Oh, the year was nine hundred seventy-eight…

Olive d’Orien tried sticking her head under the pillow, but that did little to attenuate Fulton’s rich baritone. At least he could carry a tune. The goblin’s piercing shrieks, on the other hand, seemed to have little to do with the song’s melody, rhythm or lyrics. Olive sighed and got out of bed. She would try asking them to be quiet. It probably wouldn’t make any difference but at least she would make her displeasure known.

In the corridor, Olive encountered Jeeves heading to the pantry. “Is it always like this?” she asked.

“I do apologize, miss. It is milord’s habit to sing with his guests,” said Jeeves.

Gods damn them all! I was told
We’d cruise the seas for Aundarian gold

“How long do they usually go on for?” asked Olive.

“They have only just started on their second bottle, so I imagine they will be at it for quite some time,” answered Jeeves. “Perhaps these will help. I find them quite useful on nights such as this.” He reached into his pocket and offered her two button-sized bits of felt.

“What are they?” asked Olive.

Now I’m a broken man on a Korranberg pier
The last of Barrett’s Privateers

“Earplugs, miss.”

“Thank you, Jeeves,” said Olive, and she returned to her room.