“It’s me, your friend Dariel Akaran,” the madman on the brig shouted. “It’s Spratling. I’m in a hurry now. Can’t stop and chat. Too much good news to spread. I’ll come back soon and settle our business!”
The stern of the brig cleared the pier. As it carried on, Dagon lost sight of the prince for a moment. Then he appeared once more, looking out from the rear deck. He yelled, “Tell your brothers that Spratling is back! And he’s brought friends!” He pointed at the bulky figure beside him, a gray man who climbed upon the railing, turned around, dropped his trousers, and wiggled his buttocks over the stern.
As the ship charged away, Dagon barely heard the commotion of the others rushing around him and the leaguemen pouring out onto the pier to watch the ship as it carried on to the east. He sat down on a pylon. He went to take off his cap and hold it on his lap, but he did not have a cap. He glanced around for it, and then gave up and watched the vanishing brig. He could have thought a thousand things, but what came to him was something small, something that Grau had said back in Alecia. How had he worded it? He had said… What use is going to Rapture if it all comes crashing down in a few years?
Sire Dagon chuckled. What use indeed? he thought. What use indeed?
In a perverse way, despite the unfortunate magnitude of what had just been revealed, he felt a little better than he had just a moment before. He wondered if he might gain entrance to the Rapture vessel just long enough to find Grau’s chamber. He would knock on his casing and say, “I hate to wake you, brother, but guess what? Guess what…?”