"Thank you, sir." The younger priest bowed again. "I will make the necessary arrangements for those goods."
Dontor stood for a moment, surveying the ship, then walked toward the helm.
"If I am ever in charge of operations," he told himself, "I will replace some of these sailors by neophyte priests, and let them steer by their own compasses. This method is too cumbersome. Besides, the neophytes should get to sea earlier, anyway."
He approached the pilot priest, who stood apart from the helmsman, his slave holding the little red box with the compass.
"How is our course?"
The priest turned, then bowed. "We are off course twelve degrees to the north, sir," he reported. "I have instructed the helmsman to come as close to the wind as possible."
Dontor nodded. "Very good," he approved. "Keep track of your time, and we'll correct when we get a chance to shift course to the south. We can determine whatever final correction is necessary at noon sight tomorrow."
Alnar came up the ladder to the quarterdeck. Approaching Dontor, he bowed in salute, then reported.
