Below the deck, in her little workshop near cargospace the Infernal Weaponsmith was completing the finishing touches to the Gatling gun. She was proud of her work, although she realized she hadn’t asked the Officers where she should install it, or whether to keep it somewhat mobile. That work wouldn’t take long, but still, it was an annoying delay – and the Captain had already been asking for the Gatling earlier. She missed something important due to her pondering. A blessing.
The Frog was rummaging through the Captain’s drawers, occasionally petting the Dog and ribbiting happily while doing it. He’d stolen the spare key to the Captain’s quarters during the old Captain’s time, before he’d shot himself, and had made it a habit to scrounge around in the cabin whenever the Officers were away. Oh, he’d put everything back where they used to be… well, mostly. He would sometimes steal the other sock from a pair, slice a hole in the Captain’s underwear, you know. Performing his duty as the Mascot. Due to this duty, he too missed something. The Dog did not care, and missed it as well. He did say “woof” though.
The Two Spies were walking around the Nameless Village, chatting with each other and taking notes on the strange place and its inhabitants. They almost missed a part of it, but they did see the vessel. A nervous glance was exchanged. They did not know why the vessel visited the village. It could have been nothing.
It was something, even if they did not know it.
The Voice of the Serpent was teaching a captive audience of a couple sailors about the Gods of the Sea and their habits. She was delighted by this chance to take advantage of her recent improvement in status, and paid no attention to anything going on outside her tank and the adjacent room. For once, she missed something that might have given her dread as so many other things had done. To be fair, it was not of the Void so she might not have cared or understood if she’d known anyway.
Some of the sailors might have noticed as well, but most did not understand or care. The Armoured Man certainly did not. The Northener could not care less. And the Unfortunate One just focused on her own misery. Perhaps if there had been more members of the Navy in the crew, someone might have cared or noticed, but it was not to be.
Besides, most were busy trying to figure out how to buy some REAL alcohol from the Masked Ones, with mixed success. Rumor was that Stephen and Robert had managed to buy quite a few bottles, but were refusing to tell anyone else where they had gotten them. Probably hoping to sell ’em later to other crew members.
The only Passenger, the Lost Painter, focused on his art for the most part. He had convinced one of the two Natives who were regular crew members, the one with the tentacles, to be his model. The Native was unsure of what to make of the request, so he’d agreed to it, somewhat bemused. Art consumed both totally for the time being, so they missed something important as well.
All this leaves only two with the means to both see, and to understand what happened while most of the Officers were away. The Chef, quite naturally what with his problems with the Eel was on the deck, with a perfect view. He would see, and perhaps understand as well. The Eel could see, but could not understand. That still left the last one to see, and understand the meaning of what he saw.
The Man with the Black Beard.