The Princess and the Captain

by Anne-Laure Bondoux

  ‘I’ve had enough of this music!’ she said. ‘I’d like to eat in silence!’

  Jahalod and Orpheus turned to her at the same moment, looking vexed.

  ‘There’s no reason why you have to stay here,’ the old man told her sharply. ‘If you can’t appreciate beauty –’

  ‘That flute is dreadful!’ complained Malva. ‘I’ve heard much better tunes in my time, if you really want to know!’ She threw a handful of sand on the fire. Her hands were trembling. ‘I’ve heard the lamento of a sailor from Lombardaine, I’ve heard the voices of Baighur women in the evening on the Great Azizian Steppes, I’ve heard the sweet singing of Temir-Gai’s preunuchs! Even the serenades my father’s musicians played were easier on the ear than this shrill flute!’

  ‘All the better for you, young woman!’ retorted Jahalod-Rin. ‘You’re lucky, you can go all over the world! But here all alone … well, I have nothing but my flutes!’

  Irritated, Orpheus leaped to his feet and planted himself in front of Malva.

  ‘You have a very hard heart, Princess!’ he said angrily, towering above her. ‘Jahalod welcomes us to his island, gives us his fruit and his water – you might make an effort to thank him! I’ve been watching you since we came here. You sit about as if you were the unhappiest girl in the world, but just look around you! This is a wonderful island. We can eat and drink. Jahalod has lived here all alone for years, without any entertainment, with no one to talk to. So if a few tunes on the flute can be a little comfort to him in his loneliness, I –’

  Malva threw the piece of meat she was eating into the fire and rose to her feet, fixing her amber eyes on Orpheus. ‘Jahalod chose to live alone on this island!’ she replied. ‘It’s not up to us to console him for being a coward!’

  ‘A coward?’ gasped Orpheus. ‘How dare you insult our host?’

  His breath was coming fast, his neck was stiff with anger and blue veins stood out on his forehead. He seemed about to fling himself on Malva. The others watched the scene at a loss, not knowing what to do. The game went on roasting over the fire, sending showers of sparks up to the dark sky now and then. Jahalod coughed again, and then said in a quavering voice, ‘Never mind. I am sure the young lady is right. I was a coward in the past, when Catabea received me into the Archipelago. I wasn’t brave enough to accept her challenge, and that’s the truth.’

  Disconcerted, Orpheus turned to the old man. ‘Don’t say such things!’ he begged him. ‘You are so good, so generous! The Princess doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s … she’s just a spoilt child!’

  Malva opened her mouth, but she was too stupefied to say anything at all. Jahalod-Rin gave her a sideways glance and nodded. A sly smile hovered around his lips.

  ‘Perhaps the young lady is jealous,’ he suggested. ‘If I understood you correctly, she is of high lineage. She is used to being pampered, surrounded by solicitude, and she likes giving orders. Now she sees you paying me attention, she feels she isn’t as powerful as she once was … and she feels slighted.’

  Malva went scarlet in the face. ‘You think I’m jealous?’ she shouted. ‘How could I be jealous of a poor old lunatic?’

  Orpheus seized her by the shoulders and shook her roughly. ‘Shut up!’ he spat. ‘If you call my father a lunatic again, I’ll –’

  Orpheus sounded so angry that Babilas and the twins jumped up and got between him and Malva.

  ‘Your father?’ she cried, laughing. ‘What are you talking about, Captain? Your father’s dead! You said so just now.’

  Orpheus took a step forward, his mouth twisted with rage, but Babilas stopped him with one hand. The twins were one each side of Malva, tugging her back.

  ‘Make her shut up!’ said Orpheus, foaming with fury. ‘Get her out of here, or I’ll murder her!’

  Lei and Finopico rose to their feet too, stunned. Such sudden violence left them speechless. Only Jahalod-Rin stayed peaceably sitting by the fire, licking his fingers and nibbling fruit as if nothing had happened.

  ‘Come over here, my son,’ he murmured to Orpheus. ‘Sit down by the fire and let the anger in your heart die down.’

  Held back by Babilas’s powerful arms, Orpheus watched Malva and the twins move away. When he heard Jahalod’s voice he suddenly relaxed.

  ‘Come here, come here,’ the old man insisted. ‘If those people are still your friends, they will understand. Give them time. Sit down and play me a little tune …’

  Babilas frowned when Orpheus shook free of his grasp and went back to Jahalod. The giant stood there motionless, looking anxious, his impressive shoulders casting a shadow on the flames, while Orpheus went back to sit beside old Jahalod and prepared to play.

  Lei and Finopico took Zeph by the back of the neck and led him away from the fire. ‘Looks like we’re not welcome any more,’ said Finopico. ‘And it hurts our ears too!’

  Out of bravado, Orpheus played the flute as loud as he could, making such a strident sound that Lei cried out. Jahalod-Rin burst into laughter.

  ‘Excellent, my son!’ he said, smiling, as the others moved away. ‘Now we can be at our ease, you and I!’ He put his freckled hand on Orpheus’s shoulder. ‘I have eaten well. I feel sleepy, I will lie down. But go on playing to me, please. The music will lull me.’

  The old man lay down at the threshold of his hut and closed his eyes. Sitting by the fire, Orpheus played, and played, and played. Night enveloped the island, black and heavy as a velvet cape. It had begun to rain. Malva, Lei, Finopico, Babilas and the twins had taken shelter under the plank roof a little way off. They were talking in low voices, undecided, but glancing anxiously at Orpheus from time to time. He was ignoring the rain and played on, his hair dripping wet, sitting beside the fire as it went out. Now and then he sneezed. Whenever he stopped, Jahalod sat up with a start.

  ‘Go on, please go on!’ he begged plaintively. ‘The flute does me so much good!’

  Orpheus obeyed, struggling against exhaustion to please his host. Hour followed hour, tune followed tune, sneeze followed sneeze.

  At dawn, red-eyed and with stiff fingers, Orpheus was still playing.

  ‘Thank you, my son!’ said Jahalod, stretching. ‘I have slept well, thanks to you. Now I feel hungry.’

  Orpheus slowly put down his flute. His teeth were chattering. The sky was pale, and a cool breeze stirred the leaves of the tall trees. Dazed, Orpheus went off to the forest to pick fruit. He could hardly stay on his feet, but he took no notice of his aching muscles, which were telling him to rest. He had to find food for Jahalod, at any cost.

  Further away, under the plank roof, his companions were watching. The sound of the flute had kept them from getting a wink of sleep all night.

  ‘Holy Tranquillity, our Greenhorn would bring down the moon to please that cutter of reeds,’ grumbled Finopico. ‘If I hear any more of his ghastly music I’ll make him eat sand!’

  Babilas, clenching his fists with rage and impatience, evidently agreed.

  The sun had risen. It was now three days since Catabea had placed the Stones of Life in the Nokros, and the passengers of the Fabula looked sad and downcast.

  ‘We must leave,’ said Malva. ‘The Fabula is ready to sail. We’ve waited too long already.’

  ‘I think same,’ agreed Lei. ‘We leave! But Orpheus?’

  ‘Let’s leave him here!’ said Finopico aggressively. ‘If he wants to die of exhaustion to please that old tyrant, that’s his look-out!’

  But Babilas shook his head, and the twins protested too.

  ‘Catabea told us we must stay together,’ Peppe reminded the others. ‘If we don’t, we get thrown into the Immuration anyway!’

  ‘He’s right,’ Malva agreed. ‘We must all go on with our voyage together.’

  Jahalod-Rin had gone back to sit on his rock. Knife in hand, he was beginning his pointless work, examining the pile of reeds that Orpheus had just brought him.

  ‘This reed is broken,’ he complained, holding up one of them. ‘And this one
is too green! These are too dry. Listen, my son, how do you expect me to make good flutes with reeds like this?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ Orpheus replied. ‘I’ll get some more.’

  Obviously on the point of collapse, he made for the trees all the same.

  ‘This island is our first test,’ said Malva, watching him go. ‘And Orpheus is failing it.’

  At that moment Orpheus emerged from the forest with another armful of reeds. Staggering, he went back to Jahalod and put the reeds down at his feet like a pilgrim making a votive offering before the statue of a deity.

  ‘Good, my son,’ Jahalod told him. ‘Now play me something on the flute. I have stomach pains. Perhaps the music will soothe them. I wonder if it was the game your cook served us? It had a strange flavour.’

  The old man had said this in a voice deliberately loud enough for everyone to hear. Finopico shook with anger.

  ‘My game? It was perfect!’ he muttered. ‘This old misery is getting on my nerves!’

  Lei took a step forward and emerged from the shelter of the roof above them. ‘Jahalod want separate us,’ she said. ‘He sow discord.’

  Malva joined her. ‘That’s quite enough! Come on!’ she said.

  She walked towards Orpheus, who was crouching in front of the rock with the flute to his lips. She looked at the young man’s face: his pallor, his features drawn by weariness, his chapped lips, his fevered eyes.

  ‘Go away!’ he snapped. ‘Jahalod-Rin doesn’t want anyone but me!’

  Malva assumed a severe expression. ‘Since when do you speak to your Princess in that tone?’

  ‘He told you to go away,’ the old man interrupted, without even looking at Malva. ‘Leave us in peace.’

  Malva didn’t favour Jahalod with a glance either. She took a deep breath and knelt down on the sand. ‘We’re leaving,’ she murmured in Orpheus’s ear. ‘We’re only waiting for you.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ the young man replied. ‘Jahalod needs me here. He’s frail, and I must look after him. I am a good son to him, and a good son doesn’t abandon his father.’

  Behind Malva, the rest of the crew of the Fabula had gathered. They were all looking at Orpheus.

  ‘Leave us!’ repeated Jahalod, raising his knife blade.

  ‘You’ll make him angry!’ Orpheus told Malva. ‘Go away!’

  ‘I don’t fear Jahalod’s anger,’ Malva replied. ‘We’re the ones who need your help, Orpheus. We can’t sail the Fabula without you. Remember what Catabea said: if we are to find the gates of the Archipelago –’

  ‘I don’t want to leave the Archipelago now!’ shouted Orpheus, his face flushed with blood. ‘I’ve changed my mind! I want to stay here with my master Jahalod!’

  Jahalod-Rin suddenly rose from his rock. Babilas made a movement, but the old man pointed his knife at him. The giant remained at a prudent distance.

  ‘Play me a tune, my son!’ demanded Jahalod. ‘There’s a ringing in my ears. I need music!’

  Orpheus was about to start playing the flute when Malva leaped at him. She snatched the instrument from his hands and held it above her head.

  ‘No more flute music!’ she cried. ‘Here’s an end to it!’

  And with a little crack, she broke the reed in two. Orpheus uttered a cry, but stayed crouching by the rock as if paralysed.

  Jahalod-Rin immediately fell into a terrible rage. He rushed at Malva, shouting and holding out his knife. Babilas launched himself forward and disarmed the old man. Malva took the knife.

  ‘Curses on you!’ cried Jahalod, on his knees. ‘How dare you break my son’s flute? You deserve to die!’

  Staggered, Orpheus looked in turn from the old man to his companions and then the two halves of the reed. When the flute broke, something inside him had broken too.

  ‘Other reeds!’ cried Lei suddenly. ‘On the fire, quick!’

  While Babilas firmly held Jahalod by the shoulders, Malva, Lei and the twins hurried over to the pile of reeds, ran to the dying fire and threw the flutes on the embers.

  ‘No, not my flutes!’ begged the old man. ‘My music! My son! Curses on you all!’

  The reeds immediately fed the embers again. Sparks rose to the sky in clouds, like frightened glow-worms. At last Orpheus rose to his feet, dazed, and put a trembling hand to his brow.

  ‘Avenge me!’ Jahalod ordered him, still struggling in the arms of Babilas. ‘You can see they’re trying to separate us! Avenge your father!’

  Zeph, who had been hauling his old hindquarters over the sand, went up to Orpheus, grunted and licked his hand.

  ‘I’m thirsty,’ murmured Orpheus. ‘I’m so thirsty!’

  Hob made haste to bring him water. He gave him a drink and then held out a friendly hand. ‘Come on, Captain. Please … it’s time to leave.’

  Orpheus took Hob’s hand and let the boy lead him to the Fabula.

  ‘You can’t abandon me!’ the old man shouted after him. ‘You have to look after me! I gave you water and fruit!’

  Orpheus was in a state of shock, but Jahalod-Rin’s hysterical cries no longer had any effect on him. He moved slowly towards the ship. As he took hold of the rope ladder, Jahalod called to him, ‘Why did you summon me if it was only to betray me?’

  Orpheus stopped in mid-movement. He turned to Hob, who was waiting anxiously down on the beach. ‘Did I really summon that man?’ he asked. ‘Did I betray him?’

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Captain,’ the boy gently advised. ‘It was he who betrayed you! He’ll say anything to keep you here. Climb up now. We must put out to sea!’

  Orpheus nodded gravely and went on climbing. Finopico, Lei and Malva came up behind them, while Peppe dragged Zeph along by his neck. The old St Bernard, who had unearthed a remnant of meat among the ashes, was refusing to let go of his find. He growled and yapped.

  At last, when everyone was on board, Babilas let go of Jahalod. He made haste to cast off the moorings before bracing himself against the hull of the Fabula. With a strong shove, he pushed the ship well out from the beach, and then caught hold of the rope ladder and clambered aboard.

  On his knees by the embers of the fire, Jahalod-Rin was trying to save some of the half-charred flutes. He was burning his fingers, and moaned like a wounded animal. As for Orpheus, he had collapsed on deck, and was stopping his ears so as not to hear the old man’s lamentations.

  ‘I wish he’d be quiet! I wish he’d be quiet!’ he groaned, writhing in pain.

  Lei had knelt down beside Orpheus. She passed her hands over his burning forehead, uttering strange, soothing words.

  The twins and Finopico hoisted the mended sails. They flapped as they unfolded in the clear air.

  ‘Here’s to a favouring wind!’ cried Hob.

  Standing at the stern of the ship, Malva watched the figure of Jahalod-Rin grow smaller as the island receded into the distance. What had happened to them? How had that inoffensive-looking old man been able to exert such power over the mind of Orpheus? How had a few notes of music managed to sow such discord among them all? Malva couldn’t explain it, but she sensed that she and her companions had just had a close brush with disaster.

  Red acid continued to drip on the Stones of Life in the Nokros. There were only seven left now.

  28

  Orpheus’s Logbook

  I found my logbook under a pile of damaged maps and pieces of paper all crinkled up by sea water. I gave the spare sheets of paper to the Princess, who has told me she needs them to write a record of her travels.

  My logbook has suffered, and the notes I made in it before the storm are illegible, but it’s time for me to take command as Captain again. My high temperature has miraculously gone down; I feel myself again.

  My experience on Jahalod-Rin’s island obsesses me. I keep wondering about it. Lei, who knows a great deal about strange phenomena, thinks I was bewitched by the sound of the flute. So does Malva. It’s true that when she broke the flute the spell was broken too. They are probably
right, but I think most of all it was that Jahalod-Rin guessed my weakness. With him, I was as submissive and obedient as I was with my real father. When will I manage to shake off my childish fears?

  Just now I assembled the crew on the fo’c’s’le of the ship. I thanked everyone for rescuing me from Jahalod’s clutches, and I apologised for the stupid things I said on the island, particularly to Malva.

  The Princess accepted my apologies, and I’m grateful to her. As far as I can remember, I called her a spoilt child. Holy Harmony, I’m furious with myself! She, who has survived so many insults and deadly dangers recently – how did I dare? Malva is not a spoilt child, far from it. She is proud and brave, determined, upright and …

  Orpheus let his pen hover in the air above the crinkled pages. Malva’s luminous face danced before his tired eyes. Her delicate features, her heavy black hair, her amber eyes. He had to admit that her reputation for beauty was well-earned. He shook his head, and went on writing.

  Time is passing. The second Stone of Life has just split in two. Tomorrow night it will have dissolved.

  A moment ago Hob asked me what hidden treasure I found on Jahalod’s island. ‘Catabea said there’d be one on every island, didn’t she?’ he added.

  I hesitated, and then I remembered that Catabea had advised us to be honest, so I made up my mind. I think I reddened before I said, ‘I found two things on that island. First, I understood that I really had lost my father, and no one could replace him. Not Jahalod or anyone else. Hannibal McBott was not a good father to me. He was my father, that’s all. Now I have to lead my life without him, just as I’ve lived without a mother since my birth.’ Then I paused. Hob and Peppe were whispering to each other, and then Peppe said that meant I was an orphan, like them. The brothers seemed very pleased to think of me being the same as themselves.

  ‘And the second treasure I found on the island,’ I went on, ‘was you. All of you. Without your help, I’d still be there playing that flute.’

  Finopico has told me that he felt like leaving and abandoning me to my fate. I’m not surprised. That oddball has never much liked me, but I don’t bear him any grudge. He calls me Captain, like the others, and I know that at heart he wouldn’t hurt a fly.