Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette. Volume 21

"This is bauxite," said Henrich. "Very useful. Back home they can make it into a metal which looks like silver but is as almost as light as wood. The Americans call it 'aluminum.'"

"You smelt it?" The Coromantees had been smithing for centuries.

"Not exactly. Uh-Maria, could you explain?"

Maria had researched the possible products of Suriname before the expedition was launched. She knew more about aluminum than anyone else west of the Line of Tordesillas.

"We wash the bauxite with hot lye to make alumina, and then we run electricity through a mixture of alumina and cryolite to melt it down and transform it."

"What is cryolite?"

"It is a stone that it is found in Greenland-that is a land far to the north, where it is so cold that the water is hard like rock. "

The Coromantees digested this information. Magic stone, they thought.

"And electricity?"

"That is like lightning."

Any doubts which Kojo's fellow Coromantees had, as to whether Maria was as powerful a priestess as Kojo had told them, were now dispelled.

"Anyway," said Heinrich, "don't worry too much about the color-it can be white, yellow, red or brown. It is soft, so soft I can scratch like this, see? " He scratched with his fingernail. "But the real proof is that it has this funny 'raisin pie' texture." He pointed at one of the little pea-sized concretions.

"And where do we find it?"

"It is usually easiest to dig it up from the sides of stream banks."

Kojo flashed his teeth. "Fine. Now let's talk price."

The Gustavans didn't care for digging in the constant heat and humidity; it was worse than farming. So they were happy to give the Coromantee the opportunity to mine the bauxite.

Of course, that meant that the Coromantee had to be allowed to shift their village to the west side of the river, the Gustavus side, since that's where the known deposits were. The colonists debated this a bit, but Carsten Claus, the acting governor of the colony, pointed out that the deposits were still more than a day's march south of Gustavus, and so the Gustavans didn't have to worry about casual thievery on the part of their new neighbors.

What really clinched the deal was when Heyndrick de Liefde, who was the cousin of the colony's founder, David de Vries, suggested that the Coromantee would act as a buffer if the English colony further south, at Marshall's Creek, got restive. There were many Dutch among the colonists, and given the treacherous attack by the English on the Dutch fleet at the Battle of Ostend, they weren't happy about the proximity of the English, who had come before them to Suriname.

Only some of the Coromantees made the move. As Mauricio told the Gustavans, the word "Coromantee" just meant any slave who was sold out of the port of Kormantin. So it included Asante, Denkyira, Fante, Akwamu, and of course slaves from further north. Kojo was Asante. It was his people, and the Denkyira, who controlled the gold fields of Ghana. The Akwamu were to the east, but they were very friendly with the Asante, so they came, too, albeit as farmers, not miners. The Fante were fisher folk, somewhat hostile to the Asante, and decided to stay near Fort Lincoln.

Borguri, who had been the highest ranking of all the Imbangala on board the Triton, had declared himself their chief when they were freed by the Gustavans. He fought two duels to secure his position, but in view of their small number, had declined to kill either challenger. To make sure that they didn't consider this a sign of weakness, he beat them to within an inch of their lives. They now obeyed him with seemingly doglike devotion.

It was a pity, he thought, that the guns recovered from the longboat were unusable. But he kept them. If his warriors carried them openly, their opponents would think that they worked, and would respond accordingly. They might flee, instead of charging, perhaps. And, if they weren't fooled, well, the guns were reasonably good war clubs.

The freed slaves had divided into groups along tribal lines, and spread out in the area east of the Suriname River. The Imbangala had raided the weakest of the nearby groups, for provisions and tools that might be used as weapons, but since the Africans started with the little in the way of possessions, they weren't very productive targets. Not yet, at least.

For the moment, while the Imbangala regained their strength, they concentrated on stealing, not killing. The only exception was if they encountered any of the Ndongo, who they had fought back in what an up-timer would call Angola. 'Ngola was the title of the Ndongo king, Nzinga. Who actually was a queen.

The white traders who circulated among the African settlements were more tempting prey. But Borguri wasn't ready to attack the whites yet. Not even those traders, let alone the white colony west of the river. The whites were too well armed, he didn't want to draw their attention yet. His warriors could steal from the whites, if they could avoid being spotted, but no more. If spotted, they must just flee. No killing. Yet.

The Indians, now… At first, the Imbangala had avoided confrontations with them. After all, this was their land. Who knew what spirit protections they had? And of course they had missile weapons, which the Imbangala had to make for themselves. But the Imbangala's contempt for the Indians grew. They were clearly primitives, like the upriver Africans the Imbangala captured for sale to the Portuguese.

The Imbangala chief studied the Indian villages nearest to the Imbangala camp. When did they hunt, what weapons did they carry, did they make war on other villages, did they set sentries when they held festivals. After some time, he picked the Imbangala's first native target.

The Indians had been drinking piwari all day and night. They were ripe for the plucking. There was just one more matter to attend to.

Borguri looked at the Eboe fisherman. His head had been shaved, and ashes from the Imbangala hearth fire sprinkled over it, to erase his old identity, to remove him from the protection of his ancestral spirits. Assuming that they cared what happened to him across the Great Sea. In the ordinary course of things, in a few weeks he would go through a binding ritual which would make him property of Imbangala's lineage, and drive thoughts of escape from his mind.

But no war party could set forth without at least one human sacrifice, to please the gods and feed the warriors.

Mauricio spoke to the sentry. "I need to talk to him." The guard shrugged. "Watch your step."

Mauricio took a deep breath and entered the hut. The change in illumination, from the high tropical sun to the indoor gloom, was stunning. It was several minutes before he could see much beyond the tip of his nose, and he said nothing until his eyes adjusted. At last he could make out the dark figure sleeping, or pretending to sleep, at the far end of the hut, his arms and legs both shackled, and the leg shackles in turn fastened to a chain which circled the great tree trunk that rose from the ground, piercing the roof of the hut.

"I have a few questions for you."

"Do you now? Come a little closer, so I can hear you better." The erstwhile slaver captain rattled his chain. "It's not as though I can come closer to you."

"I'll just speak louder, thanks," said Mauricio. The first day after his capture, the captain had half-strangled the man who brought him food. The captain was then punished, by being given nothing to eat for several days, and was fed only after he apologized properly. Mauricio was not especially reassured by this expression of contrition.

The captain laughed and laughed, then stopped abruptly. "Well, well, I am a busy man, as you can see. So be quick about it."

"It's a small matter. One of the Coromantee said that his two children were kidnapped and taken to Elmina for sale. He pursued the kidnappers and was captured in turn."