The day after the incident with the apples and just before dusk, Leesil was up on deck at the side rail with Wayfarer when the girl fainted from hunger. He carried her down to the cabin he shared with Magiere and Chap and laid her on a bunk. Both Chap and Magiere sat close in concern, and the anguish on Magiere’s face was the last straw for Leesil.
Wayfarer’s long brown hair spread out around her now-pale face and closed eyes. She murmured twice as if caught in a dream, and Magiere was about to charge off for freshwater and a rag when Leesil assumed that task himself. It took some arguing with one of the crew to get the extra ration of water, but on his way back below, he took a moment to sneak all the way to the passage’s end.
Down a set of stairs to the next level was a door where a passage cut left toward the ship’s kitchen. By the door’s position, Leesil reasoned that it must lead into the cargo hold. He pulled out a steel probe and another tiny pick earlier hidden in his boot, and he set to opening the door’s crude iron lock. When he finished and twisted the lever handle, the door still wouldn’t budge.
Something blocked it. It couldn’t be cargo; that made no sense. Obviously the door was barred from the hold’s side, though that didn’t figure, either—not at first. Leesil realized that blocking the door from the inside meant none of the crew could get in or out to take anything, even if one them managed to steal a key. With a slight grimace, he stepped back. For what he had in mind now, he’d have to go up on deck to get into the hold ... and all before Magiere caught on.
With no immediate way to raid the cargo, Leesil hurried back to the cabin.
He sat on the floor as Magiere dabbed Wayfarer’s head, and, when night finally settled, the room grew dim around him. Since the day before, Magiere had been watching him like a hawk, but now she was preoccupied.
It was time to do as he’d planned, and he stood up.
“You and Chap stay with Wayfarer. I’ll let Brot’an know ... see if he has any ideas to help.”
That was a foolish comment. If Brot’an could have done anything to help, he would have done it by now. Luckily Magiere was distracted with worry, and only nodded. Chap appeared equally focused on the girl’s condition, and Leesil slipped out.
However, as he made his way up the passage, he didn’t stop at Brot’an’s cabin door. Instead he went straight for the steep steps and paused at the top, at the door out leading to the deck. In a way it was sadly fortunate that Wayfarer had fainted and thereby kept Magiere and Chap occupied.
Cracking the door slightly, Leesil peeked out. Dim, dirty lamps hung upon the ship’s masts, but he saw no one across the deck. Two low, muffled voices carried from somewhere above him on the aftcastle, so likely the night watch was up there. He looked to the rope mesh covering the hold’s central opening out in the middle of the deck.
At its nearer end was a small hatch he’d seen opened a couple of times for access to a ladder down into the hold. Each time, the captain had stood close by, watching and checking crew members coming back up to make certain they hadn’t pocketed anything while below.
Leesil carefully widened the door enough to slip out. With his back against the aftcastle’s wall, he sidestepped toward the ship’s rail and then crept out a short way to peek back and above. Whoever was up on the aftcastle was too far to its rear to be seen—or to see him. Likewise, he saw no one toward the bow. He crouched and crept to the nearest mast, then ducked in front of it before glancing around its far side and up.
He just made out the heads of two men at the aftcastle’s rear. They were engrossed in talking to each other, and so he crawled to the small hatch near the hold’s opening.
Leesil froze, for the padlock that typically held the hatch’s bar in place lay to one side and was still opened from being unlocked. He’d expected to have to pick the lock, for that oily sewer rat of a captain would never leave the hold open while he wasn’t watching.
Whoever had forgotten to set the lock again was going to suffer by morning.
Carefully sliding the lock bar out of its brackets, Leesil grasped the hatch’s handle. As he lifted slightly, the hinges creaked and he froze, this time listening for a sudden silence.
The two on the aftcastle were still chattering away. They hadn’t heard anything.
He opened the hatch quickly, with a creak from its hinges, and dropped onto the ladder’s rungs. Then he listened again for silence or any footfalls. All he heard were the muffled voices of the watch.
Leesil stepped a few rungs down the ladder and let the hatch close softly above him. It was a dark climb down the ladder, but once he reached the hold’s floor, the full moon’s pale light filtered though the rope mesh above. To his relief, he could see well enough to move about. The hold was crammed with crates and barrels and smaller boxes. The first thing he searched for and found was an iron hook to wrench open containers. Nothing was clearly labeled—or at least not in a language he could read—and he had to work by trial and error.
Gripping the hook, and about to pry open the closest crate, he felt rather than heard something behind him. Whirling with the hook poised to strike, he saw an unusually tall, familiar form standing near the ladder.
“Brot’an ... what are you doing?” he hissed. “Did you follow me?”
“I am assisting you,” Brot’an whispered back, soft-stepping closer, and in his off hand was a large, empty burlap sack. “I saw your face yesterday and knew you were planning something. I assume you did not tell Magiere?”
Leesil kept his voice low, barely enough to be heard. “Magiere is no thief, not even in the worst situations. She might have swindled people in the past, but she doesn’t accept charity, and I’ve never seen her steal anything. It’s not in her.”
Brot’an studied his face. “But it is in you?”
Leesil had had enough of this conversation and turned away. Clearly it was in Brot’an as well, or he wouldn’t be down here.
After that they moved deeper into the hold, almost to the edge of where moonlight could reach. Quickly and quietly, they both searched the crates and boxes. Leesil was astounded by the variety of food down here, considering nearly everyone on board was starving. Between himself and Brot’an, they loaded the burlap sack with crocks of olives, small wheels of wax-sealed cheese, apples, dried onions, and jars of what looked like some kind of orange fruit.
Leesil set to opening another crate, and even before he finished, he could smell jerked beef. The crate was packed with it. Beyond hungry and unable to stop himself, he shoved some in his mouth. So fresh and tender, it nearly came apart on his tongue.
His anger at the captain grew as he loaded a good amount into the sack.
When he finally looked up and about, Brot’an was stuffing various food items inside his own shirt. Leesil ignored him and kept to his task. As he finished filling the sack, Brot’an approached, looking at it curiously.
“What will we do with all of that?” he whispered. “We cannot risk bringing it into your cabin.”
“Not to mine ... To yours.” Leesil paused. “Yesterday, when you were up on deck taking some air, Wayfarer was with Magiere in our cabin, and I went into yours. I pulled up three floorboards and found a space beneath. I put the boards back but removed the nails. We’ll hide the food under there.”
Brot’an was quiet for a moment. “Like your mother, you are ever resourceful.”
Leesil stiffened. Brot’an was the last person he’d ever want to talk to about his mother. Putting down the hook, he turned and made his way toward the ladder with the now-heavy sack in hand.
“Let’s just get this hidden before we’re caught.”
“Not that way ... at least not for you,” Brot’an said. “Look where we are standing. These food stores have been placed near a lower access point into the hold, so that supplies can be moved more easily to a kitchen or elsewhere below ... through a door.”