Page 36 of Tattle Tail
She took a cautious spoonful. “It is salty.”
“You need the salt.”
Her ears pressed back, clearly unhappy, but she finished the bowl.
“Do you want a shower? I’ll change out the bed sheets while you do that,” he said. The room had the stale odor of sickness to it.
“Yes.”
While she was in the cleansing room, he laid out a towel and one of his old shirts, as he did not want to paw through her luggage. He quickly stripped the bed and remade it with fresh sheets. He cranked up the filtration system for the cabin, hoping to eliminate the odor. The ship would never smell like a meadow after the rain, but he could remove the worst of the smells.
When she emerged from the cleansing room, she wore an oversized shirt and smelled of his soap. A primitive part of his brain howled in delight that she smelled like him, and he didn’t want to think too hard about what that said about him.
She climbed back into the bed and reached for his hand. “Thank you,” she said, giving a weak squeeze.
They did this again in six hours. And again.
Peaceable
Nettle was a traitor. Peaceable was ill. She needed comfort. She needed Nettle to snuggle next to her and purr. Instead, she woke to an empty bed.
She wore an oversized sleep shirt. Not hers. Joseph’s. Her clothes were still in the rolling travel bag. All she had to do was bend over and…
No.
The thought of bending over made her dizzy and nauseous. Her ears were filled with fluid, and her head continued to ache behind her eyes. Still, she felt marginally better. Maybe there was something to that horribly salty human soup.
Or it could have been the hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Thirsty, she wandered out of the cabin. The ship had a lived-in, comfortable feel. Well cared for and clean, it had just enough wear to testify that this was a working ship, not a luxury vessel to amuse wealthy passengers. The common area had been enthusiastically decorated with crystals, chimes, bells, a small fountain, and even a cluster of flameless candles that flickered. An enormous rock rested on the low table by the couch, cut in half and polished to reveal quartz crystals.
Joseph read in a plush chair, his legs slung over one arm and slouched down against the other arm. Nettle lay curled at the base of the chair, the traitor.
“You’re up,” he said.
“Obviously.” She wanted to express her gratitude for the kindness he had shown her. What came out was, “That position is harmful to your back and the integrity of the chair.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “No need to ask if you’re feeling better.”
“I’m thirsty,” she said, then hastily added, “but not that juice.” The thick, syrupy feel of it on her tongue had been disgusting.
“It’s not to everyone’s taste. I’ve been told the real stuff is amazing, but I’ve only ever had powdered orange juice. It’s what the star sailors drank.”
“What’s a star sailor?” His words were gibberish, most likely a symptom of a fever or a malfunction in her translation chip.
“Astro. Naut,” he said slowly. “It’s what Earth called the first people in space.”
“Star sailors. Humans are so whimsical.”
A grin spread slowly across his face. “How about tea?”
“Yes, tea is good.” Peaceable’s eyes fluttered shut in horror at the simplistic statement.Tea is good. How embarrassing. The congestion made her brain feel sluggish.
Joseph handed her a steaming hot mug without a mocking comment or even a smirk. “Lemon ginger,” he said.
Leaning against the counter, she enjoyed the warm cup in her hands. The pungent, acerbic aroma tickled her nose. The scent was unfamiliar but not unappealing. “Is it—”
“Tal-safe,” he said. “Everything on board is nontoxic to you.”
