PoraBora

Chapter Forty-Four

Moving about the ship was difficult, but Pora had it figured out. He stuck to the outside whenever possible, using the bow and stern lines to move from one hull and one window to the next.

The ship's only watch was on deck, and they only watched for storms, or fish schools, or other fleets, or whatever it was they thought they'd see in the oil. They didn't see anything. Least of all Pora.

It wasn't the watch he had to worry about. It was those who were off duty, crossing from brigs to bathrooms or swapping places with those above, yawning but otherwise paying attention. Enough to say hello to any other warriors. Enough to say, wait a salting second, you're not....

Well, Pora could only guess, because he didn't understand them.

Warriors didn't glance down to check if anyone was hanging on the hull. They glanced down because they were tired or anxious and calmed by the sea. None of their looks could be anticipated. Just as bad was when a window opened at random, the men inside sighing for fresh air.

But nothing was fresh. Not as they slid through oil, dragging the surface as they went.

The ship's hulls had three stories each. Starboard, Maye was surrounded by his offspring. The fowls pushed into the halls with every opened door, only to be made into dinner when men were hungry enough to eat. When they weren't, the fowl were cut and cleaned and prepared for the next day, until the galley became too full, and the fowl were moved to storage, which became too full, so they had either to throw the birds over or let them peck at the deck boards in search of something to eat.

The captain's quarters were starboard front, behind the gills, opposite the galley in the other hull. The men shared two restrooms, front bottom and the sea. Lining the second floor were the sleeping quarters, on both sides. Below them were munitions, mostly, head-sized stone and steel balls. Pora had knocked one of the steel ones down by accident from where it had been balanced atop a fully-piled crate. He had put it back, slowly and carefully, listening for warriors, but none had come. Falling supplies came with great regularity as the fowl found new places to roost, and most sounds went ignored.

The engine room was on the bottom floor, on either side of the oil well and propeller. A crewman was almost always there, monitoring machinery Pora didn't comprehend any better than their language.

The ship's anchor was centered between the hulls, but its chains were laid and coiled in the portside hull. Dragging it up looked like it would be a pain for at least five people—some to crank, and some to make sure the chain was readied for the next drop so that it wouldn't knot or catch or snap anything on its way down.

Storage made up the bulk of the rest of it, and cannons, which were currently pulled back from portholes of their own. Food was kept with food, meats salted and dried and bananas inconceivably yellow. Pora helped himself to whatever he liked (except the fowl, because he slept with them at night), including their supply of freshwater, which was moved, and moved again, and moved again because the fowl kept making a bath of it, and a cool drink was considerably ruined by floating down from a fowl's butt.

The ship was ruined in the same way. Fowl droppings covered it, inside and out, and while the halls and deck could be washed easily, Maye's own prison was too foul and too full to be touched. The smell wafted over everything, becoming one with the floorboards. Pora's only hope was that it would become constant enough to be ignored because it almost made him sick every time he came back to Maye's brig.

Pora had, hitherto, found no keys.

The captain's quarters had been his best bet, but they had turned up nothing useful. Pora had searched it midday, when the captain was above deck, eating or commanding, presumably. And very thoroughly. Under rugs. Behind tapestries. In little wooden drawers in the large wooden desk. He'd moved wooden chairs and even lifted each yellow banana out of a fruit basket.