LIFE NEAR THE BONE (11 page)

If only Angelique would allow it.

So he had begged her. And in so doing the hate he felt rose to white hot flame, almost to the brink of consuming him, but she had not known that, hadn’t even suspected what it cost him. It might have taken him a thousand years, he had no idea of time passing, but it had taken a long time for him to perfect an empty mind his queen could not read. So when he sounded contrite and apologetic, she would not know how very much he despised her and how unapologetic he really felt.

He tried to remember why she was the ruler of the lost servants. Certainly it wasn’t because she was the most perceptive, for she wasn’t. Or because she was the most brilliant, since she wasn’t that either. Maybe it was because she was the most determined. The strongest willed. It had been so long since the fall that how she’d come to be his master was lost in the long silvery wisps of time. She had probably just been the most opportunistic angel among them--taking control while others wailed and gnashed their teeth at being separated from God.

He stared ahead of him again, into nothing, into darkness, into the bowels of Hell. He felt time trickle by so exasperatingly slowly that he knew soon he would have to close down his mind and hibernate. The instant Angelique relented and called him to Earth, he would hear the siren call and come completely awake.

But for a while, despite how it scourged him and made him want to fly apart into a billion particles, he continued staring into the deep, into the far reaches, into the nowhere prison that was neither space nor non-space, neither here nor there, neither dead or alive. He let the Nothing fill his eyes, fill his mouth, fill his mind, and allowed it to devour his soul.

And then he was at one with it, drifting into dreamless oblivion, a being without regret or yearning. And in this way, the only way possible, he waited. Waited.

CHAPTER 11

ANGELIQUE IN SPAIN

When it was time to go, she was ready. She was given a few days warning and was able to make plans. She had a small woven bag filled with food--dried fruit and meat and various nuts natural to the island. What she couldn’t carry was sufficient water for drinking. She would have to find the supply on board the ship and secret it away in a pigskin bladder she had fashioned to hold liquids. She also had stolen a small tin pot with a screw type lid from the kitchen. It was a fine piece of work brought on shore by the Spaniards, along with other pots and pans fashioned from metal. She could use the pot for relieving herself, and she would later find a way to dispose of those excrements overboard once on the ship.

The most important item she carried with her was the cloth drawstring bag of gold coins. They were her ticket to a new life. Had she not put the thought into the Spanish priest’s head to favor her with gold coins for the work she did, he might never have come to think of it on his own.

She had thought of everything. Not that the voyage would be easy. She knew it would take a very long time to reach Spain. The ordeal before her was monumental, but not impossible. Once she was determined to succeed at a task, nothing could stop her.

One day before Columbus revealed he would be leaving with crews for his ships, she waited until after midnight, gathered her things, and walked into the calm surf beneath a dark, moonless sky. She could not take one of the soldiers’ outriggers. She had to swim out to the massive, waiting ships.

It was a long way for anyone to swim, much less a child burdened with supplies, but Angelique was no ordinary child, and her entire future depended on making it.

A little over half way to the ship, she tired and let herself float on her back, buoyed by the tightly woven bags she hauled with her. She stared into the sky, salt water sliding from the corners of her eyes. This would be the last time she would ever see the sky from this part of the world. When next she saw the sky, she would be in a new country, one she knew nothing about except for the few things her friend, the cleric, had told her of his home.

Far off toward shore she could see a few dots of firelight. Behind the white beach and the buildings of the new town the land rose like a clutch of hump-backed whales, the forests black and thick.

She would not miss the island. She was happily shed of it. Goodbye, she thought. Goodbye!

She turned over in the water, wallowing in the soft waves, and thrust out her small arms to pull herself the rest of the way to the closest ship. She was almost there.

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Angelique lay inside a wooden casket of cloth, breathing evenly. She had her things stored at her feet. Though she had changed out of her wet clothes, her hair still clung to her scalp and smelled of the sea.

While living in the cave high up the mountain, waiting for the right moment to interact with the Spaniards, she had taught herself a valuable skill. In order to make time pass without it impinging on her conscious, she perfected a way to shut off her mind, lower her heart rate, and close off the world. She floated in a wandering way through a gray static world that was too close to the outer void, but at least it saved her energy and killed the time. That skill would be needed for such a long, difficult sea voyage.

When she had gotten aboard the ship and sneaked below decks without the soldier guard noticing, she felt an exuberance overwhelm her senses. Free at last! On her way!

Then when she had slipped into the hold of the ship and smelled the tang of raw wood that made up the ribs of the hull, she had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the deep gloom.

She found the stacked crates and chests and caskets of goods, opening the lids on the ones she found unlocked until she discovered the large chest she now lay inside. It was just half full of cloth, beautiful cloth, sensuous to the touch. She fingered silks and satins and cotton so smooth it was like caressing a baby’s skin. She almost groaned with delight and clapped a hand over her mouth. She knew the Spaniards were a civilized, developed people, but to possess such exquisite treasure as this was beyond anything she expected. Not since the time of ancient Egypt had she felt such beautiful material.

This, she decided immediately, was where she would lie hidden. This would be her berth for the long trip. Day and night she would lie upon this bed of sweet-smelling material, dreaming of one day owning dresses made from them. Silk would flow around her, satin would swath her shoulders, cotton would wrap her in its crisp arms. As she lay dreaming inside the darkness of the mighty oak chest, she would dream of a rich life, a civilized life full of gold, jewels, and the finest cloth to dress her little body. She would dream of meats in gravy and breads leavened with eggs, of roasted peppers, exotic fruits, and wine to wet her palate.

Yes, she would be fine in the dark hold of the ship, rocking and swaying through the ocean wide. She had food to sustain her, a source of fresh water in great round caskets just down the aisle and near the stairs. She had her cushioned bed, her dreams, her desires, and the future awaiting her in a gracious land called Spain.

She smiled into the secret dark. She was the luckiest angel in all creation.

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