by Graeme Ing
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 squ
eeze 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.
She dragged Branda up the aft stairs. The men watched them but made no move to intercept.
"Let's try the navigator," Lissa said.
Could she trust him? His dislike for her was obvious, but he seemed to take his responsibility for the ship's safety seriously. Surely, he wouldn't get involved with Farq? The deck master did respect him though, she'd seen that. She paused outside his cabin door. How much time did they have? There wasn't another avenue open to her. She sucked in a deep breath, blinked her tired eyes, and pushed the door open without knocking.
He wasn't inside. Charts and books lay strewn across the desk, and the drapes billowed at the rear windows. His cabin looked as it always did.
"What now?" Branda asked, peering around the room.
"We've got to find the captain."
"In middle of night? What if nothing happen today? What if Farq wait? We may have more time than you worry."
Lissa chewed her lip and scratched a blob of dried food from the chart on the desk.
"That's a thought but my gut says we don't have time to waste. No, we have to find the captain."
"What if Farq with him?"
"I don't know." Lissa paused. "I'll think of something."
"What if he not listen to us? He get angry."
Lissa slapped her hand on the desk. "I don't know. I don't have the answers, but we have to try."
Turning to leave, she remembered the map she had drawn in the hold, and removed it from her pocket. She had planned to hand it to the navigator and beg him to explain where she had gone wrong. After a moment’s hesitation she placed it in the center of his desk, weighed down by his map ruler. She hoped it would be safer here.
The bell tolled four times in rapid succession. The pattern was hurried, not planned, and the tone of the bell sounded dire and alarming.
"No!" Lissa cried.
After a pause, the bell rang three more times.
Lissa rushed out onto the narrow walkway. "We've got to find the captain, right now."
Boot steps and shouting came from the command deck above.
"What's the meaning of this?" the captain said. "Who ordered you to ring that sequence?"
"Quickly," Lissa cried, and sprinted for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Behind her, Branda tripped. Lissa ran back, hauled her friend to her feet and continued up.
"Farq ordered it, sir," Seben said.
The young sailor quivered beside the wooden bell housing. The captain leaned on the rail and peered down at the main deck.
"Farq!" he shouted. "Pass the word for Farq."
Lissa surged upward and ran out on to the command deck.
"What're you doing, girl?" the captain yelled. "Now isn't the time for drinks."
"Captain," she began, "Farq-"
"Silence. Remove her."
Two men sprang toward her.
"Captain, please," she cried. "The ship's in danger. Farq-"
Branda bumped into her from behind. The captain's men were only a step away. Lissa turned and pushed Branda back down the stairs.
"Run," she said.
Farq charged up the stairs with a long knife in each hand. Four men followed, brandishing polearms and scowling. She squealed.
"You again," Farq roared.
The captain's men reached for her. She ducked and hurtled down the stairs after Branda. "Into the cabins," she told her.
Farq and his men reached the landing before them, cutting off their escape route. His jaw was set, his nose flared and his eyes wide and cold. Her heart pounded and her gaze darted around, looking for a way out. Boots thundered on the stairs above her. Branda froze. They were trapped in the middle.
“Now I have you,” Farq snarled.
Lissa jumped up and grabbed hold of a rope running above, using its slack to pull it down. Two metal eyelets hung on it, each with a wooden rod acting as a handle.
"Branda, onto the railing," she cried and pushed her free hand under Branda's butt, pushing her toward the low railing. "Get up there."
Branda squirmed up, teetering on the edge. Lissa thrust one of the wooden rods into her hand.
"Take it. Quickly. Now jump."
Branda sat frozen atop the railing, staring wide-eyed at the deck far below.
"Go," Lissa screamed, and shoved her, sending her zipping down the rope.
Farq stormed up the stairs, clashing his knife blades together. His men cheered and urged him on.
One of the men in the stairs above her snaked an arm around her waist. She twisted aside and drove her knee into his leg. It buckled and he crashed onto the step, losing his grip on her. She stamped on his body and used it to climb onto the railing, sliding her butt along it just as Farq's knife sliced through her shirt, its tip scratching across her back. The railing collapsed with a loud rip of splitting wood.
Then she flew through the air, twelve feet above the deck, about to plunge to her death. Shrieking, she stretched her arms above her and wrapped her fingers
around the second rod, right before it slid out of reach. The rope whined as she hurtled down it, one-handed, the deck rushing up to meet her.
"Bring her to me," Farq yelled. "You two, follow me. After the captain."
Branda pulled her aside before she smashed into the wall of Farq's office. Lissa let go and dropped three feet to the floor, knocked off her feet by a handful of men pouring out of a hatchway. Roaring and howling, the men charged another group, both sides drawing wicked-looking swords from their belts. Who was friend and who was foe? She rolled out of their way.
Another fight broke out on the command deck. The sound of clashing blades drowned out the shouting. The captain fought two of his own crewmembers, his sword stabbing and slashing rapidly. Nib pinned the navigator to the upper rail, and held an axe-bladed polearm to his throat.
Lissa squirmed into a corner, clinging to Branda, while the battle raged in front of them. It was insane to see men who lived and worked together, now trying to viciously stab each other. She clapped her hands to her ears and watched, as the whole ship seemed to be at war. Carg, a sickly old sailor, fell to the deck at her feet, and a dark stain spread across his tunic. He pressed both hands to his belly, but blood oozed out of his mouth and matted his beard. Her heart thumped in her ears as she gazed into his pained eyes. They turned lifeless when he rattled his last breath and died. She buried her face, her whole body shaking.
The crew chief appeared and yanked them both, one-handed, from their hiding place. He carried a monstrous, curved sword, but Lissa could only see the blood that dripped from its tip. She backed away, pushing Branda behind her.
"Stop the fight. Please, stop them," she shouted above the clamor of battle.
"Go below," he said, no emotion in his voice.
"You help captain?" Branda begged.
"Go below." He pushed them roughly toward the hatch.
The mess deck was in turmoil. Men hurled benches at each other, and buckets shattered on top of heads. Two men threw another headfirst into a post. He sprawled, unmoving on the floor.