Ocean of Dust (3 page)

Chains clanked and then the heavy metal no
longer weighed on her ankles. It felt so good, and she leaned over
to gently massage them, covering her hands with blood. The man
dragged her up, put his gigantic hands around her tiny waist and
lifted her into the front of the boat near the ladder.

The rowboat rocked one way and the ship
rolled the other, creating a gap that loomed beneath her like a
chasm waiting to swallow and crush her.

"Take hold, girl," the man barked.

She glanced to the shore. If she jumped now,
she could swim, but it was so far away. Her heart raced. Had they
lied about drowning in the dust, or been trying to scare her? Just
one step. She could step into the ocean of dust and hope they were
lying, or she could step across to the ladder and change her life
forever.

She closed her eyes, felt the man grab her
waist once more, and snapped them open again. Her feet were on the
ladder, and the man pushed her hands against the rungs.

"Move," he yelled in her ear.

She took hold and took a tentative step up.
The ship rolled and the ladder swung away, suspending her over the
dust ocean. She squealed and clung so hard her knuckles turned
white. The ship rolled the other way, sending her crashing into the
hull, jarring her knees. She froze, her heart thumping
furiously.

"Climb, girl," the men above shouted.

Muttering a prayer to Totalamon, she took a
deep breath, gritted her teeth and climbed hand over hand, without
stopping, to the top. Only when the solid deck was under her feet
did she blow out her breath noisily.

The ship was such a strange world; she didn't
know where to look first.

Standing in partial shade, her first instinct
was to glance up. Some kind of metal contraption hung above her
head, supported at both ends by a wooden cradle. She had never seen
so much metal in one place before. The device resembled a series of
metal rods, forty feet long, with cross struts every few feet and
triangular metal plates protruding at odd angles. An identical
device hung above the rail on the other side of the ship.

The open deck was three times as large as the
inn's common room. Behind her rose a two story building-like
structure lined with windows and a walkway. Two men stood at the
very top, behind another railing which housed a pair of
bronze-colored bells, each larger than her head.

A man shinnied up a rope that angled up from
the nearby rail to the top of the ship's only mast, where hung a
tiny platform. She squinted against both suns. There were no
horizontal spars or other means to attach sails. It didn’t resemble
the sailing boats at home. She shook her head slowly, and brushed
her matted hair from her face.

She counted a dozen crewmen, busy tying
ropes, securing equipment or carrying items from one place to
another. None of them were dressed alike, seeming to prefer their
own style of breeches, boots or barefoot, shirt or bare-chested,
beards, bald heads, hats or bandanas. One thing they had in common
were wrinkled, tanned faces and arms, scars and a permanent
scowl.

Pete stepped off the ladder beside her. She
nudged him and pointed out a couple of boys their age, on their
knees scrubbing the deck. Pete nodded his head.

"You three," a new voice roared.

She turned to face a man who seemed to have
as much hair on his bare chest as his drooping beard. One of his
eyes bulged from its socket as he peered at her. A serpent tattoo
crawled across his left cheek. She gasped and took a step
backward.

"Folla' me," he said.

He led them around the mast to a low building
in the center of the ship. Complex machinery lay on either side,
connected to the metal devices hanging above the deck. Fascinated,
Lissa paused. The rich boy crashed into her.

"What are you doing now?" he said, and gave
her a shove.

Beyond the machinery, another open deck
stretched to the front of the ship. So much to explore. There had
to be a hundred places to hide where she could make plans to
escape. She took a last look at the machinery, before hurrying
after the others. Maybe if she learned what it all did, it would
help her.

Tattoo-face paused at an open doorway, and
then pushed all three of them inside. They stumbled into an office,
and she was surprised to find it decorated with bookshelves stuffed
full of trinkets, and glass cases inside which stuffed birds had
been arranged. Then her gaze fell on the man behind the cluttered
desk and she stumbled, bringing both hands over her mouth to mute
her squeal. Her arms and legs trembled.

Hands clasped behind his back, ponytail
hanging neatly from his head, stood the gaunt man from the
dock.

He scowled at each of them in turn. His
sharp, calculating gaze lingered longest on Lissa and she felt her
cheeks burning. She dropped her hands and stared at the floor,
feeling sick to her stomach.

"Names?" he said.

"Pete, sir."

"Lissa." She kept her gaze on a crack in the
deck that ran diagonally across one of the narrow boards.

"You, boy?" the man snapped.

"Lyndon. My father-"

"Shut up."

"If I may finish?" Lyndon continued, his
voice shaking.

Lissa stared hard at the crack, willing it to
swallow her up. She tried to shuffle behind Pete.

"No," the man replied. "No, you may not. One
more word and I'll have you whipped until you are begging. I'm
going to explain this only once, so pay attention. I am Deck Master
Farq. You belong to me now. Whether you live or die, eat or starve,
is up to me. Forget your homes. You'll never see them again."

Lissa's shoulders slumped. This is all too
much. She wobbled on her feet, and scrunched her eyes tight.
No,
I'm not going to let him see me cry.

Farq punctuated his sentences by pacing back
and forth behind his desk.

"You will do as I say, work when I tell you
to, eat when I tell you to. You will work hard. If you do not, you
will be whipped. You will not complain. If you do, you will be
whipped. You will not speak out of turn, or you will be whipped. If
I am in a bad mood and you get in my way, you will be whipped. Is
this sinking into your tiny, useless heads?" He stopped in front of
them and snorted loudly.

"Aye, sir," Pete said immediately.

"Yes, captain," Lissa gulped, forcing herself
to meet his gaze. Would he whip her if she didn't?

"And you, haughty, rich boy?" he said to
Lyndon.

The boy nodded.

Farq aimed his glare at Lissa. She cringed
but didn't dare look away.

"Don't call me captain again. I am the deck
master. Call me Sir or call me Master, never captain."

She swallowed hard, nodded vigorously and
then felt it safe to avert her eyes. She itched to flee the room,
and would rather scrub the deck with those other boys.

"Girl, report to Madam Margaret, the cook.
You two, report to Nib." He turned his back.

"Deck master, sir," Pete asked, "which one is
Nib?"

"Leave!"

They scampered outside. Pete scanned the
crew, shrugged and set off toward the only man barking orders.
Lyndon hesitated, glanced nervously back to Farq's office, and then
ran after Pete.

Lissa's eyes watered in the glare of the
suns-light, so she raised one hand to shade her eyes. Her tense
body relaxed at the thought of another woman onboard. She glanced
at the rough, bearded men around her. Her company would be
preferable to these horrible brutes. Where would she find the
kitchen?

Her stomach growled with such ferocity that
she flushed and looked to see if anyone had heard. When was the
last time she had eaten? Two sailors stood before a barrel tied to
the mast. They took turns dipping a mug hanging by a rope. Thirsty,
she ignored their slurping and burps, and headed toward them.

"I wouldn't be doing that if I were you,"
someone croaked.

Behind her, a white-haired man sat on top of
a wooden locker. He was old enough to be her father's father, and
he coiled rope around his dark brown, wrinkled arms.

"Pardon?" she said.

"When you get an order, you'd best be
followin' it and not sneakin' off for water you 'aven't earned." He
slurred his words and his squinting eyes were barely open.

"I'm looking for the cook. Where do I
go?"

He sniffed and continued coiling his rope.
"Figure it out, little missy."

"Can't you just help me? Please?"

She sighed. Why did everyone have to be so
mean and horrible? She scanned the deck. The kitchen had to be
where the men ate, probably somewhere in the depths of the ship.
She stepped over to an open hatch in the floor. A wooden ladder
descended into darkness. She wrinkled her nose at the stench of
body odor and smoke. Her palms were soaked in sweat, mixed with the
blood from her ankles. What would she find down there? Hot, stale
air rose up at her, and she imagined walking into a fiery pit of
demons.

After clenching her hands a few times, she
sucked in a breath and stepped on to the ladder. There were no
handrails, just a length of rope dangling on both sides. She
gripped them firmly, but they whipped about, pulling her off the
ladder. Squealing, she plunged to the deck below, landing with a
loud thump and banging her leg on a nearby post. Rubbing her knee,
she glanced around. Had anyone heard her?

She sat in a shaft of light from the hatch
above that illuminated swirling grains of dust and heavy smoke.
Beyond, everything was black as night. To her left, she could hear
a conversation, laughter, and the clacking sound of bone dice and
the clink of coins. She hacked up a mouthful of dust and coughed in
the acrid smoke.

For a moment, the smells and sounds reminded
her of her parents' inn. Had she tripped over a stool, knocked her
head and it was all an awful dream? She looked at the black and
blue marks on her wrist where the giant man had gripped her, and
the dried blood on her ankles. Not a dream but a waking
nightmare.

She stood and stepped out of the shaft of
light, letting her eyes adjust. The low ceiling and dry, hot air
closed in, making her feel trapped. Nausea flowed through her. Was
the ship always going to roll back and forth like that? She gasped
for fresh air, but simply gagged on the smoke.

The room was huge and seemed to fill the
entire inside of the ship. Thick posts supported the roof, from
which swung dim globelights. Rows and rows of tables and benches
filled the room, empty except for one, where sat five men, shrouded
in a haze of pipe smoke.

They eyed her suspiciously. One scratched the
stubble on his chin, while another grinned, showing a mouth with
few teeth. A glass container stood on the table, half-filled with a
disgusting, brown mixture. She cringed as the toothless man put a
tube to his lips and sucked. The mixture bubbled violently, and
then he opened his mouth and blew out a smoke ring.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice trembling.
"Where's the kitchen?"

They stared at her blankly, and then one of
them mumbled something and they roared with laughter. Coughing and
fanning the smoke away, she tried again.

"Can you please tell me where the kitchen
is?"

They laughed louder and returned to their
game of deckbones.

She stamped her feet in frustration. Why
wouldn't anyone help? Looking around, she spotted a pair of green
lights by the right wall. They flicked off and on repeatedly,
reminding her of an animal blinking. She shivered, despite the
heat. What was that thing? Sebars didn't have eyes like that.

A pair of doors stood at the far end of the
room. Anxious to get away, she hurried forward and immediately
lurched into a post. She took a couple more drunkard-like steps,
until the rolling of the ship tipped her into a bench, scraping her
leg. The men laughed once again.

"I hate this place," she cried. "I hate
it!"

She clenched her teeth and focused on the
doors. By clutching the posts and the beams above her, she managed
to move awkwardly through the room. The hot, dank air made her skin
prickle and itch. Worse, the green eyes were following her along
the wall, and she almost turned and ran back to the ladder.

Finally, she reached the rear of the room and
stepped into another beam of suns-light shining from an open hatch
above. Sanctuary. Maybe the scary creature wouldn't come into the
light. The two doors before her looked identical so she shrugged
and approached the left one.

It flew open, knocking her to the ground. A
man loomed above her, blocking the light.

"I... I'm so sorry," she whimpered, and
scrambled back against a wooden post, rubbing the scrape on her
forearm. "It's my fault. Please don't whip me."

Chapter 4 - The Two Girls

"No, no, no. It's me who should be sorry," a
mellow voice crooned back. "I didn't see you, and that's the truth.
Here."

His hand shot out, took hers and pulled her
up.

She knew that it was rude to stare but
couldn't help herself. He was younger than she had first thought,
just a couple of Sunturns older than herself. His eyes were a
dazzling yellow, like nothing she had ever seen, and they seemed to
laugh at her. He was clean-shaven, with a rich, even brown skin.
Four golden hoops pierced each ear, partially obscured by thick,
and tightly curled black hair that draped his shoulders. Strings of
brightly colored beads ran from his earrings up to clips in his
hair.

She blinked and felt the heat rush to her
face.

"You're new," he said, smiling.

She relaxed and reveled in the sound of his
melodious voice, especially the way his tone rose at the end of
each sentence. Everything he said became a question.

"Now, what're you doing wandering around in
the mess hall?"

She blinked again, stopped staring into his
eyes and clamped her mouth shut. His closeness made her heart race
so she took a step back.