Silence.
"So we must go by sea. We have bought ships with gold. It is the only way to save the nation. We shall go north to open lands where we shall make a new homeland. We shall survive! Listen, my brothers, while I tell you of the new lands we shall win…"
They smiled and made themselves comfortable, for Dreamer painted wonderful pictures with words.
It was dawn before the council ended. Dreamer had calmed the doubters: a great achievement, for his plan demanded unimaginable courage of a land-locked, forest people. And all this he did with the same arguments that he'd used before, and would doubtless have to use again, for it is commonplace that men must hear the truth many times before they will believe it.
Finally, with these great matters settled for the present, and with the sun rising out of the ocean, and the women bringing food and drink, Dreamer should have relaxed. But he couldn't because, as so often it did when the work was done, blindness struck the centre of his eyes, and the shimmering crescents flickered yellow, violet and black… and Dreamer knew that he would suffer.
And in the suffering there came another vision of Satan.
And Dreamer saw the Hell that, despite all his efforts, Satan was bringing to the Patanq nation.
Chapter 15
"Don't make me, Joe," said Selena. "Don't make me…" Her intuition had told her to ask nicely. And it was working: Flint was hesitating. She was wildly upset, bitterly resenting being forced to do something she hated, and she wanted to lose her temper, and scream and stamp. But she didn't… just.
She looked at him, sitting on the seat that ran under the stern windows of his cabin. He sighed and shifted and looked back at her. There were just the two of them alone together, and he was deeply worried, but he wasn't threatening.
He'd changed. On the island he'd been mad and dangerous. But he wasn't like that now, especially after yesterday on the ramparts. Now he was trying to square what she wanted with what he wanted. And that was new.
Then, to her amazement, he got up and took her hand, and looked straight into her eyes… and smiled. He'd never done that before. To him, she'd never been more than a possession: an object of lust, like the paintings of naked flesh that gentlemen kept in their private rooms. He was incredibly handsome when he smiled, and — being dangerous — he was exciting too. Nobody seeing that smile would ever guess what he was really like. Selena wondered what was he really like?
But then he shook his head.
"I'm sorry, my chick," he said. "Pimenta's too important to insult. I need his help and you've got to go — and that's my last word in the matter."
Then there was stamping and shouting. Plenty of it, on both sides. But in the end, Selena found herself in Walrus's launch, being rowed ashore by four hands, with Tom Allardyce in command, plucked of his cutlass and pistols and jammed into landsman's clothes. Selena may have been unhappy, but Allardyce was terrified.
"What if I'm seen, Cap'n?" he'd said. "Seen by them as knows me? I'd be took and hanged!" But it didn't take long to convince Mr Allardyce that the fury of those ashore was the least of his worries. Flint achieved this by gripping the reluctant sailor by the throat and explaining that he shouldn't fear a hanging, only what would happen to him should he disobey orders here and now. After that, Allardyce kept quiet, even when he was ordered to follow Miss Selena like a fart- catcher once they were ashore, and under no circumstances to go ahead or alongside of her, because today she weren't Miss Selena at all, but Mrs Garland.
The launch made fast to Middle Bridge, one of the big wharves that stood out on piles over the Cooper River. There were proper stairs up to its deck, where Selena and Allardyce were transported out of their misery by the heaving life of one of the New World's most prosperous towns.
Even the bridge itself had a market and shops, the city walls stretched out on either hand, and beyond that, fine brick buildings reared up in ranks, chimneys smoked, spires rose, flags waved, dogs barked, and there was an enormous bustle and jostle of people: old and young, black and white, rich and poor, master and servant, ladies in gowns and tradesmen in aprons, all stepping out before swinging inn-signs, painted shopfronts, paved sidewalks, bellowing hawkers and bright- striped barbers' poles.
Selena had never seen a city before, only the log cabins of Savannah, and even though Allardyce came from Bristol, it was years since he'd seen it, and both had been months at sea or on an island devoid of life. So Charlestown hit them like a punch in the face, except it was a joyful punch, if such a thing can be. It was exhilarating, fascinating, and totally, utterly absorbing.
They forgot their orders and strolled along — not quite hand-in-hand, but very much united in wonder — and were led deeply astray by the shops along the western side of Bay Street. Selena had only two eyes where a hundred were needed to drink in the wonders that lay behind the huge glass windows of the shops, and in the end it was Allardyce, only slightly less fascinated than her, who remembered what they were here for.
"Miss Selena… ma'am?" he said. "We'd best up-anchor and set sail, ma'am. To Mr Pimenta's house in Broad Street. Orders, ma'am." He touched his hat.
Selena rejoined reality. She looked at her clothes, which in fairness to Flint were the best he could get by sending her ashore with Charley Neal the previous afternoon. At least Neal was familiar with the town and its shops, for Selena wouldn't have known where to start. She'd never been shopping in her life. The result was the outfit she was wearing; the gown wasn't cheap — it was made of embroidered silk — but it was green, which didn't suit her, and it was a poor fit. The lace cap was good, but she had no means of dressing her hair. The English redingote she wore against the cold was shabby and old, the shoes were ugly.
Selena was sunk in shame as Allardyce thundered on the iron door-knocker of Mr Meshod Pimenta's intimidating house. When the shiny door opened to reveal a black manservant gleaming in livery, Allardyce — nervous and seeing gold lace — saluted deferentially and jerked his thumb at Selena.
"Mrs Garland come ashore, Cap'n," he said, "for to parlay with Mrs Pimenta."
Fortunately, Thomas — Mr Pimenta's butler — was used to receiving guests of all ranks and races, for Charlestown society was not that of London, and a far wider spectrum of humanity came through Mr Pimenta's front door than would ever have been welcome at the Court of St James's.
So Mr Allardyce was smoothly led off to the servants' hall by a lesser minion while Mrs Garland was relieved of her redingote and ushered up to the first floor by Thomas himself, and into Mrs Esther Pimenta's salon.
Two ladies were waiting, both young, both with hair in ringlets, both wearing large quantities of jewellery. They were olive-skinned, Hispanic, and had bright faces but no claims on beauty. One wore an elaborate brocaded dress in pink, the other an elaborate brocaded dress in blue. They were perched on French chairs with bright-gilded, filigree limbs, en suite with a gilded table supporting a Sevres porcelain tea-service in blue, white and gold. The room was elaborately furnished in bright colours, and crammed with everything that glittered or twinkled or shone: cloisonne fish bowls abutted Canton enamelware, and the walls were hung with Chinese wallpaper of unworldly exoticism and fierce brilliance.
Selena was not quite blinded, but it was close.
"Mrs Garland," said Pink Gown, rising, "I am Mrs Esther Pimenta, and this lady — " she indicated Blue Gown "- is my friend, Mrs Zafira Nunez Cardoza." She took Selena's hand and presented her as if to a duchess. "Zafira, my dear," she said, "allow me to introduce Mrs Garland, wife of one of Mr Pimenta's most important new friends."