PoraBora

Chapter Four

Another sale completed, and another barge shipped with fifty-four barrels of oil. Akoni didn't see them off, for there was still much to be done. Oil still stewed in the lower floors. Dozens of syphons were still outside, in the water and oil, working repairs even as soak ships swathed back and forth over the surface, trying to sponge what could be saved. Letters had been sent to every island chief with prices, but barrels had to be readied for their arrival.

As long as there was something to do, the weight of what had happened could be ignored. But as Akoni returned to his chambers, tired from a short night's sleep and unending decisions, he couldn't think of anything else.

Keasau was gone.

While the effects of his syphons floated, unmoving in the oil that had claimed their quarters, Akoni's position was once more his fortune. The fourth floor kept his things out of reach of the flooding and provided him with a better view of the ocean too, as well as the unique pleasure of a balcony.

It had only taken twenty years in the navy.

His room was also unique in that it had only one bed, metal framed and nailed to the floor. It wasn't comfortable, but it sure beat the claustrophobic bunks afforded to the cranesmen, syphons, and soldiers below. He'd ordered them more blankets, sheets, and pillows, and had them sleeping in the halls. Nobody liked it, but he'd tripled orders of food as well, and had bonuses lined up for each of their families.

The room, beyond the bed, was well-furnished for a rig. A crimson carpet gave it color and tired feet something to rest on besides cold metal. A turtle-shell stool, swirling greens mixed across block shapes, was the perfect height to do paperwork on his table, which was built of cocowood and polished with oil to bring out the contrast between dark streaks and lighter body. Metal shelves were nailed into metal walls behind the bed, plain and time-drabbed grey, with brass corners.

Akoni hung his cap and jacket on a hook, not even bothering to empty the pockets (he'd be out again in a few minutes), and left his boots by the door. His rug only maintained its color because he left the oil outside.

His door's frame, like those of the quarters below the oil, was afforded the shape of a reef punched into metal by a practiced artisan. Staghorn antlers, for structure; brain coral, with their twisting maze that brought to mind dunes of sand swept by wind, for quick-thinking; pillars, like fried desserts, for longevity; and, along the top of the door's frame, dragon-eye, discs etched with widening circles and ending in a ring of lashes that lost much of their splendor when they weren't painted, for foresight.

Traits Akoni did not always pride himself on. Walking through them several times a day was meant to have an effect. As a young boy living in his parents' home on Henoue, where blue skies intermittently gave way to dreary clouds for minutes at a time, his bedroom door had foregone staghorn, dragon-eye, and pillars. He had been more concerned with strength, independence, and money. In Henoue, he hadn't just had carvings of carnivorous cup coral, single-organism razor coral, and blade-fire, but the white remains pulled from the sea.

Well, he'd still had a piece of cup coral, a gift from his close friend Chief Miyari, to whom he'd recently sold two-million shells worth of oil, before the god's escape had rendered it in pieces on the floor.

He still hadn't had a chance to clean it up, and might have worried its breaking was an omen if he was the superstitious type. Perhaps it was working with a god that took away the mysticism of it all.

The only other furnishing was his cocowood chest, decorated with brass shapes that created the outline of a manta ray along the lip. He'd never regretted the purchase, costly as it was. It was sturdy and resistant to scuffing and perfect for keeping his parchment and prized letters from his family. It deserved better than a metal cell. So did all of them.