Bloomer

3. The Usefulness of Magic

I had to eat and run.

In spite of feeling seasick, I downed enough slimy shellfish to satisfy my shrinking stomach, but not enough to kill me if they were infused with some kind of toxin. Whiskers was good enough to shuck them for me, since Rake was only interested in shoving his mouth full and out-belching the boiler, when he wasn't trying to grope me.

Now, I'm wandering the deck of the airship, gazing through an ash-filled sky at a blood red sunset. The scene is beautiful in a 'gates of hell' kind of way. But the thick, orange clouds do nothing to keep the chill away, and the wind stings my skin like a cold shower, which probably means we're high enough that an escape over the side would end badly. Thank Goddess there are no other scavengers on board. The deck is empty except for Bastian, who's standing at the helm letting me walk around with a mug of raw mollusks in search of the old woman. He doesn't seem interested in offering his help and I'm not interested in getting it.

I finally notice a bent figure near the front of the ship, huddled beneath a hooded cloak. It has to be the old woman. I must have mistaken her for a pile of junk when I first climbed on board. She looks creepy under the black hood, but a feeble old lady hardly poses a threat, especially compared to a scavenger. I walk over and clear my throat to get her attention.

"Excuse me. I've brought you something to eat."

The figure turns slowly, as if the effort is painful, and long strands of silver hair slip out of the hood. I glimpse a gnarled, fleshy nose, but that's all I see apart from bony fingers that poke through the wool to wrap around the mug.

"Thank you." Her voice rattles as she picks at her meal, and her hands shake like Uncle Francis's did when he'd go on the wagon.

Although I don't know her from Alpha, I stick around, pretending to be interested in the sky, with its splashes of sulfuric red and acid peach, compliments of the poisonous gases currently destroying our lungs. Why hadn't Bastian offered his cabin to her? Or had she refused his offer? It's hard to trust anyone these days. After a few minutes of mindless gazing, the woman smacks her lips and hands the empty mug to me.

"I wondered when you'd come up for air," she says. "I was starting to worry you hadn't survived that heathen, Rake."

I cringe at the name and the memory of Rake's groping hands. "To be honest, I'm still worried I won't survive him."

The woman chuckles but it comes out as a croak. "If the disease of his wicked ways doesn't kill you, his stench will. You're a lucky girl...all alone in the middle of nowhere. Survival is harder the further away you get from civilization. What happened to you?"

"The lava chased me."

"What about family?"

"Dead."

The woman doesn't react other than to tug off her hood and gaze into the distance, letting the wind blow her hair across her face. Rake was right about the prune thing. She's so hunched she can barely see over the ship, and her skin hangs from her bones like melted wax. Under the layers of ugly, however, her eyes are as bright and blue as hyacinth. They seem to have forgotten how old she is. What's her story? Does she have a family, or doesn't have one anymore? Has she come from a city that survived the fires and the quakes? Is she going home?

"Do you have family, ma'am?" I ask, hoping my question doesn't put her off. Family has become a delicate subject.

"Yes, but they're a long way from here."

"Are you heading home, then?"

"No."