Ocean of Dust (14 page)

Branda's silver dress hung from her shoulders
to her ankles, cinched by a red sash around her tiny waist. Red
ribbons were tied into her hair, matching the tattoo lines on her
forehead. It was a mysterious look, but Lissa liked it.

"Not bad for a pair of galley girls," she
said, and they both giggled. "Who'd have thought we'd ever get to
dress pretty?"

"This so exciting," Branda replied. Seeing
the physiker, she ran across the deck to join him.

Lissa started to follow but overheard a
drifting snippet of conversation from Farq's office. It sounded
like Lyndon behind the closed door.

"I can guarantee thirty-thousand dujins,"
Lyndon said, "even fifty."

She tiptoed closer, her eyes wide. How rich
was his family?

"Are you trying to bribe me?" Farq said.

"No, sir. It's merely a trade. One weighted
in your favor, if I may say so."

She rolled her eyes. He was so full of
himself, trying to sound like his father no doubt, but talking to
Farq like that took guts.

"Is it?" Farq said. From the sound of his
boots on the deck, he was pacing his office.

"Deliver the goods to me, and I release you
from the ship, is that it? You'd better explain yourself clearly,
boy. My patience is thin."

"Y... yes, sir. It works like this-"

"Lissa, come on," the physiker said.

She leaped from the door and hurried across
to him and Branda, where they waited by the gangway. She prayed
Farq hadn't heard her name. Her cheeks became hot, and she glanced
at the physiker. Had he noticed her eavesdropping? They started
down the gangway, and she followed, thinking back to Lyndon's
conversation with Alice in the hold.

Chapter 13 - Festival

Between the wharf and the town, flocks of
shipfolk moved along walkways so narrow in places that only two
people could walk abreast. Lissa almost didn't recognize the
scruffy crew with their beards trimmed and dressed in clean, if
simple clothing. Some of the people from other ships wore elaborate
uniforms made of light and airy material, because it was warm on
the island even after suns-set. The physiker wore a well-tailored
burgundy shirt and tan pants. She and Branda seemed to be the only
women except for the locals. At first, she felt self conscious in
her dress, but thankfully no one seemed to be paying the girls any
attention.

From the plaza, local guides directed them up
the winding streets and stairs, deep into the town. The mountain
formed a dark shape against the star-filled sky. Music carried
above the murmur of the crowds. Soft and flickering lights
illuminated the way, and she studied the crystal bowls filled with
a resin that burned with white flames. Similar bowl lights had been
set in the windows of buildings.

The festival arena was a natural hollow
several hundred feet across. Shops crowded around the
circumference, filling the night air with mouth-watering aromas of
spiced meat, herbs, bread, cakes and baked nuts of all kinds.
Others displayed urns, barrels and stacks of mugs.

She studied a web of rope strung above the
entire arena, from which hung colored globelights and bunches of
fragrant flowers and vines. The globelights had been arranged into
clusters that resembled the constellations.

A pair of the bald, dwarven sailors bumped
into her, and chattered angrily in their own language.

"Sorry," she said, and hurried after the
physiker and Branda, who had descended to one of eight terraces cut
into the sides of the amphitheater.

"This is incredible," she said, fluffing a
plush cushion. She sat with Branda to her left and the physiker to
her right.

A low table stretched along the terrace in
front of them. She scanned the incredible feast set out before her:
plates heaped with meats, cheeses, breads, and bowls of dipping
sauces. There were pitchers of juice and other drinks.

"Help yourself," the physiker said. "The
Imyans treat their guests generously."

He speared a cut of meat with a fork, wrapped
it between an oval unleavened bread and took a large bite. Lissa
grinned at Branda.

Sand covered the flat base of the arena below
them. An orchestra of drums, sigilits and sakdra played softly as
the crowds streamed onto the terraces. The arena probably held
hundreds of people. She looked around her as she ate, anxious not
to miss a thing. At home, the festival was held in Market Street,
by the lake - nothing as elaborate as this.

The music stopped and a flourish of drums
drew the attention of the crowd. A bowl of fire flared up beside
the orchestra, illuminating a woman dressed in simple, white
clothing. She raised her hands and the chatter stilled.

"Welcome travelers," she shouted. Her clear
voice filled the arena but lacked the local accent. "This night is
in honor of you. May trade forever flourish, and flux currents run
strong."

The crowd cheered, clapped and whistled.

"This night, forget your chores, forget your
ships, forget the long journeys ahead of you. Eat, drink and above
all, enjoy."

The woman repeated her welcome in seven
languages. After each, a different section of the audience cheered.
Finally, she sat down.

A line of eight warriors entered from behind
her, spreading two by two across the arena floor. They carried
staves taller than themselves, but instead of armor, they were
bare-chested. At the sound of a single drumbeat, they rushed each
other, weapons swinging. The audience roared. Lissa choked on a
slice of solag pie.

"It's all right," the physiker whispered.
"The idea isn't to hit each other, but to demonstrate skill and
accuracy."

Despite his assurance, she held her breath as
the men assaulted each other with such force that she feared bones
would shatter. The staves clacked loudly, but each man moved to
block the blows, swiveling and ducking with disciplined precision.
They fought tirelessly and without words. Grimacing with each blow,
Lissa let her gaze wander. Pete sat with the rest of the crew,
laughing and stuffing his face with food. There was no sign of
Alice. Hopefully she had been locked up on the ship and forced to
miss the festival. One terrace above, Farq conferred with Lyndon.
She chewed her lip and poured herself more juice.

The crowd erupted in applause while the
warriors marched off. The music started up once more, and she
turned her attention to a troupe of women dressed in furs and
feathers. They launched into a vigorous dance, weaving back and
forth, round in circles and darting between each other's legs. With
raucous whoops, they tumbled from one end to the other. Many in the
audience bounced up and down, and clapped their hands to the
stirring beat.

Lissa scanned the table in front of her,
looking to try something new. The physiker had wandered away, so
she reached for the flask he had been drinking from.

"Not drink that," Branda whispered, and tried
to take it away.

"Why?"

"Hossiw. Strong. Taste nasty."

It smelled sweet and tangy, but it burned as
Lissa swallowed, making her cough. It had a strong, citrus taste,
but warmed her insides. She reclined into the soft cushions and
continued to sip the new drink, mesmerized by the exaggerated yet
graceful movement of the dancers and the rich intricacy of the
music.

When the dancing ended and the applause and
cheering had died down, men from one of the other ships descended
to the stage, carrying drums and sigilits. Huddling in the center
of the arena, they burst into song, their deep bass voices
contrasting the trilling whoops of the previous act. One of them
beat on his drum and then the other instruments joined in.

Lissa refilled her mug and closed her eyes.
The chill breeze on her skin contrasted the burning of the Hossiw
inside her. The melody raced faster and faster. The audience sang
along, whistling and slapping their thighs. She realized her own
feet shuffled to the rhythm, and smiled. After their third song,
the men fell silent, and the crowd leaped to their feet to cheer.
She started to rise, but a wave of heat flooded up into her head
and the arena spun viciously around her. With a long moan, she
collapsed back down.

"What wrong?" Branda said, crouching beside
her.

"You're right, that drink is strong."

The physiker appeared and sniffed the mug.
"Have you been drinking Hossiw all this time?"

She nodded, gave a tiny belch and
grimaced.

"No wonder you feel woozy, you foolish girl.
Branda, tip that out and pour her water."

She lay back and sipped at the water. It
tasted cool and fresh, not like the earthy flavor of the ship's
water. There didn't seem to be any rivers or lakes on the island,
just dust everywhere. Where did the locals get their water? Did
they have water fountains too?

The entertainment continued nonstop, but she
was content to close her eyes and listen to the music and cheering
of the crowd. When the woman announced fire-eaters, her eyes
flicked open and she leaned forward. The arena no longer spun but
her head felt full of mud.

Farq stood and headed upward to the back of
the arena. Lyndon followed him, and they slipped into the crowds
loitering outside the stores. She pushed herself up and squeezed
past Branda to the stairs. Branda started to follow.

"No, stay here," Lissa whispered.

She stumbled on the shallow steps. If she
moved her head too fast, the world blurred. Hordes of onlookers
filled the perimeter walkway. She sucked in deep breaths and
blinked repeatedly, trying to clear her head. The bass from the
drums echoed eerily off the buildings, and suddenly everything
crowded in on her. Needing to escape, she pushed through the throng
to the back. Two narrow lanes descended toward the wharf, each
marked by a trail of flickering bowls. Both lanes were
deserted.

What if they had gone in the other direction,
or circled around? They could have stepped into any building. The
cool breeze washed over her and seemed to push the hot Hossiw from
her body. Deciding they would head for the ship, she headed down
the lane, peering into every black alley she passed.

"It's got to be high quality
sweet-crystals."

She stopped. Lyndon's whiny voice was
unmistakable, coming from the second open door on the right. She
tiptoed into the opposite alley and slipped into the shadows,
pressing close to the wall.

"Are yoor suggesting my crop is boord?" a man
inside said.

"No," Farq replied, "I'm sure your wares are
of excellent quality. Do we have a deal?"

"That's a loorge amoont of sweet-crystals.
I'd prefoor to negotiate this sale at the market tomorrow, but yes,
deal."

"We'll need one sack tomorrow," Farq said.
"I'll send someone for the remainder in two days."

"Very good."

Farq stepped out of the shop with Lyndon at
his heels, and she held her breath and tried to sink further into
the plastered wall.

He turned to Lyndon. "Your demonstration
tomorrow better impress me. No tricks, boy."

"No, sir. It's everything I promised,
sir."

Farq grunted, flicked his thumb into his belt
and started up the stairs. Lyndon turned and seemed to stare right
at her. Her heart pounded and her hands became slick with
sweat.

"Come along," Farq growled, sounding like he
was already halfway to the top.

Lyndon narrowed his eyes, still staring into
her alley, and then turned away. She waited until she could no
longer hear feet on the steps, and then exhaled and rubbed her
forehead. She found herself alone on the streets, and suddenly
missed the safety of the crowd that earlier she had been so eager
to leave. Watching her feet, she climbed the winding stairs.

An arm snaked from the shadows, grabbed her
roughly and yanked her into a side alley. Lyndon's face snarled
inches from her own. His pudgy nose flared and she noticed a pink
spot along its side. She tried to pull away and scanned the
darkness for Farq. Lyndon was alone. Thank the Gods.

"I knew it was you." He spat, and gloopy,
warm saliva dribbled down her cheek. "Why are you spying on us?
What did you hear?"

She rubbed the ikky spit from her face, and
then gave a sharp tug, pulling him against the opposite wall. He
kept his grip on her arm and brought her in so that her body came
up against his. She cried out and squirmed.

"I... I was just taking a walk," she said.
"Let go. I heard Farq and hid, that's all. I'm trying to stay out
of his way."

"You were spying, admit it."

He tugged her into the street, twisting her
arm so that it hurt every time she struggled to break free.

"Someone, help," she called out, and the
image of the two of them in the street at home popped into her
head. There was no one in sight.

"Farq will want to hear about this."

A cruel grin appeared on his face, and he
dragged her up the stairs. She dug in her heels, waited until he
was halfway between steps and then yanked backward with all her
might. He stumbled into her. She slapped him in the face and pushed
him down. He let go of her arm to stop himself from falling, and
she slipped by him and charged down the stairs. He growled and
stomped on the wooden boards as he bounded after her.

At the next intersection, she skidded left
and hurtled, blind along a black alley. A bowl light illuminated a
crossroads, and she turned left, ran a short way and then crouched
in the shadows. A moment later, he arrived at the junction. He
glanced each way, looked directly at her, and continued the
chase.

She stifled a scream, picked up her dress and
sprinted, glad that she had flat-heeled shoes, the wooden boards
creaking under her. She turned right and right again, hoping to
loop back and lose him. She erupted from the alley into a brightly
lit walkway crowded with people browsing the stores.