Chapter Twelve

And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,

(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)

As if through a dungeon-grate he peered

With broad and burning face.

Nathaniel brought the chart to the helmsman, silently holding it out as the sun faded the ink even more. Even after all these years, the knowledge ingrained in the mans' mind, he still repeated this routine, adapting the map himself as time dictated.

"Aye, captain." The voice was cracked, the vocal cords dried from the lack of fluid. The alcohol did little to quench it but water tasted like filth to him and the tang of the grape or distilled molasses was all his palate craved. 

"Any change, inform me," Nathaniel mumbled as he trudged away, his footfalls causing the crew to work harder as his eye looked over them.

Any flaw was swiftly picked up, and although he neglected to use the cat-o-nine-tails now, slicing the back to the point where skin hung in flayed