So far, no new splashes. Now we’re pushing through a field of sea lungs, and the loonies are pointing and singing out and going ape. The boat is heavy and the strong engines lumber us forward so we seem to flatten the water as we go. The drone is oppressive. At first, I imagine I’d prefer to spend my time in the open air, but between the pummeling of the wind and the eyebrindling glare of the sky, I find myself staying inside. I can’t open myself to impressions of the sea. Whenever I try, impressions of dying are what I get. Me dying. I dying. Among many others. As an officer—and that’s a laugh—I am entitled to a bit of privacy. I bunk with Silichieh, Jil Punkinflake who is not an officer but counts anyway as a standard bearer, and a sleep-happy sergeant named Zept, who adheres to his berth like a clam.

The great monarch of the Alaks alone dispenses licenses to hunt the silver woodland lion. Whenever one is killed, only the head is taken. The body is carefully buried with a uniform draped over it. In exactly three days, an Edek will appear at the spot. Anyone unfortunate enough to witness this, I guess, sudden appearance, asphyxiates, and so no one can say exactly how it happens. Who cares?

Night falls, I go to the rail for some air. Up into the air, back down out of the air. Back up into the air, back down out of the air, always pursued by distaste. There is a ragged blue satin band on the horizon between the clouds and the black water. The ship is turning into a huge solid shadow, tricked out in a constellation of little lamps. Their light seems to twirl in the wind, and creates intimate, miniature islands in all the howling wildness. I’m not sick, only leaning.

I hear footsteps, and suddenly Saskia is beside me. Her hand drops heavily onto my shoulder.

“Don’t be forgetful, narrator,” she says. “You will remember it all, won’t you?”

“Sure. Sure I will.”

She’s looking earnestly at me. I imagine she’s thinks she’s improving my morale. Has she been tapping each of the officers in turn?

That hand pats my shoulder twice, firmly.

“You will have the distinction of witnessing our glorious triumphs against the usurper, and the just punishment of traitors; and you will have the honor of telling all the world about it. And don’t worry—” she raises a finger—“All are equal together in this great task. No one will hold your color against you. There is no room for bigotry amongst us.”

She strides away.