Son of Fortune (24 page)

iden rinsed himself at the shore, head to toe, wading in fully clothed and rinsing until the shallows were cloudy. Since he was on an errand for her, Alice had arranged for one of the
Lady
May
's launches to carry him to and from the island, so the trip across the anchorage was quick. The rhythmic swish of the oars was soothing as he was rowed back to civilization. His clothes were nearly dry and his mind numb as they approached the
Lady
May.
He saw Alice waving at him, and he felt his mood switch as suddenly as a lamp lit in a dark room. She stood at the rail in a pale green day dress with a blue sash, her hair loosely twisted up beneath her straw hat. The dress was of light fabric, and the breeze blew her sash out like a kite tail and puffed her sleeve when she waved. Aiden felt a rush of happiness and relief. Everything that was not the rag pile man was beautiful, but she was the most beautiful of all. How long had it been since he had seen anything pretty? There were no flowers in this place, no grass, no greenery at all. There were no children, no dogs, no bunnies nibbling clover in the morning garden. Even the birds were harsh in this place, sharp and angular with their stabbing beaks, and always screeching. No chickadees or sparrows or mourning doves. There was nothing soft for a thousand miles. But right now Alice looked like an angel.

“You are a vision of loveliness,” Aiden said impulsively as he climbed on board.

“How silly you are!” She blushed with surprise and dropped her head demurely. There were sailors nearby. “Please come and have some refreshment, and we will examine your artifacts,” she said. Her tone was formal, but there was a brightness about her that he hadn't seen since the first day he met her with her theodolite. She led him to the aft deck, where there was a comfortable lounge area set up beneath awnings. Aiden sank gratefully into the shade. The ship's steward (a real one) wheeled over a trolley with a pitcher of water, a silver tea set, a bottle of sherry and all the proper silver tankards, bone china cups and cut crystal glasses required. There was a plate with oranges, dried fruits and cookies, which the English, to Aiden's amusement, called biscuits. Aiden felt like he had stepped through a magical door between worlds. Maybe that was the trick to this new life he was inventing—keeping everything in its own world with the doors neatly closed. If he closed the door to the island world, the ant men and the dying rag pile man did not exist.

“Everyone has gone to the North Island today,” Alice said in a hushed but excited tone as soon as the steward left them alone. “Even the captain and missus, and she almost never goes. They're having a cricket tournament! It's the social event of the season. Everyone is gone, and I feel like I've been let out of prison!”

“I'm glad to see you happy again,” Aiden said. “And you do look very pretty.”

“I'm not and never was,” she replied, not in the coy way a girl fishing for more compliments might, but in her usual factual way.

“Not like fancy girls are pretty, or girls in magazine pictures, but you are pretty as any regular woman ought to be.”

Now she laughed. “And how pretty is that, exactly?”

Aiden cringed. That hadn't come out as he had meant it to. Christopher would never say something that clumsy to a girl. “Well, a man might not drive his ship onto the rocks upon first seeing you,” he said, groping for repair. “But once knowing you, he would certainly long for you after leaving port.”

“You are a terrible young Shakespeare.” Alice's green eyes sparkled with amusement. “Or Homer, I suppose. But enough of the taxonomy of beauty—show me the treasures!”

He took the bundle out of his bag and set it down on the table and untied the knots. There were thirty or forty pieces of pottery, from coin-sized shards to pieces almost as big as saucers.

“Oh my!” Alice began examining them like a jeweler with a plate of gems. All the pieces were painted with lines and geometrical designs, a few had relief details and one had what looked like part of a man's face molded into it. Though Aiden knew nothing about artifacts or pottery, there was something about these broken bits that gave him a jolt of excitement. He could tell that several of them came from one vessel. Perhaps they could be put back together.

“They're nothing like the modern pots we've seen,” Alice said excitedly. “They really might be genuine! See the wear on the surface? And something about the clay itself is different.”

“You think they could be from Incas, then?” Aiden asked. “Do you think they came out here to collect the guano?”

Alice held one of the larger pieces up to the light. “They had millions of people at the peak of their civilization, and it was an agricultural society. They must have needed fertilizer.”

Aiden felt a small chill of horror slip back in through the bright afternoon. Who did the Incas send to collect this magic dust? As if reading his mind, Alice looked past him to the brutal yellow island.

“I doubt they would have had permanent operations,” she said. “Bringing enough water out would be a problem, for one thing. I think it would have been more like temporary work parties. The Incas had a system where people were required to give some of their labor to the empire every year. Like a tax. That's how they built their cities and temples and pyramids.”

She placed the piece reverently in Aiden's hand. “You could be touching something that an Inca touched hundreds of years ago. A sacred pot or ceremonial urn.”

“Or his lunch pail?”

“Yes,” she laughed. “I suppose so.” She nudged some pieces away from the others into a separate pile. “These bits are definitely modern,” she said. “Probably just a common broken bowl that your fellow put in to make it seem like he had more.”

Aiden could see these pieces were different from the others. The edges were sharp, as if they had recently been broken. And just looking at the pile, he could see three or four pieces that would fit together into a shallow bowl, the same common style one saw everywhere, probably made in local workshops. He turned one piece over and saw letters scratched into it. It looked like the letters
a
and
n.
He picked up another shard and saw there were letters there as well. Not stamped or etched into the wet clay before firing, such as would be made by the potter to sign his work, but scraped into the finished bowl itself with the point of a knife or nail. Perhaps the bowl had belonged to a sailor who had scratched his name into the bottom. He fitted two obvious pieces together and saw what appeared to be parts of words—
ped, Fathe
—perhaps a bit of verse or rhyme. He swept all these bits up and put them in his bag. It would be fun to try to puzzle them out.

He and Alice spent the afternoon looking through the older pieces, sorting them by color or similar design, even piecing a few bits together. They drank sherry and flipped through the books, trying to match some of the designs and decipher the Spanish. It was a surprise when they heard the sound of laughter and shouts coming from the water. The afternoon had passed, and boats were starting to return from the North Island, loaded with the boisterous company from the cricket match. Alice's face darkened, as if an actual cloud had suddenly shadowed them. The carefree lightness vanished from her eyes.

“Thank you so much for bringing me these, Aiden,” she said as she wrapped them back up in the dirty cloth. “I will take them to the university in Lima. If they are important, I will see that you are credited.”

“I did nothing for credit,” Aiden said. “The coolie collected them. Perhaps he has more,” he added impetuously. He wanted to see happiness on her face again. “There might even be a tomb, a ceremonial place like in the book—something important. I'll go back tomorrow.”

“We are leaving,” Alice said. “The day after tomorrow.”

“Leaving? But I understood the
Lady
May
was not due to load for another week.”

“Just our party,” she said. “Nicholas and Gil—Nicholas and I and Gilbert. We have—he has—no more work here. We will take a steamship from Pisco to Callao, then spend some time in Lima.” She tied the corners of the bundle.

“Must you really go so soon?”

“You would not be eager to leave this place as soon as possible?”

“Yes, of course,” Aiden said. “I'm just being selfish to wish for your company.” He reached across and touched her hand, which lay protectively on top of the bundle. Alice jerked her hand back as if his were hot. Aiden blushed and quickly sat back. “The three of you,” he stressed, “are the only interesting people in this place.” He dreaded the thought of languishing here another month or more without them. “And what if there is some important archaeological discovery to be made here—with more pots, and even bones?”

“I'm not an archaeologist.”

“You still would know more than anyone here.”

“I have no say in where we go or what we do,” she said. “Nicholas is the one in charge.”

“Perhaps Nicholas and Gilbert would also be interested in examining the site. Gilbert could draw it.”

“Nicholas will not go back to the island under any circumstances. He said the coolies tried to kill you.”

“It might have been an accident,” Aiden said.

“Even so, he will not return. And Gilbert—” She stopped as the steward approached.

“We are nearly finished,” she said to him. “Please go tell the coxswain that Mr. Madison is ready to leave.”

“You're really the geologist, aren't you?” Aiden said.

Alice looked away. “It is Nicholas's name on the diploma,” she replied flatly. “You have brightened many dreary afternoons and now brought me this treasure. I will remember you fondly.” They watched the boats splintering off in different directions toward their home ships.

The steward returned. “Pardon, ma'am. The launch is ready.”

Alice stood, and Aiden sprang to his feet as well. “Thank you.” She waved her hand toward the tea table. “You may clear.”