“You have proof of this?”
“Sorry, no, but you may question the crew or the colonists,” David said.
“You can do better than that,” Maria interjected. “Didn’t you save the newspapers? You said you would save them until the Spanish had been defeated!”
David swore. “You’re right, of course.” He dug them out and handed them to Marshall and Scott.
When they finished reading, he added, “Charles also found out that, according to those history books, he gets into a fight with Parliament, which ends with his head on the chopping block. So he’s brought in mercenaries to control London, and he’s been arresting anyone who the up-timers’ books identified as a Parliamentarian. Indeed, anyone he thinks likely to have such sympathies.”
Marshall winced. “Do you know anything of the Earl of Warwick?” Maria shook her head.
“Warwick, Warwick,” mused David. “Oh, Robert Rich. Well, what I know about him is that he is a big investor in New World colonies. Bermuda, and Providence Island, off the coast of Nicaragua. And, yes, Richneck Plantation, on the James, is his. I spent a few weeks in Virginia in March of ’33. Why do you ask?”
“He is our chief benefactor,” Marshall admitted. “And a Puritan, as are we.”
Scott didn’t look happy. “He is on the outs with the Court. Opposed the forced loan of 1626. And Laud’s repression of the Puritans.”
“So what you can expect,” said David, “is that either your colony, too, will be turned over to the French, or it will be given as a reward to one of Laud’s or Wentworth’s cronies.”
* * *
Heinrich coughed. “Begging your pardon, Madam Vorst, but the captain wants to see you.”
Maria looked wistfully at the scarlet ibis that stood rock-still in the pond some yards away, watching for an unwary frog. She had just set up her easel, and had been looking forward to painting the beautiful bird. But she doubted it would hang around waiting for her to finish the captain’s business, whatever it was. Answering a gardening question for colonists, perhaps. She knew that she wouldn’t have had the opportunity to study the natural world of Suriname if it weren’t for the colony, but sometimes her role of “science officer” was irksome.
She rose to her feet, and the sudden movement startled the bird, causing it to take flight. “Help me gather up my things, will you?”
* * *
The captain didn’t beat around the bush. “Scott’s staying in Gustavus, as the representative of the Marshall’s Creek colonists.”
Maria raised an eyebrow. “As a hostage, too, I imagine.”
David nodded. “Marshall’s going back upriver on the Eikhoorn, to explain the situation to them and see if they wanted to throw in with us.”
“Really. Then perhaps I should go upriver with him. Their fort is on the fringe of the rainforest. I might be able to find rubber trees with their help. Or at least the help of their Indian allies.”
“Are you sure? We don’t know how they’ll react to the news. The crew of the Eikhoorn will be outnumbered.”
“Captain Marshall seems a man of honor; I will make sure that I am traveling under his protection. And even the Spaniards, when they attack a foreign colony, will usually spare the women.”
“You’ll be the only woman there.”
“I am sure there were Indian women around, they just stayed out of sight on your last visit. And as I said, I will be with Captain Marshall.”
David hesitated.
“It’s not just that the USE needs the rubber. If I find them a new product to sell to us, that will help reconcile them to the ‘Swedish’ presence downriver. Or whatever you want to call it.”
“Okay. You’ve convinced me.”
* * *
“This is so slow,” said David.
“Slow but sure,” Maria replied.
They were watching latex slowly drip from the gash in the tree, into a waiting cup. With the aid of Maria’s sketches, themselves based on illustrations in the Grantville encyclopedias, the Indians had been able to locate several different trees of interest. One, the Hevea guianensis, produced true rubber. Another was what the encyclopedias called Manilkara bidentata. Its latex hardened to form balata. Balata wasn’t elastic, but it was a natural plastic, which could be used for electrical insulation.
“Why don’t we just chop the tree down and take all its latex at once?”
“Several reasons,” said Maria. “They aren’t that common, just a few trees an acre, so we would have to go farther and farther out to find more. If we tap them, each tree will produce rubber for twenty years or more. And finally, it just won’t work. The latex is stored in little pockets. It’s not like there’s a big cavern inside you can chop your way to. If you want a quick return, you need to find a Castilla elastica, it has nice long tubes.”