When she finally got the window closed, she had an uneasy feeling she did not want to admit was seasickness, but as the ship continued to pitch and roll, she soon had no doubt. She had thought the jug unnecessary, far larger than anyone would ever need, but she was soon grateful for it and its large cork. Finally, her stomach was empty and she wedged the jug between one of the provisions boxes and the bunk.
Though she had nothing left to throw up, she still felt every lurch and sway of the ship. If only it would stop, even for a moment … but it did not stop. Instead, the movement intensified with the howling wind. She thought her body would come apart, but all she could do was lie there, hands fisted in the netting to keep from being flung from side to side as violently.
The night seemed to last forever. When at last a little gray light seeped into her cabin, the ship still lurched in what felt like all directions at once. Her window was only a gray blur, water streaming down it. She heard footsteps, but no one came until the ship’s movement eased a little. Then someone knocked on her door, and the cook appeared.
“Here for your jug,” he said, and walked—unsteadily but moving upright, which Dorrin could scarce believe—to take the jug from where she’d wedged it. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said, and went out.
Dorrin tried to convince her stomach that the lurching wasn’t nearly as bad. Very soon the cook returned with the jug, now empty, and put it back in its niche.
“You have anything for the sickness?” he asked.
She had forgotten about the Sea-Prince’s wife’s gift. “Someone gave me …” she said, and then her stomach turned. She clenched her teeth and managed not to heave. Instead she pointed to the cubby where she had put her kit. “Round box,” she said.
He took the box, bracing one leg against the base of the bunk, and opened it and sniffed. “Good,” he said. “I’ll fix this.”
Dorrin closed her eyes. She had never felt this sick in her life. She had heaved before, yes, from bad food in Aarenis, but always once or twice had been enough, and then the empty feeling and then it was over. This went on and on.
Eventually the cook came back with a mug that smelled of sib and the herb in the box. Her stomach roiled. “You drink this, tiny sips,” he said. He unhooked one corner of the netting, put an arm behind her shoulders, and lifted her a little. “Tiny sip,” he said, putting the mug to her lips.
She didn’t want anything, but she sipped. Once … twice … a third sip.
“Two more,” he said. “Then rest, then I come again.”
Two more sips. He took the mug from her lips, let her back down slowly, rehooked the netting, and went away with the mug. Dorrin closed her eyes again. The nausea lessened, though the ship continued its uneven motion.
When next someone tapped at her door, Dorrin woke from a doze. Captain Royan looked in.
“You’ll do,” he said. “The herb helps, doesn’t it? Nice couple of squalls we had. You might get up and use the pot now, while you can.”
“Squalls?” Dorrin said. Surely that had been a huge storm and they were lucky to be still afloat.
“Yes. Not the main storm. As I said, we’re going farther out, around it. We should have a half-glass, maybe, before the next squall. Can you stand?”
She was sure she could not, but he unhooked the netting and helped her sit up. “Put your pot in the niche just outside the door when you’re done. I don’t want you out in the passage or on the ladders; someone will take it for you. Don’t forget the lid.” He left.
Sitting up was worse than lying down, but Dorrin managed to retrieve the chamber pot, use it, and push it along the deck with her foot, then get it latched into place in the niche beside the door. It occurred to her that a ship carrying passengers on a regular basis must be familiar with seasick passengers and their needs.
She had made it back to her bunk and rehooked half the netting when the cook reappeared with the mug of sib and a piece of dry bread. At his direction, she drank more this time—ten sips—and ate half the bread. Then he said, “Squall coming,” and she lay down while he hooked up the rest of the netting and left her.
This time was not quite as bad. Though she threw up the bread, she had no dry heaves after. The movement of the ship, the noises of the ship itself, the wind, and the water were still distressing, but she no longer felt she was at the edge of endurance. As soon as the ship’s motion eased again, she fell asleep and slept (she later heard) through another squall. This time when she woke, she was actually thirsty and hungry when the cook appeared. She was able to sit up and drink a half mug of sib and eat a whole piece of dry bread.