Pieces of Eight

by Deborah Chester

  “Assume disguise mode.”

  It did not respond.

  He sighed, realizing that its molecular shift capability had been lost. He should have known that last night when he was using the LOC in full view of everyone and the LOC made no effort to disguise itself or to prevent him from utilizing technological terms that its programming was supposed to eliminate from the translator.

  Perhaps he had finally succeeded in changing history irrevocably. Perhaps the time stream had closed, and the changes had become permanent. Perhaps his future was already gone, and the LOC’s disintegration was indicative of that situation. Perhaps he himself would next begin to fade.

  He no longer knew what to expect.

  Grasping a tangle of rigging half-buried in the sand, he tugged it free and rolled it aside. He found a sea chest beneath it, lying upside down, its contents gone.

  Wiping his face with a hand that smelled fishy and damp, Noel went on.

  Some of the articles of clothing near the water proved to be people. He tugged them out—three Africans and a pirate with no ears and a string of perfectly matched pearls around his neck. All four were dead. Noel took off the pearls and tucked them in his pants pocket. He didn’t like looting the dead, but the pearls might prove useful in bartering for food later on. Straightening, he glanced yet again at the merciless sun. He would have to dig graves soon.

  Wearily he staggered on, following the curve of the beach.

  A massive sea turtle crawled over the hot sand ahead of him, making her ponderous way back to the sea. He left her alone but tracked her path to the nest of freshly laid eggs that she’d left in the sand. His stomach rumbled with hunger. He’d have to think of feeding himself soon. But turtle eggs weren’t his idea of lunch.

  To his left, something rustled in the jungle. Noel stared in that direction, but he saw nothing unusual among the thick undergrowth of shrubs and ferns. Ahead, and a bit inland, he could see the mangrove swamp that he’d blundered into…was it only last night?

  Remembering the bats that had attacked him, he shivered. Although he’d been inoculated against all sorts of ancient diseases—such as rabies—being bitten had proven a nasty experience he didn’t want to repeat. Noel hoped Baba Mondoun had drowned.

  Turning to reverse his steps, Noel heard the rustle again. He stopped and listened to the wind rustling the palms. Bird calls, the soft burble of surf…nothing else. Yet he had heard something.

  Now he felt the sensation of someone staring at him. His first instinct, as always, was to confront it. But Mondoun had made him cautious.

  He glanced around and picked up a piece of driftwood. Although he’d prefer a real weapon, a club was better than nothing.

  “Skulking in the bushes, picking up sand fleas won’t help you,” he called out, hoping his voice sounded confident. “You might as well come out.”

  Nothing.

  Noel grimaced to himself. On impulse he hurled the driftwood into the bushes where he’d last heard the noise. A head—dark-skinned and unfamiliar—popped up, then vanished. He saw the ripple of undergrowth and ran at it, scooping up another stick on the way. A corner of his mind was warning him that this could be another trap to lure him into the jungle, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let himself be spooked by spies and strange noises.

  Whoever it was didn’t move very quickly. Hoping it was Mondoun, Noel gained easily. He made a flying tackle through a huge fern and knocked his quarry down, only to realize he’d caught a boy, not the bocor. Surprised, Noel let go. The other scrambled hurriedly into the thicket, giving Noel a glimpse of a skinny ankle rubbed raw by an iron shackle.

  Picking himself up with a weary groan, Noel pursued his quarry again and caught him within a few steps. He dragged him out, shaking him just in case he had thoughts of putting up a fight.

  The boy, however, was spent. Trembling with fatigue, he lifted his scarred face to Noel’s in silent entreaty. It was Kona Masi, the boy predicted to lead a slave uprising some day.

  Noel’s harsh grip gentled. He knelt by the panting boy and tried a smile.

  “Hey, easy,” he said while Kona gulped for breath. “Sorry I chased you. I didn’t know who was spying on me.”

  The boy seemed to understand, for after a moment the thin shoulders relaxed. Kona looked less frightened and more resigned.

  “Not spying,” he said, his African accent soft and slurred. “Afraid. Hungry. Not enemy. Not fight.”

  “Sure,” Noel said with another smile. “No fight. I’m looking for survivors. You want to help?”

  “Leg hurt.”

  Noel was sure it did. The heavy shackle had made a horrible sore on the boy’s ankle. The flesh was red and puffy with infection. Noel frowned with quick anger. Kona was a good-looking boy; his eyes were intelligent. Despite fear, being covered in filth, and the starvation that had worn him down to skin and bones, the abuse from his captors had not entirely broken his spirit. He still carried himself with pride. Perhaps he had been a prince in his own tribe. But even if he had been a goat herder, no one had the right to abduct him from his home and family and carry him off into slavery.

  “Let’s see what we can do for this,” Noel said. “Come on.”

  Reluctantly the boy limped after him. Noel made him stand in the surf, figuring the salt water would clean the wound better than anything else available. He tore off his pants leg to the knee and gently bandaged Kona’s ankle. The boy winced but made no protest.

  “That will help protect the wound until we can get this damned shackle off,” Noel said. “It will still hurt, I’m afraid, but at least it won’t get worse.”

  The taut set of Kona’s mouth eased fractionally. “Is better.”

  Noel smiled. “Well, come on then. If I found you alive, maybe someone else survived too.”

  But Kona stood where he was and did not follow. Noel glanced back at him impatiently and gestured. Kona did not move.

  “Last night, you saved me. You saved others.”

  “Yeah, I did,” Noel agreed. “Come on.”

  “Now you are kind. Is Kona your slave now?”

  “No, you’re not my slave,” Noel said shortly.

  Kona’s eyes grew fierce. “Is smart to help slave. Keep property alive and strong. Property more valuable then.”

  Noel swung around to face him. “Look, kid, I don’t own people.”

  “You are poor man?”

  “No, I’m not poor. I don’t believe people should own other people. You are valuable to yourself. I am valuable to myself. I didn’t save you because I own some sugar cane plantation around here and need workers. I saved you because you needed help. I hope you would do the same for me if things were reversed.”

  “You are white bwana. You are not slave.”

  Bitterness caught Noel in the throat. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’m free as a bird. Only I’m stuck here on this little piece of sand the same as you, with no food in my gut and no way to get off the island.”

  He swung around and started walking. After a few moments, the jingle of the ring bolt on Kona’s shackle told him the boy was following. Noel slowed his pace and let Kona catch up.

  “If you get off island,” Kona said after a few moments, “where will you go?”

  Noel’s stride faltered. That was a very good question. What was he striving for? With his LOC malfunctioning so much it probably couldn’t yank him through to another time again, what was the difference between this island and another?

  “Exiled in paradise,” he said aloud, gazing around at the blue waters and the white sand. “Other than the bats, this place isn’t so bad.”

  Kona’s thin face was so serious, Noel decided to forget about his own problems. “What about you?” he asked. “If you could go anywhere, where would it be?”

  Kona blinked as though the notion was new to him. After a long, thoughtful pause, he said slowly, “The gods have made a world that is very wide. I cannot choose.”

  “How about home?” Noel asked so
ftly.

  “Home?” Kona’s face contorted with anger. He said some­thing untranslatable and spat. “To be slave again in the kraal of my enemies? To wear scars of shame and crawl in dust? No home. No!”

  Noel raised his brows in surprise. He’d almost forgotten that in the past some African tribes made slaves of others. Man’s inhumanity to man wasn’t limited to race.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “I am hungry,” Kona answered. “Let us hunt.”

  They took a break and ate juicy mangoes and the weird breadfruit that Noel didn’t care for much. Although the juice had slaked his thirst somewhat, he knew that sooner or later they were going to have to enter the jungle and go to the spring. He dreaded venturing very far into the shadowy trees, however, and put it off.

  “I’m going to walk on around the beach.”

  “Now you will hunt people?”

  “That’s right.”

  Kona shrugged. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like surprises.”

  “Enemies?”

  “Maybe. You remember Baba Mondoun?”

  Kona shook his head.

  “The bocor,” Noel said.

  Fear flickered in Kona’s face. He made a swift gesture to ward off evil.

  “That’s the one,” Noel said. “I don’t know if he’s on this island or not, but I’d hate to bet that he went down with the ship. You stay here and collect coconuts and fruit. Don’t go into the jungle. If Mondoun shows up, yell.”

  Kona said nothing. His eyes, however, darted nervously.

  Noel started to walk away, and Kona gripped his arm.

  “Do not go!”

  “I’ll be back,” Noel promised, disengaging gently. “I have to look for someone.”

  “When you seek enemies, you have good chance of finding them. Then you must fight them. Then you have trouble.”

  “I’m not looking for my enemy,” Noel replied in a quiet voice. “I’m looking for…my brother.”

  He turned sharply and strode away, his jaw set and his eyes fierce with emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge. Dammit, what was wrong with him that he should be so upset over Leon, who shouldn’t even exist anyway? He ought to be rejoicing. It was a relief to be rid of his troublemaking duplicate at last.

  Only, he wished Leon hadn’t saved his life at the end. He felt guilty; he felt grateful. He didn’t enjoy either emotion.

  The west side of the island was rockier, with less of a beach. Cloth fluttered in the breeze, claiming his attention, and he quickened his pace. It was a flag, fashioned from a while linen handkerchief and a stick.

  Noel turned around, scanning the beach and rocks. “Hello!” he called. “Hello!”

  Gold hair flashed in the sun, and Noel caught a glimpse of blue clothing. He headed into the rocks, climbing over shale and boulders in a scramble that brought him to a shallow recess in the rock face. It was shady here, damp and cool.

  Neddie, gasping for breath, his face white with fear, crouched beside Lady Mountleigh. Her pale hair hung in limp hanks around her face. She had a purple bruise on one temple, and she looked unconscious.

  “Please help us, sir,” Neddie said in anguish. “Please have pity, sir, and don’t kill us.”

  “I won’t kill you,” Noel told him. “I’m not a pirate.”

  The boy’s blue eyes dropped. A blush tinged his pale cheeks, and Noel saw him swallow convulsively. He gripped his mother’s hand and said in a shaking voice, “I think she will die.”

  Noel crouched beside him. “Let’s see. Move aside and give me room.”

  “Don’t hurt her!”

  Noel met the child’s anxious eyes. He reminded himself that Neddie was only seven and had been through quite a shock.

  “I won’t,” Noel said. “But I need to check to see if she has any water in her lungs or if there are bones broken.”

  “She cast up a fearsome mess of salt water hours ago,” Neddie said. “I was sick too.”

  Noel smiled. “Good.”

  Ignoring the boy’s chatter, he felt the woman’s clammy limbs as gently as he could and listened to her breathing. It looked like the worst injury she’d suffered was the blow to her head.

  He scooped Lady Mountleigh up in his arms. She was short but plump. He staggered a bit under her weight, hampered by her voluminous skirts, and picked his way carefully down through the rocks.

  “Where are you taking her?” Neddie asked, skipping beside him. “Are there others alive? We don’t want to be prisoners of the pirates again.”

  “I haven’t seen any pirates,” Noel said, puffing for breath already. His arms ached, and his knees felt rubbery. Having swallowed half the ocean last night, plus all the other ordeals he’d been through, left him in poor shape to be a hero. She weighed a ton, and was getting heavier all the time.

  “Have you a pistol?” Neddie asked. “Have you a sword?”

  “No.”

  “We must prepare a defense point. Perhaps we can salvage the guns from the ship. I can see the wreck out there. It wouldn’t be far to swim.”

  Noel blinked sweat from his eyes. “Forget it.”

  “No. I’m an excellent swimmer,” Neddie persisted. “The pirates will come back for their booty. We must defend ourselves and the women.”

  Hope rose sharply in Noel. “Lady Pamela is all right?”

  Neddie’s face fell. “I—I haven’t seen her, in truth. I was speaking in general. There is Mama, after all.”

  Noel stubbed his toe on something and swore under his breath. His head was roaring. He wheezed for air and abruptly sank to his knees.

  “Why are you stopping?” Neddie asked. “Your face is red. Are you tired? How far do you mean to carry her? She can’t be left in the sun. It makes her head ache and will burn her skin.”

  “For God’s sake,” Noel said in exasperation, catching his breath, “will you be quiet?”

  There was a moment of injured silence while Neddie’s face grew pinched and resentful. “You must not speak to me in that manner,” he said in a haughty tone. “You are addressing your superior. You must give me respect.”

  “You have to earn respect, boy.”

  “I’m a Sinclair. I’m a gentleman. You’re just a—”

  Noel gripped the boy’s wrist and shook him. “You can have your tantrums later. Right now your mother needs help. I can’t carry her all the way around the beach, so we’re going to have to build a shelter over her. Go gather all the palm fronds you can find that have been blown off the trees.”

  Neddie wrenched free. He turned red with anger, and his lip jutted out. “How dare you give me orders? You gather them. I am going to stay with Mama and protect her.”

  “Look, brat,” Noel began. “You—”

  “Bwana!” Kona called, limping hurriedly in his direction.

  Neddie saw him and gasped. He gave Noel a shove and stood next to his mother, holding a piece of driftwood as a weapon.

  “Relax,” Noel said. “Kona’s on our side.”

  “I shan’t let that savage near my mother!”

  “Bwana,” Kona said, limping up. “All is well?”

  “Yes,” Noel replied.

  Neddie poked Kona with the stick. “Get away!”

  Noel’s temper snapped. He turned on the child and grabbed the stick. Breaking it across his knee, Noel flung the pieces away.

  “Listen to me, you hypocritical little brat. Kona is not a savage. You won’t treat him like one. You got that?”

  Neddie’s lip was jutting out again. It quivered. “You can’t talk to me like that. My father will punish you.”

  “Your father’s not here. Now if you want us to help you and your mother, you had better start mending your manners.”

  Neddie gulped. His blue eyes filled with tears, but he wouldn’t let them fall. “I know how to deal with servants. Papa says one must be firm.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Noel curbed the urge to give Neddie a spanking. “Well, try this on for size. Kona and I aren�
�t servants.”

  “Yes, of course you are.”

  “Nope. More specifically, we aren’t your servants.”

  “But—”

  “Get this. We’ll help you because we’re nice guys and your mother is hurt. But we don’t have to lift a finger on your behalf. And if you give me one more order in that snotty tone of yours, I’ll smack your backside quicker than you can turn around.”

  Neddie’s eyes widened. “You—you would strike me?”

  “Yes, I would,” Noel replied firmly. “Now you and Kona are going to build a shelter to give your mother some shade. Is that okay, Kona?”

  The African nodded. “Is this woman very hurt?”

  “I don’t know yet. I think she hit her head pretty hard. She probably has a concussion. She’s too heavy to carry any farther, so we’ll just have to take care of her here.”

  “The ground is dry here. But the sun is very hot.”

  Noel tried to hang on to his patience. They were both children, after all, although Kona was twice Neddie’s size. Neddie sniffled and rubbed his eyes, and Noel sighed.

  Without another word, he went off to gather the poles and the palm fronds. Kona watched him for a few minutes, then took over the actual construction.

  Noel thanked him. “Can you babysit for a while?”

  Kona frowned. “Babee?”

  “Babysit. Watch the kid and his mom. He’s probably hungry too.”

  “Why does he not go and hunt to feed his mother?”

  “Because no one has taught him how. He’s not been raised like you, Kona. He’s pretty helpless.”

  “Babee,” Kona said smugly, lifting his chin.

  Noel bit back a smile. “That’s right.”

  “I will watch.”

  “Thanks. I won’t be long. I’ll search the beach to the western tip of the island, then I’ll come back.”

  Kona nodded, and Noel left with a sense of relief. Glancing back once, he saw that Neddie was watching Kona work like some kind of miniature lord surveying his kingdom, but at least the brat was quiet.

  Well past the point where he found Neddie and his mother, Noel saw a body, a woman lying facedown. Noel’s heart contracted. He ran to her and knelt.

  The brown hair was dry now. Tangled with strands of sea­weed and dusted with sand like glitter, the long strands stirred softly in the breeze. He touched it and felt its silken texture. Beneath it, the curve of her skull was solid and still. Too still. He knew before he rolled her over and looked at her white, lifeless face.