The Princess and the Captain

by Anne-Laure Bondoux

  He raised his head, met Malva’s eyes, and blushed.

  ‘I think I have an idea,’ he said to cover up his confusion. ‘If I’m right, it would be …’

  He quickly put down the candle and searched the works spread out on the bunk. Finally he found the book he was looking for. It was the one Finopico had been reading on the evening when they confided in each other. He leafed feverishly through it.

  ‘Page 243,’ he said.

  He pointed to the engraving of the Ghoom of the Deeps, and read its description out loud. Then he handed the book to Malva, who looked at the illustration.

  ‘Well, if that’s the creature that bit me I was lucky. It could have killed me and dragged me down to the bottom of the sea.’

  ‘And if it is,’ Orpheus went on, ‘then Finopico was right, and the Ghoom isn’t just a legend. It really exists.’

  Malva looked at the engraving closely again, and then at her scar.

  ‘He so much wanted to prove that he wasn’t wrong,’ sighed Orpheus. ‘Poor man, finding that fish had become an obsession with him. And if we’re right, he had the proof of it before his eyes!’

  He put his hand on the Princess’s leg once again. She had goosebumps. Orpheus slowly closed the books and piled them up on the floor.

  ‘You’re cold,’ he told Malva. ‘You must rest now.’

  He picked up a blanket and made her get under it. When her head was lying on the pillow, her long, inky black hair was spread round her face like a halo.

  Orpheus went very close to her. There was a silence. Malva closed her eyes, and Orpheus very gently placed his lips on hers.

  At that moment their hearts were like the twin stars shining in the sky: two bright little points amidst the vast darkness of the universe.

  43

  Galnicia Ahoy!

  Hob was asleep in the maintop when a seagull dropping fell on his face. He woke with a start. The bird flew away screeching, as if to mock him.

  ‘Filthy bird!’ said the boy crossly, wiping his face on his sleeve.

  Only then did he realise that this was the first gull he had seen for months. He sat up at once and leaned forward. Far away, he could make out the shape of land … and of a large building on top of a hill. Hob widened his eyes, opened his mouth, and shouted, ‘Galnicia! Galnicia ahoy! Land ahead!’

  Hearing him, Malva, Babilas, Lei and Orpheus rushed up from the central hatch and crowded to the fo’c’s’le.

  It was a grey, still, cloudy day, but there was no mist; the coast of Galnicia could clearly be seen, and so could the mouth of the River Gdavir.

  ‘Melfed liagh twyll!’ exclaimed Babilas.

  His suntanned face suddenly softened, and Lei saw a tear of joy in the corner of the giant’s eyes. Her own feelings, of course, were not as strong; Galnicia was not her own country, and yet again she would be only a foreigner here. All the same, she felt glad to have arrived, and the idea of setting foot on dry land at last was pleasant. Most of all, she was impatient to mount a horse; Malva had promised to give her the best in her father’s stables and an escort of soldiers to take her home across the Orniant.

  Hob, in great excitement, clambered down from the shrouds and fell heavily to deck.

  ‘We’re coming home!’ he cried. ‘Bringing the Princess! The Coronador won’t believe his eyes! We’re heroes!’

  And bursting out laughing, he began a little dance, whirling Lei away with him in circles and pirouettes until they were both breathless.

  ‘We are heroes, aren’t we, Captain?’ he asked, stopping to get his breath back.

  ‘That’s not for me to decide,’ said Orpheus, smiling modestly. ‘And you ought to wipe your nose better than that before asking a girl to dance with you. Anyone would think a bird had been doing its business on you!’

  Hob went red as a beetroot and rubbed his nose until it was scarlet.

  ‘Well, at least we’ll get a reward, won’t we?’ he grumbled. ‘I seem to remember the Coronador talking about mountains of galniks.’

  Standing by the beak-head rail, Malva was in a melancholy mood. It was she who had decided to go back – no one had made her – but hearing Hob talk she couldn’t help feeling like a trophy being brought home from the hunt. Orpheus went over to her and put his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘Don’t listen to that loud-mouthed Hob!’ he murmured in her ear. ‘If you want to change your mind you still can. We’ll come ashore further away, somewhere close to the frontier, and you can disappear. No one will know you were here, no one will know where you’re going. Not even me if you like. All you’ll have to do is disappear again.’

  The more visible the coast became, the harder Malva’s heart was beating. The Citadel, the river, the Campanile at the top of the Upper Town …

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘We’ll put into port here, and I won’t run away. As for the reward, do what you like about it. If my father is still alive, then –’

  ‘But what makes you think the Coronador might be dead?’ Orpheus interrupted her. ‘He’s still young! You’ve been away for less than a year, Malva. Things can’t have changed that much.’

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘It’s just a feeling I have.’

  As they approached the entrance to the port, the five passengers on the Fabula were surprised to see a heavy bronze chain slung between the harbour walls to keep ships out. Orpheus told Babilas to cast anchor, and when the ship was at rest he turned to his companions.

  ‘It was one of the edicts proclaimed by the Archont during the period when the Coronador had handed over authority. The port was in quarantine … but the edict was rescinded to let us leave. I don’t understand why the chain’s still there now.’

  From where the Fabula lay they could see the masts of ships at their moorings. Hob counted only a dozen. So where was the rest of the fleet?

  ‘And the fishing boats?’ asked Malva, worried. ‘And where are the seagulls too?’

  She was right. The sky was empty above the harbour, and however hard they strained their ears they couldn’t hear voices, or the sound of barrels rolling, dogs barking or pulleys creaking. The port was in the grip of silence.

  Babilas and Orpheus looked at each other, and came to an agreement. Without a word, the giant leaped up on the rail and dived into the cold water. The others watched him swim to the harbour wall, and shouted encouragement to him when he reached it.

  Once he had hauled himself up on the wall, breathless and dripping wet, Babilas pulled on the enormous bronze chain. Seaweed and shells clung to it. He grimaced, stepped back and managed to detach it. Orpheus raised the anchor, and the Fabula finally came into harbour.

  Assembled in the bows of the ship, the passengers saw a depressing sight: the ships, dusty and rusty, were rotting after lying so long in the mud. Their masts were bent over like old men. Gutted barrels, empty chests and detritus were scattered over the deserted landing stages, and the doors of taverns all along the quaysides swung in the draughts of air.

  ‘What’s happened here?’ wondered Orpheus, as the stem of the Fabula cut through the muddy, stagnant water.

  ‘The place smells of dead fish,’ Hob said.

  At the end of the quay Orpheus threw Babilas a hawser so that he could make the ship fast. Malva was very pale, but she indicated that she was all right: they must disembark and go into the city to find out what was going on. At Orpheus’s command, Hob put a gangplank out from the catwalk to the quay, and when they were all on land the little procession set out towards the streets of the Lower Town.

  Everywhere they went, they saw houses with their doors closed. There was no sound, no smell, no human presence. It was cold. An unpleasant draught of cold air made Orpheus sneeze several times.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve all gone to a party?’ suggested Hob. ‘Perhaps they’re waiting to surprise us?’

  He said this without believing it, just to encourage himself. But the further he went the fainter he felt. Memories came into his min
d at every step, memories of the time when he was living rough on the streets with Peppe. They had stolen an orange from an orange-girl here, they had fought a rival gang there, and they had shared the takings from a day of begging under that porch …

  ‘There aren’t even any stray cats around,’ murmured Orpheus, feeling more and more uneasy.

  When they came close to the River Gdavir the five companions were yet more baffled. Even at the lowest point of the city’s mourning, when it was believed that the Princess had drowned, the Lower Town had never seemed as gloomy as this.

  ‘Hey, look at that!’ Hob suddenly exclaimed, pointing to the piers of the bridge. Strange, grey, supple plants were swaying in the wind on the banks of the river. ‘Do you remember, Captain? Those seeds I stole from the cook in the Citadel! The seeds the messenger brought as a present! They’ve come up!’

  Hob dragged the others down to the riverside.

  ‘They look like …’ said Malva hesitantly, going over to the plants, ‘oh, they look like …’ She touched the grey stems and then pulled at their seed heads. Little seeds fell into the palm of her hand. Malva’s face lit up. ‘Yes, they’re paghul!’

  ‘You know this plant?’ asked Hob in surprise.

  ‘I certainly do! Uzmir and the Baighurs were always chewing it when I rode over the Great Azizian Steppes with them!’

  ‘Uzmir! That was it!’ cried Hob. ‘That’s the funny name of the messenger who came to tell the Coronador you weren’t dead.’

  Delighted, Malva smiled and riffled through the grey leaves to harvest the seeds.

  ‘It’s a miracle that the seeds came up, Hob. Paghul usually grows only in stunted little groups in the harsh climate of the steppes. Try this!’

  She offered seeds to Babilas, Orpheus and Lei. ‘You chew them,’ she explained, stuffing a handful into her own mouth.

  ‘Hadsin tlu!’ said Babilas, making a face.

  ‘He say paghul taste of nothing,’ Lei translated.

  ‘He’s right,’ agreed Orpheus.

  They stayed there for a little while, watching the currents of the river. Once the Gdavir flowed through the whole country, shining silver, and the Galnicians were proud of its splendour. Now its waters were murky and yellow, mingled with mud and dead branches.

  Orpheus looked up at the Campanile that dominated the Upper Town on the other bank. Birds were wheeling slowly around it like vultures. He swallowed a few more paghul seeds, and took a deep breath.

  ‘Come on,’ he told his companions. ‘Maybe there’s someone at home in the fashionable parts of town.’

  But they found no one in the wider, cleaner streets of the Upper Town either. The fountains in the middle of the squares were clogged with moss. Cobwebs quivered in the wind at the doors of the big houses. Orpheus sneezed again.

  When they reached the Campanile they called for the Holy Diafron. No reply. Orpheus knocked on the door of the house where he had been born, but Berthilde didn’t open it, as he had half-hoped she might.

  ‘This place freezing,’ said Lei. ‘Many bad vibrations! I want leave!’

  ‘Wait,’ Malva begged her. ‘I’m sure there’s some good reason for all this.’

  But Lei shook her head. ‘Terrible things happen here. Disease, poverty, war. Everyone dead!’

  Hob started trembling. He cast a distraught glance at Babilas, who was standing there motionless in the wind, not sure what to do with his big hands.

  ‘Everyone dead!’ repeated Lei, wide-eyed. ‘We die too! I want leave!’

  Orpheus took the fair-haired girl by her shoulders.

  ‘It’s only five months since I left the City myself!’ he exclaimed. ‘People were going about their business then. They were walking around, playing, arguing. They were alive. They can’t possibly all have died in such a short time. It’s just not possible!’ He let go of Lei. ‘Let’s go up to the Citadel. Something must have happened to make everyone take shelter there.’

  They went swiftly down the empty streets again, but when they reached the gates of the Citadel they were closed too.

  ‘That makes sense,’ Orpheus reassured himself. ‘The people have shut themselves inside.’

  He went over to the bell-pull hanging from the pilaster by the gates and tugged it hard. The rusty chain gave way and came off in his hands.

  ‘Pertort gwener dorim a ustwig,’ said Babilas.

  Lei didn’t have the strength left to translate his words, but the others understood what he had been saying when they saw the giant climb the wall, hauling himself up by his arms. He managed to jump down on the other side. Soon after that they heard creaking, and the gates opened wide.

  Malva was the first to enter the precincts of the Citadel. She immediately noticed that weeds had grown in the middle of the gravel all along the avenue. Further away, under the shade of the sycamores, the rain had dug ruts in it, and no one had taken the trouble to fill them in. If a carriage tried driving this way it would be thrown into the ditch. Malva had never seen the gardens in such a state. Wherever she looked she saw only tangled grass, rusty tools, abandoned carts, broken branches and dead trees. She felt she had come back in a nightmare to haunt her own childhood.

  Emotion overcame her when she saw the West Wing of the Citadel. Its roof had fallen in. Further on, level with the cliff, you could just see that the walls were pitted with the marks of cannonballs. There could be no more doubt that the Citadel had been attacked … and had not resisted. Malva hid her face in her hands. She had never expected to see her country in this state. Galnicia was obviously abandoned and deserted now.

  Behind her, Hob, Babilas, Lei and Orpheus were walking slowly on, with increasing reluctance. When they saw that Malva was crying they stopped.

  At that moment someone appeared at the end of the avenue: an old man with tousled hair, limping towards them and muttering. Orpheus quickly joined Malva.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he asked, pointing to the man.

  Malva wiped away her tears, and, as the man approached, she narrowed her eyes, trying to recognise his wrinkled face and unsteady gait. As far as she remembered, none of the servants, chamberlains, gardeners or cooks limped like that. It wasn’t until the last moment, when the man turned his eyes on her, that Malva recognised him. She uttered a stifled cry.

  ‘Father!’

  The Coronador was no longer the man Malva had known. He had little in common with the stern, intimidating monarch who had humiliated her in public. She saw before her a sick old man who inspired nothing but pity. And she had feared this moment so much – if only she had known!

  The Coronador stopped beside her, his eyes full of tears. He spoke her name. ‘Malva, Malva,’ he repeated hoarsely. Then he put out his trembling, brown-freckled hands to her. He spoke her name again, and when he moved to take her in his arms she let him.

  For as far back as Malva could remember, her father had never allowed himself to show her such affection. Never.

  44

  Ten Years

  The Coronador was living in seclusion in the East Wing of the Citadel, with a handful of faithful servants who tried to keep up a pretence of the splendours of the old days. The rats scurried amidst gilding and silk hangings, and dead leaves whirled in the draughts. On rainy days puddles formed under ornamental tables and dressing tables, and water ran down rust-spotted mirrors, leaving black marks. The ruined mattresses were leaking sawdust, the clocks had lost their hands, the shaky chests of drawers accumulated dust, and the curtains were hanging in tatters at the windows.

  When Malva followed her father into the kitchens and the ballroom, when she climbed the stairs and walked along the galleries, she felt dizzy. This was the way she had gone on the night of her escape. There had been such bustling about in the Citadel then! Where were the maids who polished the floors? And the menservants who lit the candles in the chandeliers? Walking over the threadbare carpets, Malva wondered what turmoil had brought such change to these familiar places while she was away.

  Fe
eling exhausted, she stopped to look out of a window facing south to the terraces. She saw an old gardener standing on a stepladder, trying to trim a hedge. He was swaying on his feet, and his white hair was blowing in the wind. Not far from the great basin the bandstand had fallen in. The last time Malva saw it, a small ensemble had been rehearsing the serenades for her wedding there. She even remembered the tune it played, and the warm scent of jasmine wafting in the evening air.

  She turned to her father. ‘Tell me about it,’ she asked him.

  The Coronador nodded his grey head, and led the newcomers to the Hall of Delicacies. They passed two maids who recognised Malva and burst into tears.

  The Coronador invited his guests to sit at the high table, and he himself removed the sheet covering it. Underneath, the ajouca wood was still smooth and shining.

  ‘I’ve always made sure this table was ready to receive visitors,’ said the Coronador, with a touch of pride. ‘It is all that remains of our past glories.’

  He sat down with his guests and thought for some time, no doubt wondering how to begin his story. In the silence, the draughts chilling the room made Orpheus sneeze. Hob, enormously impressed to find himself there, was sitting close to Babilas, while Lei waited patiently for the old monarch to offer an explanation. Malva had taken Orpheus’s hand and was holding it as tightly as she could under the table.

  ‘We so hoped that you would return, Malva!’ the old man began. ‘Your mother …’ His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. ‘Your mother wore out her knees praying at the Altar of the Divinities. She left so many offerings to them … by Holy Harmony, I wish she could have seen you come back alive!’

  Malva heard these dreadful words without really understanding them. All this time, far from the Citadel, she had never supposed that her absence would really make anyone suffer. She had imagined her parents’ anger and disappointment; she hadn’t thought of them actually grieving for her. And yet …

  The Coronador wiped away a tear and went on, ‘The Coronada died three years ago.’