The captain strode confidently back to the ship, leading a freshly assembled crew of thirty people.
Damn, he thought, grimly eyeing those following him. Nothing but greenhorns and rascals without a drop of sea experience. We're forty-five in total now, though a vessel like this needs at least sixty. Half of these weaklings will probably drop dead on the way. Fine, whatever. The main thing is I found a mage, the rest doesn't matter. I urgently need to deliver this letter to the New Continent.
The vessel they were boarding up the gangway was unusual. It was a massive sail-and-steam giant: three tall masts with furled sails proudly reached for the sky, and right in the center of the deck stuck a wide iron funnel.
"ALRIGHT!" the captain barked, barely had the last pair of feet stepped onto the wooden deck. "Listen up!"
The crowd of novices stared at the stern man.
"I am the captain of this ship! For the duration of the voyage, I am your king, your judge, and your god! My every word is law! We are setting off on a long voyage to the New Continent. It will take a whole half month. We will move at full steam, sparing neither effort nor coal!"
The captain nodded to his assistant.
"Now we will divide you!" the first mate, a burly man, shouted, stepping forward.
He walked through the crowd, roughly shoving the guys apart and dividing them into two groups. So were sent to the "black bone"—for hellish work in the boiler room and coal bunkers. Others to the "white bone"—for working with sails aloft and scrubbing the deck.
"Luckily for you pups, you're in luck!" the first mate continued. "In each of your groups, there are experienced sailors who have been to sea before! Obey them unquestioningly, got it?!"
The captain and the first mate were already noting with a trained eye those in the crowd who would need to be reined in. Soone was too nervous, soone was looking up insolently from under their brows. On a ship, the conversation with such types is short—a couple of blows with a rope end quickly knocks the nonsense out. But for now, they waited, letting the youngsters get used to the idea of where they had ended up.
"First task!" the captain extended his arm, pointing to a rocky massif rising in the distance. "We must approach that mountain over there. There we will fill the bunkers with coal and buy provisions. To your stations! Forward."
"ALRIGHT, LET'S BEGIN!" the captain of the vessel commanded, standing on the deck. "Prepare for departure!"
The stokers led their novices down into the hold. The first order of business was to clear the grates inside the furnaces (fireboxes) of old soot and hardened slag. The youngsters imdiately began to complain: the work was dirty, uncomfortable, they had to climb almost inside the dirty furnace with crowbars. But the experienced ones quickly shut them up, reminding them of the very substantial pay at the end of the voyage.
The chief engineer approached the captain on the deck. "Captain, the boilers have cooled. It's ti to clean the tanks of salt before we start raising steam."
"Good, take the five strongest," the captain nodded. "The last thing we need is to lose the ship to an explosion."
Due to the long voyage, water for the steam boilers had to be pumped directly from the sea, and it was salty. Because of this, stone scale ford on the walls, heat conducted worse, and the pressure could rise so much that the ship would simply be torn to pieces.
After about two hours of hellish cleaning in the cramped and stuffy boilers, the engineer reported they were finished. "Begin starting the engine," the captain said. "First mate, report when there is enough steam for headway." "Aye!"
While they bustled below, the captain fell into thought: Where is this mage—Zenkhald? He began descending into the lower hold, where the provisions stores were located. And suddenly he noticed fresh drops of blood on the floorboards. "What the..."
The fresh drops led straight to the door of the food storage. From behind the door, a strange rumbling and scuffling could be heard. The captain threw open the door and froze. "GOTCHA!" Before his eyes, Zenkhald caught a huge ship rat, snapped it, and... began to eat it.
"Y-you... WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" the captain recoiled.
"Huh?" Zenkhald turned around. His entire mouth and chin were sared with fresh blood.
"Well, man, you're a bit short on normal food in your storage. But there's plenty of wildlife running around. Fresh at!"
The captain imdiately slamd the door shut, pressed his back against it, and breathed heavily. Is he a devil? flashed through his head. He opened the door a crack again and saw Zenkhald catch another rat. Flas suddenly erupted from the youth's fingers. The rat hissed desperately, instantly roasted, and Zenkhald chewed it up with appetite.
"Y-you..." the captain pulled himself together, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "You possess fire magic?"
"Well, I told you I can do everything," Zenkhald shrugged, licking his fingers.
"Are you from Mount Slick?"
"Ummm... Mount Slick?" The na seed vaguely familiar to Zenkhald. "I don't know. Maybe."
"And what is your rank? Do you have one?"
"I don't know."
The captain fell into thought. He had heard that good fire mages could ignite coal in seconds and control its heat. "Listen, Zenkhald, co with . Help out with sothing."
"Uhhh, don't want to." Zenkhald simply plopped onto the dirty floor, crossed his legs, and began to lazily look at the ceiling.
The captain looked at him. By the looks of it, this mage was no older than fifteen. For so reason, the captain suddenly rembered his nephew, who was crazy about sweets and ready to do anything for candy. "Ah, well wait!" the captain bolted from his spot and ran to his cabin.
He hastily rummaged through his desk drawers. Just one... Where is it... Finally, he found what he was looking for—a small one in a brightly rustling wrapper.
When the captain returned to the food storage, he heard a panic: several sailors were screaming in terror that a demon had infested the hold. The captain went down and saw Zenkhald... running right along the ceiling upside down, chasing another rat.
"ZENKHALD!" the captain shouted loudly. "Look what I have!" A bright blue wrapper flashed in the captain's hand.
Zenkhald stopped instantly, like a predator spotting prey. Slowly, not taking his eyes off the candy, he approached, detached from the ceiling, and landed softly on his feet. He took the candy, slled it, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. His black eyes widened to the limit. He imdiately swallowed it whole.
"I WANT IT! I WANT IT! I WA-A-ANT MORE!" he yelled. "MORE! MORE! GIVE MORE!"
"Quiet, quiet!" the captain put his hands up. "I'll give you more later, a whole handful even. But you have to do sothing. Follow !"
Zenkhald obediently followed him. They arrived at the engine room. Here, the engineer was just explaining to the novices how to properly stack the wood and light the fireboxes. In total, the ship had four huge steam boilers, and under each were two fireboxes (furnaces).
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Silently, the captain took a bucket of coal and poured it directly onto the empty, cleaned grates of one of the fireboxes, without even any wood. "Zenkhald, can you light it?"
Zenkhald looked at the captain strangely, as if he had asked him to do sothing stupid. He walked up to the furnace and simply held his hand near the black stones.
A snap sounded: WHOOSH! The coal instantly flared up with a blindingly bright fla.
The experienced stokers, seeing this, were dumbfounded for a second, and then rushed for the wheelbarrows of coal. The youngsters imdiately grabbed shovels and frantically began throwing new portions inside to maintain this incredible heat. Zenkhald calmly walked along the remaining seven fireboxes and repeated the trick. All the furnaces were fully lit. A thick black smoke roared out of the huge funnel on the deck.
Zenkhald listened to the noise in the pipes. "I feel water up there... Does it need to be heated?"
"Y-yes..." the engineer answered, stuttering.
"Wind," Zenkhald lazily pronounced a single word.
From below, straight from under the coal grates, struck a powerful, directed gust of magic wind. The flas in the fireboxes roared as if in a forge.
All eight furnaces were working at their limit. Thanks to the forced draft and instant ignition, the water in the huge boilers boiled and provided working steam pressure in just ten minutes.
The ship's captain grabbed his head. Usually, this whole process took from four to six hours, and with such a crew shortage—all seven!
The captain's eyes burned with wild delight as he looked at Zenkhald. I've found a treasure! Fate itself tossed this devil onto my ship!
The stokers stood nearby, surprised and happy that they wouldn't have to spend hours swinging shovels, fanning pitiful sparks. But Zenkhald didn't notice them. His eyes were glued to the fire in the firebox. The fire was so alluring... Zenkhald couldn't take his eyes off it.
"That's it, Zenkhald, let's go," the captain tugged the mage by the shoulder, bringing him out of his trance.
"Huh? Alright..." Zenkhald regretfully tore his gaze away from the roaring fire in the firebox.
At that mont, the deck beneath their feet trembled finely, rhythmically. A dull jolt sounded—the giant paddle wheels struck the water for the first ti, and the ship moved forward heavily but steadily.
When Zenkhald and the captain went topside, the deck was buzzing. Novices and seasoned sailors were breaking into groups, getting acquainted, and sizing each other up. As soon as Zenkhald—grimy, with torn clothes and hair matted with soot and soone else's blood—walked past, everyone gave him strange looks and instinctively parted. The captain, ignoring the whispers, led him straight to the bridge to his first mate.
"Look, Cherek," the captain called the first mate, a sturdy man. "Look who I found." The captain leaned right into the first mate's ear and whispered: "He's a mage. But don't tell anyone yet, until we sail far away. And don't take your eyes off him! Make sure he doesn't get off the ship or catch anyone's eye unnecessarily. The last thing we need is to lose such a treasure."
Cherek raised his eyebrows in surprise, examining the dirty boy, but did not object.
"That's fine, Captain," the first mate answered in an undertone. "I'm talking about the crew. You took ten won on board. The sailors are already whispering."
"Nothing to be done, couldn't find anyone else in the port," the captain cut off. "And we need to go faster, you understand."
"Yes, I understand you."
Zenkhald, anwhile, stood at the edge of the deck, leaning over the rail, and watched srized as the huge wheel churned the water into white foam.
"Zenkhald!" the captain called. "Look, this is First Mate Cherek." Zenkhald slowly turned his head.
"And what's a first mate?" he asked lazily.
"He's my first and main assistant. On the ship, he is second after God, aning after ."
Cherek, observing decorum, extended a broad, calloused hand in greeting. But Zenkhald only blinked, ignored the gesture, and silently turned back around, continuing to stare at the churning water. The first mate ground his teeth, hiding his hand behind his back.
"I think he really is still quite small," the captain said quietly to Cherek, looking at the mage's back. "By the looks of it, you wouldn't give him more than fifteen. Completely ill-mannered." "And he's the one who started the boilers so fast?" the first mate scoffed incredulously.
"Yep. But rember: not a word to anyone."
About twenty minutes passed. The ship was approaching the gorge at a good speed. It was a strange mountain, overhanging right above the sea. Its lower part was washed out by waves or hollowed out by miners, forming a giant, dark grotto—a cave into which the sea went right under the cliffs.
As soon as they began entering the shadow of the gorge, people on the shore, where loading cranes and coal warehouses were visible, began frantically waving their arms and shouting: "HEY! H-E-EY! SHUT OFF THE ENGINE!" "NO SMOKE ALLOWED HERE!" the echo carried. "WE'LL SUFFOCATE UNDER THE VAULTS!"
"Damn..." the captain passionately slamd his fist against the wooden railing. "Are we really going to have to shut down? Fine, Cherek, tell the engine room to just maintain a weak fire and not smoke! We've already built up speed; montum will be enough to reach the pier!"
The paddle wheels stopped thrashing the water, and the huge sail-and-steam ship, gliding silently on its montum, began to slowly enter the gloomy, damp-slling grotto.
The captain went down from the ship to the pier. Before him stood a stocky dwarf with a stack of papers and a quill in his hand.
"Right, the na of the vessel?" the dwarf asked sternly.
The captain clicked his tongue angrily. He hated saying the na of his ship.
"'Victory'."
"Your first and last na?"
The captain gave his na. The dwarf asked five more standard port questions: when they were departing, where to, with what cargo. And, finally, got to the point.
"How many tons of coal are you taking?"
"Six hundred," the captain answered.
The dwarf leafed through his papers, calculated sothing in his head, and nodded: "That will cost approximately six hundred gold coins."
"WHAT?!" the captain was indignant. "Six hundred gold for six hundred tons?! One ton is one gold?! Are you COMPLETELY out of your minds here?!"
The dwarf didn't even twitch an eyebrow. He was already used to this.
"You are a foreigner and do not understand our rules," the official answered calmly. "Mount Slick respects the labor of miners, and we take care of them. Secondly, our coal is the best. It leaves less slag and gives more heat than any other."
"Lead ! I will look at this golden coal of yours myself!"
The dwarf sighed heavily: "You offend , sir. But let's go."
They went up to the upper tier of the grotto and walked deep into the mountain. The dwarf led him to two huge black piles.
"Here is our coal, and this is imported. Choose either of them."
"And what's the difference?" the captain squinted suspiciously.
"Imported gives a very strong heat, but burns up instantly and leaves mountains of ash. And ours is the golden an for any boiler. Plus, as you can see, we imdiately crush it into neat little stones so your hard workers don't have to manually break boulders with hamrs."
"Huh?" the captain was genuinely surprised, examining the even fraction.
"By the way," the dwarf asked. "Is your ship adapted for loading?"
"What kind of loading?" the captain didn't understand.
The dwarf pointed his hand at the neighboring pier.
"All our local ships moor right under that triangular trestle over there. From there, the coal pours directly out of chutes into the holds, so you don't have to carry it by hand."
The captain was surprised again.
"We have..."
"Do you even have hatches on your deck where you can drop coal into?" the dwarf interrupted.
"Yes, we do."
The dwarf sighed heavily.
"These foreigners with their backward tubs again... Fine, your problem is solvable, we'll connect the sleeves. Because I rember so guys who had no hatches. They manually hauled six hundred tons for three whole days!"
So that's the norm... the captain thought, stunned. So this is how far our technologies lag behind Mount Slick.
He continued to watch the coal pouring process closely for a while longer. Coal decided everything.
Leaving the vessel to load, the captain went to the local market to stock up on supplies. There, he was also lucky enough to hire five more sturdy sailors for the crew. Next, he bought a whole barrel of lollipops, as well as two live pigs for at.
When all the purchases were loaded onto a freight train heading to the grotto, the captain separated from the group and headed to one very specific place. It was the quietest and most inconspicuous nook in the entire noisy bazaar. He knocked on an inconspicuous door.
"Password?" a voice rang out from behind the door.
"The kukashka jumped and ate an apple," the captain answered confidently.
"Enter."
The captain crossed the threshold of the half-lit room. A scrawny master sat at a table.
"I need docunts for sixteen people," the captain got straight to the point.
"What? Didn't you say fifteen? You only have fifteen souls left in your crew from your old sailors."
"Another one showed up there. No docunts, no last na, nothing at all."
The counterfeiter paced the room disgruntledly.
"Sigh... This Slick changes the standard of docunts every year! Where do they even get so much money..." The man sat at the table and began to masterfully draw sothing with a fine quill. "What's his na?"
"Zenkhald," the captain said.
"And last na?"
"Doesn't have one."
I hope he's just a nasake, the master thought with slight alarm.
"What last na should I write for him?"
"Just like all the rootless ones. Leave it like that."
The master nodded and wrote in the 'Last Na' field: 'Rootless'.
"Year of birth? How old?"
"He looks fifteen."
The man set about drawing a complex seal.
"Sigh, this dandelion on the Slick coat of arms... How annoying it is, how hard it is to draw!"
After an hour of painstaking work, he handed the captain a stack of ready papers.
"Here. All done. I hope we don't see each other again."
" too."
The captain took the docunts, hid them in his jacket, and quickly stepped out into the street.
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