Chapter 398

“Hey, boss, take a break down below—I’ve got things here.”

A drunken voice approached from behind; alcohol had distorted the speaker’s steps and swollen his tongue, making him like a clumsy bear hoarding too much fat, ready to slip away on the thin ice of the deck at any moment.

“You? Just don’t fall over and go for a winter swim.” William licked his dry, cold lips, pulled his hand from inside his coat away from the flask, and rejected the second mate’s offer to relieve him, “This isn’t the Ice Mountain—pulling someone up is damn hard.”

Every inch of his mouth urged him to twist open the lid and wet his throat with liquor.

But this was strong alcohol for warmth—indulging now meant skipping half a day, even a full day, and missing the best stargazing opportunity of the coming week.

For the seventeenth time tonight, he looked up at the sky in the direction indicated by the compass.

Thin clouds had lingered for days, like frosted glass or a dancer’s gauze skirt, constantly teasing his vision, obscuring a tiny yet vital point in the heavens.

That star at the far north, the axis of the celestial sphere, seemed just behind a wisp of mist, teasingly revealing a thread of light, making one believe it would reveal itself in the next breath.

But even after his arm holding the quadrant ached and his eyes grew dry and itchy, the faint glow never truly appeared.

A few days ago, they had barely finished loading the last batch of cargo on the very edge of a blizzard and set sail homeward.

The cold front sweeping across the entire ice plain and the wall of clouds had been halted by the mountains, stopping at the land’s edge—but its influence extended far beyond that.

Temperatures dropped further; sea fog grew heavier night after night, until the Ice Mountain’s hull could no longer be seen at night; ships could only judge each other’s positions by the firepots hung at bow and stern, communicating by horn.

By usual experience, this meant they would soon face a stretch of terrible weather, during which star navigation would be impossible.

Logically, it wasn’t a big deal—even at top speed, they’d still need at least half a month to sail south; as long as their direction was correct, they’d eventually get clear skies and could measure then.

Veteran sailors understood this, so they weren’t worried; a few newcomers calmed down once they learned the situation.

The atmosphere of the Blessing Festival had been brewing for days on this skiff far from the Father’s faith; even at departure, they’d heard festival tunes woven into the sea shanties.

Occasionally, rough wreaths made of old rope knots instead of branches hung from portholes and masts, adorned with dried orange slices as decoration.

Today, the mood finally reached its peak. Far from home, the sailors joyfully celebrated the festival’s arrival, lighting bonfires in small iron basins behind wind shields, huddling together to share their private stores of fine liquor, roasting caught fish and hardtack.

Even the harshest captain had no right to deny his crew this moment of joy. Except for the unlucky few drawn by lottery, nearly everyone received half a day off.

Coarse food and broken, uneven songs allowed them to briefly forget they were still at sea, regaining a sense of land’s safety in their tipsy haze.

This thin warmth, carried by the cold wind to the top of the ship’s tower, had dwindled to almost nothing.

Only one man still stubbornly struggled against the clouds.

For the eighteenth time, he turned his back to the firelight, stretched his neck out from the high, furry collar, and pressed it against the sighting line of the quadrant, aiming for the familiar northern position.

As expected, the Father did not favor merchants still calculating profits on the Blessing Festival night.

As if deliberately mocking, the thicker part of the clouds shifted slightly, and the tiny movement once again plunged the faint glow back into darkness.

He waited a while longer; the glow flickered faintly as he turned his face away from a gust, still there, still tiny, still just a breath away—yet never truly revealed again.

“Burp… What’s wrong with you?” The second mate scratched his bloated belly in confusion; he could obviously see what the captain was waiting for, but why obsess over this trivial matter on a festival night?

They weren’t sailing along the coast—on this endless sea, there were no reefs, no currents, just water, nothing but water.

All they needed was to know they were heading south; their exact position didn’t matter yet.

“Nothing. Just wanted to look.” William stowed the quadrant back into its velvet bag.

In truth, he didn’t know why himself; rationally, the fleet was in the least worrying part of the voyage.

Perhaps it was caution from carrying such a large cargo, or some old-sailor instinct—he couldn’t shake the inexplicable anxiety, which made him unconsciously act like a novice.

“I just want to know how far we’ve left the ice plain behind.”

“At least a hundred leagues, surely? This sail’s solid—it’s not slower than a small boat.” The drunken second mate’s professionalism wasn’t impaired; after a quick estimate, he gave a rough figure.

By multiplying daily measured speed by elapsed time, one could easily arrive at a similar answer—if the course was perfectly straight.

But that didn’t satisfy the captain; he needed a more reliable reference to confirm he was far from land, especially that icy expanse.

True, it was the source of wealth—but the instinctive repulsion was real.

“Have we inventoried all the cargo?” William framed it as yet another sign of worsening psychological strain, trying to distract himself with other trivial matters.

“Counted. Two hundred forty-five bundles of fur—all stored in the upper moisture-proof hold. About ten rolls got wet and are drying by the fire; the rest are wrapped in oilcloth, no signs of mold yet.”

“Eighty-six barrels of minerals, not sorted yet—stacked by weight in the lower hold. Mostly iron sand and blue copper chunks; decent quality.”

Talking about cargo, the second mate sobered up a bit: “As for the cargo from those ‘new friends’… there seems to be silver in there—looks prettier than the best southern mines. Already put someone on guard.”

“We’re going to make a fortune this trip.”

“Yeah, if you hadn’t refused to go ashore, you’d have stayed a week in Consolation Harbor, right?”

“Fine. When we get back, don’t just say a week—if you’ve got the guts, stay half a month.” Thinking of the cargo’s profit, even the most anxious man couldn’t help a genuine smile.

This was alchemy without divine miracles—ordinary wheat and common tools exchanged for real gold and silver.

The laughter lasted only a few seconds; joy, like moisture exposed to the cold wind, soon froze solid. “By the way, what about the rest?”

“Those unknown companion minerals? We’ve set aside less than half a barrel total; some fragments are still on the Ice Mountain—don’t know if they’ll fetch a price. Hope the first mate didn’t mix them up.”

“All right… lower the sails a bit, blow the horn, tell the ships behind us to speed up.” William wiped the snowflakes from his beard; rather than waste time worrying, he preferred action to shake off his anxiety. “Faster—leave the bad weather behind us.”

“Raise two more tenths of sail, lads—we’re heading home!” The second mate shouted the order again, blowing the brass horn in long and short bursts to relay the command to the ships astern.

The fog blunted the sound’s edges; the metal’s echo lost its brightness, dragged down and muffled.

The wait for a reply seemed stretched longer.

After a few breaths—or perhaps half a minute—a dull, thick, wet response came:

Fragmented and dreamlike, the distance fractured it into pieces, the tail swallowed by waves slapping the hull.

??Thank you to the patron “Gegegegegabulingshashou” for the Grand Patronage. Brother, you’re being too generous—why go so far!?????ДO???