"Your hair is charming to the point of distraction; the scent is sublime; but I must go up and set things right with your mother."

With pouts and smiles Tabazinth tried to restrain him. "Ah, Cugel, how can I put faith in your flattery if at the first pretext you run off helter-skelter? Stay with me now; show me the full measure of your interest! Leave the poor old woman to her steering."

Cugel put her aside. "Control your amiability, my bountiful little poppet! I will be gone no more than an instant, and then you shall see!"

Cugel ran from the cabin, climbed to the quarter-deck. As he had feared, the lantern burned with a blatant glare. Without pausing to chide Madame Soldinck, Cugel not only extinguished the light, but removed glow-box, spurts and lumenex, and threw them into the sea.

Cugel addressed Madame Soldinck: "You have seen the last of my kindly forbearance. If lights again show from this ship, you will not enjoy the aftermath."

Madame Soldinck haughtily held her tongue, and after a final inspection of the escalabra, Cugel returned to his cabin. After more wine and several hours of frolicking with Tabazinth, he fell soundly asleep and did not return to the quarter-deck that night.

In the morning, as Cugel sat blinking in the sunlight, he again felt that strange sense of displacement which had troubled him on other occasions. He climbed to the quarter-deck, where Salasser stood at the wheel. Cugel went to look at the escalabra; the claw pointed directly to the south.

Cugel returned to the midship deck and inspected the worms; they eased and lolled through the water on half-bait, apparently healthy save for what seemed to be fatigue and a touch of timp on the port outboard beast.

Today there would be wet work along the sponsons, from which only the 'night-steward' might hope to be excused.

A day passed, and another: for Cugel a halcyon time of ease, zestful refreshment in the sea air, splendid cuisine, and the unstinting attention of his 'night-stewards'. A single source of disturbance were those strange displacements in time and space which he now thought to be no more than episodes of déjà vu.

On the morning that Tabazinth served him breakfast on the quarter-deck, his meal was interrupted by the sighting of a small fishing vessel. Beyond, to the south-west, Cugel made out the dim outline of an island, which he studied in perplexity. Déjà vu, once again?

Cugel took the wheel and steered so as to pass close by the fishing-boat, which was worked by a man and two boys. As he passed abeam, Cugel went to the rail and hailed the fisherman: "Halloo! What island lies yonder?"

The fisherman looked at Cugel as if he lacked intelligence. "It is Lausicaa, as you should well know. If I were in your shoes, I would give this region a wide berth."

Cugel gaped toward the island. Lausicaa? How could it be, unless magic were at work?