High Seas and Short People [Private]

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Carrn listened, not surprised by her rush of words. She was excitable. She'd been on the boat half a day and it had already gotten around: the gnome was a chatterbox, and an eager one at that. So her rush didn't catch him off guard, and while he was gruff and surly and a bit smelly, he wasn't too rude, so he let her prattle on until she took a breath. She didn't, and he ended up listening until she cut herself off in embarrassment. He sort of understand that bit.

She was embarrassed that she knew so little about the ocean and how it work, yet had written about it, and while most of the crew had probably never heard of her or her books (Carrn had a suspicion that Durok knew. He might even have a few copies of her books), she was worried about how such obvious ignorance would reflect on her. To Carrn, it didn't bother him. The fact that she was embarrassed because she was speaking about romance to a male was lost on him.

"Don't worry about it, lass. Though if ye ask me, a romance on the ocean is not likely. Everyone's too close and too stinky. No time to bathe much, you'll soon find. Your's, and the two officer's cabins, are the only ones with showers. The rest of us have one, rarely used stall to share." He laughed at that, recalling he days when they couldn't afford those nifty little magic items that Sheng made. The crew had complained about the coin going to hygiene at first, but when they realized how great a bath after a month at sea felt, they quit their bubble-blowing. "Aye, yer more likely to find love at the bottom of the ocean than up here." He elbowed her then, and said "That could be yer next book! Maybe yer Hildi-whatsit capsizes his little canoe and meets a nice sea serpent lady!"
 
"Sir Hildifons does not fall in love with anyone," Bertie retorted while rubbing where the dwarf had so thoughtlessly nudged her-- more incensed that he seemed to be mocking her life's work than the fact that she would have months of sweaty, smelly, dirty ship hands to keep her company. Filth and stench she could handle any day. Water and criticism, well, that took a little more stomach to even begin to digest and conquer her hate of it. No, Sir Hildifons may be a flirt, but he never, ever fell in love with anyone in her books. Why? Simply for the reason that if he fell for anyone, she would make sure it was her and there was no way her boring existence would make it into one of her novels. The adventuring, boisterous type never seemed to go for females like herself, unfortunately.

"But I will take that idea into consideration for my next romance novel," she continued. A phrase the dwarf had let slip earlier tugged at her thoughts and she frowned slightly. "Do you ever actually read, Mr... Mr..." her brows furrowed in consternation before she switched to a less personal "...sir, or are you unfamiliar with your letters?" The authoress held up a hand and crossed her fingers in a gnomish sign much like our "Scout's Honour" gesture, her wide eyes completely serious. "I swear not to laugh if you can't read!"
 
Oops, he'd upset her. Carrn wasn't much one to care, not really, but still. He understood from the way she phrased her sentence prior to her question that is was about him mocking her work, and that was a feeling he understood. He didn't let no one who mocked his ship, for example, go without a quick toss in the ocean, whether they could swim or not. That had happened on more than one occasion, and one fellow had once had the nerve to swing an ax into his hull and laugh with his fellows. Carrn had literally torn one of the youth's arms off for that affront, and only Durok and Sheng's joint efforts to pull him free had prevented Carrn from acquiring a matching set. They'd kept the authorities off of their backs by claiming that Carrn was a bit thick and had thought the youth was attacking him (the ax had been awfully close). It was that fond memory that drew Carrn to apologize.

"My apologies for insultin' yer work, lass. I meant nothin' by it." Then she asked about him knowing how to read, and he shrugged. It didn't offend him, nor would it have offended him if she had laughed. "I won't be upset at yer laughter, lass, ye jus' be prepared to find yourself danglin' over the railin' at the end of one o' me strong, illit-rate arms." He guffawed and elbowed her again.

"But nah, I cannot read. No real reason too when all I need to know is where to smack me mallet and where to put the nails." She didn't know his name, and that was something he figured he could remedy easily enough, and he said "Ye can call me Carrn, by the way. Blackreef if ye want a smack in the eye, dwarf if ye forget me given name, and Shipwright if ye REALLY need me attention."
 
One thing that really bothered her about conversing with this dwarf-- Carrn as he reintroduced himself-- was the fact that she couldn't figure out when he was serious and when he was teasing. Then there were those confounded informal nudges and bumps with his elbow, too. Bertie had never been treated in such a familiar way and the ease of Carrn's manners around her shocked her. Was he under the impression that just because she was on a ship meant she wasn't a lady anymore?

Smiling tremulously as the stocky dwarf's obnoxious rumble vibrated the wooden planks and tickled the bottoms of her feet, Thorberta clasped her hands behind her back and rocked back and forth from heel to toe until it subsided. It wouldn't do to burst into a fit of giggles at the moment, would it? No indeed. But then, he had sort of given her permission to laugh at the fact that he was illit-rate. So! He couldn't read and he didn't care to. She wouldn't have to worry about his having read any of her books then, which was a profound relief. She couldn't imagine the ribbing [both literally and figuratively] she would get if he had access to her nautical blunders!

"Carrn it is, then," she replied with a perky grin and an outstretched hand. "I am Thorberta, but most people call me Bertie."
 
He noted her odd posture and habit, as well as the slight way she seemed to recoil from his elbows. Was he being too rough physically? That was too bad. Carrn had one setting when it came to things like this: hard. If you were a five-hundred pound half-giant lady or a forty pound halfling youth, you got the exact same elbow, at the same height and in the same place. It didn't matter if that same place, relative to him, was the side of the giant's thigh in her most ticklish place, earning him a kick that broke three of his ribs and tossed him into the ocean, or was the side of the halfling's head, and the blow knocked said halfling sideways and into a dung-heap (they had been by a stable at the time, not all his life had been spent on the boat, after all). She'd probably get a gnarly bruise if he kept that up, but she'd also probably get used to it.

She seemed to find his mention of not being able to read a bit of a relief, but Carrn had no idea why that would be. So, he simply responded to her greeting. "Pleasure then, Birdie." He clasped her arm tightly, gripping her forearm in his powerful, calloused limb. The grip was tight enough to get a good feel of her skin under her clothes if she was wearing long sleeves, and thus a good way to see if she had a concealed weapon. It was the typical greeting among sea-faring folk and adventurers alike.

Carrn was enjoying this conversation more than he'd expected. She was a right entertaining lass, and different from the usual people he met on his journeys. His travelers were usually filled with smelly merchants, arrogant king-ship captains, stupid criminals, and working-class folk, like his shipmates, farmers, and fishermen. She didn't quite fit into any of those categories, and the gnome he thought was going to be the most useless aboard the ship was proving a bit more entertaining than he'd thought.

Then again, they'd see how well she fared when Durok put her to work.
 
Birdie? Since when did gnomes grow wings? Thorberta bit the inside of her cheek to keep her huff to herself. It wasn't much different than Bertie and just as cute, she had to admit, but still... Birdie? Oh well, at least he wasn't calling her Ivytoes. It really was in bad form that her last name should be a common gnomish insult. But there was a history in her family to be that afraid of water. And now.... miles and miles and miles away from land, Thorberta Ivytoes was putting that claim to the test! She, an Ivytoes of the thirteenth generation would be the lucky member to pull her family out of its disgrace and humiliation... And then, only then, would Sir Hildifons look upon her with eyes full of wonder... if she didn't drown within the first week of sailing.

Shaking her head, Bertie retreated from her delusions of grandeur and proceeded to rub her arm where the dwarf had gripped her arm. Whatever his bedside manner might be, should he ever be called upon to tend a wounded man, his casual manner certainly was nothing to aspire to. He hurt. Bertie just knew she'd be covered in bruises by the end of this conversation and gnomes don't bruise very easily. Thick hides and all.

Well, now that she had him here she might as well get all the bruising done with at once. The gnome went digging through her pockets for her notebook and pen and flipped it open to a blank page.

"So, Carrn, what exactly does a shipwright do? Besides right ships, of course," she giggled at her own joke and poised her pen above her notepad as her eyes widened eagerly. "I've read that they can bat incoming cannon balls with their hammers and are sometimes strapped to the bow if the figurehead falls off and nothing can be done to repair it. Has that ever happened to you?"
 
She seemed lost in thought for a moment, so Carrn let her have her piece, and picked up the nearest tool: a wood hammer. It just so happened to coincide with her beginning to speak, and he froze for a moment.

Was she joking, or being serious? Shipwrights were not ones to do either of those things, unless they were Carrn. The cannon-ball thing sounded like something he'd do, though. In fact, he'd have to talk to the captain about setting up something the next time they were at shore. Maybe they could take turns shooting the side-cannons at him and he could practice?

The figurehead thing made him laugh, though, and he said "Nay, we usually just patch up the holes the cannon-balls leave. Me, I'm good at lots o' things. If ye need somethin' made, come to me. I'll get it done better and faster than anyone else, I guarantee that." He elbowed her again and said "'Specially since we are on the sea now!" Another chuckle, and he pointed up at the dimly illuminated rigging. "But in all seriousness, me job is pretty simple. I fix the ship. If'n them ropes get torn by a bad knot, I replace it. If the sail gets tore up in a battle or in a hail storm, I patch it up. And if the figure-head falls off, I tie someone ELSE to it, since I got too much work to do for me to be lollyin' around."
 
Her scribbling was interrupted briefly as yet another sharp jab of the dwarf's elbow knocked her arm and sent the ink scrawling across her page in a most unsavory blotted line. The gnome huffed in frustration and brought her pen to her mouth, dabbing the tip a few times on her tongue to get the liquid flowing again. As soon as it was functional again, back the utensil went to the paper to finish immortalizing Carrn's words. Until he mentioned tying someone else to the bow, that is.

Thorberta froze. They actually tied people up as figureheads? Th-that part was true?!? No, no it couldn't be! Carrn must be teasing her again and she just wasn't aware of it. But... but... if they did patch figureheads with other people, surely the person tied up was a worthless member of the crew whose best use was lollying around. And who was more worthless than a tiny gnome authoress unaccustomed to sailing and frightfully terrified of water? Bertie blanched.

"You don't... ah... happen to tie passengers or paying customers to the figurehead in such an emergency... do you?"
 
Carrn fixed her with a more serious stare. Was she serious? She could't be for real. He just et out a lo chuckle and shrugged. "We don't really do that. It'd be too messy. Ye ever sen a keel-haulin'? It'd be like that, but worse." He shuddered, recalling the few keel-haulings he had witnessed. None while aboard this ship, he was glad to say, but he hadn't always been a member of an up-standing crew. This one captain had keel-hauled half the crew at one point, and it was all they could do to get back to port. Needless to say, she found herself swimming with sharks after that. Well, one shark in particular.

"But really, ye can rest assured that ye won't be seein' any gruesome sights among this crew. What ye see when we get involved with others, I can't promise, but ye ain't got nothin' to worry about from these folks."
 
Thorberta fidgeted under Carrn's stare, twisting her toe as she lowered her eyes and her cheeks flushed. She had definitely mistaken a tease that time. Ah, how ignorant he must think her! The gnome decided then and there that she would not ever remind anybody on this ship that she specialized in romance stories on the high seas. How embarrassing that distinction would be now that she knew how ignorant she really was! It was an immense relief, though, to learn that she wouldn't have to be subjected to any figurehead replacing that involved live people. But why was he mentioning keelhauling? Wasn't that a type of jig sailors often indulged themselves in on ship? Bertie kept her confusion to herself, however, and vowed she would find another resource for her novels besides Sir Gronkilany Heaftytoe's nautical encyclopedia. Gnomes obviously had no idea what happened on board ship.

And thinking of jigs, the crew had switched from story-telling, singing, and general carousing to pulling out more instruments. Those who could not play locked elbows and swung each other around the deck in some kind of boisterous dance. Bertie's mouth dropped open as one goblin was nearly thrown over the railing by the half-elf in a particularly wild whirl. So, she had nothing to worry about with these folks, eh?
 
(Sorry about the lengthy pause, I've been going through a lot lately.)

The timing was terrible. Loose-fist almost got tossed off the ship by a new half-elf dame that was spinning him around semi-reluctantly. Clearly prejudices were a bit strong in that one, but the fact that she was touching the goblin was a sign that she was willing to learn and accept those of the more...disreputable races.

"Well, ye don't have to worry about intentional bodily harm, at least. Ye might get knocked into the ocean a few times before ye get used to the bustlin' on deck, but ye got a crew of twenty five fine sailors to fish ye out should that happen."

He nudged her again, jabbing her once again with his large, pointed elbow, and he said "Now, I got me some lines to check. Ye get on and doodle in yer notebook about what ye see here, and learn how a real sailing ship runs. Wasn't so bad talkin' to ye, gnome. Ye take care, and find yerself one o' the captain's floaty thingy-ma-jigs if ye are worried about fallin." Carrn then turned to walk off into the darkness, towards the main mast.

He'd had worse conversations, that was for sure. Again, he was second-guessing his original thought that she was going to be a pain and a drain on their resources. He was also more willing to give this crew a chance. Granted, his better mood had much to do with the fact that they were headed into deeper waters. He always felt better with at least a few hundred feet of water below him.
 
Well, that last nudge guaranteed Bertie had a bruise. She winced as the sore spot was agitated by the protruding elbow and rubbed at it furiously to get the throbbing sensation to stop. Thank goodness he was drawing this conversation to a close! But not before a smug remark about real sailing that had the little gnome grimacing. He must have had someone read one of her books to her! Or, or something like that. Oh, the shame! However, manners bade her keep her inner reelings and flounderings to herself and she attended to every last word the dwarf spoke, including a few that must have been made up on the spot. Floaty thingy-ma-jigs? And this strange contraption he mentioned would keep her from falling? Was that from tripping on board? Or over the rail and into the water? Or did he possibly mean they would be useful to her once she fell in the water, heaven forbid? No matter, he was moving away on pretext of checking lines. How could he check lines if he couldn't even read?

'Ship lines, Bertie, not everything revolves around the written word,' she mentally corrected. 'But everything should revolve around the written word!' she mentally complained. But again, her manners shoved everything else under the rug as she squeaked out to the retreating back, "It was a pleasure, Mr. Carrn! Thank you!" Quickly, she stuffed her notepad and pen into her pockets and scurried over to watch the mayhem otherwise known as dancing.

On second thought, she was too exhausted to risk being hauled into one of those flippity, twirling maneuvers that might land her into the ocean. Thorberta changed direction and headed down to her room where she changed into her pink gingham nightie and promptly fell asleep.
 
She spoke and he made a non-committal grunt, reaching up to grab a line that stretched up to the rigging above. He hauled himself up into the dark rafters to double-check the novice crew's attempts at making this ship sail right, and got to work...
 
A FEW DAYS LATER

The bouncing of the wagon bed jostled Thorberta inconsiderately. Arms tied firmly behind her back and handkerchief gagging her, she could do nothing but tumble from one side of the cart to the other. Two spiny little reptiles sat on the box, laughing and chattering away as they slapped their reins across the backs of the dolphins struggling to pull the wagon against the rising tide. Bait, that's what she was. Bait for the brave little halfing who had time and again foiled the dubious plans of the Horny Toad Gang. She'd never heard of characters holding an author hostage before, but there was a first for everything wasn't there?

Bertie groaned against her restraints as her body once again slammed into the side of the cart. Bruises had already formed along her one arm and each jostle only aggravated them more. Hoof beats thundered into her hearing from behind. A pony's gallop. Sir Hildifrons. He'd come! She must warn him! Somehow, Bertie managed to gnaw her way through the handkerchief. Wiggling onto her knees, she leaned her body against the back of the wagon bed and hollered out into the night air as a clap of thunder resounded overhead.

"Sir Hildifons! It's a trap!"

"Hang on, Miss Bertie, I'll save you!"

"No! Go back! It's a traaaaaaap!"

By now she could just make out the green frock and dusty adventurer's cap of the muscled yet respectably rotund halfling as his spotted grey pony gained on the tiring dolphins. Brown eyes deep and true peered out from under the brim of the cap, his hooked nose as determinedly set as his jaw. Bertie thrust herself against the box again. "Go baaaaaaaaaack!"

But wait, what was this? The latch snapped, the back of the wagon flew open, and the little gnome found herself falling towards the angry ocean waves. Dark, foaming waves with treacherous hands reaching up to snatch her body and devour her. "Sir Hildifonnnnnnnnnnns!" she screamed as her head smashed into the outstretched arms of death...


Thorberta woke up gasping, thrashing, and gurgling for lack of a better description. She couldn't breathe and she was slightly damp, she must still be underwater. She wasn't in bed either and the planks beneath her felt very much like the wagon box though a much bigger version. There was also the question of rolling around, for the ground beneath her was pitching horribly. And she was swaddled in something.

Oh dear God, had the crew sewn her up in canvas and tossed her overboard? Had she DIED? Panic swelled up inside her and she fought all the more strenuously against the wet cloth. With a few determined swipes of her fists, she was able to break through the bedsheets and poke her head out in time to see a very bright flash of lightning through the porthole before the ship plunged and obscured her view with a monstrous wave. Water leaked through her slightly opened window as it crashed against the side of the ship. She screeched as the salty liquid ran down the wall and scurried across the floor to lick at her feet, rump, and hands.

Instantly she leaped to her feet. A storm! And she would likely drown in here! Throwing her bathrobe over her shoulders and ignoring the curlers still in her hair, Thorberta flung open her door and dashed out into the hall. The floor was wet here, too! The ship rocked again, sending her careening into the wall across from her room. Upon righting herself, the gnome tightened her bathrobe about her and ran pitter patter towards the captain's quarters shouting above the howling winds.

"Help! Help! My window is open! It's letting in water! Help! Help!"
 
The few days had been...entertaining. The crew had taken well to Carrn's teachings when it came to proper boat maintenance, and he and Durok took turns dangling the uppity ones over the rail by an ankle. People even took bets to see how long it took before they'd drop their 'cargo.' It was a good few days with no real problems save the rather large appetite of their single gnome ship-mate. She ate about thrice as much as the other folk her size, which put her on par with the likes of Telea. The half-giant was rearing up to challenge the little one to an eating contest just for fun's sake, but Sheng had put a stop to that. No unnecessary ration-consumption until we make port again, he'd said. It was a valid point but the several crew that had wanted to see such a battle were a bit put out.

When they saw the storm brewing down south, the captain had warned the crew gently to make sure everything was strapped down that needed to be and that everyone was ready at a moment's notice. It hadn't been a panicky announcement, just a typical "Oh, watch for the storm way out there" statement. When the wind had changed direction, blowing powerfully north, the captain had then doubled the amount of people awake at any one time, just until the storm was passed. Unfortunately, it hit at night, and the crew that was sleeping was forced out of bed by the rocking and pounding of the sea just a few feet away.

When Bertie rushed towards the captain's quarters that night, she'd find it quite empty with the windows shut tight. When she inevitably returned from the empty room, she'd find several crew members moving into her room to fight the ankle-deep water and slam shut the porthole, screwing it's latch tight to lock it in place. Then, one of them approached her and in the pitch darkness she'd recognize only his voice as Buffo, a not-too-bright sailor with a bit of a drawl to his speech, either from a birth defect or an accent, possible both.

"Don' be goin' up dop, Bert-ee. Yeh shtee down pleash." He then raced up top on deck, where shouting over the crashing waves and booming thunder was necessary.

"GET THAT LIFEBOAT TIED DOWN YEH CHUM-FACES!" Carrn shouted, pointing at the twitching lifeboat.

"HARD TO PORT DUROK, THERE'S A REEF A HEAD!" Screamed Sheng.

"AYE AYE!" came the response.

Everyone was bustling about to keep the lines tight but not so tight that they'd snap, the sails secured but not so secured that the powerful winds would rip the mast from the ship, and their eyes open but not so open that they couldn't see when the next flash of lightning came streaking down into the ocean.
 
With a squeak of something that may have actually been a "thank you" Bertie acknowledged Buffo's request and hurried back to her room. No longer did the water pour into her bedchamber, but the sheets on her bed were soaked and the blanket that tumbled with her to the floor looked like a pile of goo. She squeaked and hemmed and hawed as the briny liquid ran over her toes and sent shivers all up and down her spine. The water needed to go! Immediately!

Hitching up her robe with one hand to keep the hem from dragging through the water, Thorberta propped the door open with a stool [its legs had steel casings around the bottoms so it wouldn't topple very easily over in a storm] and sloshed over to her chamber pot which thankfully had nothing in it. Either that or it was swirling around her feet now... she shivered again and redirected her thoughts immediately to the task at hand and picked up the pot. With determined movements, the little gnome paced the room scooping water into her bowl and tossing it out into the hallway. Again and again she circled her room with only an occasional stumble as the ship pitched until the water was more or less driven out of her bedroom.

Exhausted now, Bertie did not care that her sheets were soaked and she flopped onto the bed. Somehow, despite the murderous thunder and terrifying lightning, she managed to fall asleep again, but only for a measly nap.
 
The storm blasted through, hard...but the ship had seen worse. The crew was green but under Sheng, Carrn, and Durok's leadership they managed to keep the ship in one piece. A few lines snapped under the strain, and the galley and hold were mess, but other than that there was little damage. The storm ran through the night, but then the vessel broke through the front and out the other side, and the sudden stillness almost knocked over the many sailors who had spent the last five hours leaning into the wind. There was a few moments of silence, then a loud, hardy cheer went up, which Sheng let continue for some time. He slumped against the railing on the poop-deck, looking over the crew, and then cut off their gleeful ululations with a sharp "Head-count, now!"

It took a few minutes for everyone to be roused from below decks save Bertie, who was allowed to remain below after one of the hands doing the count explained how she'd managed to bail out her room in the night and that she was asleep. There was a low, slightly impressed chuckle from the crew, then they took their count.

All semblance of entertainment and joy vanished, though, when they realized they were one short. Sheng then looked down at Carrn, a telling shine in his eyes, and the dwarf nodded in silent understanding. The squat ship-wright went to his quarters, which he shared with four others, and pulled out a few supplies: a metal ring, a small air-bladder, an odd looking harness that he climbed into, and a small compass that wasn't pointing north. He then made his way back to the main deck to speak with the captain...​
 
After a fitful night of bumping into the bed rail, waking up momentarily to tug her blankets back up under her chin, and sleeping for another half hour or so before rudely slamming into the bed rail again, Thorberta finally opened her eyes to find light creeping into her bedroom. Sitting up in bed, the gnome rubbed her little eyes with the back of her fist and peered out of the porthole into the still mostly darkened sky. The sun's rays were just beginning to tiptoe past the horizon, shedding just enough light on the rolling waves surrounding the ship to prove that the storm was indeed over. How long it had been over, the gnome couldn't say. Hours? Minutes? Days? No, probably not days. Her sheets still felt a little damp.

Oh goodness, she'd slept on wet sheets! In her wet nightie! That was a sure recipe for a cold! "And I had just gotten over my seasickness!" the little gnome moaned. In an instant her wet clothes were piled around her feet and she was slipping into the only pair of pants and blouse that hadn't gotten soaked in the flood. It seemed like no matter what she did, she would find herself constantly faced with an icky bug of some description. Well, it couldn't be helped now.

Now properly dressed, albeit still sporting hair curlers, Thorberta propped her elbows up on the ledge and pressed her little round nose against the glass of the porthole. The sunlight was about the only thing that could possibly be warm and she would be sure to get it once it finally leaked over the horizon. There was little chance the kitchen was open this early for a nice cup of coffee or tea. Did they even serve coffee on board ship? She couldn't remember. Last night had tired her out so! She sighed wistfully and waited for the warm rays of sun to greet her.
 
Shortly after she pressed her face to the porthole, she'd notice the billowing storm-clouds only a short distance away...but moving further away with each moment. Then a squat form flashed past the window and dove into the water, and she could just barely see Carrn's bulky form surface and tread water for a moment next to the ship (which had come to about as much of a stop as a vessel can in waters like this). He appeared to be wearing some kind of fancy harness made of rope and had a few small satchels attached to it. Then he dove underwater once more and didn't surface.

If she stared for a bit more, though, she'd notice a long, triangular fin jut up from the water several hundred feet from the boat, slicing through the water rapidly.

~~~

On the main deck, Durok was shouting orders while Sheng paced in his room, ruminating on the dilemma he faced.

"ALL HANDS, THIS BOAT SITTING STILL, YOU GET ME?" The orc's face was contorted in frustration and more than a little bit of worry, and he continued "WE WAIT FOR CARRN AND HASEEL TO GET BACK, SO KEEP US HERE NO MATTER WHAT!"
 
Just when her nerves had settled into a nice, even-keeled rhythm for the first time since stepping foot on this accursed ship, a flash of fabric and a whole lot of skin sailed past her window and fell, plop, into the murky water below. Wait, what was that he was wearing? A... a harness? Was that... was that the dwarf? Um, Blackreef, Carrn! Yes, Carrn! That was him! With a harness. Sitting in the water. Oh, she must be imagining things! But then, to her horror the dwarf dove into the depths. She gasped, her heart tight in her chest, her nose smooshed against the porthole and eyes as wide as saucers. Breath not able to expand lungs! Lungs not deflating properly! She sat there waiting, waiting, waiting for him to appear...

Then came the shark fin. She knew it to be a shark fin. What else could it be? Sharks were the only creatures who inhabited the waters who had any kind of appendage like that and they ate wood! Carrn was wearing wood! Oh, what could she do, what could she do? Bertie wrung her hands. What would Sir Hildifrons do?

"MAN OVERBOARD!" she screeched-- the phrase one of the few things she'd actually learned and gotten right in her novels-- and bounced off her bed. The second her feet hit the damp floorboards, she sputtered onward and out the door to the hallway beyond. "MAN OVERBOARD!" she shrieked again. "Captain! Captain! Oh, somebody! Carrn fell overboard! And there's a SHARK!!!"
 
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