Four Hands on the Helm

Wednesday. A party of three presented themselves at the hatch this morning and asked to be sunk. I declined.

The Nautilus in Perth needs four people at the very least, every day of the week, and I will not bend on it. There are levers at one end of her and dials at the other and a great deal of shouting in between, and three people cannot be in four places, however much they believe in themselves.

They went away and came back with a fourth, a cousin, who had been eating a sandwich in the mall and was not consulted. He turned out to have a gift for valves.

In the afternoon a party of eleven arrived, which is the opposite problem. Eight is the most she carries. I suggested the spare three take the pirate galleon in the same building at the same hour. They looked at me as though I had offered them a rowing boat. Afterwards they argued about who had the better time, which is the sign of a good arrangement.

Barnacle counted heads at the hatch all day. He can count to eight on his walking legs, which is precisely why I keep him.