Maybe that's true. What the fuck does he know about ships, or the difference between a bay and the sea, and how a boat might behave in one versus the other? Let them talk about the Viverna and he might have one or two things to say.

—Although not at this moment. Right now, he would instead like to sincerely imagine a world in which he knows nothing about rivers, or canals, or canal boats, and maybe not even a single thing about the bridges that pass over them. In fact, take all water.out of the equation entirely. If he doesn't vomit himself into nothingness, he's going to drink only beer and wine for the rest of his days and die happy for it.

Desi straightens, cautiously crumpling the hat shut to avoid contemplating the contents of his stomach. Not that he can smell it. The whole ship stinks so terribly of sweat and salt and pitch.

"I'd prefer it if you were wrong."

Misery loves company, even the kind imagined in ankle chains.