Hamish isn't sure what exactly is the worst part of his suffering (for his sufferings seem to be numerous as of late, to say nothing of his most recent ones, all of which are so terribly worse than what he would have considered his old sufferings, which are trifles in comparison, really): the physical act of retching all sustenance from his innards (which is quite, quite horrendous), or the indignity of said act (especially in front of Alice and her constant belligerence, or Stayne as he is known; for Hamish can take being sick in front of the boat-hands, for they are nothing-peasants, servants, hired hands, of no import-and even doing so in front of Hatta barely bothers him, because the man hardly cares, let alone says or does anything that would or should matter to someone of his standing. But Stayne! He is prone to reiterate at the most inappropriate moments all of Hamish's shames. And for dear Alice to witness him in such a state, it could damage her confidence in him!). Either way, barely half an hour out to sea, Hamish is already miserable, and is sharing.
Everyone else, however, seems to have taken to life at sea with ease, for even the Hatter is flittering about the boat in utter delight, taking in every new thing with a sly smile that rather worries Hamish, as he doesn't understand it. Alice, of course, is very used to traveling in this manner, and has settled right in with the crew and the captain, gracefully floating about with all her elegance and dignity despite rather extensive knowledge of all going-ons of the lesser sort. And as for Stayne, well, Stayne had followed Alice about silently for several minutes before hauling himself up the rigging and disappearing (as best a giant can) into the crow's nest (the actual lookout came scurrying down not long after, ruffled, indignant, and frightened, and will speak no word of what had occurred).
And the young Lord Hamish Ascot keeps his post diligently half over the railings, just in case more of his stomach's contents should decide to go for a swim. All in all, things are looking to be quite the dreadful trip.
Much more so, when the storm rolls in.
Which turns out to be nothing compared to what comes with it.
"My. I just dropped in to say 'hello,'" Chess drawls from his new spot on the ceiling, where he is only partially corporeal. "There is no need for hysterics."
Helen holds her hand over her heart, having collapsed into the nearest chair at the pussy's appearance. Margaret, who had thrown several rather heavy objects, is now in her husband's arms, breathing heavily.
"Considering I was strangled by a woman in a mirror today-" Lowell sighs rather frustratedly, trying to soothe his wife with calming pats on the head. "No, I don't expect a floating, transparent, talking cat is really anything to panic about."
Chess nods. "Finally, someone with some sense. I do deplore sense, however, so I hope we can go back to not making any rather soon."
Lowell swallows, not at all happy with being the only one in the room capable of carrying on a conversation with that thing at the moment. "You call this making sense?"
"Are you listening to yourself? You really shouldn't."
Affronted, Lowell takes this as an excuse not to reply (maybe even think up an insult-but it's hard to insult something that should be dismissed as a figment of his imagination, or a hallucination, and yet cannot be).
"Oh, boring." The cat stretches. "I should have switched with Mally and went with Tarrant and Alice. But all that water..."
"Another of my daughter's friends, I take it?" Helen finally rises from her chair, having gathered herself (it has been such a trying day).
"Oh yes," Chess replies, twisting around in the air to peer at her upside down. "Just here to make sure everything's alright for my dearest champion and her hapless hatter. And seeing as it's not..."
Vanishing in a puff of smoke, the cat swirls back into being inches from Lowell's face, blinking curiously at the scarf he's pulled around his neck. "Well, I feel it might be easier to keep a watch on Alice's loved ones somewhere I'm more... comfortable."
Chess' gaze rises, large and bright and infinite, meeting Lowell's panicked one with foreboding. "Have any of you ever traveled by rabbit hole, humans?"
There is absolutely nothing, not a single thing, no, that will pull Hamish from his quarters. Until the ship stops moving, he will not be budged, he swears, for the suddenness of the storm's arrival and the chaotic rocking that had ensued has removed the last of his meals from his stomach and taken away all use of his legs whatsoever, and he will not be subjected to any further tossing about, no sir, not a bit. Instead, he will continue where he is, locked in his room, dignity thrown to the turrets of wind and rain, spread-eagle on his belly, gripping his mattress for dear life.
And he is most certainly NOT going to let Alice's continued presence on deck bother or persuade him. No, it isn't, not a bit.
She has her wondrous new bodyguard to keep her from being thrown into any more oceans, and a loopy ginger if that isn't enough, she has no need of the young Lord's continued presence, no she does not.
"Curse my chivalry..." Hamish moans.
It takes him almost fifteen minutes to get from his bed back up to the deck, between the tossing and the turnings and the bouncing off walls and whatnot, and once there is greeted by such a sight as he wishes he'd stayed below, one that will haunt him so for the rest of his days.
After all that he has gone through, all the unbelievable things he's encountered over the past few days, Hamish has still not been at all prepared for the great flash of lightning in the sky that lights up the outline of a great flying beast. The leathery wingspan tears through the swirl of black clouds, the length of neck stretching out with sizzling sparks jumping from its mouth as it reaches for the mast and sails. The terrible creature lets out a thunderous roar as it zaps the nearest beam with a jet of electricity, snapping it in half. Hamish can just see, through the current of rainwater, the giant form of Stayne jumping from the falling pole to catch on the nearest section of rigging. The broken wood crashes over the edge of the ship and sinks into the water, rocking the boat and damaging the railings so that even more water sloshes in.
"Ilosovic!" Alice cries out. Hamish searches desperately for the origin of her voice, and finds that Tarrant has hold of her near the bow, keeping them both low and out of the way of what seems to be a battle overhead.
The dragon circles back, its stark white body silhouetted against the darkness.
It dives straight through the beams and rigging, taking the mast and all the sails and Stayne with it, rolling through the air and into the water with a great crash.
Alice throws herself from Tarrant's hold, screaming as she runs for the edge.
"ILOSOVIC!"
"Alice, no!"
"Alice!"
Both men charge after her. The dragon bursts forth from the sea, claws and head and tail flailing, catching the side of the ship, pushing the boat up up UP-
And over.
The last Hamish sees is the free beast lashing its giant wings once more, banishing cloud and rain alike with an impossible gust of wind, and he is falling through the open-air towards the crystal clear surface that reflects his descent. Too still, too clear for the raging sea that had been their transport. It looks, almost, like glass.