Voyage of the Basilisk : A Memoir by Lady Trent (9781429956369)

by Brennan, Marie

  The one task that did fall to me, at least in part, was cooking. I mentioned before that this is the purview of men in Keonga; women cook certain things, but men oversee the underground ovens which bake the more substantial dishes. To my chagrin, I found that this became my duty, now that I was a ke’anaka’i individual living as a man. Like Heali’i, I was not expected to perform all the duties of my apparent sex … but if I did not cook such things, my household went without. Jake was old enough that he should have left our side to live among the unmarried young men, but as he had not gone through the appropriate rite of passage, he still belonged to the world of women (which in practice meant the world of Abby).

  My odd position did at least afford me one domestic benefit: as ke’anaka’i, I could dine with whomever I pleased, without violating tapu. I therefore was able to take meals with my son when I chose, or with Tom, or with Aekinitos (once repairs were underway and his mood improved)—the exception, of course, being when research drew me away.

  I was eager for that research, not only because of natural inclination, but also because it gave me a reason to avoid the awkward components of my domestic situation. Together with Tom and Heali’i I formed a plan to hike up to the summit of Homa’apia. There, she promised, we could observe fire-lizards to our hearts’ content.

  The prospect excited me greatly. Before I could pursue it, however, I had matters to attend to in the sea.

  * * *

  We all saw the new storm brewing. The tides were nearly right for Aekinitos and Mr. Dolin to free the Basilisk at last; but if she were to have any hope of floating free, the very large weight sitting in her belly had to be removed. “I should throw the damn thing over the side,” Aekinitos growled at Suhail. “That lump of steel was dragging us askew all through the storm.”

  Suhail made a gesture of apology. “The diving bell will take no harm from being in water, if you would be kind enough not to throw it. We could perhaps lower it onto the reef with the boom, and retrieve it once the ship is repaired.”

  Aekinitos did not look very enthused at the prospect of retrieving it. I intervened, saying, “It would be very beneficial to me to have the diving bell. We have a scheme in mind for using it to study the serpents.” To say nothing of its use to Suhail, of course—not that Aekinitos cared a fig for that.

  “You will not be able to use it,” the captain said. “Even one of their double canoes cannot carry its weight.”

  Disappointment dragged at me. I had been so very eager to view the sea-serpents. Then Suhail said, “There would not be any ruins on the fore reef, so it is of no use to me there. But Mrs. Camherst might be able to use it to view the serpents before the ship is moved.”

  “Oh, might I?” For a moment I sounded as if I were seven again. Then a twinge of guilt stirred in me. “Though I do not feel right, using your device for my research, when you cannot use it for your own.”

  Suhail dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “If it will do you good, then by all means. There are some islanders whose job is to keep a watch out for the serpents, so that the fishers do not go into danger. We can ask them.”

  The islanders in question were a gaggle of boys old enough to take their meals with the men, but too young to undertake adult tasks. They told me with enthusiasm that yes, the serpents were often seen outside the reef, and showed me the drum they beat to warn others when the telltale coils broke the surface. “Are you going to ride one?” they asked Suhail, all eagerness.

  “Ride one!” I exclaimed.

  “Yes,” one of them replied, with great enthusiasm. So great, in fact, that I could not follow at all what he said next; his words came out in such a torrent as to utterly defeat my imperfect grasp of his language.

  Suhail translated for me, with a slowness I knew did not come from any linguistic difficulty. “He says it is a thing the warriors do. They wait until there is a warning of serpents, then paddle out past the reef and dive into the water. When a serpent comes near, they seize hold of the—” He stopped, gesturing above his eyes.

  “The tendrils,” I said. “They must be quite sensitive; we believe those are part of how the serpents perceive disturbances in the water.”

  “Interesting. Yes, the tendrils. He says this keeps the serpent from tossing its head to fling the rider off. Someone who does this displays great mana; the longer he remains aboard, the greater the acclaim.”

  I had not forgotten the circumstances under which I first saw Suhail, back in Namiquitlan. “You want to try this for yourself.”

  His answering grin split his face. “Can you imagine such a ride?”

  “Not for myself,” I said firmly. I had begun to enjoy swimming; it was very pleasant to start my day with a paddle in a sheltered cove, away from the sailors’ eyes. (A clothed paddle, I should note. The locals might swim naked, but I did not. Even Suhail wore a loincloth in the water.) A few days of practice, however, did not make me a champion swimmer. For me to try such a thing would be foolhardy in the extreme.

  A little voice in my mind whispered, As foolhardy as hurling yourself off a waterfall.

  “I will not try it now,” Suhail assured me. “If I got myself eaten, you would have no one to manage the diving bell for you. And I would not want an angry serpent to damage the Basilisk further.”

  I laughed. “No, indeed—Aekinitos would raise your ghost in order to vent his spleen upon it.”

  * * *

  We were fortunate. Between our conceiving of this notion and the removal of the Basilisk from her stony cradle, a serpent was indeed sighted just beyond the reef.

  The moment we heard the drums pounding, we sprang into motion. One of the ship’s boats and two Keongan canoes pushed out from shore, carrying myself, Suhail, Tom, Heali’i, and an assortment of sailors and islanders. The latter kept watch at a distance while we climbed up onto the ship, where the diving bell had been made ready.

  Suhail had made the first preparations before the storm ever drove us to Keonga, welding a metal plate onto the base of the bell, with a collar of oiled leather for a hatch. “It will not withstand any great pressure,” Suhail had told me. “Rubber would be better. But we will not be going deep.” There was a flattish bit of reef below the outcropping on which the Basilisk had grounded herself; it was less than ten meters down, where the pressure ought to be acceptable, and would provide (we hoped) a stable platform for the bell, which ordinarily would hang suspended in the water, allowing Suhail to swim out through the open bottom. Suspension, however, would mean that any swing from the bell—such as that caused by a serpent—might create trouble for the damaged Basilisk, shifting it on the reef. Even preparing to lower the bell into the water had been an exercise in physics, taking care we would not tip the vessel over.

  I must admit I had second thoughts when I saw the bell awaiting us on deck. It lay on its side, with sacks about to keep it from rolling; the hatch in the base seemed very small indeed. (I have never been claustrophobic, but I defy most of my readers to face the prospect of sealing themselves in a small metal chamber and dropping that chamber into the ocean without at least a moment of apprehension.) I could not allow those thoughts to delay me, though; we did not know how long the serpent would remain.

  Suhail was giving final reminders to Tom and the men who would be managing the air pump. Their work was vital; without that umbilical hose and the machine on the other end, Suhail and I would asphyxiate in short order. I looked to Heali’i for my own instructions. “Is there any tapu I should know about? Suhail is not dragon-spirited.”

  “Just don’t make them angry,” Heali’i said; and with those comforting words, I had to enter the bell.

  Suhail followed me a moment later and clamped the hatch shut. There was not much room for either of us to move; the bell was a bit taller than a man’s height, but had a bench around the edge, which divers sat upon when the device was used as intended. He and I braced ourselves against this as the men hauled on ropes to bring us upright. The bell thumped agains
t the deck, which I prayed would not collapse beneath us; it did not. Small amounts of light entered through the two windows, but not enough.

  He was watching me closely. “You do not have to do this,” he said.

  I managed a small laugh. “That should be my epitaph when I die. She did not have to do it.” Then my words cut off, for with a great creaking of ropes and shouting from the men on deck, we rose into the air and swung out over the sea.

  I expected the bell to sway as it entered the water, but its great weight was proof against the force of the surf. I heard the splash of water outside, and felt the bell chill beneath my hand; then the interior dimmed as we went under.

  “Breathe,” Suhail said with a grin. I had, without realizing it, begun holding my air. I exhaled and gave him an answering smile. The result undoubtedly looked nervous; there is a fine line between excitement and fear.

  I had been in the sea once before, when swimming with the dragon turtles. It was odd now to see that environment through glass: to be underwater, yet perfectly dry. The sunlight slanted down through the sea, beams dancing slightly as the waves shifted. No water came in through our hatch, not even the slightest leak, and Suhail made a satisfied murmur.

  The bell settled against the seabed. Suhail rose from the bench and tramped a circle around the interior, making sure our position was secure. Then he nodded, and I went to the porthole to look out.

  We had landed where Suhail intended, upon a sturdy shelf overlooking deeper waters. From one side I had a splendidly close view of the reef that had been the downfall of the Basilisk, the coloured corals put to shame by the bright fish flitting among them. I could have lingered for an hour simply watching those fish; they have never been of great interest to me before, but their beauty was entrancing.

  My time here was limited, though, and so I moved to the other porthole, looking out into the ocean. The reef there rapidly gave way to a more muted landscape. My gaze flicked from place to place, familiarizing myself; I estimated sizes, distances, preparing myself to record what I could about the sea-serpents.

  For those, I would not have to wait long. There was not just one serpent in the vicinity; there were several, slipping through the more distant reaches. The question was, would they come closer?

  “The water here is beautifully clear,” Suhail marveled from behind my shoulder. “In most places you would not see them at such a distance—not as anything more than shadows in the murk.”

  Glass against the tip of my nose told me I had leaned forward instinctively, trying to lessen the gap. “I wish they would come closer,” I said. Then I grumbled in annoyance, for my words had fogged the glass. I wiped it clean with my sleeve and returned to my study. The next time I spoke, I took care to turn my head first. “They are unquestionably smaller than the one I saw in the north—less than half the size, I should think. Not juveniles, though; they seem fully formed.”

  Suhail said nothing, which pleased me. He had a knack for distinguishing between conversation and the audible workings of my brain, and knew not to interrupt the latter. One of the serpents drifted closer, tantalizing me, and I noted its characteristics out loud. “Full complement of facial tendrils—that could be a sign of youth, or of species difference. No evidence of posterior fins. I can almost see vanes on the anterior fins, four of them. Come, my dear; turn this way, so I may see your face.”

  I do not know how long I stood there, talking to myself like a madwoman, half-conversing with a sea-serpent. When it swam away once more, I turned and found Suhail with one foot on the bench, a notebook braced against his knee. He had been scribbling in the dim light, and held the result up for me to see: a record of all my ramblings.

  “Oh, thank you,” I said. “My memory is good, but—”

  The bell went nearly dark. I whirled in time to see a long rush of scales going by the porthole; an instant later I was glued to the side of the bell, but I was too late. The serpent was already swimming off. I could have howled in frustration. “Another one! And this one is larger.” I craned my neck, trying to see above, where the serpent circled. “If only I could get a close look at the scales…”

  The serpent seemed inclined to oblige me, for it bent back upon itself and dove once more. It shot by at speed, and then the bell rang like its namesake as the serpent’s tail slapped the side.

  I put my hand against the wall, more out of shock than a need to catch myself. The bell weighed a great deal; a mere slap scarcely did more than shake it. But Suhail, off-balance with his foot up on the bench, almost staggered against me. He met my gaze and said quietly, “I think you should stop wishing for such things.”

  The bell rang again. “Oh dear,” I said, my nerves returning. “It—cannot break the bell, can it? Or the porthole?”

  “Those, no,” Suhail answered, looking up with sudden concern.

  My heart began beating double-time. “What do you mean by, those, no? What else could it—” Then my gaze followed his, and I understood.

  At the top of the bell, a small hole gave access to the umbilical which supplied our air. That hollow cable was a sturdy thing, and laced through the chain besides; surely that would be enough to protect it.

  I returned my attention to the porthole, trying to see what was transpiring outside. I arrived just in time.

  The serpent had circled and come about to face us. I saw its mouth open wide, its flanks ripple peculiarly. I had just enough time to say, “I think it is drawing water in—”

  And then the serpent spat it back out.

  This time the bell did more than simply ring. It rocked dangerously backward, shifting on the seabed. I caught myself against the far wall, the bench striking the backs of my knees. “Jet of water,” I said, and the part of my mind that takes refuge in science made a note to discuss abdominal musculature once more with Tom, who had dissected the serpent up in the arctic. “But this bell weighs a very great deal; we should—”

  I cannot tell you what happened next, for I was no longer looking out the porthole, and it offered a limited view regardless. I do not know whether the first serpent returned to lend its aid, or whether that jet had been a mere test and now the second, larger serpent mustered its full strength. I know only that the floor of the bell tilted beneath my feet … and then the whole thing tipped and rolled, throwing me against the bench, against Suhail, and then there was water spraying all around us, and I was screaming.

  He regained his feet before I did. By the time I determined which way was up, Suhail had stripped off his shirt and jammed it against the hole for the umbilical—the hole which had previously supplied us with air, and now, despite his best efforts, was admitting a steady flow of water.

  The bell was on its side again; the cable had broken; we were in imminent danger of drowning.

  I managed to stand, slipping a little in the accumulated water, and joined Suhail in pressing the fabric against the hole, trying to block the points at which it was leaking. We met each others’ gazes, and the panic in his eyes felt much like that in my own heart. “They’ll have seen that above,” I said. Tom and the others could not possibly have failed to notice the bell being torn from its chain.

  “They cannot get to us in time,” Suhail said.

  My mind had already performed the same calculation. If someone dove in immediately, perhaps—but what good would that do? They could not reconnect the chain, could not haul us from the sea before we drowned.

  We turned as one to regard the hatch through which we had entered. Perversely, I blessed the serpent for not merely breaking the umbilical, but knocking us on our side; had it not done so, we would have had no escape, for our jury-rigged hatch was in the base of the bell, and had been pressed firmly against the sand. Now it offered a slender reed of hope.

  Suhail’s voice was quiet with tension. “We would have to let the water in, then swim out once the force had subsided.”

  “And hope we can make it to the surface in time,” I said.

  A heartbeat passed
, during which the water continued to leak in.

  I did not think of Jake in that heartbeat. Those who claim their thoughts go to loved ones in such moments of crisis are either liars or made of different stuff than I. All my thoughts were bent to the calculus of survival. We were a little less than ten meters down; I was not a fast swimmer. The serpent was still out there, and might come for us once we were free of the bell.

  But if we stayed here, we would certainly die.

  “Exhale as you go up,” Suhail said, and by that I knew he had reached the same conclusion. “Otherwise the air in your lungs will expand and kill you.”

  I had not thought of that, and nodded. Then he said, “Are you ready?”

  Of course not, I wanted to say. But delay would accomplish nothing beneficial, and so I said, “Yes.”

  Suhail let go of his shirt. The spray of water increased greatly, utterly drenching me. He waded through the growing depth to the hatch. Once there, he wasted no further time, but broke open the seal.

  To my horror, the hatch did not open immediately. It had been designed to swing outward, so that the pressure of the sea would assist in keeping it closed; now that worked against us. Suhail kicked it, and that let in a gush of water; then the flood began.

  I gulped in the greatest lungful of air I could hold. My body ached with the volume of it, and I remembered what he had said about pressure—but I would need as much oxygen as I could get.

  The bell was almost full of water. Suhail had gotten the hatch fully open, and eeled out through it with the ease of a practiced swimmer. I pushed for it, swimming against the inrushing current, and found he had waited for me; he gripped my wrist and helped me out. Then, still holding me, he kicked off from the seabed, and we rose.

  Ten meters had not seemed like so very great a depth as we went down, with the water so clear it made distances small. Now, fluttering like mad for the surface, ten meters seemed like ten kilometers. We ascended so slowly—so slowly. Only the growing pressure in my lungs told me we had gone anywhere. I exhaled in little spurts, trying to keep as much air as I could, for soon my body was clamouring for fresh oxygen. Suhail, a better swimmer by far, dragged me up and up and up.