Ander couldn't remember the last time he had seen land. Confined to his small cabin, he had grown restless in the windless seas, but beg as he might for an oar or the watch, he wasn't yet trusted with such a duty. Instead he spent his days buried in his books in the quarters, or occasionally playing cards with Juan on one of the benches which lined the deck above. He had made the mistake of begging the glowering captain to reconsider his uses once before, met only with a pregnant silence before Van Gaal had muttered “What a stupid question. Below decks with you”, and returned to pouring over his endless charts with his Dutch clique, whispering quietly in a strange and ugly tongue.
