Professor Landes bent down and examined the dissected beast. “That’s the largest centipede I’ve ever seen. It must be at least sixteen inches long. These monsters are capable of devouring rodents and lizards with their steel-like jaws. As a professor of natural history, I find them fascinating, like holdovers from a previous age.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Professor,” said Rémy. “I have no desire to meet up with one of these hideous monsters ever again. All right, men, let’s get moving. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
They traveled half a mile across a savannah covered in a rich carpet of begonias and past a promontory called Calabash Hill, which was covered with guava trees bursting with ripe fruit. The air was redolent with the smell of fresh guavas, while the flowers lent a charming beauty to their surroundings.
After they had walked another mile, they entered a tropical forest teeming with every species imaginable, from primitive-looking ferns to wild orchids to mountain pineapples, lycopods, breadfruit and balata trees, cabbage palms, balisier flowers, birds of paradise, and endless varieties of palm trees. It looked as if they had entered a primitive jungle from the Pleistocene era. The air was fresh and moist, and the sound of trickling streams echoed down from the heights. Birds called out from branches sixty feet high, and they occasionally caught a glimpse of colorful, exotic feathers streaking past. The forest was shaded by a canopy of jungle vegetation that only permitted a few streaks of sunlight. As they tramped through the forest, lizards darted up the sides of trees, and manicous scurried through the underbrush. The closer they came to the upper reaches of Mount Pelée, the steeper and narrower the trail became, and the more exhausted they grew. Soon they were hiking at an angle of almost forty-five degrees and were almost completely cut off from sunlight. As the guides chopped through the brush, forging a path, Professor Landes pointed out evidence of seismic activity all around, including piles of ash, volcanic rocks, and occasional burnt trees.
At the base of the next hill, the party came to a halt. They had reached the buttress of the center mass of Mount Pelée, and it took the guides several minutes to locate the proper trail. Red-faced and sweating, M. Mirville stopped to catch his breath. He rested on a felled tree trunk and fanned his face with his straw hat.
“Mark my words, this is the last time I’ll serve on one of these confounded scientific committees,” said Mirville. “It’s hotter and wetter than a Turkish sauna.”
Emilie slumped down beside him. “I know what you mean. It’s so humid you would hardly know we’re over three thousand feet high.”
“It’s so humid you could grow mushrooms in your pockets,” said Aubert.
“At least we’ll get our names in the newspapers,” said Emilie. “When news of Mount Pelée reaches the outside world, they will write stories about the brave team of explorers that climbed a rumbling, smoking volcano. We’ll be famous!”
“If we’re still alive by then,” said Rémy.
“My dear, forgive me for saying this,” said Mirville wryly, “but you have far too much courage for your own good.”
“Even if the volcano erupts, I doubt the world would be interested in the problems of a tiny island like Martinique,” said Sergeant Aubert. “Aside from the occasional riot, when has this island ever made the newspapers?”
“You may have a point,” said Professor Landes. “If it weren’t for the occasional fistfight in the National Assembly, I doubt anyone in France would know we exist.”
“Oh, they’ll know we exist all right if this damn thing blows its top,” said Rémy. “Except by that time, it’ll be too late, and we’ll be blown to smithereens.”
Emilie watched the men’s faces and fell silent, contemplating that scenario.
For the next eight hundred feet, the ascent was slowed down by the heavy jungle foliage. Durancy and Césaire hacked at the undergrowth with their cutlasses, but the enormous trees and dense overgrowth blocked all sunlight, creating an eerie world where only lizards, snakes, and insects lived. The air reeked of sulfur, and the only sound they heard was the constant drip-drip of rainwater from the branches overhead. Their clothes were soaked, and the moisture was working its way into their boots. After another hour, the sun broke through the canopy, and the temperature soared, drenching their clothing with sweat. Emilie stayed close behind Durancy, while the rest of the group spread out single file behind them. Occasionally they would hear a fluttering of wings or the caw of a jungle bird in the branches above their heads. Their progress was maddeningly slow.
Spying a fallen tree trunk, Emilie jumped on top and balanced her way across. She froze suddenly when she spied a mottled brown coil of a snake dangling inches from her face, its eyes almost level with hers. She knew at once it was the fer-de-lance, the deadly pit viper. It was well over six feet long. She kept completely still, not even daring to breathe as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Behind her she heard the men come to a full stop, their breathing coming in gasps when they spied the predator gaping at her from a low-hanging branch, its fangs poised and ready to strike.
Chapter 13
Emilie broke out in a cold sweat and she felt faint. She could not control her limbs from shaking as the snake hovered inches from her face, its fangs dripping with venom. Behind her Professor Landes whispered, “Don’t move, Emilie. Keep absolutely still.” Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. She saw her whole life flashing before her eyes. Out of the corner of her eye she spied Durancy raising his cutlass above his head, but before he could let it swing, Rémy made a motion for him to stop. Then, in one swift motion, he extracted his revolver, cocked the hammer, and aimed for the snake’s head.
“Nobody move,” he whispered. “I’ve got him.”
A blast rang out, sending the snake’s head flying in one direction and the body in another. Birds squawked and scattered in all directions. Lizards scurried under the brush. The bushes rustled from unseen beasts, and Emilie’s ears rang from the explosion as blood and tissue splattered everywhere. The snake’s headless body continued writhing for several seconds before it finally went still. All that remained of the reptile was a mass of scales, tissue, and a pair of fangs attached to a lifeless head. The serpent’s blood oozed onto the forest floor, creating an eerie red carpet. A wave of relief washed over Emilie.
“Are you all right?” said Rémy, giving Emilie an encouraging pat on the back. “I’m not sure I would have been as brave as you.”
“You saved my life, Lieutenant Rémy,” she said.
“Think nothing of it,” he said, replacing his gun in his holster. Seeing her obvious distress, he handed her his bottle of water. “Here, drink this. It is tafia and spring water with a little rum mixed in. It will give you back your courage.”
“Well done, Lieutenant,” said Professor Landes. “Emilie, are you all right after that fright?”
“I’ll be fine as soon as my heart stops pounding,” she said.
“Let’s just say if Mlle Dujon were a cat, she would only have eight lives left,” said Rémy, grinning.
Durancy pushed the serpent’s remains out of the way with his cutlass. “That’s the biggest fer-de-lance I have ever seen. It’s well over six feet long and as thick as a man’s forearm.”
“That’s as close as I ever hope to get to one of those pit vipers,” said Aubert.
“Rémy, you’re damned lucky you got it with your first shot,” said M. Mirville. “Those blasted things are like some mythological monster . . . like a Hydra or a Minotaur. They show no mercy and take no prisoners.”
“Isn’t that an exaggeration?” said Rémy.
Mirville shook his head. “Not in the least. If the Minotaur were alive today, he would be deathly afraid of that abominable reptile.”
“Yes, but the ancient Greeks didn’t have our modern firearms, which makes us stronger,” said Sergeant Aubert.
“You mustn’t let the Greek gods hear you say that,” said M. Mirville. “We’ve already got one volcano furious at us. We don
’t need the gods fuming at us too!”
They continued hacking through the jungle vegetation until they reached a trail that was carved into the side of the mountain. Recent rains had made the surface slippery, causing them to lose their footing on several occasions. Soon their clothes were coated with mud and ash, giving them the appearance of survivors of a natural disaster. Unaccustomed to exerting himself, M. Mirville did his best to keep up with the others and was exceedingly grateful when Césaire presented him with a crude cane fashioned out of a branch. From time to time he would mutter, “Blasted creepers!” as he wielded his cane like a cutlass, slashing at the overgrowth of vines and shrubs with the zeal of a drunken horticulturalist. On these occasions, Emilie did her best to stifle a laugh, but occasionally she had to place a hand over her mouth to spare Mirville’s masculine pride. With the danger of the pit viper behind her, Emilie was no longer afraid about what they might find at the summit, if anything, she was invigorated.
After another hour, they reached a steep rock face covered in moss. Balancing their knapsacks on their backs, they negotiated each step with great care, sweating through their khaki shirts as they climbed over boulders and steep ledges. When the terrain became too risky, the guides would scramble ahead, tie a rope around a tree, and use it to hoist the others up one by one. Complicating matters, a thick fog had descended over the mountain, making visibility beyond ten feet all but impossible.
Emilie proved to be a capable climber. By midafternoon she was exhausted but exhilarated. She noticed that Rémy had been keeping an eye on her ever since her near-fatal encounter with the snake, but that only made her more determined to carry her own weight. Behind her, the porters had the double burden of carrying the supplies on their backs, including the bulky photographic equipment. When she reached a steep ledge, she tried to scale it on her own, but it was more difficult than it looked. She redoubled her efforts, but nothing seemed to work. She wiped the sweat off her brow and rolled her sleeves as high as they would go. It mattered little to her that Rémy was watching from his perch above her, attempting to stifle a grin behind that jaunty moustache. When it began to look as if she wouldn’t be able to scale it on her own, he threw down a rope, but she shook her head. “No, thank you, Lieutenant, I can do it myself.” Grasping the rock with her bare hands, she hoisted herself up, but after she struggled and fell several times, Rémy dangled the rope in her face. “Take this, mademoiselle; what do you have to lose?”
Emilie looked at him with annoyance. “No, thank you, Lieutenant. I prefer to do it on my own.”
“You won’t get very far all by yourself. We’re supposed to be a team.”
“Do you think I’m not capable of climbing on my own?”
Rémy tried to hide his amusement. “Perish the thought. You climb better than most monkeys I’ve seen, but God had the good sense to give monkeys tails. That’s why I threw you the rope. Even a monkey has enough sense to accept help when it’s offered.”
Emilie spat out some hair. “How do you expect me to concentrate when you keep interrupting me?”
After several more attempts, she lost her footing and fell over backward. Dirt and pebbles rolled down from the ledge, leaving a coating all over her clothes.
“Mademoiselle, why are you so stubborn?” said Rémy. “What are you trying to prove?”
“It’s a personal matter.”
“There should be no secrets between team members.”
She stood up and dusted off her breeches. “If you don’t mind, I have a problem I’m trying to solve, and the more we stand here talking, the more confused I get.”
She climbed up between two rocks, but one of them gave way, causing her to tumble to the ground amid a shower of loose stones that rattled beside her. This time she was covered in dirt and pebbles, her hair streaming down her face. The porters hoisted her up as Rémy stifled a grin and once more threw her down a line of rope.
“I’m glad you find it amusing,” she said, looking at Rémy with annoyance.
“Not at all, mademoiselle,” he said. “You look lovely covered in mud. Actually, they say mud is good for the complexion. But enough of the heroics. Grab this, please. Tie it around your waist, and I’ll pull you up.”
Reluctantly, Emilie tied the rope around her waist and then braced herself against the rocks. When he hoisted her up, she gripped the rope and used her feet to guide her up the ledge step-by-step. Eventually she climbed the entire thirty feet in this manner. The men clapped and cheered her on until she reached the top. When she grabbed Rémy’s hand, he lifted her over the ledge.
“There, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?” said Rémy. “I think you handled that quite well, almost like an alpinist. What you lack in basic climbing skills, you make up for with sheer pluck.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Lieutenant. I . . .” She stopped abruptly when she realized Rémy hadn’t heard a word she had spoken because he had already climbed another fifteen feet and was well out of earshot.
Heaving a great sigh, Emilie stuffed her hair under her straw hat and followed him up the mountain. Something about the lieutenant’s demeanor gave her pause. He was not as coarse or brutish as she might have expected, and he seemed almost gentle at times. She admired his strength, agility, and sense of humor. But she also admired his easygoing nature. More than anything, she liked the way Rémy kept an eye on everyone, always looking out for their safety. And it was downright comical the way he and Aubert always bickered and berated each other in colorful terms. There was no end to the indelicate phrases they used, such as oaf, blockhead, numskull, and the strangest one of all—badly groomed Merino sheep. Other times they communicated with barely a word passing between them. Just a few grunts and gestures, and they seemed to understand each other, like well-mannered gorillas or chimpanzees, only clean-shaven and infinitely handsomer. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so amused or felt so at ease. The men seemed to go out of their way to make her feel comfortable and not the least bit in the way. She almost wished the day would never end.
They stopped to rest in a forest of balisier flowers that were in full bloom. The scent was intoxicating; the fresh air invigorated them and provided a short diversion from the climb. A steady breeze blew in from the east, providing a much-needed respite from the heat, and the view of the surrounding countryside was breathtaking. They had reached the upper flanks of the mountain, where they were treated to a variety of exotic plant species that Professor Landes was only too eager to point out, including some that existed nowhere else on earth. There were great green ferns that resembled trees, ferns that were sensitive to the touch, and primitive ferns with wavy leaves like a sea anemone. Rémy sketched some of them in his notebook, and Emilie was impressed by his skillful hand. He would pluck an interesting flower and sketch it in great detail and then turn his attention to a green lizard that was quietly observing him from inside a balisier flower. She liked to watch him work; there was something comforting about his quiet presence.
Emilie opened up her canteen and took a swig. “That flower you are drawing is the Heliconia bihai, otherwise known as the balisier,” she said. “There’s an old legend that says the flower never dies, that it always springs up again.”
“That’s fascinating,” said Rémy. “How do you know all that?”
“My tutor Abbé Morel taught me that. And he told me another legend that says Jesus was born in a balisier patch. He used to say, ‘Jesu est né dans un balisier.’ And I always believed him. I used to believe everything he told me. Of course I was too young and naive to know better.”
“It’s not naive to trust the people who taught you and raised you,” he said. “Old legends exist for a reason. There’s always some truth in them no matter how outlandish.”
She met his eyes for an instant and felt her face coloring. “Well, the summit is not far now. We should be reaching it in an hour.”
“Too bad, I was just starting to enjoy myself,” said Rémy. “In fact, I
think I’ve found a friend in that lizard over there. Do you think I could train him to fetch my shoes?”
“I must admit, Mlle Dujon, your esprit de corps is admirable,” said Sergeant Aubert. “In the army they would classify this as hazardous duty, yet you haven’t complained once.”
“I suppose that makes me a good little soldier,” she said.
“You’re certainly good for morale,” said Aubert, easing closer. “In fact, I nominate you for the highest commendation, the Order of the Balisier Flower.”
He snapped off a flower and stuck it in her hair. Emilie beamed, her cheeks glowing from the sunlight that filtered in through the foliage. The men laughed genially at this little joke except for Rémy, who looked up from his sketch pad and frowned.
“It’s too early for celebrating,” he said. “We still have some climbing to do.”
“Anyway, Sergeant Aubert,” said Emilie, “are you quite certain you wish to give me the honor, given I’m all covered in mud?”
“Definitely,” he said, kissing her hand. “I gave you the award because of your extreme dedication to your regiment, your devotion to la Mère Patrie, and because even though your face, hair, and clothes are covered with mud, you are even more charming than the Empress Josephine.”
Rémy pushed Aubert’s hand away. “Carry on, Sergeant. We don’t want her smelling like you.”
The men burst out laughing. Emilie joined in, and when her eyes met Rémy’s, she quickly looked down and pretended to search through her knapsack. Drawing out her binoculars, she peered through them but continued to watch him out of the corner of her eye. The men had launched into a discussion about the humorous aspects of Martinique society, which she found most amusing. Inevitably there was bickering, with Rémy observing that Aubert spoke French like a “Spanish cow” and Aubert countering that Rémy was a particularly annoying “nutcracker.” M. Mirville burst out laughing, his portly body shaking with amusement as he described them as a sort of military Punch and Judy show. Even the scholarly Professor Landes had a good time laughing at the bickering soldiers. Emilie found herself enjoying the men’s company as never before.
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