The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [64]
Orphan, thinking of Byron's words, of the Turk's, kept very still. Where the Bookman kills, the Binder restores. But restores what?
"Tell me what you know," Orphan said.
In place of an answer the writer spread a map onto the desk. "This," he said, pointing, "is the Gulf of Mexica. This is where the mass of land we call Vespuccia ends. And this mass of water is the Carib Sea. This is the island of Xaymaco; this is the island of Hayti, and this is the place Vespucci called Cuba. They are rough, yet prosperous places, populated by a mixture of Arawak, Carib, Aztec and Europeans. They are nominally under rule of Les Lézards, but only just." He stood up and began pacing up and down the cabin, his hands clasped behind his back. "Somewhere in that sea, I am sure of it, is Caliban's Island." he stopped and looked at Orphan, frustration in his eyes. "There are stories that the island… that the island moves. That it is never in the same place. I am referring to sightings, reported by ships all over the Carib Sea and beyond it. Of course, most of these can be discounted, ignored, the ramblings of the drunk or easily impressionable. And yet…"
"You don't know where the island is?" Orphan said, surprising himself by nearly shouting. Verne grinned a little sheepishly. "There are ways to find it," he said. He gestured to a sea-chest that stood, closed and locked, by the porthole. "Before we left I arranged for some – specialised – scientific equipment to be delivered."
"Delivered from?" Orphan said, but he already knew the answer.
"Our employer," Verne said. "Don't worry, getting there this time is going to be as easy as – how do you say? – falling off a log."
As he stood alone on the deck and watched the water parting before the ship, Orphan was less than comforted by Verne's assurance. Falling off a log, he decided, was most likely painful, and possibly fatal. Not something he was quite looking forward to.
He watched the sun dipping into the sea. He looked back at the wake of the ship and the foaming water. Back on the deck, two sailors were playing cards, and another was lying asleep in a hammock.
Dinner that night was served at the captain's cabin, a simple but delicious affair of grilled fresh fish, potatoes (one of Vespucci's – or rather the lizards' – most widely appreciated gifts brought to Europe), shiny and fragrant in oil and spices, served with a good French white wine supplied by Verne. The captain didn't drink, though he raised his glass in toast to, "The King of England, may he take his rightful place once more!" which Orphan found oddly discomforting.
Two cryptic things had happened during the meal. One was said, during an otherwise ordinary, civil conversation that ranged over many topics and remained cautiously general on each. In the middle of the dessert course (xocolatl, perhaps the greatest of the gifts brought back), Verne had turned to Dakkar and said, in the middle of a discussion about giant squid, "Did you bring her?"
Dakkar had dabbed his lips with a napkin and said, "Yes," in a soft, almost imperceptible voice. Verne then began to talk about the weather.
At the end of the meal the second occurred. Verne had commended the captain's cook, and Orphan enthusiastically joined him, and the pleased captain ordered the cook to be called. When he arrived Orphan was surprised to see a tall, slim youth – no more than seventeen in his appearance – who smiled at them shyly. Verne spoke passionately of the menu, offered to hire the chef away from Dakkar, to great hilarity, and was vividly and amusingly drunk.
The boy had long, fine hair and