I Don't Snore

…

Lately, Link had been called into Alfonzo's quarters more often in order to rectify issues with the ship's supplies. Link was not sure why, but he was getting the impression that the Grand Sails' supply chief was an idiot. It involved much more math than Link would have thought, and when the discrepancy was outrageous, Link quickly found himself hustling down to the orlop just to recount supplies. The rigging equipment, spare engine and generator hardware, and perishables, he could understand. But the supply chief was also mixing up tools and sometimes even messed up their cargo manifest. Link was not sure who the supply chief on-board was, but he was certain he would find out if Alfonzo ever became fed up and knocked the man's head off. The captain occasionally grumbled about making Link the supply chief only to point out that Link was too young for such a responsibility.

This kind of occurrence happened so much that Line started whining about Link reciting the supply manifest in his sleep. Link, of course, thought he was exaggerating until some of the other airmen from his shift also spoke up about it. Link was not sure what to do. He could not tell Alfonzo he needed to quit. Not only did he know that asking to be a regular airman was an offense Alfonzo liked to punish with a transfer, but the number of discrepancies in the ship's supplies would go unchecked and make life more difficult for the crew. Asking for a lighter load was just about as insulting, and Link tried to at least have some pride as an airman.

Line had a solution. Unfortunately.

One evening, after a dinner of cucco rations that was leaving Link's and Line's stomachs feeling sour, they returned to their berths.

"Oh, Link, wait a moment," Line said just as Link was about to climb onto the top hammock.

Link let out a groan. "What is it?" he asked in a deep, tired voice.

"You know that thing you've been doing lately?" Line asked as he dug a hand into a trouser pocket.

Link grunted and replied, "I told you I can't help it…"

"No, no, I got it," Line said. "I was thinking about it when we were tagging the cargo earlier."

Tagging the cargo was an uncommon job. Most often, if a company had to send shipments to two different locations, they would label the goods themselves. However, some companies would do little more than stamp the name of a load's destination onto the side of a crate. This was a problem for airship crews; most airmen were illiterate. Link and Line were among the few on the Grand Sails who could at least read (Link even had plenty of practice writing thanks to his assistance with the manifests), so it often fell to them to nail colored cloths to cargo to ensure whatever airman who had to offload it did not have to think too hard.

So, Link could not help the bad feeling in his stomach at Line's words. "What is it?" he asked with a sigh.

Line whipped a strip of red cloth out of his pocket and showed it to Link. "I grabbed this."

Link recognized the cloth and immediately told him, "Didn't you learn from the last time you tried to gag me?"

Line slouched and let his hands slap his thighs. "I told you I was sorry," he whined. Then he held two corners of the cloth so he could stretch it to its full length. "This is different, I swear! Look, all we have to do is just… uh…" He placed the cloth on top of his head and tied a quick knot under his chin. "If we do this, it holds your mouth shut so you don't talk in your sleep."

Airman Donald, lounging in his berth across from them, chuckled and said, "Sounds like an idea. You're on a roll today, Line."

Line slipped the cloth off and turned to Donald. "Right?" he asked with a big grin on his face. "I think that broom loft is gonna make cleaning things easier."

"Yeah, until the captain hits his head on it," Link told him.

Donald shrugged and said, "Well, Link, it's either the cloth around your head or down your throat. I wanna sleep tonight."

"Hear, hear!" someone further down the row declared. Donald, with a smug grin on his face, pointed toward the source of the voice.

Link groaned. "All right…" he told Line. Line made to put the cloth on his head, but Link quickly swiped it from his hand. "No, I'm gonna do it."

"Fine," Line told him, mildly offended. He watched Link tie the cloth under his chin. Then he asked, "Is it tight?"

"How tight do you want it?" Link asked in annoyance.

Line grabbed the ends of the overhand knot Link had made and yanked, forcing Link's teeth to click shut almost on his tongue. Line then tied another overhand as a backup knot. "There," he said once he was done.

"Sshish isshn't yyyonnya yerk, Yyyine," Link told him through his teeth, the cloth firmly holding his jaw shut.

Line bit back the urge to laugh, amused by the way Link's lips twitched as he tried to talk. "It'll work," he said.

Link blew out a sigh, causing Line to snort. "Sshut up," Link told him.

He then sighed through his nose as he clambered into his hammock. As much as it hurt to have his jaw strapped shut, he at least had a sliver of hope that this would stop annoying his crewmates.

It at least kept him from sleep-talking. However, whistling through his teeth was not a foreseen side effect. Line and Donald spent about an hour trying to sleep with a piercing whistle sounding from between Link's teeth in each breath. Donald was the first to give up. He slipped out of his hammock with his pillow in his hands. Link woke to the sensation of that pillow pummeling his face.