Free Weight of Stone by Laura Anne Gilman

the middle of the space and tried not to gag. They slept in this? How had he not realized how bad it had gotten?
    With the right spellwine, he could clean this space in a matter of minutes. Jerzy made an exasperated noise at the thought. A full assortment of the Vineart’s tools, and he could have made the entire journey one of pleasant experiences, not hardships. Wind, to freshen the air. Fire, to light the shadows and make it seem more hospitable. Aether, to relieve some of the echoes of previous sleepers, their bad dreams andfears still hanging in wood and metal. All those spells he knew, if only from study.
    He had none of those, not even a basic waterspell to rinse the floors, but Jerzy had been a slave for years before he ever tasted a spellwine, and he was not afraid of hard work. Especially if it kept him busy enough that he no longer thought—or remembered.
    The space echoed; the three of them had no belongings save what Mahl had thought to load onto the horses when they escaped: a few changes of clothing each; a small bag of coins, including several silver pieces with her father’s image on them, similar to the copper token with his master’s sigil imprinted on it that Jerzy carried on a leather thong around his neck as safe passage and promise of payment throughout The Berengia. There was also a single blade, the length of his arm, sheathed in a dull-looking leather cover. Other than that, and the few items that had come with the ship, the sleeping quarters were barren.
    What would Detta do? The answer came to him as though the House-keeper of the House of Malech were standing beside him, hands fisted on her ample hips, her gray curls bouncing as she scolded him. Air the bedding out, and wash clean the floor.
    Jerzy unhooked the cloth hammock pads and lugged them up the steps, hanging them carefully over the railing and tying them again to the frame so they would not fall into the water if the ship rocked the wrong way. That done, he dipped a bucket over the side of the ship and brought the seawater back down the steps, using it and a stiff brush he found to scrub some of the dirt and grime off the wooden planks of the floor.
    The work was slow, but when he had scrubbed his way from one end of the space to the other, Jerzy sat back on his haunches, wincing a little at the ache between his shoulders and in his knees, and could see a difference.
    It wasn’t up to Detta’s standards, but it was better.
    He stood, hearing his knees crack a little, and, dropping the brush into the bucket, brought it back up to the deck. The sun had passed intothe far corner of the sky while he worked, and the rays were softer now on his skin. He left the bucket in the corner where he’d found it and checked the bedding. The ticking was warm, and the stuffing smelled of salt air and green spray rather than dank wood and mildew. Pleased, Jerzy wrestled them off the railing and back down into the sleeping area, tying them back down in place. When he went back above deck to get the blankets, he heard a distant sound that made him freeze in place, suddenly alert and tense. Splashing on the water.
    Then his eyes spotted the source of the noise: two figures heading in from the shore on a raft barely worthy of the name. No creature from the depths, only Ao and Mahault, returning from their expedition.
    By the time they reached the ship, their raft—a makeshift wooden thing held together with coarse rope—was already starting to come apart.
    “Some help here?” Ao asked, even as Jerzy was leaning over the side, reaching down to take casks and bags off before they sank.
    They had secured two small water casks and a bag of dried meat strips, plus fresh fruit, including the green, egg-shaped fruit called pieot Master Malech had given him to try during the early months of his training.
    “I’m sorry,” Mahl said, seeing the way his gaze flitted over their acquisitions. “The village was so small—there were no spellwines to be had,