( Scantly seen by his crew, Quicksilver Sam all but haunts the deck at hours when his people are certain to sleep away the fumes of last night's drink, or to rush and bruise themselves in the battle for the choicest cuts of the midday meal.
He appears all but sickened, possessed. Pale, wild-eye, his prayer beads caught in a tight hand, clutched severely. He hears the girl before he sees her — knows, instantly, that she has surely been delegated the tasks traditional to her sex, and rolls his eyes at the sheer pedestrian superstition that still commands half of the crew.
There is no trouble women can bring. Only the dead. Peacefully, he calls out: )
Woman. There is work for you below the deck too. There's no need for this.
look out below, but before she slips
He appears all but sickened, possessed. Pale, wild-eye, his prayer beads caught in a tight hand, clutched severely. He hears the girl before he sees her — knows, instantly, that she has surely been delegated the tasks traditional to her sex, and rolls his eyes at the sheer pedestrian superstition that still commands half of the crew.
There is no trouble women can bring. Only the dead. Peacefully, he calls out: )
Woman. There is work for you below the deck too. There's no need for this.