Missing metas

Mermaids sing badly, and someone had to tell them. I sailed to the rocks near Corfu with a music stand and a stern look. We worked on breathing and pitch. After a year they could hold a note. Now ships crash there only on purpose, just to catch the show.

Pickles kept me alive for a month on a lonely island off Goa. I had only one, but it was the size of a rowboat. I ate the inside and sailed away in the rest. The sea got in, and I arrived in port both wet and slightly sour.

Even my fleas were braver than other men's soldiers. A single squad of them held a fort in Moldavia for a month. They bit the enemy's horses, then his cooks, then his flag. I gave each one a tiny medal, and I pinned them on with my best needle.

Stripes were my idea. A plain orange tiger came to me in Bengal, sad and easy to see. I took a burnt stick and drew on him while he held still. He hunted well after that. Soon a long line of tigers stood waiting outside my tent, each one purring.

Lions roar because they have a sore throat. I learned this in Morocco, when one came at me with his mouth open. I stuck.