Bastian didn't have to check up on Sharona. He felt every morsel of tension disappear from the atmosphere. He heard a muffled scream as well, and the vibrations on the ship improved drastically.
"So, Roy cannot get his hands on me," he muttered. "But what is that thing on the horizon? Surely, we cannot be there yet?"
But the winds had been favorable to them, and Port Flintstone opened up before them. It was a modest place, but still a better option than the godforsaken small port that would have been Bastian's second choice.
They were going to make port and pretend that nothing they possessed had been acquired illegally. Of course, Bastian would have to change his clothes as soon as humanly possible, since he didn't exactly look like the poster child of pacifism with his torn and bloody shirt. It could barely even hang from his shoulders by now, violence and love had treated it so badly.
The issue of not being able to release himself into a woman before making port bothered Bastian a bit, but not to the extent where it would have interfered with his relief.
He went to check up on Amanda again. She was in a reasonable condition, although not entirely conscious in the traditional sense, since the other ladies kept her in a somewhat drunken state of mind so that she would not feel all of her pains.
They entered the harbor area, dropped their anchor and stepped on dry land again.
Bastian had the instincts of the former owner of this body. He didn't get as landsick as the women. Some of them threw up.
They attracted some unwanted attention, but any scoundrels quickly turned away. These hungry and weary women looked like wolves as they prowled the streets in search of the corrupt official who was going to sign them up under a false name. Everyone had to "check in" at the harbor district. Bastian liked to imagine that this world had save points, and that the harbor was one of them.
He managed to buy some pies for the women with his hard-earned gold before he found the official.
"Well, good day to you sir," he said to the man.
The official was wearing an old-fashioned double-breasted coat with buttons that had to be many times more expensive than the fabric. He had a curious, somewhat cunning expression and an impressive beard with strands of white running through.
"I say, I have not yet met a captain of women, and with such a small crew," the man said. "Might it be so that you are cursed?"
Bastian froze.
"And how exactly can you claim to be so certain of that, enough to make a guess, huh?" Bastian asked.
"Captain Roy Gorgo passed here just a while ago. I'm telling you this for a reason. Come."
The man glanced around.
"It is not safe for us to continue talking here," he said and guided Bastian towards a small shack that didn't look like the optimal workspace for a man of such high social standing. But then again, it did match his coat perfectly.
"You can leave the girls to do their thing, Captain Black," the man said and opened the door of the small shack. "I believe these women know their way around and will not get into any further trouble. But you and I, Captain Bastian Black, we need to talk."
They sat down on chairs that were too large for the room and had some tea.
Up this close, Bastian could smell a sad ghost of old tobacco lingering in the air. He saw the light of the sun filtering itself through the lace curtains and hitting an old painting of a beautiful woman.
The man might have had a wife.
Bastian realized how little he actually knew of this world yet. He had read the auxiliary chapters and the prologue. He had read some way through the first story arc, but he had not considered the vast variety of human fates he had neglected to read about.
"There are many who want to see Gorgo dead, but most of us are poor or afraid or have families, or any combination of those things," the man said. "Me, I am different. Everyone I love is dead and I am ready to go on a suicide mission to ensure that the bastard gets what he deserves. He seems to hate you a lot."
"For what reason should I trust you at all?" Bastian asked. "I have a thing I do…it's called suspicion, and it's perfectly healthy. Sounds like you are just trying to make me trust you."
"Because you will not have much use for me if you don't trust me at all," the man replied. "The name's Mahogany. Joseph Mahogany. And you can check my records, as I have a dead wife and three dead sons. I don't care, you could shoot me right here and I would not be one bit sorry about it."
His voice didn't break. His eyes did. Something about their sharp, keen gaze got inconsolable and so dark that Bastian shivered a bit.
"So, I want to help you fund your journey and I also want to find women who can sail with you, so that you can do us all a favor and rid this world of that sack of rotten rat testicles they call Gorgo."
"He did it, didn't he?" Bastian asked. "Gorgo killed your family?"
"Of course he will say otherwise, but his hands are soaked in blood as are the hands of all his men." Joseph turned towards the window and pulled out a blade. To demonstrate his point, he put the tip on his own throat and looked at Bastian with furious eyes.
"If I had him right here, he would be dead already if not for his occult powers. You, Captain, you can find a loophole. You found it once, you will find it again."
Bastian cleared his throat. He just wanted Joseph Mahogany to stop making suicide threats.
"I may have an idea about how you could help me," he said.
They were interrupted by Sharona knocking on the window. While Mahogany jumped up like he had just been scared to death, Bastian could interpret her better…that hungry wink spoke of one thing only.
He heard her giggle through the window glass.