Arabella of Mars by David D. Levine

Author:David D. Levine
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466889491
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

13

DROGUES

Arabella was giving the captain his water when a bell sounded, indicating that Aadim’s calculations were complete. She took a slate and chalk and recorded a series of numbers from the dials on the front of his cabinet, double-checking her work because there were many more figures than usual. She then consulted a book of tables—this part was something she knew the captain would have done from memory—and wrote down the sailing order and navigation points required to implement the course. When she was done with that she again double-checked her work, then copied it out quickly but neatly on a sheet of vellum.

As she sanded and blotted the sheet, she was forced to admit that she had only a theoretical understanding of how this plan would be implemented. As an airman, her skills were limited to hauling on a rope when instructed; as a navigator, she was keenly aware of the great size of the field of navigation and the tiny proportion her own command of it encompassed. It was as though she knew how to lay out the major blocks of color that made up a portrait, and understood the general principle of two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, but must rely upon others to execute the actual brush strokes.

She was deeply concerned about Richardson’s abilities in this area. The man was plainly more interested in maintaining his own authority than he was in the actual running of the ship. The other officers, and the men who reported to them, were doing their best to work within the constraints that the acting captain laid upon them, but she feared that at some point their practical knowledge and Richardson’s orders would collide. Arabella hoped that would not occur in the middle of a difficult navigational maneuver.

She gently laid a hand on the captain’s shoulder before leaving the cabin. He looked even more thin and pale than he had even that morning. Despite her best attentions, and the nourishing broth that the surgeon fed him several times a day from a kid-leather squeeze bag, he seemed to be fading rapidly. “The head wound is healing well,” the surgeon had said. “I’ve seen men recover from worse. But whether or not he regains his senses … that’s in the Lord’s hands.”

Fighting to keep the tears from her eyes, Arabella silently pledged to do every thing in her power to keep the ship and crew alive until he returned to his proper place on the quarterdeck.

* * *

She emerged on deck to a scene that would have been humorous in its domesticity, had not the situation been so perilous. Dozens of airmen, rough-handed muscular men, worked closely and diligently with needle and thread, plying their needles through heaps of shining white linen tablecloths instead of the usual sails or shore-going clothes. Other men were employed in bending canes of rattan into hoops and pounding out brass grommets. And the ship’s carpenter, assisted by two of the most senior airmen, was busily cursing over a strange assemblage of wood, iron, and cordage.

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