The Princess and the Captain (38 page)

The hull of the
Fabula
was now cutting through the water at an amazing speed. The fishing rod vibrated as the fin of the monster fish carved its way through the waves. Finopico was grimacing with pain or elation – it was hard to tell which – and the other passengers, pale with fear, felt the wind and the spray whipping into their faces.

Suddenly massed rocks appeared on the horizon, black and jagged. Orpheus felt his heart in his mouth. ‘It's dragging us towards the reefs!'

‘
Bolbh kiglaeth yawz?
' asked Babilas in his husky voice.

‘He ask if he should break rod?' Lei immediately translated.

‘If the fish can't do it you won't be able to either!' said Orpheus desperately. As with all the strange things they had seen in the Archipelago, there was no explaining the power of Finopico's fishing rod to resist the strain.

‘Leave it to me!' shouted Finopico. ‘I want this fish! It will exhaust itself. I know it will! By Holy Harmony, Captain, don't deny me this victory!'

Distraught, Orpheus looked in turn at Babilas standing ready to intervene, Lei and Malva watching wide-eyed, Finopico still clinging to his rod, the fish … and the reefs now rapidly approaching.

‘If Babilas comes anywhere near me I won't answer for myself!' cried Finopico. With these words, he took one hand off the rod and unsheathed the knife he carried at his belt. Madness and passion seemed to double his usual strength. Without even flinching, he held the rod with one hand while he brandished his knife in the other. ‘I want this monster! No one's going to tell me what to do!'

Orpheus shuddered, and felt his hair stand on end. He took a deep breath to give himself a moment to think. Malva, Lei and the twins were already retreating towards the steps down into the hatch, dragging Zeph along by the collar to get him to safety. The angular, menacing shapes of the reefs stuck above the water. They were less than half a kilometre from the
Fabula
now.

‘It's not a Ghoom of the Deeps!' Orpheus suddenly shouted to Finopico. ‘Your fish has only one tail, and its scales are black!'

The cook, still in control of his rod, turned a sarcastic glance on Orpheus. ‘Well spotted, Captain! But … but even if it's not a Ghoom, I … I'm not letting go!'

‘We'll crash on the rocks!' replied Orpheus angrily. He made a move in Finopico's direction. The cook reacted at once, holding his blade in front of him. Insane laughter shook him from head to toe.

‘The reefs! A fine death for sailors! We'll be torn to pieces! Crushed! Drowned! Well, that's much better … than ending up in the Immuration!'

He braced his legs a little more. Clinging to his rod and lashed to the capstan, his red hair blowing in the wind, he looked like a divinity riding astride his destiny. Near the hatch, the twins and the two girls were moaning in fear.

‘Stop him, Captain!'

‘We don't want to be torn apart!'

The reefs were quite close now. Given the speed that the
Fabula
was making, Orpheus wasn't even sure that he could still avert the worst. Thoughts came thick and fast in his mind: should he risk sacrificing Finopico? Should he risk the life of Babilas? And his own? And the lives of all the crew? He was in a terrible dilemma. He would never forgive himself for what he was about to do … and yet do it he must!

In his own turn he took out his knife, raced to the capstan and began sawing through the rope that made the cook's body fast to the ship.

‘What are you doing?' Finopico shouted.

‘Let go of your rod!' Orpheus begged him again, seeing the hawser fray. ‘We can still all save ourselves!'

The cook's mouth was twisted in a rictus of fury. His gaze was fixed on the fin of the great fish and he seemed not to understand anything, as if he were obsessed by the creature to the point of losing his senses.

‘No! I won't let g—'

He never had time to finish his sentence. The rope lashing him to the ship suddenly gave way, and the power of the monstrous fish met with no more resistance: Finopico tumbled over the rail, fell into the sea and was carried away by the fishing line. Lei and Malva let out cries of distress.

The
Fabula
rocked on the waves, carried on by the impetus of its course, but finally slowed down and came to rest only a little way from the jagged rocks. A horrified and dismayed silence fell over the crew. The fish had disappeared into the depths, taking with it the rod, the line and the unfortunate cook.

Orpheus fell to his knees on deck, his knife in his hand, his face drawn. The others did not move. They stood there motionless, transfixed by the horror of the situation.

Only the waves lapping at the rocks made their perpetual murmur. Above the ship the sun was still shining, crushing the crew under the weight of the terrible truth: down below, in both the Known and the Unknown Worlds, living things could die, suffer, love, hate, struggle or surrender, but nature itself never changed. Despite tragedy and torment, there would always be the waves, and the sun would always rise and set.

It was Lei and Malva who found the strength to move first. They went over to Orpheus, side by side, and put their hands on his shoulders.

‘Thank you,' they said in unison.

Orpheus raised his head. His eyes were full of tears. He looked at his hands and his knife. He felt he was a murderer.

‘There was nothing else you could do,' Malva tried to comfort him. ‘Finopico was out of control.'

‘He gone mad,' Lei agreed.

Babilas had grasped the rail and was leaning over it to see if he could spot anything. But when he turned and his eyes met Orpheus's, everyone knew that there was no hope left. The cook had gone down with his monstrous catch and drowned, killed by his own longings.

Later, when Malva went down to her berth that evening, she was horrified to see that the last but one Stone of Life had been entirely dissolved by the morbic acid, while it ought to have been only half gone. It was as if the body of Finopico had disappeared for a second time. She began sobbing.

‘I hate the Nokros!' she moaned. ‘I hate Catabea and this Archipelago! I hate the sea!'

She picked up the large hourglass and held it on her lap. There was only one Stone left in the upper part. One Stone,
two days … and now only seven companions on board the
Fabula
.

‘We'll never get out of here,' breathed Malva, fascinated by the blood-red colour of the morbic acid.

For a moment she felt like flinging the Nokros away, throwing it at the wall with all her might, to break to pieces there. She pulled herself together. She mustn't do that. Catabea had made it very clear that this wretched instrument must remain intact to the end.

‘To the end,' Malva repeated out loud. ‘But the end of what?'

Finopico's sudden death had devastated everyone; even Zeph, who refused to leave the deck, although night had fallen. At heart, every one of them felt that it was all over. The
Fabula
would never find her way out of the Archipelago, any more than all the other ships before her.

Malva rose to her feet with the Nokros in her hands, and left her berth. Stepping slowly, she crossed the space between-decks and knocked at Orpheus's door. When he opened it, showing a face ravaged by regret and sorrow, Malva held out the hourglass.

‘Here, you take it,' she said. ‘I don't want to watch time passing any more. The time held inside that thing looks like blood.'

Orpheus put out his hands and took the Nokros. ‘You're right,' he said. ‘It's for me to bear the burden of the countdown … since everything that's happened is my fault.'

Malva stiffened, and shook her head. ‘It's all
my
fault, Captain. I was the one who started it. If I hadn't fled from the Citadel you'd never have set off after me. Not you, or Finopico, or all the others. I'm only a selfish, stupid little Princess.'

Her amber eyes misted over. Orpheus bit his lip.

‘You mustn't think like that,' he said. ‘In spite of everything
that's happened, and even if we're all thrown into the Immuration, I shall never regret putting to sea and meeting you. But for you I might well have died of despair back home in Galnicia.'

Malva was looking at him so intently that he felt himself blushing.

‘You're so … so alive!' he stammered. ‘So beautiful and so brave.'

‘Oh, don't,' she said in a faltering voice. ‘It's very kind of you to say such things, but they're not true. I'm not brave; everything I've done was out of thoughtlessness or stupidity.'

‘I rather like thoughtlessness,' retorted Orpheus. ‘I wasted my youth through being wise and sensible and fearing consequences. Please don't regret being what you are.'

He placed a clumsy hand on Malva's cheek. When she felt his large, warm palm against her face, she trembled. He took his hand away at once.

‘Forgive me,' he murmured.

‘No, I …'

She wanted to keep him with her, but Orpheus closed his cabin door.

For a few long moments Malva stood there without moving. Her heart was beating fast in her chest, her wild emotions clashing like swords in a fight. That hand, so gentle, so large, so warm, placed on her cheek as softly as a butterfly – it felt so good! Had she any right to feel happy when the whole crew was in mourning?

Sobs mounted in her throat. She turned on her heel, and fled to her cabin.

Where can I begin this evening?
Orpheus wrote in his logbook.
I don't seem to be able to put what's going on inside me into words. The worst and
the best of it alike, the sweet and the harsh. I don't know who I am any more
.

He turned his head to his cabin door, imagining Malva's distraught face there again. Then his eyes returned to the Nokros.

I feel so many contradictory things! I wish I could die, to punish myself for cutting the rope that secured Finopico, yet at the same time I so much want to go on living and stay with my companions. Have we any right to be sad and happy at the same time? I feel as if madness lies in wait for us in this Archipelago – even more so than the improbable-sounding Immuration
.

I'm in the process of falling
…

He suddenly stopped writing. The next few words were so shattering that he didn't know if he ought to go on. Writing them down would be like getting undressed in public. Writing them down would be painful … but it would give him such pleasure too! His hand was shaking.

… falling in love with the Princess. Yes, that's what it is. I'm in love with her, with her eyes, her face, her mouth, her laughter and her tears, her doubts, her tempers, her rages and her dreams
.

Now that he had confessed it, his pen ran across the paper without restraint; it was like a river flowing on.

She disturbs me to the core of my being. My heart leaps when I see her, my hands go moist, my thoughts are all confused, I smile stupidly. I'm not myself any more. I'm not my father's son, or the orphaned child of my mother, or the Captain of the
Fabula
… I'm just a mass of tangled feelings, a man who
…

He stopped again, and tried to see his reflection in the mirror he used for shaving. He did indeed see a man there, with his cheeks hidden by a growth of beard and burn marks. A stronger, harder, more experienced man than he was when he looked at himself in the mirror of his house in the Lower Town. He frowned, and went on writing, but more slowly and hesitantly.

I am twenty-five years old now. Malva is only sixteen. How could she love me as I love her? When she refused to marry the Prince of Andemark, it must have been partly because of the age difference. I'm an old man to her! I can't hope for anything but to keep her safe and take her out of the Archipelago, so that she can go on her way as she intends. I must hide what's in my heart, for fear of frightening her, for then she might take flight again. I must play the part of Captain, protector … and then, if I succeed in that, disappear from her life. Let her fly away. Like a bird … a magnificent bird
.

He stopped for breath. The lines he had just put down on paper were growing larger and smaller by turn before his grief-stricken and exhausted eyes.

How could Malva ever love a man who sent a friend to his death?

Worn out, he closed the logbook.

During the night the
Fabula
was caught in strong currents again. The water started growling like a ferocious animal and heaving under the hull, making any manoeuvres impossible. At dawn, the currents grew yet stronger, carrying the ship towards what seemed to be the heart of the Archipelago.

A network of islets had emerged from the water, like an endless necklace bordering the sea route along which the ship was now sailing. Most of them were desert islands, bleak and black as chunks of coal. Now and then less hostile islands appeared, covered with vegetation, or with birds that perched there motionless, but the current kept the
Fabula
from going ashore.

On board, the mood was one of anxiety and deep sadness. Stocks of food were running low. They had to scrape out the jars and divide the few dried fish they had left into seven portions. Their drinking water had taken on an unpleasant flavour of rotten wood.

The day before the final one passed dreadfully slowly. It was becoming clear to them all that the
Fabula
would never get out of the Archipelago.

That evening, when the crew assembled on the poop deck of the ship to share their last provisions, Peppe burst into sobs.

‘It's all over!' he stammered through his tears. ‘We … we've failed! The Patrols will come looking for us tomorrow!'

The others exchanged glances of dismay. Catabea's words were present in all their minds, and no one could contradict Peppe.