While I was looking for the shadows of the unfortunate pirate crew on whose ship I arrived, the thoughts in my head flowed slowly and steadily. A bizarre sorcerer required not only magic, but also a certain image—creepy, nightmarish, mysterious. This image had to be maintained by constantly surrounding myself with an audience to whom I could demonstrate my methods and strength.
That's why I was looking for the shadows of that team. Without them, our path would have been in danger: none of my puppets, like me, knew how to control the ship. These shadows—remnants of the essence of the sleeping crew members—were the key to restoring their former functionality.
I searched for them not with the help of dowsers, but using a coin. My methods of divination and spiritual vision have undergone changes: some methods no longer required a full-fledged ritual. Simply tossing a coin became like fortune-telling in a dream, causing fragments of revelations in my head. The metal disk fell first on the edge, then on the side, and I just had to follow the hints.
Spiritual vision now didn't require any gesture. Spiritual vision itself allowed me to look deeper into the astral bodies of others, anticipating their life span and studying their emotional state in more detail.
When the last shadow was found and sprinkled with salt, we hurried back on board. The process of awakening the crew and returning them to service took about a day. However, during this time, no one gave us much trouble.
As soon as the first of them began to rise, the dead wandering nearby began to burn up, as if falling into an invisible flame. This phenomenon turned out to be very useful: strange zombies without a master stopped visiting us. From time to time, ghosts drifted by, which, apparently, were controlled by Perona. Although they didn't pose a threat, their constant milling was getting on my nerves. At one point, I even had the thought of returning to the castle and making puppets out of its inhabitants. But I held on, trying to keep at least some remnants of my former principles.
Having finally gathered all the dead men who made up the team, we set sail from the Thriller Bark. The sails billowed in a light wind, and I took a last look at the surroundings of the Thriller Bark.
John Howley, who had recently joined the ranks of Margot's pirates, was rubbing the deck with effort, trying to do it as quietly as possible. The humid air soaked in salt water clung to his skin, making every swipe of the cloth become heavier. John didn't stop for a minute, casting wary glances at the corners where the light didn't reach.
Lifting the bucket, he could not keep it in the air — the murky water gushed back onto the deck, flowed down, gathering in narrow rivulets that rushed up the steps to the dark figure. As soon as the water touched her feet, the figure froze, and then slowly turned its head towards John.
She was wearing a simple raincoat that looked like it had been soaked in an old, oily rain. Under Homburg, not a single feature could be seen on the face, as if it were molded from a homogeneous material that cast neither glare nor shadows. Her clothes were fluttering, although there was no wind on the deck, and it seemed as if her movement was governed not by gusts, but by something deeper and unexplored.
John froze. His hands continued to mechanically squeeze and unclench the cloth, but he himself could not look away. This figure appeared immediately after their retreat from the Thriller Barge, silently following them. None of the crew dared to talk about her, but everyone knew that her presence inspired something more difficult than fear. She wasn't human.
"Is something wrong, John?" — a voice came from above.
John started and raised his head. Captain Margot was hanging from the mast, his body covered with rotting marks, slowly swinging on the ropes. Once they had thrown him into the sea, but now he had returned and hung with two more bodies, which from time to time whispered something. Their words were indistinct, as if they came from the depths of the water, but the echoes seemed to bite into the ears of each of the pirates.
— Noooooo... It's all right," John managed to say, unable to take his eyes off the captain's lifeless face.
—Then keep cleaning,— the dead man said, his jaw twitching as if he were having difficulty adjusting to speech. —And be careful, John. How many times have I told you not to rush?
The guy swallowed convulsively and looked down at the water, which now seemed thicker and darker than before. He took a rag, began to wipe it with trembling hands near the figure, trying not to touch it in any way. His every movement was reflected in quiet bursts that subsided unnaturally quickly.
The rest of the pirates, scattered across the deck, tried not to look in that direction. Someone was silently cleaning weapons, someone was overloading crates, but their actions did not look natural - they resembled animals trapped in a cage. None of them dared to approach the captain or that figure.
John could feel the cloth growing heavy in his hands, as if the darkness itself was seeping out of it. For a moment, it seemed to him that the reflection of the water was moving contrary to his movements, the distorted shapes repeating someone else's smile. But when he blinked, everything was back to normal.
The figure did not move, but its presence filled the space, squeezing the sound out of the air. It seemed to John that he could hear a barely perceptible rustle, as if an endless pattern of threads was growing in the depths of the cloak, and each of them was moving, intertwining in an eerie pattern. John tightened his grip on the cloth and accelerated his movements.
"Hurry up," came the voice of one of the hanging bodies, suddenly unnaturally cheerful. "We're getting close."
At these words, the crew seemed to shrink, everyone accelerated their work, as if hoping that the faster they moved, the sooner their painful journey would end.
I had to stifle my laughter as I watched the carriage. Pretending to be mysterious and gloomy was an ordeal for me. It was especially difficult to stand motionless for long hours, radiating an ominous image. However, there wasn't much time left before Sabaody. We were approaching the island, but even now, none of the crew members dared to go against me, which meant that my "arsenal" of puppets was still limited to just three.
I put a larva in each of them, giving them the ability to change their images to an extreme degree. Absalam, for example, took on the appearance of their former captain, the one whose body I left behind when I entered the Thriller Bark. His appearance looked as if his time spent at sea had tortured and decomposed his flesh. His skin cracked as if it had been scorched by salt, and exposed patches of rotting meat showed through the torn rags of his clothes. I noticed how the crew shunned him, avoiding even glances in his direction.
However, my efforts were not just for the sake of horrifying images. Now, with my new abilities, I could regain control of the puppets, even if they were out of my control. However, I only had five minutes to reconnect before the loss became irreversible. These changes opened up additional possibilities, but also added new difficulties.
According to my calculations, the island was less than half a day away. Judging by the course of the predictions and the vision I got through the coin, the path remained relatively problem-free. However, there were no surprises. A ship appeared on the horizon. A huge Marine Patrol vessel was crossing our direction. Their flag, a combination of 5 dots on a white background, was easily recognizable even at such a distance. Judging by its size, it was not just a patrol vessel, but most likely a full-fledged frigate armed with guns.
I allowed myself a few seconds to think. My faceless face gave nothing away, but if it had features, it would probably have reflected thoughtfulness. Should we hide, using illusions, or try to arrange a small chaotic performance? The options were tempting, but I didn't want to take responsibility for the choice. Flipping a coin, I trusted the will of chance.
The coin hit my palm, and I looked at the result carefully. Shrugging my shoulders to myself, I made a decision according to the outcome. With a wave of my hand, I activated an illusion covering our entire ship. The scale of the spell required concentration, but it was executed perfectly. For any observer behind our ship, he was disappearing. The illusion not only hid the hull, but also distorted the traces of the sea's dissection, leaving behind only barely noticeable ripples and shifting waves.
"Is everything all right, Sire?" "What is it?" one of the crew members asked, cautiously approaching closer. His voice was trembling, but he tried to hide his fear. I slowly turned my head in his direction, taking a pause that lasted a little longer than necessary. The silence between us stretched like a taut string before I turned away without giving him an answer.
While I was holding the illusion, our sloop slightly changed course to get out of the patrol ship's line of motion. I noticed a commotion on the deck of the frigate. The sailors were running around, talking, and pointing in our direction, but their eyes were empty, as if they were trying to see something through the fog. A few minutes later, their captain gave the order to change course. The ship turned, leaving us behind.
When we were completely out of their line of sight, I allowed myself to relax and removed the illusion. The ship became visible again, and the tracks on the water were restored.