It was the day after Hal had demonstrated the Mangler to his crew. Outside, on the open seas, the wind still howled out of the south, whipping the ocean into steep, fast-breaking whitecaps. It was no place for a small open ship like the Heron. But the tall headlands broke the force of the wind so that inside the bay there was nothing more than a stiff breeze. The crew were made aware of the wild conditions outside when they looked at the trees on top of the headlands, and high on the inland ridge. They were bending and swaying madly, tossing their heads in the savage gusts that hit them. The Heron was sailing parallel to the beach, about three hundred meters offshore. The wind was coming over their port side and the sail was trimmed in tight. “Stig,” Hal called, and gestured to the tiller. His friend leapt eagerly up to the steering platform and took control of the ship. He twitched the tiller from side to side, testing the ship’s instant reaction to the helm, and smiled at Hal. “I love this,”
