Nation - Пратчетт Терри Дэвид Джон - Страница 57

• Предыдущая
• 57/70
• Следующая

“I got the idea off a harpooner I met when I was working on the whalers,” he told her one day as he was adding yet another pocket to the insides of the coffin. “He was a rum ’un and no mistake. Had more tattoos than the Edinburgh Festival and all his teeth filed as sharp as daggers, but he lugged this coffin onto every ship he sailed with so’s if he died, he’d have a proper Christian funeral and not be chucked over the side sewn up in a bit o’ canvas with a cannonball for company. I thought about it myself — it’s a good basic idea, but it needs a little bit of changing. Anyway, I didn’t stay long on that ship on account of coming down with bowel weevils just before we rounded the cape, and I had to put ashore at Valparaiso. It was probably a blessing in disguise, ’cause I reckon that ship was heading for a bad end. I’ve seen a few mad captains in my time, but that one was as crazy as a spoon. And you may depend upon it, when the captain is crazy, so is the ship. I often wonder what happened to ’em all.”

Daphne finished making the mother-of-beer and walked down the slope until she could see the little crumbling cliff that overlooked the beach. Mau was there, and so were all the gunners, including the Papervine Woman, for some reason.

The cannon are useless, she thought. He must know that. So what does he think he’s doing?

There was a distant shout of “Bang!” and she sighed….

Two of the Gentlemen of Last Resort ran up onto the deck and joined the captain at the ship’s rail.

“What is the emergency?” said Mr. Black. “Surely we’re nowhere near the Mothering Sundays yet?”

“The lookout said he saw a maroon fired,” said the captain, his telescope to his eye. “Some poor soul’s been shipwrecked, I daresay. There’s an island there. It’s not on the charts. Technically, Mr. Black, I need your permission to change course.”

“Of course you must, aha, change course, Captain,” said Mr. Black. “Indeed, I note that you already have.”

“That is correct, sir,” said the captain carefully. “The sea has its own laws.”

“Well done, Captain. I should listen to your advice.” There was a moment’s silence, caused by nobody mentioning the king’s daughter.

“I’m sure Roberts got her through, sir,” said the captain, looking carefully at the distant island again.

“It’s kind of you to say so.”

“In the meantime,” the captain went on cheerfully, “I do believe I am looking at a very lucky shipwrecked mariner. Someone else may have discovered an island over there before us. I can see a fire, and a man fishing from a — ” He stopped, and adjusted the telescope. “Well, I have to say he seems to be sitting in a coffin….”

There was no alarm the next day, but there was one the day after, which Mau said went well. Every morning, people became better and better at shouting “Bang!” And every day Daphne wondered what Mau was really planning.

THE RAIDERS CAME JUST before dawn.

They came with drums and torchlight making red suns in the mists.

Mau’s ears heard them. In his eyes the flames were reflected. Then he awoke from what was not exactly a sleep, and felt the future happening.

How did that work? he wondered. On the very first day he’d stood guard on the Nation, he’d had the memory of this. It had been flying toward him from the future. He’d always had that trick with the silver thread that pulled him toward the future he pictured in his head. But this time it was the future that had been tugging at him, pulling him to this place, at this time.

“They are here,” someone whispered beside him. He looked at the Unknown Woman. He’d never seen much of an expression on her face before, but now it terrified the life out of him. It was sheer poisonous hatred.

“Ring the bell!” he snapped, and she hurried up the beach. Mau walked backward, watching the mist. He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t seen it!

The sound of the Sweet Judy’s bell sang out across the lagoon. Mau ran up the track, and was relieved to see faint shapes hurrying through the damp billows. Where was the sun? It must be time for dawn!

Over toward the low forest, the first grandfather bird threw up, and was immediately attacked by its archenemy.

“Waark! Yer lying ol’ hypocrite!”

And with that the dawn chorus exploded, with every bird, frog, toad, and insect screaming its head off. Golden light rolled in from the east, melting ragged holes in the mist. It was a beautiful picture, apart from the black-and-red war canoes. Most of them were too big to enter the lagoon. They had grounded on the spit of land by Little Nation, and figures were pouring onto the sand.

No voices in my head, Mau thought. No dead people. It’s just me in here. I’ve got to get this right….

Pilu hurried up with a heavy package wrapped in papervine cloth. “It’s been kept dry. It will be fine.”

Mau looked along the high ground. Someone was standing by each cannon with a long fuse in his hand, or in the case of one, her hand. They were watching him anxiously. Everyone was watching him.

He looked down at the beach again and saw Cox, towering over the Raiders.

He’d been expecting someone like Foxlip, skinny and unhealthy-looking, but this man was a good foot taller and nearly the same size as Milo. He had feathers sticking up around his trouserman hat. They were red, the feathers of a chief. So he’d done what the ghost girl had said he’d do: He’d taken over. That was their law. The strongest man led. That made sense. At least, it made sense to strong men.

The Raiders were holding back, though. They were staying near their boats; only one was coming up the beach, with his spear held over his head.

In a way, and it was a strange kind of way, this was a big relief. Mau didn’t like having two plans.

“He looks very young,” said the ghost girl behind him. He spun around and there she was, dwarfed beside Milo, who was carrying a club the size of a medium-sized tree; in fact it was a medium-sized tree, without the branches.

“You should have gone into the forest with the others!” he said.

“Really? Well, now I’m coming with you.”

Mau glanced at Milo, but he’d get no help there. Since Guiding Star had been born, the ghost girl could do no wrong as far as his father was concerned.

“Besides,” she said, “it’s going to end up the same way for all of us if this goes wrong. Why aren’t they charging toward us?”

“Because they want to talk.” Mau pointed to the approaching man. He looked like he was young and trying not to be afraid.

“Why?”

The young man stuck his spear into the sand and then turned and ran.

“Maybe it’s because they have seen the cannon. I was hoping for this. Look at them. They’re not happy.”

“Can we trust them?”

“With a truce? Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes. There are rules. Pilu and Milo will talk to them. I’m just a boy, with no tattoos. They won’t speak to me.”

“But you are the chief!”

Mau smiled. “Yes, but don’t tell them.”

Was it like this at the Battle of Waterloo? Daphne wondered as they walked down to the beach and the waiting group. This is… strange. It’s so… civilized, as if a battle is something that starts when somebody blows a whistle. There are rules, even here. And here comes Cox. Oh Lord, even the air he breathes needs a wash afterward.

First Mate Cox came toward them, smiling like someone greeting a long-lost friend who owed him money. You never saw Cox frown. Like crocodiles and sharks, Cox always had a grin for people, especially when he had them at his mercy, or at least where his mercy would be if he had any.

“Well now, here’s a thing,” he said. “Fancy seeing you here, young lady. The Judy got this far, then? And where’s old Roberts and his upstanding crew? At prayer?”

• Предыдущая
• 57/70
• Следующая