It's all as clean as mud to
me," he replied. A jet of gas puffed out between the bars, took
light and whistled softly. "Suppose we take the red-haired hero's
adventures first, from the time that he came south to my galley and
captured it and sailed to the Beaches."
I knew better now than to interrupt Charlie. I was out of reach of
pen and paper, and dared not move to get them lest I should break
the current. The gas-jet puffed and whinnied, Charlie's voice
dropped almost to a whisper, and he told a tale of the sailing of
an open galley to Furdurstrandi, of sunsets on the open sea, seen
under the curve of the one sail evening after evening when the
galley's beak was notched into the centre of the sinking disc, and
"we sailed by that for we had no other guide," quoth Charlie. He
spoke of a landing on an island and explorations in its woods,
where the crew killed three men whom they found asleep under
the pines. Their ghosts, Charlie said, followed the galley,
swimming and choking in the water, and the crew cast lots and
threw one of their number overboard as a sacrifice to the strange
gods whom they had offended.
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