Chapter eight
Delia rides the galeIn the small cabin situated in the stern of the airboat Delia pulled down the top of her russet tunic over her breast. She tucked her chin in and squinted down. She had always had nice skin, smooth and unblemished, and now this — this monstrosity — squatted nastily on her chest like a furry grub. The patch was as big as her thumb. When she looked more closely she could see tiny yellow pimples peppering the angry red of the rash.
She did not much care for rashes and she disliked pimples.
The beastly spot did not hurt. It did not even sting. She could feel nothing even when, distastefully, she prodded it with a finger.
The hateful thing just erupted on her skin, growing larger, sitting there like an obscene grub above her breast.
The flap of the door co
