Grantville Gazette 38

Chapter Forty: A Ruse By Any Other Name

Pam and Dore stood before their first unhappy subject, Gerbald, whose sad, hound-dog face was now a rich yellowish orange, not quite what they had in mind, but it would have to do.

"It goes well with his hat." Dore remarked, enjoying her beloved husband's discomfort.

Pam studied their victim thoughtfully. "I think a bit more turmeric paste around the ears. Then we'll give him arching eyebrows with the ink and ash paste. He looks more like a Star Trek Romulan than an Asian, but I think it will fool the French long enough."

"My people are declaring war on your Federation," Gerbald grumbled. He had, of course, seen every episode of the classic 1960's version of the show, one of his supreme favorites in the Grantville Library's video preservation archives. He made an effort not to flinch as Pam applied the turmeric they had found amongst the galley's many spices, and had worked into a soupy paste with rice flour and water. She prayed there wouldn't be any rain this afternoon.

"Just be glad I decided not to color you blue and give you some antenna. Look, it's staining nicely," Pam said, smiling at her handiwork. "I think it will last a few hours, maybe even a few days!"

Gerbald groaned. "Must you do more? Am I not heathen looking enough yet?" he pleaded.

"Ha!" Dore interjected "Why not look like a heathen? You have always lived as one! Those such as you who have turned their back on Our Savior, Jesus Christ, deserve far worse than this bit of discomfort!" Dore's face became the very embodiment of confident self-righteousness. "Pray The Lord doesn't strike you down at the very sight of you."

Tuning out his devout wife's pious haranguing, Gerbald sighed deeply as Pam painted a highly realistic Fu Manchu mustache on his long, hang-dog face. It was too bad something couldn't be done to hide his blue eyes but Pam just didn't have that kind of technology available. She shuddered at the thought of trying to maintain a set of contact lenses down-time, since she knew that any pair of glasses in her possession would end up lost or irreparably broken within a few days, those would have been her choice. It was her opinion that the Lord hadn't given her much but she was truly grateful for her excellent vision.

Two hours later Gerbald was not alone in his oddly colored misery, he stood nearly indistinguishable from the crowd of orange-yellow skinned Swedes. Pam laughed, thinking they looked like spear carrying extras wandered away from the set of that goofy old movie The Conqueror, which had cast an unlikely John Wayne as Genghis Khan.

"Time to get dressed!" Pam announced, pointing at the pile of cloth and clothing they had assembled from the foreign goods aboard their prize ship.

The men went to work pulling on colorful silk robes embroidered with glowing scenes of cranes and sunsets. The best of the finery and some sparkling jewelry went on Gerbald, whom they had unanimously elected to be their great and powerful Khan. He was a good choice, with his gift of mimicry and natural penchant for hamming it up Pam thought he was their best chance to carry this charade off. The Great and Powerful Gerbald was to be carried on a beautifully carved palanquin they had found, no doubt belonging to the wealthy merchant who had once been this ship's master. Its satin pillows would be the perfect place to hide his up-time manufactured shotgun pistol, the deadly Snake Charmer. Pam's son, Walt, had given it to him with orders to protect his mother with it, according to Gerbald. She and her son were not exactly on good terms, and she suspected this was a polite fiction, but she was still glad to have the thing along. In any case, Pam hoped that today its services would not be required.

Pam and Dore hurriedly added the finishing touches to the costumes. Soon, they stood facing a mysterious envoy from what Pam thought of as the Far-Out East.

"I would not recognize them if I didn't know them so well! Dore exclaimed "Even that foolish husband of mine!" She was well pleased by their handiwork, cleaning her hands on her apron in a gesture of job well done.

"Gosh almighty, don't you fellas look a picture!" Pam gushed, lapsing into West Virginia hillbilly-ese for a moment as a rush of excitement coursed through her. I can't believe we're really doing this; it's all like something out of some crazy old movie! Her giddy grin turned serious as she thought of poor, badly injured Pers lying in a coma below, and what might happen to these men, her friends, in the coming hours.

"All right, we all know what to do. Good luck, my friends!" she regarded them with an intense pride for a moment then shouted, "Battle stations!"

Pam and Dore kept a low profile on the castle deck. They were both wearing white linens draped over their clothes, with their hair tied up under makeshift turbans. They had decided against dying their own faces and hands since they were going to be far enough back from the action and, truth to tell, couldn't bring themselves to do it out of simple vanity, although they would never admit it, even to each other. Pam felt the heavy weight of her .38 at her belt, the very one she had used so effectively in the capture of her ship. It both terrified and comforted her.

On the foredeck, Sten, one of the older sailors and experienced in firing cannons, waited for the bosun beside the formidable carronade deck gun salvaged from Redbird. It was currently hidden beneath a tarp and Pam hoped that they wouldn't have to unleash its deadly force. If all went well, little blood would be shed this day. The marines and sailors not immediately needed to sail Second Chance Bird in to the harbor’s wide dock stood in attendance of the Great Khan Gerbald, who sat in his palanquin regally fanning himself with a bored expression. Every man had a sword and several had pistols, all carefully concealed within the folds and sashes of their outlandish garb. Around them were placed brightly lacquered boxes and barrels of rice wine, the "gifts" they had prepared to lure out the renegade French officers. Pam shook her head and frowned in a moment of doubt. Yes, it was a variation of the old Trojan Horse trick, hopefully these guys had never read Virgil. Beware orange-skinned strangers bearing gifts. Pam knew they were taking a completely desperate gamble. but no better choices had presented themselves. It was completely nuts, and it had to work.

The bosun brought the junk in slowly, giving everyone on shore a nice long look at it. The captive Swedes paused in their work for a moment, while their captors gaped at the brightly painted boat approaching . The captors had set up a grass-roofed rest area in the middle of the long dock; several sailors loafing there began making their way out to the T-shaped end they were pulling up to, pointing their bow to the left, with their right side facing the shore. This position gave the deck gun a range sweeping the entire dock as well as most of the anchored warship's side. Pam saw that Annalise and Ide were still anchored out, well away from easy reach by any would-be escapees. The bosun, silently guiding the crew manning the sheets with gestures alone, skillfully piloted Second Chance Bird up against the dock with a light groan of timber.

He had wisely chosen their position, lateral to the shore. This move gave them a big tactical advantage, their hidden deck gun as well as their Chinese cannons had a clear sweep of the entire dock and shoreline, including the warship tied up stern out to their right some twenty yards inland. At last they could read its name, the Effrayant. Tied up just past its bow, the much smaller and badly damaged Muskijl floated, mostly hidden behind Effrayant's massive bulk. Hopefully, if cannon fire started, her crew was imprisoned aboard that vessel rather than the enemy's. Down the left side of the dock the slave-master's menacingly graceful lateen-rigged crafts were tied up in a line, looking like a scene from out of the Arabian Nights. All their guns would have a lovely, clean shot at them, Pam smiled to herself.

Five sailors, who Pam noted were armed with what looked like flintlock side arms, had arrived at the end of the dock and were shouting at them. Pam was pretty sure they were ordering them to leave and smiled to herself again, because that was not going to happen. Several of the African slave-masters began to venture towards them from the beach but the sailors waved at them to stay back. The Africans were obviously very curious about the newcomers, and did so reluctantly. It was now completely clear as to who was running this operation, and the guilt fell on the renegades.

Not for the first time, Pam felt sickened by the horrors mankind could inflict on each other for a profit. She knew there had been slave-owners in her own ancestry, amongst the Virginians on her mother's side; the very idea disgusted her, but she still tried not to think of these men as monsters. These were terrible times she had been thrust into. She knew that she would likely have to do things on this day and in the days to come that would have utterly appalled the old mild-mannered Pam Miller; there was nothing for it but to accept that, and act as she thought best. She would try to minimize loss of life on all sides, but deep down in her gut she laughed at her own naivete. You're a killer now, Pam Miller, and you're gonna do it again! Admit you like it, you love the power! an inner voice teased her. She shook her head sharply , almost dislodging the ridiculous turban nesting there. Exercising another new trait, a surprisingly strong force of will-power, she made herself concentrate on the events unfolding in front of her. There would be plenty of time for probing self-analysis of the demons she had let loose in herself later; right now she was too damn busy leading a hostage rescue mission, thank you very much! I'm one of the good guys damn it, just let me work!

The men of the Second Chance Bird remained stoically silent as the sailors noisily gesticulated at them. It was agreed that Gerbald would do all the talking and that time hadn't come yet. Completely disregarding the protests of the lowly dock crew, Gerbald waved his hand lazily, signaling the disguised Swedes to throw lines at the surprised sailors, who now found themselves tying the junk up to the dock despite themselves. Now, Gerbald regally motioned that he was ready to disembark. Two of their strongest men climbed over the rail and waited on the dock, ignoring the confused and increasingly nervous sailors gesturing frantically at them to stay on-board their vessel. The palanquin was lowered gently into their care, passed down by two more men stationed on the junk's narrow step-ledge halfway between the rail and the rough-hewn, uneven planks below.

Watching the scene unfold as scheduled, Pam fingered her pistol in the leather holster Gerbald had made for it, hidden under a sash at her hip, awaiting the worst. She had tried to make Gerbald give it to one of the men going onto the dock, but he had insisted, saying that she was a better shot than most of them and it was best she have it just in case things went badly. She prayed fervently that it would not prove necessary. That new and rather disturbing part of her that had appeared in recent days was darn glad to have it. Pam rolled her eyes to the heavens, thinking that it was bad enough to be going into a conflict without being conflicted about it to boot.

Now, the disguised Swedes had begun passing the various prepared offerings down to the dock. This caused the sailors to cease their frantic fussing and become very interested in the arriving packages accompanying their bizarre visitors. They whispered amongst themselves loudly, pointing at the brightly-colored wooden boxes. They were especially interested in the barrels and casks, perhaps they had run out of whatever rotgut a sea-dog prefers?

Once the entire shore party was assembled on the dock, Gerbald harrumphed loudly for attention. He pointed at the sailors and commanded in a deep, resonant voice, "Sous Capitan!" The sailors just stood there staring at him, wondering what they should do, and not even quite sure that they had just heard the leader of these strange folk say something in French. Gerbald repeated the order forcefully and added a jabbing pointing finger. "SOUS CAPITAN!" Then, with a sweep of his arms to their "gifts" he said "Sous Capitan!" in a cordial tone, while smiling graciously. Acting as if everyone had understood him perfectly he clapped his hands twice and folded them across his chest, waiting expectantly for the men to get moving.

A brief discussion followed, after which the fellow who was apparently the highest-ranking of the group shook his head in resignation, and sent one of his men to go find their captain. Seeing this, Gerbald let out a loud grunt and the palanquin began following the messenger, the rest of the men gathering up packages and following. This caused a fresh hail of protests from the sailors, but they didn't reach for their guns, and now found themselves reluctantly escorting the determined strangers toward their own ship.

Pam started to laugh at their consternation, a kind of giddy, hysterical laugh, but forced herself to stop.

"Thank God, it's working so far. Please let us pull this off, please!" she prayed under her breath, joined by Dore doing the same in German. Pam looked over to see the bosun standing by the men assigned to man the gun on the foredeck. If that kind of shooting started, Gerbald's group had orders to hit the deck and hope the cannon shot sailed safely over them. The fancifully high decks of the junk looked tall enough, but Pam really didn't want to put that to the test. She hunkered down behind the rail, and used her scope to see what was going on ashore.

Up on the hillside she could see women working in the fields, while their men were busy constructing the town and fortress walls growing along the beach. Apparently, the renegades and their allies intended to make this a long term base, and why not? They had free labor and plenty of supplies from the captured colonists. This would be a golden opportunity for an enterprising corsair to create a little kingdom here. During her research for the journey Pam had read about pirate havens sprouting up on Madagascar and Isle St. Marie off to their west in the century to come. She wondered now if rather than being a plot of the hostile French government, perhaps up-time tales of lucrative piracy in the 1700s had inspired this bunch to start the game on their own a century early. "Well, here comes a little wrench in that plan, mes amis," she hissed, scowling coldly.

The palanquin was now a few yards away from the Effrayant's long, steep gangplank. The procession came to a stop at The Great Khan Gerbald's raised hand. They wanted to be close enough to storm the enemy ship if they must, but still have some room to duck if it came to cannon fire. Gerbald waited with an impatient expression as several officer types emerged from a shady spot on the ship's main deck and began yelling at the men on the dock below. These yelled back, again with much gesturing, recounting the story so far. After a minute, the yelling stopped and the original welcoming committee stepped quietly back, relieved that their superiors were coming to deal with the problem. Gerbald took this opportunity to announce his intentions to the officers. "Sous Capitan!" he bellowed in a voice full of generosity and good cheer, sweeping his arm extravagantly toward the enticing boxes his servants bore.

After another long moment of consternation, one of the officers nudged another, likely sending that one off to fetch the captain. The man had a decidedly unenthusiastic expression on his face, which Pam thought probably spoke volumes about the personality of the captain. After a few minutes, and a bit of angry shouting emanating from the captain's cabin, a grouchy looking fellow came swaggering out to the rail with an expensive looking sword at his belt and a many-plumed fancy hat on his roundish head. He looked annoyed, but couldn't hide some interest as he squinted at the odd-looking envoy assembled below. The officer who had stayed at the rail announced with proper respect, if little love, "Capitan Leonce Toulon de Aquitane!" while the sour-faced man paused in what he must think was a heroic pose. Pam thought he bore more than a slight resemblance to your average Hollywood Captain Hook, and fought back a snicker. Sometimes it all just seemed unreal to her, and she had to remember that their lives were very much in danger, even from such an unlikely looking character as this.

"Capitan! Gerbald exclaimed with glee "Por vous, pour vous! Mon ami! allez, allez."

Pam silently thanked whatever accident of the cosmos had ensured that a citizen of Grantville was in possession of the complete Hogan's Heroes on VHS when they got sucked through the Ring of Fire, thus allowing the voice of Corporal Louis LeBeau to emanate from another universe. Gerbald's fractured Francais was outrageously funny to hear, plus it was working.

The captain cocked his head at the insistent potentate who had so unexpectedly appeared, but favored him with a thin smile. Giving those gathered a curt nod, he stalked down the gangplank, followed by his chief officers. Pam whistled softly in relief, so far so good. Dore frantically took hold of one of Pam's shaking hands, pushing all the blood out of it with a single squeeze. The men of the Second Chance Bird stood perfectly still, a set of bronze statues in the late afternoon sun.

The sneering officers, certainly no real gentlemen, but pirates through and through, stepped primly onto the dock. They sauntered confidently over to Gerbald and his men, all of whom bowed deeply in unison at Gerbald's unspoken cue. This pleased the officers greatly. They smiled and chuckled to themselves, smug in their superiority. Gerbald the Great Khan graciously swept his arms once more toward the gathered gifts. With an openly condescending nod of acceptance to Gerbald, the captain bent down to open one of the boxes. This was filled with some of the treasure they had found aboard the junk, and a gleam of avarice came to the captain's scheming eyes. His officers bent down as well, opening up other boxes to find more of the same. As they became engrossed in the windfall the odd- looking visitors began to surround them, cutting them off from the nearby sailors.