“She’s right. Can you abide by that?”
“I can try.”
He shifted position. “We both owe our lives to this Otto guy.”
“The Prince of Zlatovica,” I said flatly.
Adam’s face was dark. “Both he and Esteban were trained from childhood. Programmed. They both tried to escape. Otto managed.”
“I’m sad.”
“Yeah,” Adam said. “I know. I know.” He eased himself off the bunk as though to go.
“Adam.” My voice was urgent.
He sat down again, at the foot of my bunk.
“Your letters—”
“Didn’t you understand?”
“No.”
“Vicky!”
I looked at him, questioning, waiting.
He said, “My mail was gone over. The long letter I wrote to Aunt Serena never even got mailed. I’d even written her about Adam II, and his murder. I called it that. Murder. And I mentioned I’d written to you, too, so that put you in the spotlight.”
“I already was,” I said. “I thought it was I who was putting you in the spotlight.”
He laughed, grimly. “What fools we mortals be.” He put his hand against his shoulder as though to push back pain. “It was lousy when I realized Esteban was—was not the friend he pretended to be.”
“Maybe wanted to be,” I put in. He nodded. “Adam, that awful letter where you said, ‘cool it’—”
“You took it seriously?”
“Well, Adam, yes.”
“Oh, Vicky, Vicky—you couldn’t have—”
“I did.”
“But—I assumed you’d realize the letter was a warning.”
I said flatly, “It seemed very real. Logical. Awful.”
Adam groaned. “Vicky, I’m sorry, I should have realized—”
“And then there was the science-gibberish one with the code—”
He hunched over. “By the time I wrote that, I’d figured maybe the Argosy wasn’t safe for you, after all, and I wanted to warn you, but I wasn’t even sure just what I was warning you about.”
I looked down at the little bulge my toes made in the blanket. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand what you were getting at in your letters.”
“I knew there was a faint likelihood you wouldn’t, but I had to risk it. All I wanted to do was get you out of the loop before something happened. I didn’t know you were already in it. Forgive?”
“Sure.”
“Dick told me I wasn’t to stay long. You’re supposed to rest. You’ve made some good friends on this ship.”
“I know. They’re terrific.”
“Dick says you’re not up to coming to the dining room. Angelique will bring you a tray. Sleep now, sweetie.” I hated it when Jack called me sweetie. I loved it when Adam did. He bent down and kissed me.
I heard the door click behind him. And I slept.
When I woke up, I was slept out. The cabin was empty. I felt too weak to get up and make my way down to my own cabin. My backpack was on the round copper table, so I reached for it and pulled out my notebook. I didn’t want to write in my journal. Not yet. What could I say but, “Esteban is dead. Otto shot him.” That was too heavy, required too much explanation. I held my pen over a blank page. Scribbled. Crossed out. Scribbled.
Nobody promised a happy end.
Nobody said the story is told.
Till the last page is turned,
Nobody knows
If it’s good or it’s bad,
If it’s new, if it’s old.
It’s all happened before,
Betrayal and sorrow,
Redemption and grief,
And a hope for tomorrow.
I put my pen down. I wasn’t sure what to hope for. I tore out the page, held my pen over a fresh one. I sighed and wrote a lament, a lament for Esteban and his music. And then I wrote some silliness, because I wanted something for Siri to sing that would cheer us up. Esteban’s music had really meant something to her, and it was the death of his music as much as the death of his self that was grieving her, though I knew the two could not be separated.
There was a knock on the door and Angelique came in, bearing a tray. She put it down on the copper table, then sat beside me on the couch and took me into her arms and rocked me, and suddenly, surrounded by her strong and loving arms, I began to cry. I cried and cried and she rocked and soothed and murmured and I cried until there were no tears left.
Then she reached for the tray. She had brought me a cold meal of salads, sliced meats, cheeses, so the wait didn’t matter. I discovered that I was hungry. Famished. She sat with me while I ate. Then she put the tray on the other bunk.
“Thank you, Angelique.”
She asked, “Will you speak to Otto?”
I looked at her.
“Otto is devastated. He came on the Argosy blithe as a bird, with no idea of the mess he was already in. When he found out, he discovered that it was almost impossible to get out. And the price was high: Esteban’s death.”
I closed my eyes, “Otto …”
“Esteban and Nausinio had orders to kill Otto.”
“Did Otto know—”
“Not then. He does now. But he’s torn to shreds. Will you speak to him?”
“Well, sure. Of course. But I don’t know what to say.”
“When you see him, you’ll know.” Angelique smiled at me. “Had enough to eat?”
“Plenty.”
“Dick will check on you again before bedtime. There are a couple of small frostbites that need watching. Your body is marvelously resilient after that terrible experience. Dick and I are especially fond of you, Vicky.”
Tears came back to my eyes. “I’m especially fond of you, too.”
Before she left, I tore some pages out of my notebook. “Will you give these to Siri?”
“Of course.”
I didn’t see Otto till the next morning. Dick came in early to check me over, and then Leilia brought me breakfast. She said, “I’m sorry about Esteban, Vicky.”
I looked at her questioningly as she placed the tray on my knees. She had remembered that I like oatmeal. She’d also brought sticky buns and a dish of orange and grapefruit sections as well as coffee and hot milk.
She said, “What we have been told is that there was an accident and Esteban was killed. You were stranded alone for a while and nearly froze, and your friend Adam found you. Jorge and Jack have returned to Vespugia to take care of things, and then I suppose Jack will go back to Texas. Everybody’s delighted to see Cookie again. I gather Papageno was here briefly to bring Cookie and has gone back to the Falklands. I’m not sure I believe all of Quim’s pleasant little story, but I’m willing to live with it and not ask questions. That’s something I’ve learned in a long life.”
“Thanks, Leilia.”
“Oh, yes, and I forgot Greta. Poor Greta, she is unfortunately forgettable. Whatever Quim’s reason for her absence, it was acceptable.” She poured coffee for me, and laughed her nice, normal laugh.
Greta. Greta had been Jorge’s stooge all along, willing to lie, to tell us that Sam had fallen, to do anything Jorge told her to do. I hoped that Leilia was right and that she would be forgettable.
Leilia smiled at me. “I gather Dick told you you could get up for lunch.”
“Yes. I’m fine, really.”
“No rush. We’ll be at sea most of today. You look a little washed out, but not bad.” She stayed with me while I ate, chatting about the veritable city of icebergs we were moving through, the penguins we’d seen, the hope that we might see more whales. Then she left me. She knew when not to ask questions. That’s a rare virtue.
There was a knock on my door and Otto came in. He stood by my bunk. “Vicky, can you forgive me?”
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to forgive you for.”
“I used you,” Otto said. “I played with you. I was serious and I wasn’t serious.”
I laughed. “Otto, I never expecte
d to be the Princess of Zlatovica.”
“Vicky, about Esteban—”
“I know you had to,” I said. “I know that.”
“I know it, too, though it was Nausinio I was aiming for, not Esteban. In my country there has been too much killing. I wanted hard currency to help make peace, to stop killing, to unite warring factions. To be a pacifist and to be naïve is a dangerous combination. There was much I did not understand.”
I sighed. “Me, too.”
“But you are not a prince, responsible for the lives of many people.”
“Being responsible for myself is more than enough.”
“Vicky, are we friends?”
I looked at him, his amber eyes, his golden skin and hair, his expensive clothes. I was no longer dazzled. But without Otto I would not be alive. “Yes.”
“Sometime—I would like to invite you to my country.”
“That would be terrific, Otto. Sometime.”
After Otto, Adam came.
“You’re okay.” Adam sighed with relief.
“I’m fine.” Then I asked, “Esteban was going to be killed, no matter what, wasn’t he?”
Adam’s voice was somber. “Yes. They could not risk his defection.”
I closed my eyes. “I don’t understand killing people because they disagree with you.”
Adam said, “Let’s hope you never understand.” Then he grinned. “Did you ever figure out what Jorge had in those camera cases?”
I looked at him questioningly.
“Cameras.”
I laughed with him.
Adam said, “When you begin to suspect somebody, you tend to suspect everything.”
“Yeah.” Then I asked, which I hadn’t thought to do the day before, “Did Dick have to take the bullet out?”
“No, it went right on through and buried itself in the ice. It’s probably not the first bullet to lodge in Antarctic ice, but I don’t like the idea.”
“Neither do I.”
“Your Otto and I had a good talk last night.”
“He’s not my Otto.”
“Would he be, if he weren’t a prince?”
I shook my head. “He’s”—I couldn’t think of any other word—“dazzling, sort of.”
“Looks every inch a prince.”
“But I’m not looking for a prince.”
“A friend, maybe?”
“That’s a much better idea.”
Then Adam kissed me.
That was a really good idea.
I got up and dressed for lunch, not difficult, since dressing meant warm jeans, turtlenecks, sweaters. I brushed my hair thoroughly, put on a little lipstick, just enough to keep my lips from looking pale. Cook and Adam came to walk me up the stairs and into the lounge, and I was grateful for their strong arms because I felt amazingly wobbly. Almost everybody was there before us, and I was warmly greeted as though people were really glad to see me.
Benjy beckoned us to a table where he was sitting with Siri and Sam, Dick and Angelique. Otto came in, and Benjy called to him to come join us. I sat down and Benjy surprised me by kissing me, with a loud smack, on my cheek.
I laughed, said, “Thank you!” and then I noticed a piece of red string tied around the fourth finger of Siri’s left hand.
Benjy took her hand and held it in his. “There’s no place in Antarctica where I can buy Siri a real ring. This will have to do till we get home.”
There was applause, and appreciative laughter. Somebody said, “Big surprise.”
Siri glowed. “It was a surprise to me.” She smiled at all of us around the table. “I swore I’d never love or marry again. Your poem helped, Vicky.”
Quim came in then, beaming at everybody. “Siri’s going to sing for us. Two songs, music by Siri, words by Vicky. One rather sad, because we’re all grieved at Esteban’s death. And after that, something else you’ll really enjoy.”
Benjy handed Siri her harp. She played a series of slow, somber chords. “This is called ‘Lament for a Young Musician.’” She paused, then played and sang:
The music is stilled. No sound
Of melody fills the fearsome air.
No chord, no harmony is found.
The sky is high and fair
Taunting our hearts. The price
Of death is high. Tears chilled
By grief are like primordial ice.
The melody is stilled, is stilled.
Otto spoke to me in a low voice. “Can you write a lament for the killer?”
“You’re not a killer. You did what you had to do. Adam would be dead. I would be dead. And if you hadn’t killed Esteban then, Nausinio would have, later.”
“I know,” Otto said. “But I killed him.”
Siri switched to major chords. Without introduction she sang:
If it has feathers I give you my word
It won’t be a dolphin, it won’t be a whale.
It may be an angel, it may be a bird;
Whatever it is, it can tell us a tale.
It may be a penguin, it won’t be a seal,
It may point to a place where a song is dwelling.
If it’s an angel I’m sure it’s real
And will give us a story worth the telling.
It gives us no answers, it promises naught,
Except that we all have a say in the words.
If it has feathers, we’ve all been taught,
It may be the most unexpected of birds!
When she was through, the mood had switched for most of the passengers. Only a few of us knew what had happened on the ice floe, or indeed that there had been anybody on an ice floe. Siri’s melody was as light as my words. There was lots of clapping and cheering. The assembled group was unusually full of laughter and warm feeling.
Angelique said in a low voice, “Bless you, Vicky. Siri, too.”
Leilia, sitting at the table next to ours, smiled at me warmly. “Good work.”
Cook touched my hand gently. “Vicky is not a penguin. She understands how to be vulnerable, and how to be a friend.”
“Encore! Encore!” Several people were shouting.
Adam twined his fingers through mine.
“Siri, play it again!” Sam called.
Siri picked up her harp. I was glad we’d had the lament first, because I knew that something light was needed now. Benjy and Siri sat together. Then Adam put his arm around me and I leaned back and listened.
GOFISH
QUESTIONS FOR THE AUTHOR
MADELEINE L’ENGLE
What did you want to be when you grew up?
A writer.
When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
Right away. As soon as I was able to articulate, I knew I wanted to be a writer. And I read. I adored Emily of New Moon and some of the other L.M. Montgomery books and they impelled me because I loved them.
When did you start to write?
When I was five, I wrote a story about a little “gurl.”
What was the first writing you had published?
When I was a child, a poem in CHILD LIFE. It was all about a lonely house and was very sentimental.
Where do you write your books?
Anywhere. I write in longhand first, and then type it. My first typewriter was my father’s pre–World War I machine. It was the one he took with him to the war. It had certainly been around the world.
What is the best advice you have ever received about writing?
To just write.
What’s your first childhood memory?
One early memory I have is going down to Florida for a couple of weeks in the summertime to visit my grandmother. The house was in the middle of a swamp, surrounded by alligators. I don’t like alligators, but there they were, and I was afraid of them.
What is your favorite childhood memory?
Being in my room.
As a young person, whom did you look up to most?
My mother. She was a storyteller and I loved her stories
. And she loved music and records. We played duets together on the piano.
What was your worst subject in school?
Math and Latin. I didn’t like the Latin teacher.
What was your best subject in school?
English.
What activities did you participate in at school?
I was president of the student government in boarding school and editor of a literary magazine, and also belonged to the drama club.
Are you a morning person or a night owl?
Night owl.
What was your first job?
Working for the actress Eva Le Gallienne, right after college.
What is your idea of the best meal ever?
Cream of Wheat. I eat it with a spoon. I love it with butter and brown sugar.
Which do you like better: cats or dogs?
I like them both. I once had a wonderful dog named Touche. She was a silver medium-sized poodle, and quite beautiful. I wasn’t allowed to take her on the subway, and I couldn’t afford to get a taxi, so I put her around my neck, like a stole. And she pretended she was a stole. She was an actor.
What do you value most in your friends?
Love.
What is your favorite song?
“Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes.”
What time of the year do you like best?
I suppose autumn. I love the changing of the leaves.
I love the autumn goldenrod, the Queen Anne’s lace.
Which of your characters is most like you?
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