It was still dark out when Sil woke up. He brewed a cup of coffee pouring the boiling water directly over the grains, watching them swirl in the dim overhead cabin light. Dahlia was still asleep right where he had laid her the night before, her arm having somehow moved up so that her closed fist was next to her mouth as if the subconscious portions of her brain had been fighting amongst the urges to suckle or not suckle the temptingly close thumb, which Sil noted was, at least at the moment, unsuckled. He watched the thin sheet rise and fall rythmically with her breathing, thankful at least the Dean's sedate and deal with later plan had not anyway, resulted in death. Sil swirled a spoon through his strengthening coffee trying to create a downdrafting whirlpool of current to suck the grain sludge to the bottom. Dalhia's ears he noticed seemed rather too large for her head, or perhaps it was just the way they alone jutted out from and grimy mass of tangled brown curls that otherwise covered her forehead neck and cheek such the girl seemed all ear, mouth and fist. Curious he thought as he tiptoed out of the galley and made his way onto the deck, walking slowly so as not to stir up the grounds at the bottom of his cup. The yardlights were still on, though Sil could tell by the glow on the eastern horizen that dawn was on its way. The lake in front of them was covered in the gently swirliing blanket of steam. Arbella is put to sea with little fanfare, so little in fact that she isn't even cast off to sea, but rather into the passive, forgiving waters of Lake Ponterain. Dean arrived early, Sil was still down on the dock perched atop a rotted pylon, squatting low and balancing, smoking a cigarette as the sun peaked over the far side of the lake. The boundary of light rushed across the water so fast it was impossible to follow and then it hit dock, washing over him invisibly, but for an instant turning the old pine knotted boards of the dock a fiery glowing ruby, like embedded jewels, visible for only a fleeting second. The boat is ready then, Dean asked when Sil came up the dock, flicking his cigarette in the dingy water below. Anything that has a hallway is a ship was the retort, but not unkindly, rather like a mother correcting the erroneous beliefs of a child. Sorry, ship. Yes, she is ready. And then one of the men from the engine shop blew a short, indecipherable song on some sort of horned instument that both Sil and Dean were sure was little more the scrap metal, probably leftover from the painful and time consuming process of building Arbella's invaluable, but difficult retractable keel. No one had champagne, in fact no one had even seen champagne in years. One of the other dock workers mumbled something that ended in godspeed and then Sil climbed about and took the helm. Dean sat down in the cockpit, tested the bulletproof shell they had only recently installed and tried not to feel useless. There was no wind on the lake, but they wouldn't have raised the sails even if there had been, Arbella was just fine when Sil bought her, at least sailing wise. It was the engine that had him spooked. Vbirth They sat on the rear deck, leaning back against the scasions. I told you we should broken a bottle, it's bad luck not to. I'm pretty sure it said that in that book you gave me. No it didn't Well, it should have. When was the last time you even saw champagne? Dean leaned forward and lit a ciragette, he turned his head to watch the approaching skiff. It struck him as a radically underpowered device for dragging about a sixty foot vessel like the Arbella, well, anywhere, but he decided against pointing this out since surely Sil had already enntertained and hopefuully solved the very same thought. Oh, I dunno, he leaned back again, maybe... oh, I do know, at the Clatterhaght Ball two weeks ago. That was the one you tried to drag me to? I;ve tried to drag you to just about all of them Sil. Including the one with the bomb. Dean waved the cigarette dismissively, I wasn't hurt was I? One bomb out of some thirty times, that was more than a year ago anyway. And you know all these parties are directly responsible for raising the funding for this very vessel on which we now find ourselves. Which doesn't work. Which you will fix this very afternoon. Hopefully. Dalhia stood up and walked back toward them humming a song Dean was pretty sure he knew, but couldn't place. Sil bounded up and rushed toward her. Dalhia my dear, never ever let go of the boat. She looked up at him curiously. How do I hold the boat. You need to always hold onto a part of the boat, otherwise you might fall overboard. Into the water. See this, he held up the thin wire running through the scation loops, it;s a last resort, but it's better than nothing. These cables, he gestured toward his own hand which was holding the mast rigging, these are even better. The whole ship is covvered with stuff to hold onto. So you need to make sure you do. Can you do that? yes. Hold on to it. He put her hand on the rigging, just below his. When you are on a boat you only have one hand. One hand is for the boat and the other is yours to use for whatever you want. That's hard. Sil nodded in agreement. It is, but it's easier than swimming for hundreds of miles. She thought about it for minute. Can the hands switch? Yes, the hands can switch whenever you want. Either hand is always eligiable for either the boat of you. You just need to make sure the boat hand is doing its job before you let the other go. Okay. She smiled. Sil walked back to the stern with Dalhia behind him, grabbing each thing he grabbed. Anyway, Dean resumed, you're coming tonight. Maybe No you are. Maybe.