Hurtling to the bottom of the sea was bad enough. I didn’t need the singing, too. As our ship tumbled, free-falling through the eye of a saltwater cyclone, the nine giant maidens spiraled around us, weaving in and out of the tempest so they appeared to drown over and over again. Their faces contorted in anger and glee. Their long hair lashed us with icy spray. Each time they ... Read more on B&N Readouts.