The mate leads you through the bowels of the ship to your quarters near the stern. You are hoping for some degree of comfort but the cabin turns out to be cramped and smelly, sandwiched between the galley and the bilge. Despite the lack of space, and a stomach-churning smell redolent of dead fish, you manage to catch a few hours’ sleep before the grey dawn haze filters through the glass of the cabin’s solitary porthole.
Desperate for fresh air, you make your way up to the forecastle where you find the captain, standing alone at the rail, reading the contents of the envelope. ‘ ’Tis a brave risky adventure you’ve committed yourself to, comrade,’ he says, without raising his eyes from the parchment clutched in his gloved hands. ‘Yet these be risky times. I can only guess at what lies beyond your journey to Dejkaata, but of one thing you can be sure—I will do all in my power to see you safely there.’ Immediately, he issues orders to turn the ship about and steer a new course—north by northwest. The crew react to the sudden change of plan with great speculation, yet, despite the dangers they know they may have to face, none challenge their captain’s decision or voice dissent.