“Wait,” said Samuel.
“They’ve stopped shooting.” Indeed, the cannon disguised as a piece of driftwood had gone back into hiding, and the dark shape seemed to be heading north, to the more open waters of the lake proper. At its sides long lines moved in rhythm, resembling huge paddles.
“No, wait. I’m thinking.” Many pieces in his head were falling into place, in a puzzle he had until then not suspected existed. “That ship’s Danish. All this time, it was not the Dutch, but the Danish. This explains how they’ve gained control of the oceans.”
Odahingum found that unlikely. “The oceans are the province of the Dutch. That’s the word everywhere.”
“That’s what we can see above the water, but who knows how many Danish vessels are hiding deep below. They’ve been the ones who’ve been sinking Spanish galleons with impunity, and now they’re starting to come for the French possessions.”
Wiin shook wiin’s head. “I’ve never known the Danish to be warlike. Wherever they go, they go as traders.”
“Yes, in their regular ships. But with these, they can go where no one else—” His voice froze as his head made another connection, and the new weight on his lungs took several overexcited breaths to clear. “This is how they trade with China! This is how the Danish managed to open the Arctic route: their ships don’t break through the ice, but pass underneath it.”
Odahingum still felt the need to examine the river. Samuel no longer stopped wiin; his head was busy exploring the implications of what he’d deduced. Odahingum kneeled by the shore and smelled the water. There was a whiff of tar that set wiin on alert. Looking closely at the surface of the water, wiin caught sight of several fish swimming with difficulty and others that appeared to be dying. Wiin whispered, remembering an old tale, “They carry the face of death.”
Samuel approached wiin and asked, “Who does?”
Wiin stood up and mulled over the problem for a second. “It’s complicated to explain to you. You carry the face of friendship. But here,” wiin pointed at the river, “the water is killing the fish.”
“Do you think it has to do with that ship?”
Wiin nodded. “It must be the cannon. I’ve heard people from the tribes along the coast say they’ve found portions of the sea where the fish rot and nothing can be eaten. This must be the cause. The explosions are rupturing their insides.”
“The Danish probably don’t even know they’re doing this.”
“Ruining our food is as good as declaring war on us.”
Samuel felt alarmed, and upon examining his feeling, he saw that he had once again failed to escape the ruthless greed of the European wars, and hoped fervently that Odahingum wouldn’t count him as one of the enemy. “What are you going to do?”
Wiin understood the intent of the question, and said, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t fight. The Marten clan fights.”
“And you?”
Wiin smiled, thinking of the winding roads of fate. “It’s funny. I should have been Marten clan, but I already told you what happened with my father and the school. When I returned to the Ojibwe, I was adopted by the Bird clan. We are speakers. Messengers.”
“So now you’re going to warn your people.”
“Yes. If the Danish are planning an invasion, we must make our own plans. Maybe you should warn the French.”
They turned toward the ruined bridge, trying to decide how they were going to cross to the other shore, when Samuel’s gaze locked onto a red blotch in the water that could only be from Bridget’s body. Once more he fell to his knees, filled with regret, hating himself for having taken her so far from home to die.
Odahingum placed a hand on his shoulder. “The river has not carried her away. We’re going to have to move the rubble from over her body. Then I can join you in praying for her spirit, if you wish.”
Being comforted was a feeling Samuel had not expected, nor did he recognize it at first. The warmth of that hand was going a long way toward soothing his grief. “I’m not much the praying kind,” he said, standing up. “But I can ask one of the priests to come over here. She needs a decent burial.” Then he noticed the hand was still on his shoulder, and to his own surprise, he didn’t mind it.
“It was a mistake to have brought you here. I’m sorry for everything.”
“No. You didn’t order that ship to fire.” He looked into wiin’s eyes and saw there an openness that allowed him to be open himself, and felt awash with gratitude and relief. “Actually, you’ve been the best part of what has happened here. You’re the only person I’ve ever met from whom I have nothing to protect.”
Wiin smiled. “I was worried you might resent me for not finding you a place to settle.”
“I’ll keep looking. With you, I hope?”
“I’d like that.”
“Good. Now let’s go over there to see what can be done for those people.”
They swam across the river to the Jesuit settlement. They hoped their wet, disheveled looks would not cause their offer of help to be rejected. Not many had died, but those with broken bones and open wounds were numerous. While Odahingum gathered roots and leaves to make remedies against the pain and the infection, Samuel went to the group gathered around the remains of the mission house to find someone to pray for Bridget. He was pointed in the direction of the superior of their mission, one Father Le Jeune, and by his voice Samuel knew immediately he’d been the one who’d been tormenting the forest with his infernal condemnations. That could be of use, as the man’s piety should impel him to offer help to a stranger. However, when Samuel, still trying to shake off the cold of the river and the water in his clothes, described the circumstances in which they had found themselves under cannon fire, the priest grew suspicious.
“You said her name was Bridget? That’s not quite a French name.”
“That’s right: we’re English. Descended from English, more precisely; we used to live in the Netherlands. And then the New Netherlands. Our lives are complicated, you see.”
Le Jeune narrowed his eyes. “Was your cousin a Catholic?”
Samuel hesitated. If he lied, he might ensure the priest’s good will, but he would also be dishonoring what had mattered to her more than anything. “Is that relevant?”
“Definitely. The Church does not allow holy rites for a heretic.”
“But didn’t God make her too?”
“Yes, of course, but she chose to turn her back on Him. If she died without repenting from the mortal sin of heresy, there’s nothing we can do for her.”
At that moment Samuel saw himself holding in his tongue the key to the world’s balance. He considered whether he should reveal to Le Jeune, and thus to the entire faction of Catholic powers, the true nature of Denmark’s secret weapon. He saw himself as standing before a long stretch of the future, and closing his eyes, chose to not walk it. “Then I’m turning my back on you.”
Ignoring the priest’s confused expression, he exited the settlement. He swam back the way they had come and started digging with his hands.
Hours later, when he was done helping the injured, Odahingum joined Samuel by the makeshift grave. “They didn’t want to help?”
Samuel shook his head. “I know I can’t ask you to give my cousin your manner of burial, but can you help me make a tomb?”
Wiin started digging by his side. “What happened with the friars?”
“Unless they get help from high above, they’ll be obliterated by the Danish navy, and they just proved to me that they deserve to be.”
“What? You didn’t tell them of the ship?”
“No, and I hope you didn’t.”
“No, I was busy treating wounds.”
“Good. Let them face the future on their own.”
“Can you condemn them to a needless death?”