Ocean of Dust (6 page)

He slipped her hand into his. Her heart
thumped crazily and she opened her eyes, keeping her gaze on her
feet until the physiker led her away toward the far rail. Behind
them, Farq grunted.

"Thank you, thank you," she whispered,
looking up at his friendly face. "I thought-"

He shushed her by putting a finger to his
mouth, and winked. She exhaled and her whole body relaxed.

"It's going to be a cold night," he said,
staring out into the darkness. "That's a good omen for the
voyage."

"Is that land?" she asked, pointing to an
almost invisible, rugged outline.

"The coast of Jeranda if my direction sense
still functions," he replied.

"How far from home are we?"

"From Pelen?" He puckered his lips. "About
forty or fifty leagues."

"Where are we going?"

"Gobar, I expect."

"Where's that?"

He chuckled and turned to face her. "For a
galley girl you certainly have a lot of questions. Gobar is the
major port city of Goballian."

"I've heard of that. It's a principality
isn't it?"

"I'm impressed."

A young man joined them and asked the
physiker about someone called Nib. Their conversation bored her, so
she put her back to the rail and studied the crew, careful not to
catch Farq's eye. Spotting Pete, she waved. His face lit up and he
scampered over.

"Liss! They said you were sick."

It seemed that gossip travelled fast. "I'm
feeling better, thanks. It's great to see you. How come you didn't
get ocean-sickness like me?"

He looked healthy, too much so considering
her misery, and he didn't seem to be missing home at all.

"Born to be a sailor, I guess." He grinned,
and gave a lopsided shrug.

"What've they got you doing?"

"Scrubbing the deck, mostly." He grimaced.
"But I learned how to coil a rope, or at least I tried. I'm not
very good."

Something disturbed the surface of the dust
below. Some kind of object emerged and bobbed on the gently
undulating waves. It looked to Lissa like a head. She blinked hard,
but there it was, glowing green from within, with bright scarlet
eyes and stubby bumps on the top.

"What's that?" She nudged Pete and
pointed.

He leaned over the rail. "What's what?"

"That."

The face had gone. She chewed her lip. What
creatures lived in an ocean of dry dust? How did they breathe? The
men had said it was impossible to swim in it. She thumbed her eyes
and took a deep breath. She must have imagined the creature. She
shuddered and rubbed the goose bumps from her arms.

Farther out, the dust sparkled purple and
blue, like a trail leading off into the distance. The ship turned
lazily toward the colors.

"Then what's that?" she asked Pete.

He stared and frowned. "I don't see
anything."

"The dust is sparkling all different colors.
Can't you see them? Right there."

She grunted and slapped her hand on the rail,
but the ship had turned far enough that the colored trail was no
longer visible. She turned away in dismay and looked across the
deck. The same colors flowed up the overhanging chains and along
the metal booms, flaring repeatedly. She scanned the faces of the
crew, but no one was reacting, not even Pete. She wanted to scream.
Are you all blind?
The physiker would know. He would
explain.

A gut-wrenching vertigo tore through her
body. The world spun and she clutched the rail. A ball of fire
exploded in her belly and shot down her legs. They cramped. She
cried out and crumpled to the deck, clutching her midriff, trying
desperately to throw up.

Someone, maybe the physiker, helped her back
to the infirmary. Everything was a blur, and people around her
drifted in and out like a dream. By the time she slumped down into
the cot bed, the pain had seeped away, leaving only numbness. Why
weren't Pete and Lyndon getting ill too? What was happening to
her?

* * *

She felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu the
next morning, waking once again in the infirmary. Her whole body
ached, and she felt disgustingly dirty and smelly. She had to find
a bath. Her face sank when she saw Cook sitting with the physiker.
The woman glared back.

"Ah, Lissa," the physiker said. "Would you
like some jalak-leaf brew? It will give you strength." He beckoned
her over.

She joined them, perching on the edge of a
chair in front of Cook. She straightened her skirt and dropped her
hands into her lap.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," she begged. "I couldn't
help getting sick. I've never been on a boat before."

"Ship," Cook and the physiker said in
unison.

"You look well enough to me," Cook said,
slurping from her steaming mug.

"It will take a while for the girl to get her
sea legs," the physiker said.

Cook grunted. "She's no good to me napping in
here."

"Set her light chores, and don't keep her
cooped up in the galley."

"How long before she can work with the
others?"

"A day or two."

Cook grunted again. Lissa stared at her
fingers, and picked at a split nail.

"I'll get well as quick as I can, ma'am," she
squeaked. "I'll work hard, I promise, and I won't be any more
trouble."

"Humph. See that you do, child. I won't put
up with laziness. Always a pleasure to take jalak with you,
Criandor," Cook said, and left the room.

Lissa exhaled noisily and pulled her chair
closer to the physiker.

"You look much better today," he said, and
poured hot, amber liquid into a mug.

She took several sips and boldly helped
herself from a plate of cookies. The jalak brew was mild and sweet,
just as she liked it. She bit off half the cookie and munched it
hungrily.

"The pain is horrible," she mumbled, her
mouth full. "Last night it felt like it was tearing me apart. I
thought I was dying."

"Headache?"

"Yes, but not like a normal one." She gulped
down more jalak and snatched another cookie.

He puckered his lips thoughtfully.
"Explain."

"It came on suddenly, like every part of me
hurt all at once. No nagging warning, like you usually get. I've
never had anything like that before."

"I see," he replied, and stared out the
window. Then he took a fine cloth and slowly and deliberately
cleaned his spectacles. "What did you feel right before it?" His
eyes bored into her.

"My eyesight went funny."

"Oh?" He leaned forward. "Explain."

She nibbled at her lip, knowing that she was
going to sound crazy.

"I just saw... just some colors. Lots of
sparkles."

"Interesting. How long have you been seeing
these colors?"

"Just for a few moments," she said. "That's
all. I don't see them any more."

"I see." There was a long silence during
which he stared into his empty mug. Then he smiled.

"More jalak?"

Chapter 6 - On the Command Deck

Lissa spent most of the day in the infirmary.
It was a quiet and restful day away from the crew slaving on the
open deck outside the door, except for the times when Farq got
upset over something and barked orders. She cringed and glanced
fearfully at the door, praying he wouldn't bring his temper inside.
The physiker had no patients, and the only visitors were two boys
who scampered in at meal times and left a tray of food and drink on
one of the cot beds. She felt ravenous, and devoured the food after
realizing she wasn't going to retch it up again. The physiker
chuckled and declared her fit for work the next day.

She perched on her bed and peered out one of
the smaller windows. Blue sky and grey dust filled her view. She
chewed her lip. Cook was certain to make her life miserable for
taking so much time off. Her spirits sank at the thought of dealing
with Alice too, but Branda seemed very nice. Perhaps she could
spend more time with the little Valinese girl.

Bored of sitting around, she spent the day
cleaning the infirmary. The wretched dust got everywhere and proved
impossible to sweep, until the physiker showed her the trick of
soaking the broom with a chemical that made the dust stick. When
she ordered the hundreds of bottles and jars of medicine and herbs,
he insisted on helping, claiming he had a system. She recognized
many of the contents and asked about the others.

"Do you always ask so many questions?" He
sunk into his chair.

She shrugged. "People say I do. I like to
know what everything is."

"I've never met someone so inquisitive, but
do you remember what you learn?"

"I never forget." She pointed to a jar of
leaves. "Lanaling. Crush with water to relieve pain. That one's
Fak. You said it was a stimulant, whatever that is. Dajech. Four
drops will put you to sleep. Beva-"

He held up a hand. "Stop. I believe you. You
should become a physiker."

"All that yucky blood? No thanks."

He chuckled.

"I've got another question," she said.

"Of course you do."

She turned to the small sink and tap in the
corner. Metal pipes ran through the floor.

"Where does the water come from?"

"Tanks in the hold. Enough to get us from
port to port," he replied.

"But what if you run short? The day’s are so
hot."

"There are other sources, like a water
fountain."

"What's that?" she asked.

He chuckled. "That's a question for another
day. The dust ocean has many secrets. Now, I have work to do. Why
don't you go outside for a bit?"

She had been itching to explore, but was wary
of Farq. She hadn't heard him shouting for a long while now, so
perhaps he had gone below.

The heat from both suns scorched her face
mercilessly and she squinted against the blazing light. Jealously,
she eyed the men's wide-brimmed hats. The deck was alive with
activity. A group of men hung precariously over the side of the
ship, painting the hull, while others sanded or painted the rails.
Still more dangled from ropes high above.

She looked for Pete and frowned when she
spotted the rich brat, Lyndon. The old, white-haired sailor that
had been mean to her the first day appeared to be trying to teach
the boy knots. Lyndon stood with his arms crossed, inspecting his
fingernails. Why had they chosen to abduct him from the street? It
was clear he didn't know how to do real work.

"Oy, you," a tiny voice said from behind
her.

She spun around. A young, scruffy-haired boy
dumped a tray into her hands, on which stood a bulbous pitcher, a
half dozen goblets, small pot of purple powder, spoon, and a plate
of delicious-looking sugared cakes. She breathed the fruity aroma
of gej-juice.

"Cook says take this to the cap'n and
officers," he said. "And she said don't spill nothin'."

"Where-?"

He pointed to the topmost deck two stories
above, then scurried away.

Beads of condensation trickled down the sides
of the pitcher. How had it been chilled? It wouldn't remain that
way, so she started up the steep stairs, grateful that the motion
of the ship was gentle today. What did the captain look like? Was
it the giant with the forked beard?

At the top, a gust of hot, dry air blasted
her face, and her hair streamed out behind her, probably looking a
frightful mess. It certainly felt disgusting to the touch. She had
to find the washroom before going back to work in the galley. She
was now on the tallest point of the ship - only the mast reached
higher - and it afforded her a fantastic view. She turned around
slowly. The Jerandan coastline still lay to the right, but other
than that, all she could see was featureless grey.

The tiny top deck perched over the back of
the ship. A canvas canopy provided shade, its edges flapping
noisily in the wind. In the center stood Farq, talking to an older,
plumper man whose jet-black hair parted into two waist-length
ponytails, even longer than Farq’s. Did ponytails measure rank? Was
that the captain? Her pulse quickened and she pictured Farq with a
whip. Her hands trembled, rattling the goblets. What if she messed
things up?

She silently counted to ten, breathing
deeply, and surveyed the rest of the deck. Four of the other men
were dressed alike in blue uniforms tailored from light, loose
cloth. Their ponytails were short. The last man drew her eye.

He wore a heavy woolen, green robe with a
hood that had to be unbearably hot. She couldn't see his face, but
his hands moved in and out of a fountain of grey dust, gushing up
from a wide bowl atop a pedestal. It looked like he was washing his
hands in the dust. Maybe he was the captain? How was she supposed
to tell?

The sound of feet on the stairs behind her
made her jump, and she fumbled the tray. She gasped as it slipped
from her hands, seemingly in slow motion. Her heart pounded.
Gods, no!

A hand snatched the tray up and juggled it
for a moment. She watched it, wide-eyed, but nothing spilled.

"You need to be more careful," a lilting
voice said.

She turned and faced the young man with the
curly hair and incredible yellow eyes. He winked. She took a step
back, conscious of his closeness and how she must smell, and her
clothes were an awful mess. Her cheeks burned.

"Are you staring?" he asked, his voice
soothing. "Listen, let me teach you how to serve."

He pointed out each man and whispered
instructions about whether they took their gej-juice plain or with
how many spoons of fak.

"Have you got all that?" He looked surprised
when she nodded. "Are you sure? Don't speak, and mind you serve in
order of rank, the order I told you." He winked again and ambled
across to join the other officers.

"Thank you..." she said to his back,
realizing she didn't know his name.

"What are you dawdling for, girl?" Farq
roared. He and the older man glared at her.