I could hear snatches of a whalesong and mubmling among the sailors below the deck, but could make nothing of what was being said, for the singing of the toads interfered with my hearing. Then the hold rattled open and a knot of five well armed tars rushed toward us, drawing up only at the sight of the large mob pistol. It was a standoff: We stood, and they stood with their pistols leveled upon us, and it seemed there was no chance that either side could escape grave injury. Sailors from other parts of the ship began to gather around the sides of the confrontation, disinterested but curious.

Willie flew down from the rigging and launched a huge white dropping at the nose of the tar's leader. It landed with the sound of a minnow being dropped on a plank. His eyes crossed and he took a step back as he looked down in disbelief at the outrage. The other tars wavered in their aim as they looked over at him, and it was our only chance. Since Mr. Birdsong could see nothing of what was going on, I reached over and tapped his trigger finger.

The recoil from eight barrels knocked Mr. Birdsong upon his arse. So much white smoke issued from them that the tars were hidden for a few seconds. I heard shot passing my ear and cries of pain as I pulled my two tiny pistols from my sash and waited for the smoke to clear. My singular night vision proved useful in the low moonlight, for I could see through the smoke well before the tars could. I killed two with clean shots. All wads being shot, both theirs and ours, I waded into the other injured tars with a cutlass. The fight was over in a few moments.

As the last of the smoke wafed away, the captain moved forward as I helped Mr. Birdsong to his feet. "Well, ye've left us with a unified crew, it appears, but no more flapdoodle for a while?" He did not grin when he said it, and he left for his cabin. After we had thanked the sailor with the deformed foot, Mr. Birdsong went below decks with the rest of the crew to sleep; none of them had the energy to deal with the bodies before morning. I stayed on deck, not in the least inclined to retiring -- I had other things on my mind, namely the superfluity of blood that had not yet run out of the dead tars. Since killing the Quartermaster and drinking his blood, my cravings had not decreased, as one might expect, but has increased. At this point I was ravinous.

To be continued....

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