They hadn’t been sailing very long and already little Gerhard felt dizzy. He reached for the portside railing of the old ship and held on for dear life. His forehead was sweaty, his stomach queasy.
How could he possibly be seasick? He was a Klabautermann. Fourth generation no less. And yet here he was about to deposit his lunch into the frigid North Sea.
He fixed his woolen cap, adjusted his pipe. He was in no mood for all the doom and gloom tonight. He’d have to cancel his appearance.
Gerhard wondered if the crew knew how lucky they were…
The Weekday One Hundred 