1636: Seas of Fortune (25 page)

Kojo sat in front of Antoa, his body hiding his actions from the rest of the villagers. He pulled out a pouch, and carefully shook out the contents. Several nuggets of gold came to rest on his outstretched palm; the largest was the size of his thumbnail. “See? I found enough of these to pay for the release of my children from the Spanish. More than enough, actually.”

Antoa licked his lips. The Ashanti were gold miners and warriors, not farmers. “And was there more?”

“I am sure there’s more. Much more. I could smell it.”

* * *

Antoa was thinking, once again, about Kojo’s gold. Antoa had promised not to tell anyone else about it. No, he remembered, he had promised to do nothing to offend Maria, the seeress. Well, then what was wrong with telling the other Ashanti, and looking for gold themselves? If she were a seeress, then she would know that they were going to do that, wouldn’t she? And she couldn’t take offense at something that was fated to happen.

With this exercise in sophistry completed, at least to his own satisfaction, he went off in search of his hunting partner, Owisu.

Beginning of Long Rainy Season (April to July) of Suriname, 1636,

Near modern Paranam, Suriname

Heinrich Bender set down his shovel with a grunt of relief, and turned to his fellow bauxite miner, Erasmus Stein. “It’s getting late. Where are the Ashanti?”

Erasmus shrugged. “Perhaps it’s some religious thing.”

“Wouldn’t they have told us in advance?”

Erasmus swung his pick, not bothering to answer.

Perhaps an hour later, Kojo arrived.

Heinrich waved. “Where are your buddies, Kojo? We could use some help!”

“I am sorry, my friend,” said Kojo. “They are gone.”

“Gone, why?”

“When a drum has a drumhead, one does not beat the wooden sides,” he said mysteriously.

Heinrich took a moment to think this through. “They found a better occupation than mining?”

“Better than bauxite mining,” Kojo admitted.

“Better than—they found gold? Where? When?”

“They didn’t find it, I did. Where Maria told me to look.”

Erasmus raised his head so abruptly that Heinrich thought it was a wonder it didn’t fly off.

Kojo ignored him. “She is going to be very angry with me when she finds out I told them. But they are my kinfolk, I had no choice. And I had to tell you why they are gone, lest you think that something bad happened.”

“So why are you here, and not looking for more? Or spending what you’ve got?”

“I must wait for Henrique. He is to take me to Havana, so I can find and buy back my children.”

“So, uh . . . just what was it that Maria told you?”

Kojo hesitated.

Heinrich put his arm around Kojo. “When Maria said not to tell anyone, I am sure she meant strangers. You have known me since you came to this place. And I helped free you. It was I who unlocked your shackles on the slave ship.”

Those were the magic words; they unbound Kojo’s lips.

“She said . . . she said that it was near the dream-place Cottica, on the Marowijne. And she was right.”

“Dream-place, are you—oh.” Heinrich suddenly realized it was the best the Ashanti could do with the difficult concept of a town that would have come into existence in the up-timers’ old timeline, but didn’t exist now, and probably would never exist. The town was undoubtedly on the maps that were displayed in what passed in Gustavus for a city hall.

“Can you . . . can you show us what you found? And tell us where to find more?”

On the Marowijne, between modern Suriname and French Guiana

As the Ashanti ascended the Marowijne, they encountered several Indians, presumably Arawaks of some kind. The Indians were naturally alarmed to see such a large party, and black men were totally outside their experience. However, the Ashanti were able to trade for fresh food by dumb barter.

Perhaps ninety miles from where they had entered the Marowijne, the train of Ashanti canoes neared a place where two smaller streams came together to form the Marowijne they had been ascending. The right one was the Tapanahony, and the left, the Lawa.

Recalling Kojo’s instructions, Antoa gestured with his paddle toward the left branch. “That one.”

Just then, a pink-bellied river dolphin leaped into the air, crossing their path, and landing with a great splash.

All the canoes came to an abrupt halt so that the Ashanti could decide whether this was a good omen or a bad one. While dolphins could be seen off the Gold Coast, the Ashanti country began a good fifty miles inland, and their band knew no old tales about them.

After some minutes of fruitless discussion, they decided to make an offering to Tano, the God of Rivers, and keep going.

Soon thereafter, a small Ashanti hunting party came across a lone Indian. He proved brave enough, or foolhardy enough, to come close enough to talk. The Ashanti knew something of the language of the Arawak Indians who lived near the Suriname and Commewijne rivers, and that was good enough. The Indian confirmed that one could find what he called “tears of the Sun” in the creeks that fed into the Lawa, especially after a hard rain, and he agreed to guide them in return for a glass bauble that Antoa offered him.

The Indian also told them that the river dolphins were shapeshifters, who delighted in seducing humans of the opposite sex. Worse, if the object of their attention was married, they could imitate the appearance of the spouse. Leading, he told the Ashanti, to conversations along the lines of, “Again? Didn’t you get enough this afternoon? What do you mean this afternoon, I was out fishing all day!”

The Ashanti agreed that for the next few nights, until they were well away from the river junction, no one, man or woman, should be left alone.

Gustavus

Heinrich Bender heaved another bag of provisions into the canoe. Last one, he thought with relief. Now where’s Erasmus? The sun’s only a couple of handwidths above the horizon.

But the person who next greeted him was someone other than Erasmus. Someone quite unwelcome, in fact.

“Where’s the party?” asked the dock guard, Nikolaus.

Heinrich made a vague wave in the general direction of Fort Lincoln. “Just a private party in New Carthage.” That was the local name for the Africans’ market town, at the confluence of the Suriname and Commewijne rivers, and it was of course Maurício’s fault. At least he had failed to convince the colonists to call it
Carthago Nova
.

Erasmus ran up. “I bought us another shovel, and—” Erasmus suddenly noticed Nikolaus.

“Going to do the shovel dance at the party, huh, Erasmus?” said Nikolaus.

“None of your goddamn business, Nikolaus!”

“Oh really, Erasmus. You’ve been here less than a year, didn’t even fight the Imbangala, and you think you can tell me what questions I can ask. Well, I’m the Dock Guard”—his voice capitalized the words—“and I think you’re behaving suspiciously. I can ask all the questions I please.”

“Take it easy, Nikolaus,” said Heinrich. “I came here on the first ship, so I have seniority over you.”

“So you do, but I need to know that you aren’t off to bury a body somewhere. In fact—”

He blew a whistle. “I have called for reinforcements.”

Two more guards arrived, seeming pleased by the break in routine.

“Okay, let’s see what’s in the canoe,” Nikolaus ordered. Heinrich and Erasmus slowly laid the contents out.

“Two pans? You can’t share a pan?”

“It’s, it’s a hygiene thing,” Heinrich explained. Nikolaus’ sniff suggested that he was unimpressed by this explanation.

The solar disk was touching the ocean by the time they were told, “You’re free to go.”

Heinrich and Erasmus tossed their goods into the canoe, without worrying about being neat about it, and pushed off.

“I told you sneaking away was a dumb idea,” Heinrich whispered to Erasmus.

* * *

Nikolaus had been on duty the day that Kojo, Coqui and Tetube had returned, too. As he tried to fall asleep that night, he wondered again why Coqui and Tetube would have brought an African miner from the Gold Coast with them.

The next day, Nikolaus went looking for Kojo. And told him that the regulations of the colony required that all gold discoveries, including their amount and location, be reported to a duly appointed officer of the law, such as—he preened slightly—himself.

Kojo sighed, and made the report. “I expected this,” he admitted.

“Oh?”

“Under Ashanti law, all gold mining must be reported to the king. How much must I pay the governor?”

“Uh . . . I’m not sure,” Nikolaus back-pedaled. “What’s the royal cut back home?”

“One-third.”

“That sounds reasonable, but I will have to ask the governor. Be patient, and I’ll let you know.”

“Take your time,” urged Kojo. “There’s no rush.”

* * *

“This paddling is more work than mining was,” Erasmus complained. “I wish we could use a sail.” The wind was then blowing from the east, and would have made eastward progress impossible even with a sail far more sophisticated than that of their canoe.

Heinrich snorted. “So do I, Erasmus, so do I. But be thankful that we are paddling against the puny current of the Cottica, not the great ocean current off the coast of Suriname.” The Cottica was a tributary of the Commewijne. In one of the monthly lectures that she gave for the entertainment and edification of the colonists, Maria had mentioned that according to up-time encyclopedias, in the flood season, you could cross over from the Cottica to a tributary of the Marowijne, and follow that down to the latter. Which was a good thing, because the entrance of the Marowijne was pretty dangerous. Not just because of the Caribs, but also because of rocks and odd currents.

* * *

Some days later, Heinrich and Erasmus were in the swamp, really a seasonally drowned forest, which bridged the two river systems. Heinrich and Erasmus felt pretty much drowned themselves, having just gone through a downpour that felt like sitting under a waterfall. But the sun had come out, and they were drying out gradually, with a renewed appreciation of why the natives didn’t bother much with clothing.

Now, birds were chirping . . . and Erasmus was cursing. “I always thought Hell was all fiery and red, but now I know it’s watery and green.” He had just pulled on his oar and struck some obstruction, a submerged log or tree root, and the impact had jarred him badly.

“It grows on you,” said Heinrich, giving Erasmus only a fraction of his attention. He was trying to read the primitive compass he had brought along. “And don’t jostle me, damn it; if I drop this compass in the muck, we’ll never find our way out.” He waited for the needle to steady.

“Okay, we’re still bearing east . . .” Heinrich picked up his own paddle. Soon it was his turn to complain. The waters were even shallower now, and it seemed as though they were hitting an underwater obstruction every few strokes.

Some monkeys howled overhead.

“Shut up!” Erasmus yelled at them. In response, they bombarded him with clots of shit. Erasmus grabbed his musket and tried to sight on them, but it was hopeless. They were well hidden in the green canopy above the colonists.

“I wish I could climb after the little buggers and throttle them. In fact, I wish we could just swing through the trees like them and not have to paddle at all . . .”

“Not have to paddle . . .” Heinrich repeated. “Put down your paddle, Erasmus, and try this.” He reached up and pulled on a stout liana hanging in front of him, pulling the boat forward. After a moment, Erasmus imitated him. There was no lack of vines to choose from. It was slow, but it was easier on the anatomy.

Ashanti Village

“Hey, Kojo, we’d like a word with you.” The three colonists formed a triangle around him.

“What do you want?” His eyes measured the gap between them, and the distance to where he had set down his machete.

“We’d like to see this gold you found.”

He shook his head vigorously. “Didn’t find gold.”

In the privacy of his thoughts, he groaned. Heinrich and Erasmus must have gossiped about it! After they promised to keep it secret, too!

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to take it from you. . . . But we want to see it.”

Kojo had an unpleasant vision of what they might do if he continued to stonewall. “I gave it to the governor. For safekeeping.” That was true.

“Shit!” said the shortest of the three. “He’s probably got it in the Company treasury-house.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said the tallest. “Now we’re sure that the story’s true; there’s gold to be found. So where’d you find it, Kojo?”

Kojo didn’t answer quickly enough, and “Shortie” punched him in the stomach. Kojo whooshed.

“He can’t talk if he can’t breathe,” admonished “The Tall One.”

The third man spoke up. “Listen, Kojo, we colonists freed you and your kinfolk from those slavers. You find gold, you have to tell us where you found it.”

Kojo started to explain.

“Fuck, this is too complicated,” said Shortie. “Why don’t we just take him with us? He can guide us every step of the way.”

The Tall One shrugged. “Sounds good to me, if you’re willing to guard him. Gag and hogtie him for tonight. Tomorrow we’ll hide him under a tarp, and paddle down to the Marowijne.”

Soon Kojo was tied to a tree, with only his thoughts to keep him company.
The spirits have punished me for disobeying Maria. I shouldn’t have told Antoa. I shouldn’t have spoken to Heinrich. I shouldn’t have believed that guard who said that the law required that I report any gold finds.

* * *

Tetube pointed at the canoe tied up a mile downriver of the Ashanti village. “Why would the Ashanti leave a canoe there? There are better places right by the village.” Tetube and Coqui had decided to visit Kojo.

“I don’t know,” whispered Coqui. “Perhaps someone wanted to surprise them.” He stopped paddling and grabbed his bow. He let the current carry them back downstream until the mystery canoe was out of sight around a bend. Then he put the bow down again, and brought their own canoe to the water’s edge.

“Stay in the canoe, keep a paddle in hand. I will check out what’s going on.” He grabbed his bow and machete.