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The inside of Ixxy was a vast boiling sea. Like her skin was a bag that held a fluid being boiled, sometimes shaken too. She had scant idea where she was or what was going on. The only thing that seemed to penetrate the fog was smell. Mostly, she was cloaked in a fresh citrus haze fighting a miasma of ammonia and rot. Sometimes other traces wafted in and out of her consciousness, two in particular: a warm mix of soap and chewing-leaf and the scent of boy-sweat and bamboo gin. She wondered about those as she roiled in the deep.
Then the miasma was gone. The ammonia and rot smell faded to a trace and then — nothing. She started noticing things; the two familiar scents were still there, the soap and the sweat. She thought of those as her companions throughout her journey, but now there was another occasional waft of that “five” flavour that had got her into this mess in the first place. She started to make sense of the things her ears were telling her, but everything spoken around her was in hushed tones. “How is she?” seemed to be a popular refrain, but even that began to change. The chorus which had been “no change” seemed to now be “better”.
Everything began to itch. And she could open her eyes. Not that there was anything to see — everything down here in the Dark, was — well — dark. But her eyelashes not being gummed together anymore was a huge relief. She propped herself on her elbows. There was a pipe that seemed to have water in it, taped to her face, which she could suck on when she needed. She must have been doing it reflexively until now. Once she started thinking about how to suck, she totally failed to do it and started coughing, fighting the tiny bit that had gotten into her wind-pipe.
“Easy there missy!” Pops sat her up. Now, a voice to go with the smells as she started to come back to consciousness. He was soap and chewing-leaf of course. “Don’t go choking on us now, after all the work we’ve put in.”
The background smells and shapes were different to her damp billet in the bilges of the Razor, “Where am I Pops?” she said.
“We’re aboard the Cetacean.”
“Oh. And Cetus doesn’t mind?”
“I doubt he minds anything anymore,” said Hydn entering through the drapes, “he’s dead.”
“Hells, how long have I been out of it?”
“Ages,” said Hydn. As he came closer, Ixxy realised who the boy-sweat and gin smell belonged to.
“Eight spans or so?” said Pops.
“Shreds.”
“How much do you remember?” Happy he’d stopped Ixxy choking, Pops sat back on his haunches and opened a packet of chewing-leaf he had stashed in his apron.
“I remember listening to the Geas, getting dragged out by—”
“It’s ok,” said Hydn, “he’s gone too.”
“Huh?”
“The First Mate of the Cetacean, nasty bastard,” Pops said, around the tobacco.
“The Captain shot him dead,” Hydn sounded very excited about the whole event.
“I’ve made some tea,” said Pops, helping her sit.
Ixxy winced, “Oww!”
“Youʼll want to do everything slowly for a few days. We don’t want to tear those stitches.”
“Stitches?”
“Oh yeah—” it sounded like Hydn wanted to regale everyone, but Pops cut him off.
“Maybe best you don’t remember all of it, all at once. And what you do is in your own time. You got injured in the boarding. Gut wound. Few other scratches. Missed any major organs, Ki be praised.”
He was a Tinkrala then, thought Ixxy. Not many River-folk were. With the old traditions and practices tended to come the old gods. She wondered where he’d picked that up from. Tinkrala belief tended to come with Over-folk ways, not way down here in the deeps. Ixxy managed to sit, mostly propped on one elbow. It did feel like her guts were tight. Like a hasty repair on a sail or a blanket. The tea was sweet and flowery, though.
“There’s some pain relief in that brew too,” said Pops. “Should take the edge off while you give yourself time to recover.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, don’t be thanking me yet. There’s all that Geas stuff to deal with yet,” Pops chewed more frantically.
“Yeah, while the Captain’s not next door, do you remember what you heard in here?” Hydn asked.
Ixxy sat a bit straighter, to get a better Air-sense picture of where she was. “Where is here, exactly?”
“Half of the pavilion on the Cetacean,” said Pops, “I had Wenna turn it into a sickbay of sorts, since we had a fair share of casualties. It was quite a ruck.”
“But we own the ship now?”
“Yep,” said Hydn, “the Captain inherits the Geas. She inherits everything.”
“And don’t let her hear you calling her that— calling herself Commodore now and everything.”
“So what have we agreed to?” The brisk and neat form of Gar swept in through the curtains. “Pleased to hear you’re getting better, young Ixxy. You gave us all quite a scare there. Do you remember much?”
“Of the Geas, yes. Lots of stuff about the Net? A net? Somewhere that the Captain needed to go to get a thing, a treasure Cetus said. The rest wasn’t all that clear. Oh, and there’s a map.”
“Yes, that bit we knew,” said Gar. “She’s been stamping about like a bear with a sore head through there about that. She’s gone off to swab the decks on the Razor this span. Says it’s something she can get her head around.”
Ixxy suddenly thought about the Razor and how all of that panned out, “Are you Captain of the Razor now, then?” she said to Gar.
“No, she’s going to have me be Captain of this hulk, gods forgive me.”
“With all the old crew?”
“Yep. Nothing I can’t handle, but this lot’ll take a lot of knocking into shape. Cetus had been in poor health for a while and that must have been a drain on the ship. Plus that First Mate—well let’s just say our styles of discipline are—different.”
“Were different—” muttered Hydn.
“Quite,” said Gar briskly. “You got any tobacco left in that pouch of yours, Pops? I’m right out.”
“Sure,” Pops tossed him the packet.
Gar caught it one handed and rustled in it, “So tell us more about this geas then,”
“I think I’ve told you all I remember. Something about a treasure and a net.”
“And that’s all?” Gar stuffed a wad of tobacco in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
“I think so?”
“We’re missing something,” Gar said. “Was there anything else in the tone, or noises they made?”
“Err—”
“Give the girl a break now, she’s nobbut a pup and she’s had a rough few days,” Pops gently collected his tobacco pouch from Gar.
“That’s true enough,” said Gar, moving to leave. “Well, if anything else comes to you, you be sure and tell me, ok?”
“Aye, aye Cap’n!” Ixxy said, then coughed again.
“You take good care of her now, Pops, she might turn out useful this one.”
“That she might,” said Pops to his retreating back. “That she might. Now you, young pup, have had enough excitement for one span, get some rest.”
She was starting to feel drowsy, but her memory had one more thing to give up, before it would let her sleep. “Why did she need so much convincing?”
“A Geas is a big thing my girl. Wenna’s agreed to take on Cetus’s last unfinished business. It’s always messy.”
“No, not that,” said Ixxy, “why did she need so much convincing about the Net?”
“Because the Net’s a myth,” said Hydn.
“What?” said Ixxy.
“We’ll tell you all about it when you wake up,” said Pops. “Now I think we should all get some rest.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Hydn.