Ocean of Dust (24 page)

Nib erupted from the hallway and skidded to a
stop just a foot away. He scanned the deck and picked at his
scraggly black beard. She gagged at the stench of his body
odor.

"What're you doing?" Farq asked him.

At the sound of his voice, she flinched and
brushed the door. She froze.

"Nothing, Deck Master, sir," Nib replied. He
dipped his head and returned down the hallway.

She waited several long moments until Farq
returned to his office, and then she sucked in a huge breath and
slipped from her hiding place. She collided with the physiker.

"Why, Lissa, what are you-?"

"Can I speak to you alone, please?" she
whispered and tugged him by his arm toward the infirmary.

He followed, his cane making a staccato
tapping on the deck. He closed the door behind them.

"Whatever's wrong?" he asked. "Why were you
hiding-?"

"Something's going on," she began in a rushed
whisper, squeezing his arm. "Twice now, I've heard the crew
plotting, and I just saw Nib and someone else in that room, you
know the one that has a lock on it, and-"

"Slow down."

"They're up to something."

"Who? What?"

She let go of his arm and plopped down on a
cot bed. "Nib. He's getting others to join him. They talked about
hiding things about the ship."

The physiker studied her over his spectacles,
and then raised a single eyebrow. "I'm sure you misunderstood. I
expect they're planning an illicit game of Bandit or
something."

"Shouldn't we tell the captain?"

He shook his head. "He won't like being
disturbed."

She stared into his stern face. What if he
was a part of Nib's plot? She nibbled her lip. That didn't sound at
all like him. Now she was letting her imagination run wild.

"I'm sure you're right," she replied, and
turned to leave. "I'm sorry I bothered you."

His gaze on her back made her neck hairs
tingle.

Indar was fully above the horizon, and she
was very late. She raced below, expecting a scolding from Cook and
a day full of extra chores.

* * *

Over the next few evenings, she spent most of
her free time down in the ship's hold. The dark, cramped space no
longer frightened her. She had constructed a simple bench out of
loose timber and empty crates. In the dull glow of a cracked
globelight, she practiced the complex calculations from Mampalo's
book. She had returned it to him, but every page was clear in her
mind as if it lay in front of her.

She shook her head and crumpled up another
piece from her precious stack of paper. No matter how many times
she scribbled solutions to the book's formulae, she ended up making
a mistake and had to start over. She had to get it right. She had
to show him. Presented with a reasonable prediction of the ship's
position, the navigator would have to take notice and train her.
She knew that he would, even though he'd never asked her to work on
his old charts.

Only a few pieces of clean paper remained.
Piles of crumpled paper lay around her, both sides filled with
diagrams and numbers scrawled in her tiny handwriting. She closed
her eyes and pictured the navigator’s desk chart. None of her
calculations placed the ship anywhere near his recent marker pins.
What was she missing? What was she doing wrong?

Sweat poured down her face and she licked her
dry mouth. A huge yawn escaped, but she shook her head and started
over on a clean sheet. The scratching of her pen and the gentle
creaking of the timbers were her only distractions.

Once again, she ended up with the same answer
as all the sheets lying around her. Her answer had to be right. It
was the only one that made sense, but that would mean the navigator
had made a mistake. That didn’t sound at all likely.

Taking up her last page, she copied a section
of his chart from memory, and marked her prediction of the ship's
position with a clear 'X'. Beside it, she wrote a trio of numbers
and summarized her calculations in the margin. She slipped it into
her pocket, cracked her fingers, and wiped the sweat from her eyes.
She yawned again. It was the best that she could do. Maybe he could
point out her error.

Gruff voices entered the hold. She slipped
the globelight in her pocket and crouched behind her table. A
scrawny man descended the ladder, holding a globe before him, his
pants torn off at the knee. Another man appeared behind him,
followed by Nib and then Farq. Blinking furiously, she slid quietly
down into the gap between the thick rib-timbers. The balls of paper
lay in plain view but she didn't dare move again.

"Don't take all night." Farq snapped at the
man ahead of him.

Boards creaked underfoot as they made their
way toward the racks of ceramic urns. They walked with their heads
ducked, and their hands grasping the ceiling beams for support.
Farq stopped beside the urns that held the explosive fire powder.
He tapped his boot against a heap of sacks.

"Nib," he snarled. "I said don't stack the
sweet-crystals next to these jars. Weren't you listening?"

He struck Nib across the back of his
head.

"I told 'em not to," Nib grumbled.

"Then do it yourself. Move these sacks
for'ard. If this stuff-" He kicked another sack. "-mixes with
those-" He rapped one of the urns with his knuckles. "-none of us
will live to tell of it."

"Come on then, get to it," Nib said to the
other men.

Three of them hauled the sacks of
sweet-crystals across the hold and stacked them next to the bales
of gilli-grass. Pins and needles ran down her legs after squatting
for so long. She stretched them but her foot scraped against a
piece of wood. Farq turned in her direction. She clenched her hand
over her nose and mouth, and willed herself to become
invisible.

"Keep working," he told the men.

He walked slowly and deliberately toward her,
peering into the darkness. She pressed herself into the gravel
beneath her, hoping that the crates of her desk would provide
cover. Her legs cramped, and she clenched her teeth and fists
against the spasming pain.

Then he stopped.

His breathing sounded deafening, as he stood
right in front of her. Her skin prickled, and her whole body
tensed, waiting for him to kick aside her desk and pounce on
her.

The boards creaked and he walked away. Thank
the Gods.

She breathed again and lifted her head
slowly. He stood by the urns, watching his men with his hands on
his hips, as if she had imagined the whole event. She massaged her
cramped limbs.

"Tell no one about this cargo," he said to
the men. "It's mine now. Obey me without question and I'll see you
share in my glory."

The men chattered excitedly.

"Four bells, then three's the signal. Pass
the word. You know who to tell." He headed for the ladder.

Lissa shivered despite the humid air. She had
to warn someone. Who could she trust? She fidgeted, forcing herself
to wait until the last of the men climbed onto the deck above. At
the sound of wood grinding against wood, she pulled the globelight
from her pocket, ran across the bouncing boards and scrambled up
the ladder. The hatch was sealed. She pushed and slid, then turned
and used her back against it but it remained closed. She climbed
down and sat.

The hatch was the only means in and out of
the hold.

Chapter 21 - Uprising

Think, Lissa. Think.

She brought her knees up to her chest and
steepled her hands on top of them. The globelight barely pushed
back the darkness, getting dimmer all the time. Someone would
eventually come looking for her like they had searched for Alice,
but how long would that take? She couldn't remember the hatch ever
being sealed, which meant Farq wasn't going to allow access until
his plan came to fruition. She had to warn the captain. Surely, he
would protect her from Farq.

She mopped her face with her sleeve and
suppressed a yawn. There had to be another way out, another hatch
she had never discovered.

The gilli-grass lift. Of course.

She jumped up and hurried to the bails of
gilli-grass stacked at the bow. The animals lowed and grunted in
the manger above, accompanied by the dull thuds of their hooves.
She tugged on the ropes that operated the grass lift, but nothing
happened. Then she remembered latching it from above, and threw the
ropes against the bulkhead.

Holding her globe high, she set out to
explore. In the center of the hold stood an enormous stack of cargo
crates that had been loaded aboard at Us-imyan. There was no
ceiling here, just a gaping hole ten paces on a side. The cargo was
piled so high it reached up through the galley deck, the mess deck
and up onto the forward outer deck.

Climbing the ropes and netting that secured
the cargo was easy, but the cargo was so expertly stashed there was
barely a gap between it and the hold ceiling. She clambered around
the stack. There had to be somewhere to squeeze through. Sweat
stung her eyes and she dabbed at them with her sleeves. There was
no way to reach the deck above. Groaning, she started down.

Her foot caught in the net and she slipped,
tumbling backward with a scream. The fall was short and she landed
flat on her back, the gravel crunching beneath her. Her left arm
jarred against a rib-timber. Her globelight flew into the air,
shattering upon impact.

She was plunged into total darkness.

She bent her left elbow and pain lanced along
her arm. Her probing fingers found a ragged splinter of wood
sticking out of her skin. Without thinking, she yanked it out. Warm
blood gushed over her hand. Using her teeth, she tore a strip from
her shirt and wrapped it several times around the wound, knotting
it securely.

Her bare leg touched something cold. Feeling
around, she identified it as one of the dozens of pipes that
carried chilled water throughout the ship. Her cold hands against
her brow refreshed her. If only there was a tap to get rid of the
scratchy dryness in her throat. She froze, remembering the hole in
the floor of the washroom, next to the basin water pipe and the
shower drain. Branda had warned her away from the rotten boards.
Taking off her shoes, she edged forward, tapping her foot against
the pipe, and waving her good arm before her to keep from running
into anything.

Her progress was agonizingly slow. She wanted
to cry for help, she wanted to scream in frustration, but Farq
couldn't find out she was down here. More than once she considered
taking a rest, but shook herself awake. The captain had to be
warned.

Her hand settled on a pair of pipes climbing
a wooden post. She looked up to see a faint circle of grey
illuminating a ragged hole through which the pipes passed. With her
right hand, she tugged at the rough edges, tearing away chunks of
wood. For the more stubborn pieces, she hung from them with all her
weight until they ripped away. When she deemed it wide enough to
squeeze through, she grabbed hold of the base of the sink pedestal
and heaved herself up, clenching her teeth against the pain in her
left arm.

She collapsed, panting on to the washroom
floor, and pulled open the door to let in hallway light. Cooler air
washed over her and she gulped it down. Her eyes drooped, and she
couldn't stop yawning, but she stood, and leaned against the wall
to examine herself. Scratches covered her legs, and the bandage on
her arm had stained a deep crimson. Wincing, she unwrapped it and
let out a huge sigh. She had imagined a gaping wound as deep as the
bone, but it wasn't a large puncture and no longer bled. She washed
it in soapy water and wrapped it up with a clean face towel.

The door pushed inward and banged her on the
shoulder. She spun around and squirmed back against the wall. Had
Farq's men heard her ripping through the floor?

Branda stepped in. The girl's mouth made a
giant 'O' when she saw the state of Lissa. She gasped, looked down
the hallway, and then stepped in and closed the door.

"What happen? Who beat you?" she
whispered.

"No one. I got locked in the hold all night
and had to scramble up through there." Lissa indicated the now huge
hole in the floor.

"Who lock you down there?"

Lissa took her friend by the arm. "Listen.
The ship's in trouble and we have to warn everyone."

"What kind trouble?" Branda's eyes flicked
between Lissa's face and her bandaged arm.

"Remember when I told you about the blue
fire? Farq has stolen the powder urns. He's probably going to use
the weapon and take over the ship-"

"Mutiny!" Branda squealed, and then clapped
her hand over her mouth.

"Sshh. I overheard him and Nib plotting,
and-"

"What you doing in hold?"

"Not now. They're going to seize the ship.
I've no idea how many of them- Ugh, we're wasting time. We have to
warn everyone."

"We tell Cook," Branda said.

"I don't think she'll believe us. I tried to
tell the physiker, and he didn't." Lissa paused and chewed her lip.
"He might be in on it."

"The physiker?" Branda gaped again. "No. He
nice. He never do that."

"I hope not, but we can't risk it. He might
hand us over to Farq. We need to tell the captain."

Branda shook her head. "You never see
captain. Farq not let you. He lock you up again."

"We have to try." Lissa squeezed around
Branda and opened the door. "You hide. I'll figure something
out."

"No," Branda said with such force that Lissa
startled. "You need my help. We go together."

The stars twinkled brightly and Medepo shone
directly overhead with a sickly orange-green glow. Three men
lounged by the winches. They glanced at the girls and then returned
to their conversation.

The ship's bell tolled, and Lissa jumped,
remembering Farq's signal. She held her breath and scanned the
deck, but there was no rush of men charging to take over the ship,
no shouts, and no activity at all. The bell rang two more times in
a leisurely fashion. Third bell. She blew out her breath and
relaxed her shoulders.