As he flutters his fingers over the candleflames, the Captain’s voice is soft, distant.
“There is a man on this ship—a spy. Working to unravel all the work that I have done.”
With thumb and forefinger, he reaches into the pocket of his pink collared shirt, then extends his hand toward you, offering a stub of paper. You take it, startled—it is the same ticket you gave to him a short time ago.
But now it is untouched by rain.
“It’s true,” he says, mischievous gleam in eye, “I have some misdirection in me yet. That you were sent here with that message tells me a great deal about you. We, you and I, must stop this spy. I have spent decades planning. I do not know what he looks like. Don’t believe this crew is close with another. I’ve picked them the last few weeks, a scattering of ports. He could be any one of them.”
A stiff wave shivers the ship. The shrunken heads avert their gaze fro myou. You hear a scuttling beneath the desk, and the Captain snaps his fingers. A grimy dog, fur damp, rat-like, leaps upon the Captain’s lap, and he scratches its onion-skin ears.
“If we are any of us to survive,” he says, “you must find this man. And you must kill him.”
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