As the service ended and the villagers filed out with blank looks upon their faces, Huxley began to wonder how whole-hearted their conversions had been. The certainly attended the nightly recitation and prayer, but where they doing so out of actual faith? The point of religion, as he understood it, was to fill one with hope and joy, yet he saw neither of those empty from the chapel pews. It strangely concerned him, yet he hadn't the heart to touch upon that subject with Virginia Pear. Now, especially, he had other matters to discuss, and he waited patiently outside the chapel door for her appearance.
"Mr. Huxley, this is a surprise. May I help you?" she asked, closing the door firmly behind her after making certain the candles were out and the Bibles returned to their proper places on the pews.
"Yes, actually. I'd like to speak with you in private, if I may."
"Certainly," she replied. "I haven't yet shown you my home, have I? Forgive me. I must make a terrible hostess."
"One woman can only do so much," said Huxley. Virginia escorted him through the village, and he found that in its entirety, it was much larger than he originally realized. "Exactly how many people are there here?"
She thought this over for a moment before responding. "In total, I'd estimate just under a hundred."
"That's interesting. To be honest, I never would have expected that many. I hardly ever see them out and about."
"That isn't surprising, Mr. Huxley. There's hardly anywhere to go. There is a regular route from the village to the river, and those who make the journey are constantly returning fresh water for the entire village to share. For food, there is a rough farmland on the far side of the village, where we've perfected the cultivation of several types of root vegetable and plantains. There is rarely a need to go venturing off into the jungle, especially with the fear of capture so heavy in the people's hearts."
"You believe the stories are true, then? That there are roving bands of slavers that catch wandering Africans and drag them away to a life of bondage?"
"Absolutely."
"Have you any idea who they are?"
"None. They must be rogue traders, of course. I can't think of a single European power that still actively condones the trade. Especially now, with this so-called Scramble that would see colonization as a more humane option, though I have my doubts on that particular claim."
They came to a hut that looked like any other, unremarkable in every way. Virginia stopped in front of it and pointed proudly.
"Here we are," she said. "Welcome to my humble cottage."
Inside was a cot set to one side, one no different than Huxley himself had slept on only mere days before, as his expedition sailed down the northernmost river. Beside that, set on the ground was an oil lamp, already lit and spilling forth enough light to illuminate the empty remainder of the small, dreary room. The only other furnishing was a rough bookshelf, containing what appeared to be several Bibles, a leather-bound journal, and a large book of maps that protruded far beyond the others--all of them compacted by two heavy stones, serving as bookends.
"It's a lovely place," Huxley remarked, his face and voice vacant of the scathing sarcasm he ordinarily would have employed.
"It's enough for my needs and nothing more," she said. He could detect a trace of wistful longing on her voice, though, and he clearly understood that she missed having someone with which to share her home. "Now then, you had something you wished to discuss?"
"Yes, and actually, we were soon arriving at this particular topic, anyway."
"Oh?" She stared at him quizzically, trying to recall exactly what they had been speaking of before they entered the hut.
"About the slavers," he reminded her.
"Ah, do go on."
"Do you remember earlier when you asked me whether I had seen a boat, and I said no?"
"Yes," she replied, stretching the word to an exaggerated length.
"I wasn't being entirely accurate."
"Good Lord!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Huxley, have you seen a boat?"
"No," he assured her.
"Oh, thank goodness," she sighed, her tensed neck loosening and drooping that her chin rested against her chest.
"Though Akan believes he did."
"What? Be frank with me, Mr. Huxley: has one among you seen a boat?"
"Possibly."
"Possibly? Possibly? How does one possibly see a boat? One either sees it, or one doesn't!" she yelled, and the flimsy walls of the hut seemed to vibrate with her voice.
"Clearly, you're upset, Ms. Pear, but if my partner is correct, we must take action."
"I agree," she said a moment later, having regained her composure. "If only you hadn't waited so long to speak up about it. For your sake, you best hope that none of my people are missing."
"Madam, I am excruciatingly sorry. I didn't wish to say anything until I was certain."
"And are you certain now?"
Huxley's eyes darted off to one side as he contemplated his reply, fueled by the contemptuous glance being flung in his direction. "Possibly--I mean yes! Yes. Definitely."
Virginia calmly strode to her cot and then kneeled down at its side. For a moment, it seemed to Huxley that she was praying. Instead, she pulled two hunting rifles from beneath it, quickly stood up, passed one of the rifles to him, and left her abode, abandoning it to the coming night.
"Mr. Huxley, this is a surprise. May I help you?" she asked, closing the door firmly behind her after making certain the candles were out and the Bibles returned to their proper places on the pews.
"Yes, actually. I'd like to speak with you in private, if I may."
"Certainly," she replied. "I haven't yet shown you my home, have I? Forgive me. I must make a terrible hostess."
"One woman can only do so much," said Huxley. Virginia escorted him through the village, and he found that in its entirety, it was much larger than he originally realized. "Exactly how many people are there here?"
She thought this over for a moment before responding. "In total, I'd estimate just under a hundred."
"That's interesting. To be honest, I never would have expected that many. I hardly ever see them out and about."
"That isn't surprising, Mr. Huxley. There's hardly anywhere to go. There is a regular route from the village to the river, and those who make the journey are constantly returning fresh water for the entire village to share. For food, there is a rough farmland on the far side of the village, where we've perfected the cultivation of several types of root vegetable and plantains. There is rarely a need to go venturing off into the jungle, especially with the fear of capture so heavy in the people's hearts."
"You believe the stories are true, then? That there are roving bands of slavers that catch wandering Africans and drag them away to a life of bondage?"
"Absolutely."
"Have you any idea who they are?"
"None. They must be rogue traders, of course. I can't think of a single European power that still actively condones the trade. Especially now, with this so-called Scramble that would see colonization as a more humane option, though I have my doubts on that particular claim."
They came to a hut that looked like any other, unremarkable in every way. Virginia stopped in front of it and pointed proudly.
"Here we are," she said. "Welcome to my humble cottage."
Inside was a cot set to one side, one no different than Huxley himself had slept on only mere days before, as his expedition sailed down the northernmost river. Beside that, set on the ground was an oil lamp, already lit and spilling forth enough light to illuminate the empty remainder of the small, dreary room. The only other furnishing was a rough bookshelf, containing what appeared to be several Bibles, a leather-bound journal, and a large book of maps that protruded far beyond the others--all of them compacted by two heavy stones, serving as bookends.
"It's a lovely place," Huxley remarked, his face and voice vacant of the scathing sarcasm he ordinarily would have employed.
"It's enough for my needs and nothing more," she said. He could detect a trace of wistful longing on her voice, though, and he clearly understood that she missed having someone with which to share her home. "Now then, you had something you wished to discuss?"
"Yes, and actually, we were soon arriving at this particular topic, anyway."
"Oh?" She stared at him quizzically, trying to recall exactly what they had been speaking of before they entered the hut.
"About the slavers," he reminded her.
"Ah, do go on."
"Do you remember earlier when you asked me whether I had seen a boat, and I said no?"
"Yes," she replied, stretching the word to an exaggerated length.
"I wasn't being entirely accurate."
"Good Lord!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Huxley, have you seen a boat?"
"No," he assured her.
"Oh, thank goodness," she sighed, her tensed neck loosening and drooping that her chin rested against her chest.
"Though Akan believes he did."
"What? Be frank with me, Mr. Huxley: has one among you seen a boat?"
"Possibly."
"Possibly? Possibly? How does one possibly see a boat? One either sees it, or one doesn't!" she yelled, and the flimsy walls of the hut seemed to vibrate with her voice.
"Clearly, you're upset, Ms. Pear, but if my partner is correct, we must take action."
"I agree," she said a moment later, having regained her composure. "If only you hadn't waited so long to speak up about it. For your sake, you best hope that none of my people are missing."
"Madam, I am excruciatingly sorry. I didn't wish to say anything until I was certain."
"And are you certain now?"
Huxley's eyes darted off to one side as he contemplated his reply, fueled by the contemptuous glance being flung in his direction. "Possibly--I mean yes! Yes. Definitely."
Virginia calmly strode to her cot and then kneeled down at its side. For a moment, it seemed to Huxley that she was praying. Instead, she pulled two hunting rifles from beneath it, quickly stood up, passed one of the rifles to him, and left her abode, abandoning it to the coming night.
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