Ocean of Dust Read online

  "We'll get through it," he said, patting her hand. "Things'll turn out for the best, that's what my pa always says."

  She stared at him incredulously and sighed. Her plan to see the world hadn’t featured her being a slave. Right now, she would give up all her dreams to be nice and safe back home in the inn. She'd never complain about her dull chores ever again, never daydream. She’d be a dutiful daughter if she could just get out of this.

  "Get up, it's time to go," the giant man said, and he and the skinny man pulled her and both boys to their feet.

  Even though the ponytailed man had left, she didn't dare resist. The men steered her toward a boat that had just bumped against the dock. She reached for Pete's hand, but it was too far. Her insides felt numb and she couldn't stop trembling. She hadn't even had a chance to get word to her mother, who would be frantic by now. At the end of the dock, she peered down into the empty boat, her eyes blurry with tears. It wasn't fair. If only she'd come back from the market sooner, like her mother had asked.

  Chapter 3 - The Fair Maiden of Yamin

  Pete climbed in first and then the large man lifted Lissa into the boat. She felt her cheeks flush and couldn't bear to catch Pete's glance, didn’t want him to see her this way. I'm not a little child. The rich brat tripped on the gunwale and tumbled into the boat head first, his chains rattling. Pete snickered. They moved to the backbench of the boat, and the two men stepped into the front. The boat wobbled and sank deeper in the grey dust, forcing Lissa to grip her seat with both hands. The skinny man thrust his oar against the dock, pushing the bobbing boat away. They began to row.

  Lissa stared over her shoulder at the receding land. Her heart pounded and tears trickled down her face. Somehow, she knew that she would never see her home or her parents ever again. The world wasn't exciting after all, but cruel instead. She let herself sob openly. It didn't matter what anyone thought of her now. The wetness felt good on her chapped lips.

  Pete searched around in the bottom of the boat and sat back up holding a water-skin. Neither man reacted so he unscrewed the top and took a long swallow.

  "That's good," he murmured. "Still cool."

  He offered it to her. She took a tentative sip, and then several large swallows, rinsing her mouth.

  "Thank you," she said, handing it to the rich boy. He snatched it from her with a snarl.

  Heaving a deep sigh, she wiped the tears from her face and swept her hair back, pulling away clumps of dried dung from the street. Disgusting. She felt sticky and sweaty.

  In a last ditch attempt to hold on to her old world, she turned full around to stare back at the town of Pelen. The little boat rocked violently back and forth. With a gasp, she clung to the seat with one hand and leaned the other against Pete’s back, finding it strong and supporting. Water from the container spilled down the rich boy's shirt.

  "Oy," he snapped. "Stupid girl."

  "Leave her alone," Pete said.

  "Who said you could talk? You're weak to side with a girl.”

  Lissa felt her insides boiling. "Shut up. I'm glad you got soaked because you smell."

  "Not as bad as-"

  "Quiet," the larger man roared, "Sit still or I'll come back there."

  She looked away, gritting her teeth to calm down. They had rowed so far already. The shore seemed such a long way away, and she felt exposed out on the ocean. A disturbance to her right drew her attention. A gust of wind powered a small whirlwind that sucked up fine grey powder from the ocean surface. It rose several feet into the air and sprayed the powder in all directions. When the wind died, the dust fell back down to be absorbed into the waves.

  Fascinated, she edged along the seat, careful not to rock the boat, and peered over the side. Unlike the lake at home, she couldn't see anything below the matt grey surface. How deep was it? She dipped her finger in, expecting it to feel like a bowl of salt, but the grains were so tiny that her finger met no resistance.

  "Don't even think of trying to swim for it," the big man said, glaring over his shoulder. "Even without them chains, yer wouldn't survive."

  "No one can swim in dust," the other man added.

  She pinched her lip thoughtfully. In the warmer moon-cycles, she liked to swim in the lake. What would stop her swimming here? After all, it clearly supported boats and huge ships. She plunged her entire hand beneath the surface and moved it about. The dust felt bone dry but grew cooler as she reached deeper. Scooping out a handful, she compared it to the spices in her mother's kitchen. None had been ground as fine as this grey powder. It flowed between her fingers like a liquid. A gust blew a wave of dust across the boat and into her face. She coughed and licked her lips. It tasted bitter, like nothing she could put her finger on. She brushed her hands together and wiped them on her skirt. The dust particles fell off easily and the bottom of the boat was covered in the stuff.

  Pete nudged her. "Look."

  The rear of a ship towered above them, three or four stories high. The whole ship rolled side-to-side in a wide but lazy motion and was larger than she had expected. Windows were open on every level, with a narrow balcony halfway up. She read the huge letters painted across the stern:

  The Fair Maiden Of Yamin

  The rowers steered their boat to the left side, which allowed her to see the main deck high above. An ornate wooden rail ran from the front of the ship to the back, but there was a small gap midway along, to which the boat approached. Lissa craned her neck. A rope ladder dangled from the rail, its lowest rungs submerged beneath the dust. She chewed her bottom lip nervously. They expected her to climb all the way up that narrow, flimsy ladder?

  The boat bumped against the side of the ship and the large man stood, taking a hold of the ladder.

  "One at a time," he said. "Climb up quick and don't make a fuss."

  He reached down and used a dull and rusted key to unlock the rich boy's shackles. Lissa gave a quiet sigh of relief. At least she didn't have to wear them forever. Her ankles were raw and throbbed continually. Or would they put them back on once they had climbed the ladder?

  "Stay put at the top, an' don't say a word unless spoken to." The man shoved the boy toward the ladder.

  It seemed to take forever for him to scramble up the bucking ladder, and both men shouted at him to hurry, stopping only when his foot missed a rung and he almost plummeted back into the boat. Lissa winced and her stomach turned over with worry. At the top, other men dragged him onto the deck and he trembled as he stood by the rail, looking own at her.

  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 fee
t 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 t
he 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.