Threads and Flames by Esther Friesner Page A

usual, but the line for breakfast was radically shorter. The crewman dishing out ladlefuls of gluey oatmeal encouraged them to come back for seconds. “Maybe third helpings, too,” he said. “Don’t hesitate; there’ll be plenty.”
    The girls ate in the company of those few people who weren’t suffering from the bad weather. Everyone spoke in hushed voices, not wanting to disturb the sick. Raisa couldn’t help feeling guilty for being well in the midst of so much suffering. She and Zusa gobbled breakfast and quickly scrubbed and stowed their mess kits, eager to escape.
    They were heading for the gangway to the upper decks when the ship gave a crazy lurch, sending them staggering sideways. Raisa was fighting for her balance when something small and solid rammed her hip, knocking her off her feet and into Zusa. They fell together, and in the next breath so did the little girl who’d caused the collision. She sprawled across Raisa’s lap, hands splayed, arms outstretched helplessly, as two meal buckets filled with oatmeal flew from her grasp. They hit the floor with a dull crash and rolled away, splattering globs of cereal everywhere. The little girl gaped, then screwed up her face and let out a wail of total misery.
    â€œOh, you poor thing!” Raisa exclaimed, sitting up and brushing long strands of tangled honey-blonde hair out of the child’s face. “Don’t cry; there’s plenty of cereal today. We’ll help you get some more.” She stood and offered her hand. “I’m Raisa. Who are you?”
    The little girl let herself be helped up, her small, dirty fingers tightening on Raisa’s hand like the claws of a tiny bird. “Brina,” she said in a whisper.
    Zusa got up and shook out her skirt, chuckling. “And how old are you, little kitten?” Instead of answering the question, Brina grabbed Raisa’s dress with both hands and buried her face in the cloth. This made Zusa laugh louder. “Well, I can see who her favorite is!”
    Together the girls took care of cleaning and refilling Brina’s meal pails. With some gentle coaxing, Raisa got the shy child to lead them back to her bunk, while Zusa followed them, carrying breakfast. It took Brina several false starts before she found the right path. “No wonder,” Raisa murmured in her friend’s ear. “Can you imagine how confusing this place must be for such a little one?”
    â€œ I can’t imagine the sort of parent who’d send a child this young to fetch breakfast,” Zusa hissed back. “Mothers are supposed to take care of children, not the other way around!”
    â€œMaybe she had a good reason,” Raisa said. “Maybe she’s taking care of her other children. Maybe she’s got a baby to nurse.”
    â€œMaybe she’s just lazy,” Zusa concluded.
    Brina stopped beside a bunk that was tucked away in one of the darkest corners of the hold. The upper berth was unoccupied, as were the bunks nearby. The little girl crouched down and reached one hand into the shadows. “Mama? Breakfast, Mama.”
    Someone groaned in the darkness. Raisa bent down to peer at the woman, who turned over slowly on the crackling burlap mattress, her body huddled under an oversize black wool coat even though the ship’s steerage section was so warm. The woman’s thin lips parted with a sigh.
    â€œBrina?” she said, her voice trembling. “Come to Mama, my darling.” The little girl obeyed, creeping into the bunk and her mother’s outstretched arms. Only then did the woman speak to Raisa and Zusa. “Thank you for bringing her back. She was gone so long, I was afraid that ...” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I know she shouldn’t be left to run around the ship on her own—she’s not even five years old yet. But I’m—I’m so tired. That’s all. I’m in good health, but