issipigen

He muttered and irritably drank from the bottle by his elbow. His eyes, blue and tired, stared at the maps in front of him spread across the large wooden table and could make no sense of what was drawn or written there. He had been at this for hours, trying to find that Spanish galleon with 10 000 reales on board. She had to be there somewhere – his information was good as to that. First hand in fact. At that he smiled, chortling, and took another swig of rum. Smacking his lips, his mind a little fuzzy – it was late and this was not his first bottle of rum, not by a long shot – he rubbed his sand filled eyes. Glancing out o