The 22 Letters by Richard; Clive; Kennedy King Page A

land?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIf there is no land to run on to by day, why should there be any by night?” the stranger went on persuasively.
    â€œIt’s all very well for a landsman to talk,” retorted Nun. “You don’t know how confusing the sea can be at night, with the sea sprites flashing their lights in every wave and all those nameless stars spinning above your head.”
    The stranger put his hand over Nun’s on the steering oar and looked deep into his eyes. “Captain,” he said, “would you learn secrets unknown to any other shipmaster? Would you not like to be at home on the sea by night as well as by day? The stars are not nameless; each one has his place and direction. Sail with me tonight and other nights, and I will teach you the names of the stars and the constellations, and tell you how they can guide you.”
    No man had ever laid hands on the steering oar when Nun was manning it, and few had ever argued a point of navigation with him since he had become master of a ship. Now is the time to throw this interfering stranger to the fishes, Nun thought. And yet he did not even feel anger rising inside him, and he wondered why. I should assert myself as captain, he told himself. What would the crew think? And yet, what was it that made the crew respect him? Could he pull an oar better than the oarsmen? No. Could he splice a rope better than the seamen? No. Was it because he could curse them and keep them in order? Not even that, for the boatswain could curse much more fluently than his captain. No, it was because he knew where they were going. He had the whole voyage, out and back—the gods willing—planned in his head. The crew respected Nun for it, and Nun could not help respecting this stranger who seemed to carry in his head not merely landmarks of a voyage but also signs in the heavens to guide him. It might be something worth learning.
    Without a word, Nun let the steering oar move over to starboard under the pressure of the stranger’s hand, and the ship’s head turned slowly away from the land and toward the open sea and the setting sun.
    He saw the startled and outraged looks on the faces of the crew, but spoke to them casually. “What’s the matter, then? You’ve slept all day, while the wind’s done the work. Let’s see if you can sleep as well by night. I only need half of you to keep company with me and the stars. Boatswain, the oarsmen on the starboard side can keep the first watch.” And there was enough confidence in his voice to make the men move obediently to their look-out positions as ordered by the boatswain, though not without some muttering.
    â€œNo shore tonight?” he heard them remark. “The Old Man off his head, then?”
    Nun did not feel as confident as he hoped he sounded, but part of him felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of the night passage.
    The sun sank on to the horizon ahead of the ship, and as it did so it seemed in the haze to lose its roundness and collapse like a pricked bladder. The sailors watched it with long faces. Would they ever see it again in its proper shape, or would they reach the edge of the world in the darkness and be poured over it into nothingness? The last red spark showed above the sea, turned suddenly bright green, and sank. The sailors’ hearts seemed to sink with it. But Nun’s eyes were already on the zenith, the highest part of the sky where the stars were beginning to appear, and on the darkening eastern sky astern of the ship.
    â€œTell me!” said Nun impatiently. “What is the name of that one? And that one, and the bright one alone by itself there?”
    â€œHave patience!” said the Chaldean calmly. “We shall see them all together soon. Those you see now will not help you with your voyaging, for they are wanderers too, every night in a different part of the sky. It needs many years of study to learn their