'A long bone whistle hung from a leather thong...I was alive with sorcery now...he put the whistle to his lips and blew. The sound was a chorus of voices, keening tonelessly. It chilled the air, the wail of souls twisted past torture, transforming pain into sound, fading with reluctance'(DG, UK MMPB, p.337-8)

'He raised the whistle again and blew a rapid sequence. The drum started booming in time. The oars swung, blades flipping from horizontal to vertical, then dipped down into the sluggish water and pulled.'(DG, UK MMPB, p.339)