Bengta stole a quick glance back to smile at her. 'It shall be as you say; we will be ready. You will have our gratitude, Pam Miller. You are a very brave woman. We have seen that these swaddle-headed fools greatly underestimate women and they shall die regretting it.' Bengta turned briefly to check on the guard, who seemed to be dozing at his post. When she turned back Pam was gone.
'Go with God, Bird Lady,' Bengta whispered into the trees.
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
'You want to what?' The expression on the bosun's face was a mixture of horror and astonishment. Pam had expected this and repeated herself in a calm voice.
'I want all you men to shave your beards, hair and eyebrows off.' Looking around at the sailors gathered in the early dawn on her main deck, Pam realized that while she didn't quite have a mutiny on her hands, what she had to say was not popular with the crew. Tough, she thought, feeling firm in her resolve. 'Look, I know it sounds awful, but honest, it grows back! If I'm going to make you guys look like Orientals of any stripe, we have got to lop off those golden locks, like it or not! We are stretching the boundaries of believability to their limits, and this is the best way I can think of to start making you look non-European. Hopefully the make-up will finish the job and we can pull this off.'
A sea of unhappy and even downright angry faces glared sullenly at her, the sound of grumbling emanating from their midst. She looked to Gerbald for support but found that he had made his way to the back of the crowd and was attempting to hide behind a mast. Now that he was actually having to go through with the plan he had helped hatch, it seemed his enthusiasm had taken a powder. Pam grimaced and was about to start to speak when Dore stepped up beside her, brandishing a sturdy pair of scissors and a straight razor as if they were sword and dagger.
'That's enough whining. What are you, cowards?' Dore bawled at them so loudly it made them all take a fearful step back. 'The captain has given her orders. Now line up and get ready for your haircuts! You, there hiding in the back, the celebrated German sergeant, front and center. You shall be first! Make a good example for these men or you might find my hands become shaky!'
The sailors all parted to make a path for Gerbald, whose usually unflappable face had turned a flushed shade of red. He nodded resignedly and came forward, head held high, to sit on the chair they had placed on the deck for the day's barbering.
'Here, let me take your hat,' Pam said a little too eagerly.
'I think not, I shall hold it myself,' he replied, giving her a wary look and clutching the misshapen monstrosity of mustard-colored felt to his breast.
'It was a good try, Pam,' Dore told her as she set to work. Gerbald kept his salt-and pepper-hair close- cropped and shaved regularly in the up-time style so the task didn't take long. When Dore came to the eyebrows, he flinched.
'Must you, Delilah?' he asked in a pleading tone.
Pam patted him comfortingly on the arm. 'Yes. It will make you look incredibly odd, and that's the point. We need to do all we can to convince these renegade French and their lackeys that you are some kind of Asian traders. Look at it this way, Gerbald. You are playing a part in a play and simply doing what is needed to complete the costume. You'll be a real actor after this!'
That seemed to mollify him and he closed his eyes tightly as Dore carefully shaved his eyebrows off. When she was all finished, there was no trace of blood and Gerbald resembled a shiny new dodo egg. Some of the gathered men couldn't resist a chuckle, including the bosun.
Gerbald gave the man a fierce glare. 'Ah, Herr Bosun. I'm sure you will want to go next. Here, have a seat.'
All good humor evaporated from the bosun's face as he realized there was no escape. He managed a weak kind of smile for the benefit of the other sailors and took his turn in the barber's chair, looking for all the world as if he faced the gallows. It was Pam's turn and she started by snipping his chest-length gray beard right to the chin. She thought he might start crying, so she moved around in front of him and was as gentle as she could be. When she was all done, she paused to admire her work.
'My goodness, Dore, doesn't he look like a younger man now?' she asked her friend with just the slightest eyebrow twitch in her direction.
Dore caught the signal and nodded her agreement enthusiastically. 'Oh yes, Captain Pam. You have cut at least twenty years away along with all that fur. Herr Bosun, you are truly a handsome fellow!'
When it came down to it, they weren't kidding. The bosun had a good, strong chin and he sincerely did look a lot younger without all the gray hair. He pointed his chin forward proudly and grinned as he rubbed it, his cheeks a brighter red even than their usual cherry flush.
A couple of hours later, the entire crew was lined up for inspection as Pam and Dore admired their work. At first glance they faced a collection of strangers, a very good start indeed.
'All right, take a break and get something to eat. In half an hour be back on deck for your makeup, and don't be late,' Pam ordered them.
She and Dore took their leave, retiring to Pam's cabin. Once the door was closed they both broke into helpless fits of laughter.
'You thought that was fun,' Pam managed to gasp, 'just wait till we paint them all bronze!'
****
To be continued . . .
Playing Nice in Someone Else’s Sandbox: An Examination of the 1632 Universe and the Grantville Gazette
The year is 1631 AD. The place is an insignificant patch of land in the middle of the Germanies (Germany as a united country did not yet exist). The historical backdrop is the Thirty Years’ War, a bloody and terrible struggle between Catholic and Protestant nations for control of central Europe. In the midst of this scene, a miracle appears; a perfectly circular ring of flame burning so high it can be seen for miles throughout the surrounding countryside. When the flames die, what the Ring of Fire[1] left behind may be still more miraculous: a modern-day West Virginia town from the future, the year 2000 AD, full of the normal assortment of farmers, miners, scoundrels, champions, hippies, reactionaries, and folks just trying to live their lives. In West Virginia, in 2000, they were just ordinary people, but in this time and place, they have the power to shake the world . . .
This is the setting for Eric Flint’s first novel in the 1632 universe, entitled
As its main premise is to alter history, the events in the 1632 series start to diverge fairly quickly from the recorded timeline. Battles are fought out of sequence, new alliances are forged, new dynasties produced, new technologies introduced, historical personages refuse to die “on schedule,” pianofortes are introduced before the end of the Baroque period, and most of North America is bought up by Cardinal Richelieu, sold by King Charles to help finance a war in the Baltic Sea.
