“So
it's in the wrong barrel,” Briggs replies, “What of it?”
“Normally
you probably wouldn't have a problem,” Phoebe tells him, “But
with no wind, those fumes have started to affect you and your crew.”
“So
you're telling me we're all drunk and what, imagining the siren's
song?”
“Not
imagining, no” the girl replies, “But... how can I put this...
you're all a little more susceptible to suggestion. Something in the
Weft has picked up on that.”
“Something
in the what? Are we back to your riddles already?”
“Never
mind the what,” Phoebe declares, “Your brains are addled from
alcohol fumes allowing... dark forces... yes, dark forces to play
with your minds.”
