[Alcarillo]

Captain Vórimandur remained on deck the rest of the day, surveying the sailors as they worked and guiding the ship down the river. Slowly the sun slipped downwards towards the western horizon, and Captain Vórimandur stepped down into the Ráca's lower decks. This was the first night of this new voyage, and so there would be a feast awaiting him and his officers in the wardroom. It was a tradition aboard the Ráca that the first meal of each voyage should be the best. It was a rather reasonless tradition, but Captain Brithion had began it long ago and it was deeply ingrained in the hearts of the crew, who carried it on to each new set of sailors that came aboard, reminding them of Ol' Brithion's generosity. And now was surely an appropriate occasion for a grand dinner in the wardroom. This voyage would surely be the voyage that would mark the beginning of Umbar's downfall, and the rise of Gondor's glorious dominion over the high seas, like Númenor of old.

The wardroom was located directly below Captain Vórimandur's office, and was furnished similarly. The walls and the door were painted crimson red, and the back wall consisted of great windows overlooking the water below, which at the moment reflected the early sunset to the west. To the sides were cabinets of the ship's finest china plates, which would be used on this occasion. An Elven rug even adorned the wall, a handsome piece of booty taken from a corsair ship. In the center of the room was an old oak table, at the moment set with a white tablecloth (or perhaps a sheet of sailcloth, it was hard to tell) and the aforementioned china plates. A silver candelabrum stood in the center. As Captain Vórimandur took his seat he was pleased to see that his plate was without any crack or chip, as some of the plates had. One must understand that when aboard a ship a feast is not the same as a feast on the shore. On a ship, such meals often seem mediocre to landlubber eyes, but they are as grand as the crew can make them.

And so it was that the officers of the ship entered the wardroom and took their seats at the table. Soon the food arrived on silver platters from the cook, and after a short toast to Telumehtar and Uinen, they began their work upon the food before them. Vórimandur had not eaten anything all day, and it was only now that he realized his deep and gnawing hunger. With each bite his stomach only seemed to want more, not less. An occasional weevil was found hiding in the hard biscuits, and once picked out crawled for a bit upon the silver platters until a servant would step forward and pick it up in a handkerchief. The conversation was chiefly made up of tall tales told-one-time-too-many and brief wisecracks. There were also stories of the events of the day and the day before, including everything from one-eyed seers to starving sharks swimming up the Anduin. It was a jovial, informal dinner, with many laughs between courses and hearing of others' lives since the last voyage out to sea. Fortunately, the talk did not decrease with the food, and after dinner as the servants carefully carried the precious china down the hall to the cook the conversation still lingered in the air like a thick fog.

Caradhril excused himself for a moment in order to take a trip to the roundhouse. An empty seat now lay between Captain Vórimandur and Dagur the bosun'. Dagur was young, thin and pale, with shining black hair and an introverted, daydreaming demeanor. But he kept meticulous accounts of the ships stores and Vórimandur doubted that the king's accountants themselves could do better. Dagur also lacked Númenorean ancestry, which set him apart from most of the other crew members. It was said that during his youth he was often looked down upon for this, but with a cold glare he could easily change the minds of his belittlers. He now stared out the windows behind Vórimandur with a dreamy gaze, his chin in his hand. "Dagur," said Vórimandur, "Have you received a list of those I punished today, for the defaulter's list?"

"Yes, sir, I've taken note of them," Dagur said. He shifted his body into a more attentive posture.

Caradhril returned and took his seat between Dagur and the captain. "Well, I have great news: our king is crazy." This was a rather unexpected comment, and the looks from the officers plainly told Caradhril that some sort of explanation was needed. "Saw him dunk a basket of apples on the captain of his ship. Strange, hanging in the rigging like the monkey."

"How irreverent! I certainly don't believe that, especially after those stories about seers and sharks you told during dinner," said Sergeant Nillendion, a fervent lover of the king. He sat across the table from Dagur and frowned with his arms folded. "And how could you see that when it's so bleedin' dark out?"

"The sun has barely touched the horizon! There's still sunlight. I just rested for a bit by the railing at the bow, and beyond the Númenna I saw the king's ship, and the king was dumping a bucket of apples upon the captain while swinging in the rigging," said Caradhril. He knew that his story was strange sounding, despite its truth. "He's crazy, or something . . . wonko . . . "

"Maybe more like Wonko the Sane, if you ask me. Nothing's wrong with Telumehtar," said the sergeant, "I cannot believe he would do such a thing. Really, he's the king, would he do something like that?"

"Well, I saw him do it," Caradhril said, "No joke."

"If it concerns both of you that much, I can send a messenger in a rowboat to the Cuivië tomorrow. In fact, if the Ráca catches up to the Cuivië, I will personally ask the captain if the king is, indeed, insane," said Vórimandur, "Does that sound fine?" They nodded and said aye. "Now, it is getting late and I must write down the ship's log." With a salute he bade his men good-night and left the wardroom. The sergeant's gruff voice drifted from the door.

"Oh, Caradhril, I think you're the crazy one . . . "