Belladonna sat alone in her cabin. Beauregard had just come in to tell her that they were proceeding with great alacrity, and would make up for the time they had lost. Between her butler and this mechanic, they had brought her wayward scheduling under reins. Yet despite having another passenger aboard, she felt lonely; the metaphorical third wheel. While Beauregard and Isaac tended to the steering and maintenance of the<span style="font-style: italic">Nauge Solitaire</span>, Belladonna sat in her cabin. She had exhausted the mental games with which to keep her entertained, and now brooded quietly on her bed, until she lighted on an idea. Ruffling through the drawers, she produced a map, as well as several navigational instruments. Bundling this into her arms she made her way to the deck.<br/><br/>Once on deck she arrayed the instruments about her, as a child may set up their favourite toys about them self, and, calling upon her eighth grade geography lessons, sought to plot their positions. Working out an average speed and direction of travel, she plotted their path from Moran Station. From where they were she determined that she should be able to see the Tungley Forest which surrounded the Marastun mountains. The legend of the mountains had always been a favourite story of hers when she was younger. Consulting the map again she deduced that the mountains should be visible off the starboard bow. She scampered to the front of the vessel and cast her gaze towards the horizon. Beneath her extended the canopy of most verdant green until it met . . . rolling plains?<br/><br/>Something was wrong. Scanning the horizon she found that the sight she sought lay not to the right, but the left of the ship. Perplexed by this she scrutinised the map again, and recalculated their voyage from Moran Station. Even were her estimates of their speed incorrect, the mountains would be farther ahead or behind them. That they rose most inarguably off the port side of the craft alluded to one thing: their heading was wrong. She quickly made her way to the control centre of the ship, hoping to bring this to someone's attention lest they drift irrecoverable miles off course, yet when she entered the control cabin no steersman manned the helm. Though she at first was annoyed that their voyage was sent off course by negligence, she saw that the mechanical lock held the wheel in place, setting their current heading. She felt guilty. "Beauregard and Isaac have spent hours faithfully manning the helm," she thought, "and had though to take a break while the ship needed little steering. They had just made a small mistake." She, feeling confident, decided to amend the course herself. Though she had not steered the airship before, she reasoned it couldn't be too difficult. Pulling a lever, she disengaged the wheel's lock. She grabbed the wheel. "Well, we need to have the ship face about forty-five degrees to port." She decided that it would probably take three full turns of the large spoked wheel, so setting herself a wide stance she threw the wheel anti-clockwise. The<span style="font-style: italic">Nauge Solitaire</span>strained and groaned to respond to the wild commands of her steersman. The ship surged to the side, tipping dangerously under the duress. So violent was the maneuver that several unsecured items careened overboard, as cargo within slid against the wall in an almighty crash. The large purple Ballast distorted weirdly to cope with the straining ropes, some of which snapped under the strain.