Farek and his comrades stayed in the city of Oshibor for a few days, but soon set out aboard a new vessel, a chartered ship. This time, they were the only passengers, with full say-so over the captain’s destinations. It cost more than securing passage aboard a vessel with a similar destination, but Candro’s Crossing was a smaller craft than The Borala.
In Farek’s quarters, Sievus and he played a few rounds of cards. Farek won most of them, of course, though he couldn’t say for certain if it was his skill or his layman’s respect that earned him a pocketful of winnings. Ocean spray occasionally hit the port window a subtle petering, as they drifted between isles. Farek had never been to Copper Cove, though he’d heard many things about the deep ocean trenches. Furrowed hills dotted the coasts of adjacent lands and islands, wrought with metals sent out of the heavens by whatever gods peered out of those lofty vantages. Farek didn’t believe, as the Grey Brethren did, that the Orrish had fallen for mankind’s sins. Anyone with an education knew that the Orrish had done far more than simply blast the Empire of Noress into oblivion.
Someone rapped the door three times and Farek looked up from their game. Sievus relaxed when Diaren peaked his bulbous nose in. “It’s Matek, sir,” he said. “You’d best come and speak with him.”
“It’s not sea sickness?” Farek asked.
Diaren pursed hi lips and inhaled.
With a sigh, Farek rose to his feet. He glanced at Sievus and shrugged. The latter was collecting his cards from the tabletop and declaring it a moot round, while Farek carefully fit between a nailed-down dresser and his friend’s waving elbow. Diaren led the way into the hall, and held open one of the quarters for Farek.
Matek lay on top of his blankets, ringed with sweat. He looked restless, watching Farek with wide eyes. “I don’t feel well, sir,” he muttered. “Think I caught something in Oshibor.”
“Fever?” Farek asked.
“And my muscles hurt. And I haven’t slept well,” Matek murmured.
Farek sighed. “For how long?” he asked.
His comrade groaned, pressing his damp palms over his knees. “Two days, at least,” he mumbled. “Started feeling itchy under my skin the day after we left.”
Farek nodded. “You keep resting, hear me? Don’t worry about the rest.” His soldier nodded, but whimpered again. Farek backed out of the room and closed it behind him. As the ship swelled on a wave, Diaren and he regarded one another in the shadowy corridor. There were four rooms on the ship, and two were boarded by the passengers. Farek patted Diaren on the shoulder. “Sleep in our quarters, if you want.”
“I’d rather be there for Matek,” the soldier replied. “I won’t catch it—I’ll be careful. Wait, where you are going?”
Farek turned back and shrugged. “To speak with our Captain dearest.” He climbed the rope ladder up a wooden wall and scampered onto the top deck of Crossing. Some commanders wouldn’t shed a tear at the loss of one man, but Farek needed his three to make it through. He had no idea what would await them in New Mallam.
“Captain Candro,” he said, standing near the helm.
Their dark-skinned wheel-master smiled at Farek and tapped the wooden rail near him. He was shirtless, with fully inked arms, and his skinny ribs ran with sweat as the sun beat down on him. “Yes, sir?”
“Put in for land,” Farek ordered. “We’re finding a village. And a doctor.” He squinted at the distant ridges on the horizon and smiled. He’d be getting a closer look at the Great Isle than he had originally planned. He watched as Candro let out a few orders and turned to smile at him. The wheel eased to the right.