When he reached the stair he had almost completely emptied the bag. He could only hope that it wouldn't be needed on deck. The shouting had died down, and he was careful to have a fistful of catalyst when he stepped into the afternoon light. The deck seemed safe, with many sailors tending the wounds of others. The captain was examining the deck and exterior of the hull carefully as he talked to Latulla.
"I thought we were finished until that slave started using your powder. It's amazing stuff. We should carry it whenever we sail." His relief was obvious, and he still had the occasional tremor as his body shook off his adrenaline.
"That catalyst was very valuable and difficult to obtain," Latulla stated, prodding the crusty remains of the jelly as she followed the officer. "It would be more effective to whip the lookouts so they carry out their duties."
She looked at Haddad and the catalyst slowly dribbling from his hand. He immediately threw it into the sack and sealed it. He knew there would be no thanks or praise for his actions. He had gained her notice, however, and wished that he could reclaim her indifference. He left to find Fumash, wondering how his friend had fared. He couldn't find him as he went over the deck. His circuit took time as parts of the ship were covered with crusted jelly, and, dead or not, he was reluctant to walk on the remains. Approaching a crewman who was washing and bandaging another man's wound, he asked where Fumash was, fearing him lost.
"The little fellow is fine, but his master, Lord Druik, took terrible wounds." The man's patient hissed in pain as a bandage was tied over his salved wounds. "They took him to his cabin, and you should find your friend there." Haddad thanked him and crossed to the other side of the ship, trying to stay out of Latulla's eye. The cook was just leaving Druik's cabin, a bundle of bloody clothes in his hand.
In the dim light, Fumash was bent over the war leader, his hands gently smearing a thin paste over the Keldon's ribs. Long gaps showed muscle and even a glimpse of bone before Fumash's small hands covered it with paste. He looked up at Haddad briefly.
"Give me another pad of gauze." His elbow knocked an empty bottle of brandy as he gestured to a pile of medical supplies on a chair opposite the bed. "This stuff is supposed to be good for burns. Maybe it will help." His shoulders tensed, and each move was deliberated.
"Of course," Haddad said, handing another roll to Fumash, who started laying pads of the coarse weave over Druik's torso. The seeping wounds and salve glued the fabric down like patches on a coat. Haddad's eyes finished adjusting, and he considered Druik. Half-crippled he may have been before, but Haddad wondered how the Keldon could still be alive.
His stumps from past amputations were wrapped and already treated, but the artificial limbs thrown to the side had seen hard service. The metal studs and buckles on the prosthetics were only lightly discolored, but the leather was eaten through in several places. Half of the straps lay open, and Haddad at first thought Druik's caregivers cut the limbs free. A closer look revealed that the jelly had dissolved right through the straps. If more had given way, Druik would have fallen face first into the digestive mass of the beast.
"He was lucky," whispered Haddad.
Fumash slapped him, hitting hard enough that Haddad tasted blood as he looked at his friend.
"Lucky?" He pulled aside the sheet that half-covered Druik's good side. The arm was already wrapped, but even through the bandages Haddad could see how misshapen it was. Dimples and pits showed on the surface of the cloth and hinted at the gaps beneath. Druik's leg was still mercifully covered, but the heavy spotting on the clean sheet and the strange lay and contortion of the limb hinted that Druik had lost it as surely as he had lost his other leg in a battle long past.
"Someone has got to take it off." Fumash nodded to the limb. "Chances are almost sure that I will get stuck with the job." Haddad swallowed his gorge at the thought. By viewing it as just an image, he could control his stomach, but the thought of doing more damage made him sick. At the sight of his distress, Fumash managed a small grim smile.
"Lift his torso up. I need to wrap his ribs." Fumash was holding a long linen wrap that he had picked up as Druik's injuries hypnotized Haddad.
"Shouldn't a surgeon be doing this?" Haddad asked, though he slowly moved into position to lift at the shoulders.
"As a slave, I am in his household and responsible for caring for him," Fumash replied as he twirled the wrap into a roll that could easily pass under Druik. "And if there was a way to get someone else to help with these little jobs, I wouldn't be talking to you. Now lift," he ordered.
Haddad slowly raised the Keldon's upper body. Druik made no intelligible sound, but Haddad could feel each breath and the warmth of the gray living flesh.
"Why isn't he screaming with pain?" Haddad asked as the breathing continued without interruption.
"He's had enough drugs and alcohol that I think he's going to die," Fumash replied as he continued to wrap the form of his master. "If he lives, it will be in spite of my ignorance, not because of my doctoring. Besides," he continued, "I certainly wouldn't want to live in this condition."
Haddad looked to the door, hoping no one was within hearing distance.
"Don't say that," he whispered to Fumash. His friend misunderstood him as he continued his task.
"He's been a good master in comparison to some, but I am not here by choice," Fumash said as he began to secure the sheath of cloth with a series of strategic tucks and a long pin. "I might even like him, but he is the enemy, and I would leave him dying if offered the chance."
"What do you mean?" Haddad said, forgetting circumspection. "We're leaving tomorrow night. The crew has fought a battle, and we need to leave before they recover."
"The captain will be especially vigilant after this, and there is no way I am going to sneak out of this cabin. I am on a deathwatch and will be expected to stay here until he dies or recovers. Even if he dies, death rites will demand my presence." Fumash was bitter, but his hands motioned Haddad to gently lower Druik to the rough mattress. "If he survives at least two more days, I might be able to leave. You will have to escape for both of us." Fumash tried to give Haddad a smile but couldn't manage it.
"I can barely stand in a small boat," Haddad said, "much less sail on the open sea. If you don't go then I can't go." He realized that bolder action would be required. "We go in two nights or die trying. If you are with someone, slave or Keldon, kill him and meet me at the ship's boat. I am not expected to serve Latulla and am not closely watched, I, too, will kill if I must."
Fumash was doubtful about their chances, and it showed. He had been a slave for a longer time and was used to pushing hope farther and farther into the future.
"We have to leave, Fumash." Haddad gripped his own shirt and it tore as he tried to rein in the anger threatening to explode at this sign of doubt. "Every day that we stay we shrink and lose a little bit more of ourselves. If you don't run you'll be as crippled and helpless as Druik is now." He laid his hand on his friend's arm and finally received a nod of agreement. The decision and near-resignation was plain in Fumash's eyes as he turned to the medical kit and began withdrawing implements for amputating the destroyed leg.
A Keldon guard came in as Haddad tried to nerve himself up for the possible operation. The warrior advanced into the room with his head lowered as a sign of respect for the fallen lord.
"You are commanded to appear before your mistress, slave," he said to Haddad. Despite the harshness of the words, the Keldon sounded almost polite. The warrior turned to Fumash. "I will assist you in what needs to be done."