“Dwarves fall in the water sometimes, so I know what I’d do if he were a dwarf. Warm him up, inside and out. Put lots of blankets on him and give him all the brandywine he can drink.”
“Are you certain?” Alake looked dubious. “I mean about the brandy?”
Drunk as a dwarf, so the saying is among the Phondrans. But who do you suppose buys most of our brandywine?
“You’ve got to fuddle his brain. That’s what’s causing him to gasp like that. His brain is telling his body it’s supposed to be breathing water. Give his brain something else to think about and his body will go back to breathing air—as it was meant to,” I added sternly.
“I see. Grundle, fetch me a bottle of the brandywine and my herb pouches. And, if you run into Dev— Sabia, tell him, I mean her, to bring me all the blankets he— she can find.”
Well, we were certainly off to a great start. Fortunately, the human was so busy trying to stay alive that he didn’t appear to have noticed Alake’s confusion. I headed to the storeroom for the wine, blundered into Dev-Sabia on the way back. He was wound up in his scarf and veil, with a shawl over his shoulders to hide the ripped seams. I gave him Alake’s instructions. He returned to his berth for the blankets.
I continued on my way, thinking about what Alake had said. It was odd that this human seemed so unused to being in the water. The Phondrans spend as much time in the Goodsea as they do on land and consequently never suffer from this condition, which we dwarves know as “water-poisoning.” The man was obviously not a Phondran. Then, who was he and where had he come from?
It was more than one dwarf could figure out.
Arriving in the storeroom, I snagged one of the brandywine bottles, uncorked it, and took a mouthful just to make certain it was good.
It was. I blinked my eyes.
I took another mouthful or two, then popped the cork back on, wiped off my side whiskers, and hurried back to our passenger. Alake and Devon had lifted him into the bosun’s chair—a chair attached to a rope that can be lowered up and down the shaft, used to handle the injured or those whose bulk made climbing ladders difficult. We hauled the man up to the crew’s quarters on deck two, and helped him to a small cabin.
Fortunately, he was able to walk, though his legs were as wobbly as a newborn kitten’s. Alake spread out a pile of blankets. He sank onto them weakly and we covered him with more. He was still gasping and looked to be in a considerable amount of pain.
I offered the brandy bottle. He seemed to understand, for he motioned me near. I put it to his lips, he took a gulp. His gasping changed to coughing, and I was afraid for a moment our cure was going to be the end of him, but he hung on. He managed to get down several more mouthfuls before he sank back weakly on the blankets. Already, his breathing had eased. He looked from one to the other of us, his eyes taking everything in, giving nothing back.
Suddenly, he tossed aside the blankets. Alake made a clucking sound, like a mother hen whose chick has wandered out from under her feathers.
The human ignored her. He was staring at his arms. He stared at his arms for the longest time, rubbing the skin almost frantically. He gazed at the back of his hands. Closing his eyes in what was obviously bitter despair, he sank back down on the blankets.
“What’s the matter?” Alake asked, speaking human, coming over to kneel beside him. “Are you injured? What can we do to help?”
She started to touch his arm, but he drew away from her and snarled, like a wounded animal.
Alake persisted. “I’m not going to harm you. I only want to help.”
He kept staring at her, and I saw his brow furrow in anger and frustration.
“Alake,” I said quietly. “He can’t understand you. He doesn’t know what you’re saying.”