Ocean of Dust

by Graeme Ing

  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.

  The tray clattered in her hands. She took a deep breath, and then hurried over. Even Alice stabbing her with a fork was better than this ordeal. Remembering to breathe, she curtseyed awkwardly, placed the tray on a side table and served.

  The older man with two ponytails turned out to be the captain. She snatched glances at him, surprised that he didn't look as fierce as Farq. She gave him and Farq the largest cakes. Sweating with terror, she was glad for the shade that the awning provided. The remaining men were less intimidating. Her heart slowed and her hands finally stopped trembling. She approached the green-robed man with the last goblet.

  His attention was firmly fixed on the fountain of dust in the bowl. What was he doing? He scooped handfuls of dust then let it drain through his fingers and wash across the back of his scabbed and wrinkled hands. When he didn't acknowledge her, she coughed.

  "What?" he snapped without looking up. "What?"

  "G-gej-juice, sir." She held out a goblet and plate.

  "Not now. Leave it. Go."

  She jumped backward into the table behind him, and put down his refreshments. They clacked on the glass top. She leaned forward to see what lay below. It was some kind of map, but not like any of the ones her uncle had showed her. Instead of winding roads, rivers, carefully drawn mountains and towns, this was just a mess of crisscrossed lines and numbers.

  Farq and the captain paced back and forth. It wouldn't do to get under their feet, so she scurried across to the rail at the very rear of the ship. Once there, she couldn't resist leaning over and looking down.

  A churning wake trailed behind the ship. Purple and blue sparks flickered and glinted in the suns-light. She snapped her eyes closed, wanting them to be a trick of the late afternoon light. When she looked, the colors still sparkled on the surface of the dust. She combed her hair with her fingers, mesmerized.

  A circular shape broke the surface. She leaned further over the rail, immediately recognizing the creature with the four stumps on its head. A spiny crest lay half submerged, and she wondered how large the creature was. It swam effortlessly, keeping pace with the ship. The head rotated and piercing red eyes popped open, looking up at her. She squealed, forced to wrap her hands around the rail to avoid tumbling over. Heart pounding, she stepped safel
y back. The creature's gaze seemed to pierce right through her. Did it just blink? She shivered. The head sank abruptly, and she ran up and down the rail searching for it.

  "What's this?" a rough voice croaked. "Who left this on my chart?"

  She whirled around, grimacing, startled to discover every one of the officers glaring at her.

  "Why, by the fins of Totalamon, is that girl standing around on my command deck?" the captain shouted.

  "Girl!" Farq stabbed his finger in her direction, then at the deck at his feet, his face purple.

  She froze, mouth agape, her heart threatening to explode from her chest. He growled and stormed toward her.

  Her mind begged her to flee, but her body failed to respond. Only when his menacing shadow fell across her, did she finally escape her paralysis. Her legs crumpled and she collapsed to the deck, scrambling frantically away, fingers clawing at the deck. Feeling the wooden rail at her back with no way to escape, she wailed.

  "Please, sir. I was waiting... to take them away. The empty goblets. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be in the way-"

  "Shut up!"

  His slap spun her head hard to one side, cracking it against the rail post. She screamed. Her head was on fire. Two blurry Farq's towered over her.

  "Didn't you listen to a word I said?" he roared. "Or are you too stupid to obey?"

  He backhanded her across the mouth, his ring slicing into her lip. She crashed flat on the deck, coughing and gagging on blood.

  "Never disobey me."

  Whimpering, she cowered, tensed for the next blow. His leg rose, and she wrapped her arms about her bleeding face. His boot connected with her thigh. Sharp pain raced down her leg, followed by agonizing pins and needles. All sound faded, and her vision narrowed. A voice droned at her from the end of a long, dark tunnel. In the other direction lay peace and calm, but the voice wouldn't let her go there. Why wouldn't it leave her alone?

  Then sound exploded in her ears and suns-light blinded her. She heard arguing voices, a flapping noise, and the deep bong of a bell. Nothing made sense, until her eyes focused on Farq's face, inches from her own.

  "Get up, you worthless girl."

  She couldn't move. Every part of her hurt.

  Arms grabbed her and heaved her to her feet. When she put weight on her left leg it gave way and she cried out. They dragged her across the deck and bounced her down step after bone-jarring step, across the main deck, and onto the steep ladder belowdecks. She tumbled down the ladder, crashed to the floor, and passed out.

  * * *

  She opened one eye and groaned. The other didn't want to work. She gently touched the skin around it, finding it puffy and sore. Every muscle ached, especially her jaw and left leg. A bandage had been wrapped across her cheek, across the top of her head, and under her chin. She smelled pungent vegetables instead of chemicals and lay in her scheepa, rocking gently side to side.

  An attempt to get up resulted in her leg giving way. Howling, she fell to the floor in a heap, then slapped the deck. I hate this place! Everything she did went wrong or ended up with her being punished. It wasn't fair.

  Memories of home flooded back. Her mother had worked her hard but had never been cruel. While her father had been meaner, he'd never hit her. His raised voice had been enough for her to do as she was told. All of that was gone. She had to get off the ship, but how?

  Cook appeared in the doorway, a globelight in her hand. Lissa cowered against a post.

  "Get up, child," the old woman said in a quiet voice. "Sit up there."

  Lissa hopped on her good leg across to a crate and perched on the edge. She peered at Cook with one eye.

  "You're a stupid, careless girl. Farq has killed men with his bare hands. He'll do worse than give you a black eye next time. Can't you just do as you're told for once?" She clutched Lissa's jaw with a bony hand and scrutinized her face and eye.

  Lissa sniffed. She didn't know what to say.

  "You'll live. Let this be a lesson to you. Now go clean and sharpen all the knives, and mind you put 'em back in the right place. I'll be along to check. If you do it properly, you can eat supper. And, Gods, you smell, girl. I'll have Branda show you the showers in the morning."

  "Yes, ma'am," Lissa said. That, at least, was something to look forward to.

  It seemed to take forever for her to limp into the galley. She was glad that her leg wasn't broken. Having to spend more time in the infirmary was certain to get her another beating. The room was empty. She heaved a sigh of relief, not yet ready to deal with Alice again. Determined to do something right, she pulled out every item of cutlery, laying them neatly on the table with the most light. Her swollen eye itched, but she tried to put it out of her mind and concentrate. First, she scrubbed the rust off each knife, and then drew it through the sharpener a dozen times. Once she could effortlessly slice a hoobin-beet, she moved on to the next.

  At the end, she arranged the knives neatly in their drawers, ordering them by size. There was no sign of Cook so she fixed herself a plate of bread crusts, cold jab-bird meat and cheese. She chewed delicately and slowly, her jaw aching with every bite, but she was starving, so she softened her sandwiches in water. The soggy pieces tasted awful, but her full belly felt good.

  She yawned, and then groaned with the pain in her cheek. She massaged it. Her leg throbbed, but she didn't dare leave until Cook returned. To pass the time, she peered into every drawer and cupboard, memorizing its contents. That done, she expanded her search into the small room next door, barely large enough for a work surface and a small oven. In a corner stood a tall urn for making jalak-brew and the walls were lined with shelf upon shelf of neatly labeled containers. She identified assorted sweet spices, jalak leaves of all types, dried fruits, syrups, and sweet jams.

  "What are you doing?" Cook asked from the doorway, making her jump.

  "Just looking, ma'am, nothing more. Trying to find out where everything is."

  The woman's gaze flitted around the room and then at Lissa's hands and pockets.

  "I told you to sharpen the knives."

  "I did, ma'am."

  "Already? Then you can't have done a good job. I won't tolerate skimping, child."

  "I didn't skimp, ma'am."

  "Then let's take a look." The woman stomped next door into the galley.

  Lissa limped after her and waited patiently while Cook opened a drawer and picked out a vegetable knife. She ran a finger along its shiny, sharp blade, and then frowned at Lissa. Putting it down, she reached for another. She gave a snort and moved to the next drawer.

  "Hmph. Not bad."

  Her gaze shifted from Lissa to the doorway, where Alice stood scowling at Lissa, lips in a wide pout.

  Lissa's shoulders sagged and she uttered an almost inaudible growl. How much had Alice overheard? She sighed, no longer enjoying the pride in a job well done. Now Alice would hate her even more.

  Chapter 7 - Bandit

  A gentle shaking woke Lissa the next morning, and she opened one eye to see Branda's beaming face. Her return smile morphed into a yawn, which turned into a yelp when her aching jaw twinged.

  "Chilled water, drink," Branda whispered and offered a mug.

  Lissa sipped, and Branda peered at her swollen eye in the dim, pre-dawn light. Branda winced.

  "You look awful. You work today?"

  Lissa nodded, took another long swallow, and climbed carefully out of her scheepa. She could barely see out of her bad eye. It throbbed and itched.

  "The physiker said no," she replied. "But to be honest, I'd prefer not to have Cook mad at me. I'm sure I can do something. At least I don't feel sick."

  Branda wrinkled her nose and giggled.

  "You need wash," she said. "Come."

  "Oh, yes," Lissa replied, clawing her matted, gross hair from her face.

  She followed Branda down the hallway, around the mast that penetrated the floor and continued up through the ceiling, and toward the front of the ship, where the hull curved inward. A deafeni
ng scraping sound could be heard from the deck above, and Branda explained that the men cleared their scheepas and set up the tables and benches every morning. The hallway ended in a wide pair of doors with a mess of dried grass poking underneath. An oglon bellowed from behind the doors and Lissa jumped.

  "The manger," Branda said. "Where animals are. I show you later."

  She stopped before a door so tiny that Lissa had mistaken it for a cupboard. The washroom resembled a tiny cell, barely large enough for them both. Branda turned on a globelight and showed Lissa how to stand in a low, wooden tub, and tug on an overhead chain for water.

  "Only two pulls. One to soak, one to rinse. Half bell to breakfast." She slipped out and closed the door.

  Lissa marveled at the washing device. It was like nothing she had ever seen. She peeled off her clothes, making a face at her sweaty, smelly body. A tug on the chain delivered a deluge of freezing water, making her yelp and shiver. She applied soapsand liberally, scrubbing her skin until it turned red. Ugly black and purple bruises covered her legs and her right arm. She spent extra time rubbing her hair, massaging her scalp, and teasing it out with a metal comb. She winced at every snag, groaning and cursing, but didn't stop until it hung heavy down her back. Then she pulled the chain and rinsed. Her whole body relaxed. So much better. The towel was thin and scratchy. As she dried herself, she glanced at her heap of dirty clothes. If only she had another set. Perhaps she could wash them before bed.

  Cook blinked in surprise when she limped into the galley a few moments after the bell rang for the fifth time.

  "Hmph," she grunted. "You're lucky. The physiker ordered light duties." She paused a moment and then asked, “You can bake you say?"

  Lissa nodded.

  "Better than Alice, I hope. Go next door and show me. I'll be along shortly to taste your efforts."

  This was something she could do, so Lissa limped into the small room that adjoined the galley, excited to impress. She scanned the pots of spices and other ingredients, and licked her lips. What should she make? Bem-spice cakes had always been a favorite, and she sighed at the memory of baking them with her mother. Her eyes sparkled. Yes, the secret ingredient. Perfect!