by Jill Barnett
The woman stopped and spun around like a top, hands planted on her sturdy hips. “Why? You never met the man. That’s what you ought to be sorry ‘bout.”
Lollie stood there a little dumbfounded, then tried to explain, “Well, I wish I had met him . . . uh, I mean, I’m sorry you are all alone now. You know, sorry he’s gone.”
“I ain’t all alone. Got fifteen young ones and thirty-eight children what call me Granny. Ain’t bloody likely I’d be alone, what with them to trip over. Blimey, every time I turn around, one of em’s tugging ‘n’ yanking on me like a bloody duchess wit the bellpull.”
Lollie laughed. Then realized she didn’t even know the woman’s name. “I’m Eulalie Grace LaRue, and you can call me Lollie. What’s your name?”
The woman stopped and slowly turned around. “Yer name is Lollie LaRue?”
She nodded.
The woman’s black eyes raked her from head to toe. “You should ‘ave shot the bloomin’ fool that named you fer a hootchy-kootchy dancer.” She shook her head, then answered, “Me name’s Oktu’bre, but call me Oku.”
“Where are we going, Oku?”
“To meet the bloomin’ king.”
“Oh.” Lollie stopped cold. “The king?”
“ ‘Course the king. Who’s you think ran the bloody village, a carabao? Not to worry yer ‘ead ‘bout it. ‘E’s just like any other man—farts ‘n’ belches the village down when ‘e ‘as a bloody bellyache.”
And speaking of men, Lollie remembered Sam. She turned around in time to see him being pulled along behind her by his horde of women. She whipped her head back around so he wouldn’t see her looking at him. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
Oku led her to a large circle to the left of the village. A group of natives stood in a ring, children staring in awe and the women whispering. The loud clash of a large gong split the air, and suddenly the natives parted, revealing a small three-walled hut with a stone bench. On the bench sat a native man, obviously the king.
Smoke streamed upward from a small black pipe he held in his red-stained teeth. A long black braid hung over a shoulder, and his entire torso was tattooed. Four necklaces of betel nut and crystal and lapis hung around his neck, and a cluster of red rooster feathers dangled from his long black braid. At his side a young boy stood fanning him with palm fronds. On his other side stood two guards, both with spears and long bolo knives.
As she approached, the king stood, and the sunlight caught a bit of shiny metal on his thigh. The man had the sharpest, most lethal-looking knife she’d ever seen strapped to his leg. In his hand was a small wooden disk stained a deep red. He whipped his hand up, and she jumped a little, but then realized that he’d thrown the disk.
Spinning, the disk slid down a string attached to his finger, and when it reached the end of the string it rolled right back up again. She’d never seen anything like it. The disk slid up and down the string as if by magic command. He gave the string a quick snap, and the disk flew back up into his hand. Her gaze moved upward. He stared at her, then took the pipe from his mouth and stuck the pipe stem in a dark scarred slit in his cheek.
Lollie knew she was staring open-mouthed, but she figured anyone would be surprised to see a man stick a smoking pipe through a slit in his cheek. He hadn’t even bothered to put it out, and now a small stream of white smoke drifted up from beside his dark ear.
Oku elbowed her, gesturing that Lollie should walk up to him. She took a deep breath and started toward him. Sam walked quickly by her, heading straight for the man. Lollie walked faster, churning her elbows. She didn’t want him to get there first.
Her bare foot hit a stone, and she hopped the last few feet, ignoring Sam’s snort of laughter. She stood before the king, barefoot, dressed in men’s clothing, her hair singed, but her pride intact. She held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The king looked at her hand, then held out the hand with the disk. “Yo-yo,” he said.
She frowned, then repeated, “Yo-yo.”
“Yo-yo.” He nodded and smiled with those strange red teeth. Then he stared at her face and very slowly walked around her, pausing every so often to pat her hair, her shoulder, even her behind, which almost brought a squeal from her.
“Maybe they’re not headhunters . . . just cannibals,” Sam whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
At that exact moment Medusa flew overhead and soared downward to land on Lollie’s head. Then she hopped onto her shoulder. “I’m Medusa. I’m a mynah. Sam’s an ass.”
The natives started mumbling and pointing at Medusa, their expressions awed. Mojala said something to the king, and while they spoke Sam leaned down. “Maybe they’ll add that bird to the pot for flavoring. It’s salty enough.”
“They are not cannibals, Sam. Oku told me. You’re just trying to scare me.”
“Isn’t she one of them?”
Lollie nodded, handing Medusa a nut.
“And you believe her, huh?” Sam had a disbelieving look on his face.
She glared at him. The king had walked his full circle and now stood in front of them speaking to the villagers. She didn’t understand a word he said, but she understood the really foul word Sam muttered. She gasped and looked at him, but the king grabbed her in a big bear hug that lifted her clean off the ground. He carried her for a moment, then set her down, and in a flash, Oku was at her side.
“What’s going on?” she asked the woman over the shouts of the native crowd.
“The king has just adopted you as his daughter. He calls you the golden princess.”
“Me?” She pointed to her chest in surprise, then caught Sam’s look and couldn’t help but grin. “I’m a princess,” she told him, her nose a little higher in the air. “Royalty, not dinner.”
“Probably the royal dinner,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, and he made the mistake of leaning toward her. “Ouch!” He stepped back. “Damn bird almost bit me.
She ignored Sam and handed Medusa a treat. “Here, Medusa, eat the nut, not Sam.”
Crack! Chomp! Chomp! Chomp!
Sam turned his back to her and flinched at the noise. She opted for a glimpse of the king, her new father. He’d pulled the pipe from his cheek, and he puffed on it while he listened to the native girls talk to him. She stretched to try to figure out what they were talking about.
“Come along ‘ere.” Oku all but yanked Lollie’s arm out of its socket, then dragged her away from the group. “What’s going to happen to Sam?”
Oku stopped and looked at her. They both looked back at Sam. The girls had flocked around him again, touching him, giggling. One of them, a beautiful girl who was taller than the others, placed a ring of flowers on his head. He was grinning like a fool.
Lollie had a sudden urge to walk over and rip him away from all those petting female hands. She didn’t, though. What Sam did was no concern of hers. She stuck her chin up and turned around. Oku watched her, and she squirmed a little under the woman’s scrutiny. She had a sudden feeling that the older woman could read every thought in her head and her heart.
Sam watched Lollie leave with the old woman. The golden princess. Now they were in real trouble. The people of this tribe weren’t headhunters—he’d known that—but they weren’t overly friendly, either, especially to foreigners, thanks to the Spanish. They seemed friendly to Lollie, but only the women were pleasant to him. That Mojala fellow was talking to the king, but Sam couldn’t hear what they said. The way the man kept talking and then scowling at Sam, he figured something was up, something not in his favor.
He glanced in Lollie’s direction. They were separated, and that was not a good thing, especially if they need to get out of there fast. The golden princess, he mentally repeated, rubbing his stubbled chin. The tribe was superstitious. That could work in his favor. His hand drifted to his shirt pocket, and he felt for the bulge of his pouch. It was still there and probably just the thing to get them out of this mess. He gave the pocket a quick pat, his insuranc
e. Sam had the perfect plan.
Lollie followed Oku up a bamboo ladder and onto a porch that ran around the outside of a hut. From the low eaves hung baskets filled with mangoes, papayas, bananas, breadfruit, and more. The baskets on the end held chickens, complete with nests.
She shoved open a bamboo and thatch door, and Lollie followed her inside, never expecting what she found. The interior of the dark hut was dimly lit with a lamp made from a large, oval seashell with a hemp wick. Oku moved from lamp to lamp, lighting five more just like it until the dark hut was as bright as morning. Lollie slowly turned, staring in amazement at the things inside, things she’d never have expected to see in a native hut.
Victorian clutter covered every bamboo wall of the hut. Giant brass urns as big as Oku herself, filled with sea-colored peacock feathers, stood like plumed guards near the door. A huge English oak sideboard with three beveled mirrors ran a good ten feet down the left wall and atop its polished surface were silver serving pieces, including tureens and a full tea service. They sat polished and gleaming in resplendence in the crude hut.
A rosewood sofa and chair upholstered in deep rose tapestry sat nearby, and a marble-topped spindle table held a painted dolphin lamp with a mushroom bubble shade in red glass that had multicolored prisms dangling from its rim. Six-inch gold fringe hung from a crimson table scarf that covered another square table on which were arranged at least twenty clocks.
Lollie walked over to them. There was a brass steeple clock, a French carriage clock with pictures of Napoleon painted on its sides, a clock of metal shaped like a cannon with the clock face serving as a cannon’s wheel, and numerous German porcelain clocks of various sizes. Every clock on the table was set for a different time. Suddenly the most unusual clock began to chime, playing “Greensleeves” while its top moved. The piece itself was shaped like a black enamel cylinder with gold leaf and mother-of-pearl inlays. Its top was brass, finely wrought, and in the center was a golden brass sun. Revolving slowly around the sun was a replica of the earth, and as the top moved, a small moon also revolved around the earth. It was the most delightful thing she’d ever seen. That clock finished, and another started playing “Auld Lang Syne.”
“These are wonderful,” Lollie said.
Oku smiled and joined her. As one clock finished, another would start, and they watched them all perform. When the last clock gonged, Oku took Lollie’s hand and led her past a huge draped bed to a painted screen. She folded it back, and there was the most wonderful thing Lollie had seen in weeks.
“A bathtub!” Lollie turned toward the older woman, ready to beg. She’d have killed for bath.
“You going to stand ‘ere gawking like Ben or are you going to take off them bloody rags?”
It took Lollie twenty seconds to strip, two hours to soak and bathe and cool down, half an hour to dress in the native garments Oku gave her, and five seconds to find out that Sam was going to die.
Chapter 26
Sam’s perfect plan had failed. He tried to jerk his wrists free of the thick hemp ropes. No luck. He strained his feet, too, trying to loosen the ankle bindings, but they were as tight as the ones that bound his hands around the bamboo pole behind him.
He glanced at the group of native guards huddled on his right. Mojala stood in the middle, bragging and holding up Sam’s glass eye. It had worked before, when he’d been in Africa. He’d managed to convince some Matabele tribal warriors that he was a god by removing his eye and tossing it around like a ball. It didn’t work this time.
That damn Mojala had started ranting and raving, and the next thing Sam knew he was dragged from the king’s hut, tied to this bamboo pole, and his eye was in Mojala’s thieving hands.
“Sam!” Lollie ran toward him. “Oh, Sam!” She slammed into him, driving the wind from his lungs. Her arms clamped like a vise around him, and she babbled into his chest. “They’re gonna kill you!”
“I gathered that much from the contraption they’re building over there.”
Lollie leaned around him and looked at a group of men who were building what Sam figured to be a catapult of some sort.
“Looks like they’re going to fling me out over the gorge. It’s a long drop.” He whistled again as he’d done when he wanted to irk her earlier, at the bridge. He’d never thought he’d be the splat.
She stepped back. “How can you joke about this? It’s not funny!”
“Yeah, but I’ll die laughing.” He tried for a wry smile, but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded when he saw her face. She looked as if she was about to cry. Her head was down, and she took little quivering breaths. He could tell she was having a hard time.
“I was just thinkin’ . . .”
Yes, he thought, that would give her a hard time.
“It’s my fault you’re here.” She looked up at him. “I’ve been a lot of trouble to you for these last weeks, haven’t I?”
“I haven’t been bored.” He smiled a little, looking at her bowed head.
“I wish . . .” She stopped and raised her head, her expression suddenly changed from defeat to something more . . . inspirational.
He could almost smell the smoke.
She scanned the village, then looked at the king’s throne. “Where’s the king?”
“Your new daddy?”
“Seriously, Sam, where is he?”
“In that big hut over there.” Sam nodded at it.
“I’ll be right back,” she said and started for the hut, but she stopped suddenly, then turned back and came close to him. She placed her hand on his chest and looked up at him, an almost pained expression of pure determination on her small face. “You’re not gonna die.” Then she spun around, stuck her chin up high enough to drown if it rained, and marched toward the king’s hut like a conquering general.
Sam watched her head for the hut. She intended to save him by speaking her mind—no doubt a short talk. He struggled and pulled at his wrist bindings. They didn’t give. He looked at the catapult and came to one conclusion: he was going to die.
Lollie took one deep breath and marched into the king’s hut. It was huge and long and filled with people. The king sat in a large woven chair decorated with red feathers and shells and the like. The moment they realized she was there the noise subsided, and the natives who stood between her and the king parted.
Trying to act as if she wasn’t the least bit intimidated, she walked toward him. He watched her every step, and when she stopped in front of him he sat there, waiting.
“Yo-yo,” she said, figuring she should at least greet him like before.
He looked at her, then reached over to the table next to him and grabbed that wooden disk. He held it in his open palm and nodded. “Yo-yo.”
There was a ruckus behind her, and she could feel someone else’s presence. Oku stood next to her.
“What in the bloody ‘ell do you think yer doing?”
“Saving Sam,” she whispered. “‘Ow?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but please tell the king that Sam’s not evil.”
Oku spoke, but before she finished, Mojala moved to the king and said something. Then he held out his hand and showed something to the king.
“Sam’s eye!” Lollie turned to Oku. “He’s got Sam’s eye.”
Oku gave her a look that said she thought Lollie was crazy.
“His glass eye,” she explained. “Get it back.”
Oku spoke, and Mojala argued. The king just sat there.
Lollie elbowed Oku in the ribs. “Forget about the eye for now. Tell them they can’t hurt Sam. He’s my friend.”
Oku spoke, and gasps filled the room. Then everyone began to whisper. Mojala looked mad enough to spit spears. The king raised his hand, and the room quieted.
Lollie had an uneasy feeling. “Do they always act so excited?”
“You want to save ‘im, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“I told ‘em ‘e was . . . uh . . . a little more than a friend.”
; “That’s all right. Anything to save him.”
“Anything?”
She nodded again.
“I told ‘em you wanted to share a bloomin’ blanket.”
Lollie looked at her a moment. “That’s all right. I’d share a blanket with him, or anything else I had. I owe him my life.”
“Lord luv a duck! I told ‘em you wanted ‘im for a mate. You know, like a bloody ‘usband.”
“Oh, my Gawd . . .” Then Lollie thought about it, after a moment smiled a devious little smile of success. “That’s okay, Oku. You did what you had to.” She tried not to look too happy.
Oku shrugged, but before Lollie could say anything, the king’s daughters had knelt at their father’s knees and were all talking at once.
“What’s happening?” Lollie whispered to Oku. “Them’s what want ‘im, too.”
The king stood, and the room was again silent. He made some kind of announcement, touching each daughter’s head. Then he walked to Lollie and touched hers. The people cheered, and many of them left.
“Oku? What’s going on? Did I get him?”
“Not ‘xactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?”
“You ‘ave to win ‘im.”
“Win him? How?”
“Games.”
Games?
“Go thank ‘im.” Oku nodded toward the king, who looked at Lollie expectantly.
“How do I say thank you?”
“Salamat.”
Lollie walked up to the king and bowed her head. “Sallee-mot,” she said, then raised her head, only to be greeted by a red-toothed smile. She decided to ensure her thanks and whispered, “Yo-yo.” And then she backed away.
He frowned at her and raised the wooden disk, letting it slid down the string again. “Yo-yo,” he said with a nod.
Oku grabbed Lollie’s arm and pulled her out of the hut, telling her the games would start at noon, only an hour away.
For the past hour Sam had been rubbing the ropes against a joint on the bamboo pole. It had taken him only a few minutes to decide that leaving his fate in the hands of Lollie LaRue was the equivalent of committing suicide. He knew the only way for him to get free was to do it himself. It was then that he’d discovered the rough spot on the joint of the pole. He’d pulled the hemp rope as taut as he could and slowly, with hard force, rubbed it over and over the spot. Slowly but surely the rough threads of hemp gave way.
