Salt lines every god-forsaken cliff. It fills the air and turns rum to brine. And yet, I can taste it — there's something waiting for me here. I feel it deep in the rocks. A vibration upon my fingertips, a pulse. The same twitch I feel before drawing an ace. I know it well. A buzz to snap my streak of misery. Good fortune, finally. BERTRAM

The thumping leads the way! A bold, beautiful pounding! It rattles my bones, but whets my palate! My shy compatriots have no taste for riches — or so it seems — as they departed while I slept. We had just broken into the tunnel where, deep at the end, the wonderful buzzing seems to sing. No matter! More for Bertram, I say! Foreward ho! BERTRAM