Wind Singer
By Carbonated A.
Chapter 2 : Discovery
Disclaimer: I do not own Cyborg 009.
"What do you see?"
The feminine voice echoed in his ears. It rang through silence, diminishing the grey curtain. The man of twenty-one did not waver his steady gaze on the ocean's depths, savoring its terrible, yet majestic beauty. He kept his back to her, preferring to sidestep the query. "Joe?" She asked.
He turned to the voice that questioned him. It was Amy. Joe put down the binoculars. "Nothing, yet. Just the sea." He replied. Amy nodded.
It was midday, and the sky was a dull grey. Clouds covered every trace of blue in the sky, its dismal color reflecting on the steadily moving waters.
The Sea Dragon had encountered no hindrance, so far. As Clem said, it was smooth sailing, as always. On deck, Amy tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. "The professor says that we'll get to the island in seven hours' time." She checked her watch. "…so, that means it'll be about two in the afternoon when we're there." Joe could only acknowledge with a "Yeah, I wonder what Doc Gilmore's doing." He looked away from the female cryptologist, and lost himself in the ocean once again.
Inside, Professor Gilmore flipped through musty old books, searching for the exact location of the enigmatic tombs of the Tegaworis. He sniffed from time to time, reaching for a tissue when it was nescessary. Flip. Flip. The old man came across a page that surprised him greatly. It was a detailed description of the Tegaworis' relations with the seemingly mythical Altanteans. Gilmore's eyes widened with every translated symbol. This was going to shock the bones out of the stubborn old coots who denied that Altantis had ever existed.
He traced his finger down through each paragraph. This was a direct quote from the Shepherd's Journal…
' and the peoples ventured by vessel through the waters to exchange plesantries with wanderers, many of who were of the tribe of Kisuleah. It was learned that these men brought Atlantean learnings to the place of their origin, greatly infulencing the ways of the people that resided there. There were other atlantean influences in the time of the first king… '
Kisuleah. That particular name caught his eye. It said that the men were of the tribe of Kisuleah. The professor roughly grabbed another manuscript from the shelf. He opened it, and quickly went to the desired page. 'Kisuleah…' he thought. "Kisuleah…ah. Here it is." Gilmore quickly read from the book.
"The Tegaworis are an elusive people, abiding in small islets of the mainland. They followed the will of their leader, known in other scripts as Kisuleah, who wished that his people would keep moving fro place to place, as not to be found. This habit gradually led to their extinction…" Professor Gilmore paused. The sentence trailed off, unfinished. The old man flipped furiously to the next page, only to find the beginning of another chapter.
"It can't be…an unfinished chapter?" his words hung in the air.
Gilmore slowly put the book down, dissappointed. He was a page away from achieving his goal. But, alas. Even that was not to be found.
The old man sighed. "well, at least we know the general area of the tombs. And that they had relations with the Atlanteans." He sighed again. It just wasn't enough.
On the desk, his table lamp flickered. "I think I'll go and ask Amy to translate some inscriptions." He muttered, getting up.
Shafts of sunlight filtered in from the clear sky, tickling her face, trying to warm it awake. A sparrow chirped loudly, somewhere outside. The morning was bright and breezy, as most were, in Grisnook Bay. The small fishing town was beginning to emerge from its cocoon of sleepy fog. Near the shore, no trace of crab nor shellfish was seen, for they feared the ever-vigilant eye of a huungry gull, waiting for the day's first catch.
Francoise turned in her bed, not wanting to let sleep go. She rolled onto the shady spot of the mattress, trying to avoid the sunlight. "Mmph…" A small groan escaped her lips, as the warmth found her anyway. Then, a shadow suddenly appeared, blocking part of the sun. With the rustle of white feathers alighted a gull on her bedroom's windowsill, cawing loudly. It scanned the cottage for the promising prospect of a decent breakfast. Its quick gaze landed on the pantry. As the bird spied the human with it's beady eyes, it hesitated. Perhaps this territory was occupied? The gull waited a few moments. She ignored it.
Seeing that the funny, two-legged creature didn't mind, the seagull casually hopped down from its perch, and welcomed itself into Francoise's cottage. Preening it's alabaster feathers, the bird began to explore the various nooks and crannied in her huumble abode. Eventually, it found the kitchen.
Clang!
The sound of a frying pan hitting the floor woke her up, snatching away the last remnants of sleep
"Huh?" the french girl rubbed the blurriness out of her eyes, trying to focus them properly. 'Did I hear something?' She thought, kicking away the rumpled blanket. Drowsily, Francoise walked into the kitchen, yawning as she went. The warm, wooden texture of the floor soothed her cold feet, while the salty sea air awakened her senses. Plopping herself down on a chair, the french woman noticed something different about the room.
"Strange…I cleaned this up last night…and I didn't eat anchovies…" Francoise paused when she saw the telltale feathers scattered on the floor. The girl groaned. "Oh no…" she sighed. "Seagull."
Regenade birds were not an uncommon problem for the residents of Grisnook that lived on the small town's outer reaches. In fact, they were so likely, that anything gone missing was blamed on these feathered, scallop-eating creatures of the air.
Francoise cautiously reached for the metal handle of another nearby frying pan. This was her third encounter with a bird of this kind, ever since she moved here a week ago. The girl narrowed her blue eyes as menacingly as she could manage. 'This one is mine' she thought. It was rather uncharactaristic of a young woman such as herself to go seagull-hunting first thing in the morning, but her first two tries proved that it was ultimately nescessary.
Bang!
"Screech!"
"Come on you…get out!"
"Screep! Squawk!"
Snap!
The door slammed shut, sending the unfortunate bird outside. Sensing hostility from the human, the seagull decided to fly away. He didn't want to take any chances.
Sighing, Francoise put the frying pan down. She looked over the mess that the bird had caused in the kitchen. More or less estimating the time it would take to clean it up, the young woman reached for the telephone; she was going to be late for work today.
After about three rings, the secretary picked up. "Hello, West Gale headquarters, may I help you?" she droned. The boredom was evident in her voice. Francoise wasted no time. "Hello, Clarisse? It's Francoise. Please tell G.B. that I'm going to be late for work today." She explained, hoping that the impatient editor-on-chief hadn't tapped into the phone conversation. "Oh, Miss Arnoul!" exclaimed Clarisse. "Yes?" asked Francoise cautiously. Was there a reason for Clarisse's surprise? Perhaps more news?
"Miss Arnoul, you won't believe what happened!"
Francoise sighed. The middle-aged secretary was known for being a great shopper; and not just in the grocery.
"Yes, Clarisse? What happened?" she asked.
"Well…Mr. G.B. received news today that the schoolhouse wanted a part-time teacher."
"a teacher?"
"Yes. The headmaster asked if we could spare anyone for the job. It's part-time, you know."
"Go on."
"Mr. G.B. didn't waste any time in referring you for the job. he said that you were good with children, Miss Arnoul."
Francoise winced. A teacher? Her? Well…she really didn't know much about children. Besides, she had no experience. But then again, it was worth a shot. Associating with children was something she enjoyed, when the opportunity arrived. Maybe this was it.
"Miss Arnoul? Francoise?"
Clarisse's voice pulled her out of the clouds.
"Oh, yes?"
"Mr. G.B. wants you to write an article about what goes on in class, by the way. Y'know, about teachers' and students' quarrels and stuff."
"really, now."
"Yes. That's why he recommended you for the teaching job."
Francoise shook her head knowingly. G.B. had a reputation for trying to kill two birds with one stone all the time. And it didn't always pay off.
"Okay Clarisse. Thank you. I'll be down at about ten."
"Yes, Miss."
She hung up.
After clearing up much of the damage, Francoise put away the rags. She stood up, and walked into her bedroom. Her dove-white hands encircled the round, wooden knobs of the dedcades-old closet. It had been in her family for as long as she could remember. The closet was considered an antique, and was woth quite a bundle. But Francoise would never think of selling it, despite all the antique dealers' pleas. The girl smiled to herself, before selecting some clothes to wear. She would pass by the office first, and then visit the schoolhouse.
The small metal key slid in, then out. Francoise dropped it into her purse, after locking up. The young woman gazed out into the sea, her eyes reflecting its sapphire color. It was always a blessing to her,she thought, to be able to live peacefully by the vast carpet of blue and green. Not many had the luxury of being away from the city. 'and I'm happy that it is that way' she thought ruefully.
The wind blew gently at her face, toying playfully with her wispy blond hair. It was in this manner that Francoise Arnoul made her way to the town everyday, enjoying the surroundings of her home at the very last moment.
She walked carefully along the narrow sidestreets and dirt roads. The scent of the town was that of fish, mingled with the salty sea air, and the aromatic smell of clay. The inhabitants of the small seaside town were awakening; each preparing his or her daily wares and chores. As she walked by, Francoise received many stares, and strange eyebrows. This was due to the fact that nary a mainlander came here, except for G.B, of course. The young woman just smiled, as she toured the main streets. Those that knew of her greeted Francoise, just as those who didn't displayed indifference.
Over time, the frenchwoman had been able to memorize her way to the West Gale's publications office. It was a neat little building at the heart of Grisnook, just beside the prim green of the general store. Mr. Simon McKellums, the store's owner, greeted Francoise as she walked by.
"Hello there, Miss Arnoul. Nice weather we're havin' ain't it?" the man's plesant, husky voice washed over her like a tidal wave, along with the heavy scent of tobacco mingled with canned peaches.
Francoise smiled back at the round frame of Mr. McKellums, and nodded. He and his son Billy,second grader at the schoolhouse, were one of the first to greet her upon arrival. She was grateful for people such as them.
A white door with the sign 'The West Gale News' printed on it greeted the young woman, as she entered the office. Within the wooden, whitewashed walls were the few people that produced the local paper. Inside sat Clarisse, old, bony, and extremely tough. She had the tendency to wear too much makeup on some occasions, but that was part of who she was, as G.B. pointed out. "G'morning Miss Arnoul." Cackled the secretary, shuffling a sheaf of papers as she went. Said woman greeted Clarisse in return, flashing a light smile.
Francoise walked directly to the small, cramped room down the hall that said 'Editor-In-Chief'. This was G.B.'s office. She knocked once before entering, catching the man off-guard. He was drinking coffee and doodling on some scratch paper when she came in. Humming a familiar ditty, G.B. was oblivious to his co-writer's prescence.
His office smelled faintly of dried fish; it was a known fact that G.B was terribly fond of dried fish, much to his so-called 'subordinates'' disdain. Francoise noted this, keeping in mind to buy him a set of the Grisnook delicacy, when the time came. She laid a curious eye on the cluttered desk, which was laden with papers as much as it was with old, musty books. 'Romeo and Juliet', 'Hamlet', 'Shakespheare's Sonnets.' Yes, she knew of his love for old English literature, and his lifelong dream of going into theatrics. Unfortunately, a lack of financial support dashed those ambitions to the ground.
"Ahem." She cleared her throat.
"Ah!" G.B. nearly jumped at the sight of the female, but calmed himself quickly. He did not want to taint his flawless reputation of being 'cool'. It took a few seconds before the startled editor was able to regain his composure.
"Oh, sorry Frankie, I didn't know you were there." He managed, grinning lopsidedly.
Francoise frowned at the nickname he had given her.
"No problem, G.B., and it's Francoise." She sat down on the only other chair in his office. It was wooden and unstable.
"Yeah. I know." He dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand, bringing up the matter of her new teaching job, instead.
"Attila the schoolmaster called me today." He stated, waiting for her reaction.
Francoise clicked her tongue.
"Just because you don't like her doesn't mean that you can go on calling her names, you know." She said matter-of-factly. "And her name's Anna."
G.B rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Frankie. I know. Well, if you'd let me continue…?"
"Sorry. Go on." She nodded.
"well, attil—I mean Anna called me today. Apparently, she's come up with this newfangled idea of bringing everyday people to teach children about life here in Grisnook every week." He paused, twirling his pen.
G.B quirked an eyebrow at her, as he proceeded. "Last week was Mr. McKellum from the store, and this week it's you."
Francoise nodded.
"I got it. But when do I start?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. G.B glanced at the wall calendar. "Hmmm…tomorrow. I know it's sudden, but you can have the rest of the day off today—" he paused to see her reaction again. Francoise looked bewildered. "—to prepare for your lesson." Her surprised look didn't change. It took a few moments for the woman to regain her voice.
"You—you mean…"
"Yes. You're free for the day." Said G.B. noting the relieved look on his co-writer's face. He twirled his pen again, a look of merriment in his eyes. "Must I repeat it? You've been working too hard, you know." He grinned.
"Oh…G.B.—thank you!" Francoise stood up and hugged him.
The bald editor just chuckled. "Yeah. Thank me."
Joe, Amy, Clem, and Dr. Gilmore were having lunch, while the boat was at the hands of the first mate. The four were seated in the cabin's small dining area, discussing matters related to the exploration trip.
"So, Captain, shall we be arriving soon?" asked Amy eagerly.
Clem muttered something disdainfully. The talkative cryptologist had been at his side all day, asking questions and giving suggestions, much to the man's annoyance.
"We'll be there in a few hours, Miss Brandt. Three, at least, if the weather is fair." His voice was flat and tired; both from piloting 'The Dragon' all day and having to listen to Amy's deafening chatter.
Professor Gilmore nodded at his statement, while Joe looked up from his food with a hint of amusement on in his eyes. Beside him, Amy just rolled her eyes. "Judging from the area range of the location, I'd say that we're in for some rough sailing." Said Gilmore, picking at his baked salmon.
"Oh? As far as I can see, there isn't a cloud in sight!" objected Amy, nibbling on her fish. "Yeah." Agreed Joe. "But we should watch out, anyway. You never can tell when mother nature strikes." He added.
Clem nodded. "The lad's right. I'll go and check the weather reports for any news, later. You folks'd better get some rest."
The compact device buzzed on Joe's cot, in the hold. He picked it up, fingering the buttons and knobs. "come on…work…" He coaxed, as if the radio were a child, and not an inanimate object. The thing remained silent, and Joe frowned at it in frustration; he had been working on it for a full thirty minutes.
He was lying down on his cot, when he felt something move undernath it, together with the tip and reel of the boat. Reaching under, the young man discovered a defunct radio, and had decided to fix it up.
He was pretty bent on making it work…until now. Joe was sure that it was busted for good, and trying to do otherwise would only deepen his frustration. The young man propped himself against the wall, staring sullenly into the dim silence of the empty hold. The air was stuffy, but slightly cool, and the only sounds to be heard were that of the water. Joe sighed, and pushed some stray bangs of auburn hair away from his eyes. It had been a busy day; Professor Gilmore had sent him scouring the cabin for any trace of 'the missing page'. As predicted, there was none. His hand wandered across the rough bedsheets, to the silent radio. Joe closed his eyes, taking in the pleasant feel of floating like an isolated soul, in the midst of an endless span of water.
Silence enveloped him temporarily.
His fingers felt the smooth texture of the radio's plastic shell. The buttons. The knobs. The cold antennae.
Then, his ruby eyes shot open, and he grabbed the radio, and threw it against the wall.
Silence.
The monotony of nothingness was shattered for a moment, and Joe took a deep breath. His muscles relaxed, and his back slumped against the wall. All sorts of reasons as to why he threw the device at the wall escaped him. He was falling asleep.
The bluish-grey color of the walls in dim light soon settled into him, and the soothing sound of swishing waves lulled the man into a deep slumber. There was no emotion to be seen but relief, as Joe's face relaxed, revealing the serenity of an angel.
The radio clattered to the floor, forgotten. Part of its plastic shell was chipped, and the compact device lay still.
The Sea Dragon tilted gently to one side, swishing into the generally calm waters. Clem was barking orders to the cabin boy, on deck, and Amy was in the cabin, together with Professor Gilmore. Various sailors were performing the day's tasks, as the expedition crew made their way nearer to the designated location. They chatted happily with one another, oblivious to the shadow that was to fall upon their lives, in a matter of time.
Joe lay against the cold wall. His face was a mask of calm, and it looked like he was at ease with the world. The boat rocked gently, and the young man slept peacefully. His chest rose and fell with the waters, and a faint smile settled on his lips. Nothing in the world could bother him now.
On the wooden floor, the radio suddenly came to life.
I have finished the second chapter…now…onto the third. 003 is a bit OOC here, but it is meant to be…sorry 'bout that. What in the world is wrong with Joe? Poor radio…Many thanks to the good people who reviewed the first one. Criticism is appreciated, but flames will only earn my disrespect. And believe me, you don't want that. Please R&R! Carbonated/Airtimes
Note: I would like to point out that the seagull scene was not ripped off from the humor fiction 'When Lightning Strikes', by Bitemenow. I suggest you read it though. Nice and funny, if you like that type. I wrote this chapter even before it was posted. [third chapter is done, but I will be posting it in about two weeks' time, or earlier.]