Draden's Whale

Chapter 2

Bile rose every time he remembered asking to swap chores with Chipula. To ease his stomach, Draden forced himself to recall the look on the other lad's face instead. The plump boy's eyebrows had threatened to touch before wordlessly thrusting the keys into Draden's hands and racing to the kitchens. Emptying chamber pots was a chore used as punishments, while working in the kitchens was a great way to sneak a snack before breakfast.

In lieu of any need for reprimands, Chipula had drawn the "Pot Tile" from the chore box at dawn, to a ripple of relieved laughter from the other orphans. It had been a simple task to get him alone and offer to swap chores.

As much as the chamber pots had made his empty stomach lurch, the keys had got Draden what he desired, and forty-eight pots later he found himself at the end of the long hall leading to the visitors' cells, one of which would house Blair.

Draden was surprised to find Blair reading by the light of a high barred window, lying calmly across his the cot in the sparse cell, his bare feet resting on a squat, three-legged stool. Blair had only nodded by way of greeting.

Draden had expected a warm hello, a thank you, or at least a hint of a grin. But instead he got an impassive nod. Blair couldn't be mad at him; he'd made his decision and Draden had made his.

"How can you read at a time like this?" asked Draden to break the silence.

"I figure I'm getting flogged, I may as well enjoy the break from my chores," Blair said curtly. "It will happen if I read or not."

Draden placed the empty chamber pot down near the small stool. A single shelf running above the cot was the only other furniture. It had been the same in all the cells, only the jackets and knives of the whalers distinguishing their cells from the monks', which held robes and books.

"Where did you get that?" Draden pointed at the book, trying to keep his tone neutral.

"Master Tiller dropped it in last night after the bed check. I've already read it but..."

"You've read all the library, a thousand books odd," Draden laughed, but Blair just frowned.

"A five hundred and fifty-seven actually, and fourteen of them are copies, so..." Blair shrugged.

Silence hung between them again and Blair took it as an invitation to continue with his book. Draden had expected some sort of panic from his friend, or concern. He'd tossed and turned all night over the impending flogging and the melting of his necklace. But Blair just read.

Draden searched for something to say. "How are we going to get you out of this?"

"How? I don't think there is a how," Blair said, not bothering to look up from the page. "I can't really escape, we're on an island. I could try to break out and hide and maybe stow away on the whaling ship, but..."

"I'll think of something. The feast isn't till noon."

Blair shook his head. He regarded his friend, considered for a moment, and said, "You got away, that's something."

"That's something," Draden repeated levelly.

"So what do you want?" Blair asked.

Draden paused. He didn't want to burden Blair with his problem. He'd come to help Blair but the other boy was infuriatingly calm. Blair raised his eyebrows and rolled a hand at him to go on.

"The matron is going to confiscate all necklaces that aren't holy symbols," Draden blurted.

Blair slammed his book shut and leant forward.