"Latulla, did you pack anything poisonous or reactive?" She glanced up at his shout and narrowed her eyes at his failure to use her title.
"Yes, in the second crate," she called back. "The sacks are marked 'catalysts.' " Haddad threw himself into the hold before common sense could stop him. The area was dark with only a few shafts of light coming in. Most of the deck hatches were closed, and Haddad prayed he wouldn't be knee deep in jelly before he could find what he was looking for. The second crate was one that he had moved, and he hoped Latulla had given him the original loading number rather than one under her new scheme. He could see tentacles beginning to edge out of the bilge, and he skinned his hand badly as he hammered the seals loose with the butt of his knife. He threw out the containers, hoping he wouldn't poison himself as pottery and glass shattered. The interior of the crate was full of smaller crates that nestled Latulla's work in shock resistant packing.
Finally he recognized the symbol for catalyst and broke the container open. Two large satchels lay inside, and he looked for a glove or scoop to spread it around. When tentacles forced him to hop onto another crate, he decided to chance death by poison.
He cut the fasteners loose and took out a handful. It had the consistency of fine sand, and he threw it wide in a circle. Whatever it was, the jelly had no love for it. Where the sand touched, jelly flesh liquefied and then crusted over. Haddad began shouting as he rushed toward the open hatch where he had jumped down.
"Fumash, I've found the answer." He hurled the fine sand to either side. Fumash looked down then skidded around to the other side of the hatch in response to the jelly flowing over the deck.
"Then you better tell me now because I'm not going to be around much longer," Fumash shouted down. He had lost his pike and was holding a mop that scraped along the lip of the hatch. Haddad swore as the jelly fell toward him, and he nailed it with a pinch of the catalyst.
"Spread this all around," he called and threw the sealed bag to the customs man. Fumash caught it and then drew out of sight.
"Who's got a god-cursed knife?" he shouted on the deck, and Haddad heard shouts of relief as crewmen converged on Fumash. Remembering the mop laden with jelly, Haddad decided to head back up the hold for a stairway rather than trust a ladder. He had no desire for a jelly shower, and he dusted his way back up the hold even as shouts of triumph and victory began to sound on deck.
When he reached the stair he had almost completely emptied the bag. He could only hope that it wouldn't be needed on deck. The shouting had died down, and he was careful to have a fistful of catalyst when he stepped into the afternoon light. The deck seemed safe, with many sailors tending the wounds of others. The captain was examining the deck and exterior of the hull carefully as he talked to Latulla.
"I thought we were finished until that slave started using your powder. It's amazing stuff. We should carry it whenever we sail." His relief was obvious, and he still had the occasional tremor as his body shook off his adrenaline.
"That catalyst was very valuable and difficult to obtain," Latulla stated, prodding the crusty remains of the jelly as she followed the officer. "It would be more effective to whip the lookouts so they carry out their duties."
She looked at Haddad and the catalyst slowly dribbling from his hand. He immediately threw it into the sack and sealed it. He knew there would be no thanks or praise for his actions. He had gained her notice, however, and wished that he could reclaim her indifference. He left to find Fumash, wondering how his friend had fared. He couldn't find him as he went over the deck. His circuit took time as parts of the ship were covered with crusted jelly, and, dead or not, he was reluctant to walk on the remains. Approaching a crewman who was washing and bandaging another man's wound, he asked where Fumash was, fearing him lost.
"The little fellow is fine, but his master, Lord Druik, took terrible wounds." The man's patient hissed in pain as a bandage was tied over his salved wounds. "They took him to his cabin, and you should find your friend there." Haddad thanked him and crossed to the other side of the ship, trying to stay out of Latulla's eye. The cook was just leaving Druik's cabin, a bundle of bloody clothes in his hand.
In the dim light, Fumash was bent over the war leader, his hands gently smearing a thin paste over the Keldon's ribs. Long gaps showed muscle and even a glimpse of bone before Fumash's small hands covered it with paste. He looked up at Haddad briefly.
"Give me another pad of gauze." His elbow knocked an empty bottle of brandy as he gestured to a pile of medical supplies on a chair opposite the bed. "This stuff is supposed to be good for burns. Maybe it will help." His shoulders tensed, and each move was deliberated.
"Of course," Haddad said, handing another roll to Fumash, who started laying pads of the coarse weave over Druik's torso. The seeping wounds and salve glued the fabric down like patches on a coat. Haddad's eyes finished adjusting, and he considered Druik. Half-crippled he may have been before, but Haddad wondered how the Keldon could still be alive.
His stumps from past amputations were wrapped and already treated, but the artificial limbs thrown to the side had seen hard service. The metal studs and buckles on the prosthetics were only lightly discolored, but the leather was eaten through in several places. Half of the straps lay open, and Haddad at first thought Druik's caregivers cut the limbs free. A closer look revealed that the jelly had dissolved right through the straps. If more had given way, Druik would have fallen face first into the digestive mass of the beast.
"He was lucky," whispered Haddad.
Fumash slapped him, hitting hard enough that Haddad tasted blood as he looked at his friend.
"Lucky?" He pulled aside the sheet that half-covered Druik's good side. The arm was already wrapped, but even through the bandages Haddad could see how misshapen it was. Dimples and pits showed on the surface of the cloth and hinted at the gaps beneath. Druik's leg was still mercifully covered, but the heavy spotting on the clean sheet and the strange lay and contortion of the limb hinted that Druik had lost it as surely as he had lost his other leg in a battle long past.
"Someone has got to take it off." Fumash nodded to the limb. "Chances are almost sure that I will get stuck with the job." Haddad swallowed his gorge at the thought. By viewing it as just an image, he could control his stomach, but the thought of doing more damage made him sick. At the sight of his distress, Fumash managed a small grim smile.
"Lift his torso up. I need to wrap his ribs." Fumash was holding a long linen wrap that he had picked up as Druik's injuries hypnotized Haddad.
"Shouldn't a surgeon be doing this?" Haddad asked, though he slowly moved into position to lift at the shoulders.
"As a slave, I am in his household and responsible for caring for him," Fumash replied as he twirled the wrap into a roll that could easily pass under Druik. "And if there was a way to get someone else to help with these little jobs, I wouldn't be talking to you. Now lift," he ordered.
Haddad slowly raised the Keldon's upper body. Druik made no intelligible sound, but Haddad could feel each breath and the warmth of the gray living flesh.
"Why isn't he screaming with pain?" Haddad asked as the breathing continued without interruption.
"He's had enough drugs and alcohol that I think he's going to die," Fumash replied as he continued to wrap the form of his master. "If he lives, it will be in spite of my ignorance, not because of my doctoring. Besides," he continued, "I certainly wouldn't want to live in this condition."