Agatha Leviathan, the seventh queen of Blackbean, sails gracefully into the Bay of Lemons. She stands on the prow of an undermanned sixareen, balancing out the cargo of dessert spoons and meringue nests that spill out over the back of the boat and queue up in the vessel’s wake like a collection of powerfully unwholesome lily pads. Her jowls trail behind her in the breeze. She has in her left hand a bunch of barely ripe bananas; in her right, a solid silver truncheon.
Jonathan, dodging from starboard to larboard, handles the solitary oar.
***
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Wednesday, 20 August 2008
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