Assiti Shards 12 - Ring of Fire II by Eric Flint

Author:Eric Flint [Flint, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Adventure, Fantasy, Space Opera, Time travel, Fiction, General, Science fiction; American, Europe, Alternative History, Fantasy fiction; American, Europe - History - 17th century, Alternative histories (Fiction); American, Americans, West Virginia, Thirty Years' War; 1618-1648, Americans - Europe
ISBN: 9781416591443
Publisher: Baen
Published: 2009-01-27T05:00:00+00:00

march back to Sao Paolo, and sought out Father Gustav. He blessed me and took me in." Mbandi

touched a hand to his crucifix. "This is his own. After eleven years, it is a great gift, but not so great as

what he gave me then. A new life, a good life."

"Different boot, same kick up the ass," muttered Nichols in English. He grinned momentarily. "Mine was

a Marine high-top, and damn did it hurt . . ."

"But I was only one. There were thousands more taken from my homeland, from elsewhere, each year to

Brazil, and each year more ran as I had." Mbandi beat his palm gently on the desktop.

"Captive—slave—runaway— paulista. You see, then, the chain? Two years ago the paulistas came in

great numbers, drove us downriver, smashed the missions, took many slaves. The Company of Jesus

believes that they have defeated us forever. And so my journey here began."

He hesitated. "Father Montoya might have sent Father Gustav. He spoke Spanish and Latin very well,

and a little English, and he . . . he had chosen to fight for the Guarani, like Father Montoya. But I am of

the Malanje highlands. I know that ground, and the mountains farther east. I speak many Bantu dialects,

some Kiswahili, and the Mandinga trade tongue. And . . . it was guessed that I might be of some interest

to you, Herr Doctor."

Nichols grinned. "That was true."

"But . . . it was hard, to leave him there. Very hard. Perhaps in a few years more, he might have ordained

me as a member of the Company. He was my confessor, my friend."

"And he had already taught you German, you said."

"Yes. Words come easily to me, since boyhood. I learned many dialects to speak with the different

kijiko at the capital, when raising crops."

"What are kijiko?"

"King's laborers. We would say 'kinder,' I think."

"You use children to take in harvests?"

"No—not small child. Law-child, dependent. Captives from battle."

"POWs?"

Mbandi shrugged. "I do not know that word."

"I suppose you wouldn't . . ." Nichols tasted the next word, found it bitter, spoke it anyway. "Slaves?"

"No. That is what I was, in Brazil. My father would not treat another man like that, nor would I. Nor

even the worst of our kings."

"But he owned men, you are saying. You owned men."

"The king's tendala did. I owned only their work." Mbandi spread his palms on the desktop. "Herr

Doctor, you have not farmed? No? The beans do not grow themselves. It needs skill and work. He who

has the decisions must have the, the . . ."

"Ownership?"

"The ownership, yes, for a plot larger than I may tend as my own."

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