The cargo hold is located on deck three. Behind that is the common room, for eating, drinking, ax-throwing practice, or just visiting. This room has numerous small windows set in the sides. Behind the common room are the cabins for the royal family and the ship’s crew, a tool room, then the impeller room, with its magical elven crystals that propel the ship.
Decks two and one were mostly more cargo space, plus the waterlock—an important feature. If you’re not a dwarf, you’re probably wondering what a waterlock is. As I’ve mentioned, no dwarf can (or wants to learn) to swim. A dwarf who falls into the sea would likely sink to the bottom of Chelestra unless he’s caught and brought back to solid ground. Thus, all ships are built with a waterlock, which can be used to rescue any dwarf who happens to tumble into the sea.
We found Alake standing near the bottom of the waterlock, her face pressed against one of the portholes, staring out into the water. Hearing us approach, she turned. Her eyes were wide.
“It’s not the dolphins. It’s a human. At least, I think it’s a human,” she added dubiously.
“It is or it isn’t,” I said. “Can’t you tell?”
“Look for yourself.” Alake sounded shaken.
Devon and I crowded to the porthole, the elf being forced to nearly bend double to get down to my level.
Sure enough, the thing looked to be a human male. Or perhaps it would be better to say, he didn’t look elven or dwarven. He was taller than a dwarf, his ears weren’t pointed, and his eyes were round, not almond-shaped. But he was the wrong color for a human, his skin being a kind of bread-dough white. His lips were blue, his eyes circled with purple splotches, sunken in his head. He was half-naked, clad only in a pair of brown tight-fitting pants and the remnants of a white tattered shirt. He clung to a fragment of board and was, it seemed to me, about done for.
The bump we had heard was, presumably, this man running into the hull of the ship. He could see us through the porthole and made, as we watched, a feeble attempt to beat against the ships’s side. He was weak, apparently, for his arm sank down as if he lacked energy to lift it. He slumped over the board, legs dangling limply beneath him in the water.
“Whatever he is, he’s not going to be one for long,” I said.
“Poor man,” murmured Alake, her dark eyes soft with pity. “We must help him,” she said briskly, and headed for the ladder that led to deck two. “We’ll bring him on board. Warm him, give him food.” She glanced back, saw neither of us moving. “Come on! He’ll be heavy. I can’t manage by myself.”
Humans. Always racing to act, to do something. Never stopping to think. Fortunately, she had a dwarf along.
“Wait, Alake. Stop a moment. Consider where we’re bound. Think what’s going to happen to us.”
Alake frowned at me, angered at having her way thwarted. “Well, what of it? The man is dying! We can’t leave him.”
“It might be the kindest thing we could do for him,” Devon told her gently.
“If we rescue him now, we could be saving him only to doom him to a horrible fate later.”
I was sorry to have to be so blunt, but sometimes it’s the only way to get through to humans. Alake, realizing finally what we were saying, seemed to shrivel up. I’ll swear she grew smaller as we watched. Her body sagged against the ladder.
Lowering her eyes, she ran her hand aimlessly up and down the smooth wooden rungs.
The ship was speeding on. Soon we’d leave the man far behind. He’d seen this, apparently, and was making a feeble attempt with the remainder of his flagging strength to paddle after us. The sight was heartrending. I turned away. But I might have known Alake couldn’t stand it.
“The One sent him,” she said, starting to climb the ladder. “The One sent him to us, in answer to my prayer. We have to save him!”