For a moment, Alfred merely stared at him, not quite believing that even Evander could be this dense. He was doing it on purpose, wasn't he? He had to be doing it on purpose. Well, if they were going to be purposefully antagonistic, Alfred was perfectly capable of playing that game.

"G-h-i-b-b-h-e-a-u-x," he answered, wondering how much of that nonsense Evander would scribble down before he realized Alfred was making it up. "Lots of silent letters. It's French." The idea that the names for sails might have come from French wasn't terribly far fetched; they had a Navy nearly as old as Britain's (at least on the Muggle side). The idea that any sailor might care one way or another how jib was spelled, of course, was.

Climbing down from where he'd been standing at the base of the mast, Alfred dropped into one of the seats and tilted his head slightly to look skeptically at his brother. "You know there isn't going to be a test, right?" Well, there would be, when they eventually started sailing this thing, but it wasn't going to be the sort of test his little notebook was going to help with. And, if he was being honest, he didn't think any amount of preparation was really going to help Evander's eventual performance much.