Free Landfalls by Naomi J. Williams Page B

very thoughts of the other men on board.
    Lap é rouse agreed to come in three days’ time, once the most urgent shipboard tasks and repairs were under way, and he and Langle could decide who among the ships’ officers and passengers could be spared for the visit. So it was that Monday afternoon, he, Langle, eight officers, Lap é rouse’s brother-in-law Fr é d é ric, and all of the savants, engineers, artists, and clergymen, plus servants—twenty-eight men altogether—came ashore, climbed into carriages sent from the town to escort them, and made their way over hot and uncomfortable roads to the new town.
    It did not look particularly new, Lap é rouse thought when they drove through its dusty outskirts and into its even dustier central plaza. It was a wary place, made up of single-story buildings spread out over a wide area north of the B í o-B í o River. The dwellings were drab, their mud brick exteriors already worn by the elements, thin timber beams supporting faded tile roofs. It all wore an air of resignation, as if the inhabitants, knowing that forces deep within the earth could turn them all out at any moment, had stifled any impulse toward civic beauty or attachment.
    They were met in the town square by Quexada and a Major Sabatero, a heavyset Spaniard with a red face whose active military service must have been many years and many meals behind him. The major led them to his house, a structure remarkable only for being wider than most of the other homes they saw. Inside, however, it was surprisingly cheerful, with whitewashed walls and ceilings; natural light from an internal courtyard; wooden furniture, old but solid, edges softened with use; family portraits, somewhat primitive in execution, whose bright colors belied the dour expressions of their subjects; and best of all, delicious aromas from an unseen kitchen. The spare, comfortable elegance of the interior put Lap é rouse in mind of the Manoir du G ô , his childhood home outside of Albi, in the south of France. An austere stone house from without, it was, within, appointed with old family tables and settees and draperies that his mother professed to hate, but among which he had played wonderful games with his siblings in the years before he left for the naval school in Brest.
    â€œIt is humble, this house,” Sabatero said in heavily accented but comprehensible French. Lap é rouse and his men all hastened to exclaim their delight with the place. “Well, you have been at sea a long time,” Sabatero said, laughing. “Any house looks good, yes?”
    Five or six servants of uncertain racial extraction came forward, and Sabatero explained that dinner was not for another hour, and that his guests were welcome to make use of the spare bedrooms in the house to rest or tidy up. “My steward, Jos é , will show the two captains to their room,” he said, introducing a short, olive-skinned man to Lap é rouse and Langle.
    The steward bowed, unsmiling, and led Lap é rouse, Langle, and their servants, Pierre and Fran ç ois, down the corridor. They passed several rough-hewn arched doorways, rounded one corner, passed more doorways, then turned again, finally stopping at an open door at which Jos é waved them in. It was an immaculate room bright with sunshine and equipped with two of everything—chairs, beds, mirrors, washstands, wash basins, linens. As soon as Jos é shut the door behind them, Lap é rouse threw off his jacket and wig and boots, rebuffing Pierre’s attempts to help him. He lowered himself onto the nearest bed with a groan, feeling at once relieved and repelled by the sensation of cooler air on damp armpits, head, and feet.
    â€œAre you all right, sir?” Langle asked. He was removing his outer clothing, neatly folding each item and handing it to his servant, Fran ç ois.
    â€œI am no longer accustomed to bumping about in a carriage,” Lap é