Gertie Milk and the Great Keeper Rescue

by Simon Van Booy

  Then a girl came running to greet them.

  “This is my daughter, Ayokeh,” Sequoyah said. She was about Max’s age, and wore deerskin clothes with moccasin shoes. Her hair was long and black as a crow’s feathers.

  Ayokeh couldn’t hide her surprise. “How did he get here?”

  “He flew.” Sequoyah smiled, pointing up into the trees.

  Ayokeh looked at her father with a confused scowl.

  “Come, daughter, walk with Birdy and me through the village.”

  A moment later they arrived at the house where Sequoyah was staying. It was a rectangular hut made from hickory wood with clay walls.

  “What’s your house like, Birdy?”

  “Full of dead people,” Max said with a smirk.

  “A spirit lodge?”

  “Er, kinda.”

  Then Sequoyah interrupted. “Birdy, if you are hungry you can feast with us, on corn and deer meat—as an honored guest of Sequoyah of the Red Paint Clan.”

  “Anything’s better than beans,” Max said.

  “Where are you from, Birdy?” asked Ayokeh.

  “I’d rather not say because it might get you in trouble if you know too much about me.”

  “Are you some kind of outlaw?” asked Sequoyah. “I’ve known many in my time.”

  “I am actually,” Max admitted. “And though I haven’t broken any laws, there’s a price on my head.”

  Ayokeh looked at Max’s head closely, as though trying to see what he was worth to the people who wanted him. “You don’t seem that dangerous.” She shrugged.

  “Er, thanks,” Max said, looking around. “I’m not sure I can stay and eat, even though I want to. If someone captures me then they can turn me in to the sheriff for money, so I’m being hunted.”

  “How did you offend your people?” Sequoyah asked.

  “They’re not really my people,” Max said, “and I didn’t do anything. I left home so I wouldn’t put my family in danger, and I don’t want to put you in danger either, so I’d best be on my way.”

  Sequoyah thought for a moment. “It is clear to me that if we let harm come to you, then harm will also come to us. Let me talk with the White Chief and the Red Chief in the council house on the mound.”

  “In the meantime we’ll go to the river,” Ayokeh said, “and lay swan feathers for Big Brother Moon to see. This helps the corn!”

  As they were leaving the village, a few Cherokee warriors glared at Max with such fierceness Ayokeh had to say something quickly in her language. When the warriors had gone, Ayokeh tried to reassure her new friend.

  “Don’t worry, Birdy, my father will convince everyone that your arrival has meaning for us. They respect him because he has given his people the gift of a written memory through his syllabary.”

  “Thanks,” Max said. “I don’t want to be any trouble. I don’t like fighting and avoid it wherever I can.”

  Ayokeh was amused. “You sound like the spirit of Little Deer.”

  Max tried to imagine Little Deer, and wondered how humans can love animals while also eating their flesh. When they reached the gushing river, Max and Ayokeh stood at the edge, staring down at the cold, clear water.

  “Let’s try and find some feathers!”

  But Max wanted to know more about Little Deer.

  “Our stories are sung and danced to, Birdy, but I suppose I could try and explain what happens.”

  “I’ve only heard music through the windows of Tara’s Tavern,” Max said, “where people dance and get drunk.”

  “Our songs are gifts from the Great Spirit; they put us in harmony with ourselves and with nature. We have songs for journeys, homecoming, memory, love, war songs—even songs my father and I sing when we are away from each other.”

  “Will you teach me that one?”

  “It’s private,” Ayokeh said, “only for my father and me—but maybe we could have a song to mark the occasion of our meeting?”

  “Yes!” said Max.

  “But remember, Birdy—it’s not the song that’s important, but the feeling it gives you—that’s the true gift.”

  “Let’s make up a song. . . .”

  Ayokeh pushed him playfully. “Don’t you want to hear the story of Little Deer first?”

  Max nodded.

  Ayokeh made herself comfortable on the trunk of a fallen tree. “Long ago, the animal people and the human people could talk to each other. They lived in peace, and the humans only killed animals when they were hungry or for clothes to keep warm. But then, a new weapon came along that gave the animals less chance to run away or fight for their lives.”

  “A gun?”

  “No, Birdy,” laughed Ayokeh. “This is a very old story, before strangers came—the weapon was bow and arrow.”

  “Couldn’t the animals just run away?”

  Ayokeh shook her head. “The arrow was swift, and soon humans killed animals even when they did not need food or clothes. The animals got worried they would die out, and so called a meeting of the council of elders. There was buffalo, bear, beaver, rabbit, eagle, mountain lion, even field mouse. Every animal got the chance to have a say.”

  “So it wasn’t just the toughest, greediest animal telling everyone what to do?” Max said, thinking of Shard Pinch and how he had taken over the town of Morrisville.

  “No, that is not the Cherokee way; remember gadugi. Working together for the good of everyone around you.”

  “So what did the animals do?”

  “First they decided to try and learn how to use the bow and arrow themselves. But Bear’s claws got in the way, and Mouse’s tiny arrows couldn’t even pierce a blueberry. So, the animals felt lost and helpless, until Little Deer said that hunters had always killed animals for food and clothes. That was how it had always been, and it was natural. So the real problem was that now humans were doing it the wrong way. Little Deer explained that if humans wanted to kill animals, they should do it in the right way. Then all would be well. The animals asked Little Deer to describe the right way, and Little Deer said there should be a ceremony where the hunters first ask permission to kill the animals. Then, if they are granted this right by the Great Spirit and kill an animal on the hunt, they must show humility and ask forgiveness from the animal’s soul.”

  “That’s nice,” Max said, his mind going back to the cruel way people in the town often slaughtered animals, with no thought for the feelings of the poor creatures. “Did Little Deer’s plan work?”

  “Little Deer went to all the hunters that night and whispered in their ears the right way to kill, and that if they failed to follow these laws, Little Deer would use magic to cripple their limbs so they could not hunt. And that is why we ask forgiveness from any creature’s soul before we enjoy its meat, or wear its skin, and we only take what we need.”

  Max liked the story, but still felt sorry for the animals who had to die. “I guess I’d sooner stick with beans,” he admitted, “and let the animals live out their lives in the woods.”

  Ayokeh smiled. “I think that too sometimes. We’ll tell my father and see what he says. One of his favorite meals is bread and honey.”

  “You have a good life among the Cherokee,” Max said, thinking about his parents, wondering if they were in danger. But he needn’t have worried, for the worst, most violent outlaws and mercenaries who were hunting him had already entered the forest, and were beginning to surround the Cherokee village that was preparing for the Green Corn Ceremony.

  19

  Something Rather Awkward Happens . . .

  STABLE BOYS IN RED tights and pointy cloth shoes guided the woman down from her tired horse. She was short, with strong shoulders, a round face, and pale green eyes. The attendants helped remove her rabbit-painted breastplate armor.

  “Let me introduce myself as Isabetta,” the woman said. “Now, ple
ase, let’s go inside.”

  She led the three Keepers from the brick courtyard through spiked wooden doors into the Venetian palace that was her home.

  The air carried the aroma of wood smoke and cooking food. Isabetta’s servants wondered who these strangers were. Their staring made Gertie nervous, but she told herself it was ridiculous to be frightened of people dressed like characters from a deck of cards.

  They were led by their host across a red tile floor to some comfortable chairs near a warm fire.

  “They’ve got the right idea,” Kolt said. “This is just like home!”

  Gertie nodded, but hoped they would get moving soon. She wanted to eat quickly so they could start looking for the doctor.

  The woman’s blonde braids were studded with pearls, and all her hair had been shaved from the front part of her head, so that her forehead looked huge.

  “It was a fashion,” Kolt whispered. “The more forehead the more beautiful, apparently.”

  Suddenly they heard shouting. A boy’s voice echoed through the hall from one of the palace’s many chambers.

  “That’ll be my brother,” Isabetta said. “He’s always messing around in his room with herbs and potions. I don’t think he’s right in the head, to be honest.”

  “Probably why he’s not married,” Kolt said with a chuckle.

  Isabetta laughed too, but Gertie shot him a disgusted look. “Why would you even bring that up?” she muttered through gritted teeth.

  “Just trying to lighten the mood before supper . . .”

  “Well, do it some other way . . . and I thought you said we were in a hurry? Maybe I should show her the powder?” Gertie asked. “She might recognize who it belongs to.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Kolt agreed. “But let’s meet her family first.”

  “You mean, let’s eat first,” Gertie said wryly.

  “Travelers, honored guests,” Isabetta announced, “I know you have someone very important to see here in Venice, but as visiting nobles and players of the commedia dell’arte, you will first take a meal with us, so that I can properly introduce you to my father, Doctor Fracastoro, and my mother, Camilla. They are personal friends of the most powerful person in Venice—the Doge—and will help you find this doctor you seek.”

  “That must be him!” Kolt said, nudging Gertie. “I don’t believe it, what luck!”

  “Who?” Gertie said.

  “Doctor Fracastoro!”

  Gertie felt a surge of appreciation for the B.D.B.U. It was clear now why they had been sent to a field outside the city. The run-in with the outlaw and Isabetta must have been the old book’s intention after all.

  “So your father is a doctor, Isabetta? How marvelous.”

  “He’s more an astrologer.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Kolt said. “In Renaissance Italy, doctors were also astrologists.”

  “But astrologists study things in space,” Gertie said. “How would that work?”

  “Actually, astronomers study things in space,” Kolt tried to explain. “Astrologers are interested in how things in space affect people’s lives on Earth.”

  “Do they?” Gertie asked.

  “Do they what?”

  “Do things happening in space affect us?”

  Kolt lifted his arms and raised his voice, as though he were on a stage. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy!”

  Gertie shook her head with irritation. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a quote from a play written by a chap I met on a return, Bill Shakespeare, interesting man, great writer, but a really amazing cook. . . .”

  “But what about space?”

  “I hardly go up there, it’s very dangerous . . . hard to breathe, impossible actually . . . but during the Renaissance, people thought every part of the body was governed by a different planet.”

  “You’re rambling,” Gertie said. “You’ve been doing it a lot lately.”

  “Yes, most people get angry when they need a meal, but I just talk endlessly.”

  “So then, Isabetta’s father is the doctor we need to return the vial to?”

  “It would appear so.”

  Gertie was about to ask if they could just leave it on the table and go find a dungeon, when a boy with long flowing locks of hair strode nervously into the hall followed by an elegant man in blue velvet robes and a red stocking hat.

  Walking next to the man and his son was an older version of Isabetta, who Gertie assumed was her mother, Camilla.

  Isabetta introduced the three Keepers as traveling noble comedians whom she had rescued from a ruthless bandit.

  “I wish you wouldn’t engage in such Spartan shows of force, Isabetta,” her father grumbled. “Your mother and I are getting too old to worry about you roaming the countryside unescorted on an armor-plated horse.”

  The girl bowed her head. “Sorry, Father.”

  Gertie cleared her throat. “If it hadn’t been for your daughter, sir, I don’t know what would have happened to us.”

  “Fly butter.”

  The old man raised one of his eyebrows. “Fly butter? What’s that?”

  Isabetta stifled a laugh with her hand.

  “Mashed flies?” said Robot Rabbit Boy innocently.

  “Flies?” said the old Venetian doctor. “Where?”

  “We’re actually from Verona,” Camilla interrupted, “but trade has brought us to Venice for a little while. Tell us about your country? Your accents are Italian, but I can’t quite place the region. . . .”

  Kolt laughed. “Let me explain. It’s very interesting. We’re speaking an ancient, and you might even say, chameleonic tongue called Skulda—”

  “Skuldarkoni,” Gertie interrupted, wishing that Kolt would just eat something, and stop giving speeches. He really was dangerous on an empty stomach.

  “Skuldarkoni?” the doctor said. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s a tiny island,” Gertie told him. “Tiny and very boring, no magic, no talking mice or weirdness whatsoever.”

  They were led into yet another room with a high paneled ceiling, painted with different scenes from nature. Gertie followed the pictures with her eyes. There was a green field dotted with lambs, and a blue sea with a scaly sea monster that reminded her of Johnny the Guard Worm. Several other ceiling panels had been decorated with tall, wooden ships—the sort Gertie had been reading about in her pirate book.

  In the center of the room was a wooden table laid out with food. They all sat down. Gertie made sure she was sitting at the exact opposite end of the table from the long-haired brother. But then Isabetta said the two youngest should sit together. Gertie went red with embarrassment, and pulled on Kolt’s green robe.

  “Shouldn’t we just give him the powder then get out of here?” she said. The vial had begun to glow and warm up, which she knew meant they were close to the intended target.

  “That will make them think we stole it,” Kolt said, eyeballing the dishes of food, “as why on earth would we have it if we couldn’t even say where we found it?”

  Gertie felt her hands going numb and tingly. The long-haired boy was now sitting right next to her. Kolt was on her other side, and she leaned toward him.

  “The idea that people can get married here at twelve is completely freaking me out!”

  But Kolt was too busy grinning at their hosts. “Your palazzo is magnificent, and once again I have to thank your daughter. She saved us from highway robbery!”

  “I shall have my condottieri patrol the area,” Dr. Fracastoro said, “and bring these brigands to justice without mercy.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that!” Gertie said loudly.

  Isabetta’s father raised both his eyebrows. “That’s forgiving of you, young lady. One day I’m sure y
ou’ll run a magnificent household.”

  But his wife winked at Gertie. “One day,” Signora Camilla said, “women will be able to do more than run households, read poetry, embroider, play the lute—”

  “That’s right,” Gertie said, remembering her first solo Keeper mission. “One day, a woman might even swim from France to England!”

  Everyone at the table stopped what they were doing and stared. Even the servants couldn’t believe what Gertie had suggested might happen. Gertie realized that anyone swimming from France to England was as unimaginable to them in the fifteenth century as a person going into space (which was only about four hundred years away from actually happening).

  “Be careful!” Kolt whispered to her. “This sort of information might blow their minds!”

  “Would that be such a bad thing?” Gertie said, chewing on a bread stick. “Might speed things up a bit.”

  At one end of the hall was an open fire, and beside it, mouth-like openings with flat wooden paddles hung next to them.

  “Look at those authentic bread ovens,” Kolt said.

  “Be great for pizza.”

  “I don’t know if it’s been invented yet!”

  Above the fire, an iron wheel was turning in the heat’s path. The wheel had spokes, upon which were chickens, ducks, pheasants, thrushes, and pigeons, all roasting slowly.

  “Heavens alive!” Kolt cried on seeing it. “What a fowl massacre!”

  “Aren’t you going to tell them you’re vegetarian?”

  “They wouldn’t understand—in this time only the poor ate vegetables.”

  Also on the table were boiled carrots, grapes, turnips, fish fried in oil with rosemary leaves, larks stuffed with sage and bread—and what would turn out to be everyone’s favorite, gooey chestnut pudding sweetened with wild honey.

  The walls were hung with fabric tapestries like the one Gertie had seen in the Gate Keepers’ Lodge.

  One of the servants, a girl just a little older than Gertie, brought over a bowl of rose water for the guests to wash their hands. When it was Robot Rabbit Boy’s turn, instead of washing his paws, he pulled out several of the rose petals and ate them.