Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume XII

The Da Costa family had helped finance some of the sugar mills in Bahia, and it made arrangements for the sugar boats, en route to Lisbon, to stop in Belem and see if Henriques had any rubber for pickup. Those ships came up the coast monthly… assuming they weren't picked off by Dutch privateers near Recife. And the captains didn't mind the stopover too much; it wasn't out of their way and they could take on food and water.

The visits had increased Henriques' popularity in Belem. The town mostly exported tobacco, cotton, and dye wood, but not enough to warrant regular contact. There was some sugarcane grown in the area, but it was used locally to make liquor. So Belem was a backwater compared to Recife. Before rubber tapping began, a whole year could go by without a vessel coming into port.

Henriques was under orders to expand production, but to do that he needed to find more rubber trees, and more Indians to milk them. He hoped that the town leaders, who were mostly plantation owners, would help him now. They had looked down on him for years as a mateiro, a woodsman, and a small-time merchant. The stuttering hadn't helped, either.

"Henriques, I am astonished," said Francisco de Sousa. He was the President of the Municipal Chamber of Belem. "I never would have expected a bachelor, in Belem no less, to have such an elegant dinner presentation."

"Th-th-thank you, Cavaleiro Francisco. It is in large part my late m-m-mother's legacy."

"I particularly like your centerpiece," his wife added.

"It is a family… heirloom." The piece in question was a massive flowerpot.

Henriques had hired extra servants for the occasion. They brought in one serving after another. First came a mingau porridge, followed by a farinha -sprinkled pirarucu, caught earlier that day. There were Brazil nuts, palm hearts, and mangoes, too. The meal ended with a sweet tapioca tortilha.

"So what are you doing with those Indians?"

Henriques had known this question would come, and had rehearsed his answer with Mauricio, to make sure he could deliver it smoothly.

"There is a tree which produces a milky sap. They tap the tree, a bit as you would a pine tree to collect turpentine. The sap hardens into a substance which is waterproof, and can stretch and… bounce." Grrr, Henriques thought. I almost made it through my spiel I hate B's.

"Bounce?"

"Wait." He left, and returned with a rubber ball. He dropped it, and it returned to his waiting hand, much to their amazement.

"So, there's a market for this?"

"Somewhat. The rubber can be used to make hats and b-b-boots to protect you from the rain. And I understand that it can be applied in some way to ordinary cloth so that the fabric stays dry, but I don't how that's done.

"I could produce and sell more, if only I had enough tappers."

"Perhaps I can help you there. I can demand labor from the Indians at the aldeia of Cameta. We just need to agree on a price."

"What are you doing here, B-B-Benito?" Henriques had seen Benito Maciel Parente junior, followed by several of his buddies, saunter into the village clearing. Henriques kept his hand near the hilt of his facao.

"Just paying a friendly visit to these Indian friends of yours, H-H-Henriques," Benito sniggered. He had scarred himself like a native warrior, but he was no friend to the Indians. Like his father and his brother, he was a slaver.

"You've been making life difficult for folks, Henriques. I hear you're paying your tappers ten varas of cloth a month. It's making it tough to get Indians to do real work."

"Ten varas isn't much, Benito." A vara was about thirty-three inches. The largesse had not entirely been of Henriques' choosing, although he was known to be sympathetic to the Indians; he had specific instructions about wages from Lisbon.

"It is when the Indians are accustomed to working for four. Or three. Or two."

"Or none, in your case."

"Yes, well, it's my natural charisma. Anyway, dear Henriques, you want to watch you don't end up like Friar Cristovao." Cristovao had preached a sermon against settlers who abused the Indians, and he had been shot afterward.

"I assure you, that I am extremely careful." Henriques' own men had in the meantime flanked Benito's party. Benito affected not to notice, but several of his men were shifting their eyes back and forth, trying to keep track of Henriques' allies.

"So I thought I'd have a palaver with the big chief here. Mebbe he's got some enemies he'd like to ransom." If a Portuguese bought a prisoner condemned to ritual execution, he was entitled to the former captive's life; that is, he had acquired a slave. An "Indian of the cord."

"You know the Tapajos don't ransom. How many times have you tried this?"

"Aw, can't hurt to ask. And look at this bee-yoo-tiful cross I brought the chief, as a present. Hey chief, you want this? It would look real sweet right in the center of your village."

The chief gave Henriques a questioning look. Henriques shook his head, fractionally.

"Sorry, no," said the chief. "It is too beautiful for our poor village, it would make everything else look drab."

Henriques thought, Good for you. The cross was a scam. If the cross fell, or was allowed to fall into disrepair, then it was evidence that the tribe opposed the Catholic Church, and war upon it would be just. Leading, of course, to the enslavement of the survivors. The Tapajos were a strong tribe, and the slavers so far had been leery of attacking them, but that could change.

"Well, I can see I'm not welcome here today," said Benito. "I'll go make my own camp. But remember, Henriques, there's always tomorrow."

"Whump!" Henriques ducked, just in time, and took cover. He looked around, trying to spot the shooter. As he did so, one part of his mind wondered what had been shot at him. The sound hadn't been quite that of a bullet, or an arrow, or even a slingshot. More like a grenade exploding, although that made no sense at all.

It happened again. " Whump!" Suddenly, he realized that the Indian tappers were completely ignoring the sound. With the exception of one, who was laughing his head off.

Henriques rose cautiously. "What's making that sound?" Laughing Boy pointed upward at the fruits hanging from the rubber tree, and then down at the ground. It was thus that Henriques discovered just how the rubber tree spreads its seeds.

His superiors in Lisbon would be very pleased. Henriques had received precise instructions to collect seeds, if he found them, to pack them in a very particular way, and to ship them by the fastest possible means. And they had sent him the packing materials, and a special elixir to put on the seeds to protect them.

Henriques set the Indians to work collecting the seeds. He didn't dare wait for the monthly Pernambuco sugar boat run up the coast; he would have to hire a fishing boat to take his perishable cargo to Lisbon immediately.

Belem do Para, Early 1634 (Rainy Season)

Henriques fumbled with the door, and stepped into his home. He stumbled. Looking down, he saw that he had tripped over a cracked vase.

It was no ordinary vase. It was Henriques' magnificent flower pot. When it wasn't gracing his dining room, it reposed in a case in his foyer. His housekeeper, apparently, had taken it out to clean it, dropped it, and then fled the house.

Henriques blanched. His reaction had nothing to do with the cost of the piece, or even its sentimental value.

Did she see the secret compartment? he wondered.

He was hopeful that she hadn't. He studied it carefully. What he found wasn't good. The vase wasn't merely cracked; a piece had broken off and been reset. Lifting it off again, he could see into the compartment. Unless the woman were completely devoid of curiosity, she would have looked inside. And what she would have seen would have been far too revealing. A b'samin spice box. A small goblet. And, most damning of all, a miniature hanukkiya. The housekeeper was a caboclo , a half-Indian, and had certainly received enough religious instruction at an aldeia to know what that signified.