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Gypsy band of the Titanic.
"It is perhaps a strange question," Janosh said, "but do you have any idea where we are?"
Samuel shook his head. "Only saint Christoffel knows and he isn't telling. The last I remember we were getting ready for a gig in the steerage. There was a young lady, this platinum blond doll..." His fingers drew a nervous tattoo from his tambourine.
Helmut snorted. "With you there is always some young lady and half the time we have to jump from a window before anybody has paid us." He reached for his clarinet, blew a glissando. "Though it would be a bit of a problem, jumping from a window when you are on a ship."
"It look kind of classy here, though," Janosh said. "All those pillars and statues. Not like steerage at all. More like one of the grand dining halls."
"There are dead crabs and jelly-fish lying around," Samuel replied. "That isn't much like the captain's dining room. And while the ladies certainly are pretty, they all look kind of pale.'
Not pale, Janosh thought, more like drowned. But there are some things it is better not to speak aloud.
Strum never talked but the wail that rose from his accordion was as good as a question mark.
"Good. Right, Strum. No more talk. That grand lady with the tail and the claws is motioning us to start." Janosh looked at his men. "A polka? Sweet Danube girls?" He brought his own instrument to his lips. So I am probably dead and drowned and we ended up in some sunken afterworld, perhaps Queen Ran's Palace of Skulls and Seaweed? But it could have been worse. So much worse. At least we aren't sitting on a cloud, strumming a stupid harp and singing hymns.
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