Chapter 193 “Captain”

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As Duncan listened intently to Goathead’s remarks, he found himself diving deeper into thought. Before he could truly get lost in his musings, the intricate wooden sculpture interrupted his reflections: “Captain Duncan, I’ve noticed a shift in your interests lately. Previously, your heart and mind were set on voyages beyond known waters. But now, it seems you’re drawn to the happenings of mortal civilizations. What is it about the city-state that’s captivated you?”

A fleeting sensation, like the soft beat of a drum, resonated in Duncan’s chest at the mention of venturing past known waters. Yet, he maintained a neutral countenance, responding nonchalantly, “Merely a fleeting thought. Sometimes, we don’t need a reason for our curiosities.”

“Of course,” Goathead responded promptly, respecting Duncan’s rank and authority. “You’re the captain, after all. Your word is final.” After a brief pause, as though gathering its thoughts or debating internally, Goathead cautiously ventured, “Captain, may I pose a question?”

Duncan’s eyebrows arched in mild surprise upon hearing the deep, almost threatening tone emanating from the wooden figure. “Your name?”

“Duncan Abnomar,” Duncan responded, his face a mask of neutrality. Yet, he couldn’t suppress a chuckle, “You know, I’ve always wondered what would happen if I gave a different answer?”

This was a bold move on Duncan’s part, especially considering his countless interactions with Goathead and his increasing comprehension of his capabilities. His life on the ship, his deep bond with Goathead, and his evolving self-awareness had all culminated in this audacious moment.

Goathead seemed to be taken aback, pausing for a full minute before finally replying in its signature raspy voice, “Tread carefully, Captain. The Vanished still relies on your guidance.”

A hearty laugh erupted from Duncan. He had long suspected that Goathead had seen through his disguises and pretenses yet chose to feign ignorance. As his most trusted first mate for over a hundred years, the wooden sculpture probably had a deeper insight into Duncan’s soul than Duncan did himself. Given their history, how could any imposter possibly deceive Goathead?

This led Duncan to ponder on the reasons behind Goathead’s intentional obliviousness. Was it an unspoken rule? A necessity for the ship’s functioning? Or perhaps the ship, the Vanished, simply required a figurehead named Captain Duncan, and the true identity behind that title became inconsequential?

Duncan, however, kept these questions at bay. One thought that particularly intrigued him was why he was chosen for this role. If legend was to be believed, wouldn’t someone cursed be a more fitting captain for a cursed ship? After all, he wasn’t cursed, or so he believed.

As Duncan pondered his next move, Goathead’s voice emerged from the shadows, tinged with a hint of anticipation and eagerness. “You can’t deny it, Captain. You need a dedicated first mate by your side, just as the Vanished needs a skilled captain to navigate its course. What do you say?”

Duncan’s gaze shifted, meeting the inky-black eyes of Goathead. The intensity in those eyes seemed to beckon an agreement.

“Yes, indeed,” Duncan responded with a warm smile, acknowledging their shared bond.

He then rose from his seat, approaching the door of his chamber. “I need to step out for a moment. Ensure the ship remains steady in my absence.”

With a hint of his earlier sycophantic charm, Goathead responded, “Rest assured, Captain. Your ever-faithful first mate will keep a vigilant watch. Safe travels.”

Duncan pushed open the door, leaving Goathead’s words echoing behind him. On the ship’s deck, he took a deep breath, soaking in the serenity around him. As he pivoted, his eyes eventually landed on the inscription on the doorframe – Door of the Lost. It was at this moment a newfound tranquility enveloped him, a feeling he had never known before. Gone were his fears of being unmasked, of potential exile from the Vanished, or even of meeting a grim fate.

With a sense of purpose, Duncan grasped the door handle and gently pushed it, stepping into the enveloping fog.

Back in the captain’s quarters, Goathead was acutely aware of Duncan’s departure. There was no dramatic reaction; instead, he simply perched on the map-covered table, surrounded by the ambient creaking of the ship and its contents.

After what felt like an eternity, Goathead suddenly broke the silence with an anxious mutter, “I hope I didn’t upset him. He shouldn’t be angry… he can’t be… he shouldn’t…”

The subtle creaks within the room seemed to grow louder and more distinct in response.

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Goathead’s voice began to escalate, a hint of frustration sneaking in. “It’s not as if I constantly ask his name just for fun. It’s crucial for the voyage’s safety. What if we find ourselves trapped in subspace? Being prepared is vital! Stop bickering with me. If you have the courage, then you ask! Remember, out of all of us on this ship, I’m the only one who can speak…”

“You’re referring to the doll? Surely you aren’t ill. How in the world would a mere doll be privy to our affairs? And since when have you all become so chummy with her? Is it perhaps due to all the times you’ve bickered with or teased her? Maybe it’s guilt creeping in for being too hard on her?”

“Enough of this chatter!” The voice seemed to rise in authority and urgency. “Let’s refocus on our voyage. The captain could return any moment, and he’ll surely expect updates on our journey. As for the anchors, could you perhaps mimic the action of paddling? Even a simple whipping motion might generate some propulsion, similar to the propellers of those steamships. No? Well, it was just a thought. How about having the lifeboats drop down and give us a push from behind? Fine, fine, just forget I mentioned it!”

The ambient sounds within the captain’s room began to wane as conversations died down. The wooden sculpture re-assumed its duty, directing all its energy to steering the ship towards the city-state of Pland.

Elsewhere, on the hazy navigation chart, the luminous beacon representing the city-state grew increasingly pronounced, indicating their nearing destination.

……

As Zhou Ming gently nudged the door of his bachelor’s apartment open, he found himself stepping back into the familiar confines of his own world. The fog outside clung heavily to the window, just as it had when he had last seen it. The room was as he remembered, with the exception of his computer screen. It blinked with the repetitive alert: “Network not connected,” reminding him of the world’s imperfections.

Heaving a sigh, Zhou Ming walked over to a shelf situated at the far end of his apartment. Nestled within one of its compartments lay a meticulously crafted miniature of the Vanished.

Lifting the model ship with care, Zhou Ming examined the captain’s quarters. The room, where he had previously seen the mysterious figure known as Goathead, was now empty, void of any presence. The navigation table within the room also lacked any signs of recent activity.

Setting the ship back in its designated spot, Zhou Ming turned to his desk, ready to consolidate and process the knowledge he had recently acquired. As he began to settle, a peculiar sight caught his attention.

Hovering above his desk, minuscule flames flickered incessantly. These weren’t ordinary flames. They had a soft, greenish hue, and within them danced ghostly silhouettes of what appeared to be buildings and landscapes. As he observed closely, the recognition dawned on him: the flames were forming an image of a section of Pland, even down to the intricate details of its coastline.

With rising alarm, Zhou Ming recalled the instruction he had given these very flames when he had dispatched them to hunt the mysterious entity with the black umbrella.

It was evident that his fiery emissaries had proliferated throughout the city-state of Pland. The flames’ spread and dance seemed to hint at a pattern or trajectory. Zhou Ming, with the instincts of a seasoned hunter, began deciphering the possible path these flames would take next, much like tracking the scent of a target he was pursuing.

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