Free Run Afoul by Joan Druett

look. “You’re right. How about you having a go?”
    Wiki shrugged, thinking that he couldn’t do any more damage than had been done already. Festin was beginning to whine with pain as the numbness faded, so Wiki plucked out the tooth as gently as he could, washed it in a handy tumbler of water—which immediately turned an unpleasant brown—and put it back in place, with due care given to its orientation.
    â€œThat’s done it,” pronounced Forsythe after another inspection. After grabbing up a tattered pair of drawers from the top of his bunk, he doused a corner with the water from the tumbler, and scoured the blood off Festin’s face. “You’ll do,” he said, standing back for another look. “Off you go to the galley, and don’t breathe a word about what happened. In fact, keep your mouth tight shut, or that damn tooth might fall out.”
    With perfect timing, eight bells sounded from above. Forsythe sprinted up the companionway to hand over the deck, urging Festin along as he went. A remarkably short moment later, he came thundering down again with a hammock over his shoulder. “Now,” he said energetically, and set himself into action again. Hammock hooks were screwed into the wall above the desk and into the partition opposite, and when Wiki clambered into the hammock to try it out, he found that he swung quite comfortably with his feet beneath the antlers, though the dead stare from the deer’s glass eyes was a bit disconcerting.
    To celebrate, Forsythe opened the door and roared for a boy to fetch a pot of coffee. “Wa’al, then,” he said, settling down with a mug, “tell me about this poisoning. Was it the fish or the pudding?”
    â€œNeither,” said Wiki flatly.
    â€œYou reckon the fish were fresh?”
    â€œTana and Sua caught them just that morning.”
    â€œThose black bastards? They put a barbaric curse on them.”
    Wiki received this in a cold silence which was wasted on Forsythe, because he didn’t even notice, demanding instead, “So who carried them over from the galley after they were cooked? Festin? Or that po-faced steward?”
    â€œJack Winter, of course.”
    â€œSo he could have done it. Does he have any access to poison?”
    â€œAccording to Dr. Olliver, he swears all the time that he’s going to lay poison for the rats, but the rats are as lively as ever, which probably means he has no poison to lay.”
    â€œSo who ate the fish?”
    â€œEveryone at the table—Dr. Olliver, Captain Couthouy, Lieutenant Smith, Grimes, and myself.”
    â€œAnd did anyone else get sick?”
    â€œJust Grimes.”
    â€œSo mebbe it was a particular fish.”
    â€œAye, we thought of that, too—or, at least, Dr. Olliver did. The fish were piled in a mess tub, and Grimes ate the topmost two.”
    â€œAha—so that’s where we should have a bloody good look at Jack Winter,” said Forsythe with an air of triumph. “I betcha that while he was carrying the bucket from the galley, he sprinkled somethin’ on top.”
    â€œBut he doesn’t have a motive!”
    â€œHe does, if he expected Wilkes to be at the table,” the southerner said with an evil grin. “His majesty would naturally take the first helping—and Smith, considerin’ himself the next most important, would follow. And I bet what Jack sprinkled was a big spoonful of salts! The way you described it, I reckon it was a dose of salts what sent Grimes to the pot.”
    â€œIt’s a theory,” Wiki allowed, concealing his amusement.
    â€œIt’s more than a bloody theory! And you’d better hope like crazy that I’m right, because if anyone else gets sick, or Grimes gets even sicker, I can’t do anythin’ more for you and Festin.”
    Wiki glanced at Forsythe curiously, “Why are you doing it?”
    â€œDoin’