The captain had stood watch over the rails for some time now, his thickly buttoned coat an uncomfortable contrast to the lighter fare of the passengers. Many of them took no notice, more concerned with liquor or the enticing show of skin. The few who did spare a glance only lingered briefly, and then turned away in quiet amusement at his rigid stance. The old fool thought himself a naval commander. If only a more personable man had been available. Let him burn his eyes out. Perched above, the object of their derision kept his gaze upon the sea. Something ugly was there.

So ran her thoughts. She had been observing them all for as long as the captain had kept his watch, and was repelled by how disgustingly easy it was to assume their patterns. Libertines, the lot of them. Such as these were among the chief annoyances of the detective's existence; little fools drunk on pleasure who mangled evidence and were consistent only in their stupidity. Newly born into this world and impatient to get started, she was forced to relieve her ennui by watching their antics. Chinese water torture would have been more agreeable.

The sole break in this mundane affair was the captain. His sudden appearance half an hour ago had been surprising; her gaze returned to him. He knew something was amiss and it nettled him. It was impossible that he should be aware of the storm and yet he sensed it. Perhaps some pleasure might be had for her after all.

He showed no signs of having heard her come up, but the slight stiffening of his back (a second's difference) exposed his knowledge to her sharp eyes. Putting on her most agreeable manner, she stood next to his side and looked out: sun, waves, and a never-ending blue. Already it was coming.

"The day is lovely, isn't it?" She turned to give him a smile, and saw how a hint of red betrayed that dark face. Interesting. She stood a little closer.

"I feel a little silly now for bringing my umbrella. The weather couldn't be more perfect."

"It'll end soon."

"I'm sorry?"

"The weather. A storm will break soon." He moved away from her slightly. She turned so he wouldn't see her grin.

"You really think so? That's a bit surprising." Her fingers brushed against the hem of his sleeve before landing on the rail.

"Yes, very surprising," she continued, "since I am the only one alive who should be aware of it. The typhoon, I mean." He looked at her now, those bright eyes encircled in weather-beaten flesh. She kept on, enjoying the feel of the breeze upon her face.

"Old men of the sea are always canny about these things, so it's not a complete shock. What is surprising is that one of them should be on board this cruise. It's very unorthodox. Ideally you would be a pleasant, slightly stupid man who's overfond of wine and a complete nervous wreck when faced with murder. Bad for business, you know. You would implore me to aid you and allow me to do as I saw fit. When the murderer is inevitably caught, we would enjoy an amiable meal in your cabin. So it would end. But the situation is different. You're not the sort of man who drowns himself in pleasure. Such a pity." She leaned her head against him, allowing that stiff old man to feel the tight material of her swimsuit. He said nothing.

"If you had been stronger of will, you might have murdered everyone on board just to get at me, but then that would have been no challenge. Still, I would have thanked you for giving me at least a few hours quiet." She kissed his finger.

"Do you like mansions? I love them. There are few things more enjoyable than a secluded mansion, and even better are those belonging to rich eccentrics. I'll be going to one soon, shortly after all of you have died. Such a pity." A few shouts could be heard below as the rain began to fall.

" I think this case will be very enjoyable. My master has said as such, and I trust her in such matters. This will be my Orient Express (albeit on an island) and I intend to do my utmost. What kind of detective would I be if I didn't?" Water streamed past the captain's hat as he watched her turn the knob.

"There's no use struggling. You'll be quite buried in the typhoon. Already some of it has reached the mansion." The door opened onto a black stairway. She turned to give him one last look at her slick form.

"Be bolder in your next life, my dear captain." The door clanged shut, and he was left alone. He turned to face the sea again and saw how the waves churned in turmoil. He felt nothing.

Wait for me, Witch in Gold Beatrice. If you can't be my Moriarty, at least be my Moran. I shall degrade you.

Distantly, someone could be heard screaming for a lifeboat.