by Graeme Ing
Breathe. Trust us.
She couldn't, she mustn't. She had done so at Us-imyan and lived, but every part of her urged her to fight it or choke to death. The creature dragged her deeper.
I can't.
Help her. The whisper sounded different. It had always been a rasping, authoritative voice, but this one was gentler, quieter. Her muscles relaxed and she became drowsy. Nothing could harm her now. She took a breath and dry dust flowed down her throat and into her lungs. Her body spasmed but then she accepted how easy it was to breathe normally. A resistance against her body suggested she was being pulled at high speed. She calmed her mind and listened to the gentle humming of the voices.
You drugged me last time? When you saved me from the rain?
Your species has lived outside of the substance of life for a very long time. We do this to make it easier for you, the gentle whispering voice said.
We are at your nest that travels, the rasping voice said.
An image popped into her head of an elongated wooden bowl with odd protrusions, and tiny creatures crawling around inside and out. Was this how they saw the ship?
The creature ejected her from the ocean and she opened her eyes to see herself flying through the air. She coughed up dust, unable to cry out, and her limbs flailed until she crashed onto the ledge outside the infirmary windows, sliding into a heap in the corner. She wrapped one arm around the railing, and covered her mouth to muffle her hacking cough.
Thank you. There was no reply.
She lay there on her stomach, spitting dust from her lungs and blowing it from her nose. Gentle waves lapped against the hull below her but there was no sign of the Klynaks. The ship was quiet except for creaking timbers and bored voices chattering on the command deck high above. A single light shone from the infirmary, so she peered cautiously through the window. A man lay on one of the cots. He looked dead until she spotted the barest movement of his chest. There was no sign of the physiker. In any case, it was the navigator that she wanted to see. If his letter was any guide, he could be trusted.
The rear of the ship was ridged with wooden beams and handholds, set out like a gigantic ladder. Quietly, she climbed up to the navigator’s cabin and slipped over the rail onto his balcony. Closed drapes flapped in the open doorway. Hearing voices inside, she crouched low.
"I didn't ask for this." The navigator sounded irritated.
"Cook say you must eat, sir," Branda said.
Lissa gasped, then clapped both hands over her mouth, holding her breath. Branda was safe! She longed to rush inside, hug her friend and tell how much she had missed her. Poor Branda probably thought that she was dead. She rubbed tears from her eyes, also pulling away clots of dust from her eyes and nostrils.
"Set it there, and pour me some juice," he said.
Lissa's mouth watered at the thought of fresh juice. She could drink a whole pitcher. How it would soothe her dry, scratchy throat. All she had to do was slip inside, and Branda would fetch whatever food and drink she desired. No, that would put Branda in danger. If she knew Lissa was alive, Farq would find out and beat Branda senseless. Lissa gritted her teeth. Branda might as well be a hundred leagues away.
He made a spluttering noise. "Didn't anyone salt this?"
Branda squeaked. "I run back and get some."
"Forget it. Leave now."
The door closed, but Lissa made herself wait before she stepped into the room, coughing quietly to announce her arrival. The navigator spun around in his chair, his fork raised. His eyes grew large and the veins on his forehead pulsed.
"What are you doing here?" He glanced past her. "Where's the captain?"
"He's on the island. I came back alone." She perched on the couch and eyed the pitcher of juice. "Jancid and Coy are with him. Farq destroyed our boat. Grad and Sawall got killed by the plant thing, and-"
"Stop babbling, girl. You're here by yourself you say?"
She nodded. "The others are hiding in a cave from Farq and-"
"How did you get on board?"
She paused, remembering the captain's reaction. "Is that important?"
"Of course it is. I need to know why you are sneaking in my window and not the captain."
"You won't believe me."
"Just tell me the truth."
"The Klynaks brought me," she murmured, and her shoulders slumped.
"Don't be flippant with me. I said the truth."
"I knew you wouldn't believe me."
He scowled at her. "We'll get to the bottom of this later. What's the captain's plan in sending you here alone?"
"There isn't one. I thought you'd know a way to rescue him and take back control of the ship. But first we need to stop Farq from burning down the island."
She glanced at the uneaten plate of food on his desk. He and Branda had been talking about salt.
"Aggleberry bread," she murmured.
"What? You're not making any sense, girl."
Ignoring him, she thought back to age five, when her mother had let her bake her first fruit-bread without adult supervision. She chose her favorite, aggleberry, and spent ages precisely measuring the ingredients and mixing them in the right order. Then she stood guard by the oven all morning while the bread baked. Her mother took the first bite and spat it out. It was inedible. Her mother had scolded her for using salt instead of sweet-crystals.
"I know how to stop him," she said. "I need a disguise. Boy's clothes."
"That's probably a good idea," he agreed. "If you’re caught, Farq will kill you, and he won't be lenient on me for talking to you. I'll see what I can do. Don't leave this room until I return, and then I want to hear this plan of yours. And for Anjan's sake, be quiet."
The door closed behind him. What if he went straight to Farq and returned with a gang of men? She took a step toward the open balcony door, then paused and sank into his chair. She needed his help and would have to trust him. The aroma of spiced meat and hoobin-beets tickled her nose and she licked her lips. She wolfed down his dinner. The meat was barely warm, and he was right, it was under-salted, but the complex flavors were delicious after nothing but oodspal, beans and fruit. She washed it down with two mugs of juice.
What was keeping him? She wandered around the cabin, looking at charts, until she came across a mirror and gasped. Her face was gaunt and dirty, and her hair had grown into an unbrushed mess. Its auburn color was hard to miss. Jaws clenched, she took a knife from the desk and hacked her hair closer to her scalp; short enough to hide under the cap that Coy had given her. The boys preferred caps to the wide-brimmed hats the men wore. Had Coy anticipated her need for a disguise?
The door opened and she jumped. The navigator strode in and upended a sack on to his bed, spilling clothes into a heap.
"Get dressed. I'll be back shortly." He hurried out.
She found a worn and loose shirt, and a pair of pants that fit her, then she hid her petite feet in a pair of shoes two sizes too large, padding the toes with cloth. A faded red sash around her waist and Coy's cap finished her disguise.
A long time passed. She listened to shouts and men thumping up and down stairs, but had no idea what was going on. A distinct and familiar whooshing noise came from beyond the closed door. Cautiously, she opened the door a crack and peered out. Several hanging globes illuminated the main deck, where men clustered and stared up at a copy of Lyndon's weapon assembled on the starboard winch platform. Its metal pipe angled into the sky, pointed toward the island. Farq and two men stood beside it.
She crawled out onto the walkway. Farq barked orders and men brought urns and sweet-crystal sacks up from belowdecks. They poured a quantity of each into the pipe, and moved clear. A ball of blue fire erupted from the open end with a deafening whoosh. It climbed high into the sky, raining sparks over the dust ocean, and then arced down to impact the beach, exploding in fiery arcs of blues and purples, and igniting a huge area of trees. The distant cries of forest animals sounded like screeching phantoms on the wind.
&nb
sp; There was no sign of the navigator but she couldn't wait any longer. She slid silently down a rope to the deck and hid in the shadows. Now to test her disguise. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard, then stepped into the light, cap pulled low over her eyes, trying to copy the way Coy or Pete walked. Her gaze flicked about the deck and she steered away from Pete on the far side, certain he would see through her disguise.
The men paid her no attention as she walked past them and climbed down to the mess deck, where the rest of the crew snored loudly in their scheepas. The smoky air tickled her throat, but she coughed quietly.
A hand clapped hold of her shoulder.
She jumped to one side and turned her squeal into a deep clearing of her throat.
"You," said Siman, the smaller man that had kidnapped her from the street at home.
He was certain to recognize her. She glanced around the dim room, looking for an escape.
"Stop slacking and bring up more sweet-crystals," he hissed. "Are you listening, boy?"
Her heart pounded and her hands trembled.
"At once, sir. Sorry, sir," she grunted and stepped onto the ladder.
Her trip along the galley hallway became a blur, as she fought to control her shaking body. That had been too close. The hatch to the hold loomed before her, a dark, gaping hole in the floor. She stopped at its edge, listening to the huffing and panting of men below. Her hairs prickled on her skin, remembering the night she had spent trapped in its stifling blackness. She shook her head, ducked into a storeroom, and scooped salt from a burlap sack into a bucket.
"What're you doing?" said a gruff voice behind her. "That's salt, not sweet-crystals."
She froze, staring into the bucket.
"Is it?" she murmured, keeping her back to him.
"Of course it is, you idiot. Show your face so I can get a good look at you."
Still on her knees, she shuffled around, hoping her cap hid her face as he towered above her. It was Yat, the fattest of the sailors. The sword tucked through his belt glinted evilly in the globelight.
"Do as you’re told, boy."
Sweat poured down her face. Maybe he wouldn't recognize her. She tipped her head back and looked up at him. His deep-set eyes widened and his mouth made an O-shape. He stepped into the room.
"What're you doing here?" he whispered. "You went with the cap'n. Is he back on board?"
He crouched before her.
"No." She cringed.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I'm not one of Farq's men. Do you understand?"
Was he lying, trying to get information? No, for that he would drag her before Farq.
"The captain?" he hissed. He extended a hand as if to shake her and then withdrew it, holding his palm outward.
"He's still on the island," she said. "I have to destroy that pipe thing so we can rescue him. Can you help me? Help the captain?"
"I'll do all I can." He glanced at the bucket of salt. "What're you doing?"
"I don't think Farq's weapon will work with salt instead of sweet-crystals. I'm hoping they won't notice."
He grinned a mouth full of black teeth. "That's not a bad idea, but take more care. I'm not the only one who'll see through your disguise. Look, we'll take up a bucket each, then you slip sway and hide."
When she climbed onto the outer deck, Tarba, one of the officers, glared at her. Lowering her gaze, the same thought played over and over in her mind: walk like a boy, walk like a boy. She set her bucket down and stepped backward into Farq.
"Get out of my way," he roared, and backhanded her so hard she flew across the deck to land in a heap by the infirmary stairs. She rolled into the shadows. Yat was right, she was out of her depth trying to sneak about. She pulled herself up and tiptoed up the stairs toward the navigator’s cabin.
"Load it again," Farq barked. "Aim it beyond that headland. They fled in that direction."
"We're reaching the extent of its range," Tarba replied.
"Prepare to move the ship," Farq said. "I'll burn down the whole island if I have to."
The men picked up her bucket of salt. She crouched in the shadows. Salt was noticeably finer than sweet-crystals. Would they notice? Her pulse quickened. They poured a generous measure into the pipe and jumped clear. It shuddered violently, accompanied by a gurgling noise, and then a sticky, purple and white speckled soup dribbled out of the pipe onto the deck, where it bubbled and sparked feebly.
Farq roared in anger. He grabbed the bucket-man by the throat and lifted him off his feet. "What did you do?"
The man gagged and fought for breath. "Same as... I been doing... all night, sir."
Lissa fled into the navigator’s cabin and flung herself on to the cot bed. It swung back and forth on the long chains that suspended it from hooks in the ceiling. She giggled and thumped the hard bedding. Her plan had worked! Hopefully they wouldn't be able to fix it, or realize what she'd done. She rubbed her hands together and sat up, and then her smile faded. Where was the navigator?
"Search the ship for that Lyndon boy," Farq screamed. "Bring him to me."
Boots thundered on the stairs. She leaped off the bed and spun around, peering at every nook and cranny in the room. There was no cover under the desk. The men were sure to search the balcony. Her gaze settled on the bed. It hung low to the floor, with enough space to crawl under, so she wriggled in and squeezed against the wall. Her back was jammed against the wooden bed frame.
The door sprang open and she prayed the navigator had returned to protect her, but two sets of bare feet entered the room. She held her breath, not daring to move in case she rocked the bed. The dust on the floor tickled her nose.
"Look outside," a gruff voice said, and one pair of feet crossed the room to the balcony. The other man knelt to peer under the desk, moving the chair for a better look. She stifled a gasp with her hand. It was Blab, the man who had murdered Mampalo.
"Look," he said, and stood. "On the bed."
All four feet faced the cot, inches from her face. She stared at the dust, dirt and dead skin plastered between their hairy toes. Her stomach heaved.
"These are that serving girl's clothes," the other man said. "The one we captured. You think the navigator-?
"None of our business," Blab snapped.
"Well she ain't 'ere. What should we do?"
"Show 'em to Farq."
There was a rustle of clothing, and the men left the cabin. She tapped her knuckles against her forehead. Why hadn't she hidden her clothes? The dust made her sneeze, so she rolled to one side and rested her face on one arm. What was keeping the navigator? Had Farq caught him and locked him up? She slowed her rapid breathing. Why hadn't she thought further ahead than disabling the weapon?
"Girl!" Farq's shout was loud and clear.
She jerked her head up, smashing it on the frame of the bed.
"Get out here," he called, "before my men find you and drag you by your feet."
She slithered from her hiding place and hurried for the balcony.
"Right now," he yelled, loud enough to wake the dead. "Or I start hurting the Valinese brat."
She froze, her breath caught in her throat, her heart racing, and her mind spinning.
"No," she whimpered. Her whole body fell limp, helpless.
"Lissa." It was the first time she had ever heard the physiker shout. "He's got Branda."
Chapter 28 - The Battle for Branda
"He's not playing games," the physiker said. "You'd better give yourself up."
Like an automaton, head down, shoulders slumped, Lissa crossed the room and stepped out to the railing. Branda stood in the center of the main deck below, between Farq and the navigator, her hands tied by a rope held by Nib. A dozen armed men crowded the deck, but the physiker hung back by the rail.
Farq's head jerked up to see Lissa. His lips quivered and his forehead furrowed. He grunted, and every one of the men followed his gaze. Tears dripped from her eyes and splattered on her shoe.
"Clever disgu
ise," he snarled. "I hope you enjoyed making a fool of me because your little game is over. I win. Get down here."
The crowd held its breath. The only sounds were her feet, heavy on each step, and Branda's sniffling. Lissa scanned the crew’s faces. No sympathy, just contempt and smugness. Was this how condemned men felt walking to their execution?
"'Ere's the troublemaker," one man murmured.
"She's a clever one, for a girl," another said.
"She don't look so clever now."
Lissa stepped off the bottom step and glanced at the navigator and the physiker, but could read nothing from their blank faces and they didn't even acknowledge her. Had her friends deserted her?
Farq's lips curled into a grin. His unblinking stare bored into her.
"String the little one up," he said over his shoulder. Nib slipped a coarse rope noose around Branda's neck.
Branda's bloodshot, dull and lifeless eyes met Lissa's. "I... I sorry."
"Stop it," Lissa cried. "Punish me, not her. She hasn't done anything."
Farq shook his head slowly, and his grin widened. Nib tossed the rope across an overhead beam.
She crumpled to her knees at Farq's feet, and then uttered such a haunting, keening howl that the men edged away, muttering prayers of protection, and the livestock belowdecks bellowed and squealed in reply.
"You win," she said, voice barely audible. "Stop, I beg you. I'll tell you whatever you need to know."
"Yes, you will or she hangs. Her life is in your hands." He tugged on the rope, pulling it tight around Branda's doll-like neck. Branda snapped her mouth closed, and seemed determined not to cry out.
He searched the ship with his gaze. "Where's the captain hiding?"
"He's on the island. Only I came back to the ship."
"I don't believe you." He towered above her. "How did you get here? I don't see a boat."