The Princess and the Captain (23 page)

‘I'm fine!' replied Malva. ‘Send me down a ladder!'

Orpheus did so, and admired the girl's agility as she climbed the ropes. But when she set foot on deck in front of him he looked anxiously at the bloodstains on her clothes.

‘Don't worry,' said Malva, smiling at him. ‘I'm not injured. It's the Captain's blood … and he's stone-dead.'

She began laughing, rather nervously, and then went over to Lei and hugged her.

‘Where are the others?' she asked.

An awkward silence met her query. Malva frowned.

‘You mean we're … we're the only …'

‘For the time being, yes,' Orpheus admitted. ‘The four of us are the only survivors.'

Appalled, the Princess looked Orpheus up and down. Then she raised her eyes to Babilas. ‘Well, at least you look very strong,' she murmured. ‘But you won't be able to repair the
Fabula
and sail her single-handed.'

‘The
Fabula
?' asked Orpheus in surprise.

‘Our ship!' said Malva. ‘I know it may sound odd, but she changed her name during the storm. Look for yourselves!'

The other three leaned over the rail and managed to read, upside down, what remained of the golden letters on the hull.

‘The
Fabula
,' sighed Orpheus. ‘I don't know if the name suits a wreck like this. We have no mainmast, no sails, the tiller's
broken and I don't suppose the instruments are working either. The
Fabula
will have her work cut out to take us back to Galnicia.'

At these words Malva looked hard at Orpheus with her amber eyes.

‘I'm not going back to Galnicia,' she said calmly. ‘I know the Coronador sent you on this mission, but … but I have other plans. First I have to find my chambermaid Philomena, who was left behind on the Azizian Steppes. Then we're going on to Elgolia, east of the Known World. And my friend Lei has to get back to the kingdom of Balmun.'

Orpheus took a step back. The Princess's words astonished him.

‘All you have to do is put us ashore on the first land we come to,' suggested Malva, ‘and tell my father that I died in the storm. After all, I very nearly did. It won't be such a very big lie.'

‘I … I don't understand, Your Alteza,' stammered Orpheus. ‘The people of Galnicia are awaiting your return … the country has no future without you. We lived in mourning and a state of terror for months, until the day we heard that you were alive, and –'

Malva shook her head. Orpheus, distraught, glanced at Babilas and then at Lei.

‘You can't ask me to lie to the Coronador,' he said. ‘I took an oath before the Altar of the Divinities, I –'

When Malva still shook her head, he gestured despairingly at the ship.

‘Men have died for you, Princess! They believed in their mission! How dare you –'

‘You don't understand,' Malva interrupted sharply. ‘If I go back to Galnicia now my life will be a failure. I will go to Elgolia or I will die!'

Orpheus passed his hands over his face. It was beginning to get hot. Very hot. And this ridiculous argument was giving him a headache.

‘I don't know this place Elgolia,' he said. ‘I've never heard of it. And anyway, I'm not going to abandon you on unknown territory.'

Malva heaved a sigh of exasperation. ‘Someone else who wants to make up my mind for me,' she muttered. ‘I really don't have much luck.'

Suddenly she fell into a temper. She remembered the day when her father had publicly humiliated her in the Council Chamber, the day when her mother had confirmed that she was to marry the Prince of Andemark, the day when the Amoyeds had sold her to Temir-Gai. Was she going to have to fight all her life to be left in peace? She turned to Babilas with an expression of aggressive sarcasm.

‘And how about you?' she asked him. ‘Why don't you say anything? I'm sure you have plenty of plans for me too! Come on, make your offer! The Princess is up for sale!'

The giant lowered his eyes.

‘Babilas is mute,' Orpheus said roughly, losing control. ‘He carried you on his shoulders to free you from Temir-Gai's harem! He walked through the flames consuming the imperial city, and he broke the bars of the cage where you were imprisoned. That's no way to speak to him, Princess.'

Disconcerted, Malva bit her lip. Her anger died down.

‘And that will do!' said Orpheus shortly. ‘There's no point in this argument. We're lost in the middle of the sea. Let's have no more talk of Galnicia, or this Elgolia. We have to stay alive, that's what matters.'

He looked at the horizon. The air was shimmering in the heat.
The temperature was rising by the minute, and the flat calm of the ocean worried him. He went to the rail to look at the dinghy where the Captain was lying. Taking out his knife, he cut the rope that still moored the little boat to the ship, and without so much as a word of farewell watched it float away. Then he turned back to Babilas and Lei.

‘Search the hold again,' he told them. ‘We'll need food and fresh water.'

Malva was looking sullen. She suddenly felt weak, and very tired. The bump on the back of her head was hurting, and the sight of this pitiful crew lowered her morale to rock-bottom. Who did this quartermaster think he was, speaking to her like that? She went and sat on the capstan, crossed her arms and did not move.

As Babilas and Orpheus made their way to the central hatch, a strange sound broke the silence. It was like a foghorn, a long note sinking deeper and deeper. The passengers listened, transfixed.

They waited without moving for a long time, expecting to hear the sound again, but it was not repeated.

‘It must have been thunder,' said Orpheus at last.

‘Or perhaps other ship?' suggested Lei.

‘I don't think so,' Orpheus replied. ‘The
Mary-Belle
's foghorn has a higher note.'

He didn't try to make sense of it, but shrugged his shoulders and led Babilas down into the hold. When they reached the foot of the second stairway, they saw that the water level had gone down a good deal. Whereas not long before they had almost had to swim to get around the ship, now they could wade, paddling through shallow water full of drifting seaweed.

They went through several of the holds in succession, with-out
finding anything but gutted barrels, broken beams, canvas bags soaked with water and rats that fled at their approach. At last they opened the door of the galley, hoping to find a few dry provisions in there, but they saw that the water had spared nothing either. Finopico's cookery books had fallen off their shelf and lay all jumbled up, mingling with broken spice jars and spoilt herrings.

They were about to leave the galley when Orpheus saw a mop of red hair showing behind the enormous cast-iron stove, which had toppled over at the back of the cabin.

‘Finopico?' he called, heart thudding.

There was no reply. Orpheus walked forward. The cook was huddled behind the stove, crouching in the water, his face buried in Zeph's sodden coat and holding the dog in his arms. The St Bernard gave a low growl on seeing his master. Finopico immediately raised his head. His eyes met Orpheus's.

‘It's Greenhorn!' he breathed, amazed. ‘By all the Divinities of the Known World … he survived!'

Orpheus smiled. He didn't mind being nicknamed Greenhorn any more – he was so glad to see Zeph still alive! He was even glad that the irascible cook had escaped the devastation.

‘I see you've been getting to know my dog better,' he said. ‘He seems to like you.'

Finopico shrugged, but he did not refuse the hand that Orpheus held out to help him to his feet. He had a bleeding gash on one cheek, and he was limping slightly.

‘I thought it best to wait here,' he muttered. ‘To be sure the storm was really over … by Holy Harmony, my books!'

The cook picked one of them up, and uttered a groan of dismay when he found that it was soaking wet.

‘Well, that makes six of us,' sighed Orpheus, patting his dog's head. ‘And perhaps that's not all.'

He left the galley to go down lower into the belly of the ship. He was thinking of Peppe and Hob. Resourceful as they were, those two lads might perhaps have found shelter. But where?

‘Never mind your books! Try to find something edible, and take it all up to the deck to dry out,' he told Finopico before leaving him.

Down below he found a terrible sight. Up to his thighs in water, Orpheus made his way past the bodies of drowned sailors. There were eight or nine of them, floating face downwards in dark and stinking corners. Orpheus put a hand over his mouth, nauseated and sick with grief. A few hours earlier these men had been running around on deck, hauling in the sails. They had been alive, strong and confident. They had followed the Captain's orders, and this was what had become of them …

‘Hob!' called Orpheus in a voice strangled with emotion. ‘Peppe!'

Holding his breath, he wandered around in the dark, losing hope as he discovered more dead bodies. When he reached the tiny doorway of the sail locker, he called again.

‘Hob!'

At last there was a reply. ‘We're here! Inside the locker.'

Orpheus leaped forward and put his mouth to the door. ‘Hold on! I'm coming!'

He lifted the latch, expecting to feel resistance, but the door opened easily.

‘You weren't stuck in here!' he said in surprise, seeing the twins sitting on the spare sails.

‘We never said we were,' replied Hob.

‘Then why didn't you come out?'

Peppe leaned over his brother's shoulder, and cast a glance at the hold. ‘It's all dark out there,' he whispered.

‘And full of dead men,' added Hob, making a face.

Orpheus smiled. He was delighted to have found the two lively rascals.

‘Afraid of dead men, are you?' he mocked them.

Hob and Peppe raised eyes full of alarm to him. ‘It's unlucky to touch a corpse!' they cried in unison.

Orpheus managed to convince them that it was all superstition, and the two boys, trembling, followed him through the hold and up the steps. When they came out into the sunlight they collapsed on deck, pale and nearly fainting.

‘That makes eight of us!' said Orpheus proudly.

Malva and Lei, who were busy spreading flour on a scrap of sailcloth to dry it out, cast a sardonic glance at the twins.

‘Hm,' sighed Malva, ‘with a crew like this we won't be reaching Elgolia in a hu—'

No one heard the end of her comment. It was drowned out by another note on the horn, echoing through the air, long-drawn-out and, this time, rising to a higher register. The survivors were rooted to the spot. When the sound died away they looked at each other, puzzled. The horn had sounded closer than before.

‘That wasn't thunder,' murmured Malva.

Hob and Peppe started trembling again. ‘The dead men!' they whispered. ‘It's … it's their souls weeping! We told you not to touch the corpses! They've come for us!'

At that moment Zeph raised his head to the sky and began howling, while the twins put their hands over their ears and huddled close together. They looked terrified.

‘Make that dog shut up!' yelled Finopico, brandishing one of his books above his head. ‘And tell those two idiots to keep their stupid prophecies to themselves! They'll bring bad luck down on us!'

But Orpheus wasn't listening. He was gazing at the horizon, his eyes wide and baffled.

‘Too late,' was all he said, pointing to the thing that had just appeared.

A dark shape had just emerged from the water, some twenty kilometres away from the
Fabula
. At this distance there was no way of saying what it was, but
whatever
it was, it was gigantic. And even stranger,
whatever
it was, it was increasing and multiplying. A second, identical shape appeared with the faint sound of cascading water, and then a third and a fourth. Before the eyes of the survivors, these colossal things emerged from the water, and then came to a standstill.

Zeph had stopped howling. Exhausted, he was lying full length on the deck with his tongue hanging out. Total silence reigned on board now. Malva and Lei dropped their sacks of flour and went over to the bulwarks. They could feel the fragile hulk of the ship quivering beneath their feet. Orpheus joined them, and looked at the waterline. Something was making the sea foam just below the ship's hull.

When he raised his head again, Orpheus saw with amazement that more black forms were still rising out of the sea at the same pace.

‘They … they look like statues,' murmured Malva.

‘They have human shape,' added Lei. ‘I see heads, necks, arms …'

Fascinated, Orpheus watched the birth of these immense stone men. The statues stood up to their waists in the sea. They faced each other in pairs, gradually forming an alarming kind of line which was coming closer to the ship.

‘It's all because of that witch!' cried Finopico in sudden panic, pointing at Lei. ‘It's her! It's because of her magic!'

‘Be quiet!' Orpheus told him firmly.

He leaned over the rail again, and saw that the
Fabula
was being drawn towards the line of statues by a current that had come up out of nowhere. He cast a brief glance at Babilas, but the giant made a sign to show that he was powerless. The
Fabula
had no anchor and no sails now; even he couldn't do anything. The members of the crew gathered silently around Orpheus, apprehension written plainly on their faces.

The ship gained speed. The stone men stood erect in the water like sentries on guard, and when the
Fabula
began to make her way through the narrow corridor they had just formed, Orpheus could estimate their huge stature. Their faces, carved from copper-covered stone, rose at least twenty metres above the deck of the ship.