Zypheria's Call (A Tanyth Fairport Adventure) (36 page)

“How many holes?”

Tanyth tried to picture it in her mind, but the dream was too elusive. The image of the hard tack wasn’t clear enough to the rat. “I don’t know. Some. Couple of rows of ’em.” She shrugged. “It’s dark down there.”

Cook stepped back and stared at her.

“Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know, mum. You have to admit it’s a bit of a strange story.”

She picked up her oatmeal. “You don’t know the half of it,” she said and took a spoonful.

“Has it happened before?”

She shrugged and then gave a little nod. “I used to see through a raven’s eyes.”

Cook’s eyebrows shot up. “A raven?”

Tanyth nodded, chewing her oatmeal. “She liked rabbits.”

“What? As pets?”

“As meals.”

“She caught them?”

Tanyth shook her head. “No, dead ones. She also liked apples, frogs, and even hornets. She ate almost anything that didn’t eat her first. But she liked rabbits best.”

“And you saw through her eyes?”

“Yeah. It was odd at first, but flyin’ was fun.” Tanyth grinned at him.

“Now you’re just teasing, mum.”

She sighed. “No. I wish I was.”

Seven bells rang and sailors started lining up outside for their breakfasts. Tanyth poured the tea and Cook doled out the oatmeal until all the sailors had bowls and mugs. Rebecca came through the line with the sailors and smiled when Cook gave her an extra helping of oatmeal.

“Mornin’, mum,” she said and scurried off before Tanyth could answer.

With the crew fed, they had a few minutes before they needed to start cleaning up.

Cook didn’t mention their conversation the whole time, but Tanyth could see him thinking it over, occasionally shooting her odd glances as he finished putting the crock of beans together and then slid it into the oven for the long day of baking.

Tanyth finished her now-cold oatmeal and washed it down with hot tea before putting her bowl in the tray. Within a few minutes, sailors started stowing their own dirty dishes and by the time eight bells rolled around breakfast was done.

Tanyth set up her folding work surface and Cook lifted the tray of dirty dishes up for her, filled the rinse bucket with hot water from the tank, poured half of it into the tray and then placed it at her feet.

“You gonna say something?” she asked when his considering looks became unbearable.

“You’re not crazy, mum.”

“Why d’ya say that?”

He shrugged. “Well, granted that I’ve only known you a few days, mum, but you’ve never once struck me as a crazy, old lady. I know a few. Related to some, actually, but you’re not like them, mum.”

“Really?”

“Yes, mum. They’re all sure they’re not crazy, but then they say the craziest things like they’re just normal as apple cobbler on a winter day.”

“And?”

“And you say crazy things, but you know they’re crazy. They make no sense. For you, they’re true.” He paused, looking her straight in the eyes. “And it scares ya, don’t it?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know what’s happenin’ or why. That scares the stuffin’ out o’ me.”

He filled the tea kettle with fresh, cold water and put it on the stove to heat. He stepped back and considered Tanyth.

“So, why are you starin’ at me like that?” she asked.

“I’m wondering what you’re not telling me, mum.”

“What I’m not tellin’ you? I just told ya I dream I’m a rat.”

He shrugged. “That could just be coincidence, mum. Dreams are funny things. Sometimes I dream I’m a ship sailing in the warm southern seas.”

“How would I know there was a broken barrel of hard tack?”

He shrugged again. “Coincidence. There’s bound to be food all around. Dreams are funny that way. They make your brain see stuff in odd ways.”

“That’s true enough.”

“So, what else did you tell Mr. Jameson that you’re not telling me, mum?”

“My lil four-footed friend thinks somethin’s not right in the main hold. I want Mr. Jameson to check it out.”

“What? The cargo shifted in the storm?”

She shrugged. “I’d rather not say, Cook. I feel foolish enough already. I’ll feel even worse if Scott gets down there and finds nothin’.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Scott, is it now? My, my.”

She took a deep breath to answer but he just smiled at her.

“Finish up the dishes, mum, and then if you’ve still a mind to, we can make a bunch of biscuits for the lads for lunch.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy, then?”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “No, mum. I don’t know what you are, but you’re a long way from crazy.” He examined her for a long moment before asking, “How did your little friend get in to find the hardtack?”

“There’s a gap between two of the planks. It’s wet and a bit slimy. She slips through from the main hold that way.”

His eyebrows shot up and he blinked several times in apparent astonishment. “Interesting, mum. Very interesting.” He pulled a huge cast-iron skillet down from an overhead rack in a single smooth movement. The pan was so big that Tanyth wasn’t sure she could have lifted it with both hands, let alone one.

“What are you goin’ to cook in that monster?”

He grinned over his shoulder and started winding the key on the tin of beef. “It takes a lot of gravy for these lads, mum. Sometimes I think a bathtub wouldn’t be big enough.”

The look on his face made her laugh a bit. She splashed a little more hot water into her dirty dishes and dug in with a will. “Well, you’re right on one score, Cook.”

“What’s that, mum?”

“Dreams or not, the work still has to get done.”

“Aye, mum, it surely does.”

Cook set to with some onion and spices while Tanyth finished the dishes. When the last of the crockery sluiced into the rinse, Cook helped her pour the dirty water into a bucket for disposal. He stuck his head out of the deckhouse and did a double take. “Scooter? You spend way too much time lurking out there!”

He laughed at some comment that Tanyth couldn’t hear.

“All right, then.”

Scooter slipped in past Cook, grinned at Tanyth before grabbing the bucket and disappearing again. He was back in a flash, trading the empty bucket for a sweet and scampering back on deck.

He was no sooner out of the cookhouse than the door opened and Jameson walked in with the captain right behind him. “I know, Skipper, but we’ve still got at least another week of bumping along. I think it would be a good idea to make sure that nothing’s broken loose down there,” he said.

“I’m not arguing with you, Scotty,” the captain said. He turned to Cook. “A cup of tea for a pour old man, Cook? Perhaps a stale biscuit...?”

Cook laughed poured two mugs of fresh tea, handing one to each of the men. “Hold on a minute, Captain, and I’ll find you a moldy crust to chew on.” He pulled a biscuit out of the morning’s basket and, expertly splitting it, slathered a bit of butter on each half and placed them butter side down in the heavy skillet full of onion. “Mr. Jameson? A moldy crust for you, sir?”

Jameson chuckled and shook his head. “Tea is fine for now, Cook. Thank you.”

The captain turned back to Jameson. “Tell you what, we’ve got a waypoint coming up this morning around four bells. It should give us a bit better position on the rollers and maybe they’ll even subside a bit by then.”

“Thank you, Captain. Sounds like a plan.”

The captain sipped his tea and nodded to Tanyth. “You keeping Cook in line, mum?”

“I’m not sure who’s keeping who in line, Captain, but he finds little things for me to do that fill my empty days.”

Cook grinned and handed the captain a browned biscuit. “Try that, Captain. You can just eat around any moldy bits, I think.”

“Ah, thank you, Cook. I may survive after all.” He turned to Jameson. “See me after we come about, Mr. Jameson.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. Thank you, sir.”

The captain grunted and left the deckhouse, trying to juggle his tea and catch the jam dripping off his biscuit without spilling either on his frockcoat.

Jameson gave Cook a nod and shared a look with Tanyth before taking his tea and following the captain out onto the deck.

“Well,” Cook said. “I need to make some gravy and you need to make some biscuits. I think we’ve got about two bells before Mr. Jameson gets a chance to look in the hold and see how good your dreams are, mum.”

She shivered and hoped, this time, the dreams were wrong, then she pushed up her sleeves again. Regardless of what Mr. Jameson found in the hold, the sailors would need a good lunch. While she couldn’t do much about the first, the second she knew how to help with. “How much flour do you want me to use, Cook?” she asked, and got down to work.

Tanyth finished the biscuits in almost no time and soon had three full sheet pans in the oven.

“That oughta keep the lads in gravy for a while, mum.” Cook looked around and shrugged. “I think that’s it for this morning, mum. Thanks for doing the biscuits for me.”

“You’re welcome, o’course. I’m gonna go lay down and read for a bit.” She snaked a mug off the shelf and poured herself some tea to take along. With a nod, she stepped out onto the deck, closing the door behind her with a snap.

After the overly-warm cookhouse, the open deck felt clean and fresh. The chill wind tried to blow the tea right out of her mug, but she found that she’d developed enough skill to walk, balance tea, and even hold her coat together with her free hand. “You might make a sailor yet,” she muttered. The ship took a particularly steep wave that had Tanyth flexing her knees and trying to stay upright as the seesaw movement up and then down again jarred the ship. “If you can keep from fallin’ overboard,” she muttered.

A flash of white to her left caught her eye and she saw a single seabird apparently suspended alongside the ship. The bird’s golden eye peered at her and she shook her head, hoping she wasn’t going to start flying with gulls next.

She resumed her walk to the cabin, feeling quite proud that her path weaved only slightly back and forth with the rolling of the ship. A last stagger got her down the companionway without incident and out of the wind. She treated herself to a sip of tea. The interior of the ship always felt so quiet, even muffled, after being out on deck. She knew it wasn’t true, but by comparison to the heavy winds always blowing in her ears, the relative silence struck her each time.

She found Rebecca standing beside her bunk, the surface of her blanket covered with the papers from Tanyth’s bundle. Rebecca flashed her a bright smile. “G’mornin’, mum. Got Cook squared away?”

Tanyth shook her head and gave a small laugh. “G’mornin’, yourself. And it’s gonna take more than one poor old lady to get him straightened out. How’s life as a deck hand?”

Rebecca grimaced. “I think they’re takin’ it easy on me ’cause I’m a girl.”

“Show me your hands.”

Rebecca turned roughed palms up to the light. “The liniment helps some. I shudder to think of what they’d look like without it.”

“No blisters?”

“No, mum.”

“Well, if this is takin’ it easy on ya, my dear, you prob’ly want to thank your lucky stars because much more and you’d have ground beef where your fingers should grow.”

Rebecca peered at her own palms again and nodded. “Maybe it’s just ’cause I’m new.”

Tanyth shrugged and crossed to look over Rebecca’s shoulder at the scattering of papers. “Findin’ anythin’ interestin’?”

“Lots. Mostly your notes about the plants and such.”

“I didn’t have paper to waste on the weather,” Tanyth said her eyes raking back and forth across the tidy arrangements of documents.

Rebecca gave her a one armed hug. “No, mum. I s’pect you didn’t. There’s some odd stains on some of these.”

Tanyth leaned down. “Where? Water damage?”

Rebecca shook her head and pointed. “Those there have a kind of rust on ’em. Just on the edges like.”

Tanyth saw the pages in question, narrow arcs of dark eating into the margins of her notes. The date on the top page was over a decade old. Tanyth sighed. “Yeah. After that I started wrappin’ them more careful.”

Rebecca cocked her head and picked up one of the pages. “What is it, though, mum?”

“Blood,” she said with a small shrug. “The pile was a lot shorter then, but it’s blood.”

“Yours?” Rebecca seemed scandalized.

Tanyth sighed again and shook her head. “No.”

Rebecca started to ask another question, but the look on Tanyth’s face stopped her. She put the page back on the bunk and folded her hands on the rail.

“You’re keepin’ them in order?” Tanyth asked after a moment.

“Yes, mum. Seemed sensible. Since you’ve been buildin’ from the bottom of the pile—’cept for those over there that have diff’rent dates—I kept them in order as I peel them apart. These here are the newest,” she pointed to the papers closest to the rail. “They get older in that direction.” She waved her arm along the length of the bunk.”

“That’s a lot of paper to carry,” Tanyth said. “I guess I never gave it much thought.”

“You spent a winter with somebody named Willowton?” Rebecca said, picking a loose page off the blanket.

“Alice, yes. Alice Willowton. Not sure how many winters back now.” Tanyth leaned in to look at the spidery writing on the page. “Woman was sure I’d forget how to distill oils so she wrote it all down.”

Rebecca held the page up to the light and frowned at it. “Is that what this is?”

Tanyth joined her in peering at the page. “I believe so. Problem is the woman couldn’t write so you could read it. Ever. But she wrote and wrote and wrote and always claimed that she could read it. Yes, look there, that word is ’heat’ and I think that’s ‘leaves’ or maybe ‘loaves.’”

Rebecca cast a sidelong glance at Tanyth. “You sure this isn’t a recipe for bread?”

Tanyth shrugged. “Could be, but Alice Willowton wasn’t much on bread bakin’. She did like her still, though.”

Rebecca caught something in Tanyth’s tone and gave her a curious look.

Tanyth chuckled. “Most of the women I wintered with had something they made or grew or whatever. Just a little something to get a few coins, you know?”

Rebecca nodded.

“Mother Willowton distilled strong drink. She made the best spirits in the valley.”