The Princess and the Captain

by Anne-Laure Bondoux

  ‘Hey!’ Orpheus tried provoking him, putting his face close to the cook’s. ‘You promised to catch us fish, Finopico! Go on, dive in! Dive in and bring us back something to eat!’

  Finopico did not reply. His chest was rising and falling in time with his breathing, but his strength had gone.

  ‘Princess!’ called Orpheus.

  Turning away from Finopico, he went towards Malva. She was still sitting on the sea chest, one shoulder leaning on Lei, but her eyes were lifeless. Orpheus knelt down in front of her and took her hands. They were cold as death.

  ‘Princess, speak to me! Say something! Just a word, by Holy Tranquillity!’

  To his dismay, not a sound passed her lips. As for Lei, she had slipped into a profound slumber. It was no good for Orpheus to plead with her, shake her – nothing worked. He tried the twins, drew them towards him, shouted their names, threatened and cajoled them, with no result. They too had been overcome by the morbid languor that had drained them of any wish to live.

  ‘We’re not going to die here,’ muttered Orpheus, casting the Nokros a panic-stricken glance.

  He was horrified by the situation. His throat was constricted, his heart leaped about in his breast like a caged animal. He turned to Zeph and ran one hand through the thick fur on the dog’s head. Beneath it he saw the St Bernard’s eyes light up.

  ‘Zeph – can you hear me?’

  The dog looked straight at him.

  ‘You can hear me!’ cried Orpheus, greatly relieved. ‘You’re alive at least! Stupid old mutt!’

  He put his arms lovingly around the dog as tears sprang to his eyes.

  ‘Can you feel Death on the prowl, Zeph?’ he asked. ‘We must chase it away, do you hear? I refuse to abandon my post. I won’t let my life end in a place like this …’

  Orpheus leaped to his feet and ran to the fo’c’s’le. His fear had suddenly turned to revolt. He hung from the rigging, shouting furiously at the sky.

  ‘By all the Divinities of the Known World – and the Unknown Worlds too!’ he cried. ‘I’m alive and I’ll fight to stay alive! This ship is afloat! I’m its captain! And I swear that it will take me where I want to go. I refuse to break my word.’

  He was getting his breath back. Nothing in the sky had changed, but Orpheus felt the blood racing through his veins. Picking up a piece of timber torn loose in the storm, he flung it into the seaweed with all his might.

  ‘Be off, spirits of Death!’ he cried. ‘Let us go on our way!’

  And he threw more debris into the murky waters, swearing the whole time. A trickle of sweat ran down his temples. He was gasping for breath, and his throat was sore with all the shouting, but his anger would not die down.

  ‘I want water! Clear water!’ he shouted, as if it were a feverish incantation. ‘Something to drink for our dry throats! Something to eat for our empty bellies! Wind for our ragged sails! Hope for our broken hearts!’

  He suddenly stopped, opened his mouth and sneezed violently. He had just felt a breath of fresh air on his face.

  Muzzle raised, Zeph yapped two or three times. Now the wind was ruffling the spongy surface of the water, creating movement that broke up the uniform layer of seaweed here and there. Patches of turquoise water appeared, and the Fabula moved gently.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Orpheus. ‘Look at this!’

  The other passengers didn’t move. But suddenly the seaweed parted, drifted away and dispersed, and a pathway appeared in front of the ship’s bows.

  ‘We’re moving!’ marvelled Orpheus.

  A mysterious force was pushing the Fabula forward. Clinging to the rigging, Orpheus looked along the line of blue water that cut through the layer of seaweed. Soon he saw the blurred shape of another island in the distance.

  ‘Land! Land ahoy!’ he rejoiced. ‘We’re saved!’

  There were trees on the island, flowers, rocks and a waterfall cascading down a mossy hillside. Zeph started barking as land came closer, but the other passengers still didn’t react.

  A moment later the Fabula entered the calm waters of a large bay. Intoxicated with hope, Orpheus seized one of the mooring ropes.

  ‘Wait here!’ he told his companions. ‘I’ll be back!’

  Diving off the fo’c’s’le, he swam as strongly as he could to the beach ahead of the ship, which was moving gently forward towards the shallows. A tree with an enormous trunk grew a little way from the water, and Orpheus wrapped his mooring rope firmly round its rough bark.

  Unlike the island where Catabea lived, this one was teeming with life. There were insects, birds (not with human heads this time), fruits and berries – something to satisfy all their appetites.

  Orpheus went on up the beach towards some undergrowth. But as he skirted a large rock he suddenly stopped, stifling a cry of surprise. A man was sitting on a tree stump looking at him.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Orpheus apologised. ‘I …’

  The man was much older than him. His face was covered with brown age spots, and his white hair flowed over his shoulders. He was holding a small knife in his left hand and the stem of a reed between his knees.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Orpheus repeated. ‘I … we need food and water. My companions …’

  He pointed to the ship, unable to finish his sentence.

  ‘Take anything you like,’ the man calmly replied in perfect Galnician. ‘This island belongs to no one and everyone. It’s full of riches, and I don’t know what to do with them. Do you have a knife?’

  Orpheus pointed to the knife at his belt.

  ‘Then you can cut fruits and roots,’ the old man smiled. ‘Help yourself.’

  Then he bent his head, and went on with his work, whittling the reed into shape. Disconcerted, Orpheus hesitated for a moment, wondering which way to go.

  ‘Oh, and as for water,’ the man went on, ‘I have a little keg over there in the shade of the araucaria. You can borrow it.’

  Orpheus nodded his thanks, and then, postponing his questions until later, went up to the tree. Its branches bristled with thorns. The keg contained clear, cool water, and there was a wooden ladle beside it. He picked up the ladle, had a long drink, and suddenly felt his weariness vanish. Waiting no longer, he picked up the keg, went back to the Fabula, and hauled himself up the rope ladder with one hand. Once on deck, he hurried to Malva first.

  ‘Drink this, Princess,’ he murmured, pouring water into her mouth from the ladle.

  Malva drank, clumsily at first, then greedily. She reopened her amber eyes at last and looked gratefully at Orpheus. He smiled.

  ‘I’ll bring you something to eat soon.’

  Then he went to Lei, the twins, Babilas and Finopico, and finally poured a little water into a bowl for Zeph. Each time the same miracle happened: the water seemed to bring those who drank it back to life.

  Reassured, Orpheus returned to the island to thank the old man.

  ‘It’s the clouds you should thank,’ replied the man, never stopping his work. ‘It rains every night here.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You’ll find a big basket for collecting fruits under the latania tree. You can borrow it.’

  Orpheus thanked him again, replaced the water keg under the araucaria, found the basket and went into the outskirts of the jungle. Trees of all shapes and sizes were bowed under the weight of their fruit. He picked so much that his basket was very soon full. Orpheus bit into a kind of tender-fleshed apple which tasted delicious, and then made haste to get back on board the Fabula with his harvest and give the fruit to his companions. The colour came back into their cheeks.

  ‘That’s good!’ sighed Hob.

  ‘Thank you, Captain, said Peppe.

  Malva just smiled.

  ‘When you feel strong enough,’ Orpheus told her cheerfully, ‘come and join me ashore. There are hundreds of fruits waiting to be picked!’

  Then he clambered down the side of the Fabula again. He was feeling curious about the old man, and wanted to talk to him and find out his name and what he was doi
ng on this island.

  ‘My name is Jahalod-Rin,’ the man replied when Orpheus asked him. ‘I’ve lived on this island for more years than I can count. I make flutes.’

  ‘Are you a musician?’ Orpheus asked.

  ‘No, I make flutes, that’s all.’

  ‘Do you never play them?’

  ‘Never.’

  Orpheus frowned. ‘Then who are the flutes for if you don’t play them yourself?’

  Jahalod-Rin narrowed his eyes as a smile hovered around his thin lips. ‘Making flutes is no sillier than wanting to leave the Archipelago.’

  ‘How do you know that’s what we want to do?’

  ‘You’re just like all the others,’ said the old man, laughing. ‘You arrive here with a great deal of noise, you set off the warning sirens, you bring the Patrols flying along, and then all you want to do is go away again! Personally I preferred to resign myself to my fate and use my time in other ways. This island is full of pools and rivers; reeds grow freely everywhere, so I make flutes.’

  Orpheus looked at Jahalod-Rin in surprise. ‘You didn’t want … ?’ he began.

  ‘No, no,’ smiled Jahalod, anticipating his question. ‘Why go round and round among all these islands and risk ending up in the Immuration? I’m better off here. I don’t expect anything more of life, but at least I’m not disappointed.’

  Orpheus sat down on the sand in front of the old man. He took off his quartermaster’s jacket and mopped his brow. He said nothing for a moment, lost in contemplation of the island. The distant sound of the waterfall was enough to soothe and refresh him. Jahalod-Rin had gone back to his patient work, giving it all his attention.

  ‘But Catabea did tell us there was a way out of here,’ sighed Orpheus.

  ‘I haven’t believed in that for a long time,’ replied the old man. ‘Those who tried to get out are all dead now, if you ask me.’

  ‘Have you seen them?’ Orpheus asked timidly. ‘I mean … have you seen the Immuration?’

  Jahalod shrugged. ‘Of course not! Only those thrown into the Immuration know what it’s like. There, look! This one’s finished.’

  He proudly showed the new flute he had just been cutting to shape. When Orpheus nodded admiringly, he handed it to him.

  ‘Here you are, a present,’ he said. ‘When you leave you’ll remember me.’

  Orpheus, who was not used to getting presents, readily accepted it. Everything seemed so easy in this wise old man’s company.

  ‘Having said that,’ added Jahalod, ‘I’m not chasing you away. You’re very welcome. Stay as long as you like. You’ll be company, and that will be a nice change for me. I haven’t had any visitors for so long!’

  Here Orpheus had the presence of mind to ask about the Archont. ‘Have you seen a man alone aboard a Cispazian ship? A man with a smooth, shaven skull, wearing richly embroidered robes?’

  When Jahalod-Rin shook his long white hair, Orpheus felt better. If the Archont had really followed them to this strange place, as Catabea had said, at least he wasn’t prowling around these parts. He instinctively put the flute to his lips and blew. A pure note came out, making Jahalod smile.

  ‘You know how to play it!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Not really,’ Orpheus confessed, ‘but it can’t be too difficult to learn.’

  ‘Play it again! Please do!’

  Orpheus obliged. Stopping the holes with his fingers, he produced a series of notes that delighted the old man.

  ‘Music … ah, that comforts me. I feel sad already to know that you will leave again.’

  Orpheus immediately felt his heart contract. This old man seemed so lonely, so kind. He wanted to help and please him. ‘We won’t be leaving at once,’ he hastened to assure him. ‘We need to rest, and we need time to repair our boat. If you will allow it, we’d like to sleep on land tonight.’

  The old man’s face lit up. With a wave of his hand, he pointed out a roof made of planks that he had built close to the araucaria. ‘It rains hard at night here, so do by all means take shelter there.’

  Orpheus, who didn’t like the damp or draughts, appreciated the old man’s hospitality. He ran back to the Fabula, told his companions about Jahalod and showed them the plank shelter.

  ‘We won’t stay long,’ he told them, casting a quick glance at the Nokros, ‘but I’m sure there are delights on this island that will do us good.’

  27

  The Flutes of Discord

  And so the crew of the Fabula recovered their health. Lei found the plants and insects she needed for her medicine in the undergrowth of the island. She made potions and ointments to treat Babilas’s injured hand, and once again the giant was able to lift and carry, cut wood and dig. He worked so well that the leaks in the hull of the ship were soon plugged, the deck was cleaned, the masts replaced.

  Meanwhile Orpheus, who had asked Jahalod-Rin’s permission to bury the bodies of the sailors who had died in the storm, dug graves not far from the source of the waterfall, with help from the twins and Finopico.

  ‘May Holy Tranquillity and Holy Harmony protect them for ever,’ he said, once the dead were buried. Then he mopped his brow, and looked at the sky above the trees.

  ‘This is a wonderful place,’ he went on. ‘And Jahalod-Rin is a remarkable man, don’t you think?’

  ‘He’s strange,’ said Hob. ‘Kind, though.’

  ‘More than that!’ said Orpheus. ‘He’s … delightful.’

  He had seen so many men reveal their base, deceitful natures: his own father, of course, and then the Archont and the Captain of the Errabunda. Jahalod-Rin, on the other hand, was infinitely kind and simple. In his company, Orpheus could feel more confidence in his fellow humans. He sensed that this time he had found a really good example.

  ‘Jahalod is so wise,’ he said as they walked down the path leading back to the beach. ‘You don’t have to think he’s strange just because he spends all day making reed flutes. He’s a craftsman. And his fingers are remarkably nimble for a man of his age.’

  He picked up the flute that the old man had given him and played a few notes on it. When they were close to the Fabula again he sat down on the sand and went on playing, providing cheerful accompaniment for Babilas and Malva, who were busy sewing the sails together again. Malva looked up from her work and looked cautiously at Orpheus.

  ‘Don’t you think you ought to be repairing the navigational instruments, Captain?’ she suggested.

  Orpheus stopped playing for a moment. ‘Later!’ he said. ‘There’s no hurry.’

  Malva turned to the Nokros. The first Stone of Life was half dissolved. How could Orpheus suddenly be so carefree? She looked down the beach to where old Jahalod sat on his rock, cutting his reeds. He appeared serene, but there was something about him that made Malva feel uneasy. She couldn’t help looking at the old man with a touch of suspicion. She couldn’t understand how anyone could choose to stay in the Archipelago, as he had done.

  ‘Spending your days cutting flutes!’ muttered Malva. ‘It’s absurd. What’s the point of sitting on the ground doing the same thing over and over again?’

  Two days passed very quickly. Hob and Peppe, who had learnt to chase rats and stray cats when they were roaming the roads of Galnicia, caught game. Small rodents, birds, long-tailed marsupials. Finopico restocked the galley of the Fabula, made fishing rods from the bamboos in the forest, and invented all kinds of delicious dishes, which the crew shared with old Jahalod.

  On the second evening, Orpheus lit a big bonfire on the beach. When they were all sitting around it on the sand, he raised a goblet of mangava juice to Jahalod-Rin.

  ‘To our host’s good health!’ he said, his eyes shining. ‘To his great wisdom and his hospitality! But for him we’d all be dead of hunger and thirst by now!

  The others gravely nodded, remembering the poor state in which they had come ashore. Only Malva was unwilling to drink to Jahalod’s health. She drew her knees up to her chin and looked sulky. While his companions ate
heartily, Orpheus took out his flute. He played for a long time, and the old man listened with delight.

  ‘You are wonderfully gifted!’ he exclaimed, between mouthfuls. ‘I never heard such sweet melodies in my life!’

  The others exchanged doubtful glances. Orpheus wasn’t doing badly for a beginner, but they thought Jahalod’s compliments were rather over the top.

  ‘We’re gifted too!’ announced the twins.

  They got up and were about to sing some Galnician songs, but they had hardly begun on the first when Jahalod began coughing.

  ‘Excuse me!’ he said as he got his breath back. ‘But I think I like the sound of the flute better.’

  ‘Maybe you do, but Orpheus hasn’t had a chance to eat,’ objected Hob, slightly annoyed. ‘We just wanted to let him –’

  ‘Oh, I’m not hungry,’ Orpheus assured them. ‘Do go on eating, all of you. I’ll just play for a little longer.’

  Hob and Peppe stopped singing, disappointed, and glanced at Malva. She was boiling with fury inside. The sound of the flute got on her nerves, but she didn’t like to say anything. Jahalod-Rin, eating his fill of grilled game, fruit and the fish caught by Finopico, was nodding his white head in time to the music and beaming happily.

  ‘If I had ever had a son,’ he suddenly said, ‘I’d have liked him to be like you.’

  At these words Orpheus stopped playing. There was a sudden lump in his throat.

  ‘I had a father,’ he murmured, putting the instrument down on his knees. ‘He’s dead now. I buried him a few months ago in Galnicia. I wish so much …’

  He hesitated, suddenly looking into space. Zeph gave a little yap as he burned his nose on a live ember. Orpheus jumped.

  ‘You were talking about your father,’ Jahalod gently reminded him.

  ‘Yes, my father,’ murmured Orpheus. ‘He was a man who … who, sad to say, was not as wise and honest as you.’

  He looked at the flute, shook his head as if to shake off his melancholy, and began playing again. Malva shuddered.