Ocean of Dust (8 page)

* * *

The mess deck appeared cavernous compared to
the cramped rooms on the galley deck. The same dull globelights
swung from the overhead beams, sending eerie shadows bouncing
around with each roll of the ship. Didn’t anybody change the
globes? Rows of scheepas had been secured against the walls, along
with bundles of clothing and personal items. A thick layer of grey
dust covered everything.

A couple of men sat alone, mending rope or
sewing clothes, but one table was crowded with six of the crew. She
shook her head. Shouldn't they be working instead of gambling? She
hesitated, remembering their mocking laughter but clenched her
teeth and lurched across the room. She set her plate of cakes down
on a corner of the table, avoiding their cards and coins.

"What's this?" one man said, stroking an
unkempt brown beard, spiked with grey.

"Bem-spice cake," she squeaked. "I baked it.
Cook said to bring it here."

"Nice. Fetch beer too," another man said, and
gestured toward a barrel tied against the side wall. He handed her
a large, wooden flagon.

She walked away. That hadn't been so bad. She
filled the flagon, thinking that the beer looked thin. Her father
used to water the beer when he thought his patrons were too drunk
to notice.

Sinister green eyes hovered at the back of
the room. She’d forgotten all about the creature in the shadows.
The eyes blinked three times and moved toward her, avoiding the
light from the globes. What was that thing? She hurried back to the
men, grimacing as pain stabbed down her bruised leg. She found them
gorging on thick slices of cake, slurping with their mouths open
and spraying crumbs into their beards and all over the table.

"Delicious," brown-beard said, cutting
another slice with a wicked-looking knife. "That Alice girl don't
cook too good."

The other men nodded, and Lissa relaxed,
perching on one end of the bench.

"Wanna play?" the only clean-shaven man
asked. A recent scar ran from his nose to one eye.

She gently rubbed her own puffed-up, black
eye and glanced at the cards on the table. She knew their game.
Back in the inn, a couple of travelers had thought it funny to
watch a ten Sunturn girl play Bandit-cards.

"I don't have money," she said, glancing at
each man. "And Cook will beat me if I don't get back to work."

"Looks like she already did," brown-beard
said. His friends laughed, and Lissa’s cheeks burned.

"What d'ya think, Grad?" Scarface said to
brown-beard.

"It'll be fun, I reckon. Si' down, girl."
Grad laughed, and pushed her back down. "We can handle Cook.
Everyone advance the girl a coupla coins."

She stacked the precious silver coins. Unable
to resist the cake's aroma, she cut a tiny slice and nibbled while
Grad dealt the dirty, dog-eared cards. It wouldn't harm to play a
few games to stop them getting angry. She could lose her - their -
money and get back before Cook came looking.

Everyone had four cards. Scarface started by
turning the top card from the deck face up. A nine. She watched
carefully as they dealt new cards or swapped with cards in their
hands. Then the betting started. Avoiding their stares, she pushed
one of her coins forward, matching the bet. She found it easy to
track what cards the men held, even though the men hurriedly
slapped down cards and snatched up others. Though the beer smelled
stale, it was a huge relief that they weren't sucking that
disgusting brown stuff. After a few hands, she was convinced she
knew every card that all six men held. Her lips spread into a small
smile.

When the youngest man, Seben, replaced his
prince card with a galleon, she yelped and cried "Bandit," then
grabbed the prince and laid her cards face up. The men threw down
their own, grumbled, sniffed, and chugged their beer.

"Lucky beggar," Grad said, his grin full of
gaps in his teeth. His eyes narrowed toward her. "Go on, girl, take
yer loot."

Eyes wide, she glanced around the table. That
was stupid. Winning was bound to make them mad.

Seben rolled his eyes and pushed the pile of
coins in front of her. He scooped up the cards, shuffled, and
dealt. She made sure to lose the next two rounds, but it felt wrong
not to do her best. By betting high, she tried to appear in control
but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Once she had a mental picture
of their cards, she found it impossible to lose, and won the next
four games.

Grad swallowed the last of his beer and eyed
her heap of coins.

"I think we've a robber among us, lads."

She tensed for flight. Grad roared with
laughter, and patted her hand roughly.

"We got beaten fair and square, don't you
worry, girl." He combed his beard with his fingers. "Never seen no
one play like that, 'specially a girl."

She slid her hand forward to scoop up her
money, but he slapped his hand down on top. She squealed and tried
to withdraw her hand, her wide eyes locked with his.

"There's one condition to you walking away
with our money," he said. "Don't tell no one you beat us. Got it?"
His fetid breath was hot on her face. Crumbs and chunks of bread
were mashed into his beard.

She nodded vigorously. "I won't tell, honest
I won't."

He removed his hand, letting her sweep the
coins into her skirt pocket. Her heart pounded. She'd never owned
so much money.

"I've got to go," she said, standing
again.

Something to her left made a loud half growl,
half coughing noise. She turned, and cried out as the pair of
luminous green eyes hurtled out of the darkness toward her.
Stepping away, she backed into a post. The hideous creature came
into view; a bulky, squat body about four feet long, with a
lizard-like head bobbing on the end of a long neck. It bounded
forward on four powerful legs. Again, it growl-coughed, a noise
that seemed to emanate from deep within.

She turned to flee, but Seben grabbed her
arm.

"Don't startle it."

She glanced at him, open-mouthed. Her heart
raced and she cringed when the creature skidded to a stop right in
front of her, as tall as her waist. A serrated-edged horn protruded
from between its eyes. Fangs were visible in its mouth, from which
a dog-like tongue lolled.

"What is it?" she whimpered.

"It's a Zrak," Grad said. He held out his
hand and the tongue slithered out of its mouth and wrapped itself
fully around his forearm. Slime splashed everywhere.

"Yuck! What's it doing?"

"That means he likes me," Grad said. "Hold
out your arm. Slowly."

"Do I have to?" She cringed and scrunched her
face in disgust.

The men laughed.

She gingerly extended her arm. The creature
unfurled its tongue from Grad's arm and coiled it back inside its
mouth. Its eyes flared and it uttered a low, rumbling growl.

"What's it doing now?" she whispered.

Grad stepped in front of the creature and, at
the same time, Seben pushed her behind him.

"That's odd," Grad said. "I never saw it do
that before."

He pushed the creature away from the table
and clapped his hands twice. The Zrak growl-coughed once and
lumbered off into the shadows.

Seben gave a short laugh. "Guess it don't
like girls."

I’d better get out of here before things
get worse.
Making sure her winnings were safely in her pocket,
she headed for the hatch. She doubted the thing could climb a
ladder. Half way, a bell tolled from high above; a deep, ominous
sound: Clang, clang. Clang, clang.

"All hands topside," Grad cried.

The men hurtled up the nearest ladder, out of
sight. She heard the same shout repeated from all over the ship,
accompanied by the sound of boots thundering back and forth on the
main deck above.

Rain poured through the open hatch, mixing
with the dust on the floor and turning it into a grey paste. The
water felt cool and refreshing on her skin. Sweeping wet hair from
her face, she climbed up and out into the open.

Two-dozen men crowded the deck, along with a
handful of boys and officers. Their drenched clothes stuck to their
bodies and plastered their hair to their scalps. Farq stood in the
shelter of his office, barking orders. She looked up, ignoring the
rain lashing over her body, but there were no dark clouds. How was
it raining with both suns shining brightly from a clear sky?

"Outta the way," the white-haired sailor
growled, shoving her to one side. Men scurried around like bugs,
hauling bundles of orange canvas out of lockers, and then coils of
rope that they threaded through eyelets along the edge of the
canvas. Their faces were grim and hardened against the
downpour.

The boys and more athletic men hurtled up the
mast like gowser-monkeys, transferred to the fixed ropes, and
heaved the orange canvas up from the deck. The crew was clearly
well practiced despite their rough appearance. They hauled in
unison until the canvas covered the entire deck. She scratched her
head and watched the frantic activity. Her soggy clothes hung heavy
and she wished she had soapsand to wash them with.

The rain stopped pattering on her skin.
Instead, it made a deafening drumming sound as it hit the canvas
overhead. She combed her hair with her fingers. Had they gone to
such effort just to create a rain shelter? The water gushed through
holes in each corner of the canvas, washing over the side of the
ship.

"Come on," the man with the snake tattoo
said, running past. "If you're gonna get in the way, then
help."

He dragged her to the rail. There, several
men fought to secure a flexible pipe between the hole in the canvas
and a similar hole in the corner of the deck.

"Stop gawping and help," Snake Tattoo
shouted, wrestling with the pipe.

The ship lurched. A torrent of water streamed
down from the canvas. The men slipped and slid in the grey
dust-paste that mired the entire deck. Lissa stamped her foot down
to brace herself, and then yelped to find it was her bad leg. It
buckled, and she fell against the rail and tumbled over the top.
Nothing lay between her and the grey ocean below.

She screamed.

Chapter 8 - Mysteries in the Hold

Lissa flailed out both arms and caught the
railing. It jarred her arm and shoulder. With her legs dangling in
thin air, she grabbed hold with her other arm and wrapped it around
the rail.

"Help!"

Two men glanced her way but returned to
working on the pipe.

Her arms tingled with numbness. Her grip was
slipping on the wet wood. She peered between her legs. Grey dust
and death beckoned. The weight on her bruised arms made her wince
and moan.

When the ship rolled away from her, it gave
her the one chance she needed. Roaring, she tensed every muscle and
kicked with her good leg against the ship's hull. This was it. All
or nothing! Her fingers touched a metal ring set into the deck. She
slipped her hand through it, bringing her other hand up and
interlocked both of them. Panting heavily, she heaved herself
aboard and crawled to safety, collapsing in the middle of the
deck.

"What're you doing, Liss?" Pete asked,
helping her up.

She wrapped her arms around him in a tight
hug.

"What's wrong?" He squirmed.

"I fell off the ship and no one even tried to
help me." She pulled away and faced him, her eyes tearing up.
"These people are horrible. No one cares that I nearly died.”

"I care," he said.

She hugged him again, resting her head on his
shoulder.

"Whoa! Look at that," he said, slipping free
of her grip.

She followed his gaze off the left side of
the ship. A half league away, an enormous column of water erupted
continuously from beneath the dust, rising thousands of feet into
the air before gushing out in all directions and falling as rain.
She wiped her eyes and stared.

"That must be a water fountain," she
muttered.

"A what?"

"Now I get it." She glanced at the canvas
overhead, bowing under the weight of collected water. "The physiker
told me about it. They capture the water and it runs down those
pipes into the ship's water tanks."

"That's clever."

She glared at him. He didn't seem interested
at all. He simply stood and stared into her eyes.

"I wonder what's down there to make the water
shoot so high. Where's all the water coming from?" she
murmured.

"Outta the way, you kids," a burly man
snapped. "I need you, boy, over here."

"See you later," Pete called over his
shoulder, going with the man.

* * *

One morning after breakfast, Branda noted
that the day marked two eight-days since Lissa had come aboard.

"You become old hand like us," she said. Her
huge, lozenge-shaped eyes blinked rapidly.

Lissa put away the bowls she had been drying.
"It's been that long?"

She wasn't sure what to make of Branda's
news. It felt like only yesterday that Lyndon had crashed into her,
changing her life, but so much had happened and she'd met so many
people that whole moon-cycles could have gone by. She recalled
Farq's beating and shivered. Her leg no longer hurt and the
swelling had gone down on her eye, leaving it an ugly shade of
purple.

"…clothes," Cook said, breaking into her
thoughts. "Stop day-dreaming, child. Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, ma'am. Clothes?"

"You've been wearing those same rags day
after day."

Lissa held out her shirt and skirt. The
material was speckled with patches sewn over holes and tears. She
did look a right state. Her cheeks became warm.

"I've been washing them," she replied,
remembering how it had taken several attempts to remove the blood
after Farq’s beating.

"I won't have you running around looking like
that. It's a disgrace. Can you sew?"