“I only fear Mr. Porter may not be in a position to finish his own book that brought him here, before we will have to return. With such an injury to recover from.”
Stevenson took my hand. “Remember, Mr. Fergins, that there is always a sunny side, if you look for it. And another thing, don’t worry. I have learned one thing in this life. It does not matter much what you accomplish. The only thing that really counts is that you tried.”
“I tried,” Davenport said sadly. “Yes, Tusitala, I tried.”
? ? ?
AN INCAPACITATED DAVENPORT could never outmaneuver and outrun Belial. The fact is, by the time Stevenson and Belial left the room, I was already in a panic, and as my nerves grew Davenport’s steadied.
“There is nowhere for Belial to go as long as these heavy rains continue,” Davenport tried to assure me after we listened to their footsteps descend the stairs. “There’s that on our side.”
The incessant rain pelted the roof above us. I was pacing the floor. I spun around to look at him, my eyes wider after taking in his statement. I was at my wit’s end with his calmness. “Forgive me for violating the rules of bookaneers’ assistants and questioning you. The whole mission hangs in the balance, and you will hope for thunder and lightning? We will rely on the barometer as our weapon?”
He blinked lazily and rolled his shoulders back with a sigh. “What plan would you prefer, Fergins?”
I had to admit I could not think of anything better. Every time I alluded to the urgency of the situation his passivity increased. By the end of the day, his leg was causing him greater discomfort and we spoke less of the impending crisis of Stevenson completing the book and more about his pain. I confess a bit of irrational impatience toward Davenport over his injury, and annoyance at the fact that Vao had to be sent for repeatedly to change his bandages, breaking up our deliberations.
All the hurricane shutters were in use in the house and Vailima was as safe as possible, but airless and dark. The atmosphere was suffocating and had a way of dividing the human mind against itself. By this point, it seemed to me there were only two possible paths to success that remained for Davenport’s mission: we either had to find a way to hinder Stevenson’s writing, or a way to prevent Belial from being inside Vailima once the book was finished. Our lone advantage was that we were ensconced inside the house, however limited by Davenport’s condition, while the other bookaneer, though having essentially free access to the estate at all times, had to go back and forth to the Marist mission to keep up appearances.
Consumed by unriddling our predicament, I could hardly sleep. If the bookaneer requires assistance on a mission, the assistant must never question anything that may occur. Davenport’s rule kept repeating itself in my ears, but using the freewheeling logic that comes to man only in the middle of the night in the middle of a roaring storm, I convinced myself I was not questioning what had occurred, but what would occur, and so shook off all restraints. I put on my dressing gown and stepped quietly and quickly through the hall back to Davenport’s door, ready to wake him up if I had to, in order to settle once and for all on a successful revision of our plans.
I cannot say what it was that prevented my knocking. I rolled my fingers into a fist but something stayed my hand. Had I heard some slight sound, a tapered breath, an unfamiliar sigh, warning me away?
I wrapped my arms around my chest as though to protect myself from a biting wind, and turned away. Before I was able to go very far, I heard the creak of Davenport’s door opening. I told myself not to look back but I could not stop. I watched as she stepped out and closed the door behind her. Vao was not holding any bandages or medical supplies. Her skin was shiny as always from the oil the natives covered themselves in; framed by my candlelight in that dark hall she actually glowed. Her big brown eyes met mine and she showed surprise, but no shame, no concern; no, there was a hint of elation and intrepidness. She remained still and I could not help doing the same—out of some instinct of politeness not to turn my back on a lady, or from a desire to communicate some thought, again at the time I could not have really said what it was. The entire experience was so novel, I could not guide my face and body to an appropriate response. “He rescued me from the Beast. Now I will rescue him,” I imagined her saying, but she did not say a word in any language, much less in English. I felt myself floating over the scene, looking down and wishing to take her by the arm to remove her before anyone else realized what had happened.
My chin thrust downward, my lips retreated into my head in an embarrassed smile, and with that I turned on my heel and began the walk to my chamber. I did not hear her walking and wondered why. Then I saw. Tulagi had come. In a primitive woven robe of green and brown, he looked like a kind of magical elf, and his breathing was labored as though he had come from far away after a long search. His eyes then searched and found mine. His strong, soulful face crumbling, I was certain the dwarf was about to break into sobs. I opened my door and returned to bed, not wanting to see more.