Ocean of Dust (5 page)

Alice and Branda were both busy at the
serving tray, heaping steaming oodspal into bowls. With a fearful
glance at Cook, Lissa tucked in her shirt and hurried over to
help.

"Too late," Cook said, and pointed to the
cauldron of oodspal. "Scrub that when they're done."

"Yes, ma'am."

Cook glared and waggled a finger. "When Alice
wakes you, get up at once, child. There's no sleeping in. We start
breakfast at fifth bell. Be on time."

Lissa started to explain that no one had
woken her that morning, but noticed Alice’s icy glare from across
the room. Lissa's eyes narrowed.
So it's going to be like that,
is it?

"Pay attention when I talk to you!"

Cook slapped her and one whole side of
Lissa's face stung. She fell back against a table, her mouth wide
with surprise. Her hand flew to her cheek but there was no
blood.

"I won't put up with daydreaming. Once you've
scrubbed that pot, start baking the bread. Well, don't just stand
there. Clean the ovens." She raised her hand.

Lissa ducked and scampered across the room.
The metal dial on the wall had been turned to off, but the ovens
were still not enough to scald. They were made from azk-ore tiles,
like the ones in the bakery around the corner from her parents’
inn. Tumni, the baker had told her that azk-ore was magical, and
got hot or cold on command. Her mother had said that he was pulling
her leg. Since there were no coals or ashes in the oven, Lissa
suspected the baker had been telling the truth.

Deciding to let them cool, she took a bucket
of soaped water and mopped the hearth. The familiar routine came
easily and the next time she looked up, she was alone in the
galley. Her hands were clammy and she felt sick. Why wouldn't the
ship stop moving like that? Breakfast would have helped, and she
hoped she could scrounge some food when her chores were done.

Fighting the urge to be sick, she crawled
inside the first oven. It was large enough for three girls to fit
inside, but not tall enough to stand in. She shuffled about,
careful not to rest her knees against the hot tiles for too long.
Using a stiff brush, she scrubbed hard at the burnt on food and
grease.

It took ages to clean both ovens, and her
back and legs ached and cramped. When she crawled out, she felt
sick to her stomach, and pain stabbed at her head. She slumped
against the wall, her hands clamped to her head. Closing her eyes
made it worse. She sucked in deep breaths, but the air was hot and
sticky. It felt like soup in her lungs. Sweat poured from her brow.
The room spun. She needed fresh air, but didn't dare leave while
the cauldron was still dirty. Gritting her teeth, she blinked and
tried to ignore her thumping head and churning stomach.

She stumbled across to the cauldron. A slimy
skin had formed over the cold oodspal. Her stomach heaved, and she
threw up last night's dinner into the pot. The sight and stench of
it made her vomit again. She stuck out her tongue. The taste in her
mouth was vile. She gulped down water but it too ended up in the
pot. Groaning, she collapsed to the floor. Her head felt ready to
explode – pain sliced through her skull.

"Please, Anjan," she moaned in prayer, "stop
the pain. Stop punishing me."

"Talk to me, girl. Can you hear me?" someone
asked over the endless sound of her coughing up nothing. The voice
seemed distant, like a dream.

Hands shook her and she cried out. Opening
her eyes, it took a moment to realize she was lying on the floor,
staring at someone's bare feet.

"Make it stop," she murmured.

"What's she going on about?"

"Look at her, Bardas. She's turned
green."

"Aye," Bardas said, and the feet moved.
"She's sick and no mistake. Take 'er to the physiker.”

She had no strength left to struggle as hands
tightened around her body. The man carried her out of the galley
and along the hallway. Wooden beams and globelights flitted in and
out of view as she stared at the ceiling. He hoisted her roughly to
the deck above. Every movement shot pain through her head. She
fought to breathe, and her head slumped one way, then the
other.

A physiker would make all her pains go away.
Then she recalled the herb merchant at the market who doubled as a
physiker, remembered his drunken movement and rusty knives.

"No, not the knives," she cried, clawing
weakly at the man that carried her. "I don't want to die!"

Chapter 5 - The Physiker

Lissa felt herself lowered on to a soft
surface. The air was filled with the stench of bleach and other
chemicals. A grey-haired man leaned over her. Spectacles hung from
the tip of his nose but he peered over them at her. Though
wrinkled, his face bore no scars or tattoos and a thin smile spread
across his cracked lips.

"So you're the new girl," he said. "What's
your name?"

"Lissa."

He gently pulled the sweat-matted hair from
her face and applied a cool, damp cloth. She sighed and tried to
relax against the pulsing pain in her head and cramps in her
stomach.

"I'm Criandor, the ship's physiker. Stay
still, I need to give you some medicine."

Her gaze flicked across his body and settled
on his hands. There was no sign of any knives and he didn't appear
drunk, but he carried a small metal tube with a wicked-looking
needle at one end.

She squirmed away. "What's that?"

"It won't hurt you, but it'll burn for a
little bit so don't pull away. Understand?"

She nodded. He placed the needle against her
forearm, halfway between her wrist and elbow, and she tensed. There
was a sharp prick as the needle slipped into her skin, followed by
an immediate burning sensation. She fought the urge to yank her arm
away.

"Very good," he said, and withdrew the
needle. A bead of blood oozed from the hole until he tied a bandage
around her arm. The heat of the medicine flowed up her arm and into
her body. Her belly felt like she had downed a mug of hot oglon
milk.

"All done. You'll feel sleepy. Don't fight
it. You need the rest." He squeezed her hand and walked away.

She had no intention of fighting sleep, and
willed the medicine to work faster. As she lay, she marveled at
such swift attention being given to a galley girl. Back home, she
would have lain in bed for days before her mother would seek
outside intervention. The ship was nothing like she had
imagined.

* * *

She jerked her eyes open, not remembering
falling asleep. The suns-light streaming through the window above
her bed shone at a different angle. She'd slept the entire day. Her
head no longer felt like it was being pummeled by rocks, and she
felt much better after such a long nap. Cautiously, she rolled onto
her side to face the room. Her stomach growled, but she didn't feel
like throwing up.

The room had several small windows along both
sides, and floor to ceiling windows in the back wall, which made
the room surprisingly spacious and airy. She almost forgot she was
on a ship. There were three other cot beds similar to one on which
she lay, and a couple of those swinging canvas beds hung in one
corner. Branda had called them scheepas. The physiker sat at one of
two tables placed in the light of the large windows, both covered
with a mess of flasks, boxes, books and other items whose purpose
she couldn't even guess at. Stacks of books lay around his feet
also. She coughed.

He peered over his spectacles at her, and
then inserted a cloth bookmark into his book, and snapped it shut.
He limped across the room, favoring his right leg.

"How do you feel?" he asked, and placed his
hand on her forehead.

"So much better."

He poured water from a pitcher and offered
her the mug.

"Sip, don't gulp it down. By all means
stretch your legs around the room, but I want you to get more
rest."

"Thank you, sir," she said. "I've never felt
so ill in all my life. Did I eat something bad?"

"Ocean-sickness. It's common the first day or
two out from land. Nothing to worry about. You'll be fit and well
tomorrow or the next day."

She looked past him, trying to see out the
rear windows. The ship had left Pelen? It didn't appear to have had
any sails, but even dozens of men couldn't row such a huge craft.
All that lay beyond the windows was an endless expanse of grey. Now
there was no hope of escape. This was her new home.

She rose out of bed, looking for her
shoes.

"I can't stay here for two days. I have to
get back to the kitch- the galley, or Cook will beat me, and make
me do even more chores, and then Alice'll hate me all the more for
lying around in here while she's working, and... I have to go," she
spluttered in one long breath.

"Oh no you don’t." He pushed her back down
into the cot.

"No one's going to beat you. I've already
informed Madam Margaret that you're sick. She's to give you light
duties until you get well." He winked at her. "She can't argue with
me, so don't worry. Rest."

He propped his spectacles further up his nose
and limped away to his desk.

* * *

When she next awoke, a magnificent golden
glow bathed the room. Eldrar, the largest sun, hung on the horizon.
The physiker was nowhere to be seen.

The door crashed back on its hinges and a
scrawny, saggy-faced sailor stumbled in clutching a bloody rag to
his arm. Lissa shot up and cowered against the wall. The man's
deep-set, black eyes darted around the room before settling on
her.

"Where's that damned physiker?" he growled,
and sat on the bed opposite.

She stared wide-eyed at his blood splattering
on the floor.

He scowled at her. "Doesn't he know I'm
bleeding to death 'ere?"

The fresh blood made bile rise in her throat.
There was so much of it. Was he going to bleed to death in front of
her?

"I'll go find him for you." She scurried out
the door and pulled it shut behind her.

The chilly evening breeze made her shiver and
the fine hairs on her arms stood up. She wrapped her arms about
herself. Edap, one of the smaller moons, twinkled brightly in the
darkening sky. Other stars became visible. It was a gorgeously
clear evening.

After being alone all day, the deck felt
crowded. The crew clustered together smoking clay pipes, washing or
darning clothes. Farq stood by the left rail - there was no
mistaking his ponytail. She slipped into darkness behind a post
supporting the walkway above, and crouched low. Would he whip her
for being on deck?

Beside Farq towered the largest man she had
ever seen, taller even than the thug from the alley. He towered
above Farq.
By the Gods, is that the captain?
His head was
bald except for a bushy beard tied into two bunches by purple
ribbons, and his bulging arms were as thick as a man's body.

From eye-corner, she spotted the physiker
hurrying toward his infirmary. She winced, picturing him sewing the
gash in the man's arm, with blood gushing everywhere. She couldn't
go back inside and watch that. Instead, she slipped from her hiding
place and followed two men as they carried sloshing buckets across
the open deck.

The ship rolled hard to one side, and with a
gasp, she tumbled behind an equipment locker, snatching a rope to
break her fall. It seemed like a good place to hole up for a while
and enjoy the fresh air. Eldrar had sunk into the ocean of dust
that stretched away into the night. Globelights sparked into life,
swinging from ropes that crisscrossed the open deck. A string of
them ran up to the top of the sail-less mast, and another set up to
the bells two stories above the infirmary. They looked pretty, like
Festival.

She sat on the right side of the ship, facing
forward. A spidery metal arm protruded straight out for thirty or
forty feet, and she shifted to get a better look. Chains ran along
it, rattling as the ship moved. At the end of the metal boom, the
chains looped around a pulley and dropped into the dust ocean. The
whole thing looked like a fishing rod made for the Gods.

Sparks flickered along it and startled her.
They seemed to erupt from the surface of the dust, and then spiral
along the chain to a bewildering collection of machines and winches
set on to the roof of Farq's office. She shook her head,
bewildered, then realized the metal arm had been shelved above the
wooden rail when she had come onboard yesterday. Was there a
duplicate on the other side? She peeked around the locker, nodded
and chewed her lip. Did this have something to do with moving the
ship? She slipped her head through the rail. Even in the dark, she
could see the dust streaming backwards along the hull.
So
fast.

Two hands grabbed her shoulders and yanked
her out from behind the locker. She squealed and struggled, trying
to kick the man as he held her high off the ground.

"Whatcha doing hiding down there?" a gruff
voice said.

She cringed, eye to eye with the man with the
snake tattoo.

"I... I was just getting some fresh air."

One of his eyes bulged and she looked away.
What if it popped out of its socket?

"Up to no good, I'll bet. Back to Cook with
you," he said, breathing beer-breath all over her.

He set her down and marched her toward the
nearest hatch. The crew glared and scowled as she passed, then
backed away as Farq stepped forward. Her heart raced and her palms
sweated despite the chill air.

"What's going on here?" Farq asked, impaling
her with an icy stare.

She opened her mouth to explain, and then
clamped it shut, remembering his lecture the day before. She slunk
behind the snake-tattooed man, and scrunched her eyes closed. He
was going to whip her!

"She's following my orders," the physiker
said, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Good evening, Deck
Master. I prescribed fresh air, but I'll make sure she doesn't get
underfoot."