The truth

The leader stares at you for a long time, then lets out an angry cry. He hefts his cosh into the nearest berth. "Damn them that did it. That woman – the engineer who got the mills up and running – it'll be her doing. Couldn't leave well enough alone." He scowls. "I told Old Resurrection, it ban't natural, a dead whale producing. And here we are." He shakes his head. "And here we are," he repeats.

He hands you a piece of ambergris, slimy to the touch, produced from an empty looking pouch. "Last I have. Better I never had it."

As you gather your crew and make ready to breach the leviathan, you see a section of the walkways high above go dark, candle by candle, all around where the old ambergris mills stand silent.