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.