The curse of Kalaan (9 page)

“
Ya!
What proves it is really you? Oy only sees a woman, and women are a jinx on ships.”

Once again the same men shouted in encouragement, supporting the giant.

“Good god,” Kalaan smiled insidiously, “I am indeed the Count of Croz, a man whom misfortune has disguised as a woman. I cannot piss on your heads from where I am standing, as all my masculine parts have disappeared, but I soon will be able to and you will regret it. All I can suggest for now is to play the secrets game.”

Again the colossus trembled and his eyes narrowed. For he knew that the captain liked to wake drunkards up by urinating on them, but also, if it really was the count, he knew a secret that would embarrass him in front of the crew. But, it couldn’t possibly be the count!

“Go on,
moutik!
[40]
Look, I’m shaking with fear.”

Many of the men laughed like fools and
La Gouelle
started to swagger and bow to his audience, while limping slightly as if to mock Kalaan’s awkward walk in his over-sized boots. If he weren’t so high up on the poop deck, Kalaan would have loved to kick him in the breeches.

“Are you limping?” the count asked. His voice was powerful despite the unpleasant feminine pitch.

La Gouelle
froze and turned to look at his captain. He’d suddenly turned pale under the layers of filth.

“Have you nothing to say? Yet you claim you were injured in the foot during hand-to-hand battle with an Englishman. Is that correct? And the fight lasted hours, if I remember correctly. But you finally got the best of him. Shall I continue?”

Murmurs started running through the crowd and the men were throwing suspicious looks at the giant now, not at Kalaan. Good, he’d gained a point. But as the man continued to face up to him; the count spoke again.

“Secret revealed! I am Kalaan and I was there the night
La Gouelle
came staggering drunkenly out of an inn, his belly full of whisky. He shot himself in the foot trying to put his pistol back in his belt! I was the only one there to help him and I am the only one who knows the truth. Is that not so?” he asked the giant who was quickly losing his composure now that the sailors were jeering and whistling at him.

“True,” he said, lowering his head in shame. He should have remembered that a battle with the captain was always lost from the start. Yes, indeed, without a doubt, this was the captain.

“Does anyone else want to play?” Kalaan’s tone was amused as he crossed and uncrossed his arms over his ample bosom. “What about you,
Ar kaerell-vras?
[41]
” He was speaking to a pimply young cabin boy who was openly making fun of
La Gouelle
. He was a boastful, proud and lazy boy that Kalaan really wanted to put in his place. Now, on hearing his name the boy stood straight as a ramrod.

“Ma’am? Uh…s... sir?” he stammered.

Just because he’d said
ma’am
, Kalaan decided to go in for the kill.

“My friends, do you remember the lovely Flora, this young man’s sweetheart that he presented you during a recent stopover in Saint Brieuc? Well, truth be told, she was nothing more than a strumpet who I paid to play the part so that you would stop teasing him.”

The stripling turned bright red and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible when then sailors turned to taunt him.

“Who’s next? Do I still have to prove who I am?” Kalaan had to shout to be heard over the pandemonium.

Then, everyone was quiet and together the crew all shook their heads to say no.

“Good, now that that is taken care of, get back to your duties, you lazy shirkers!”

The crew moved as fast as they could. Some went up the rigging, others went back to swabbing the bridge and gangways; but most of them disappeared into the belly of the ship, in direction of the cabins or the kitchens.

“Ye ‘andled that splendidly,” Lil’ Louis said after letting out a low whistle of admiration. “D’ye want te take back t’helm, now?”

“Yes, for we are turning back, returning to Egypt!”

Salam frowned and replied, “There is nothing more for you in that country, except certain death. The tale of what happened at Amarna and that building must have reached the ears of Muhammad Ali
[42]
Pasha, not to mention that we ran off, right under his nose, an insult he will most certainly wish to make us pay heavily for.”

“I must speak with Jean-François, find out if he was also afflicted by the curse and find the remedy that will make me a man once again.”

“Jean-François goes well. We received a letter from him shortly before leaving Alexandria,” Salam told him. “You must know that he has forgotten everything that happened in that building, and he doesn’t seem to have been a victim of any... transformations. You are the only one who can speak of this and help us to understand. Above all, we must not go back. It is important to accept the situation, as difficult as it may be.”

Lil’ Louis nodded in agreement with the Tuareg’s words. He seemed extremely worried at the idea of turning back.

“That he was not affected, while I was, may be the beginning of an answer,” Kalaan replied. “I alone opened the door leading to the gold chamber and I was the only one to have held the cursed pyramid stone.”

“What’re ye talking about? What gold chamber?” Lil’ Louis frowned in confusion. “We found the two of you lying on dark sand in a room destroyed by fire, and we did not find any pyramid shaped stone.”

Kalaan sighed and ran his slender fingers through his jet colored locks.

“I should tell you the whole story, and then we will set sail for the Isle of Croz. There at least, I can be assured I will not encounter my mother and sister who are wintering at our home in Paris. By the time they return I will have found a way to become a man again.”

“And how d’ye propose te do that?” Lil’ Louis asked, astonished.

“There is a person on the isle who can help me.”

“Who?” Salam inquired, his interest piqued.

“The guardian of the standing stones,” Kalaan replied as he took the ship’s helm in hand.

“That old madman?” Lil’ Louis’ eyes widened in surprise.

“He is not as mad as you think. Now that I know magic exists as well as curses, the guardian is exactly the person to come to my assistance.”

“
Ya
,” Lil’ Louis agreed. “We know an abundance of legends and incredible tales. Yer right, let’s go home.”

Kalaan set sail for the straits of Gibraltar, and began to tell the tale of what happened to him and Jean-François in the strange edifice, and the story of the harpies from hell. His heart was beating with joy for soon he would see the wild coast of his Brittany He missed the wind beaten scenery and the seas of his homeland. There he would find a remedy. He was absolutely convinced.

Unless he lost his mind before they reached destination!

Chapter 6

The storm

Isle of Croz, northern Brittany coast — night of January 10th 1829

“
C
ome mother, we cannot sleep and there is little else to do; perhaps it is time to open Kal’s letter.” Isabelle of Croz, Kalaan’s younger sister, sounded annoyed.

“Isabelle,” sighed Amélie, the dowager countess. “I do not have the heart.”

“Come mother! Your son is a good for nothing self-centered man, who arrives in Paris one day laying down his law, turning the household topsy-turvy and leaves the following day. We had no news for months. Don’t you agree? But of course we love him in spite of his behavior.”

“That will be enough, Isabelle! Please hold your tongue. There’s no reason to put our family’s problems on display before our guest!”

“Come mother, you exaggerate! Virginie is not just a guest. She is a sister to me and like a second daughter to you, right Ginny?”

Ginny nodded, barely hiding a yawn. Her fatigue brought tears to her eyes, which she managed to brush away discreetly. She sat up straight in the Empire style mahogany wing chair where she had been sitting for the past hour. Amélie was on her right, facing the fireplace sitting on a banquette. Isabelle was seated across from Virginie in the other wing chair. The ladies were only separated by a small low table. Virginie was the only one who seemed uncomfortable. Isabelle and her mother continued to gently squabble, while Virginie gripped the arms of her chair to keep herself from slipping, once again. She was beginning to get cramps in her arms and hands.

Why on earth did I accept to borrow this silk dressing gown!
She scolded herself
.
The delicate fabric was uncomfortable and did not protect her from drafts. If only she could lie across the chair with her legs over the arms, or at least be rid of the cursed gown! She managed to restrain herself, for she was not at home in Paris, and above all, she was not alone.

The young woman left Paris three months ago after giving in to Isabelle who implored her to spend winter with them on the Isle of Croz. She did have her own reasons for leaving Paris, but she could not tell anyone, not even Isabelle, for she was fleeing from a man.

When they arrived on the isle, things were not very easy. It was mainly Kalaan’s domain, while Amélie and Isabelle had spent the last two years living in Paris. Croz Castle had been sorely neglected, as well as all the out buildings. Everything needed to be cleaned from top to bottom and put back into working condition as well as possible, with only the women of the nearby village to help. There was a prevailing smell of mold in all the rooms due to lack of heat and ventilation; the rooms had been closed off for so long. The roof, in a sorry state of disrepair, had many leaks. Carpenters and workmen were called in the renovation was well under way. However it was always cold in the old 16
th
century fortress despite the periodic remodeling it had undergone throughout the ages.

On this night of January 10
th
, 1829 the drafts were particularly strong and the women were suffering. The rain and wind beat down on the castle roof and walls. No one could sleep with the raging storm and so, in search of heat, Amélie, Isabelle and Virginie found themselves together in the drawing room. As far as Amélie could remember, this was the worst storm they had experienced in over twenty years.

Isabelle rekindled the dying fire and then went in search of warm drinks. She returned with a tray heavy with steaming bowls and slices of bread and cheese. There was no one to ask for this service. The steward and housekeeper were housed at the presbytery attached to the chapel, with the valets and the female servants. This was only a temporary situation; once their rooms were renovated, they would be moving into the house.

The tick tock of a clock caught Virginie’s attention. To her left, on the mantle of the fireplace, was an unusual clock, in the shape of a boat. It was almost six in the morning and a funny little sailor was about to pop out, straddling a cannon. He would pop in and out the little door shouting ‘ho, ho’ six times. Keeping her eye on the clock, Virginie tried to concentrate on her hostess’ conversation. They were still quibbling about whether or not they would open Kalaan’s letter.

She smiled tenderly while observing the women. It was the first time she had ever seen Amélie in her nightclothes with her long hair down. She looked much less stern than usual, and it was very becoming for she was a lovely, sweet woman. Although in her fifties, Amélie’s dark chestnut hair hardly had any gray and her face only had a few wrinkles around her mouth and at the corners of her blue eyes. She was a beautiful woman and Isabelle looked so much like her mother, they were like two peas in a pod. Isabelle however was thirty years younger and her eyes were a sparkling amber-green. There was another difference between mother and daughter. As much as Amélie was reserved, Isabelle was a live wire, always speaking her mind, always in movement.

Virginie felt she was the complete opposite to her friend but only in appearance. Virginie’s hair was Venetian blond, long and straight. It resisted any attempt at curlingit, as was the fashion of the period in the
‘Jane Austen’
or
grisette
[43]
styles. These hairstyles were sheer torture for Virginie who preferred to wear her hair long and free or tied back in a simple bun. Her eyes were, she thought, an ordinary gray, almond-shaped, and framed with long eyelashes. Her face was oval, with high cheekbones and thin lips. The young woman was not beautiful by the standards of the day, and she had always known it, despite having lost all the baby fat of her unhappy childhood. She tried to hide another yawn, and jumped when she heard the clicking of the clock’s mechanism getting ready to sound the hour. Now it was six ‘ho-ho’s! Isabelle burst into laughter and Virginie turned to look at her.