The wind howled through the rigging as the ship rocked against the relentless sea. There was something in the air that night, something thick with tension. The sort of unease that clung to the skin and made one's breath shallow. The storm was still far off, but its presence hung like a dark cloud over the horizon. I stood by the railing, looking out over the darkened waters, my thoughts tangled with confusion and worry.
The encounter with the stranger, Sir William Fenton, had only grown more unsettling with each passing day. His quiet demeanor hid a dangerous edge, and his insistence on the importance of the money belt weighed heavily on me. But the captain's agreement to escort him to the coast had sealed our fate. We were too far into the deal now to back out.
As the evening stretched on, the shadows of the crew moved across the deck, their faces lit by lanterns flickering in the growing dark. I heard snippets of conversation, hushed voices speaking in tones that could easily be mistaken for the sounds of a predator waiting in the wings. It was as if everyone knew we were not heading into calmer waters but into something far more perilous.
I was about to retreat below deck when a sudden shout broke the eerie silence. "All hands on deck!"
I rushed toward the source of the call, my heart quickening with both curiosity and fear. The crew had gathered, their faces tense, eyes scanning the sea.
"Mr. Drayton!" Captain Collins shouted, his voice strained with a mix of command and worry. "Get the lookout. What's out there?"
The first mate, Mr. Drayton, was already at the railing, peering into the distance. His gaze was sharp and focused, but his posture—tight, coiled—betrayed his discomfort. "There's something out there, Captain," he said after a long pause. "Could be a ship... or worse."
"Worse?" I muttered under my breath, stepping forward to get a better view.
The wind howled again, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and something else—something sharper, more pungent. The unmistakable scent of burning oil. A moment later, the lookout confirmed our suspicions.
"A fire! A ship on fire! To the south!"
Captain Collins wasted no time. "All hands, prepare to tack! We're making for that ship. It may be in distress."
As the crew scrambled into action, I felt a surge of fear. The unknown ship in flames could be a trap, set by pirates or enemies lurking in the dark. But then again, it could be genuine distress. Either way, we had no choice but to head toward it.
Sir William Fenton appeared at the edge of the deck, his expression unreadable. He had been strangely quiet since our arrival, his gaze often distant, yet there was a sharpness to him that suggested he was always watching. As if the world were an elaborate game and he was waiting for the right moment to make his move.
"I see you've caught wind of the fire," he remarked, his voice low and controlled.
"I don't know if I'd call it 'catching wind,'" I replied, trying to steady my nerves. "It seems like trouble."
"Trouble," he mused. "But then, that's what sailors are made for, isn't it? To chase trouble and answer the call when the storm comes."
His words sent a shiver down my spine. There was something unsettling about how easily he spoke of danger, as though he thrived on it. As though he had seen it all before.
The ship creaked and groaned as it altered course, the sails snapping in the wind. We were heading into the heart of the unknown, a storm of uncertainty swirling around us. Every step felt heavier now, and I could sense that the stakes had just been raised.
By the time we drew closer to the burning vessel, the flames had grown brighter, casting an eerie glow over the dark water. The ship was abandoned, the sails aflame, and the hull showing signs of severe damage. But there was no sign of life. No survivors. No desperate cries for help. Only the flames and the smell of charred wood.
"What do we do, Captain?" Mr. Drayton asked, his voice tight with anxiety.
"We board her," Captain Collins said, determination in his voice. "There may be something of value left, or someone who's still alive."
The crew exchanged uneasy glances, but no one objected. We were too far into this journey to turn back now. Everyone knew that, when the seas were this wild, opportunities were rare, and fortunes could be won or lost in an instant.
With the crew preparing to board, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being lured into a trap. And Sir William? He seemed all too eager, as though he were itching for the chaos. He moved swiftly, gathering his belongings with a strange calmness, as if he had done this many times before.
"We're about to board a ghost ship," I muttered to myself.
The boarding was chaotic. The smoke billowed thick, choking the air, and the heat from the flames scorched my skin as we stepped onto the deck of the burning ship. The sight of the destruction was surreal. It was as if the vessel had been through hell itself, with remnants of bodies still tangled in the ropes, their faces frozen in expressions of terror.
The crew moved quickly, searching for anything that could help us understand what had happened. But amidst the wreckage, it became clear that this wasn't just an accident. It was deliberate. A message.
And then we found it.
Tucked away in a hidden compartment near the captain's quarters was a chest. Its ornate metalwork suggested it was no ordinary treasure, and when the crew pried it open, we found it was filled with papers. Maps, letters, and various documents, all written in a language I couldn't understand.
Sir William approached, his gaze fixed on the chest. He didn't speak immediately but rather studied the papers, his brow furrowed.
"Well, well," he said softly, his voice laced with both amusement and something darker. "It seems we've stumbled upon something much more important than a simple fire."
The captain, who had been examining the wreckage himself, turned toward him. "What's that?"
"A map," Sir William replied, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. "And I think we've just found our next destination."