"Water," number Twenty-Eight suddenly begged, falling over onto the deck. Twenty-Nine tried, despite his short wrist chains, to help him back onto the bench before any of the bleeders saw what had happened, but he knew he had to continue rowing or be beaten himself.

He looked up to see one of the creatures approaching. It was then that he felt the warmth, smelled the stench. Closing his eyes briefly, he tried to blot out what was happening, but could not. Twenty-Eight was vomiting bile on his feet.

Twenty-Eight retched again, curling his trembling body around one of Twenty-Nine's vomit-soaked feet. "Help us…," he sobbed. "Why won't anyone help us…"

The bleeder was standing over them. Without hesitation he shoved the three prongs of the trident into Twenty-Eight's left calf. The blood gushed forth, flowing down the slave's leg in bright rivulets. For a long moment, Twenty-Nine thought he might be sick.

Giving the trident a vicious twist, the bleeder yanked it from Twenty-Eight's leg.

"Back onto the bench-now!" the bleeder shouted. His voice was low, guttural, and commanding. He was standing so close that Twenty-Nine could smell his putrid breath. Somehow Twenty-Eight did as he was told. Seated on the bench once more, he bent over and retched again. His empty stomach had nothing left to expel.

"If this happens again, the prongs will go directly into your worthless eyes," the bleeder hissed. "Do you understand?" He pointed his trident at the strange brand on Twenty-Eight's shoulder. "You are not of endowed blood, Talis. Therefore, you are quite expendable. You live only to serve this ship."

With a sneer, the creature continued down the bloodstained aisle to abuse another man who had fallen behind. Functioning on fear alone, Twenty-Eight somehow resumed rowing.