Chapter 296

Chapter 296.

Pland’s southeastern dock district held a beautiful white steam?turbine ship that was undergoing its final overhaul and inspection.

After a long period of mooring, the White Oak was finally ready to set out again. This time it was going to carry numerous commissioned goods from the city?state of Pland, sail along the central sea lane and the northern route, head all the way north, pass by Cold Harbor, and reach Frostholm.

It was not a short voyage, but for an exploration vessel specially modified and built for fast long?distance runs, a route that lay mostly within safe waters posed little challenge. Its powerful steam core would ensure surging thrust, and the newly refurbished shipboard Cathedral was also enough to anchor every crew member safely in the Sanctuary World.

Both the sailors busy on the pier and the sailors hurrying about on deck looked rather relaxed.

In the White Oak’s aft machinery compartment, the Chief Engineer and the assistant artificer were overseeing the sailors as they finished the last checks on the steam core.

This mighty machine was as large as a house and was fixed to the ship’s main supporting frame by a sturdy steel skeleton. It consisted of three spherical vessels arranged in a row along the ship’s length, wrapped in a web of complex pipes, valves, and linkage devices. An iron catwalk hung halfway up the three vessels so that sailors could inspect the steam core’s operation and carry out necessary maintenance.

At that moment several sailors were busy on that iron catwalk. They had opened the heavy hatches on the spherical vessels and taken out a few dim metal rods that had been completely spent. Then they fixed several new rods—pale gold, as thick as a forearm and nearly a meter long—into the slots inside the hatch doors, triggered the mechanism, and watched as the rods were carried into the centers of the vessels.

Those were catalytic media made of Boiling Gold. They were the source of the steam core’s fierce power and one of the key safeguards for its stable running. Just like the priest’s prayers and incense rituals near the steam pipes, the Boiling Gold media inside the core could, to some extent, repel certain malicious forces and keep the machine from suddenly “going mad” after long continuous operation.

The squeak of pulley blocks and hinges rang out again and again. Two of the sailors were handling things a bit roughly, and the burly, bald Chief Engineer immediately shouted: “Careful! Don’t damage those Boiling Gold catalysts! Those things are as soft as breadsticks—break one and the captain will eat you alive!”

“If you mean the breadsticks Head Chef Finley bakes—then you should be worrying about the chutes and catches in the steam core instead!” A sailor on the catwalk laughed, but even while joking, his movements still grew more careful.

“Once we get to Frostholm, I have to suggest to the captain that we buy a batch of high?grade Boiling Gold catalysts locally—the Boiling Gold over there is as cheap as the stones on the ground,” the assistant artificer muttered nearby. She looked to be in her thirties or forties, with arms as strong as any man’s and work clothes stained with grease. “The Adventurer Association’s supply channels are daylight robbery.”

“That depends on whether the clients and the Church agree,” the Chief Engineer said as he shrugged. “Half the cargo holds on the White Oak are special ‘sealed vaults’. A lot of what we’re carrying this time is raw materials and semi?finished components for sacred relics ordered by the Church. That stuff is very sensitive. Every crate of supplies brought aboard has to match a strict manifest. The Gray Crow ran into trouble before because some idiot secretly brought a barrel of mead onto the ship. It loosened one of their sealed vaults, and two Shadows got out and killed half the people on board…”

“I know, so when the time comes I’m only going to give the captain a suggestion,” the assistant artificer waved her hand, then frowned slightly. “But speaking of the captain, he still hasn’t shown up. He usually isn’t late.”

“The captain will come,” the Chief Engineer said. He paused for a moment, then repeated, as if to stress it: “The captain will come—he hasn’t retired yet.”

…

“You really should retire,” his wife said. She leaned against the nearby doorframe with her arms folded, staring at him with a dark expression and the same sharp eyes she had in the old days. “Don’t wait until I have to go on board and drag you off by the ear before you realize how serious your condition is.”

Lawrence did not answer. He only faced the mirror and quietly straightened his captain’s uniform, then checked his neatly combed hair. He solemnly picked up the hat lying next to him, placed it on his head, and only then let out a soft breath.

“Thank you, Martha, but I have to go,” the old captain said in a low voice. “The White Oak is waiting at the Harbor.”

His wife watched him quietly with her gaze. The harsh words were gone, the constant nagging was gone. Only that long gaze remained, and silence.

After an unknown length of time, she finally sighed softly: “All right then. Be careful and come back early—and don’t run into any more weird things.”

“I hope not.” Lawrence sighed helplessly and turned away from the mirror.

“Did you bring everything?”

“Everything.”

“The house key and your charm amulet for going out?”

“I have them, I didn’t forget.”

“Take a small prayer book with you. It helps.”

“Got that too,” Lawrence said. He bent down, picked up the small suitcase by the door, and patted it. “And a few pages of handwritten prayers, plus a Sacred Candle I got from the great Cathedral.”

His wife opened her mouth, as if she still had something to say, but Lawrence turned around with a smile: “I’ve packed everything. I’m not old enough to be losing things yet.”

His wife fell silent for a moment and let out a slow breath: “Your medicine.”

Lawrence’s movements froze in place.

“Your medicine. Don’t forget it,” his wife repeated.

Lawrence’s lips trembled slightly twice. His gaze slowly shifted to the side.

On the small low table by the door, a brown glass bottle sat quietly. sunlight spilled across the bottle, and he could faintly see the clear texture of the liquid inside.

After a long silence, Lawrence picked up the bottle of medicine. Several more seconds passed before he finally pulled out the little stopper.

He looked up at Martha and saw his wife still leaning against the doorframe, arms folded as she watched him—just like in his memories.

“Safe travels,” she mouthed.

“I’m heading out,” Lawrence answered in a soft voice. Then, following the psychiatrist’s instructions, he let a few drops of the medicine fall into his mouth.

The strong taste spread through his mouth, and his wife’s figure quietly faded away in the sunlight.

Lawrence silently pushed the stopper back into the bottle, then opened the small suitcase and tucked the remaining medicine into a spot where it would not get bumped. While he arranged his things, he muttered under his breath: “That psychiatrist is full of nonsense… This stuff is bitter as death. There’s no ‘herbal fragrance’ at all.”

The old captain, who had spent half his life drifting on the Boundless Sea, finished preparing all he needed for the trip. He let out a quiet sigh, picked up the suitcase, and stepped out of his home.

…

After finishing a full day’s work, Heidi finally got home before dusk. She pushed open the door, took off her coat, and the first thing she did after walking into the living room was flop onto a chair in a most unladylike way and let out a deep sigh.

Her mother was sitting by the warm fireplace, sorting through a few letters. When she heard her daughter come in, she turned her head slightly: “You’re a grown young lady now. Try to watch your manners a little—a lady doesn’t behave like that.”

“Let the lady rest a bit. This lady has spent all day dealing with bizarre nightmares and rambling seafarers,” Heidi said. She slumped in the chair and weakly waved a hand. “A ship had a mechanical failure out on the Boundless Sea and was stuck offshore for almost twice its planned time. Several sailors were carried off the ship trussed up like dumplings—it was a complete disaster.”

She sighed at that, shook her head, and commented: “Making a living on the Boundless Sea really isn’t easy.”

Her mother looked up from the letters: “That does sound terrible. All the more reason you shouldn’t be slumped there. Go upstairs and take a bath first, relax a little. The water’s already heated.”

“All right, fair point,” Heidi muttered. She finally mustered the strength to get up from the chair and started toward the stairs, but then stopped, suddenly curious: “And those letters are…?”

“Water, power, gas, all kinds of bills—odds and ends,” her mother said casually, her tone calm. “Your father used to handle this, but he’s out at the moment, so I’m dealing with it.”

“Right. I don’t want anything to do with that stuff,” Heidi said, waving her hand as she headed upstairs.

Her mother quietly watched her daughter go upstairs, then pulled her gaze back and let it slide over the letters in front of her.

Most of them really were bills.

But two of them were real letters—and one of those came from a place beyond ordinary people’s imagination.

It was a letter from Morris, delivered this afternoon by a Messenger wreathed in green flames.

The letter carried a special spell from the God of Wisdom, to keep any outsider from peeking at its true contents.

The old woman smiled as she looked at the familiar handwriting:

“…We’re on our way to Frostholm now. There’s not much scenery to speak of along the way. Only the occasional small floe on the sea and the distant cold mist are a bit interesting…

“…Nina was working on her winter break homework in the dining room today, and a strange Shadow jumped out of her textbook. Everyone rushed to beat it up. It was quite lively…

“…Before lunch, the captain went fishing again—you know, for that kind of ‘fish’. This time it struggled very fiercely. It was a thrilling scene. The captain said lively fish taste better, but honestly I couldn’t tell the difference…”

The old woman smiled, set this letter aside for the moment, and picked up the other letter she had just opened.

This letter, however, came from Frostholm.

The sender was Brown Scott.