It all started upside down. The rocking of the ship had tossed him in the night, but somehow he’d slept through it. He woke with his back against the outer wall of the captain’s quarters, his legs higher than his head. He was surprised to find that he’d actually slept as long as he had in that position. It was endlessly uncomfortable.

Righting himself, he ran a hand through his hair. He pulled it away almost immediately. The deep blue locks were hoplessly matted, and full of salt from the air. When had it gotten so filthy? He never swam in the sea, and he’d just bathed the last time they were docked in port. It had only been a few days ago. Hadn’t it?

The assassin settled himself back against the wall, his head still spinning. Even sitting the right way up, everything seemed upside down. How long had he slept? And what had happened in that time? The deck was devoid of other life. Where were his crewmates? Hadn’t they been tossed about too? Didn’t they feel the storm coming? He could not help but worry.