"The treacherous Elf used cunning schemes to harm the esteemed first-class passenger, young Master Dave Padorn."
"This stirred outrage amongst the lower-class passengers."
"Armed with weapons, holding aloft candles, and chanting vengeful slogans in support of young Master Padorn, they scoured the White Gull over and over," narrated Stephen.
Snap—
A sharp noise emanated from behind the closed room door.
"What was that sound?" Stephen asked, his eyes darting around in alarm.
"Perhaps a mouse," Bairon replied, recognizing the sound of a walnut hitting the wooden wall. He had a good idea of the culprit behind it.
"If that's the case, you're in for a rough night. I suggest borrowing a cat from Frank," Stephen joked, before quickly adding, "Do you think readers will enjoy it this way?"
He continued, "Of course, I understand there's a slight deviation from the truth, but stories should be a bit sensational to be engaging, right?"
Bairon knocked gently on the door, signaling the 'mouse' inside to keep it down, and responded, "Maybe. Magazine readers' tastes are rather unpredictable."
Stephen nodded in agreement. "True. Let's go, I've decided to interview the pitiable members of the theater troupe."
...
With the intent to capture the Elf, anything remotely related to Elves naturally became the center of scrutiny.
This included the head of the theater troupe, a middle-aged man wearing a tall hat, a dwarf, and a down-and-out bard who wasn't particularly skilled at music.
On the aft deck of the White Gull.
When Bairon saw them, they were tied to the mast.
Their clothes and trousers were nowhere in sight, and their bodies bore the marks of beatings - a gruesome mosaic of blood and bruises.
"I genuinely don't know where the Elf is. I beg you, please spare me," the bard pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.
As for the dwarf and the troupe's leader, they were too weak to even open their eyes.
Bairon clasped his hands together, and with a twist of his wrist, a Wind Blade flew out, slicing through the ropes that bound the three men.
"You can't do that! They'll think we're accomplices of the Elf," Stephen exclaimed, his face pale as he glanced around cautiously.
"Thank you, kind sir. Could you spare some water?" the troupe leader asked.
"Give him some water," Bairon instructed Stephen. "If you wish to interview them, you should at least let them regain some strength."
With that said, Bairon began to walk away.
"Where are you going?" Stephen asked, confusion evident in his voice.
Without looking back, Bairon replied, "They need a doctor. And clothes."
Stephen hurriedly said, "You can't leave me here alone! Those mobsters will return and tie me up too."
"You might find some inspiration when you're alone. Don't worry, these three from the troupe are fine, and nothing will happen to you," Bairon responded, disappearing into the cabin.
...
The aft deck was naturally fraught with danger.
After the news of an Elf aboard spread, some passengers had turned into a violent mob.
If Bairon hadn't intervened, the ship's first mate and other sailors might have usurped Captain Frank's position or even thrown him overboard to the fishes.
But as Bairon pointed out, the danger, though present, wasn't immense.
What the mobsters wanted was money.
As for the contents of Stephen's pockets... one could only hope there was something left.
"Is there a doctor among you?"
Reaching the gathering area of the lower-class passengers, Bairon inquired from outside the entrance.
The so-called 'lower-class deck' was essentially an open space where passengers could sit freely.
Whether one could find space to sleep depended on how many passengers the captain had taken on board at the time.
Inside the lower-class cabin, upon hearing a voice from outside, everyone instinctively backed away.
Those who still remained in this cabin were the elderly, children, and the more timid individuals.
"I'll give a gold coin to whoever can tend to the injuries of three men," Bairon announced, drawing a shimmering gold coin from his pouch.
Under the moonlight, the coin gleamed with a faint golden hue.
"I-I'll do it," a middle-aged man hesitantly stood up.
"You're a doctor?" Bairon inquired.
Due to the existence of magus specialized in healing spells, the status of ordinary civilian doctors wasn't particularly esteemed.
However, Bairon held them in high regard.
Once, when Evelyn suffered an episode of Greyscale, it was an ordinary doctor, using herbal remedies, who had helped her through it.
Bairon still kept some of those herbs as a sample.
But after that incident, the herb seemed to have lost its effectiveness.
"I'm a veterinarian," the man replied.
"Better a veterinarian than no doctor at all," Bairon muttered, flicking the gold coin towards the man, "Come with me."
"Thank you, thank you, sir!" Grasping the gold coin tightly in his hand, the veterinarian shouldered his toolkit, made his way through the crowd, and approached Bairon.
Minutes later, Bairon returned to the aft deck with the veterinarian in tow.
By now, Stephen had positioned himself behind the troupe leader, leaning against the mast, his eyes continuously scanning the surroundings.
As for the troupe leader's pleas for water, Stephen seemed to have turned a deaf ear to them.
"Did you bring water?" Bairon asked the veterinarian.
"I did, I did," the man nodded affirmatively.
White Gull didn't provide free food or water to the lower-class passengers.
They either had to come prepared or purchase provisions onboard at a hefty price.
If the journey was long, they might have to endure hunger and thirst.
Bairon tossed another gold coin to the veterinarian, instructing, "Feed them all well." The veterinarian then drew a water skin from his toolkit.
"Bairon, you're back!" Stephen exclaimed.
Bairon inquired, "Find any inspiration?"
"Fear, endless fear," Stephen described animatedly. "It's as if something, some monster in the darkness, is watching me, ready to swallow me whole at any moment."
Bairon, thinking of a certain magus thief, chuckled, "No feelings of humiliation after being fooled by someone?"
"Huh? What do you mean by that?" Stephen asked, puzzled.
"It's nothing," Bairon waved it off with a shake of his head.
Leaving Stephen alone on the aft deck wasn't just about having him take care of the three troupe members; Bairon also wanted to probe Stephen a bit.
From the moment he met Stephen, Bairon had been skeptical about his claim of being a magazine writer.
Still, Bairon wasn't too taken aback; after all, he himself professed to be an ordinary civilian.
However, as the "Elf incident" unraveled and escalated on the ship, Bairon began to suspect that a conspiracy was brewing aboard the White Gull.
His conversation with Seasoft only solidified that hunch.
Someone was puppeteering Seasoft from behind the scenes, pulling her strings like a marionette, and she was oblivious to it all.
Bairon needed to find out who this person was.
It wasn't out of concern for Seasoft per se, but rather because this puppet master was after the Legacy Treasure of the Elf tribe.
Moreover, they intended to keep the White Gull stranded at sea. Neither outcome was acceptable to Bairon!
"Sir, they haven't sustained any damage to their internal organs or bones. "
"As for these external injuries, I don't have the appropriate medicines. I can only dress the wounds," the veterinarian informed, having given water to the three and assessed their condition.
"We'll skip the medicines then. Let's move them to the foredeck," Bairon instructed.
Such injuries required immediate attention and rest on solid ground.
Fortunately, the White Gull was nearing the shore.
"There's a light! I see a light!" someone shouted.
Passengers from within the cabins rushed out, the anticipation palpable.
Whether they were disembarking or moving on to the next stop, the excitement was mutual.
...
Bairon requested a stretcher from Frank.
Upon hearing it was for the unfortunate troupe members, Frank immediately offered them priority to disembark.
Once he retrieved the stretcher from the medical room, Bairon handed it over to Stephen and the veterinarian.
After three trips, they had finally moved the injured to the foredeck.
"Do you still intend to interview them?" Bairon gestured toward the prone troupe members.
"No," Stephen shook his head. "I already know how I'll depict them in my story."
A hint of a smile graced Bairon's face.
"Brother!"
Evelyn rushed over, flinging herself into Bairon's arms.
"Bairon, I hope the next time you pass through Sail Town, you'll come and visit," Margaret said with a smile as she approached.
She then turned to Anna, "Anna, do you have anything to say to Bairon?"
Anna's gaze lingered on Bairon for a moment before she shook her head.
Margaret sighed, "Very well then."
Frank, who had been patiently waiting, stepped forward, removing his captain's hat in a sign of respect.
"Madam, it's still dark, and the port doesn't permit large ships to dock. We'll have to use a smaller boat to get you ashore."
"That's fine, as long as I can set foot on land sooner," Margaret replied.
Her eyes then drifted to those lying on the stretchers and deck.
"Are these unfortunate passengers to be taken ashore for treatment?"
"Yes, I will cover all medical expenses. Moreover, please let them know I will also offer a generous compensation for their troubles," Frank said.
The near-mutiny on the White Gull had to be kept quiet, or else no one would choose to sail with them in the future.
"Understood, Captain," Margaret nodded in agreement.