“Hit my head.”
“Big lump, but nothing’s broken and no soft spots there. Local healer says you’ll be fine. He’s looked at all of you.”
Kharl finally grasped that Rhylla, the third mate, was talking. He hoped his memory would improve. “Thank you.”
“You need to drink some more.”
So Kharl did, then drifted back into sleep, back into the reddish haze, except at times there were periods of black coolness.
He woke in dim light, either dawn or twilight, he thought, before realizing that all light was dim in sick bay or anywhere belowdecks. He only saw two other bunks, besides the one above him, and the two-those across from him-were occupied. He lay back on the narrow bunk, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the dull aching in the toes he no longer had, and wondering what would happen next. He could hear voices from the two men in the opposite bunks, whispering as they were.
“…thought he woke…”
“…back asleep…”
“…you’d be sleeping, too…what hit him. Tough old guy…”
Kharl didn’t think of himself as old, but he must have seemed so to young seamen.
“…never saw anything like it…cleared off everyone on the one…looked like…”
“…Reisl said he used that staff and batted down arrows…”
Kharl wanted to snort, but it would have taken too much effort. No one could do that.
“…saw him take out three pirates with that big staff…one hit it with a blade, and the blade shattered…”
“…blackstaffer…”
“…he’s not…used to be a cooper in Brysta…what the third said…did something to piss off the Lord…”
There was a laugh. “Got to like that…anyone with enough guts to piss off a lord…good man…”
Kharl drifted back into sleep.
When he woke for the third time, the space was brighter, and the aching in his skull was only the faintest throbbing, although his foot didn’t feel that much better. He was alone in sick bay, and the other bunks had been stripped.
Still, he thought he ought to try to sit up, and he gingerly eased into a sitting position on the edge of the bunk. Knives jabbed through his ribs, and he could barely hold himself erect. Still…he wasn’t going to get better lying flat.
He slowly levered himself into a standing position, although he was as much leaning against the bulkhead as standing. He coughed, two or three times, and the sharp knives that went through his chest made him wonder if he would collapse right there. He just stood, hanging on until the coughing passed and he could breathe easier. Then he took one step, and another. He finally made it to the hatch, and looked out onto the main deck. It was midafternoon, and the ship was tied to a pier.
He stepped slowly out onto the deck, barefoot he realized, but he had no idea where his boots were, or if he could even bend over to put them on, or if they would fit. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he eased sideways until he reached the ladder to the forecastle deck, where he sat down.
“Cooper?”
Kharl looked up to see Furwyl standing there. “Yes, ser?”
“Third and the healer said it’d be a few more days…”
“…if I got up at all?”
Furwyl laughed. “They didn’t say that.”
“Not exactly. Figured…I’d better walk some. Rest some. Not worth spit…right now.”
“You know how you feel,” the first mate said carefully. “We’re leaving Worrak tomorrow.”
“Won’t be doing much carpentering…for a while,” Kharl replied.
“If you want to stay, you’ve got a berth, long as you want it.”
“I’d…like that.” Kharl forced a smile, one that he meant, even if he still hurt so much that he didn’t feel like smiling.
“Good. That’s settled.” Furwyl smiled. “Maybe you’d better lie down for a while…get up in a bit for supper.”
“Supper…sounds good.” Kharl realized he had no idea if he’d eaten, or what, or how often. He didn’t like the idea that he had no idea what had happened to him. He did appreciate the loyalty of the captain and the first. Slowly, he rose, and putting one foot in front of the other, gingerly, headed back to sick bay.
LII
The Seastag waited two days more to leave Worrak, because the captain had been promised a cargo of brimstone for delivery to Dellash. Brimstone was a good cargo, provided it didn’t burn or get spilled, and Hagen had planned to port at Dellash anyway, according to Rhylla. Kharl didn’t complain about the delay because he appreciated being able to begin to walk on a steady deck. His damaged boot had been patched, but he felt unbalanced, even though he had lost just his littlest toes, rather than his largest.
By the evening before the Seastag’s departure, Kharl was walking with a slight limp, and the stabbing in his ribs had receded to a dull ache. He’d tried a little work with the lathe, but he could only manage it for a quarter of a glass before the pain in his ribs began to worsen. He stopped, but that was better than he had been doing.
After sitting on Tarkyn’s stool for a time, he made his way back onto the main deck. The sun was hanging above the low hills, just to the south of where the Fakla River entered the harbor. There was enough of a sea breeze to carry the harbor odors inshore and leave the deck with the clean scent of the Eastern Ocean, although the breeze was brisk enough that the deck would be chill once the sun set.
“Cooper?” called a voice.
Kharl turned. Ghart, the second mate, stood several cubits aft.
“Yes, ser?”
“Captain and the first are on the poop. They’d like to see you.”
“I’ll be right there.” Kharl headed aft and went up the ladder, carefully and slowly. So long as he moved smoothly, the pain in his ribs wasn’t too bad.
Hagen and Furwyl stood waiting under the aft mast.
Kharl stopped several cubits short of the two officers. “Captain, ser, you asked for me?”
“That I did,” replied Hagen. “I’ve been thinking, Kharl. We’ve got a long voyage ahead. Tarkyn says you’re good, better than most ship’s carpenters. You saved us from losing everything. So, we’re going to pay you as the carpenter’s second.” Hagen smiled. “And you start wearing carpenters’ grays onboard. You won’t be doing deck work, but you’ll have to take in-port gangway watches once we get to Ruzor.”
“You use any sort of weapon besides that staff?” asked Furwyl.
“I’m not bad with a cudgel,” Kharl said.
“That might be a little handier on watch,” replied the first, with a laugh.
Hagen handed Kharl a small pouch. “That’s your pay for the last eightday.”
“Thank you, ser.” Kharl wasn’t quite sure what else to say.
The captain nodded, as if he did not wish to be thanked. “Ghart is in charge of in-port watches. He’ll be letting you know which sections you’ll stand.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Tarkyn’s rustled up two sets of grays for you,” added Furwyl. “Says they’ll fit you just fine. We can use another subofficer.”
“I’ll do my best, captain, ser.”
“You already have,” Hagen replied. “More than most. That’s why you’re crew, now, for so long as you want.”
“Yes, ser.”
Hagen nodded, as if to dismiss Kharl, and the cooper-carpenter’s second-stepped back and climbed down the ladder. He doubted that he really wanted to remain a ship’s carpenter, but if he couldn’t find a place where he could be a cooper, at least he’d have shelter and coin and something useful to do-and with woods, which he knew.
He stopped as pain shot through his ribs.
Most healers were black mages. He wondered if The Basis of Order had sections on healing, and if they might teach him something about how to speed his own healing. He might as well read through it and see. He certainly couldn’t work full-time as a carpenter. Not yet.