Wind Dancer: Secret War Steampunk Series - Adventure, Mystery + Mad Science (12 page)

“Yes, as I mentioned before I believe,” Saira replied
deadpan. “After you,” she gave a little bow towards the door.

Well, Abigail thought, do as the natives do. She took a deep
breath and opened the door.

The room was the first one lit only by oil light that she’d
seen on the ship. There were two large round tubs each big enough to hold five
or six people she figured. One had steam rising from it. Around the wall were
narrow benches and pegs she assumed where for hanging clothes on. And the room
was completely empty. She turned to find Saira looking at her with a straight
face.

“I perhaps forgot to mention that there is almost nobody ever
here after second bell of day watch,” she said. “I thought that you might wish
to be private given your English ways. I can leave you also if you wish. “Abigail
balled her hands into fists and exhaled slowly.

“Saira,” Abigail ground out, “do people often express a wish
to strangle you?” The young woman’s teeth gleamed back at her in the lamp
light.

“More often than you might think,” Saira said easily. “Why I
cannot imagine.” The dark-skinned woman looked at her sideways with an impish
smile. “I could wash your back for you instead if you wish.” Abigail startled
at that. Her view of herself as being very modern and liberated was getting a
rather severe testing, she thought ruefully as she cast about for what to say.

“No, I − thank you,” she stammered, trying to think of
what would be polite in the situation. Finally, she decided that she really did
not want to be alone. She looked at the Arms-Master uncertainly. “Ah, I would
not mind someone to talk with though, if you would care to join me.” Saira
nodded. Although it was probably just the bonding effect of bespelling the
woman into rapport, she found herself feeling for the Englishwoman. She sat
down on a bench and began undoing her boots.

“No worries,” Saira said. “I am familiar with your mudfoot
English ways, and I am very good with the talking. Besides, you are in a
strange place with strange people, and not sure what is what, yes? The offer
stands though; I also do very good back washing.”

Feigning a nonchalance that she didn’t really feel, Abigail
undressed, washed off with a sponge and a bucket of water over a grate, and stepped
her way into the steaming pool. She hissed at the heat of the water, but it
soon relaxed muscles that she hadn’t realized were sore. Saira finished
undressing. Abigail was startled to see that she had tattoos. One was on her
arm, an image of a winged globe, and one of an opening flower sat on her mons
veneris, which was denuded of hair. Abigail had seen pictures of Indian temple
statues, so it was not really shocking, although she had always thought those
were poetic license. Saira meanwhile ignored Abigail’s momentary stare, and
chatted away amiably, climbing in across from her. Soon the two were talking
away as if they were old friends.

Abagail learned many things as they talked. She learned that
‘Cap’n Will’ had taken Saira on when she had been destitute, or ‘beached’ as
she called it, nearly two years earlier in Seattle Freeport. That Captain
Hunting Owl was not wealthy by any means, but along with Lawrence Rogers, had
obtained the
Wind Dancer
about five years ago, in a manner that was
still mysterious. She learned that according to Saira, the crew thought the
world of the Captain.

She learned that the ship usually had between fifty and sixty
crew, including officers. They were slightly under that at the moment, which
was how the cabin next to Saira’s was vacant. She learned that Mr. Rogers, the
ships’ First Officer was considered a bit humorless and stiff, but fair in his
job. She learned that life as an ‘airdevil’ on a fighting ship was at times
boring, exciting, bawdy, and uncertain. She learned that Saira had many lovers,
both on the ship and off the ship. Saira spoke of her exploits in such an
openly shameless manner that Abigail wasn’t sure if she was appalled or envious
of her.

Saira was also a very good listener, for all her brash
manner. Abigail found herself talking about the difficulties of being a woman
at New Oxford, her triumph at becoming a Royal Scholar, her own liaisons, and
her struggles against social expectations. She spoke of her father and the
dream he had that had become her own, a dream of finding new ways of power
generation. One that would bring civilization to everyone on the planet. She
stopped herself when she realized that she was about to talk about her current
mission to China, and sat upright in the water.

“Goodness,” she said smiling, “I do apologize for running on.
Perhaps the Captain was right and you are a sorceress who is bespelling me.”
She meant it to be humorous, but was surprised when Saira replied seriously.

“I am what you would call a sorceress,” Saira said solemnly.
“I promise though that I am not using the power on you now, nor will I unless
you seek harm to me or mine.” Abigail shook her head in disbelief at this.

“I can never tell when you are joking,” Abigail said lightly.

“I am not joking,” Saira replied. “I am what you would call a
priestess of the Naga, the Serpent People, as was my mother, and her mother
before her.” She shrugged “I am not a very good one, as I refused to follow my
mother’s wish for power.” She pointed to her lower tattoo, “This says that I am
dedicated to the path. Sometimes I can see the flow of the world river, what
you call the future. I can sometimes change it. I see into the hearts of others
at times, and honor the Gods in the ways I was trained to do. Mostly I follow
the red path, which means that I am very good at fighting and frigging.” She
said this last with a rakish grin. Abigail was stunned by this revelation. She
had seen the other woman as someone very practical, and down to earth if
rebellious against convention, not given to, well, superstitions for lack of a
better word.

“I’m afraid that I do not believe in magic,” Abigail said
slowly, not wishing to offend her new friend. Saira laughed at this
pronouncement.

“No worries Abigail,” she replied merrily. “I know lots of
people who do not believe in your science either. I think we will do fine.” The
tone of four chimes cut through the air. “Oy,” Saira said, “that is fourth
bell. Time we got a move on! Are you hungry?”

Abigail found that she was, and pushing aside the disturbing
thoughts she had, climbed out of the water. The choices of clothing that Saira
had brought were, to be charitable, interesting. A couple of ‘dresses’ were of
such scandalous cut that she would never think of wearing them outside a
bedroom. Others were hardly practical, given that she would be climbing ladders
and had no other foundation garments, as Saira had pointed out. She reluctantly
settled on something similar to what she had seen the other women of the crew
wearing, pants of a durable cotton weave, a tunic-like shirt, and a vest. She
had only her heeled ankle boots for shoes, unlike the other’s rubber soled high
boots. Saira allowed as they would work as long as she was careful. Saira
finally handed her a pair of goggles to place around her neck and a cylinder to
place in a pouch in her vest.

“Should we get breached, Gods forbid,” she explained, “the
air can go out very fast and it can be very cold. Put the goggles over your
eyes, and the cylinder to your mouth, like so.” She demonstrated. “You will
have about five minutes, which should be long enough to get to safety. I will
show you how to charge it from a reserve tank later.”

“How will I know where safety is?” Abigail asked.

Saira looked at her mournfully, “If it is not obvious, then
you are likely buggered anyway.”

“Oh, I see.” Abigail reflected that flying was perhaps not as
safe as she had been lead to believe as a coddled passenger on a liner. At
least, she thought to herself with satisfaction, Saira was not coddling her.

The main mess was emptier than Abigail would have thought,
until Saira explained that they were “two bells” off watch change and that most
had eaten already and either gone on station or elsewhere. The smell of cooking
food reminded Abigail’s stomach that she was desperately hungry, and hoped that
there would be something to eat. Saira walked up to the open window at one end
and rapped on the sill.

“Wu,” she cried out. An Oriental man with the lined face of
age came to the window.

“You too late,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hands.
“Only porridge and tea left. You sleep too long!”

“Now Wu my love,” Saira pouted,
“after all we have been working hard to save the ship!” He grunted at her
unimpressed.
“Let me introduce you by the way,” Saira turned so that Wu
could see Abigail. “This is the famous Lady Abigail Hadley who worked all night
to keep your old hide from being blown all over the South China Sea. Lady
Abigail,” she continued formally, “this is the ship’s doctor and head cook, Dr.
Wu Ling Ma.”

“Dr. Wu,” Abigail bowed her head and spoke the only Mandarin
she knew which was a formal greeting, or so she’d been told. The old man’s face
lit up with a smile. He said another phrase that Abigail didn’t know and bowed
back.

“I’m sorry,” Abigail replied somewhat flustered, “that was
the only Mandarin I know.” His smile widened as he waved a hand in dismissal.

“That alright,” he replied in English. “Your accent good. I
will teach you more, if you wish. Now, what fruit would you like on porridge?”

“Fruit?” Abigail pondered for a moment and then asked
uncertainly, “Do you have mango by chance?”

He smiled again and vanished. They heard the sound of rapid
chopping. He reappeared with two bowls with steam rising from them. Abigail
took hers and saw that he had arranged thin slices of mango fruit in a wheeled
pattern on top of the steaming porridge, which smelled wonderful.

“It’s beautiful!” She said to him, “Thank you.” He nodded
still smiling at her. Saira took her bowl, and then looked at Wu.

“Why do I not have the bounty of your art as well, oh great
artist?” Saira asked.

“Your job to keep ship safe” Wu mock scowled at Saira. “Lady
Abigail is guest, and must be shown honor. Besides,” he shrugged, “it was the
last of the mango. You live.”

“Old quack!” Saira laughed.

”Hussy arm-breaker!” he smiled back, then tossed her an apple
which she plucked out of the air. Saira took a big bite out of it.

“Much obliged,” she said around the mouthful. He waved and
turned away from the window. Saira pointed with her apple at a free space at the
long table in front of them.

“Let us sit here and I will get us tea,” she suggested.
Abigail placed her bowl down on the table across from Saira.

“Allow me,” Abigail volunteered, and moved back to the large
urns by the window. She filled two mugs from the spigots, looked in vain for
any white to add to them, and returned with two spoons as well.

“Ah, thank you,” Saira beamed. “I was just going to mention
that we needed spoons as well.” She took first a mug and then one of the
offered utensils. She smiled, shaking her head.

“What is it?” Abigail asked as she sat across from her.

“Oh, I was just thinking of the last time I was waited on by
British nobility.” She cocked her head to one side as if thinking. “That would
be − never!” She smiled at Abigail.

“I do wish you would not carry on so about that. After all…”
she searched for the right phrase, “I put my bloomers on one leg at a time just
as you do.”

“But you know now that I do not wear bloomers,” Saira said
innocently. Abigail waved her spoon at her.

“Oh stop that! You know what I mean!” Abigail spooned up some
of the porridge. It tasted amazing. There were some sort of sweet spices and
chopped nuts in it that set off the mango wonderfully. “Oh my,” she exclaimed,
“this is really quite good.” Saira grinned around her own spoon.

“Wu does good by us when he can. Speaking of which, you made
an admirer I noticed.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Is he really also the ship’s doctor as well as cook?” Abigail
asked before spooning up more. She’d figured out that Saira’s comments were
largely good natured poking at her, probably a sign of camaraderie. Abigail
just wasn’t always sure how to respond yet.

“Aiya,” Saira replied taking another bite of apple, “and very
good at both. It makes sense if you think of it. He has studied his whole life
what makes the body well. That should include what keeps it well, yes?”

“I hadn’t thought of that, “Abigail said. “There’s wisdom in
that I can see. If he really does heal as well as he cooks, I can imagine he
must be very good indeed.” Saira nodded.

“It is no exaggeration to say he has saved my life on more
than one occasion,” the woman vowed. She set her apple core into her empty
bowl, and reached for her mug. Abigail looked down in surprise to see that she
had eaten all of her own bowl as well. Saira leaned towards Abigail across the
table.

“I have had a vision,” she began seriously, “and wish to ask
you a question.” Abbigail sipped from her mug, containing her natural
skepticism.

“A vision of the future?” Abigail asked. “Do you have them
often?”

“I am having more of them of late,” Saira said with a shrug.
“It happens when there is going to be a large change in the flow of life.”

“I would think that there is always change in the…how did you
put it? Yes, ‘the flow of life’” she sipped again. “Do they always come true?”
Saira shrugged again.

“Sometimes yes,” she said. “Sometimes I do not always
understand what I see, or I am mistaken.” She smiled at Abigail. “You say it
well for all that you do not believe it yourself. There is always change in the
flow, and I would not be prideful enough to mistake that I can see all. None
that is human truly can. But sometimes I am gifted with a small seeing. To
understand this one well, I must ask you a question.”