He was stricken by a sudden recollection--a vague memory, cast in the thin shadow of doubt that dared suggest it had all been a dream and none of it real, yet he remembered it fondly and with some detail. He was a child, walking along the coast, but the coast of where? This place felt like no English coast. The sun was bright and shining, the sky a bright cerulean, and heavy sheets of cloud sailed overhead like the blankets of giants caught in the wind. The weather was warm. His shirt had been abandoned on some half-forgotten pile of sand along with his shoes, and his trouser legs were rolled up around the knobs of his knees as he waded in the water, feeling the push and pull of every wave that lapped against the shore and assaulted his ankles with the grit of sand and salt.
His eyes were cast upon the sand and water at his feet, searching, darting sharply at every glint and discoloration, at which he would grasp and raise victoriously with a clutched hand. He was hunting shells--snatching them with small, quick hands, rinsing them in the retreating waves, and then stowing them in his pockets with wet particles of sand still clinging to the insides that would dry and settle in the bottom seam of the pocket, where they would stay for weeks to come. For now, he tread on across the sand, his pockets filled with abandoned mollusc shells that rattled at every step, his eyes still searching for the sparse treasures offered up by the sand and left behind as mere afterthoughts by the waves like the half-hearted offerings of a placating sea.
"Thomas!" someone called out. "Thomas!"
It was a voice ringing out from some distant place. It was a man's voice. His father's voice.
"Huxley!"
"Yes?"
"Over there!" yelled Akan, pointing at a particularly dark patch of gritty earth on the bank of the crater lake, where a distant glint alerted the keen-eyed giant. "I think I see a few more. Get those, won't you?"
"Yes, of course. How are you faring?" he asked his partner, the memory fading from his mind. Maybe it had been a dream all along--one that he'd forgotten, only to be recalled by the vague similarities of his current actions.
"Very well, sir," replied Akan, a wide smile having rooted on his face. He held aloft a small leather pouch and rattled it so that Huxley could hear the clink of collected diamonds--the fruits of their wildest endeavor to date. "This is a fortune."
"You sound surprised. Are you truly so shocked that I was right?"
"I'll never doubt you again, my friend."
"Good to know. I may yet hold you to that."
Akan paid no mind to his partner's musings, instead focused rather intently on the diamonds in his pouch and the potential luxury that such small things could afford.
"Just imagine," said Akan, "these are just the ones on the surface. There are sure to more hidden beneath in larger deposits."
"I dare say it's a larger fortune than either of us could ever have dreamed. We shall be prepared to live out the remainder of our sad, little lives in extravagance and convenience, never again forced to lift a hand. How dreadfully wonderful all that will be."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, really. I'm merely thinking aloud."
Akan focused once more at the ground before him, crouching low to rake his fingers across the loose soil for any hard edges, shrugging away the words of his partner as the maddened speech of a man who had gone far too long without sleep.
"How long do you think it may take?"
"For what?" Huxley asked absently.
"To finish this. To get what we need," said his partner.
Huxley, too, crouched above a patch of dirt and thrust his hand within, his fingers undulating for any solid item to grasp. Every time, however, he pulled his hand free with nothing but thick mud clinging to his palm. He stared intently at his spoils, for the moment forgetting that there were such things as diamonds in this world and realizing that he had been literally grasping for his future, and this thought brought a sort of emptiness, the kind often accompanied by a greater desire to do great, wonderful things and live a life worth leading.
"I suppose I would ask the same question, my friend. In all seriousness, I'd imagine we could be done in three days of solid working--four if we manage to raise any suspicions back in the village."
"Four it is," said Akan with a nod. "You always manage to raise suspicions when you're so fervently attempting to bed a woman."
"I'm not."
"I told you, Huxley. I told you that this would be exactly like the Gold Coast."
"Fine, I am."
"You admit it!" Akan threw his thick arms, larger than the legs of average men, in the air, exasperated.
"Would you rather I lie?"
"I'd rather you not do a thing. Leave the poor girl alone. It sounds as if she's been through enough already. Why torment her more when she finally learns that you're nothing but a common thief."
"Common?" Huxley repeated with disgust. "I'd prefer extraordinary. At least uncommon. That says little about yourself, you know."
"Oh, I know. Believe me, I realize my place in this world, and I do nothing to call it into question."
"Fine, then, and for the record, I shall do my best to leave the lovely Ms. Pear alone, no matter how much of a crime that may seem. She's a woman of great faith, after all, and I have no intention of corrupting that."
"Don't tell me you've become a man of faith, as well."
"Hardly. It's the principle of the thing."
"Since when have you had principles?"
"I thought now would be a good time to start."
They stared silently at one another in the few moments that followed before ultimately deciding to head back to the village before anyone became especially curious of their whereabouts. As they walked through the jungle, Akan traced a line across a blank sheet of paper, one that could be imposed atop their in-progress map to provide an accurate trail to the crater, which they hoped would save them some time in subsequent visits. From time to time, he pulled out the actual map he had sketched and examined lovingly, the way a craftsman admires his own skill and enjoys the comfort of a chair he had just built.
"It's a nice map. It may, in fact, be the best I've ever drawn--accurate, with thin lines and plenty of detail. It's a work of art, if I may be so bold to proclaim."
Huxley continued ahead, never taking his eyes away from the thin trail of broken limbs and trodden ground that they had left behind from the initial journey.
"I'm sure it is," he said. "It's a pity no one will ever use it."
His eyes were cast upon the sand and water at his feet, searching, darting sharply at every glint and discoloration, at which he would grasp and raise victoriously with a clutched hand. He was hunting shells--snatching them with small, quick hands, rinsing them in the retreating waves, and then stowing them in his pockets with wet particles of sand still clinging to the insides that would dry and settle in the bottom seam of the pocket, where they would stay for weeks to come. For now, he tread on across the sand, his pockets filled with abandoned mollusc shells that rattled at every step, his eyes still searching for the sparse treasures offered up by the sand and left behind as mere afterthoughts by the waves like the half-hearted offerings of a placating sea.
"Thomas!" someone called out. "Thomas!"
It was a voice ringing out from some distant place. It was a man's voice. His father's voice.
"Huxley!"
"Yes?"
"Over there!" yelled Akan, pointing at a particularly dark patch of gritty earth on the bank of the crater lake, where a distant glint alerted the keen-eyed giant. "I think I see a few more. Get those, won't you?"
"Yes, of course. How are you faring?" he asked his partner, the memory fading from his mind. Maybe it had been a dream all along--one that he'd forgotten, only to be recalled by the vague similarities of his current actions.
"Very well, sir," replied Akan, a wide smile having rooted on his face. He held aloft a small leather pouch and rattled it so that Huxley could hear the clink of collected diamonds--the fruits of their wildest endeavor to date. "This is a fortune."
"You sound surprised. Are you truly so shocked that I was right?"
"I'll never doubt you again, my friend."
"Good to know. I may yet hold you to that."
Akan paid no mind to his partner's musings, instead focused rather intently on the diamonds in his pouch and the potential luxury that such small things could afford.
"Just imagine," said Akan, "these are just the ones on the surface. There are sure to more hidden beneath in larger deposits."
"I dare say it's a larger fortune than either of us could ever have dreamed. We shall be prepared to live out the remainder of our sad, little lives in extravagance and convenience, never again forced to lift a hand. How dreadfully wonderful all that will be."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, really. I'm merely thinking aloud."
Akan focused once more at the ground before him, crouching low to rake his fingers across the loose soil for any hard edges, shrugging away the words of his partner as the maddened speech of a man who had gone far too long without sleep.
"How long do you think it may take?"
"For what?" Huxley asked absently.
"To finish this. To get what we need," said his partner.
Huxley, too, crouched above a patch of dirt and thrust his hand within, his fingers undulating for any solid item to grasp. Every time, however, he pulled his hand free with nothing but thick mud clinging to his palm. He stared intently at his spoils, for the moment forgetting that there were such things as diamonds in this world and realizing that he had been literally grasping for his future, and this thought brought a sort of emptiness, the kind often accompanied by a greater desire to do great, wonderful things and live a life worth leading.
"I suppose I would ask the same question, my friend. In all seriousness, I'd imagine we could be done in three days of solid working--four if we manage to raise any suspicions back in the village."
"Four it is," said Akan with a nod. "You always manage to raise suspicions when you're so fervently attempting to bed a woman."
"I'm not."
"I told you, Huxley. I told you that this would be exactly like the Gold Coast."
"Fine, I am."
"You admit it!" Akan threw his thick arms, larger than the legs of average men, in the air, exasperated.
"Would you rather I lie?"
"I'd rather you not do a thing. Leave the poor girl alone. It sounds as if she's been through enough already. Why torment her more when she finally learns that you're nothing but a common thief."
"Common?" Huxley repeated with disgust. "I'd prefer extraordinary. At least uncommon. That says little about yourself, you know."
"Oh, I know. Believe me, I realize my place in this world, and I do nothing to call it into question."
"Fine, then, and for the record, I shall do my best to leave the lovely Ms. Pear alone, no matter how much of a crime that may seem. She's a woman of great faith, after all, and I have no intention of corrupting that."
"Don't tell me you've become a man of faith, as well."
"Hardly. It's the principle of the thing."
"Since when have you had principles?"
"I thought now would be a good time to start."
They stared silently at one another in the few moments that followed before ultimately deciding to head back to the village before anyone became especially curious of their whereabouts. As they walked through the jungle, Akan traced a line across a blank sheet of paper, one that could be imposed atop their in-progress map to provide an accurate trail to the crater, which they hoped would save them some time in subsequent visits. From time to time, he pulled out the actual map he had sketched and examined lovingly, the way a craftsman admires his own skill and enjoys the comfort of a chair he had just built.
"It's a nice map. It may, in fact, be the best I've ever drawn--accurate, with thin lines and plenty of detail. It's a work of art, if I may be so bold to proclaim."
Huxley continued ahead, never taking his eyes away from the thin trail of broken limbs and trodden ground that they had left behind from the initial journey.
"I'm sure it is," he said. "It's a pity no one will ever use it."
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