She was one of those who had looked sickest while standing on the docks, and she was bent over in the water as if the swim had sharpened her pain. She kicked me hard as she tried to get to the surface, reigniting my own aches. I gasped too, swallowing a mouthful of water, then raised my head to get more air.
Weevil had one of her arms now, which he wrapped over his shoulder, and I took the other. We raised the woman to the surface and, as she calmed down, helped her float on her back. That position would be less painful, at least for me.
By then, the rest of the victims had climbed into the boats, and the only spot available was in the farthest boat, where Della was still alone. Little surprise. After her standoff attitude on the shore, I understood why no one else would want to share a boat with her. I still reserved the right to dislike her the most.
Della stood as we swam closer. "Look how sick that woman is! She'll make me worse!"
"The other boats are full," Weevil said.
"Ignore her," I muttered.
I gripped the side of the boat, but the woman we were helping was too weak to lift herself into it. Della made it even harder by shifting her weight to the opposite end of the boat, preventing us from tilting it down for the woman.
"I refuse to ride with grubs, or with people too sick to swim!"
I'd had enough. "Have it your way," I said. Then I pushed my end of the boat up, toppling Della back into the water. If she had been able to swim here once, she could swim back again.
The people on the other boats laughed and there was even some applause, but Weevil only frowned at me. "This isn't the place for that," he scolded.
"She deserved it," I told him.
"She's sick too," Weevil said. "She's scared."
Maybe she was, but if anything, sickness had only made her more selfish than before. So I didn't feel any guilt, or at least, not that much. When the boat rocked back toward us, we were able to tilt it down enough to let the woman slide in. She sank to the floor of the boat, unable to even sit on the benches.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Della's head popped up over the side of the boat, though her face was so red I wondered if she'd swum through a patch of dye while underwater.
"My flask of medicine fell off my neck," she screeched at me. "That's your fault, Ani!"
"Has anything in the last day not been my fault?" I countered. "Add this to your list against me."
"There is a list," Della said. "And I will get revenge for every single thing on it."
"Let's just get in the boat," Weevil said. "The others are ready to go."
He helped me in and then climbed in himself while Della rolled in from the other side. As she had said, the flask was gone from around her neck. She began eyeing my flask, as if staring increased her chances of getting it. A part of me sympathized with her plight. I knew how valuable the medicine was and how awful the pain that was coming for her if she didn't get more.
Yet Weevil hadn't been given any medicine, and sickness seemed inevitable for him now. If I gave any medicine to Della, I wouldn't have enough to share with him. So I put my hand on my flask, just as a reassurance that she would not take it from me. Weevil and I needed it too.
Oars were in the boat to help us row toward the island. Although we were all attached to the rope, that only prevented us from getting pulled out to sea by the strong currents or from some desperate victim taking their boat in another direction in an attempt to escape. I took one oar, and Weevil took the other. Della nestled into a spot near the front of the boat and turned her back to us, which was about the best thing I could've hoped for. The woman we had saved was still on the floor of the boat. She had already taken a sip of her medicine. She'd feel better soon.
While we rowed, Weevil began whistling a cheery tune. Every time he hit one of the higher notes, Della shuddered, as if his song caused her pain. For my part, I rather liked it. With the whistling, our fate didn't seem nearly as awful. Some of the people in the boats behind us picked up the same tune, and with that came more chatter and even a little laughing.
Except for Della. She turned around a couple of times, and at first I thought she was glaring at us. But that wasn't it. Tears were running down her cheeks, reminding me again that for all her rudeness and superiority, she was terrified.
When we were about halfway across, the woman in the center of our boat managed to prop herself upright on a bench. Her face was still pale, and she was clinging on to the wood slat as if it were life itself, but at least she was facing the right direction.
"You saved my life," she whispered.
Weevil stopped whistling long enough to say, "You'd have done the same for us, if you weren't busy drowning."
She smiled briefly, and then said, "I will do the same for you. My name is Marjorie. Listen, I've heard things, I know things ..."
"And I know you," Della said. "You're a server at a filthy tavern. You don't know anything."
Marjorie swallowed, looking as if even that caused her pain. I wondered if she was naturally a sickly person, or if not, then how long it would be before I felt as bad as she did. Turning farther away from Della and with a quieter voice, Marjorie said, "I serve drinks to the wardens, both those in Keldan and those who come over from the island. The things they say about the Colony, the things they know, some of it sounds terrible. From what I've heard, you don't want to stay in the old prison."