Chapter Forty-Nine

The very deep did rot: O Christ!

That ever this should be!

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs,

Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout

The death-fires danced at night;

The water, like a witch's oils,

Burnt green, and blue and white.

And some in dreams assurèd were

Of the Spirit that plagued us so;

Nine fathom deep, he had followed us

From the land of mist and snow.

The words swirled like a winter storm around Lloyd's mind as he took up a worn book that Nathaniel had left out.

He had left soon after placing them on the deck. They had shared a lingering look, holding just a second too long and revealing more emotion than either wanted.

He muttered something, a few garbled words that probably made as little sense to him as they did to Lloyd before he left more slowly than normal. The only thing that had been clear was he would be back shortly. Lloyd assumed he wanted to clear his head, and he could understand why.

There was a strange warmth in the room, and it penetrated in