The Call of Zulina (33 page)

At the compound where Grace had lived all but the past ten days of her life, fiery shadows danced through the London house, although no one was there to see them but Mama Muco.

As soon as Joseph Winslow started gathering the slaves together, Muco had hidden herself in the shadows to watch. She heard Lingongo's blistering words to him, but to Muco's astonishment, her master paid his wife absolutely no mind. He went his own way and did exactly as he pleased. Joseph drove the slaves right past her, across the fields, and off toward the gate. Lingongo had paced through the night, and just before the first light of dawn, she stomped off too—after him, Mama supposed. Yes, Mama Muco had seen it all. And the entire time, neither Joseph Winslow nor Lingongo had ever once mentioned their daughter.

As soon as Lingongo was out of sight, Muco started her vigil. “Oh, Lord God, help us,” she breathed. “Whatever is happening up there is not good for anybody, especially not for Grace. Please, please, help Grace!”

Then the dark room lit up like morning. Muco, silenced in the middle of her prayer, had opened her eyes to the horrible sight of the sky on fire. With a cry of dismay, she hurried from the house and out to the courtyard, then across the garden. Flames danced in the pink-streaked sky. They seemed to engulf the entire fortress. Mama Muco fell to her knees and clamped her eyes shut against the awful scene. She threw her apron over her head and bellowed out in a flood of tears, “Oh, God! Oh, God! Save my Grace! Please, please, save my Grace!”

That's when the explosions had started. Louder and louder they thundered. What could it mean?

At long last, when the sun hung hazy and red in the sky and the thunder-noise had finally stilled, Mama shaded her eyes and stared hard into the distance. Could that be someone coming across the sweet potato field? She squinted hard. Yes! Definitely, three men were headed her way. As they got closer, she recognized them as three of the slaves Joseph Winslow had bound and taken to the fortress with him.

“Tuke!” Muco called out. “Tuke, is that you? You wait right there for me!”

Muco hitched up her skirts above her plump knees and hurried toward the men, yelling the entire way. Lingongo would whip her to death for such foolishness. Well, just let her try!

“Stop!” Muco cried. “You wait for me, Tuke!”

Tuke turned and stared uncomprehendingly at this strange sight that tore across the field toward him. The other two men did the same.

Muco rushed up to them, completely out of breath. “Please … ,” Muco gasped, “did you … see … Miss Grace?”

“Miss Grace?” Tuke asked. He looked confused, as though he couldn’t quite understand the question.

“Up there!” Mama demanded in irritation. She gestured toward the flaming fortress. But then her tone melted into pleading. “Please, Tuke, please, tell me. Is Miss Grace all right?”

“We didn’t see Miss Grace,” another man said. “We don’t know anything about her.”

All three men stared blankly, stupefied.

“We didn’t see any one of ’em,” the second man continued.

Tuke's eyes suddenly welled with tears. “The fire burnin’ everything, and gunpowder and all … and them trapped inside.”

“What of Grace?” Mama demanded.

“We had to do what we done!” Tuke implored. “Mister Joseph, he be the master over us. We's nothin’ but his slaves. It ain’t our fault. None of it! We had to do it!”

“But did you see Grace?!”

“The king's warriors come,” Tuke said. “That's when we got our chance to run. We couldn’t watch no more. Even if the master kills us, we couldn’t watch no more!”

Abruptly, Tuke turned his back on Muco and started to run in the opposite direction. The second man followed him. The third man hesitated. He looked at Muco as though he wanted to say something more, but after a moment's hesitation, he too turned and ran.

For several minutes Mama Muco stared after the three men. But there was no time to lose. Already, thick smoke shrouded Zulina.

“Grace!” Mama Muco called. “I will see you again!”

“I
can't stand it any longer!” Grace whispered to Antonio. She was careful to speak in a soft tone so as not to encourage those already complaining of their dreadful thirst and their growing hunger and the stuffy air in the storeroom. Such discomforts Grace could endure. What were hunger and thirst and close quarters at a time like this? Hadn’t every one of them been dragged to Zulina in chains and forced to live worse than animals? No, she couldn’t abide the endless wait and not knowing.

Antonio had climbed up and unlocked a small vent high in the wall that opened out to the ocean, so now they had fresh air. They could also see the daylight pass into night and then night pass back to day. Already they had been in the storeroom for one entire day and night. Soon a new day would dawn, and still Cabeto and Sunba had not come.

“I’m going to look for them,” Grace whispered to Antonio.

“Por favor, no,”
Antonio pleaded. “If you leave, everyone will want to go.”

“We cannot hide in here forever. At some time someone will have to venture out and see what happened.”

Grace was right, of course. The people couldn’t stay locked in the room much longer. Somehow they had to find food and water. What neither Antonio nor Grace dared say was that food and water were unlikely to be available anywhere in the fortress. It could be that some water barrels survived the attack, though that was unlikely. As for food, though, that was all but gone, even before the fire.

Reluctantly, Antonio nodded his agreement. “Then go now, before daylight,” he said. “And Grace …
vaya con Dios
.”

Moving as quickly and quietly as a caracal on the prowl, Grace reached the door. She pushed it open just wide enough to squeeze through and silently pulled the door closed behind her.

With one hand on either side of the narrow passageway, Grace cautiously felt her way along in the dark. The acrid stench of smoke filled her nostrils and made it difficult to breathe without coughing. Grace paused and ripped one of the sleeves off her dress and held it over her face.

As the smoke grew thicker, Grace dropped to her hands and knees and crawled along the stone walkway. It was strewn with chunks of broken rock. The sharp, jagged pieces ripped into her palms and sliced through her white petticoat to gouge into her knees. Billowing smoke blinded her. Other than her own choking gasps, she couldn’t hear a sound. With a panicky dread, a terrible thought leaped into her mind.
Could it be that I’m the only person still alive outside the storeroom?

Grace couldn’t tell how far she had gone, but her knees had ripped away part of the flounce of her petticoat, and the rough stone walk had rubbed her hands completely raw. Her lungs felt as though they would burst from all the smoke. Grace could not go any farther. She eased herself low against the wall

“Cabeto!” she whispered hoarsely. Then louder she called, “Cabeto! Can you hear me?”

No sound returned but her own raspy breath.

Grace gathered all her strength and shouted, “Ca … be … to!” Then she collapsed into a fit of coughing.

When she finally regained control of her breathing, Grace listened hard—nothing but silence. She was alone. In despair, she turned around to start the long, painful crawl back to the storeroom. What would she tell the others? That it was too soon to venture out? Perhaps that they should wait until the sun was high in the sky and then someone else should try? Antonio maybe? Or would it do any harm to extend the false hope that by now Lingongo might be appeased, and—

A strong arm grabbed hold of Grace.

“What?” Grace exclaimed. Then bursting with excitement, she called out, “Cabeto! Is that you?”

“No, not Cabeto,” came the answer. “It's me, Tungo.”

Tungo! Grace's heart sank.

“Come with me,” Tungo ordered.

“No!” Grace cried. She struggled to pull free of his grasp. “Leave me alone. I’ll never call you leader! I’d rather die right here!”

“Come with me, Grace.” Tungo's voice was urgent, and the sharp edge was gone. “I’ll never ask you to call me leader.”

When Grace stopped struggling, Tungo released his grip. He moved forward and then pushed his way under a collapsed wall. Grace slid under after him. She rubbed her eyes and blinked hard. They were in a room with a hole blown in the far wall. Early morning light streamed through—bright light and fresh air.

“Over here,” Tungo called.

Grace caught her breath, ran over to the battered wall, and fell to her knees. It was Cabeto, lying on a makeshift bed. The muscles of his leg were exposed where his flesh had been scorched away. Beside him lay Sunba, his shoulder shattered.

“Did everyone make it to the storeroom?” Cabeto asked in a strained voice.

“Yes,” Grace said. “Antonio was right. The fires and smoke didn’t reach us there.” Then she looked around in confusion. “But … just you three? Where are the others?”

“There are no others,” Tungo answered with a heavy voice. “The ones who followed me are no more.”

Grace stared at him in stunned silence.

“They are dead? All of them? Then how did … you … ?”

“Because he came back for us,” said Cabeto in a weak voice.

The fire was gone from Tungo's eyes. “I thought I led them to safety. But when I came back for them, the whole room was rubble,” he said sadly.

Grace buried her face in her hands and wept.

“What should we do, Cabeto?” Grace implored. “The people must have a leader. Tell me what we should do.”

But Cabeto had already drifted into unconsciousness. He would not lead this day or the next.

Tungo yanked at Grace's arm and motioned toward the door. Voices out in the passageway. Grace reached for Tungo's musket, and Tungo let her take it. He pulled a knife from the sheath at his waist.

“We showed ’em, we did. Not a one's left livin’!” It was Joseph Winslow's crowing voice, and he was just outside their room.

“I want to see her body.” It was another familiar voice. “Only then will I be satisfied.”

Tungo would not look at Grace. There was no mistaking Lingongo's voice, nor was there any question about whom she demanded to see.

Grace tightened her grip on the musket. “Tungo,” she whispered, “you are leader now.”

“No,” Tungo answered. “The people will never trust me. I cannot be their leader.”

“Then,” said Grace, “until Cabeto can again stand before the people, I will lead them. Come!”

Grace eased out from under the fallen wall just as Lingongo stepped toward it. The two stood face-to-face. Instinctively, Lingongo flipped forward the hand in which she held her whip. But Grace was ready. She raised her musket and pointed it in warning at her mother.

“If’n we finds that ’er—” Joseph's patter stopped abruptly when Tungo pressed a knife against his throat.

“No,” Grace said. “You did not kill everyone.”

Lingongo stared at Grace. In an even voice, she said, “Then our work is not yet complete.”

Joseph was not nearly so calm. First, the color drained from his face, and his eyes rolled back in his head for just an instant. Then he immediately began to squeal in a most pitiful way. “Grace, me darlin’! I's so ’appy to see ye alive and well! Now we kin work t’gether, on the same side. Us, Grace … ye and yer pap.”

“Tungo,” Grace said without taking her eyes from her mother, “bring
Admiral
Joseph Winslow inside.”

Tungo pressed the knife more firmly against Joseph's throat and pushed him toward the room where Cabeto and Sunba lay injured.

To her mother, Grace said, “Move, Lioness.”

“B
uenos días.”

Pieter DeGroot jerked his head up, opened his eyes, and stared at the form that floated before him—a tall black man, free of shackles. It could only be another of his hallucinations.