Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume XII

Somewhat to everyone's surprise, Coqui announced that he would join them. "I don't like any of the local girls. Perhaps I'll have better luck upriver."

The going had been slow. During the rainy season, the water level of the Amazon and its tributaries rose, eroding the banks, and toppling forest giants. When the waters began to recede, the trunks were left behind, hindering navigation.

From time to time, Coqui and Kasiri would leave them and scout their backtrail, to see if they were being pursued.

Henriques and Mauricio, left alone once again, held the canoe steady against the current, studying the latest obstruction. They could get out of the canoe, thus lightening its load, and try to push the canoe over or under the log. They could try to shift the log out of their way. Or they could beach the canoe and portage around.

Like the Indians, they didn't much like the idea of getting into the water. There were caimans, electric eels, stingrays and piranha to worry about. Not all in the same place, of course. And when the waters were high, piranhas usually were a problem only if you were bleeding, or acted as if you were in distress.

On the other hand, the vegetation on shore looked especially nasty, with plenty of long thorns. They would have to cut their way through, and that would be extremely slow and arduous. And a giveaway to anyone following them.

"I guess we're going to get wet," Henriques said. They probed the bottom with their paddles, then gingerly lowered themselves into the water. They each grabbed a side of the canoe and started moving forward, shuffling their feet to minimize the stingray hazard. They looked back and forth, studying every ripple to make sure it wasn't the wake of an inquisitive caiman.

At last, they reached the obstruction. They tentatively rocked the offending log, their attention still divided between it and the river surface. The response was an angry drumming sound.

"Down!" Henriques took a quick breath, and submerged himself.

Mauricio saw what appeared to be black smoke coming over the log, and heading straight toward them. Wasps. Hundreds. Perhaps thousands. Enough to kill them both, several times over.

"Shit!" he agreed, and followed suit.

Henriques had flipped the canoe, and they both swam underneath, putting their heads in the breathing space it provided. The canoe slowly floated back downstream, away from the angry insects.

After some minutes, Henriques poked his head out of the water. No wasps attacked, so he rose further. Mauricio copied him.

"Why did you overturn the canoe? We're going to have a devil of a time finding all our belongings. And some will be ruined, for sure."

"We had to use the canoe so we could just breathe quietly in place. If you swam underwater, in a panic, your flailing about might have attracted piranhas." He paused. "Some things will float down to where we are now, and in an hour or so, it'll be safe to go back and look for the stuff which dropped to the bottom. Provided we don't rock the log, of course."

"How come we didn't hear the buggers? Or see them flying into and out of their nest?"

"Those were Acaba da noite, night wasps. We disturbed their beauty sleep."

"Jeesh. They should have a sign, 'Night Workers. Day Sleepers. Do Not Disturb.'"

"Trouble," Coqui announced. "Some of the bad people are coming up this river."

"How many?"

"Many." Henriques cursed the inadequacies of the Manao counting system.

"How big is their canoe?"

Coqui thought about this. "It makes two of this canoe."

"Okay, so call it eight of them.

Mauricio piped up. "How soon will they be here?"

"One day, perhaps."

"Too close for comfort," Henriques said. "They have a heavier canoe, so the logs will slow them down more than they do us. But they have more oarsmen, so in clear stretches, they'll be faster."

"If they come as far as the wasp nest log, Henriques, they'll see where we cut around. Then they'll be sure we're up here."

"We need to set up an ambush."

"I know," said Mauricio. "We can half cut through a tree, then, when they reach the vicinity of the wasp nest, fell it. It drops on the log, and rouses the wasps. And they sting the bastards to death."

Henriques sighed. "Have you ever felled a tree before? Can you imagine how hard it is to control where it falls in a forest like this one, dense, with lianas everywhere? And if the wasps didn't kill them all, then the wasp swarm would be between us and the survivors.

"We'll try to kill them with arrows, not wasps."

Henriques, Coqui and Mauricio had bows, but Mauricio wasn't a particularly good archer. He was a good shot, but the musket which they had carefully preserved over the months and leagues of their flight was now entertaining the local fish life. Kasiri only had a knife, and so she had been cautioned to stay back.

The slaver's canoe came into view. Coqui gave a bird call, to warn the others to engage, and then fired. His arrow took down the rear man, who was steering. Henriques' shot killed the poleman in front. That threw the crew into disarray. Coqui picked off another.

The slavers were returning fire now, and Henriques party had to take cover. In the meantime, the slavers beached their canoe on river left. That was Henriques and Mauricio's side. There, on the strand, another of Benito's men fell, with one arrow in his chest, and another in his left arm. The others ran into the bush.

Coqui, on the right bank of the river, grunted, and set down his bow and arrows. "Wait here," he warned Kasiri. "Stay out of trouble." Coqui, armed with a blowgun, and the steel hatchet Mauricio had given him, went downriver, and around a bend, then swam across, out of site of the pursuers.

Henriques and Mauricio had dropped their missile weapons; there were too many leaves and branches in the way. The slavers likewise realized that the time for musketry was passed; they drew their machetes.

The slavers were at a disadvantage; they hadn't walked this ground before. Henriques and Mauricio took advantage of their ignorance, making quick attacks and then disappearing. In the slavers' rear, Coqui aimed his blow gun at the rear man, the dart hitting him in the neck. He slapped, thinking it an insect sting. A moment later, he collapsed.

Coqui picked out his second victim, and fired. But the second one cried as he fell, giving warning to the others. One turned, and Coqui had to leap quickly out of the way of a machete swing. There was no longer any question of reloading the blowgun. And the hatchet was a good weapon, but not the equal of a machete. Coqui backed up rapidly, a move which would have been dangerous for anyone lacking his wilderness senses. The machete wielder followed and, in his haste, stepped in an armadillo hole, turning his ankle. Coqui finished him off.

One of the surviving slavers decided he had enough, and fled down river on foot, running past the boat. Coqui hesitated, then decided he couldn't take the chance that the man would summon reinforcements. He gave chase.

Henriques and his last opponent gradually shifted deeper into the forest, out of sight of the others.

Mauricio and his foe wandered onto the beach. Both were tired, and bleeding from small cuts, but neither had been able to strike a decisive blow. They circled each other warily.

One of the slavers struck down on the beach earlier was not dead, as Mauricio had assumed. As soon as Mauricio back was to him, the injured man slowly crawled to where his musket had skittered earlier in the action. It was still loaded. He only had one good hand, so he braced the musket on a rock.

Mauricio's more obvious foe could see what was happening, and did his best to keep Mauricio's attention directed forward.