumped as he appeared. “Tracks leaving the village. Looks like all the women and children have gone into hiding. I think the men are still here, in the huts, in ambush.”

Mactravis nodded and spoke. “Get Grey Fox back, tell him to take the left, you cover from the right. Close by, not far, and we’ll have a section with each of you for support if you’re rushed.” He nodded at Corporal Strachan who issued quiet commands.

A noise came from the village. It was like a deep, long sigh, very quiet, but seemed to cause silence as it passed. Pat noticed the chickens all disappear and nocked an arrow.

The sigh came again. As it reached the end, it rose in volume to a crescendo, whereupon men leapt from the huts, landing on the ground and giving a loud grunt at the same time. This caused a huge wave of sound which rolled down the village and over the soldiers, who turned not a hair. Suzanne was shocked, and felt fear rise up in her, but took a strong hold of herself at the actions of the soldiers. She took especial heart from Little, who always broke the emotions when they threatened to affect people.

“Cor, that’s not bad, is it Corp? Should tell ‘em to fart when they land, that would improve it!”

“Fart? They’ll fuckin’ shit themselves when we get hold of ‘em!” Husk didn’t speak much and Suzanne saw him smiling for the first time she could remember and realised with shock all the soldiers were keyed up and grinning. Her resolve hardened; it was up to her to stop a fight breaking out, as all these bloody men wanted to fight. It gave her new strength and she concentrated on the approaching men.

They were huge, all well over 6 feet, broad shouldered and with a shock of frizzy hair sticking out from their heads a good two feet more, making them look even larger. They were black, rather than brown, with fine features and grinning faces. Each clutched an odd stick, though a couple brandished spears. She looked for a moment at the bent sticks in puzzlement.

Mactravis saw her glance. “War clubs, ma’am. Might look like nothing, but they will be effective. They’ll use them like pick axes, no back lift, shatters the skull. Not to worry, we know how to handle them. Ready to form a shield wall, men.”

The black men stopped. All crouched, ready to attack, all still with enormous grins and flashing teeth. With annoyance, Suzanne realised they were also relishing the idea of a fight. She could feel the rush of pleasurable excitement coming off both sets of soldiers and wondered with part of her mind. The rest concentrated on frustrating them.

The native men sighed again, louder, and at the crescendo all stamped hard. At the same time a huge man leapt from the main hut, bouncing on his feet, the impact throwing up dust and adding to the noise.

He was very dark, with his hair tightly curled and sticking up like a bush all round his head, feathers tied into it. Streaks of grey shot through his hair but he strode forward proudly with menace in his stride. Pat stared. The brown Pahippians seemed strange enough, but he had never seen anyone so dark.

The man was huge, taller than anyone he had ever seen and with a big frame. He stalked up the path, carrying a massive jabbing spear. Muscles bulged under his skin, with blue marks whorled on his face - Pat guessed they were tattoos, never having seen anything like them. He walked straight up the centre of the village to the gate, ignoring the Harrheinians, till he stopped in front of the gifts. He looked at these, raised his head and gazed at the landing party, leaning on his spear.

Suzanne strode forward and a look of surprise went over his face.

“Greetings, Great Chief.” She spoke in Belada. “We are from a land far across the sea, over a month we travelled to get here. We are traders and would seek permission to trade with your people. If it is successful for both our peoples, we will come again each year. Please accept these gifts as a token of our esteem for you.”

He stared at her for a moment, and spoke to Mactravis in accented Belada. “Do you not speak the trade language that you let a woman speak for you? I will take her as a gift.”

Mactravis grinned without humour. “You will find it difficult. This woman is our leader, and capable of beating any two of us. We are warriors of renown, and appreciate battle skills wherever they are found. She speaks for us.”

“A woman is your best fighter?” He laughed, exposing strong white teeth in his handsome face and turned his spear around so the blade stuck in the ground. He looked at Suzanne with interest, measuring her and grinning.

“So, woman people, what do you seek in trade? Flowers?” He roared with laughter at his own joke. His men started forward to come up level with him, unhurried.

Mot streaked across the clearing and came to a halt beside Suzanne, turning and facing the chief, her tongue lolling out. As one, all the soldiers brought their weapons to the ready.

The chief stepped back, frowning.

Suzanne looked at the chief. She realised Pat had sent Mot as a message, and she had missed something all the men recognised. The spear turning blade down was a signal to his men, ready to fight. Because she was a woman. Damn. “Your men are ready to fight. My men are asking for my permission to kill them. How many would you like me to kill?”

He laughed. “Women who kill? My warriors will play with your women men, while you, you I will show you what a real man is!” But he looked a bit uncomfortable as he looked at Mot, who bristled, growled and showed her teeth.

Mactravis spoke, enunciating each word. “Form a shield wall on Strachan. Scouts, fall back behind the shield wall. Ma’am, step back into the shield wall, we’ll swallow you.” The men flowed like a well-oiled machine, heavy shields coming together with a ripple to form the wall behind her.

Suzanne hesitated, convinced she could stop the fight. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Pat, arrow nocked, running from the bushes towards the men behind her, Grey Fox and Rat coming from the other side. Mot whirled away and returned to Pat. She stepped towards the Chief, looking deep into his eyes. “Great Chief, why fight? What is the need? You have great warriors, we have great warriors. We fight, they die. Instead let us talk. We can trade and nobody dies.”

The Chief threw back his head and laughed, deep and ringing with genuine humour. His eyes sparkled as he answered. “How can we trade when we know not each other’s strength, Ghost Woman? Why is your skin pale, Witch Woman? Are you sick? Do you bleed power from your people to make them sick and pink? And your hair, like dead grass, falling down. If you are so strong, why does it not stick out? Ha! I think you have no power, your men no strength!”