Woman Overboard

Chapter 10 : Afflicted (1)

Edward

August 27th, 1820

(8:24 AM)

Above deck, the cleaning began. Below, the healing took place.

The infirmary was equipped with only ten cots, which took up nearly the entire room. They managed to fit five more sick crewmembers between cots, pillows of cornmeal beneath their heads and thin blankets draped over their bodies.

It seemed that not a single person had escaped unscathed. Even those administering to the wounded were afflicted. Edward watched a black woman with a flushed face and a pus-filled cut on her arm hurry over to him, carrying a bucket of water and a mop. Her breathing labored and thick, she began to mop up Christopher's vomit as he retched over the side of his cot. Poor chap. He wouldn't make it through the night, Edward thought.

His own wounds were pretty severe. Parris had come by to check on him, and though he wouldn't say exactly what was wrong with him, Edward gathered that at least two of his ribs were cracked and the wound in his side was infected.

This seemed to be the most common problem. Infection spread like sand in a windstorm, inflicting itself on everyone it could reach.

He looked back at Christopher who had once again painted the floor with his sick. The exasperated woman began to clean it again, but he only added more to the pile. Finally, she snatched an empty bucket from the opposite wall and plunked it in front of him.

Edward couldn't imagine what had happened to Chris. Every hole on his face was nearly swollen shut: his eyes, his mouth, his nose. His breath came out in snorts and shudders. It looked to Edward like his face had been shoved into a wall repeatedly.

He was pretty sure he didn't look too hot, either. Though he harbored a borderline obsessive worry for Alessandra in his chest, he hoped she wouldn't appear in the infirmary, if only because he didn't want her to see him like this.

Edward peeled the washcloth from his head and waved it in the air. It had gone warm with sweat. Sapped of energy after ten seconds of this, he let his arm drop to his chest and laid helplessly in wait.

A minute later, a voice said, "You needed something, sir?"

He opened his eyes to see a woman he recognized: Abigail. She, in the chain of events leading up to this one, was solely at fault for everything that had occurred since The Elizabeth's crew joined The Brookes. In his feverish state, Edward felt a prick of indignity toward her, forgetting that he had in fact begged her to let them aboard (and that they would have died if she had not saved them).

"Yes," he groaned, lifting the washcloth. " 'S all hot."

She took it, lips pressed together. "Good god, you practically boiled the water off it." She reached out to touch his forehead, but Edward jerked away. "Come on," she sighed. "I want to help you."

He grimaced. "Just don't touch me."

The compassion slid off her face, replaced by something between chill and animosity. "I need to see if you have a fever," she said with the clipped articulation of a woman holding back anger. "So I can get you medicine."

Edward felt a little drunk with sickness. Glancing back at Abigail, he wondered aloud, "How come you talk normal, but the rest of them sound like idiots?"

Abigail's face contorted with lividness. "Excuse me! I understand that you are sick, sir, but you cannot say such things about my family."

Edward just grunted. "Eh, women have no respect these days," he said. "Just get me a new cloth, okay? I'm sweating like a pig over here."

Abigail shot him one last glare before standing up and stomping away, but not before muttering, "That's because you are a pig."