Into Dreams: A Gina Harwood Novel (Gina Harwood Series Book 3) Page 13

  Gina spent the next hour unpacking their items and tying them into the cabinets, then withdrew a small notebook and pencil she'd bought in the market and sat at the desk. She began writing down everything she remembered since passing the gatekeepers, and got to roughly her second conscious day in Ulthar before shouting voices on the deck broke her concentration. She looked up at Kyrri, who had been napping in a sunbeam on the bed, and he was already fastening his beltstrap and leaping off of the bed. Gina hurriedly slid her notebook into a desk drawer and jogged out of the room after the Cat.

  Kyrri was sitting in the open doorway looking out at the ship's wheeldeck. He braced himself with one paw against the doorframe. "Looks like we're getting ready to leave," he panted, heaving.

  Gina stepped over him, careful to avoid treading on his tail, and saw the captain standing next to another similarly-built man with an identical black braid hanging down his bare back. "Go lay down, Kyrri, you'll feel better," she said, sympathetically. She felt a bit queasy from the constant slight roll of the ship herself, but guessed what she was feeling didn’t hold a candle to the Cat’s distress.

  Kyrri nodded and slunk out of sight without argument.

  "Oy, Captain!" came a yell from the deck. "Got a guy that wantsta have a word!"

  Gina walked carefully up to the men on the wheeldeck, and steadied herself against the banister. The captain glanced over but didn't react to her presence.

  "What's he want?" yelled Gage in response.

  "Passage," responded the deckhand, cupping his hands to aid his yell. "To Calephais!"

  Gage grumbled under his breath. "Tell him we're full!"

  A tall, thin man walked onto the ship behind the deckhand. He looked well-dressed to Gina's eyes, with a thick brocade vestcoat over a loose silk blouse that waved slightly in the ocean breeze, and a feathered cap cocked jauntily to one side. Something about him seemed familiar to her, tugging at her memory, and she felt the buzz in her ears grow in volume. "Jim, get that man off my ship," he yelled, veins bulging in his temples. She sidled back a few steps along the banister. "No one gets on without my say-so."

  "I have a thousand dinieri that says differently," called out the man, and his voice was clear as a bell as it sailed easily through the air. Gina shivered.

  Captain Gage gritted his teeth and stomped toward the steps to the main deck. "Stay here," he hissed to Gina, and she nodded, sizing up the other man standing by the ship's wheel. He was nearly as large as the captain, tall and stocky, with features very similar to Gage's. She guessed he was the captain's brother due to the strong resemblance, though this man's face looked softer and kinder than his sibling’s.

  He noticed her gaze and walked closer to her, stopping a few feet away and continuing to face out over the ship. "Name's Hammer, milady," he said, and there was no trace of the gruffness or mockery that marked the captain's speech. "First mate. Pleased to meet you." His arms were locked behind him and he stood straight.

  "Thanks, you too," replied Gina, watching the captain storm across the deck to the intruder standing casually against the side of the ship. They were talking in hushed tones, rapidly, and the captain was gesturing up at her. "What's going on?"

  "No clue," said Hammer in a hoarse whisper. "Someone needing passage last minute, I'd guess. Badly, if he wants to pay that much to get to Calephais. Fugitive, maybe. Dressed too nicely to be an escaped prisoner."

  "Captain Gage is going to tell him no, right?" asked Gina, leaning over the banister to try to hear more clearly.

  Hammer snorted a laugh. "A thousand dinieri? I'll skin him myself if he says no."

  Gina blinked. "But you said he was probably dangerous," she hissed.

  The tanned man turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "You drew a knife on the captain," he reminded her. "And you're an Easterner who speaks our tongues fluently, traveling with a Cat of Ulthar. Paying a lot less than a thousand dinieri."

  Gina bit her lip. He had a point about the dagger, and the money, but she wondered what made him think she was an Easterner, whatever that was.

  "Why..." she paused, rephrasing the question in her head. "How did you know I was an Easterner?"

  "Your eyes," smiled the man, meeting hers with his strange dark ones. "No native-born Westerner has such light eyes." Hammer turned back to the action and nodded for her to look. She looked up just as the captain came stomping back up the stairs.

  "Let's get to sailing," growled the captain, pushing past her and retaking his place at the wheel.

  "Is he gonna sleep down with me and the men?" Hammer asked him in a low voice that Gina could barely hear.

  "Yeah. Keep an eye on him," grumbled the captain, but he flashed the pouch of dinieri in his jacket. "Paid two thousand, one for us, one to split with the crew. Guy's desperate to get away from something."

  Feeling her anxiety rise again, Gina watched the well-dressed man stride confidently across the deck and disappear down the steps beside the galley door. He didn't look up, so she couldn't make out his face under the hat. The buzz subsided and she frowned.

  "Now, if there are no further objections," boomed Captain Gage out over the deck. All heads snapped up and some chuckled as he bowed to them. "Cast off the lines and raise anchor! Let's get out of here."

  "Fly, Blackbird," Hammer whispered, barely audibly.

  26

  Morgan wasn't unconscious, but he wasn't exactly conscious either. It was bright, wherever he was, very bright, a bright that hurt his eyes but he couldn't seem to close them all the way. His vision was blurred, but there was movement, a brown shape against a blue sky, moving. There was a black hole in the center of the shape that appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared, and his vision cleared just enough to see that it was the mouth of a young girl, and she appeared to be yelling something. Her arm flailed beside her, waving, and her mouth opened again, but Morgan couldn't hear anything but a gurgling, bubbling sound, like he was still under the water, but he wasn't, because there was a little girl here. He tried to speak, but his lips barely responded to his commands to action, and even that tiny movement had been so hard. He briefly considered that this young girl was seeing him naked, and that should be weird and uncomfortable, but even that simple emotion took too much energy to muster. He simply lay there and waited for something to change.

  You're dying, he heard Charlie's voice echo and splinter away, but it didn't sound so bad right now, not really, not when he thought about the alternatives.

  27

  A bell sounded, the unmistakable clang of a dinner bell, and Gina looked up from her notebook. Kyrri stirred on the bed and hacked a weak cough. "Noon?" she guessed. "Lunchtime."

  Kyrri groaned and placed his head back on his paws.

  "You can stay here, Kyrri. I'll bring you back something, or you can eat one of the beef tins if you get hungry."

  "Nah," grimaced the Cat, clasping his belly latch and dropping carefully to the floor. He weaved back and forth slightly, his feet placed far apart to help him displace the rocking of the boat. "A kit would stay here and nap. I'm coming with you." His head rolled slightly, but he took a few lurching steps forward anyway.

  Gina crouched to look the young cat in the eye. "Kyrri, seriously. You wouldn't let me leave Ulthar until I was physically okay, and you're not physically okay. Stay here. I can manage lunch." She pointed behind him. "Back to bed. Doctor's orders."

  Kyrri looked at her blearily. "You're not a doctor, Gina-Dreamer," he argued. "I'm fine. This is just sea-weakness."

  "Back on my world, doctors prescribe medicine for sea-sickness. Get back to bed, I'll need you to have your strength later," she reasoned. "If danger comes."

  As she expected, Kyrri perked up at that. "Yes, you're right, Dreamer," he said, climbing up the bedcovers weakly. "I'll need to be at my best to protect you."

  "Yeah, so get sleeping," she chuckled, turning and jogging out of the room. She didn't want to be late to lunch; she was both a little hungry and a lot curious as to what would p
ass for a meal in the galley. The captain's quarters were empty, and she made a mental note to check that next time before just running in. She still didn't know what to make of him, and longed for her telepathy to return. She probed that area of her mind, like tonguing a missing tooth, and found only the static noise she always heard now. A bolt of fear passed through her, as she considered the possibility that it might never return, but she shoved that thought away. It wasn't helpful. There was a lanky, dark-haired sailor checking the rigging near her, and she smiled in greeting at him, rounding the corner and descending the steps to arrive at the galley door.

  She wasn't sure what she expected the galley to look like, but it wasn't this. She stared into a large, well-kept kitchen, with several covered firepits lining the walls and a judiciously-sized countertop lined with plates, pots, pans and various kitchen miscellany. Bundled herbs and braids of garlic hung from the cabinet doors and on tall hanging hooks above the firepits. Jars of oils and spices were tied under a ledge on the cabinet, and there were several colorful vegetables in the process of being chopped quickly and professionally by a short, bald man standing in front of the counter on a stepstool. There was a large, round table just inside the door to her immediate right, at which sat Captain Gage and the new passenger. The man had flowing golden hair that sat coiffed upon his shoulders, and his feathered cap was hanging behind him on a hook. The man's skin was fairer than she'd seen, and his features more delicate than the rougher lookin Men she'd encountered thus far. His eyes were the same near-black as all of the Men she'd met so far, but they gave her pause. They were different somehow. Maybe slightly lighter. The sense of familiarity still tugged at her, but she was reasonably certain she didn't actually recognize his features. She realized she was staring at him and quickly sat down in the chair across the table, returning her gaze to the cook.

  "Agent Gina Harwood, this is Gavin Crowell. He'll be traveling with us as far as Calephais." The captain's voice was measured.

  "Pleasure," said the man, extending his hand toward her. She took it, and he stood with a flourish and kissed her knuckles.

  She snapped her hand away before she could stop herself. "Nice to meet you," she answered, placing her hand back on her chair. The man's touch was unpleasant, though she couldn't pin down why she thought so.

  "Jackie! What's for lunch?" Gage shouted in the direction of the plump cook.

  "Game hen over wild rice with a roasted pepper salad," called out the chef proudly, with an accent that Gina would almost describe as British. "With a mellopone cake for dessert." He gave Gina a small, deferential tip of his head before returning to his duties, and she noticed with a start that his eyes were a light blue.

  "Mellopone?" she asked the captain.

  "The fruit. They're only found outside Hlanith so we pick them up whenever we're here. Sweet and tangy," replied the captain. "But everything else should be right up your alley eh? Eastern cuisine, the finest." He leaned back, pleased. "Highest paid cook in any galley right there, in the finest galley ever built. Quality of the galley is directly proportional to the quality of the crew. Every time."

  Gina wasn't sure how to answer, so she kept her mouth shut. She noticed the new passenger watching her, and he smiled when she met his eyes.

  The galley door burst open and Gina turned to see Hammer walk briskly to the empty seat next to the captain and sit down heavily. "Everything's secure and we're switched over to full sail now," grunted Hammer, sweating profusely. "Hot as balls on that deck today."

  Jackie the Cook pressed between them to slide a plate of crackers and assorted cheeses onto the table. "Rest'll be about fifteen minutes."

  "What do you mean 'switched to full sail'? Does the ship have a motor?" asked Gina, taking a paired cracker.

  "She does!" boasted Captain Gage, and he puffed with pride. "Full-copper steam. The engine style is a little old, but you won't find nuthin' that runs as fast as Blackbird."

  "Where's your Cat?" asked Hammer.

  "Kyrri?" she replied. "He's a bit under the weather."

  "Ha ha, I don't doubt it!" laughed the captain, and Gina realized that the steins in front of them didn't have water, but ale.

  "Aww," cooed the blonde man across the table, still watching her. "Kitty doesn't like the water? Poor thing." Gina felt her eye twitch and bit her tongue.

  "Is there any plain water?" she asked, not wanting to drink the strong ale on an already-queasy stomach.

  "Ale and grog," shrugged Hammer. "Keeps better at sea."

  Gina drew down her eyebrows. "What's grog?"

  "Watered-down rum," he answered.

  Gina shuddered.

  "I have some water, if you want it," offered Gavin Crowell quietly, holding out a surprisingly modern-looking canteen to Gina.

  "Uh, no, no thanks. The ale is fine," she replied, distrusting of the Man.

  "Suit yourself," he shrugged, taking a sip of it himself. "Mm-mm good."

  "How many days to Calephais?" she asked the captain, tearing her eyes away from the strange man.

  "Three," said Gage, his mouth full of crackers. "Two and a half if the winds are fast."

  "Where's everyone else?" asked Gina, looking around. There was only the one table, and she knew there were at least five other men on the crew, probably more.

  "You are curious, aren't you?" murmured Gavin, and Gina met his gaze with a stony glare. She had immediately disliked this man, and even with the buzz in her head, she trusted that instinct.

  "The captain, first mate, and passengers eat first, at the captain's table," explained Hammer, waving to indicate that this was, indeed, the captain's table. "The rest of the crew eat at twelve-thirty in the crew galley. That's one deck down."

  "Lunch!" announced Jackie, as he deftly served each of them their plates, which were stacked up his short arms. Gina looked down as a perfectly-caramelized cornish hen were placed in front of her, and the smell wafting up was divine. "I will give you one for your sick friend as well," he said quietly, patting Gina on the shoulder as he waddled back to the kitchen. "Tell him to feel better! There is no day as good as a day at sea!"

  28

  The ocean waves sounded smooth and rhythmic, an incoming roar dissolving to a crackling hiss as they receded across the sand, only to do it again a few seconds later. Morgan cracked one eye open. It felt dry and blistered, and his vision took a moment to adjust completely to his surroundings. He let his head fall to the side, his neck creaking in distress from the movement. He was in a large, round hut of some sort. He was lying near the curved wall, and there was a small bundle of aromatic herbs or flowers that were smoking in a fire pit a few feet away, in the center of the dwelling. They released a thick scent that made him drowsy and relaxed, and he shook his head to keep from drifting back off into unconsciousness. He tried to sit up, but couldn't - looking down he saw ropes tying him to a rudimentary bed. Morgan noticed with relief that his lower half was at least covered with a thin blanket.

  "Hello?" he called out weakly, trying to wriggle upwards to escape the ropes.

  A triangular flap opened at the front of the hut, and a tall, thin woman peered at him. Her skin was tanned darkly, and her light blonde hair was braided ornately, with several small braids feeding into a larger one that draped over her left shoulder. He noticed that she carried a wicked-looking spear, a polished wooden handle with a foot-long bladed point. "Hi," he tried again. "My name is Morgan. I won't hurt you." He stopped his wriggling abruptly and arched his fingers up, showing that his hands were still bound.

  "You have said that before," she accused, and her speech was broken and staccato.

  "I... I don't remember anything after jumping off of a cliff," he said, eyeing the spear in her hand, which was still pointed in his direction.

  "You wouldn't," she said, setting the spear against a three-walled wooden structure that seemed built to house them. "You were feverish and half-dead when we found you, and under the water's influence." She poured clear liquid out of a clay pitc
her into a small cup and sipped it. "I am surprised you are not dead."

  "Why am I tied down?"

  She stood and approached his bedside. She wore a simple dress that appeared to be made of a thin, tanned leather, and had leather slippers covering her feet. "We had to treat your infection." She flipped the lower part of the sheet back and leaned over to examine his foot. "Every time we tried to get close, you would kick and bite. Then, sometimes you would seem normal. But you were not, and you would attack us again." She turned and grabbed a jar from the table behind her, and Morgan twitched as she painted something cool and gooey along the bottom of his left foot.

  "Oh," replied Morgan. "I'm sorry. I wasn't myself."

  "Yes," she said, walking forward to examine his face. She extended a finger and ran it back and forth slowly in front of his eyes. "You do seem better. I will be back." She turned and jogged lightly out of the hut.

  "Wait!" yelled Morgan. "Where am I?" The flap hung closed behind her, and Morgan let his head fall back against the pillow, wriggling against his bonds. "Dammit."

  "Ila, stay back near the door," ordered the woman, ducking back through the flap. A small girl with long, dark hair nodded as she entered, holding the flap open as a tall, sinewy man entered. His face was slack and his eyes were not quite focused. He had to bend almost entirely in half to fit through the opening, and then stood docilely, waiting for further instructions.

  The blonde-haired woman grabbed her spear from the case and nodded at the man. "Okay, Nopah. You can untie him."

  The slack-jawed man hummed a wordless assent and lumbered over to Morgan's bedside. Morgan remained completely still as the man's massive hands untied the ropes and uncoiled them from around the bed. He hummed again as he coiled the rope around his arm and carried it back to the woman. Morgan slowly pushed himself to sitting, massaging his hands. Everything was sore and creaky.

  "Go slow," she warned. "You have been lying there for many suns. Your body will not work properly yet." She pointed at the table near him, where the water pitcher and cup sat. "Drink. You need water."