Beneath the bowsprit the ship’s figurehead–a buxom mermaid somewhat challenged in the blouse department–leaned proudly into the fresh breeze as the swirling fog cleared from around the “White Hart” to reveal a bright blue expanse of water, bounded on the East and West by rugged green mountains that hadn’t been there moments before.

Something had changed. The crew dangling from the cross-trees felt it. Lady Belinda in her deshabille felt it. The captain and the carpenter picking themselves up from the deck felt it. And the Mermaid Formerly Known as Figurehead felt it as she woke to unexpected consciousness in a splashing spray of effluent from Donald Fago’s stomach.

Her world was suddenly full of subtle forces and less-than-subtle smells. She felt the strong slow mind of the ship itself reach out to touch her, whispering, “Be Free!” and the wooden bonds that held her let go, dropping her into the deep dark ocean of Faerie as the ship tacked away and the crew tried with difficulty to obey, or even understand, the Captain’s shouted command of, “Clew up the larboard to stern of the forward mizzen carbunkle!”