Grantville Gazette 35

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."