The Maelstrom Eye (s-3) by Roger E. Moore

Author:Roger E. Moore [Moore, Roger]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_fantasy

*****

"Well," said Dyffed heartily, as he sat down to breakfast, "I have some good news and some bad news."

As one, Teldin, Aelfred, Sylvie, Gaye, and Gomja paused, exchanging glances. They then put down their wooden spoons and looked in the gnome's direction. The group was packed so closely together in the ship's narrow dining area that Teldin feared he would go mad from claustrophobia if the diet of creamed soaked grains did not kill him first. Gomja sat on the floor beside the table, unable to squeeze into one of the absurdly confining wooden seats, each mounted to the wall. Whoever was at the far end of the table was trapped there by everyone else who took a seat afterward. On this day, the eighth one out from Ironpiece, Teldin was the one who got to be trapped. The air was overly warm and stale, reinforcing his sense of confinement. His stomach was queazy and tense.

Dressed in the same clothes he'd worn since landing on Ironpiece, Dyffed spooned large dollops of sludgy gray creamed soaked grains into his bowl, taking them from the steaming pot resting at the near end of the table. He took a deep sniff of its flavorless aroma, sighed with contentment, and took a seat next to Aelfred, who looked at Sylvie with a why-me expression and shrugged. Sylvie fought back a smile.

"What's the news?" said Teldin, unable to wait any longer. "Your good and bad news."

"Hmm?" said Dyffed absently, about to take his first bite. "Oh! Yes, of course. I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that we're about to run out of food." With that, he began to consume huge spoonfuls of creamed soaked grains, each bite accompanied by much lip smacking and "Mmmmmm!" sounds.

Teldin felt an irrational urge to jump on his chair, run across the tabletop, and strangle the unkempt gnome. He closed his eyes and counted to ten instead. It didn't help.

"I suppose that can be considered good news," remarked Aelfred dryly. His bowl was half finished, consumed only to avoid starvation. "So, what's the bad news?"

Dyffed took a moment to swallow. "Ah!" he said, spitting out a few bits of cereal, "the bad news is that we won't be able to steer or take showers." He chuckled to himself. "That's quite the funniest thing, really." The gnome shoveled another spoonful of creamed soaked grains into his mouth.

There was a fragile silence. Gomja used the break to carefully heave his enormous bulk up from the floor and help himself to his sixth bowl of gray mash this morning. Unlike everyone else but the gnomes, Gomja, a vegetarian from birth, loved creamed soaked grains ("Gnomes know how to cook!" he once had confided to Teldin).

"Dyffed," said Teldin, his patience virtually gone, "what are you talking about?" He was aware that everyone but the gnome was staring at him, and he tried with little success to stem his rising anger. He had spent the last eight days

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