The wind rises, p.30
The Wind Rises, page 30
“Not you!” says Gardel to Palardi. “Take me to the table in my quarters. Free the carpenter. I need Dubois. Tell him to prepare his tools.”
By the time The Sweet Amelie finally breaks free from the trap, there’s a strong gust of wind waiting to ambush her just beyond the bulls’ horns. The ship tips violently to one side.
Then she rights herself. Everything seems to be in order. Except the three figures that were up on the mainmast have now disappeared.
49
There Will Be Light
There’s a long line of men making their way through the forest.
Watching them walk quietly, in single file, you’d never suspect that they’re pirates. Yet they’re descendants of that great, terrifying family that every navy in the world wanted eradicated fifty years prior.
There must be eighty of them crossing the jungle in a thin line. They’re all mismatched, as pirates always are, but they’re too independent to remain faithful to the image that’s been invented for them. There are no gold hoops hanging from their ears, no scars on display like trophies, no black eye patches covering gouged-out eyes.
Some of them are old enough to have crossed paths with Charles Vane or Olivier la Bouche. Others look like children dressed up as adults with their missing teeth and jaundiced skin. This morning, they don’t even have that famous jovial pirate spirit—the conviction that justice has been served and it’s all been a blast. This morning they’re walking in silence.
Leading the penitents’ procession are four men. Instead of the usual loot, they’re carrying two stretchers holding two small bodies. A black girl and a white boy.
To the left of the stretcher, by the girl’s side, there’s a giant with a severed ear. To the right, with one hand resting on the boy’s arm, walks an old pirate.
This man has seen everything. He was first mate to the infamous Black Bart when he died on The Royal Fortune off the coast of Africa in 1722. At the age of twenty, he inherited his former captain’s golden toothpicks and black flag. He’s been declared dead, hanged, and decapitated so many times that he named his ship after the mythological monster whose heads grow back each time they’re cut off: The Hydra of Lerna.
His name is Luc de Lerna.
Lying on his stretcher, Joseph opens his eyes.
“The black giant saved both of your lives,” says the pirate. “You swallowed a lot of water. And the little girl can’t swim any better than you can, Joe.”
Joseph turns towards Alma and sees her lying next to him, her nostrils quivering. He’s overcome with an inexplicable sense of joy. He tries to prop himself up on his elbow a little to look at her, but he immediately falls back down.
“Don’t move.”
Luc de Lerna walks next to him in silence.
“The birds were there, too,” he says.
“What birds?”
“A little flock of birds hovering above you in the waves. It’s thanks to them that my men found you.”
The old pirate steadies himself to step over a tree trunk blocking the path.
“I messed it all up,” says Joseph.
“It was me who messed up.”
Luc lowers his voice. He doesn’t want to admit his failures in front of his men.
“That scumbag, Gardel, kept his sails out. He was preparing to leave. What we needed was more time, old boy. I should have blocked the passageway through the horns once he was in. If I had, this stretcher would be carrying five tons of gold, and we’d be on our way to bury it in the forest.”
Luc de Lerna imagines the ghosts of his old comrades howling with laughter at his mistake.
“The gold wasn’t on board,” says Joseph.
“Don’t try to console me, old boy.”
Luc de Lerna calls everyone “old boy.” Perhaps that’s how he manages to stay so young himself.
“I looked for months,” says Joseph. “I’m telling you, the gold was not on board.”
“And I’m telling you it was. It still is. Four and a half tons of pure gold.”
“But where?”
“I don’t know. But I have proof. Who’s the girl?”
Joseph doesn’t answer.
He’s thinking about all the others. Those who are still locked in the hold. They’re the reason he didn’t make the signal. Even if there was no treasure, he wanted Luc de Lerna to take the ship. Because the old pirate doesn’t sell the captives on the ships he takes. He gives them back their freedom.
As they walk deeper into the forest, the trees around them become interspersed with ferns and orchids. A fine rain begins to fall upon the forest. The oko birds must be having a feast up there, getting their fill from the flowers.
“Who is this girl?” the pirate asks again.
“I don’t know.”
Through the branches, a black shape begins to appear at the top of the trees. It’s the shadow of The Hydra, Luc de Lerna’s four-master. The pirate has rigged the ship’s vast hull high up among the trees. He transferred it there, plank by plank. He removed all the masts and the yardarms and used them to make rafts. Now he lives above the forest with his men. Banished from the seven seas, he now has to make do with the sky.
“She can stay here if she wants to,” says Luc.
“Who?”
“The girl.”
“Never,” says Alma’s deep voice from Joseph’s side. “Where’s my bow?”
At that very moment, Lam is watching a girl who’s just come into the ship’s kitchen.
The Brothers, a little brig belonging to the Jones brothers from Liverpool, is gliding towards the Gulf of Mexico, then on to Louisiana, leaving behind her the dust of the Caribbean islands.
For a while now, Lam has been watching this girl. She has much darker skin than him. They must be around the same age. Anyone who crosses her path can see that there’s a certain poise about her, even if she’s only half their size.
She doesn’t live in the steerage like the other captives. Nor does she work at the ship’s stern like Lam, serving the ship’s officers. The girl lives alone somewhere beneath the forecastle on the other side of the barricade.
Lam has noticed that certain captives are given special roles so that others will want their job and behave well in the hope of getting it. Lam never wanted to be Captain Harrison’s valet. He doesn’t even know what the word “valet” means. He just puts on the ridiculous clothes he’s been given and does what’s asked of him. He listens to the captain when he locks himself in his quarters to play the harpsichord, issuing orders to the crew without so much as stepping outside.
Lam watches as the cook’s assistant hands the girl a bucket of corn.
“It’s a shame to give all this to you. It’s good corn. The maggots haven’t even got into it.”
The cook gestures for her to go. She doesn’t move. He pretends not to understand. “Are you waiting for flour, too?”
She doesn’t even bother to answer. He goes to get her a second bucket.
“Now go.”
She doesn’t move, just nods her chin towards Lam, who stares at her, his eyes widening.
“You! Help her carry the buckets.”
Lam goes over and takes one of the buckets. When she doesn’t react, he takes the second one, as well. She starts walking in front of him. The soles of her bare feet make a high-pitched noise as they hit the ground. She has long legs for such a small girl. She stops just in front of the doors to the barricade. One of the guards opens it.
“I’ll be waiting here for you,” he tells Lam. “Take the buckets and come straight back.”
The pair walk across the empty deck beneath the beating sun. The wet floorboards burn the soles of their feet. Just below, where the men are being kept, the heat must be unbearable. Captain Harrison had some air vents put in, but they’re useless.
The two children make their way beneath the aftcastle and stop in the shade outside the double door. The girl crouches down. She tugs on Lam’s jacket, signalling for him to do the same.
With her head bowed, she pretends to be sorting the corn.
“I know who you are,” she says.
Lam realises she’s speaking his father’s language.
“I saw those men taking you away down the river. I come from Bussa. The river you were on was the Quorra.”
Lam holds his breath. He knows he mustn’t trust anyone.
“Your sister loves you. She’s looking for you. You’ll never know how much she loves you, how much she wants to find you,”
This time, Lam’s heart begins to melt, pouring out onto the floorboards in front of him.
“Your name is Lam. I’m Sirim.”
He’s crying.
“Your sister is called Alma. She’s my friend. My village was burnt down when she left. Fifty of my kingdom’s warriors were captured by the Fulani. They usually only take our men and sell them. But this time they took me, too.”
“Why?” asks Lam.
She gets up, and he follows suit. She pushes one of the big doors open. Lam enters.
“To take care of him,” says Sirim. He can smell him before he sees him.
Cloud.
Lam is still holding the two buckets in his hands. He walks forward and presses his wet face to the horse’s cheek.
A streak of golden sunlight shines through the half-open door. Cloud begins to rummage through one of the buckets that Lam is still holding in his hand. A big puff of flour shoots up into the air.
Sirim looks at the boy and the horse surrounded by white.
She’s standing just a few steps behind them. She tells herself that one day, happier times will return. One day, there will be light.
About the Author
TIMOTHÉE DE FOMBELLE is a Paris-based playwright and author of award-winning fiction. His Toby Alone series has been published in twenty-seven languages and is the winner of numerous awards, including France’s prestigious Prix Sorcières, and the Marsh Award.
About the Illustrator
FRANÇOIS PLACE has written and illustrated many prize-winning books. He is also the author of several novels, a memoir, and the children’s illustrated series, Lou Pilouface.
Timothée de Fombelle, The Wind Rises
