302
You empty the tankard in one go and wipe the froth from your lips. Seconds later the floor of the hold begins to rock from side to side, gently at first, but gathering momentum until you are forced to cling to the table to prevent yourself from falling over. The other passengers seem unaffected by the violent pitching and rolling, as if their feet were nailed to the deck. You shout a warning that the barge is about to sink, that they should try to save themselves before it is too late. They cackle and sneer at your concern for their safety, their faces growing larger and more grotesque and the sound of their laughter building to a deafening crescendo. A man in a red coat looms before you, his face twisted and deformed. He grabs your shoulders and you feel his fingers sink painlessly into your flesh. Recoiling in horror, you draw a hand weapon to defend yourself from this frightening apparition. As you step forward to strike a blow, a wave of giddiness robs you of all balance and you crash headlong to the floor.
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
