Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Elegance Wasn’t Exactly Elegant.

That “coffin” had come back again.

On the stern deck of the Vanished, Duncan stared without expression at the ornate wooden chest lying quietly in front of him. Beads of water slid from its edges and dripped at his feet, proving that his memory of throwing the chest into the sea was not false, proving that this thing had, until not long ago, really been drifting out on the ocean.

Such a strange sight was enough to chill anyone’s heart, yet for some reason Duncan felt calmer than he had expected.

Maybe it was because he stood on this already bizarre ghost ship. Maybe it was because he had just gone through a thrilling “Spirit Realm drift” and a collision. Or maybe it was because he had been dealing for days with the equally strange Goathead. Whatever the reason, Duncan seemed to have built up some immunity to the weird supernatural phenomena of this world.

In fact, when he threw this “cursed doll” into the sea last time, he had already faintly guessed that things would not end so simply.

He lowered his head and, as expected, saw that the iron nails and chain he had hammered around the “coffin” were gone without a trace. He bent down and once again used the pirate sword in his hand to pry open the lid.

The ornate gothic doll still lay quietly in the center of the red velvet lining, hands folded, calm and elegant.

But this time Duncan clearly noticed that the hem of her dress seemed damp from seawater. A faint fishy smell came from the inside of the lid.

So far, this strange doll had done nothing out of line or dangerous besides vanishing and then returning over and over. But the fact that it kept “going away and coming back” was already a standard trait of a cursed item.

Duncan watched the doll for a while, face blank, then broke the silence with a half-smile: “I suddenly feel like satisfying my curiosity…”

As soon as he spoke, he turned and walked toward the nearby hatch, quite at ease leaving the doll on the deck.

Although he was personally very wary of the doll and did not want her near him, his understanding of the Vanished and of Goathead told him that leaving her on the deck for a while would not cause any real trouble. Even if she suddenly lashed out, the many “living things” on this ship would be enough to handle it.

He was going to use this time to do some “prep work”.

Duncan crossed the stern deck, opened the wooden door leading below, and stepped onto the age-worn wooden stairs. Familiar with the path, he went down into the space beneath the deck. This counted as the “upper gun deck”, the place where the cannons were set.

Old-fashioned muzzle-loading cannons lay quietly along both sides. Moldy, darkened planks covered the gunports. Black powder barrels and solid iron-ball cannonballs were piled between the guns, as if they had been resting there for a century.

As Duncan’s gaze swept over these timeworn things, a thought suddenly struck him.

On this ship, he had never seen a second “human” figure besides himself. So… who operated these cannons?

Did they, like the Vanished itself, load and fire on their own when needed?

And what about the freshwater tanks on board? Did they refill themselves? What about damage to the hull? Did it repair itself? Or… did this ship even have a real concept of “damage”?

Questions bubbled up one after another in his mind, and he had no idea where to start answering them.

He knew very well that he still understood far too little about this ship. In the past few days, he had explored it to a certain extent, but only enough to get a rough idea of its upper structure. The deeper areas were far stranger and more intimidating than the upper levels.

On top of that, he had always pinned his hopes on leaving his “bachelor apartment” and returning to the normal world on Earth. He hadn’t focused his main effort on the Vanished at all, which left him with very little motivation to act “on this side”.

But now, he suddenly felt more curious about the ship—or rather… more of a sense that he should take control of it.

This was his ship. He ought to understand the Vanished.

Maybe this change had started the moment he took hold of the wheel.

Duncan shook his head, set his later exploration plans aside for now, and walked over to the pile of cannonballs.

A short while later, Duncan returned to the stern deck with several cast-iron cannonballs in his arms. Just as he had expected, the cursed doll in the “coffin” still lay honestly inside the chest.

“Did she move at all just now?”

“Not at all,” Goathead’s voice answered at once. It sounded like it had been holding itself back for far too long, and once it started talking the words poured out. “This lady was as quiet as she looks. You should trust my judgment—she is mild and harmless to you. Since she has come back to the ship again and again, that may mean she and her spirit coffin have some kind of connection with the Vanished. A great gardener once said…”

“Shut up.”

“Oh.”

Duncan stared expressionlessly, his gaze fixed on the doll in the chest.

He didn’t know if she truly couldn’t move or if she was still pretending to sleep even now—but either way, he didn’t care.

He was going to satisfy his curiosity.

The solid cast-iron cannonballs were very heavy. When traitors were executed at sea, tying just one of these balls to a man was enough to send even the most seasoned sailor to the bottom.

Duncan put four cannonballs into the “coffin”—then went back to the gun deck and hauled up four more.

Eight cannonballs almost filled every bit of remaining space inside the chest. The elegant gothic doll was now surrounded by a ring of iron balls. She looked… very well-armed.

Elegant she was not; creepy she definitely was.

Duncan closed the lid of the “coffin” again, then, with quite a bit of effort, pushed the chest to the edge of the deck. Even with his current strength, it was not an easy job.

In the end, he lifted his leg and kicked the “coffin” into the sea.

A heavy splash rang out. The ornate wooden chest went straight into the water and sank.

Duncan stayed at the rail of the deck, silently using his gaze to stare at the spot where the chest had gone under. He did not move for a long time.

Goathead’s voice sounded in his mind: “Captain, have you changed your mind? If you regret throwing away this piece of loot, the Vanished can try to fish the chest back up with the anchor. It’s not the proper use for an anchor, but the anchor says it can try…”

“Shut up.”

“But you’ve been standing at the rail for quite a while…”

“Shut up.”

“Oh.”

Duncan let out a quiet breath.

He absolutely could not admit that his toes hurt in front of his flunky Goathead.

So he stood there on the deck for several minutes with his toes throbbing, forcing himself to keep the stern look a dignified captain should have. By the end, he even started to wonder if he looked like one of those rocks on the shore that just stand there, waiting forever for a spouse to come back. Only when the pain finally faded did he turn, unhurried, and go back to the upper gun deck below.

He waited quietly for a few more minutes. When he felt that enough time had passed, Duncan suddenly walked toward the stern end of the gun deck. He opened the viewing window between the two stern guns and focused on the sea outside.

Goathead hadn’t stayed quiet for long. It couldn’t help itself now: “Captain, what are you…”

Still staring at the waves, Duncan answered without looking up: “I’m very curious how that cursed doll makes it back here.”

“Uh… because she’s a cursed doll?”

“…I really appreciate your habit of not overthinking things. But I believe that even for a cursed doll, there must be some kind of process when she returns to this ship. She wants to pretend she’s ‘dead’, yet she keeps coming back. I think there must be a reason behind that, and she must have the ability to communicate. But right now she refuses to talk. So I’ll have to figure out how she moves and force that thing into a conversation.”

Goathead was silent for two seconds, then asked cautiously: “Captain, you seem… suddenly in a better mood? Ah, that’s a wonderful sign! Ever since you woke up last time, you’ve been in low spirits and lost interest in many things. Your loyal First Mate and Second Mate and…”

“Shut up.”

“Oh.”

Once Goathead quieted down, Duncan kept watching the sea with full attention. In his line of sight, the water behind the stern remained calm.

The “coffin” really seemed to have sunk into the Deep Sea with no sign of coming back.

But with the experience of the last two times, Duncan was especially patient now. He silently counted the minutes, waited, and watched, letting the Time-Stream flow.

He did not even notice that he was actively hoping for the doll to appear again.

Then a tiny black shape entered his vision.

As the waves rose and fell, that shape suddenly rushed into view. It was the ornate wooden chest, bursting out of the sea like a lone boat in the storm. The beautiful gothic doll stood in the box, arms wrapped around the coffin lid, paddling for dear life in the waves with big, sweeping strokes.

A gothic doll standing inside her coffin, brandishing her own coffin lid as she rode the waves.

Elegant she was not; she was honestly creepier than eight cannonballs.

Duncan was deeply shaken.