The Wellerman tossed and turned, and twisted terribly in the tumultuous tidal turbulence, turning towards their target temple, as a yellow duck followed close behind them. Luckily there was one thing that rubber ducks were not designed for, and that is hydrodynamics. They could push as hard as they like, but they couldn’t kick up too much speed. But The Wellerman was not faring well either, all that thrashing about had not been good for her. She was taking on water, that wasn’t to say she wouldn’t survive, to the crew she was home, friend, family, and protector. They would keep her afloat even if it damn near killed them, over half the crew were manning the pumps by now, and were working in a frenzy, while the rest of the crew desperately tried to hold her on course with far too few sailors.

Captain Acab was at the wheel, trying their best too, one wrong move here and the mechanism for the tiller would be damaged, so he was having to twist the ship into every sudden shift in the currents, trusting his crew to keep this from bringing down the masts in a moment of tension.

A beak the size of a wagon crashed down once more, narrowly missing the ship, as Mibbet jabbed a harpoon at the less elastic seeming bits of their foe, assisted by Sir Leeroy, who seemed no more cautious sans armour than he was fully geared up. Something that he would in a moment regret as the Quacken’s bill struck him a glancing blow, sending him crashing into the mast.

Elvira meanwhile was standing over the rail for the cabin, poking through the gaps in the fence with Spikey The Motivational pike, it seemed having a travelling companion injured like that was decidedly motivational to her, as a moment later Spikey gave The Quacken an eye poke it would not forget in a hurry, while Mibbet swapped to Choppy, and took care of a few tendrils that were creeping up on deck.

Another thrash from their fowl foe forced The Wellerman into a hell of a problematic situation, as the waters swirled, and whirled about them, tossing the ship about like an old cork. Acab threw himself at the wheel doing everything in his power to turn into the water. Usually you would expect turning against the current to make more sense, but when there was this much power at play, you really, really, really did not want to go against it. That much water could crush the ship like a child’s toy. Instead what you did was turn with it, and hope that you bloody well survived.

Up in the rigging a few of the braver souls who were still up there clung on for dear life, shuffling along the spar in a desperate attempt to balance out the terrifying list they were in. The crews on the pumps had tied themselves to their stations to keep from pitching overboard.

“It’s no good” Howled Captain Acab over the crashing water. “She’s leaning too far, at this rate she’ll capsize. We don’t have enough weight to counter it.”

“How much weight do you need?” Mibbet shouted, readying the magic.

“About ten men.”

“So about one geared up Sir Leeroy then” Errol replied.

Mibbet quickly looked for anything watertight, what she was about to do would probably seem counterintuitive, but it might just work. She dove away from another tendril, then pointed down, pouring the water magic onto the deck near the edge with as much power as she could spare, immensely grateful she was still tethered to the mast. A jet of high pressure water pummelled the deck, slamming her back with tremendous force. She really hoped that the rope would hold as after that shot she was at the figurative and literal end of her tether.

Up far above the deck the crew members who had been on the mast shimmied their weight along as far as they could, while below The Wellerman groaned in protest at this treatment. She was an old lady, and deserved far better treatment than this. If she was a younger ship perhaps she wouldn’t have survived this ill treatment at all. But as anybody who knows machines, or vessels will tell you, when you put your faith in them for years and years, it’s like that spark gets through to them, and they want to repay that faith as sure as any god with their worshippers. So against all expectations and perhaps a few laws of physics, The Wellerman held, and started to steady herself.

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Elvira saw her cousin sag, and knew she couldn’t fight any more right now, carefully put Spikey down and dashed over to check on her. Surprisingly beaten to it by Sir Leeroy, who was somehow still in one piece, despite a spirited attempt by The Quacken, velocity, and a mast, to make his internals external. He quickly scooped her up and dashed for the cabin. She needed to rest, and it seemed The Wellerman wasn’t the only one tossed aside by The Goddesses tantrum, as The Quacken was a bit further away.

Captain Acab took full advantage of this of course, turning back towards their destination as fast as The Ship could manage. (Which was significantly slower now given the amount of water they had taken on, at least The Princesses contribution had mostly splashed off the deck, albeit at obscenely high pressure, the ship was going to need substantial repairs if, and when, she got back to port, a tab he really hoped the city would pick up on account of saving them all. The repairs were definitely far above his meagre income.)

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The Quacken was bloody furious by now, it felt like even the water was looking down on it. It was made of things that had seen beyond the veil, it had beheld thi9ngs that would turn sane men into gibbering wrecks, and it would be respected. It turned back towards the stupid floaty thing, and got ready to ram.