"I did."

"Give me some."

He drinks from the mouth of the bottle lying on the floor, his eyes
wandering over the crooked mutilated walls, whose every projection
and crack is now lighted by the bright flame in the fireplace. He is
not quite sure yet whether he is awake, or whether it is all a dream.
With each strong gust of wind the flame is hurled from the fireplace,
and then the entire tower seems to dance--the last shadows melt and
rush off into the open door.

"Don't drink it all at once, Noni! Not all at once!" says the
sailor and gently takes the bottle away from him. Haggart seats
himself and clasps his head with both hands.

"I have a headache. What is that cry? Was there a shipwreck?"

"No, Noni. It is the wind playing roguishly."

"Khorre!"

"Captain."

"Give me the bottle."

He drinks a little more and sets the bottle on the table. Then he
paces the room, straightening his shoulders and his chest, and looks
out of the window. Khorre looks over his shoulder and whispers: