“A few days, if they aren’t protected from dessication or fungal attack. But the encyclopedia says to pack them in dry soil or charcoal, and I have done experiments with our native Guianan seeds that suggest that with the right packing material and containers, we can keep them viable for a month or two. Maybe longer with a fungicide.”
“But surely we can’t get them back to Europe that soon.”
“The Danes have promised me a very fast ship, although I am not permitted to reveal details, and I think that I might even be able to plant the seeds in soil while still on board, as long as I do it once I am sure we are outside of the range of the leaf blight. Then I can keep the seedlings alive in Wardean boxes.”
“Well, I’m glad for you, Maria. I know you have wanted to see the Amazon, and it’s nice that you will be able to do so at someone else’s expense.”
Maria sat up in her hammock. “Henrique, look at me. After we go to the Amazon, I am returning to Europe. The king of Denmark has decided that he should have a botanical garden and he wants me to be the curator. He is going to build me a greenhouse, since the winters are so cold in Copenhagen, and I will be able to go on expedition to Asia. To Asia, Henrique!”
“I see.”
“Don’t look glum. You could come with me. I would welcome a partner of your experience.”
“I don’t know, Maria. In the Amazon, I am an expert. But in Asia, I would be a, a . . . what is that American term?”
“Greenhorn?”
“That’s the one.”
“I think you underestimate how quickly you would adjust. I know that I have read up-time books about naturalists who traveled all over the world. Gerald Durrell, for one.”
“I’ll think about it.”
African Market Village, Near Paramaribo
Carsten Claus ducked his head as he entered the audience room of the “Jungle King” and then stood for a moment in appreciation of its rude grandeur.
The jungle king was seated on an ornately carved stool, and an attendant was briskly waving a large palm branch. The great monarch wore a loincloth, a cavalier’s hat with a rakishly positioned harpy eagle tail feather, and a necklace whose pièce de resistance was a pierced fragment of an old CD.
“Well, Maurício, you’ve certainly come up in the world.”
Maurício made a deprecating gesture. “Tempore felici, multi numerantur amici. Cum fortuna perit, nullus amicus erit.” It was a reminder that despite his present appearance, he was one of the better educated men in the colony.
“So how’s the king-ing business going for you?”
“Well enough. With great regret I had to dismiss the proposal that as chief-of-chiefs I should take a wife from each of the African tribes making up our little confederation.”
“You didn’t fancy yourself the Sultan of Suriname, complete with seraglio?”
“It sounded good in theory. And among Kasiri’s people, the chiefs are polygamists, so she didn’t reject the proposal out of hand.” Kasiri was an Indian from Manao in the Amazon. “But there weren’t a lot of women among the slaves we freed; perhaps one in three. And most of the ones who were of marriageable age got hooked up pretty quickly after the landing. So I’d have to either to take another man’s wife away, which is asking for trouble, or pick from the few unattached women of each tribe. Who of course are the ones who didn’t get picked already, if you get my drift.”
“Well, I have a little project to take your mind off political marriages, or the lack thereof. I got an interesting letter from the Danish East India Company—”
“The East Indies are half a world away from here.”
Carsten shrugged. “There’s no Danish West India Company to tell them to bugger off. It has come to their attention that plants grow rather vigorously here. Perhaps you can interest some of your tribesmen in going into the vegetable oil business? Palms, perhaps?”
“For cooking?”
“I think the Danes are more interested in biofuel.” His eyes strayed to the bowl of fruit on the table beside Maurício.
“Help yourself,” said Maurício. “As you said, plants grow rather vigorously here, so there’re plenty more where that came from.”
Carsten reached for a passion fruit, and took a quick bite. “What a luscious juice it has.” He spat out a seed. “The fuel’s to support a pet project of Maria’s, that they’ve been corresponding with her about.”
“Well, if it’s for Maria, and it’s paying work, by all means.”
Surinamese Short Dry Season (February to March) 1636,