1288 Garin’s eyes fluttered open. Sunlight stabbed down into them and he winced, throwing an arm over his face. The movement made his head throb. A sloshing, creaking sound filled his ears. The bright light was blocked out by a shadow. He blinked up at the hulking silhouette. “Didn’t you hear me?” came a gruff voice. “I said we’re here.” “Bertrand?” murmured Garin. The shadow didn’t respond, but moved off, dropping out of the sun, which blinded Garin again. He sat up, wiping his mouth. He had drooled and his dark blond beard, which was long and tangled, was soggy. Dazedly, his head pounding, he looked around, the sleep gradually fading and reality seeping in, juddering, discordant. The man he had called Bertrand was clambering up to the quarterdeck and wasn’t Bertrand at all. He had been dreaming again, dreaming he was back in Outremer, somewhere in the desert, looking for something he had forgotten. Something important?
