Huxley awoke to a light tapping on the door. He threw off the sheets, dampened by the humidity of the jungle, and sat up in his cot, finding himself in a warm, dripping room with fewer amenities than he normally preferred. The black-skinned giant was still snoring on the cot beside of him, his long legs dangling over the far edge so that his bare toes scraped against the wooden floor. The tapping came again, but Huxley was distracted by a foul aftertaste that lingered in his mouth and confounded by his inability to recall its source.
"Who's there?" he called once the third set of taps sounded against the door.
The door slowly opened back, creaking out for every drop of water that had been absorbed by its pores, and the head of a slight, nervous man with hair the color of sand appeared in the crack. Based on his appearance alone, one would hardly expect Terrance Westmoreland to occupy such a rigorous position as lead porter, a job which normally consisted of copious amounts of lifting and carrying better suited for strapping, wide-shouldered native men, but day after day, he performed his duties with a certain amount of ferocity seldom seen among men his size.
"Begging your pardon, sir," said Westmoreland. "I thought you might like to know that we're almost there. You can see the dock from the deck, as it were, so if you've got any last minute preparations before heading out, you best be working on 'em now."
"Thank you, Westmoreland," Huxley replied in a voice that was still half-asleep. "Akan and I will join you shortly. See to the men, if you would. I'd like to be sure we reach the village by night fall. What time is it now, anyway?"
Westmoreland stared at the ceiling, performing a swift calculation. "Here, sir, it'd be about six o'clock in the evening."
"And what time does the sun go down?"
"About seven, sir."
"Ah. In that case, I'd like to be sure we reach the village by dawn."
"Yes, sir," said the porter, disappearing from the door and closing it gently back.
Huxley spent a moment stretching his aching muscles off the side of the cot and running his fingers through the overgrown stubble on his face and through the tangles of his hair, where the sweat gathered in beads along his scalp. He groped at the back of his neck, checking himself for any sign of insect bites. In the past few months, he had seen insects larger than he had ever imagined, and none of them had been friendly. He had no intention, after all, of coming all this way only to be felled by illness borne from the disease-ridden proboscis of a large mosquito.
The giant was still soundly sleeping, but Huxley, figuring it was time for him to awaken and cease the incessant snoring nudged him gently with a foot.
"Akan, wake up. We're almost there."
The giant twitched on his cot and then rose with a loud, grating groan. The soles of his feet slapped against the wooden as he stood up to stretch his impressive frame. His mouth opened, as if to instinctively ask a question regarding the time or their current location, but Huxley preemptively hushed him before a single word could leave his mouth.
"Careful now, my friend. We haven't come this far to spoil the game now, have we?"
Akan sighed and shook his head.
"Excellent. Just remember your role, and this will go all the more smoothly."
Akan stared at him with a frustrated look.
"I know, I know," said Huxley. "Try to make the best of it, though, won't you? It won't take us long. I promise. We'll be home again before you know it, but until that time, we must be on our best behavior at all times. Agreed?"
Akan nodded.
"Very well, then. Let's gather our things and meet the others on the deck. We're about to set off."
With raised eyebrows, Akan gestured outside and then at his own stomach.
"It'll be dark soon, if that's what you mean. We'll make time for food, of course. I imagine the rest of the men aren't so well rested as we are. I suspect they won't go far without insisting on making camp for the night."
Akan seemed satisfied with the answer and then moved around the room, gathering up their belongings for the journey ahead. As the strongest of the two, the onyx-black giant was the one who normally carried their most precious equipment, those items that they did not trust in the hands and arms of the porters, most of whom were not known for their meticulous or mindful behavior. The pack that Akan slung over his shoulder, for instance, contained several compasses, two primitive maps of the surrounding region, and a weathered notebook that contained watercolor paintings of various plants and animals.
"Well, then, are we ready to greet our loyal servants?" Huxley asked when they had packed up all of their paraphernalia.
Akan nodded, and the two left the dark, dreary room situated deep in the heart of the rickety old steamboat and emerged on the deck to find that they had already reached their point of departure. Planks had been laid from the starboard side of the boat that reached all the way to the dock. They did not seem exceptionally safe, but they were sturdy enough to serve their purpose.
"Are we ready, sir?" Westmoreland asked as he sidled up to Huxley's side. "Everything packed? And what of your mute?"
Akan glared at Huxley and Westmoreland in turn, as if unable to decide which annoyed him the most.
"Yes, we are ready, and my mute can hear you just fine. You may ask him yourself."
Suddenly, the porter's face was frozen by a look of horror. He cowered in front of the looming giant.
"Oh, good lord, sir. Begging your pardon. I figured hearing was part of the muteness."
"No, he can hear just fine. Better than most men, even," noted Huxley.
"I've heard that when a man loses one sense, his others are stronger than ever," remarked one of the other white porters, a man who have traveled with them from London, whose name Huxley had yet to properly learn.
"I'd hardly call speaking one of the proper senses. It's more of an art form, really," said Huxley. "Now, shall we begin this expedition? There are new places out there just waiting to be found, and someone needs to map the way."
"By all means, then, sir. Lead the way."
Huxley flashed a confident smile as he crossed the plank to the dock, pausing briefly to allow the remainder of his party to cross and situate themselves before disappearing down a winding path through the jungle. They journey would take several hours, though he could not manage an accurate estimate, and the sun had already vanished from sight, leaving only a solid hour's worth of light left over the land, and then it would descend into the darkness of night, leaving Huxley to realize why, exactly, Africa was known as the Dark Continent.
"Right, then. Here we go."
"Who's there?" he called once the third set of taps sounded against the door.
The door slowly opened back, creaking out for every drop of water that had been absorbed by its pores, and the head of a slight, nervous man with hair the color of sand appeared in the crack. Based on his appearance alone, one would hardly expect Terrance Westmoreland to occupy such a rigorous position as lead porter, a job which normally consisted of copious amounts of lifting and carrying better suited for strapping, wide-shouldered native men, but day after day, he performed his duties with a certain amount of ferocity seldom seen among men his size.
"Begging your pardon, sir," said Westmoreland. "I thought you might like to know that we're almost there. You can see the dock from the deck, as it were, so if you've got any last minute preparations before heading out, you best be working on 'em now."
"Thank you, Westmoreland," Huxley replied in a voice that was still half-asleep. "Akan and I will join you shortly. See to the men, if you would. I'd like to be sure we reach the village by night fall. What time is it now, anyway?"
Westmoreland stared at the ceiling, performing a swift calculation. "Here, sir, it'd be about six o'clock in the evening."
"And what time does the sun go down?"
"About seven, sir."
"Ah. In that case, I'd like to be sure we reach the village by dawn."
"Yes, sir," said the porter, disappearing from the door and closing it gently back.
Huxley spent a moment stretching his aching muscles off the side of the cot and running his fingers through the overgrown stubble on his face and through the tangles of his hair, where the sweat gathered in beads along his scalp. He groped at the back of his neck, checking himself for any sign of insect bites. In the past few months, he had seen insects larger than he had ever imagined, and none of them had been friendly. He had no intention, after all, of coming all this way only to be felled by illness borne from the disease-ridden proboscis of a large mosquito.
The giant was still soundly sleeping, but Huxley, figuring it was time for him to awaken and cease the incessant snoring nudged him gently with a foot.
"Akan, wake up. We're almost there."
The giant twitched on his cot and then rose with a loud, grating groan. The soles of his feet slapped against the wooden as he stood up to stretch his impressive frame. His mouth opened, as if to instinctively ask a question regarding the time or their current location, but Huxley preemptively hushed him before a single word could leave his mouth.
"Careful now, my friend. We haven't come this far to spoil the game now, have we?"
Akan sighed and shook his head.
"Excellent. Just remember your role, and this will go all the more smoothly."
Akan stared at him with a frustrated look.
"I know, I know," said Huxley. "Try to make the best of it, though, won't you? It won't take us long. I promise. We'll be home again before you know it, but until that time, we must be on our best behavior at all times. Agreed?"
Akan nodded.
"Very well, then. Let's gather our things and meet the others on the deck. We're about to set off."
With raised eyebrows, Akan gestured outside and then at his own stomach.
"It'll be dark soon, if that's what you mean. We'll make time for food, of course. I imagine the rest of the men aren't so well rested as we are. I suspect they won't go far without insisting on making camp for the night."
Akan seemed satisfied with the answer and then moved around the room, gathering up their belongings for the journey ahead. As the strongest of the two, the onyx-black giant was the one who normally carried their most precious equipment, those items that they did not trust in the hands and arms of the porters, most of whom were not known for their meticulous or mindful behavior. The pack that Akan slung over his shoulder, for instance, contained several compasses, two primitive maps of the surrounding region, and a weathered notebook that contained watercolor paintings of various plants and animals.
"Well, then, are we ready to greet our loyal servants?" Huxley asked when they had packed up all of their paraphernalia.
Akan nodded, and the two left the dark, dreary room situated deep in the heart of the rickety old steamboat and emerged on the deck to find that they had already reached their point of departure. Planks had been laid from the starboard side of the boat that reached all the way to the dock. They did not seem exceptionally safe, but they were sturdy enough to serve their purpose.
"Are we ready, sir?" Westmoreland asked as he sidled up to Huxley's side. "Everything packed? And what of your mute?"
Akan glared at Huxley and Westmoreland in turn, as if unable to decide which annoyed him the most.
"Yes, we are ready, and my mute can hear you just fine. You may ask him yourself."
Suddenly, the porter's face was frozen by a look of horror. He cowered in front of the looming giant.
"Oh, good lord, sir. Begging your pardon. I figured hearing was part of the muteness."
"No, he can hear just fine. Better than most men, even," noted Huxley.
"I've heard that when a man loses one sense, his others are stronger than ever," remarked one of the other white porters, a man who have traveled with them from London, whose name Huxley had yet to properly learn.
"I'd hardly call speaking one of the proper senses. It's more of an art form, really," said Huxley. "Now, shall we begin this expedition? There are new places out there just waiting to be found, and someone needs to map the way."
"By all means, then, sir. Lead the way."
Huxley flashed a confident smile as he crossed the plank to the dock, pausing briefly to allow the remainder of his party to cross and situate themselves before disappearing down a winding path through the jungle. They journey would take several hours, though he could not manage an accurate estimate, and the sun had already vanished from sight, leaving only a solid hour's worth of light left over the land, and then it would descend into the darkness of night, leaving Huxley to realize why, exactly, Africa was known as the Dark Continent.
"Right, then. Here we go."
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