Jet could have sensed the advance of the ghostly armada even with her eyes closed. That was because the moment the captain of the Dutchman commanded his spectral fleet to sail forth, the winds vanished, plunging the world into a dead calm.
All around the Night Garden, the water was restless because of the dreadful battle happening in the depths, but further away, it turned still and glasslike, reflecting the boundless sky like a vast mirror.
There was no wind, and yet, the wall of mist continued to roll forward fo from the south, slowly devouring the world. The sails of the ghostly ships were swelling, and the ethereal vessels flew forward across the still surface of the motionless sea.
The tentacles of the Old Tom rose from the water on one side of the Night Garden, while from the other, the wraith armada swiftly shortened the distance, ghostly fires igniting on the dimly glowing decks.
Jet grimaced.
'They just had to attack at the same time, damn it…'
