Climbing up and looking out.
As part of the Atlantic Ocean, the Celtic Sea is windy and rough. Whenever the trade winds blow, it is often a series of days or even dozens of days of rough seas.
As it is now.
The wind was west-southwest, seven knots, gale force. Wave heights of nearly two meters were rare in offshore waters, but here wave after wave pushed the Buttercup higher and higher until it could carry no more and the hull slammed down.
Lorraine stood on a high lookout, holding up a monocular and gazing at the light in the sky.
He'd been watching for fifteen minutes at least, motionless as a clay statue.
The mirror presents another world.
The outer walls of the oleander were like portholes, with a black line of varying lengths on the glass, the highest being flush with the sea level and the lowest resting on the outline of the transom.
In the midst of this world, the sea was divided by the Buttercup into two yawning white lines, at the end of which was the majestic Reindeer.
She rose and fell on the waves as did the Buttercup, and between the rises and falls parted another yawl, exactly parallel to the former, and grouped together like a book-named number with half of its side missing.
A wave-by-wave line of this shape implies proximity, that the two sides are coexisting in a straight line, and even more so, that there is hardly any difference in the relative speeds of the two sides.
Chase, can't catch up, shake off, can't shake off, can't get up, can't get down, makes Lorraine bored.
"Ch! I'm not Sophie Labrador. Labrador, what's the point of being so unforgiving?"
"Looks about right to me." From the soles of his feet came Pierce Jr.'s indignant pickup.
He was also at the lookout, or more accurately, this was supposed to be his post, and it was his monocular that Lorraine held in her hand.
Little Pierce was breaking his meaty fingers.
"Brother, both you and Ms. Labrador chose to be with the romantic Mr. Desai and abandoned the cranky Mr. Desai. Before abandoning him, you went out of your way to humiliate him again. She crushed his heart, you blasted his boat. There's no difference at all, except for gender."
"Where did you learn so many weird words at such a young age!" Lorraine rolled her eyes in exasperation and cupped his chubby face in one hand, lifting him over the edge of the stage, "Look closely! Me? Blow up his ship?"
The Buttercup looked down from the 20-meter-high lookout and was miserable.
The large hole in the bow was shocking, the cracks were like tortoise and spider webs, and there were traces of smoke and fire.
The transom may look fine from the deck, but from above, there is another obvious gap, located in the left rear, destroying the overall rounded shape, just like a perfect shortbread but was stolen by the mouth of the child a bite, falling crumbs, leakage of crumbs.
Those aren't really the issues.
The Buttercup's hull had suffered irremediable damage in order for Yacharin to release that soul-entering shot, and the two watertight compartments on the port side had their bulkheads shattered, and with the seawater pouring in, were completely worthless for repair.
Considering the necessity of balancing the hull at high speeds, Keren had to use symmetry by pulling the bungs and manually filling the two corresponding watertight compartments on the starboard side.
As a result, nearly a hundred tons of seawater abruptly surged into the bilge, depressing the Buttercup's draft line by a full 1.5 meters, almost turning it into a giant turtle lying on its back on the water's surface.
The good thing about this incident was that the Buttercup was as steady as a maned dog in the swells of the Celtic Sea, the bad thing was that even if Lorraine had saved all the sails, the Buttercup had less than eight knots left in her top speed.
They had to jettison everything they could, including pebbles for ballast, sandbags, and expensive spices brought from Spain.
And as it happened, the Reindeer, deprived of her stern longitudinal sails and some of her sailors, was likewise unable to make eight knots.
The two sides pursued each other in the same direction at almost equal speeds for two days and nights, and for a full thirty hours to date.
Lorraine is going crazy with Velen ...
In order to maintain the right stamina and response, the ship's sailors opened shifts from yesterday into the night, working in six-hour shifts, two shifts against each other.
Seafarers likewise work shifts.
However, Lorraine's demands on its flagship seafarers were too high, and it was common for them to wear several hats, in which case the shortcomings of their insufficient numbers came to the fore.
At the helm are Lorraine, Haina, and Yacharin, manning the sails are Lorraine, Yacharin, and Keren, and on the lookout are Lorraine, Haina, and Pierce ...
In addition to Keren also have to take care of the four water tanks of the airtight problem, Noa is specialized in soothing the hearts of the ship, from morning to night, ushered in, over and over again that "congratulations on the lottery", froze her to say dumb.
And Lorraine takes care of the third class.
In thirty hours, he had slept less than two, and with stubble sprouting from his young chin, his temper was naturally and inevitably short-tempered.
Just now he even gave birth to the impulse to turn over and go back, and Velun to fight for life and death. Anyway, the result is doomed, either I die, or you live ...
Needed, sanity!
Having spilled enough in Pierce's little face, Lorraine took a deep breath of the salty sea air, climbed the cable and leapt down, landing right in front of Hina's helm wheel.
Haina stuck the wheel and looked at him for a moment, but did not say anything, only stretched out her long, slender fingers to point to the rail, which probably meant something between "go down" and "go to Noa".
Lorraine looked out over the sailless sea and scratched her hair in annoyance, "I don't want to go to the lottery, it would make me feel more like a fool."
"You're different." Heena said, "Roma travel the world and specialize in many ways to soothe their moods, not just divination."
"Really?"
With a skeptical attitude, Lorraine went down to Noa's divination room.
A couple of sailors are divining.
Skylight shot in through the porthole, illuminating the Crystal Sphere of Destiny and reflecting a dense violet violet shimmer in the cabin, beautiful and mesmerizing.
Noa wore a large floral dress and covered her face with a sheer gold veil.
The dress of that dress had peculiar narrow sleeves, tightened at the elbows, gathered at the top and loosened at the bottom, and between the caresses the snow-white little arms were hidden at first sight.
As always, she did not touch the tarot, sweeping it with her sleeve, swiping it with her veil, and the silver tarot would stir and open like an elf possessed, building into stacks and discharging into fans.
Watching this dazzling display of skill shock the sailors, she reaches out and points to the cards, the first one, and turns over the Fool.
"Fate has answered you." Her slightly husky voice held a smile, "Now, mindful of your doubts, draw your cards."
It turned out to be a natural upturn, as those on board now only cared about the road ahead.
Life or Death ...
Life is up and up, and the living are fulfilled; death is surely a deception, and the dead are wronged.
However, Noa was afraid of life but not of ghosts, and since the person who had divined was dead, what else was there to say?
Lorraine watched the whole thing with her back against the hatch, and couldn't help but smile when she saw the sailors' shining, confident eyes.
Haina is right, the Roma specialize in many soothing devices. Witch-divination is perhaps the most widespread of these, but far from the most mysterious.
Hearing Lorraine's soft laughter, the white ears lying in the corner meowed and pounced out.
Lorraine fished its neck in mid-air, lifted it in front of her, and nuzzled, "Little one, the fishing ban is lifted. I saw Keren fishing at the gangplank, don't miss your chance."
"Meow!"
The white ears disappeared with a zip, and Noa, red-faced, welcomed Lorraine into the cabin, closed the door, and whispered, "Captain, have you come to Divination as well?"
Lorraine shrugged regretfully and sat down on her butt where the white ears had been, caressing the smooth spherical surface of Destiny.
"The wind is steady, no need to set the sails, and Pierce and Hina are distracted by me, so put ... Well!"
Soft fingers lightly touched the scalp.
Noa came up behind Lorraine at some point, knelt, and held Lorraine's head so that he was leaning into her arms.
She pressed her fingertips against Lorraine's scalp, gently, softly, as if by magic, tickling out the wispy thoughts in her mind and sending them out into the void, never to be seen again.
Lorraine breathed a cozy sigh of relief, "This is the secret art of the Romulans?"
"This is the kind of care that Roma women show only to their families ..." Noa bowed her head, looking down at the carpet that happened to encircle herself and Lorraine, a small, pure white woven flower box, her voice like a mosquito, "Welcome to my caravan, Captain My Lord ..."
------------