The native women were kind enough to lead Huxley and his men the rest of the way to the village. The two riflemen, normally reserved and inclined to leave their guns hanging loosely across their shoulders, then held them with a firm grip, though Huxley was eventually able to convince them that weapons were not necessary.
"We're all friends here, gentlemen, and friends do not point weapons at friends. All right? Be at ease, and you'll be perfectly fine," he told them.
Again, Akan led the way, followed by the native porter, then the remaining white men, and as they marched into town, the villagers fled the main path, staying close to their huts and, in some cases, taking shelter within.
"It's almost as if they're afraid of us," Huxley remarked.
"Slavers, sir," said Westmoreland. "They're afraid we're slavers."
Yet not all of the attention was focused on the white men, with their guns and bizarre facial hair. A larger portion of the villagers stared with a great deal of interest in Akan, the giant walking in their midst. He was as flattered as he was self-conscious.
The woman in red stopped after a moment and pointed up the path with a smile on her face. Ahead lay a small, crudely constructed building that bore no similarities to the surrounding huts. This was tall, rectangular--a good European style in Huxley's eyes.
"Church," she said.
"Thank you, dear. For your troubles--" Huxley handed her one of the larger coins from his pouch, which she examined thoughtfully as she walked away, the rest of her cadre of gossiping women right behind her.
They continued on toward the church, even as the door swung open, and a white woman in a blue dress stepped outside, her hands draped loosely atop her hips, to see what the commotion was. Her shapely frame and seemingly tempestuous hair, temporarily bound by a leather thong, caught Huxley's eyes immediately.
"Perhaps I should speak to her alone," he suggested to his men with an innocent shrug. Akan, however, refused to be excluded and followed just behind as Huxley strode away from his party and approached the unflinching young woman at the church door.
"What do you want?" the woman asked before Huxley could properly introduce himself.
"I mean no harm, madam. Honestly. We're a mere band of mapmakers come to chart this territory and humbly ask for board. My name is Tho--"
"Mapmakers? With rifles?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing the two riflemen at the rear of his party.
"You can be certain about nothing in this world, I've found. I'm an associate of Dr. Livingstone's, if you recognize the name. We have the same peaceful intentions he possessed, though our purpose is slightly diverged. We make guides for fine charitable organizations as your own, to better assist them as their missions are dispersed to the ends of the world."
"You know Dr. Livingstone?"
"Yes. In fact, I shared supper with him just before I left England. Charming old man, that one."
The stern look on her face dissipated, and a broad smile took its place, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. She brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead and stared at Huxley with bright blue eyes.
"You'll have to forgive me," she said. "I've learned that you can't always trust other Europeans you meet in this part of the world."
"I understand completely. As I was saying, my name is Thomas Huxley."
"Virginia Pear."
Akan, having been forgotten at Huxley's back, tapped his associate on the shoulder.
"Ah, and this is my partner, Akan."
"Pleasure to meet you, Akan," she replied, smiling up at the face above her, which politely smiled back. "I trust you have official papers?"
"A few. I'm afraid they've become a bit tattered in our journeys."
"Well, then, they'll have to do. Come, Mr. Huxley, Mr. Akan, we'll find beds for the lot of you tonight."
"I'm looking forward to it," said Huxley with a lingering grin as he followed Virginia back to the rest of his party and, from there, across the village.
"We're all friends here, gentlemen, and friends do not point weapons at friends. All right? Be at ease, and you'll be perfectly fine," he told them.
Again, Akan led the way, followed by the native porter, then the remaining white men, and as they marched into town, the villagers fled the main path, staying close to their huts and, in some cases, taking shelter within.
"It's almost as if they're afraid of us," Huxley remarked.
"Slavers, sir," said Westmoreland. "They're afraid we're slavers."
Yet not all of the attention was focused on the white men, with their guns and bizarre facial hair. A larger portion of the villagers stared with a great deal of interest in Akan, the giant walking in their midst. He was as flattered as he was self-conscious.
The woman in red stopped after a moment and pointed up the path with a smile on her face. Ahead lay a small, crudely constructed building that bore no similarities to the surrounding huts. This was tall, rectangular--a good European style in Huxley's eyes.
"Church," she said.
"Thank you, dear. For your troubles--" Huxley handed her one of the larger coins from his pouch, which she examined thoughtfully as she walked away, the rest of her cadre of gossiping women right behind her.
They continued on toward the church, even as the door swung open, and a white woman in a blue dress stepped outside, her hands draped loosely atop her hips, to see what the commotion was. Her shapely frame and seemingly tempestuous hair, temporarily bound by a leather thong, caught Huxley's eyes immediately.
"Perhaps I should speak to her alone," he suggested to his men with an innocent shrug. Akan, however, refused to be excluded and followed just behind as Huxley strode away from his party and approached the unflinching young woman at the church door.
"What do you want?" the woman asked before Huxley could properly introduce himself.
"I mean no harm, madam. Honestly. We're a mere band of mapmakers come to chart this territory and humbly ask for board. My name is Tho--"
"Mapmakers? With rifles?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing the two riflemen at the rear of his party.
"You can be certain about nothing in this world, I've found. I'm an associate of Dr. Livingstone's, if you recognize the name. We have the same peaceful intentions he possessed, though our purpose is slightly diverged. We make guides for fine charitable organizations as your own, to better assist them as their missions are dispersed to the ends of the world."
"You know Dr. Livingstone?"
"Yes. In fact, I shared supper with him just before I left England. Charming old man, that one."
The stern look on her face dissipated, and a broad smile took its place, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. She brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead and stared at Huxley with bright blue eyes.
"You'll have to forgive me," she said. "I've learned that you can't always trust other Europeans you meet in this part of the world."
"I understand completely. As I was saying, my name is Thomas Huxley."
"Virginia Pear."
Akan, having been forgotten at Huxley's back, tapped his associate on the shoulder.
"Ah, and this is my partner, Akan."
"Pleasure to meet you, Akan," she replied, smiling up at the face above her, which politely smiled back. "I trust you have official papers?"
"A few. I'm afraid they've become a bit tattered in our journeys."
"Well, then, they'll have to do. Come, Mr. Huxley, Mr. Akan, we'll find beds for the lot of you tonight."
"I'm looking forward to it," said Huxley with a lingering grin as he followed Virginia back to the rest of his party and, from there, across the village.
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