She stood over the pot, considering whether to take a taste. The appearance of several slimy orbs that looked like peeled grapes but undoubtedly were not, and what Maq was certain was a tentacle roiling on the stew's surface, discouraged her. Instead she grabbed a piece of hardtack that lay on the trestle table next to a few wizened oranges and exited the galley.
Not quite ready to join in the race preparations after the undergarment episode, Maquesta made her way aft, back toward the raised poop cabin that contained separate quarters for her and her father. Lendle's quarters were just below theirs. The Perechon's engineer-cook occupied a relatively spacious cabin, its size representing Melas's concession to Lendle's passion for tinkering and his relentless accumulation of potentially useful objects. Maq rapped loudly at the door, paused, then pushed it open and stuck her head in, knowing Lendle was sometimes too absorbed in his tinkering to hear a knock. As it always did, the cabin caused Maquesta to fight the feeling that she was trapped in an incredible, shrinking compartment. Every inch of wall space, most of the floor and ceiling, and any other flat surface was taken up by a vast assortment of miscellaneous objects, all labeled, boxed, and organized according to Lendle's private system.
Spools of twine and thin metal wire, loops of heavy hemp rope, and coils of chain links hung from hooks on the walls. Wooden boxes filled with everything from jagged-tooth gears to wooden slats to pulleys to bolts of cloth stood in neat rows on the floor. Nets filled with wicker baskets of varying sizes and more rope brushed Maq's head as she leaned into the cabin. The only exception to the organized clutter was Lendle's bed, which was bolted to the wall. It was a typical seagoing berth with high sides, foot, and head to keep him from rolling off during rough seas. Bolted to the floor was a small table with raised sides to prevent objects from falling off, illuminated by a hurricane lamp suspended over it from the ceiling.
Lendle typically stored his toolbox under the table, where it fit securely between four brackets he had pounded into the floor. But it wasn't there now, nor was the gnome. Inspired more by a vague curiosity than any burning, particular need to speak with Lendle, Maq closed the cabin door and headed toward the cargo hold. It had not in fact held much of anything in recent months. But Maq knew that Lendle sometimes made use of the space when he was diagramming one of his ideas for a particularly elaborate invention, or working on a project where he needed room to spread out.
"Fire!" Maq yelled the warning loudly, spun around, and began pulling herself up the cargo hold ladder before she was more than halfway down. Smoke was billowing wildly below her, and she hoped one of the crew would hear her and start bringing buckets of water.
"Fi-"
Maq felt one of her legs being jerked downward and away from the ladder rungs, causing her to lose her grip. As she fell, someone clamped a hand over her mouth, and also broke her fall. Her eyes adjusted to the flickering light released by the flames, and she blinked back tears brought on by the smoke.
"Lendle!" she scolded.
The gnome released her with a sharp admonition: "Quiet!" He stood over Maq, glaring at her.
"Lendle! What in the name of the Graystone of Gargath is going on? This time, you're going to destroy the ship!"
"The Perechon won't burn! I'm a good engineer!" Lendle seemed both hurt and excited. His words came very slowly so Maq could understand.
Maquesta peered at the source of the flames. They did seem to be contained in a brick enclosure, and the smoke was dissipating. A door in one side of the brick compartment stood open, with a pile of wood nearby. Nestled closely against the top of the bricks, which were built up around its sides, was a huge brass sphere, almost like a kettle, but closed at the top except for two pipes that connected to a large cylinder that angled upward, toward the trapdoor that led from the hold to the lower deck and the oar bay. In the dim light cast by the flames and a lantern near Lendle's feet, Maquesta couldn't actually see where the cylinder ended, or if anything was connected to it at the far end.
Closer to where she stood, Maq could see that the connection between the kettle and the cylinder wasn't complete. It sounded as if water were beginning to boil inside the sphere, and Maq noticed wisps of steam escaping on one side of the cylinder. She also noticed that Lendle was holding the pieces of pipe he had acquired in Lacynos.
"Steambenders," he said, indicating the pipe. "See this?" he added, waving a proud arm at his contraption. "This is for the times the wind dies and we're out at sea. This will help the Perechon!" Lendle nodded his head vigorously, agreeing with himself.
"We already have oars, ten pair of 'em, for when the wind dies down," Maq said, puzzled. Not that they were often put to work, she had to admit. The Perechon was well rigged and her crew skilled enough that the ship made good use of even the slightest breeze. There was that, plus the fact that none of the crew jumped at the opportunity for oar duty. It wasn't a point Melas pushed-one among many reasons for his popularity with his crew.
"It will help," Lendle repeated. "I will show you, Maquesta Kar-Thon. But not now. Soon. You must leave now. I have lots of work to do." Lendle started pushing Maq toward the ladder.
"All right, just be careful." Maq turned away reluctantly. "Wait a minute." She stopped with her foot on the first rung. "I came looking for you because I was hungry. We all are. When are we going to eat?"
"Maquesta Kar-Thon," Lendle said reproachfully, "I know my duties. I am not a wizard who can deftly conjure a meal at the last minute." Lendle wrinkled his rather large nose with disgust at the thought of magic. "Supper is already cooking. We will eat at the usual time. Now don't forget your duties. Go help your father prepare for the race. Be off!"
With that scolding, Lendle turned back to his contraption and Maq climbed up the ladder. She hated it when he talked to her as if she were still a little girl!
The Perechon's crew ate on time that evening, and the dried eel stew was more palatable than usual. Those unattractive orbs tasted better than they looked. Lendle called them Blood Sea potatoes, an organism unknown to Maq. She decided not to inquire more deeply. Whatever they were, they helped fill her and the rest of the sailors, proving Lendle's inventiveness sometimes could produce good results.
Averon, however, missed the meal.
"Maybe he's off buying Maquesta some new articles of clothing. I understand the minotaurs on Mithas turn out some very fine and dainty garments that undoubtedly would look well on her," suggested Vartan, the helmsman, who originally hailed from Saifhum and was one of Maq's least favorites among the crew.
"Something in turquoise? I like turquoise," another quipped.
Several of the sailors snorted with repressed laughter at this. Vartan kept his tone light, but regarded Maq challengingly.
She fought down an impulse to blush. "Averon has more brains than to spend money on anything those ugly beasts could sew, and he uses his brains to think, not just as stuffing to give a nice shape to his pretty head."