The sea was like glass, and the sails hung slack and empty. Prosperia sat like a toy boat in a long-forgotten bath.
Mr. RIchmond climbed up to the wheel. “Captain, I’ve made my count, sir; we lost two more last night.”
“Damned singing was louder.”
“Yes, sir. What do we do?”
The Captain pulled at his beard nervously. “Tonight, if we still haven’t caught the damned breeze, we chain the men to the guns. The officers will sleep in the wardroom, all together, to watch each other.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“Damned Sirens are taking their dinner piecemeal.”