A Voice in My Hold

Tuesday. There is a voice in my hold.

I heard it again tonight through the planks: a low, kindly voice suggesting to a crew of prisoners that perhaps they might have another look at the thing they had just looked at. And they did. And it helped. And they were gone by dawn.

I have three theories. One, the ship is haunted by a helpful ghost, which would be just my luck. Two, Duchess has learned to talk properly and is doing it to spite me. Three, the wind. I have ruled out the wind, because the wind has never been helpful in its life.

I have made a list of my crew and crossed off everybody who was asleep, which is everybody. Scarface was on watch, of course. Scarface heard nothing. He said so very quickly and then went to oil a hinge.

Tomorrow I shall stand in the hold myself and listen. If the ghost speaks, I shall tell it to mind its own business. If the parrot speaks, there will be no biscuit.