Situation: Hopelessly Surrounded

Gus and the rest of the lively rogues in his crew find themselves in rough waters with danger to the right of them! Danger to the left of them! Danger above! All that seems to be missing is danger below, in this Kiplingesque yarn. However, I suspect there probably is something lurking below the waves just for narrative consistency. Such as, a whale - or perhaps a killer whale or giant squid, perhaps.

Meanwhile, life ashore in our dear little pub goes on. I shall be adding some higher quality wines to the menu shortly; a recent fact-finding trip to a charming Mediterranean clime famous for producing fruit of the vine was most successful. Yours truly sampled wines straight out of the barrel; there is nothing quite like a young, fresh red to really get the heart pumping and the mind reeling with thoughts of good food and love (in approximately that order).

I shall shortly be entering into negotiations for starting a health spa in a disused corner of the grog shoppe - it turns out that a rather smelly old spring nearby (not as famous as the ones at Bath, and yet just as distusting) might be turned profitably from liability (I could never keep the rooms on that side of the inn occupied, owing to the sulphurous emanations) to asset.

It seems that people like to soak in smelly, gassy water and have various bizarre concoctions slathered on them in the name of "health" and "beauty." And they pay. Very handsomely.

Ladies, in a few days time a masseur named Helmut will be arriving - he's very charming and likes to be called "Hank"; he has a bit of reputation as a rake and may try to get up to hanky-panky (thus the nickname, I'll wager). He will handle any of the deep-tissue massages; I shall be taking some courses in something called "hot rocks" massage. I understand it's not difficult to learn; the hardest part to master appears to be getting one's client's hot rocks off. If either of you is interested in taking courses in any of the other massageinist arts, or if you already know how to do any of those whifty New-Agey reflexo-aromato-whacko spa thingies, please feel free to sign up and offer your wares to the health-minded of our patrons and matrons.

Just so that we're prefectly clear on this, my darlings: these are to be massages with no "happy endings" as far as the local gendarmerie is concerned. I don't think my arrangement with the local chief constable would keep us "under the radar" if that sort of thing were to go on.

Speaking of radar, bad job that Gus doesn't have jamming equipment on the former pirate ship Lemming; he might have a chance of escaping in the worsening blow from the ruddy Tortellinis.