something awful, and I hadn’t seen anything that resembled a toilet in his small cave, so I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and got to my feet, and emerged from Salvador’s room.
Sunlight filtered in through the thick palm leaves at the front entrance, and I squinted at the light. At some point, someone had rolled back the palm ‘roof’ to let the light stream into the cave area, and it felt very bright and warm. A fire was blazing in the center of the cave, and I saw three other leather hangings dotted around the corners of the large entrance room, which must have been where the others slept. It reminded me a bit of the Anasazi cliff dwellings that I’d seen in a National Geographic once.
The young girl was tending something over the fire. She looked over at me, her eyes red. “Good morning.”
She hadn’t made it sound like it was a good morning. Her voice was clearly resentful. “Hi,” I said, edging closer to the fire and noticing there was a slight damp chill in the air. “Morning, you say?”
She nodded, then went back to stirring the misshapen pot over the fire. “You’ve slept for quite a while.”
“Oh,” I said. No one else was around except her. “Is there a bathroom somewhere?”
She glanced over at me. “Bathroom?”
Oops. Did the British not use the word ‘bathroom’? “Um. Washroom? Lavatory? I have to, you know...” I made a gesture at my pelvis, not quite sure how else to communicate it. How embarrassing.
“Oh,” she said, then colored pink. “There’s a bucket behind the screen. Near the ledge.” She gestured at a leafy area of the cave-wall, near the front. “Once you’re done with it, toss the waste into the pit below.”
Bucket? Screen? How un-private. I wrinkled my nose and hurried over. Sure enough, there was a very crude bucket, and a stack of clean leaves for obvious purposes. I used it as quickly as I could and dumped it over the side, wishing for a real bathroom. Something with more than just a screen, at the very least.
My business done, I returned to the campfire and sat on one of the stools parked nearby. The girl made no attempt to talk to me, so I studied her as she stirred the crude cook-pot. She was young. Ten? Twelve? Her clothes were tattered and faded to the point that I couldn’t tell what sort of make they were, and she wore a fairly long skirt for such a warm climate. Her hair was pulled tightly back into a bun, and a few wisps escaped to frame her face, curling around her ears.
“I’m Diana,” I said when she noticed me staring.
“My name is Lady Olivia Smythe,” she said, her voice stiff.
Lady? I didn’t want to insult her by stating the question aloud, but it seemed an odd way to introduce herself. Maybe her brain was a little whacked out from being shipwrecked. Not that I blamed her.
She didn’t seem inclined to carry the conversation, so I tried another tactic. “Eustace is your brother?”
Olivia gave the pot a quick stir with a long handled wooden spoon. “He is Lord Eustace Smythe, Marquess of Langdon.” She blinked repeatedly, and I winced inwardly. I hoped I wasn’t going to make her cry.
“Oh,” I said, feeling awkward. “I don’t have a title, I’m afraid.”
“You’re common, then?” Her eyes raised to meet mine. “You sound as if you’re from the colonies.”
“I’m American, yeah.” Whatever she was cooking smelled wonderful, and my stomach growled. “That smells great, whatever it is.”
She flushed a little, clearly pleased at my appreciation. “Stewed lizard and some lemongrass. It’s quite good once you get used to it.”
“It smells wonderful.” I didn’t want to think about the lizard part too much, but if she was going to eat it, well, so was I.
She warmed to me a little at that, and I saw the hard edges leave her mouth, and she even smiled. “Would you like a bowl?”
I nodded eagerly and she left the fire briefly, heading over to the far wall and plucking something metal and shiny
Sunlight filtered in through the thick palm leaves at the front entrance, and I squinted at the light. At some point, someone had rolled back the palm ‘roof’ to let the light stream into the cave area, and it felt very bright and warm. A fire was blazing in the center of the cave, and I saw three other leather hangings dotted around the corners of the large entrance room, which must have been where the others slept. It reminded me a bit of the Anasazi cliff dwellings that I’d seen in a National Geographic once.
The young girl was tending something over the fire. She looked over at me, her eyes red. “Good morning.”
She hadn’t made it sound like it was a good morning. Her voice was clearly resentful. “Hi,” I said, edging closer to the fire and noticing there was a slight damp chill in the air. “Morning, you say?”
She nodded, then went back to stirring the misshapen pot over the fire. “You’ve slept for quite a while.”
“Oh,” I said. No one else was around except her. “Is there a bathroom somewhere?”
She glanced over at me. “Bathroom?”
Oops. Did the British not use the word ‘bathroom’? “Um. Washroom? Lavatory? I have to, you know...” I made a gesture at my pelvis, not quite sure how else to communicate it. How embarrassing.
“Oh,” she said, then colored pink. “There’s a bucket behind the screen. Near the ledge.” She gestured at a leafy area of the cave-wall, near the front. “Once you’re done with it, toss the waste into the pit below.”
Bucket? Screen? How un-private. I wrinkled my nose and hurried over. Sure enough, there was a very crude bucket, and a stack of clean leaves for obvious purposes. I used it as quickly as I could and dumped it over the side, wishing for a real bathroom. Something with more than just a screen, at the very least.
My business done, I returned to the campfire and sat on one of the stools parked nearby. The girl made no attempt to talk to me, so I studied her as she stirred the crude cook-pot. She was young. Ten? Twelve? Her clothes were tattered and faded to the point that I couldn’t tell what sort of make they were, and she wore a fairly long skirt for such a warm climate. Her hair was pulled tightly back into a bun, and a few wisps escaped to frame her face, curling around her ears.
“I’m Diana,” I said when she noticed me staring.
“My name is Lady Olivia Smythe,” she said, her voice stiff.
Lady? I didn’t want to insult her by stating the question aloud, but it seemed an odd way to introduce herself. Maybe her brain was a little whacked out from being shipwrecked. Not that I blamed her.
She didn’t seem inclined to carry the conversation, so I tried another tactic. “Eustace is your brother?”
Olivia gave the pot a quick stir with a long handled wooden spoon. “He is Lord Eustace Smythe, Marquess of Langdon.” She blinked repeatedly, and I winced inwardly. I hoped I wasn’t going to make her cry.
“Oh,” I said, feeling awkward. “I don’t have a title, I’m afraid.”
“You’re common, then?” Her eyes raised to meet mine. “You sound as if you’re from the colonies.”
“I’m American, yeah.” Whatever she was cooking smelled wonderful, and my stomach growled. “That smells great, whatever it is.”
She flushed a little, clearly pleased at my appreciation. “Stewed lizard and some lemongrass. It’s quite good once you get used to it.”
“It smells wonderful.” I didn’t want to think about the lizard part too much, but if she was going to eat it, well, so was I.
She warmed to me a little at that, and I saw the hard edges leave her mouth, and she even smiled. “Would you like a bowl?”
I nodded eagerly and she left the fire briefly, heading over to the far wall and plucking something metal and shiny
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