Old Parlay groaned, moved one arm impotently, and opened his eyes. In them was the light of recognition.
“My brave gentlemen,” he whispered haltingly. “Don't forget... the auction... at ten o'clock... in hell.”
His eyes dropped shut and the lower jaw threatened to drop, but he mastered the qualms of dissolution long enough to omit one final, loud, derisive cackle.
Above and below pandemonium broke out.
The old familiar roar of the wind was with them. The Malahini, caught broadside, was pressed down almost on her beam ends as she swung the arc compelled by her anchors. They rounded her into the wind, where she jerked to an even keel. The propeller was thrown on, and the engine took up its work again.
“Northwest!” Captain Warfield shouted to Grief when he came on deck. “Hauled eight points like a shot!”
“Narii'll never get across the lagoon now!” Grief observed.
“Then he'll blow back to our side, worse luck!”