Dragonfruit, page 4
“The usual orphan story,” Vaea commented.
“All painfully similar,” Captain Bragadin agreed. “But not you, Hanalei. You kept to yourself. A quiet little girl in a dirty, costly dress, and a voice that did not sound like any Rakakalan wharf rat.”
“You sold my dress,” Hanalei remembered. “I saw it on another girl at the market.”
“What use did you have for it? Dragon stink is hard on silk and tapa. And it fetched a good price.” Captain Bragadin carelessly folded the parchment into quarters, causing Hanalei’s fingers to spasm. “I never cared enough then to wonder where you came from.”
There it was. A changing mood. A shift in the wind. “Why should you care now?”
“I think you know the answer to that, Lady Hanaleiarihi of Tamarind.” Captain Bragadin used her full name, hers and her father’s combined, and a title he had not known of until he had gone through her private papers. His voice turned brisk. “Ten days, your father wrote. A seadragon lays its eggs ten days after its frill turns pink. That is the rule.”
“In that one instance,” Hanalei said automatically, because facts were important. “It could be an anomaly. Different next time—”
“Let’s not go looking for trouble,” Captain Bragadin said with an air of tried patience, “and assume it will be the same. So. In ten days, nine days now, that green seadragon needs to be on this ship. Along with those eggs.”
There was no dissuading him. His mind was set. “I wish you good luck,” Hanalei said. “Will you let me off at Masina?”
“Of course,” Captain Bragadin said. “Masina, Wakeo, Esperanza. I’ll take you wherever you like. Once we have that dragon.”
“Captain—”
“Hanalei.” Captain Bragadin pointed at her. “You can sense them. Somehow. Because of what your father did. Don’t bother to lie,” he added when she opened her mouth to do exactly that. “I knew there was a reason you were always finding them first.”
For the first time, Vaea showed an interest. “What did her father do with the egg, exactly?”
Captain Bragadin turned to Hanalei. “Tell her. You know best. No? You tell her, then, Moa.”
Unlike Hanalei, who had folded her arms and sunk low in her chair, Moa was agreeable. “Listen to this, Vaea,” he said, looking over the parchment. “Lord Arihi put the dragon egg in a washtub and cracked it open. The seadragon was born alive . . . He killed it. Wrung its neck like a chicken. Then he put her, Hanalei, in the tub with it.”
Vaea grimaced. “Why?”
Captain Bragadin said, “Because of the yolk. He thought it would seep into her skin.” He added, with reluctant admiration, “Your papa was thorough, Hanalei.”
“And then he made her eat it,” Moa said. “The yolk, the tail, the meat. More and more until she woke up. This is disgusting.”
“Then what?” Vaea set the sextant on the table. “He made a wish?”
“It’s not a genie’s lamp,” Hanalei said, unable to stay silent a moment longer. “Dragonfruit is supposed to undo a person’s greatest sorrow. That is how the stories phrased it. My father asked the gods to undo my illness, to remove the poison. I woke up twelve hours later.” She turned to Captain Bragadin. “You threw a harpoon at my head. Yesterday. And now you want my help?”
Annoyance crept into his tone. “I’m not asking you to do it for free. I pay well.”
“No, you don’t,” Hanalei reminded him.
Bragadin chuckled, conceding her point. “For this I would pay very well,” he amended. “In advance even. A good-faith payment.” He took the parchment Moa was reading, shoved it into the satchel, and slid it across the table to her.
Afraid he would change his mind, she swept the satchel out of his reach and pulled the strap over her head. Only then did she say, “You’re giving me back my own things? As payment?”
Captain Bragadin’s eyes narrowed. “As a kindness. Gold,” he said curtly, and named an amount that had Vaea and Moa staring at him. Hanalei did not blink. “Paid to you directly or deposited in your name at whatever lending house you choose. That is your payment.” He placed both hands on the table and leaned forward, eyes on her. “And one dragon egg.”
This time Hanalei could not hide her reaction. Captain Bragadin smiled when he saw it. “The dragon will lay three eggs,” he said. “So the stories go. Take one. Think of what you can do with it. Or undo.”
Hanalei did not have to. She had dreamt this dream before. She would take the dragonfruit home to Tamarind. Princess Oliana would be healed. But at what cost? As with all things that promise the moon and the stars and offer hope when hope has gone, the tale comes with a warning. Every wish demands a price. Whose life would be forfeit this time? Sam’s? She shuddered. He was the last person she would risk. And even knowing its dangers, she wanted that dragon egg more than anything.
Hanalei said, with difficulty, “I can’t help you,” and watched the captain’s smile fall away. She tried to set aside her animosity long enough to explain. “Every wish demands a price,” she recited. “It is a warning, Captain. One my father ignored, because he loved me. He saved my life and died days later. A terrible death. Dragonfruit isn’t meant for us. And when we take it, it takes something back.”
“Your father was unlucky,” Captain Bragadin dismissed. “I won’t be.”
“Then I wish you good fortune,” Hanalei said. “But I can’t help you.”
The red-bearded dragoner came in, arms laden with dishes. Plates piled high with food. There was guava and mango and sweet bread, a small mountain of drumsticks. The sight and smell of it all made Hanalei dizzy. Following him was the boy dragoner. The one who had offered to finish her off yesterday. Plates were set before the captain, Vaea, and Moa, but when the red-bearded dragoner would have placed one before Hanalei, the captain stopped him.
“Our guest isn’t hungry today. But I am.” Captain Bragadin took the plate meant for Hanalei, set it beside his own. He bit into a drumstick, chewing noisily. He smacked his lips. “Delicious.”
Moa frowned at his plate but said nothing. Vaea’s mouth was full of sweet bread.
Hanalei swallowed. She understood. It was an old game of the captain’s. Hunger used as a weapon. “These are my choices, then? Help you or starve?”
“Sadly, yes.” Captain Bragadin licked his fingers. Then, suddenly, “Ant. What happened to your hand?”
Hanalei stared at the boy. He had tried to hide it, standing partially behind the red-bearded dragoner, but the captain took his elbow and pulled him close. The boy’s right hand was wrapped in great swaths of bandaging. He had only carried in one plate, she realized, while the other dragoner had juggled three.
The boy, Ant, looked at his feet. He muttered, “I fell.”
“Off what? A church spire?” Captain Bragadin snapped. “Is it broken?”
Ant squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, Captain.”
Captain Bragadin flung his arm away. “What use have I for a dragoner with a broken hand? A right hand?”
“I can do other things, I swear! I’ll earn my keep—”
“No,” Captain Bragadin said. “You get off at Masina. Make your own way, boy. Out.” He jerked his head toward the door. After a venomous look in Hanalei’s direction, a tearful Ant ran off, followed by the red-bearded dragoner.
Hanalei watched Ant go, remembering his wiggling fingers, his hateful snicker. At least he would be off the ship tomorrow, even if she would not. “I’ve changed my mind,” she said. When no one moved, Hanalei reminded him, “Good faith, Captain.”
With one finger, Captain Bragadin pushed a plate across the table. He sat back in his chair, watchful. Hanalei took her time, knowing that if she ate too quickly, she would be sick. She broke the bread into smaller pieces. She ate the mango, the guava, two drumsticks. Moa poured her a cup of coconut water. She drank every drop. And when she was done at last, she stood and reached for the captain’s spyglass.
“May I?” she asked.
“By all means,” Captain Bragadin said.
Hanalei went to a window and looked out through the spyglass. It was as she thought. She stepped aside and offered the instrument to the captain. “Over there. You see? Two seadragons. They’re right behind us.”
5
CAPTAIN BRAGADIN SNATCHED THE SPYGLASS from her hand. A string of curses erupted as he peered out the window. Moa and Vaea ran over. More cursing followed.
The seadragons were directly behind the ship, halfway between the Anemone and the Lagoon. One blue, one green. The latter with a rose frill, the color of the heart flower. Hanalei watched with growing dread as they circled the Anemone in a wide arc. The second time they swam around, the arc had grown smaller.
Closer.
“They’re hungry,” Hanalei and Captain Bragadin said at the same time. They exchanged a look of mutual dislike and grudging respect. However much she despised him, there was no denying the captain knew the Nominomi Sea like the back of his hand. The Nominomi and the creatures within. Especially these creatures.
The arc would grow even smaller, Hanalei knew. And then, if nothing was done to deter them, they would surround the ship and squeeze, and squeeze, until the hull cracked and the forecastle collapsed and the sailors fell one by one into the sea. Open jaws. Wide, waiting mouths. There were calls from the deck directed up at the forecastle, asking for orders. No one sounded panicked. This was a dragoner, after all. Dragon hunting was their livelihood.
Moa headed for the door. “I’ll get the harpoons. What about fire?”
There was a catapult on the roof of the forecastle. There would be incendiaries stored beside it in a waterproof box. Firebombs. A foreigner’s invention, adapted for life at sea.
“No fire.” Captain Bragadin turned in a slow circle, following the seadragons’ path through the open shutters. The spyglass fell, forgotten, from his hand. Hanalei caught it before it hit the floor. “I won’t risk that dragon.”
Moa stopped. “Captain, it’s the dragons or us, I think.”
Hanalei had been looking through the spyglass. The Lagoon’s captain must have also realized the seadragons were preparing to feed. It was sailing away. No help would be coming from that direction. Hanalei could see the Lagoon’s crew gathered together, turned their way. The yellow-haired captain, Augustus, stood in the center, his own spyglass trained on them. Another figure appeared by his side. Much smaller, delicate. Wearing a red dress. Augustus gave her the spyglass. Hanalei said, “There’s an old woman on that ship. She’s wearing a crown.”
“What?” Captain Bragadin grabbed the spyglass.
“Who?” Vaea leaned out a window, squinting.
“Augusta,” Captain Bragadin said after a very long moment. “His grandmother.”
“Grandmother?” Moa asked, at a loss. “Who brings their mai mai on a dragon hunting ship?”
Captain Bragadin did not answer. His spyglass remained on the other ship, which was making good headway, putting more distance between it and the dragons. As for them, the Anemone had begun to rock as the sailors below raced from rail to rail, watching the seadragons draw closer. “Hey!” someone shouted. “Why are we just standing here scratching our—”
With a snarl, Captain Bragadin broke the spyglass in two and flung the pieces at the wall. He ran out of the forecastle and from the top of the steps shouted, “All of you, shut your mouths!” Silence fell instantly. “Get below and not a sound out of you! We are mice here, do you understand? Invisible. Now go!”
There was a rush for the hatch. Rattled, Hanalei watched what looked to be a whirlpool forming around the Anemone. It would have been fascinating to witness, had she not also been aboard. The hatch slammed shut, and a quiet fell over the ship.
It was a good idea, pretending to be a ghost ship. Sometimes seadragons would swim past a quiet vessel, uninterested. But these dragons were hungry and determined. They circled closer. Silence was not going to work, and by the look on the captain’s face, he knew it too.
Captain Bragadin stared straight out the back of the ship, hands clasped behind his back. “Moa.”
“Captain.”
“Two firebombs,” Captain Bragadin ordered.
Hanalei wrapped both arms around herself. It’s the dragons or us, Moa had said. It did not make her feel any less wretched knowing what had to be done. Moa did not bother to hide his relief. He ran for the door, then froze when the captain added, “Aim for the Lagoon.”
Three sets of eyes turned to the captain, disbelieving.
“Bragadin,” Vaea said, her voice strained. “That is the king’s son. The king’s mother. Kill the dragons.”
Hanalei began, “Captain—”
“Are you still here, Moa?” Captain Bragadin spoke quietly, every word a warning.
A muscle bunched along Moa’s jaw. He swung around and left. They stood side by side, the three of them—Hanalei, Vaea, Captain Bragadin—listening as the seadragons hissed and the water churned and foamed. Moa pounded up the outer steps to the forecastle roof. A terrible creaking sound followed, the catapult swinging into position. And finally, a single heavy thump as the first incendiary was dropped into place.
The first bomb sailed across the water. It hit the Lagoon’s stern and sent splintered wood and human bodies flying. Even from this distance, Hanalei could see one of them wore a red dress. The second bomb landed directly atop the forecastle, and within minutes, the Esperanzan ship was no more. It was not until Captain Bragadin released a breath that she realized the hissing had stopped and the churning had receded. Both seadragons had abandoned them, swimming toward the more convenient meal. There were people among the debris, arms flailing. The sound of screams carried over open water.
Hanalei made herself watch, made herself remember the details. Though she did not believe, deep down, that she would ever have the chance to bear witness to what she was seeing. And when she heard Vaea’s words, and the captain’s words, she knew.
“You fool, Bragadin,” Vaea said softly. “You think you’re invincible, but you go too far this time. We’ll hang for this.”
Captain Bragadin stiffened at the word fool, and Hanalei reached for the dragonscale at her back, braced for more violence. But all he said was “Only if we’re caught. Only if someone tells.”
6
THEY LOCKED HANALEI IN HER CABIN FOR THE rest of the day and night. Long hours stretched before her. Sometimes she paced, which was unsatisfying in this small box of a room. Sometimes she lay on the mat, staring at the wall and wondering How am I to get off this ship? One bright spot: no one had come to remove her washtub. It remained shoved against the door, offering a small measure of comfort and safety.
At times, her pacing was more of a stagger, for they had sailed straight into the unwelcoming arms of a typhoon. The Anemone rocked wildly. It dipped and swayed, shuddered and creaked. From the shouting above deck, she suspected one or two dragoners had fallen overboard and been lost. Mercifully, they must have caught the typhoon at her tail end. The waters and winds were violent, but brief, and by the time Hanalei settled into a troubled sleep, the worst of the storm had passed.
Occasionally, however, sleep came with its own storms. She dreamt of Princess Oliana, and an evening lesson. And poison.
“Kalama,” Princess Oliana had prompted from across the table. She wore a long, green dress without sleeves. Tattooed on her arm, from shoulder to elbow, was the image of a sleeping fruit bat.
Kalama was too simple, Hanalei thought. A five-year-old would know the answer. She was eight. “Kalama is a trickster god. The goddess of deception and chaos. There’s an island in the east named for her.”
“And?”
“And it’s said she’s the creator of earthquakes, typhoons, great waves, and . . .” Here, Hanalei had to stop and think about it. “Volcanoes?”
It had become their ritual when it was just the two of them. The lessons of the day would continue into supper. Hanalei had served as Princess Oliana’s page for three years. A great honor. They sat at a table by an open window on the island of Garapan. Three weeks had gone by since they had begun their journey, visiting the various villages and islands of the Tamarindi archipelago. Tomorrow they would start for home.
“Yes. Volcanoes. Very good. And whom does Kalama favor?” Princess Oliana brought her spoon to her lips. She was, in Hanalei’s opinion, the most beautiful person on Tamarind. No, the entire Nominomi. Her face was narrow, with sharp, slashing cheekbones, reminding Hanalei of the great statues that stood on the southern edge of the island. The scar on Princess Olli’s right cheek resembled a fishhook. She refused to have it tended to, ignoring the unguents and lotions prepared by royal healers. The scar reminded her of her husband, she would say, and of the battle that had wounded her and cost him his life. She would not erase such a memory. Her hair fell to her knees, waves the color of lava stones, polished and shiny. One day, when Hanalei was eighteen and not eight, she would have hair that long and that shiny.
“Kalama favors those of bad character,” Hanalei answered. “Mostly thieves, pirates, spies, and Lady Iosefina.”
Princess Oliana lowered her spoon. “Lady Iosefina?”
“For breaking Uncle Isko’s heart. And for going away. Sam called her a villain.”
“Ah,” Princess Oliana said. Samahti was her son. “Sam is very loyal to Isko. But we mustn’t blame Lady Iosefina for marrying another.”
“Why not?”
“Because it was not done out of spite,” Princess Oliana told her. “Or unkindness. We love whom we love, Hanalei. The choice is rarely our own.”
“But Uncle Isko is lord protector, and he’s not here because he’s sad. Who’s going to protect us?”
Princess Oliana laughed. “Are we not strong women, able to protect ourselves?” She dabbed the corners of her mouth with a cloth. “Even if we were not, we are surrounded by guards, including Captain Erro, my dear. They have machetes.” She returned the cloth to her lap. “Don’t worry about Isko. He’ll come home when he’s ready. Now, I believe you have Kalama well in hand. What about Olifat?”
