by Paula Volsky
“Luzelle.” Girays finally halted and turned to face her. “What are you trying to say? That you don’t need or want my assistance? There is nothing new in that. I should have remembered.”
“That isn’t what I meant. Don’t you know how glad I am that you’re here? I don’t think I could stand it if you weren’t.” She hesitated, embarrassed, and concluded lamely, “I just don’t want you to do anything rash.”
“Then our accustomed roles are reversed tonight. Very well.” The grim set of his jaw relaxed a little. “I promise to permit Oonuvu full opportunity to explain himself before I throw him overboard. What could be more fair? Now let us go track down the little beast.”
He advanced and she followed. Soon they reached the main cabin, whose door stood wide open. Her carpetbag, likewise open, lay on the floor where she had left it. Hurrying to the bag, Luzelle knelt and quickly checked the contents.
“Nothing missing,” she reported.
“Except the stoker, but there aren’t many places he can hide. Come, we’ll check the engine room.”
“Girays, no. Just let it go. Please.”
He hesitated so long that she thought he was going to refuse, but at last he conceded, “If that is what you truly prefer.”
“You sound disappointed. You really want to throw him overboard, don’t you?”
“I want matters clearly resolved.”
“Maybe we can sic the captain on Oonuvu tomorrow.”
“Perhaps. In the meantime there’s no lock on your door, and he could come back.”
“I don’t think he will.” Even to herself she sounded feeble. “Anyway, I’ll be all right, I still have the pistol.”
“I will sleep in the corridor before your door,” he announced as if she had not spoken.
“Please don’t. It’s unnecessary, and too formerly-Exalted for human tolerance.”
“Wholly selfish, I assure you. I wish only to set my own mind at rest.”
“What about my mind? How do you think I’ll feel, knowing that you’re so uncomfortable because of me?”
“Our respective discomforts should balance nicely, then, thus satisfying your keen appetite for equality.”
“I’ve a better idea. Take one of the empty hammocks, and sleep in here.” His brows arched, and she added, “It’s the most practical and sensible thing to do.”
“Wonder if your father would agree.”
“He’d probably fear for your reputation.” She saw him waver, and added, “I’ll feel safer if you’re in here.” This was both truthful and effective. He nodded and, without further argument, stretched himself out in the hammock nearest the door.
Luzelle returned to her own interrupted repose, or tried to. For what seemed an eternity she lay with her eyes closed, her muscles conscientiously relaxed. But she was thoroughly wakeful and likely to remain so; attuned to the motion of the ship at anchor, alert to every creak and rustle, and above all aware of Girays’s nearness. Not that he was making any noise. No coughing or snoring, certainly no attempted conversation. Eyes still closed, she listened intently, but caught no sound of his breathing, whose quality might have told her if he slept. For some reason it seemed immensely important to know whether he shared her insomnia.
The minutes passed. She opened her eyes, watched the ceiling, and listened to the Blind Cripple. At last, very slowly, she turned her head to risk a surreptitious peek over the edge of her hammock.
Girays lay with his face turned away from her. She could see a patch of his dark hair, the pale angle of his cheekbone, and a portion of a khaki-clad shoulder; the curve of the canvas sling in which he lay obscured the rest. If his eyes were open, he would be gazing straight out the porthole at the night sky. She had only to whisper his name to find out, but somehow could not. Nor could she seem to turn away from him, but lay there wide awake, silently watching and wondering.
MORNING CAME and the Blind Cripple resumed progress. For hours Luzelle sat up on deck watching the ferociously green, orchid-spangled Forests of Oorex glide by. The heat and humidity were oppressive as ever, but Urq’s Universal Unguent furnished some relief from the insects. There was no sign of Oonuvu—perhaps he had received orders to stay out of sight, or else he was busy below—and she did not try to analyze, but simply enjoyed his invisibility. She had a book that Girays had lent her, one of his historical treatises—not what she would have chosen, yet unexpectedly palatable. The time passed slowly, but it passed.
Shortly before noon the Blind Cripple docked at Pijji Camp, and all aboard were freed for the space of an hour. No use complaining about the loss of time. Captain Jhiv-Huze was jovial but adamant; certain supplies were required, and the delay was necessary.
Luzelle went ashore to explore the primitive little makeshift quasi-village where, as Girays had predicted, she found Ygahris willing to sell or barter ointments guaranteed to repel the most voracious of insects. She was surprised and a little uneasy to discover how easy it was to communicate with the natives in broken Grewzian. Most of them knew at least several phrases and some were decidedly fluent. The Grewzian presence, so prevalent along this stretch of the river, was much in evidence at Pijji Camp, whose inhabitants flaunted Grewzian cigarettes, jewelry incorporating the amber glass fragments of Grewzian ale bottles, and small medals stamped with the likeness of the Grewzian imperior.
Her bag of raisins, an exotic rarity to the locals, purchased her a supply of evil-smelling ointment wrapped in the leathery leaves of some nameless native shrub. Mission accomplished, she reboarded the Blind Cripple and soon Captain Jhiv-Huze did likewise. The alteration in his demeanor caught her attention at once. Gone was the joviality. The captain’s footsteps dragged. The set of jaw and shoulders communicated resentful despondency. He glanced at her briefly in passing, but did not trouble to acknowledge her existence. She gazed after him with a frown.
The Blind Cripple departed Pijji Camp. Luzelle smeared Ygahri ointment over her face, neck, hands, wrists, and exposed forearms, then returned to her reading. The hours passed. The ointment fulfilled all promises, and the insects left her alone.
Twice Girays approached to converse with her briefly, and she found herself curiously self-conscious in his presence. He was altogether amiable—he even affected a polite unawareness of her assertively scented native salve—but she was uneasy all the same. It had started last night, she realized, and it was absurd, but she could not banish the memory of lying wide awake in the moonlit cabin, watching him as he slept or pretended to sleep.
And what of the night to come? And the night after that?
She let nothing show on her face. She chatted brightly and lightly. After a while he went away.
In the midafternoon the Blind Cripple docked again at a bend in the river where the jungle growths gave way to a sorry little collection of leaf-thatched huts that reeked of impermanence.
Another delay. Why? Scowling, Luzelle set her book aside and watched as Captain Jhiv-Huze disembarked alone. He hurried toward the huts, and soon the flimsy walls hid him from view. Rising from her chair, she paced to and fro. Forty endless minutes elapsed before he reappeared. Head and shoulders adroop, he shuffled back aboard. The gangplank rose and the Blind Cripple steamed off.
At this rate they would never overtake the Water Sprite. Luzelle fumed helplessly. Girays’s book no longer held her attention.
Four hours later when the Blind Cripple paused once again, this time at a tiny village with an unpronounceable name, her temper flared. Confronting the captain, she complained bitterly.
He did not bother to answer. Plodding by as if blind and deaf to her presence, he made his way ashore. Luzelle glared after him, but her indignation veiled rising trepidation. There was something disquieting in his expression, something wrong about the eyes; a glazed, empty, almost lifeless look. She had seen such eyes staring down at her from stuffed animal heads mounted on walls.
Was Jhiv-Huze sick? Fever, perhaps? If so, could he pilot the Blind Cripple on toward Jumo? A thor
oughly selfish concern, she knew. Once she would have been ashamed of herself, but not now.
An hour passed and the captain returned, dully morose as ever. The Blind Cripple steamed south for a few scant miles, then dropped anchor at sunset. Jhiv-Huze retired to his own quarters. The engine fell silent. Sultry darkness descended.
“I wonder if we’ll eat tonight,” Luzelle worried aloud.
“Can’t face the captain’s cooking?” Girays inquired.
“It’s just barely preferable to starvation. But he’s been so—what should I call it—distracted today that I think he may forget to feed us.”
The two of them stood at the rail watching the moon rise over the Forests of Oorex. A thin mist diffused the pallid light. The night birds hooted, the insects hummed, the frogs sang, and Luzelle’s stomach rumbled emphatically. She colored and wondered if he had heard.
“I am ready to dine, and not disposed to wait upon this Jhiv-Huze fellow’s eccentric whims,” Girays announced.
Yes, he had heard all right, and now he was being diplomatic.
“I suggest we ransack the galley,” he continued. “Perhaps we’ll find something more or less edible.”
She nodded and they went below, where the sound of choking grunts lured them to the captain’s quarters. The door stood open. Luzelle looked in and saw Jhiv-Huze huddled on the floor, face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking. If she had paused to think, she might have elected to withdraw in silence. She did not pause, but asked in some concern, “Captain, what is it? Are you ill?”
He looked up, and she saw that his eyes were swollen and his tattooed face streaked with tears. His mouth worked and then he managed to tell her, “There is none to be had.”
“What?”
“Jhiv-Huze has offered money, trinkets, tobacco, xussi, transportation. He’s volunteered Oonuvu’s services. He’s offered all that he possesses, and it’s made no difference. There is none to be had.”
“Captain, you’re not well. You’d best lie down. I could bring you a cool wet cloth to lay across your—”
“Useless. It is his special draft that Jhiv-Huze wants and needs, the dear elixir that is his peace and joy. And he tells you there is none! Three times today he’s paused along the river to inquire, and always it is the same. The blight has withered the leaves, supplies are exhausted, it’s not to be had at any price!”
“Unlucky. But never mind, we’ll improvise.” She thought quickly. This tearful quivering wretch needed some sort of tonic to restore his nautical competence, and a tonic he would have. “There must be plenty of ingredients in the galley. We’ll concoct some sort of substitute—”
“You driveling female idiot, there is no substitute!” the captain cried. “Are you blind, are you stupid? There is one, only one, exquisite and without equal. One queen, one empress, one goddess, one—”
“Marukiñutu?” Girays suggested easily. “You’ve consumed your entire store of marukiñutu, Captain?”
“A glimmer of intelligence at last.” Jhiv-Huze nodded. The fresh tears welled. “As you have surmised, sir. Jhiv-Huze’s solace is gone. How shall he endure the night to come? How shall he endure the morning? He must replenish depleted supplies. There are half a dozen camps to be found between here and Ygah-Ta’ahri. He will try them all.”
“No!” Luzelle exclaimed, unable to contain her dismay. “We can’t afford the time. No more unscheduled stops. Absolutely not.”
“Haste must defer to the greater necessity.” A small muscle in his cheek jerked spasmodically, yanking Jhiv-Huze’s lips into a fleeting lopsided smile.
“Out of the question. No more stops, I won’t stand for it!”
“Roupe Jhiv-Huze commands the Blind Cripple. He is captain here, and he advises Madame to remember it.”
“An honest captain with any sense of responsibility—” Luzelle began, and managed to squelch herself. Carefully moderating her tone, she enticed, “We might renegotiate our fare, Captain. Perhaps an additional consideration—”
“There is no sum sufficient to turn Jhiv-Huze from his present purpose.”
Her indignation rekindled, and she commenced hotly, “I seem to recall that Jhiv-Huze promised to carry us posthaste to Jumo—”
“A course that best serves his own interests, as well as ours,” Girays cut her off smoothly. The captain turned blank wet eyes upon him, and he explained, “You’ve tried three settlements today without success. Your luck tomorrow will be as bad. These unscheduled stops waste time, the local settlements are useless. But Jumo Towne is a well that never runs dry. There, Jhiv-Huze’s beloved marukiñutu flows on everlastingly as the Ygah itself. Hasten straight to Jumo, Captain. There you will find your happiness promptly restored.”
The captain seemed struck by this suggestion. For some moments he pondered in silence. At last he answered, “Sir, Jhiv-Huze believes you have hit upon something. You are in the right, and he concedes it. He will follow your recommendation. Help him to his feet, if you will.”
Girays complied.
“Ah, that is better.” The captain tottered a little and regained his balance. “Jhiv-Huze is himself again, master of his own destiny, aflame with new resolve. His salvation lies in Jumo Towne. We have dawdled too long. We will squander no more time, but push on south at top speed this very hour, this very moment.”
“Good!” Luzelle exclaimed.
“Ah, Madame has regained her good humor. Jhiv-Huze understands that many of her earlier remarks were rooted in ignorance rather than malice, and he is willing to overlook them.”
“Ready to weigh anchor, then?”
“Jhiv-Huze is ready to set the river on fire.”
“Inadvisable,” Girays opined. Ignoring her shocked, accusatory stare, he added, “You cannot pilot the boat by night, Captain.”
“Yes he can,” Luzelle fired back. “Jhiv-Huze is up to the challenge. Isn’t he, Captain?”
“Madame, he is—”
“Only mortal, and thus unable to read the river in the dark,” Girays pointed out imperturbably. “Unable to spy the eddies, the fallen trees, the half-submerged obstacles; unable to descry the landmarks—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Luzelle insisted. “The water’s deep at this time of year, the hazards minimal. Didn’t you say so yourself, Captain? Come, let’s go! Let’s go!”
“A single error, and the Blind Cripple runs aground, leaving us stranded far from Jumo and its blessings, perhaps for days,” Girays continued inexorably. “Will the captain give way to reckless impulse?”
“He will not,” Jhiv-Huze decided.
“Oh, you men!” Luzelle exclaimed in frustration. “Where’s your courage?”
“Jhiv-Huze admires Madame’s spirit, but counsels her to temper enthusiasm with prudence.” The captain’s own spirit seemed to have mended itself. His tears had evaporated and his eyes had returned to life. He even produced the ghost of a chuckle. “Trust in Jhiv-Huze’s renewed resolution. At the first sign of morning light the Cripple flies! But for now, good friends, let us be sociable, let us dine. Tonight Jhiv-Huze is pleased to announce that he can offer you stew.”
THE NIGHT WAS STICKY, sweaty, and endless. Luzelle slept fitfully, the insomniac interludes merging so seamlessly with uneasy dreams that she was uncertain whether the scratching at the cabin door was real or imaginary. Had she traveled alone, alarm would have jolted her wide awake. But Girays was there and she was unafraid.
The blast of the ship’s whistle woke her at dawn. The weak grey light of near morning barely pushed in through the porthole, but the engine was already throbbing. Girays’s hammock was empty. He had gone off somewhere, leaving her to the tender mercies of Oonuvu. But no, with the Blind Cripple in motion, the stoker was all but chained to the boiler. Nothing to fear from him, for now.
She got up, refreshed her appearance as best she could, then made her way aft to the galley, where she paused to breakfast vilely on a few mouthfuls of yesterday’s stew before ascending to the deck.
The damp air was fresh, by local standards. Ghost-white mists lay thick upon the river, and the tall trees crowding the banks loomed indistinct and insubstantial. The ceaseless shrilling of countless invisible insects filled the fog.
Within an hour or so the rising sun would burn the morning mists away. But Roupe Jhiv-Huze, she noted with approval, disdained to wait upon nature. The captain stood at the helm. Jaw outthrust, literally blind to possible dangers, he steered the Blind Cripple south toward Jumo at not inconsiderable full speed.
The breeze of their passage stirred her hair and pleasantly cooled her perspiring flesh. To maintain such velocity the boiler had to be operating at full capacity; down below, the stoker was presently toiling like a slave. Excellent.
For a time she stood there enjoying the sense of swift motion, and then the rain came. The skies darkened until it seemed that night had reclaimed the world, the Forests of Oorex faded from view, and the rain fell in sheets. She could barely discern her immediate surroundings, and knew that the captain must be similarly handicapped, but the Blind Cripple never slackened speed. Such recklessness was deplorable or else superb, she was not sure which.
It was too late to avoid a drenching. Her clothes were already soaked through. She went below to change and found the folded garments in her bag furred with luxuriant white mold. She rubbed a patch of mold with one finger, and an acrid odor released itself. A grunt of disgust escaped her. For now, there would be no change of clothes.
She spent the next hour washing her moldy garments and spreading them out over the hammock ropes. Not that they were likely to air-dry; she would probably end up toasting the moisture out over the stove in the galley.
When she had finished the washing she returned to Girays’s book, which held her attention throughout the morning. Around noon the rain abated, along with the Blind Cripple’s speed. The grumble of the engine altered, the boat decelerated noticeably, and then she heard the captain’s voice, loud and angry. Interested, Luzelle returned to a deck now washed with tentative sunshine, where a single glance answered most of her questions.