Cargo.

[Peter Levy]

The captain looked down at the cup. He'd seen it somewhere before... Not really a dream, but like one.

Velnashar. Velnashar was there, wherever they were. And other people, too. But he mostly remembered Velnashar, and the fat man. No, not a man, a god. Pomodionbachkasiet was there also. The captain had stepped over Pomodionbachkasiet's fallen form to save him from the returned sun-god. No, he hadn't; Pomodionbachkasiet's body had moved under the captain's legs before Velnashar could strike. Odd sort of dream.


"This is to be handed to Chrystiana, and no other. You understand?"


The god of reverie had looked so afraid. The captain remembered drinking from that cup. He remembered the dizziness, the pain, the exhaustion. He remembered the nausea. He remembered smiling as he spewed his guts onto Velnashar's smug face.


"Right, Chrystiana. The Ice-maiden, or whoever."
"Not whoever. She. We could find someone else to take it, Captain Johanssen."
"No no, I'm the best man for this. I know what this is. Not sure who she is, but I'm sure she'll put it to grand use."


He took the cup in his left hand; it almost seemed to leap up into his grasp. A peculiar vessel: a small orange marble bowl atop a long gold stem. The proportions are all wrong, and yet it exudes a sort of majesty. The crew board their ship and make their way back to Pargon