my ship's on-board particle physicist. He gesticulated wildly, panting and
hooting in that strange moon-man talk he has. He directed, then, my attention
to a folded newspaper. The headline proclaimed that, indeed, the supposed
discovery of the Higgs boson, a particle theoretically responsible for mass,
was naught but a fib.
I was rather relieved at this news. It had been a fear of mine that this
Francophone would conduct massive experiments with this boson, and perhaps
he would create so many of them as to give the Gilded Sham far too much
weight and sink us all in the briny depths.
Nobody wants that sort of thing.
At any rate, The ship, my meager crew, and I are still stuck in this small
town, drinking each night until we can barely stand. It a fine, adventurous
life, I suppose. It is frustrating, though, to be here, while spirited and
breath-taking Adventure lie just offshore. It is also frustrating to not
fully comprehend why it is, exactly, that we are not moving.
I am afraid that Magellan Smythe, my trusted first mate has come down with
a case of ennui. At least, this is what Guy Francophone tells me. I
worry about him, for he is the sticky mas of glue that will hold our crew together on our harrowing journey to the Spice Islands.
Certainly it's true that our vessel is in need of repair, but nothing drastic.
She floats, after all. We need a new top gallant sail, a new aft mizzen mast,
and a new fore stay sail, but these things come cheap in a town such as this.
Speaking of cheap, I found a wonderfully inexpensive cabin compass today. It's
oil-filled, and points north a great majority of the time. For only $3.39, I
think I made out on top this time!
Well, the sky is getting darker. I think I shall take Guy and Magellan out
with me tonight. Perhaps the sheer silliness of Guy's "language" will make