Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette. Volume 21

The answer came a few days later, from one of his spies. This fellow prudently remained in his dugout canoe as he conveyed his news. A few miles east of Fort Lincoln, in the strip of land between the Great Sea and the Cottica River, a fetish hut had been built, at a site which the European and African sorcerers deemed propitious for that purpose. Inside the hut, there was a wood statue of Borguri, surrounded by curse objects and more of the insulting signs. In exactly a week's time, there would be a ceremony at which the statue would be burnt, in a ritual which would assure the ignominious defeat of Borguri and the Imbangala.

Borguri asked him more questions, assuring himself that the fetish hut was out of cannon range of Fort Lincoln. Then he gave his orders.

Wait. Was that a smirk he saw on the face of his spy? He grabbed a spear and threw it.

The insufficiently prudent agent toppled into the water.

The Imbangala and their Indian allies crossed the Cottica river in a swarm of dugout canoes. Borguri left behind the children trainees, with a few wounded regulars to supervise them, as a rear guard.

Borguri led the rest of his war party in the direction of the reported fetish hut. His Caribs scouted ahead and to the flanks, watching for an ambush. They found no one.

At last, the war party entered the clearing which held the fetish hut. They milled about it, singing war songs and building up their courage. At last, one of the Imbangala strode into the hut, and triumphantly grabbed the infamous statue.

His triumph didn't last long. With the statue dislodged, a spring-loaded pan rose. Inside the pedestal, a concealed trigger mechanism, protected from the tropical damp by rubber and tar, struck a spark, igniting priming powder inside. This lit a safety fuse, which in turn set off the barrels of gunpowder arrayed beneath the floor of the hut. The wood planks fractured, and the shards hurtled upward.

The bold Imbangala, still peering curiously at the statue in his hand, was impaled. So, too, were several of his companions. Others simply fell into the pit.

Borguri wasn't one of the victims of the trap. He immediately ordered the Imbangala back to the boats (and didn't trouble himself as to whether his Indian allies were doing the same). They got there, only to discover that their escape had been cut off. The river Cottica was narrow, but very deep. Deep enough so that a ship of force could sail a hundred miles upriver, if it wanted to.

The fluyt Walvis, the captured caravel Vreedom and the jachtEikhoorn were already patrolling the river, and firing their cannon and swivel guns at any likely targets.

Borguri briefly considered attacking the ships. It was true that his warriors only had to cross some fifty feet of water, from the north bank of the Cottica to the sides of the ships, to attack them, but the high tumblehome hulls of the Walvis and Vreedom would be difficult to assault from the low-slung canoes. The Eikhoorn was a more manageable target, but it, like the larger ships, had boarding nets out. For that matter, their decks were packed with Coromantee, Eboe, Mandinka and Arawak warriors, and there were musketeers in the rigging.

Where are the Ndongo? he wondered.

He got his answer. The Atlantic Ocean, the Paramaribo River, and the Cottica River formed a horizontally stretched C, facing east. The Ndongo had been hidden, screened by friendly Indians, far enough to the east to escape detection by the Imbangala's scouts. Once the Imbangala attacked the fetish hut, they surged westward, driving the Imbangala against the reinforced defenses of Fort Lincoln at the confluence of the Paramaribo and the Cottica.

Borguri was one of the last to fall. He had his back to a great tree trunk, and several Ndongo approached him. Borguri dared them to pick a champion to fight him, one on one. The Ndongo backed off slightly, and heatedly argued whether this challenge should be accepted and, if so, which had them had precedence.

At last Faye arrived, a Dutch cutlass in hand. "What is the problem here?" They explained.

"Young idiots," he muttered. They stiffened.

"Bowmen!"

At that, Bonguri charged. To no avail. The Ndongo danced back, taunting him and pricking him with their spears, and first one arrow and then another plunged into his body.

Borguri sank to the ground. Faye moved forward, and swung his cutlass, finishing him off. "This is real life, not a song," he admonished the spearmen. "Defeat your enemy at the least cost to yourself." He made a final sweep, beheading Borguri.

Akan village, Paranam

"Kojo, months ago, we spoke of what must be done to recover your children."

"I remember, Maria. At home, I had gold. I was an obirempon, a holder of an elephant's tail." It was the Akan way of saying that he was a gold mining tycoon. "Here, I am but a leaf in the forest. How will I ever be able to buy back my children?"

"There is a way of getting gold from streams, rather than by digging holes in the ground. My friend from America, Lolly, calls it 'panning.' You take a shallow dish-"

"You need not explain this 'panning,' Maria. All the women and children of the Asante know how to gather the flecks of gold which the River God has scattered amidst the gravel."

"And do you know how to do this?"

"Of course. I was a child once. And I watched my wife teach our children, and saw my Mansa find her first nugget."

"Well, I wish I could just give you the gold you need, but I can't. But I have consulted our oracles"-that was how the Africans interpreted her references to encyclopedia articles-"and learned that there is river gold in this land." She started drawing in the sand. "This is our river, the Suriname. " She added two more sinuous curves. "And the Saramacca to our west, and the Marowijne to the east.

"Upriver, the Marowijne forks like so." She drew in the Tapanahoni and the Lawa, and then added an "X" at the location of the up-time town of Cottica. She twirled her finger around it. "Here, somewhere, there is gold."

Maria then swept her hand over the upper Suriname and Saramacca. "Here, too, but I can't be more specific."

"How do I get to these places? How long is the journey? How friendly are the Indians?"

"You will need to go by canoe. Tetube said that she can guide you. And Coqui said he will go, too, he is bored." Maria suspected that Coqui's offer had less to do with boredom than with the chance to get to know Tetube better.

"We Akan usually don't mine gold alone. It's most often a family enterprise. I will see if any of my people want to come along."

Maria grimaced. "I must ask you not to. I want this kept a secret. I don't want all the Gustavans running off to look for gold when they should be farming to keep themselves fed."

He cocked his head. "Then aren't you worried about what will happen if I come back with gold?"

"A little. But I thought I could cover it up. Henrique is an honest man, and knows how to keep a secret. He goes to Havana, he finds and buys your children, and comes back here with them. All the Spanish need know is that he has gold, not how he got it."

Fort Lincoln, Suriname

"Getting the colonists to follow orders without griping was hard enough. But if every plan you make has to be presented to every kinglet in this Little Africa you have created, in some kind of grand palaver, you will go insane before the rains return," said David.

"What do you suggest I do?" asked Carsten.

"Get the chiefs together and tell them that you want them to meet and pick a paramount chief. Someone to represent them on all save the most important matters."

"Right, I'll do that."

The chiefs had been huddled in the great ceremonial hut for twelve hours straight. Carsten had told them a few hours earlier that none of them would be leaving it until they picked the chief of chiefs.