I continued on my way, thinking about what Alake had said. It was odd that this human seemed so unused to being in the water. The Phondrans spend as much time in the Goodsea as they do on land and consequently never suffer from this condition, which we dwarves know as “water-poisoning.” The man was obviously not a Phondran. Then, who was he and where had he come from?
It was more than one dwarf could figure out.
Arriving in the storeroom, I snagged one of the brandywine bottles, uncorked it, and took a mouthful just to make certain it was good.
It was. I blinked my eyes.
I took another mouthful or two, then popped the cork back on, wiped off my side whiskers, and hurried back to our passenger. Alake and Devon had lifted him into the bosun’s chair—a chair attached to a rope that can be lowered up and down the shaft, used to handle the injured or those whose bulk made climbing ladders difficult. We hauled the man up to the crew’s quarters on deck two, and helped him to a small cabin.
Fortunately, he was able to walk, though his legs were as wobbly as a newborn kitten’s. Alake spread out a pile of blankets. He sank onto them weakly and we covered him with more. He was still gasping and looked to be in a considerable amount of pain.
I offered the brandy bottle. He seemed to understand, for he motioned me near. I put it to his lips, he took a gulp. His gasping changed to coughing, and I was afraid for a moment our cure was going to be the end of him, but he hung on. He managed to get down several more mouthfuls before he sank back weakly on the blankets. Already, his breathing had eased. He looked from one to the other of us, his eyes taking everything in, giving nothing back. Suddenly, he tossed aside the blankets. Alake made a clucking sound, like a mother hen whose chick has wandered out from under her feathers. The human ignored her. He was staring at his arms. He stared at his arms for the longest time, rubbing the skin almost frantically. He gazed at the back of his hands. Closing his eyes in what was obviously bitter despair, he sank back down on the blankets.
“What’s the matter?” Alake asked, speaking human, coming over to kneel beside him. “Are you injured? What can we do to help?”
She started to touch his arm, but he drew away from her and snarled, like a wounded animal.
Alake persisted. “I’m not going to harm you. I only want to help.” He kept staring at her, and I saw his brow furrow in anger and frustration.
“Alake,” I said quietly. “He can’t understand you. He doesn’t know what you’re saying.”
“But I’m speaking the human language . . .”
“Dev-Sabia, you try,” I said, stuttering as badly as Alake. “Maybe he isn’t human, after all.”
The elf pulled the scarf down from around his mouth. “Where do you come from? What is your name?” he asked, speaking the musical Elmas language slowly and distinctly.
The stranger, frowning, shifted his eyes to Devon. The look of frustration changed to fury. Propping himself up on one arm, he shouted at us. We couldn’t understand him, either, but we didn’t need a translator.
“Get out!” he was yelling as plain as anything. “Get out and leave me alone!” He collapsed back on the blankets, groaning. His eyes closed, he’d broken out in a sweat. But his lips continued to move, forming the words he no longer had the strength to utter.
“Poor man,” said Alake softly. “He’s lost and sick and afraid.”
“That may be,” I said, having my own opinion on the subject, “but I think we better do what he wants.”
“Will . . . will he be all right?” Alake couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“He’ll be fine,” I assured her, trying to edge her out the door. “If we stay, we’ll only upset him.”
“Grundle’s right,” Devon added. “We should leave him alone to rest.”
“I think I should stay with him,” Alake said.
Devon and I exchanged alarmed glances. The stranger’s savage yell and his dark expression had unnerved us both. As if we didn’t have trouble enough, it looked to me like we now had an insane human on our hands.
“Shh,” I said, “you’ll wake him. Let’s talk out in the corridor.” We herded the reluctant Alake out of the room.
“One of us should keep an eye on him,” Devon whispered in my ear. I nodded, taking his meaning. One of us shouldn’t be Alake.
“I’ll bring my blanket out here . . .” She was already making plans to spend the night near him.
“No, no, you go to bed. I’ll sit up with him. I’m experienced in this sickness.” I cut off her protest. “He’ll likely sleep for hours now, anyway. You should be well-rested and ready to tend him in the morning, when he wakes up.”
She brightened at the prospect, but she still wavered, her gaze going to the door I had shut behind me. “I don’t know ...”
“I’ll call you if there’s any change,” I promised. “You don’t want him to see you in the morning all red-eyed and sleepy, do you?”
That clinched it. Alake bid us good-night, took one last peep at her patient, smiled softly to herself, and went off down the corridor.
“What do we do now?” Devon demanded, when she was gone.
“How should I know?” I snapped irritably.
“Well, you’re a girl. You know about these things.”
“What things?” I asked, though I knew well enough what he was talking about.
“It’s obvious. She’s attracted to him.”
“Pooh! I remember when she rescued a wounded wolf cub once. She took it home and treated it the same way.”
“That’s no wolf cub,” said Devon gravely. “He’s young and strong and handsome and well-built, even for a human. It was all Alake and I could do to drag him down the corridor.”
Which brought up another problem. If this man went berserk and decided to tear the ship apart, we three would be hard-pressed to stop him. But what about the dragon-snakes? It was obvious they were still in control; the ship continued to rush through the water. Did they know this stranger was aboard? Did they care?
I took a swig of the brandywine. “Go to bed,” I told Devon crossly. “We’re not going to figure anything out tonight. Maybe something’ll happen by morning.” Something did.
I went back into the room with the man and settled myself in a dark corner near the door. If the human woke, I figured I could be up and out of there before he knew what was happening.
His sleep was restless, disturbed. He thrashed about on the blankets, muttering in his own language, whose words all seemed to me to be dark and sharp-edged and filled with hatred and anger. Sometimes he’d cry out, and once he gave a fearful scream and sat bolt upright, staring straight at me. I was on my feet and nearly out the door before I realized he wasn’t seeing me at all.
He lay back down. I returned to my seat. He clutched at the blankets, kept saying one word over and over. It sounded like “dog.” And sometimes he would groan and shake his head and cry, “Lord!”
Finally, from sheer exhaustion, I think, he fell into a heavy slumber. I suppose I can admit that I’d been keeping the fire of courage burning in my heart by dousing it liberally with brandywine. I was no longer feeling afraid of him. (I wasn’t feeling much of anything, to be honest.) Watching the man fall into this deep sleep, I decided to see what I could learn about him. Maybe go through his pockets, if he had any.
After some little trouble, I got to my feet. (The ship seemed to be rolling more than I recalled.) I made my way over to him and crouched down. What I saw sobered me faster than my mother’s blackroot powder.
I don’t remember what came after, except that I found myself running down the corridor, screaming like a banshee.
Alake, clutching her sleeping gown around her, stood in her doorway, staring at me in panic. Devon shot out of his room like it was on fire. He was forced to sleep in his dress. Poor fellow. Sabia’s dress was all the clothes he’d thought to bring along.