At that point, sense, logic, and sanity abandoned ship. Captain Ricksen hadn’t imagined they would make such a splash when they went over the rail.
He had thought they would make a good splash. Something solid, and a little long, echoing a flailing sort of motion, because nothing enters the water in a clean dive when it’s shoved over the rail. But not the solid, hollow sound of one of the longboats settling into choppy water.
Still, watching sense, logic, and sanity row away, Ricksen found he didn’t care. He took a long sip of his morning coffee.
Dreiva, his first mate came up the stairs behind him, watching the little boat beat its way out of their wake. A head of short, brown hair swung back and forth as a man hauled on the oars. His white shirt glared in the sunlight. Dreiva leaned to one side to get a better look as she walked to Ricksen’s shoulder.
“Is that Killian?” she asked.
Dreiva stared. She blinked. Then, “Good,” she said finally. “If I had to listen to him give one more speech about how he was the only thing keeping this ship on course and all our brains between our ears, I was going to tie him to the rudder and let him actually do the job he claimed he was doing.”
Nodding along, Ricksen took another drink.
“So…” Dreiva began. She turned her head to meet Ricksen’s eye. “Back to business as usual?”
“Oh, yes,” Ricksen said instantly. “Tell the crew we’ve all gone quite mad again.”
She cracked a grin. “Aye, aye, Captain.”