Chapter 56: Setting Sail

I gazed to the horizon, where masts pierced the sea-sky like jagged reefs breaking the earth.

The ship eased toward the dock, its clamor shattered by the salty sea breeze.

Bare-chested porters, sweat gleaming on bronzed skin, hauled heavy oak barrels and sacks, shouting as they wove through the crowd.

Vendors hawked cheap wine, hard black bread, and lemons.

In the distance, port guards in worn cotton armor leaned on spears, watching with cold indifference, maintaining a rough order.

“Let’s go—it’s time to board.”

Kritiya, uneasy in the jostling crowd, pulled her cloak’s hood lower.

She saw Nolan tighten his pack, nodding to her.

They joined the long queue, soon reaching the ship’s gangway.

Beside the plank stood a burly, bearded sailor, gruffly checking a list.

His gaze swept the boarding crowd with blunt scrutiny and impatience.

“Name!” he barked at Nolan, not looking up.

“Nolan Cyril.”

The boy tried to sound calm, glancing at his new clothes: black wool trousers, a light gray shirt under a pressed vest, belted at the waist, sturdy boots on his feet.

With his tall frame, he looked almost grown.

Leyak had said travelers shouldn’t be too flashy to draw eyes, nor too shabby to invite scorn.

A silver coin had bought Nolan this travel outfit.

The sailor’s stubby finger traced the list, muttering:

“With a lady? That’s two…”

He glanced at the tin tag Nolan offered, barely inspecting it.

“Middle cabin, bow side. Down the stairs, go—don’t block the way!”

The sailor waved them off, already eyeing the next person.

Nolan stepped onto the swaying gangway.

With one arm limp, he wobbled, but Kritiya pressed close, steadying him like an anchor.

They entered the deck’s cabin below.

The air was damp, stifling, the light dim.

A few cheap oil lamps flickered, casting long, warped shadows.

Kritiya’s gaze swept the “middle cabin.”

Private space was scarce—just a vast, low bunkroom, sectioned by wooden boards into narrow berths.

Iron hooks held grimy burlap curtains above, offering faint privacy.

Nolan walked the tight aisle, finding their numbered berth.

They stowed their luggage, and Kritiya sat on the straw-lined bed, covered with a fairly clean blanket.

‘The mold smell’s not too bad,’ I thought.

But ships like this were what they were.

These partitioned bunks were for those who paid a bit for decency.

Below, in the hold, human and cargo mixed in cramped, reeking spaces, too tight to stretch an arm—unfit for anyone.

The deck’s upper cabins, bathed in sunlight, were for rich merchants and nobles.

Nolan could’ve spent gold for one, but it would’ve drained their funds and drawn eyes.

“The water route takes about seven or eight days,” Nolan said, exhaling as he sat, resting his weary body from the early rush.

Kritiya nodded, scanning their fellow passengers.

Across from them, a curtain hung half-open.

A pair of muddy leather boots sat at the berth’s edge, beside a sheathed short sword, its blade glinting faintly against the wood, its leather hilt worn shiny.

The occupant seemed asleep, snoring evenly.

Farther off, a wider berth held a gaunt monk in a dark robe, still as a faded statue.

His bony hands rested on a massive, iron-clasped book on his knees.

Sparse brows framed closed eyes, his lips moving silently, as if in prayer.

Closer, to their side, a potbellied man faced away, frantically inspecting a roll of wool fabric under dim light.

His stubby fingers, glinting with brass rings, pawed at the cloth.

More rolls crowded his tiny space.

In distant corners, where curtains hung low, glimpses showed curled figures, rough luggage, or blank faces staring out briefly as the ship swayed.

The cabin’s air was thick, dust nearly visible, mixed with wool’s tang and old leather’s sourness.

Each curtain was a silent boundary, dividing isolated patches despite their closeness.

“Tiya, you alright?”

Nolan’s voice broke through.

Kritiya, new to sea travel, found the scene novel, but I silently studied it all.

So many strange faces nearby sparked unease in me.

I had no fear of crowds, but last night’s ambush by Black Mage Ross left a heavy shadow.

When anyone drew near, my nerves jumped, suspecting each face might hide Ross’s vile one—

His crazed talk of watching me only fueled my paranoia.

Every stranger seemed a potential disguise.

Who—who was it?

That secretive monk looked suspicious.

The unseen figure opposite to me, face hidden, felt sneaky.

The fat merchant next door seemed harmless, but maybe Ross favored such guises to lower guards—

I tried tapping the evil god’s seed in my heart, hoping for a sign, but I knew a black mage like Ross could mask his abyssal aura.

If he couldn’t, he’d never have slipped into a duke’s castle so boldly.

No doubt, my anxiety infected Kritiya.

She’d started watching the ship quietly, but her eager face gradually sank.

I knew this paranoia wasn’t the answer, but I couldn’t stop the wild thoughts.

A dark gray burlap curtain dropped, blocking my outward gaze.

Nolan had stood, pulling their berth’s curtain shut.

“The journey’s long—you can’t stay this tense,” he said, his tone a gentle reminder.

Kritiya opened her mouth to reply, then felt the ship lurch.

Heavy chains clanked loudly at the bow, scraping harshly.

The winch’s grating turn signaled the massive anchor dragging through seabed mud.

Above, footsteps grew frantic, sailors’ curses sharp and urgent, no longer idle shouts.

“Cast off!”

A muffled call came from afar.

Through the porthole’s slit, a patch of light on Kritiya’s face shifted angle.

Her gaze peered through the gap, watching the gray dock recede steadily, replaced by widening gray-green waves.

She realized the ship had set sail.