The door to Ganelon's cell creaked open, and he could hear a pair of heavy boots step down into the water-filled pit that made up the floor. He didn't bother to look up while there was still light coming from the hall; that would just put his desperation on display and weaken his already minimal bargaining position. Instead, he kept his head down and continued to mutter the tune that he had already started. It was a tool before, something to keep his focus, which in turn kept his mouth above the water line. Now it was also an act, as his mind was focusing upon possibilities that might set him free if he could only put them to words. All the while he fought against a creeping sense of lethargy, which he feared was not an effect of the medicine he had drank, but instead of the wound he had suffered during his second landing. The Crow could feel his energy leaving him, and he was no longer confident that it would come back. He didn't dare to move and expend it further.<br/><br/>Light receded from the room, and the door closed. There were no footsteps. Someone was in the cell with him, perhaps another prisoner. He acknowledged all of these things and chose to ignore them; time was precious, as was consciousness. Neither could be wasted on petty thoughts when one needed to escape from a hostile pirate ship onto one which occupied the clouds. Maybe a grappling hook-<br/><br/>â€œSo," spoke a voice, feminine and authoritative. Certainly not the voice of a prisoner. "Tell me. Why should I not kill you?"<br/><br/>The Crow's murmuring stopped at once, filling the room with a silence disturbed only by the slight sound of rippling water. His arms were shaking, partly out of cold, and partly from something worse. Pain, he assumed, although he felt that in many other places as well. What did the woman want that he could provide? He pondered the question for as long as he thought was safe.<br/><br/>"Because I'm useful."<br/><br/>A good start, but not enough. "Useful" wasn't "trustworthy", nor was it a permanent state of being. It wouldn't get him out of the filthy water and onto the Rotsman's deck, nor would it put his knives back where they belonged, hanging from his clothes like a second skin. Under normal circumstances, a series of strong lies would be sufficient for him to weasel his way into any position he desired. People would give almost anything to believe in the right fantasy, so long as it was prettier than the truth in front of them. Still, his circumstances were not normal. For perhaps the first time in his life, the truth was all he needed - all he could use - to save his own life. It was an uncomfortable feeling; he was far less sure of his ability to be convincingly<span style="font-style: italic">honest</span>.<br/><br/>"The Flying Rotsman. I know where she'll be, and where she's headed. I was the lookout..."<span style="font-style: italic">No, that isn't important.</span>"...which means there no longer is one. Th' men don't keep watch at night - ye could take it by surprise, climb up with hooks. Kill the captain, and the whole ship sinks with 'im."<br/><br/>For a moment, the Crow went quiet to think about anything he may have missed. Captain Rotter had come down from his ship personally to kidnap the Pirate Queen's doctor. Was he just bait to that end? Was the captain even smart enough to send an injured man to lure out a doctor? Regardless, she was up there and almost definitely alive. Maybe that could be his way out. His way<span style="font-style: italic">up</span>. It was worth a try. He turned his head upwards and shot his jailor a look that betrayed every last one of his true intentions.<br/><br/>Specifically, he shot her a look that betrayed Captain Rotter.<br/><br/>"I want to be there. Give me my knives back and I'll do it meself. I'll even get yer precious doctor t' safety first."