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Author : Ankush Chakrabarty, India
My name is James Albert Shaw, Archduke of Barswater.
The men call me Duke – a title awarded more for convenience than for respect. Although the title may seem inspiring at first to paint a flamboyant picture of a tall, handsome youth with red feathers on a black hunting cap, keen blue eyes and a stiff upper lip as is the custom with the nobility of our race, it would be a poor description indeed for me, as I am none of those things. In fact, I believe I am the poorest and most ordinary member of the upper rung of the forbidding ladder of society, soon to be pushed down to a lower tier more suitable to my current financial status. I am, in complete paradox to the afore-painted picture, a lanky youth, with flaming red hair down to my shoulders, a freckled round face, garbed usually in orthodox clothing befitting my rank, wrapped in a red cloak (matching the hue of my hair) to ward off the chill instead of freely allowing it to trail behind me like a caped crusader. I also wear a blood-red hat, a souvenir of my grandfather. I am twenty-four. I am terrible at descriptions, but I have done my best.
The reason I started writing this journal was quite simple: I had nothing better to do. On board the Quetzalcoatl, my duty was very specific, and these anecdotes are part of that duty. Let me explain why I was on the ship in the first place.
I loved horses as a child. As I grew, I loved them even more – not for their innate majesty and proud stature as king of all animals in the country, but instead for the steady flow of cash I acquired from betting on them at the Derby. Then, from sometime in the last year, my luck ran out. A year of excellent winnings was washed out by a year of tremendous losses, and eventually my list of debts ran so high that I was either to remain penurious, or forced to find some form of vocation. So I decided to find work on the ships. Being of my grandfather’s bloodline, the seeds of interest in exploring the high seas remained indelible in my veins.
My grandfather was Duke Reginald Edward Shaw, the commander of the British fleet in his time, and a great navigator and explorer. The halls of our mansion were littered with souvenirs from his travels - coins from some distant nation, insects from some long-forgotten island, skeletons of some peculiar unknown species of animals and weapons of anonymous emperors, or so I believed. Unfortunately, these were of significant monetary value and so I had had to sell these sentimentally priceless artifacts in order to sponsor my present voyage and clear my debts. The only things that remained of his collection were a vial of crystal clear liquid with peculiar properties, and a gleaming white sword, as keen as a saber and as sleek as a rapier. The liquid was from some forest my grandfather had forgotten to note down, and the sword was from Scotland. I remember pretending it was Arthur’s Excalibur as I swished it left and right in my childhood reveries as a swashbuckling king. Few kings wield ivory rapiers, I realize now.
The liquid was a different issue altogether. All I will say of it now is that we called it “Moonsilver”, because it crystallized into a type of silver when touched by moonlight. However, I shall relate its tale no further now, as it is an enchanting tale and I have noted it in this journal as an event of the future.
In this context, I sought admission into a ship’s crew and was incredibly surprised when I was placed in a ship such as the Quetzalcoatl. The Quetzalcoatl was a full-fledged warship. It was meant for navigation through the oceans and destroying enemy flagships or illegal bartering ships headed for the Indies. When I first saw the vessel, I realized from where it had acquired its name. Quetzalcoatl was, as far as I remembered, a serpent in the form of a bird, completely coated in white feathers and gleaming white scales. The snake-bird of the Americas was a symbol of eternal strength intertwined with peace - a fearful enemy and a loyal friend. The ship was similar. Its flanks were completely covered in an array of polished metal cylinders, ready for firing shells with tremendous strengths, its prow adorned with a six foot long thick white blade intended to skewer any vessel that dared to come at it headfirst. The sails were misty white, billowing in the morning breeze. The masts were of a dark, polished wood, so thick that I doubted whether they were oak or ebony. On the stern, the ship had a statuette of an eagle battling a snake in its talons – from afar it resembled a snake merging into an eagle. Whether the sculptor had sculpted this illusion on purpose or just by accident, I was not sure. The ship has been under my grandfather’s command since its maiden voyage, and as I boarded its wooden planks, I felt as if the old man’s presence lingered somewhere very close.
I made my way to my cabin, accompanied by the first mate, who said the captain was “characteristically” late and that the ship would depart as soon as he arrived. Which he did: three hours after the proposed sailing time - with a barrel of whisky and a plethora of maps and charts in his arms. He barked orders as soon as he came aboard, and we set sail before noonday.
Although it was not specifically mentioned to me that my aid was not required, I surmised as much within the hour. Whereas most of the men had sailed before, some on this very ship as part of her gallant crew, I was a newcomer not only to the vessel but the enterprise itself. It would take time for them to accept me since I was neither indispensible toward their cause, not a great help in their daily affairs. I made friends with the doctors on board and the young lads, some of whom were no older than the cactus grandfather had retrieved from Arabia. I wandered around the titanic structure viewing her insides and outsides, gazing for hours on end at her streamlined prowess through the deep azure.
I met the captain at Mass on the next Sunday. He read passages from the Bible, most of which made no sense in our present situation, and when he said “Amen!” I realized the true sermon was about to begin. It did. He spoke of our mission: to intercept and if required, destroy French, Portuguese, and Spanish vessels aiming to cut off our trade flow or behaving aggressively in the presence of Great Britain – the master of all waters across the globe. However, this mission was only one of two major objectives, as I found out that night.
I was just about to retire after an hour of stargazing through my trusty telescope, when I heard a knock at the door. It was so unexpected that I was quite alarmed, my mind immediately jumping to the possibility of an imminent attack by wayward Spaniards! The knock came again, more urgent this time.
“Do come in. It’s not bolted.” I said; my eye on the white sword on my coat rack.
It was the captain. I saluted in deference. He waved it aside.
“Everything all right, Duke?” he asked. This was the first time I saw the man at such close quarters. He was clean shaven, although the remnants of his last shave remained as thin red lines of scars on his face. Clearly, he was not a patient man and no artist with the shaving blade. His eyes were a startling blue, and his hair the color of damp straw. He was a handsome man by women’s standards I suppose, admired by the wenches aboard this ship, but thoroughly devoid of social etiquette, an observation I made as he zipped down his boots and jumped onto my bed with not a care in the world at this obvious trespassing of property. At first, I thought his aim was to prove his superiority on the vessel by such a bombastic statement, but this idea was proven erroneous by what he said next.
“Would you like a piano here?”
I was flabbergasted by the question. A piano on a warship! Whatever would they think of next? Violins in place of bayonets, no doubt! I declined politely. I said I was not bored in the least, and if I was I would take up fishing. That way I would be of some use, as well as evade boredom.
“I thought it would be nice to have some music that’s all!” said he, his eyes now closed and his black brimmed hat covering his face like an impish cowboy. Then he cocked his eyebrow as if he had just realized something.
“Of use! Of use, you say! But you are of the most use to us here, Duke! That is why I came to speak with you. You see, our mission is two-fold. The political aspect is just a minor part for the men to know. Battle hungry butchers, the lot of them, myself included!” He grinned. “You see, the major reason you are here is because of your grandfather’s letter.”
I stared. I had received no letter since the old man had gone missing.
The captain registered my shock, and waved it aside, blaming himself for his abruptness of speech. “Let me explain. As you know, your grandfather was the commander of this ship for the better part of the last five decades. The barmy old codger went to places you and I would say housed the devil himself, and yet he ventured forth without a second glance. Because of this, he found a large amount of things which the locals of the realm considered useless, but your grandfather did not. He returned to England from his travels with a shipload of these trinkets – stones, tools, trinkets, chemicals and so on. Most of these, he bequeathed to your father and yourself, and a few he sent to the royal army. Under his supervision, he made many new tools and even weapons from the things he returned with, most of which give us the superiority we have enjoyed in naval warfare for such a long time. Then suddenly, as you know, the Commander went missing last spring. He had been anticipating such an event, for he had spent much of his time in collecting information about his past travels. In his letter, he wrote of what we should do if he ever “got lost” (as he put it) and where we would find the materials that give us our military advantage. He points us towards a place he marks on this map as his own island – an atoll in the Indian Ocean which he calls ‘the Cave’.”
“And the second?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“ The second thing he mentions is to bring you along, as you will be indispensible for our search.”
I understood then why I was here. It suddenly all made sense to me: the countless hours of poring through the old man’s notebooks, the innumerable tales he had related. He had not been inciting my interest in exploration.
He had been making me his living, breathing atlas!
Next >> Chapter 1: The Cave
