A Fistful of Dust by Sharon Bidwell Page A

something within eating away, gnawing, yet no one could stop it? The source was external, out there , and he could not cut it out of his body even if he dug deep. It would strip his mind before he could sever it from his flesh.
    For the first time on this voyage, Folkard began to worry he might actually do something stupid.
    He hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t asked to be some magical divining rod. How freeing it would be to cast off the mantel of authority. Then there was his belief that Heaven awaited him. His beloved wife, Charlotte. His dear daughter, Felicity. Since his brief visit with them, he sometimes felt as if he were only half here. Part of him wanted to return to the people he loved. Maybe it would be best to let the others take over. How freeing…and traitorous.
    Folkard was no traitor.
    The thought sobered him; he opened his eyes, immediately aware that Arnaud stood watching. He swallowed, straightened, took a ’kerchief from a pocket, dabbed his brow. “I’m all right, Doctor Fontaine.”
    “We both know that’s not true.”
    Considering whether to argue, Folkard took a moment, nodded. At least Fontaine had the decency to be discrete. “I have already given the command to put the safety of the ground crew first despite any orders to the contrary. If you do not believe me, ask Carter. This flyer will only move should survival of the ship require it.”
    “Did the officer not find such orders strange?”
    “It does not matter how he found them, only that he obey.”
    Arnaud nodded. “And in the interest of the ship and its crew may one enquire how its captain is feeling?”
    Brushing one hand against the next, Folkard was surprised to discover he was smiling. “As if…ants are crawling all over my skin. Something calls to me…Arnaud, but I’ve never felt anything this erratic. I cannot fathom it.”
    “How much time before we gather the ground crew?”
    Highmore broke into their conversation, arriving on the control deck without Folkard’s permission. He was about to berate him for what he knew was an offence, but something in the other man’s mien gave him pause, so Folkard answered him. “Fifty minutes.”
    “So long?”
    Folkard disliked the man’s behaviour. He’d harboured no desire to leave the ship and attend his sister and had allowed Whitlock to go in his stead. A poor showing by all accounts, and now he’d gone against Folkard’s express orders to keep clear of the control deck.
    “Would our time not be better served doing a sweep?”
    The surprise in Doctor Fontaine’s face did not escape the captain. They both studied Highmore with expressions of concern.
    “We will not leave this position until the others come aboard, sir.”
    “We need to locate the other flyer if, indeed, one does exist,” Highmore said, pacing, talking as if he hadn’t heard.
    “And we will, once the others return.”
    The man stopped sharply, eagle gaze piercing. “Our enemies may be gathering at our flank while we debate.”
    “There is no debate; the decision is mine. Tell me, sir; why would you wish to move off and leave your sister unattended?”
    “Unattended? Why no. She has Whitlock to care for her. It’s just…”
    “Yes, Sir Highmore?”
    “I…don’t know.” Highmore fiddled with his cane in such a manner that it made Folkard desire to take it away from him. “I just… This all seemed so much easier when we were moving.”
    “Easier? Moving?”
    “Yes, Captain!” For a second Highmore’s stare became a glare. “The ship did not feel half so…crowded, when we were in flight. You keep a disorganised ship, Folkard.” Then, as if the man realised his outburst, he fingered his collar. “It grows hot in here.”
    “The environmental controls are functioning as they should.”
    “You’re sure? No. Of course you are. Why must you keep these aether ships so damn hot?”
    Another look at Arnaud confirmed to Folkard what he already knew. The ship was not hot, the temperature