Enlightenment

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“The captain agreed you can stay here in the galley after lunch and study for a time each day, unless there’s a storm, but not too long because I have to go help with supper.”

“Sara, that’s great. Do I need to find the crate with my writing materials?”

“I know where it is, but no.” She reached to a higher shelf and pulled a small book from it.

“Where’d that come from?”

“Sailors are big readers. I didn’t know that. There are at least ten books up in the wheelhouse we can use. This one has smaller words for you. The story is sort of silly, but it does have a dog in it.”

Prin accepted it as if made of glass. She placed it on the table and opened it to the first page. A drawing of a funny dog with a tail far too long greeted her.

Sara said, “I have to clean up and wash these dishes. You try to read the first page. When I get back, I want to hear it.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I think you can. It’s just a matter of practice.”

Sara left her sitting alone, the odd little book in her hands. She bent over the first page and recognized the first word. The. Big. Dog. Three words in a row. The big dog. But she stumbled over the next word until she sounded it out and realized it said, named. She kept on until she reached the bottom of the page and started at the top again.

When she reached to the bottom again, after having read every word, she found Sara sitting on the top step watching her. She didn’t know how long she had been there.

Sara said, “Are you ready for me?”

Prin started reading, and Sara came to sit at her side. Only twice did she help Prin. When she reached the bottom of the page, Sara reached over and turned the page. “Let’s see how you do on this.”

Prin recognized two words, then correctly sounded out the third. Sara made her read each word in a sentence, then read it all at once. Prin’s eyes were smiling when Sara told Prin she had to go to work. Prin placed the book back on the shelf and went in search of the bos’n. Along the way, she went to the head and sat. Her eyes were drawn to movement, and again she found Jam watching while pretending to work.

She walked to the cargo stacked on the deck near him, and as she passed each crate, she tested the ropes, just to be sure. Near the main mast her eyes went up to the top of the wheelhouse, and she found the bos’n there, watching.

Suddenly, she felt no privacy. People watched everything she did. Her anger flared briefly, then calmed. They watched her because she was new to the ship, because she had never been to sea, and because they didn’t know her. They did know that she came aboard under mysterious circumstances. Not every sailor came to a ship hidden inside a crate.

Yes, they knew there was more than one thing odd about her. They had to be forgiven for their curiosity. All but Jam. He was different, and suddenly she understood the vague words of the bos’n. If he were not the son of the captain, the bos’n would have thrown him overboard long ago—but he was. Then bos’n accepted that, and she would also have.

Back in the kitchens, Prin had used what little skill she had to defend herself, but one of the most effective weapons had been what her mother called, killing with kindness. She smiled to herself. That was her best option here.

If she caused Jam problems, and those reached the captain’s ears, he would side with his blood. So, she wouldn’t let that happen, mostly because the bos’n had mentioned something about it. The captain had no choice but to support his son.

She went to where she’d last seen Jam watching her. He held a paintbrush, but she saw no can of paint nearby. “May I help?”

“Help what?”

“Paint. I have always liked to paint, but haven’t had much experience.”

He handed her the brush. “The can is over there,” he jabbed a thumb.

“But what do I paint?”

“If it’s white, paint it.”

He left her as he scurried to the stern of the ship again. She wondered what was back there that was so interesting to him. She was determined to think of an excuse to check on Jam. In the meantime, she painted and watched the river and banks pass by. There were buildings on the shore, usually small farmhouses, and the ground looked marshy. There were more farm animals than crops.

As she worked her way down the one side of the ship, she painted anything white, which was always iron. The only people she’d seen on deck were the bos’n and Jam. She hadn’t met Sammy, the helmsman at night, and the captain spent his time in the wheelhouse. The cook and Sara were in the galley. She didn’t know where Sayed worked. Counting her, that made seven, a full crew.

The ship that had been astern caught up and as it passed, she stood at the rail and watched, comparing it with the Merry Princess, a wonderful play on words for the ship she sailed, although only her and Sara would understand the joke about her name.

The other ship was taller, something unexpected. Its three masts pushed a ship nearly twice as long. She counted nine on deck and knew there had to be at least one cook, two helmsmen, a captain, and probably more. All told, it held at minimum thirteen. It also carried cargo on the decks, and probably below, but it carried at least three times as much.

She gave a friendly wave of her arm as they pulled alongside, and a few waved back. Soon the ship was well ahead of the Merry Princess, and Prin was back to painting anything white that didn’t move. The bos’n stormed to her side. “What’r you doing?”

“Painting.”

“Who told you to do that?”

“Oh, I didn’t see you, so I asked Jam if I could help him.”

“And he readily agreed? But, he is not helping?”

“He did give me the brush, but it was my fault. I asked him.”

The bos’n stormed away, heading directly for the stern. That told her something else. The bos’n knew where to look for Jam, so he must have been there several times. Prin turned back to her painting when an odd scent tickled her nose, overriding the strong smell of wet paint. She looked up and found that ahead, the water was no longer greenish, but blue.

She looked at the sides of the river and could barely see them in the hazy distance. The smell of the air held a tang, and the rocking motion of the boat increased. It now surged ahead and slowed, surged and slowed, as well as it rolled slowly from side to side. Her stomach twisted, and she felt dizzy.

The ship made a turn to her right, and the waves struck the ship from the left side, causing it to roll more, and her stomach did the same. She took hold of the railing and closed her eyes, but it got worse. She broke out in a sweat and tried to regain her balance, but the deck refused to hold still long enough.

Her meal came up without warning. She managed to direct most of it over the side, but glanced down and saw there was more on the deck to clean—but she didn’t care. The movement of the ship’s rolling and plunging unpredictably caused her to lose her balance, and she almost fell to the deck. She sat and groaned, and threw up again.

The motion continued. She watched the rolling waves strike the side of the ship and anticipated the next roll, and that seemed to help somewhat. Her body felt weak and tired. When her feet touched the ground again, she would walk back to Indore.

Sayed touched her shoulder. “Come with me little one.”

He helped stand Prin, and when her knees gave out, he caught her and carried her into the door to the crew’s quarters. He placed her in a hammock strung in the same place as the night before, and he found a shallow bowl in case she upchucked again. The hammock was strung fore and aft, so the rolls of the ship were lessened as the hammock reduced the effect, but the pitch and sudden drops were the same. She curled into a ball, her knees drawn up to her chin.

Her eyes closed. Later, she refused dinner and acknowledged Sara stringing her hammock beside her with a groan, but couldn’t speak. Keeping herself from throwing up again was as much as she could manage. When she woke later, a small loaf of dry bread had been placed in her hammock, and she nibbled on a piece of crust.

In the morning, she rolled out of bed with the rest of the crew, finding the motion of the ship didn’t bother her—and she was starving. She ate voraciously, expecting to take a good ribbing from the others, but found only sympathy.

The bos’n said, “Probably all of us have been there.”

Sayed said, “Once we were out of the river mouth and changed course, the motion became less, but by then you were too sick to notice.”

“I didn’t get sick,” Jam declared.

The captain paused, with a spoon halfway to his mouth. As if in slow motion, he turned. “Not this time.”

More than one man laughed, telling Prin he’d been sick on another voyage or two. She kept her head down, refusing to laugh with the rest, lest she makes things between them worse.

Later, at the end of the meal, the bos’n handed out work assignments. When he came to Jam, he said, “Paint the iron.”

“Again?” Jam whined.

“And if I find the brush in Prin’s hand, or you at the stern chewing that mind-weed again, you’re going over the side.”

Jam leaped to his feet, looking to his father for support. The Captain said softly, “I won’t be happy with you if we have to come around and fish you out of the water.”

Jam strode to the door with as much dignity as he could muster, which was not much. After he had slammed the door, the captain turned to the bos’n. “Do what you have to. You run the deck.”

The short conversation told Prin a lot about how a ship is run. The captain decided where and when a ship travels, but the bos’n gets it there. Neither will work without the other.

She had been assigned cleaning, on the deck. Sayed had been assigned cleaning inside, and she finally understood his job. He cleaned the crew quarters, mess, and bridge. He also acted to fill in for any who were ill or hurt, so he had to know all the trades.

The galley and cooking tasks belonged to Sara and the cook, a dour old man who seemed into only on doing his job and not speaking with anyone. Perhaps he talked to Sara, but Prin hadn’t seen or heard it. Even Sayed avoided the galley.

Prin found the bucket and mop they called a swab. Soap was not used, but the bucket had a rope attached, and the bos’n wanted plenty of water, first to wet everything, then mop, and finally rinse.

“Careful to tie off the rope before you lower it get more water or it’ll get free and sink. We have a spare because someone on this deck thinks if he loses the bucket he gets to laze around like a wealthy passenger.”

“Only square knots, I promise.”

“No, not for this. Use a couple of half hitches so you can tie and until them quickly.” He took the end of the rope and showed her. “I like to lock it in place by reversing the second hitch, like this.”

She duplicated the simple knot and started to pitch the bucket over the side. He grabbed her arm and took the bucket from her. He lowered it to the top of the waves passing by and waited for one to crest and half-fill the bucket. He handed her the rope.

It was all she could do to pull it up. The thing weighed as much as a boulder, and to make matters worse, it swung and struck the side of the ship, spilling most of the water. The bos’n laughed and said, “You’ll figure it out from here.”

She splashed the little remaining water on the deck and lowered the bucket again. She caught a wave and filled about a third of it while allowing the bucket to remain near the water. When the ship rolled to the direction she stood, she quickly pulled it up before it swung back and hit the side.

“You ratted me out.”

She knew the voice before turning. Setting the bucket down, she placed the mop inside and said, “No, I tried protecting you.”

“By telling the bos’n where I was?”

“I didn’t have to. And I told him that I asked to paint and you let me.”

“Because of you, I’m confined to the ship.”

“What’s that mean?” She took the mop out and began to smear the wet deck back and forth.

“What it means is that when we get to Donella, I have to stay aboard the damned ship. All because of you.”

Instead of falling into the trap of arguing about who was responsible, she had learned long ago, from people far more experienced and snippy, that she could ignore the barb and proceed with what she wanted to speak about. “Donella?”

“The port we’re headed for, stupid. Don’t you know anything?”

“Is it a city? Have you been there?” She lowered the bucket again, catching a cresting wave perfectly and drawing it quickly aboard. She tossed the water, so it sluiced and cleaned as it ran to the edges of the deck and back overboard. She drew more water for the next section.

“It’s a city, but not like Indore, not half as big, and it’s built next to a mountain.”

“That sounds interesting.” She said, trying to get him to talk. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the captain in the wheelhouse looking down at them, and not looking happy. She wet the deck and drew another bucket and mopped, her back to the wheelhouse, but knowing he watched. She never paused.

Jam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a crate of cargo. “Strange people live there. They talk funny, and their houses are all built the same, made of rocks held together with clay. They put bright colors in the windows and hang flags from the peaks of houses. The roofs are like little hats to keep the water off the walls, so they don’t melt.”

Prin cast a disbelieving look at him.

“No, really. The clay bakes in the sun and gets hard, I guess, but where it washes from the rocks, you can see what’s underneath. The streets are so skinny you can hardly pass another person without touching them. And they wear long things kinda like you, but theirs are longer skirts and hoods cover their heads to protect from the sun. They decorate them with wild colors.”

“Are they nice?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“I thought you’d been there.”

“Listen, I don’t mess with strangers like them and suggest you don’t either.”

She rinsed the deck and wet the next section. As she pulled the bucket again and started to mop, the bos’n appeared. “What’r you doing here?”

“I wanted to ask him about Donella,” Prin said before Jam could speak.

“Yeah, she’s right.”

“If I catch you sluffing off again, you skip the mid-day meal.” The bos’n started to leave but spun and said, “For you, Prin. The captain sends his compliments for doing a good job.”

The color in Jam’s cheeks told of his anger, and the look he gave her said she may as well have kept her mouth shut instead of trying to protect him and make him a friend. She pulled another bucket of water and glanced around to find herself alone. The job was hard, the routine steady, and the sea calm. A hum deep in her throat turned into a song. She used the swab as a dancing partner until she remembered the eyes in the wheelhouse. Looking up, she found the captain smiling at her antics.

When the bell for the meal rang, she ran to the mess hall and intentionally sat in Jam’s seat again. Sara saw what she did and laughed as she placed a large bowl of steaming fish stew beside the small clay bowls. After the lack of food, the day before, she was making up for missing the evening meal.

The door opened at her back and closed again without anyone entering. She assumed it was Jam after seeing where she sat. Prin refused to allow a smile to show, but inside, she enjoyed a belly-laugh.

The stew was thick. Chunks of turnips and carrots were in a broth heavy with fish, but there were spices she’d never tasted, and the more she ate, the hotter the spices became, but she didn’t slow down. Sara served a mug of weak ale for each of them. Prin found it sour and a little bitter, but the aftertaste was lingering, and a little like the better ale served at the castle.

She said to the room at large, “Will we get to go ashore in Donella?”

The question drew the immediate interest of Sara, but she said nothing. The captain said, “Those not restricted to the ship are free to go ashore—after the cargo is unloaded. That is usually done quickly, and then I must arrange for cargo to carry, which arrives the next day. So, you get an afternoon and night to do whatever you like, to answer your question.”

“Then we’re sailing back to Indore?” Prin asked.

“Oh, no. We have a cargo route. People expecting us, and cargo to carry to at least six more ports before we travel back there. If we can pick up the right cargo, we may not return for half a year, or more.”

“A half year?” Prin wailed, knowing she sounded like Jam and not caring.

“Or more,” the captain said, scooping more fish stew to his mouth to cover up the amused twitch at the corners of his lips.

Prin looked around for any indication of humor and saw none. Only Jam wore a smile, and it didn’t look funny, it looked self-satisfied.

When they all went back to work, only Sara and Prin remained in the mess hall. Sara reached for the small book again, but Prin said, “Did you know about that? A half year?”

“I didn’t, but I’m not surprised. In fact, there is a measure of happiness because I’m imagining that young mage tearing up Indore and checking on every girl between the ages of ten and fifteen, but you’re not there.”

“Someone may tell him about me.”

“I don’t think so. Not because they don’t want the reward, but the few that know you will believe another told him about you, so they won’t. Besides, many will not connect you because he is looking for one, and we are a family pair. Then, there’s the matter of the blonde hair. Only El had noticed the color, and we shaved you again.”

Sara ignored the book she was supposed to read from. “What do you think the young mage will do?”

“Well, I don’t believe he will stay in Indore half a year searching for you, but I don’t expect he will stop his search, either. My guess is he will hire people to watch for you and send a messenger to him if you’re seen.”

“That worries me.”

“But we have half a year to think of how we proceed and make sure that does not happen.”

Prin accepted the explanation and started to open the book, but as she turned to reach for it, she noticed the toe of a shoe beside the partly door that led to the crew’s quarters. She pointed.

Sara saw the shoe and being closer to the door, climbed to her feet, leaped to the door, yanking it open.

Jam stood there, ear to the door.