Akan village, Paranam
“Kojo, months ago, we spoke of what must be done to recover your children.”
“I remember, Maria. At home, I had gold. I was an obirempon, a holder of an elephant’s tail.” It was the Akan way of saying that he was a gold-mining tycoon. “Here, I am but a leaf in the forest. How will I ever be able to buy back my children?”
“There is a way of getting gold from streams, rather than by digging holes in the ground. My friend from America, Lolly, calls it ‘panning.’ You take a shallow dish—”
“You need not explain this ‘panning,’ Maria. All the women and children of the Ashanti know how to gather the flecks of gold which the River God has scattered amidst the gravel.”
“And do you know how to do this?”
“Of course. I was a child once. And I watched my wife teach our children, and saw my Mansa find her first nugget.”
“Well, I wish I could just give you the gold you need, but I can’t. But I have consulted our oracles”—that was how the Africans interpreted her references to encyclopedia articles—“and learned that there is river gold in this land.” She started drawing in the sand. “This is our river, the Suriname.” She added two more sinuous curves. “And the Saramacca to our west, and the Marowijne to the east.
“Upriver, the Marowijne forks like so.” She drew in the Tapanahoni and the Lawa, and then added an “X” between the locations of the up-time towns of Grand Santi and Cottica. She twirled her finger around it. “Here, somewhere, there is gold.”
Maria then swept her hand over the upper Suriname and Saramacca. “Here, too, but I can’t be more specific.”
“How do I get to these places? How long is the journey? How friendly are the Indians?”
“You will need to go by canoe. Tetube said that she can guide you. And Coqui said he will go, too, he is bored.” Maria suspected that Coqui’s offer had less to do with boredom than with the chance to get to know Tetube better.
“We Akan usually don’t mine gold alone. It’s most often a family enterprise. I will see if any of my people want to come along.”
Maria grimaced. “I must ask you not to. I want this kept a secret. I don’t want all the Gustavans running off to look for gold when they should be farming to keep themselves fed.”
Fort Lincoln, Suriname
“Getting the colonists to follow orders without griping was hard enough. But if every plan you make has to be presented to every kinglet in this Little Africa you have created, in some kind of grand palaver, you will go insane before the rains return,” said David.
“What do you suggest I do?” asked Carsten.
“Get the chiefs together and tell them that you want them to meet and pick a paramount chief. Someone to represent them on all save the most important matters.”
“Right, I’ll do that.”
* * *
The chiefs had been huddled in the great ceremonial hut for twelve hours straight. Carsten had told them a few hours earlier that none of them would be leaving it until they picked the chief of chiefs.
Now and then, Maurício was called in to clarify some point or other that they were arguing about. No one wanted an error in translation to get a blood feud started. Finally, after a long waiting period, he decided to snatch some sleep while he could.
Perhaps an hour later, the curtain that had been hung over the hut opening to keep mosquitoes out was pushed back once again, and Faye stuck his head out. “Maurício, please,” he said.
Carsten sighed. “Maurício!” he called.
“He’s asleep,” said Henrique.
“Well, wake him up. We want them to finish one of these days.”
Still rubbing his eyes, Maurício arrived, and entered the hut.
He emerged a few minutes later, looking wide awake, even a little wild-eyed.
“Well? Have they picked a paramount chief, yet?”
“Yes,” said Maurício. “For the love of God . . . Me.”
Maria gave a whoop. “All Hail Maurício, King of the Jungle!”
Tears of the Sun, Milk of the Moon
Winter 1635 to Early 1637
Surinamese Short Wet Season (December 1635–January 1636),
On the banks of the Coppename, Western Suriname
Maria Vorst, artist, botanist, and author, mulled over the tribulations of life in the Suriname rainforests. Frequent downpours. Oppressive heat when it wasn’t raining. Hungry crocodilians looking for a human-sized snack. Venomous snakes that didn’t take kindly to passers-by. Hordes of biting, stinging and otherwise annoying insects. Tropical diseases that could kill you or make you wish you were dead.