The
night passes without incident, as does the following day, much to the
Captain's consternation because no incident means no wind. There's a
sense of unease among the crew, each regarding their surroundings
with renewed suspicion, though none of them chooses to speak of it.
That unease turns to dread as evening draws in around them.
The
Captain is consulting with the first and second mate, though without
a wind he feels it's a pointless conversation. Still, he thinks, if
it puts them at their ease...
They're
just discussing ways they might make lost time, once the weather
picks up, when the Captain notices the look on the second mate's
face. He's listening to something, not the first mate's drone that's
for sure, and whatever it is it's painting wonder in his eyes.
“Gilling!”
The Captain slams the table. “Andrew! Are you with us.”
The
mate shakes his head for a moment. “Sorry Captain,” he says,
standing up. “She's calling for me.”
