SNIFF. Deep, who was at the helm, sucked his running nose back in; he hunched his shoulders, but it didn't help much.
The Narwhal's cockpit had neither a roof nor glass now. Standing here for hours while being blasted by the sea wind, even a deep-sea diver could hardly bear it. He could barely feel his fingers anymore.
CLICK-CLACK. Footsteps rang out and the first mate, whose bandages were soaked crimson with blood, walked over holding the backup sea chart from the Captain's Room.
"How... long... have we been going?"
"No change in direction. Sixty nautical miles on the dot."
The bandaged man nodded silently and quickly began cross-referencing the simple sea chart beside him.
"How are things below?" Deep asked without turning his head.
The tip of the bandaged man's pen paused for a moment before he continued tracing along the straightedge. "Tommy... lost his right hand..."
