- You’re all out of your minds – Rasap aims his axe at the helm. Premonition blinks at him like a sun-blind chicken.

- Quick! Seize him! – Libero jumps aside, letting the mongoloids strip the young man of his axe and his clothes, and tie him to the mast. Would a rhyme here be a crime?

- We must hold elections! – demands Libero, his face cold and white against the darkness of his cloak.

- Let’s choose Libero! – out comes the scribe, book under arm, takes his place next to the figure in black – Libero for captain!

- No, me! Choose me! – naked Rasap cries but they only laugh at him and hand Libero a half of a broomstick with a clean, sheep’s skull mounted on top of it.

- Don’t listen to him, he’s insane – Rasap manages to utter before they stuff a urine soaked rag in his mouth.

- Listen up! – yells Libero, sheep’s skull in the air, and in an instant a horde of maniacs transforms into a skilled crew knotting thinned ropes, setting shredded sails.

- Listen up! – is all Libero has to say for weak to become strong, lost to become sane, witless competent. 

 

Even and Odd come out of their hiding place. Libero hugs them with his left arm. Francesca bolts out from the cabin. Libero hugs her with his right arm.

- Gloria, gloria – mumbles Premonition.

The fools instead of casting their votes start to sing an ancient seamen’s song of broken hearts and distant shores.

- Listen up!

The crew rocks from side to side, their arms entwined, spontaneously adding new lyrics about Libero, the Captain, the Savior.

The sick and the dying from the lower deck answer them carrying a fine, delicate melody, singing about Libero, the Sun, and the Sky. The new land of promise and hope.

Even and Odd sing along in two-part harmony, guessing the words, smiling, for the first time in their lives not worrying about tomorrow, because tomorrow is today.

The waves tip the Deliverance from side to side, like a cradle, sea-swallows fly out of the emerald waters in an elaborate choreography that seems to be showing the way. It is as if fools are giuded by gods themselves.

- Listen up! – Libero repeats, Rasap spits out the filthy rag:

- I’ll kill you, you son of a whore! 

But before he can...          The shouts followed by...