The Princess and the Captain (14 page)

‘We stay together, you and me. Stronger together. Promise?'

This unexpected meeting with the girl heartened the Princess. Not only did Lei speak Galnician, she seemed to have a spirited nature which was very comforting. Malva smiled back.

‘Promise,' she murmured.

She had hardly uttered the word before her guard's hand closed round her arm again. The momentary respite was over. He pushed her ahead of him, and Lei was made to walk forward at the same time. The barbarians were propelling their prisoners towards the Emperor.

Presents, thought Malva. We're presents. Terror made her mute. Limping and gasping with pain, she walked as well as she could, with Lei beside her. Lei kept her head raised and looked at the Emperor without trembling. Malva had never heard of the kingdom of Balmun. Perhaps they bred women warriors there, fearless girls prepared to face any peril? Whether that was so or not, Lei showed extraordinary self-possession.

When they were only a little way from the celestial-charioteer, and despite the fear in the pit of her stomach, Malva couldn't help marvelling at that improbable creature. At close quarters, it seemed even vaster and more majestic. The Emperor had disappeared under the canopy again, but she thought she caught an eye looking through a slit in its fabric. He was watching them, her and Lei – or, no, it was Malva he was watching!

‘Your leg,' Lei whispered. ‘Not limp! If you limp, Emperor reject you.'

‘I can't help it. I was injured, I –'

‘If Temir-Gai reject you, Amoyeds kill you.'

Terrified, Malva clenched her teeth and, despite terrible pain, took the last few steps without limping. At last the Emperor took his eyes off her. He turned his head, rose to his feet on his
mount, and uttered a hoarse cry. At his command, his turbaned soldiers led the prisoners out of the arena.

‘Go on, go on,' Lei encouraged her. ‘When we in harem, I make your leg better.'

‘A harem?' Malva made a face.

‘Harem of Temir-Gai here in Cispazia. Very famous through whole Orniant Empire! They say he dream of having ten thousand girls for his pleasure.' Lei smiled. ‘My sister went same way as us. But she escape! Came back to Balmun three moons ago. I do the same, and you too, Malva! You come with me!'

How many of them had gone through the gate behind the Emperor's soldiers? Forty? Fifty? Some of the girls were weeping silently, others looked pale as death. Only Lei retained her dignity. Seeing her so proud and so full of life, Malva felt a little hope rise within her again.

She had lost her liberty, she had lost Philomena and the protection of Uzmir, and no doubt she had many humiliations still ahead, but she wasn't alone any more. Those few words exchanged in their desperate situation had been enough to forge friendship between her and the daughter of Balmun.

At dawn Orpheus double-locked the door of his house, put his bunch of keys at the bottom of his canvas bag, and threw the bag over his shoulder. It contained warm clothes, a rainproof cape, handkerchiefs, several treatises on navigation, a logbook, a naval chart and a compass. That was all he'd be needing now. Old Zeph, sensing that something unusual was going on, paced around his master, keeping an eye on every move he made, as if he had guessed that this was not their usual morning walk.

Within the last few days events had come thick and fast. As soon as he had understood the message brought by Uzmir, the Coronador had emerged from his state of despondency. Leaving the Citadel with those councillors who were still faithful to him, he had gone into the city to tell the Galnicians in person that he was taking over the government of the country again. He had rescinded the Archont's edicts one by one, putting an end to national mourning, reopening the frontiers and reinstating the right to hold services of worship to Tranquillity and Harmony,
before sending official criers out to all the provinces to announce that the Princess was not dead. Moreover, there would be a reward for anyone who gave information leading to the arrest of the Archont. Philomena's letter had hit the right target: the Archont stood accused of plotting against the Princess's life, with the aim of usurping power for himself.

These revelations caused a great stir among the common people: so it was all that man's fault! He was blamed for everything now: the rain, their sorrow, fear, hunger, cold and despair. In no time at all the Archont was the national villain of Galnicia. Hunts were organised in the hope of finding him, caricatures were circulated, people even wrote mocking songs to exorcise the terror he had so cleverly orchestrated.

And another piece of news spread very fast: the Coronador was calling for volunteers to go on an expedition to Cispazia, the distant land where Malva was held prisoner. Orpheus had wasted no time in preparing. The chance he had hoped for so much was here at last!

So he set out with gusto on the road to the Citadel that morning, striding along and forgetting about his dog, who was trying to follow him through the city streets with his tongue hanging out. There was a nip in the air, the sky was azure blue, and something new and electric in the atmosphere made his heart beat fast.

The doors of the Hall of Delicacies were still shut when he arrived, mingling with the first applicants. Several dozen men were already waiting for an audience with the Coronador, standing in the morning mists and stamping their feet to keep warm. Guards stood outside the doors on sentry duty, armed with musketoons.

Orpheus elbowed his way through the crowd, taking a good look at everyone present as he passed. He couldn't help seeing a
rival in each of them, for obviously the Coronador would choose only the very best for this mission. One man in particular attracted all eyes: a huge figure with shoulders as wide as a doorway and enormous hands. He towered above the rest, and there was something disturbing about his angular face. Passing close to him, Orpheus felt ridiculous. For years he had avoided running and carrying heavy weights because of his supposed illness, and now he regretted not having more muscle to show. Yet again, his father's lies looked like damaging his chances of going on the expedition! How often recently had he felt like going to the cemetery and kicking Hannibal's brand-new tomb-stone!

‘Whose is this dirty mutt?' an angry voice suddenly shouted.

Startled out of his thoughts, Orpheus suddenly realised that he had lost Zeph. He went towards the place where a group had gathered, and saw the St Bernard lying full length on someone's kit-bag with a roast chicken in his mouth. Red with embarrassment, Orpheus approached the man who had uttered the angry cry.

‘I'm terribly sorry,' he said.

‘He's a very old dog … he –'

‘He stole my chicken!' shouted the man.

Orpheus recognised him at once. He was the nervous, active little man he had met so often at the Maritime Institute. His shock of red hair was even more striking than usual this morning; anyone would have thought he was an elf escaped from the moors of Dunbraven.

‘I'll gut that animal!' he was shouting. ‘I'll wring his neck, I'll make mincemeat of him!'

Orpheus bent down and tried to recover the chicken, but Zeph had his teeth so firmly clamped on it that all he could save was a drumstick.

‘Too late!' snapped the elf furiously. ‘By Holy Tranquillity, that wretched dog should be spit-roasted himself!'

‘I'll pay for the chicken,' Orpheus ventured.

‘You can keep your galniks!' said the man indignantly, thrusting out his chest. ‘How many hours do you think I spent cooking that wonderful fowl? It was going to be a present for the Coronador! Chicken marinated with spices and wild onions! I alone know the secret recipe! Such a chicken is priceless in these times of famine!'

The man cast a mournful glance at his mangled masterpiece. Suddenly his voice broke. ‘And now,' he wailed, ‘how am I to show the Coronador that I'm the best cook in all Galnicia, indispensable to the success of the expedition? There's nothing like good food to keep up the sailors' morale!'

Orpheus swallowed with difficulty. Voices were raised around them, either shocked or amused by this little hitch.

‘If you're such a good cook,' remarked one fellow, ‘why not invent a dog-slobber sauce?'

That brought laughter, but the little redhead didn't join in. He gave Orpheus a nasty look, muttering, ‘I don't know who you are, but I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before. I'll remember, you can be sure of that! If the Coronador doesn't engage me I'll be rev—'

He was interrupted by the opening of the doors, and the booming voice of a guard announcing that the audience was about to begin.

Orpheus felt his heart leap as he and the others entered the Hall of Delicacies. Much to his relief Zeph didn't try following him, but stayed outside on his own, guarding his chicken.

The procedure was swift and rigorous: the Coronador talked to each applicant, then the doctor from the Maritime Institute
examined all who seemed likely candidates. Finally the luckiest of them disappeared into the next room to swear an oath. Down in the harbour, two frigates were waiting for the fortunate elect who would make up their crews.

When his turn came, Orpheus stepped forward and knelt on one knee.

‘Your name?' asked the Coronador.

‘Orpheus McBott, Your Alteza.'

‘McBott?' repeated the Coronador thoughtfully. ‘Are you by any chance Hannibal's son?'

There was a lump in Orpheus's throat. ‘Yes, Your Alteza.'

‘Good!' said the Coronador, pleased. ‘No doubt you're a fine sailor! How is your father?'

‘He's dead, Your Alteza.'

The Coronador seemed genuinely sorry to hear it. He offered Orpheus his condolences, and then signed to the doctor.

‘Am I being taken on?' asked Orpheus in amazement.

‘Your name speaks for you!' said the Coronador. ‘You'll be quartermaster. The McBotts have always served Galnicia with unselfish courage!'

This remark hurt Orpheus so much that he almost protested and told the truth about his father. He wanted to be engaged on his own merits, not just because of his name! But how could he prove his worth? Books and fine speeches wouldn't carry any weight. If the Coronador learned that he had never set foot on a ship, he might change his mind.

So with a heavy heart Orpheus rose, thanked the Coronador humbly, and turned to the doctor, while the next applicant knelt before the throne.

‘Any problems with your eyesight?' enquired the doctor, writing Orpheus's name down in a large book.

Orpheus shook his head, and the doctor ticked a box with his pen.

‘Hearing?'

‘Excellent.'

‘Is your blood a good healthy red? Does it flow freely?'

‘I don't know. I never cut myself.'

‘Not even when you're shaving? Well, you're a skilful man!' said the doctor, laughing, as he ticked another box. ‘What about the rest of your anatomy? Head, heart, liver, lungs?'

Orpheus thought of the illness from which he had believed he suffered for so long. He turned pale, but said, ‘I tend to get colds and sneezing fits, that's all.'

‘Any seasickness?' asked the doctor.

This time Orpheus felt himself reddening. How could he answer that question without admitting his lack of seafaring experience? But the doctor, seeing his embarrassment, began laughing again.

‘Don't worry, the best sailors sometimes have sensitive stomachs. It's no bar to going to sea!' He pointed to the entrance to the next room before adding, ‘Galnicia counts on you to bring the Princess home. Good luck.'

Orpheus went into the antechamber of the Hall of Delicacies. It was a dimly lit room with a low ceiling, and a single window facing north. A thick carpet on the floor absorbed all sounds, and everyone who entered instinctively walked on tiptoe as if to avoid waking a sleeper. The Altar of the Divinities stood in the middle of the antechamber: a wooden pedestal on which the statues of the goddesses Tranquillity and Harmony were placed. The air was cold and damp. Orpheus could tell that the room had been closed for many long months in accordance with the Archont's various edicts.

The Venerable Monje, an old man with a body as dry and twisted as the branch of an olive tree, laid his gnarled hand on Orpheus's shoulder. ‘Approach the Altar,' he told him.

Orpheus obeyed. From their wooden pedestal, Tranquillity and Harmony seemed to look down kindly on him.

The Venerable Monje picked up a goblet carved from stone and handed it to Orpheus.

‘Drink a little of this,' he said.

The goblet contained pure mountain water, cool with a slight peaty flavour. Orpheus drank a small mouthful with pleasure.

‘Now repeat your oath after me,' said the Monje.' “I swear on my honour to serve my country and the Divinities. I swear to suffer and face a thousand trials steadfastly.”'

His throat tight with emotion, Orpheus repeated the oath. His ancestors before him had sworn these solemn words in this very place, from generation to generation. Until his father had broken the oath he took …

‘Tranquillity and Harmony hear your oath,' the Monje went on. ‘Now drink it all!'

He gave Orpheus the goblet again. When he raised it to his lips this time he sensed that the water was not the same: no longer pure and peaty, it had become very bitter. All the same, he swallowed it in a single draught, with a tingling that went right through his body. The Venerable Monje concluded the ceremony with these words:

‘May this water, now bitter to the taste, defile your mouth for ever if the day comes when you break the word you have just given. Now go.'

Greatly impressed, Orpheus left the antechamber.

* * *

Two days later, carrying his kit-bag and accompanied by Zeph, Orpheus crossed the gangplank leading to the deck of the
Errabunda
, the ship to which he had been appointed as quartermaster. He felt both happy and scared. Suppose my father was still lying to me? he thought. Suppose I really do die after two days at sea? Feeling dizzy, he had to grab the rail to keep himself from falling into the waters of the harbour.