like a dog trying to move an elephant

“Going to sea!” Larten snarled, dragging himself towards the docks.
“This is a bad idea,” Malora gasped, trying to tug him back, but having
as much luck as a dog would have with an elephant.

“Want to sail… the seven seas.” Larten laughed. “Sick of these towns
and… cities. Got to keep… going. Don’t trust land.”

He stopped in the middle of the street and glared at the people who were
looking at him oddly. He was dressed in a smart pair of trousers and a dirty
white sweater that he’d bought from a sailor the night before, with a shoe
on his right foot and an old boot on his left. He was holding a lady’s
umbrella over his head to protect him from the sun.

Malora thought that the sweater had put the idea into his head. The flu
was ultimately to blame – it had ebbed and flared in him over the last six
weeks, and was now worse than ever – but he’d been content to stay inside
and follow her lead until he bought that stupid sweater. As soon as he pulled
it on, he began ranting about going to sea—he had smelled the salt air a
couple of nights before when they’d come to this town. She’d managed to
calm him and get him to sleep, but he had woken with the notion fresh in
his head. Without pausing to eat, he had dressed and hobbled down to the
docks, Malora hurrying to keep up, trying to make him change his mind.

***

The Pearly Tornado set sail on the next tide. Larten missed the launch. He
was asleep in their cabin, tossing and turning from the fever. Malora had
washed him down once already, after he had vomited all over himself and
the sheets. The next few days or weeks were going to be hard, until the flu
passed. (Or until he dies, part of her whispered, but she preferred not to
consider that grim possibility.)

***

The Saga of Larten Crepsley: Ocean of Blood, Chapter 21