Wherein a mystery is mulled over (Ch. 19)
In the days before Captain was Captain, those many who’d known him could’ve described him in a true wealth of manners. So it was purely coincidence when they’d invariably choose to describe him as similar to a mineral of some kind: a man as hard as iron, or solid as a rock, or as foundational to the city as the cold marble it lay upon. They could’ve gone on for a while this way, and at times they had, describing Captain as not dissimilar to every inanimate object less pliable than month old flotsam. Since seizing control of Tellyphill people were much less inclined to describe Captain at length, and anyhow he’d seemed to have gone soft in just one area: the hour of his rising. For reasons that none cared to pry into, from the first day upon taking up residence in the old royal quarters, Captain’s hours of slumber were erratic. Mostly erratically long. So it was that Captain’s image was tarnished, but in a way just minor enough to be endearingly human rather than concerningly incompet