The Fall of Babel (The Books of Babel #4)

by Josiah Bancroft

Somehow, the addition of an infant to the crew seemed to shrink the available manpower by two. How plus one could equal minus two had been something of a mystery to Byron. Surely only a single soul was required to take care of an infant at any given moment. And yet, everyone seemed to be constantly running back and forth on some essential errand in service of the pink-faced, colicky despot. Or if they were not so engaged, then they were lying sprawled on a divan, driven to unconsciousness by bone-deep exhaustion. Byron had read that a fawn born in the morning could walk by the evening. Shark pups were birthed swimming, snapping, and eager to feed. But the human race came into the world with all the physical prowess of a custard and all the independence of a pimple.