The Bizarre Detective Agency

Chapter 659: Setting Sail

[Yes, I believe the initial operation against the Third Calamity was rushed.]

[Even considering their self-sacrifice?]

[Exactly. Don't you understand, Claire? That was the most powerful force we could assemble, yet they were like moths, senselessly rushing into a bonfire.]

[Do you really think so? Mr. Gomez, first, thank you for being on the show, but I can't agree with your theory. All of us in the Lennon Archipelago consider them heroes.]

[Heroes? I think they were just... just fools. (chuckles)]

[Good heavens... How can you say such a thing, Mr. Gomez... (footsteps)]

[(noise, shouting) Do you hear that, Mr. Gomez? The locals are protesting your words.]

[Let them say what they want. I stand by my opinion.]

[Alright, can you explain why? Otherwise, I think... (a bitter chuckle) our listeners might throw something at you when you leave.]

[That's not important. But I will explain. They could have found a less risky way to confront the Third Calamity instead of rushing in headlong.][That's because we didn't have time! We all saw the danger of the Third Calamity—it's destroying our future. In a matter of minutes, the principality lost hundreds of children! (agitatedly)]

[You still don't understand... (sighs) Claire, look around you. What do we have left? A mad king took all the men to war, and we lost. Do you think this country has a future?]

[But...]

[The point is, they failed. If the Third Calamity had been eliminated, we would have solved a huge problem and preserved our strength. And now? We haven't solved the problem, and we've lost our strength, getting nothing but useless information in return! (shouts)]

[(heavy breathing) Their only sensible decision was Project Shelter... to preserve the spark. Even if all of us on the surface perish, humanity will not die out. When the threat passes, this land will be ours again...]

— ...This land will be ours again...

In the wheelhouse of the "Old Gentleman," Manik Pa repeated the words of the unpleasant fellow from the radio broadcast, gently stroking the ship's wheel with its chipped corner.

— Are you ready, old friend? — he whispered.

Crisp footsteps approached on the deck. A young, distinguished-looking first mate entered the wheelhouse, standing ramrod straight. "Captain Manik, we can set sail!"

Manik Pa pulled his cap down low and turned to his confident first mate. "Tell the sailors: raise the sails!"

The "Old Gentleman" slowly pulled away from the shipyard. Over the half-day it took to assemble the crew, the ancient vessel had been coated with a fresh layer of waterproof paint—a touch-up that would help the veteran last a little longer at sea.

Suddenly, from the wheelhouse, Manik Pa heard jubilant cheers.

He looked to his left: the pier was packed with people. They were waving ribbons, shouting things that merged into a single roar.

The sailors on deck froze, feeling a warmth spread through their veins.

Manik Pa had never received such a send-off.

In his youth, every departure of the "Old Gentleman" was met only by indifferent guards and the sorrowful goodbyes of family—everyone knew the ship was sailing straight into the inferno.

But now... he was carrying the people's hope.

— A much better end than rotting in a museum... wouldn't you say, old friend? — Manik Pa murmured quietly.

The crowd on the pier receded into the distance. Two escort ships took up positions on either side.

Inspired, the sailors were eager to get to work and began scrubbing the ancient deck.

Manik Pa watched from the wheelhouse, not stopping them. They had a three-day voyage ahead—let them keep busy with something useful.

The first mate returned, still standing at rigid attention.

— Is it just us? — Manik Pa asked, gazing out at the endless dark expanse of water.

— Your old friend, Captain Gray Wolf, also set sail this morning from the Royal Harbor.

— Why before me? — Manik Pa scowled. Gray Wolf was more of a rival than a friend.

Before the war finally ended, they had served opposing forces, even pretending to be pirates to plunder each other's ships. When the conflict subsided, the warships were laid to rest in museums.

That damned Gray Wolf had used his savings to buy his own ship, kept it in good repair, and that was why he'd sailed first.

Manik Pa knew all this—he was just annoyed.

The first mate changed the subject. "There are no warships on the east coast of the Main Continent; they can't make it in time. Including the small vessel from the Wastelands, we have only three ships in total."

— It's enough. Numbers don't matter to it. — Manik Pa noticed his first mate wanted to add something. — Any other questions?

The young man straightened up even more. "Why didn't we move the cannons to the ironclads? They're sturdier!"

— We don't have time to calibrate the guns, and my experience on the 'Old Gentleman' will still come in handy, — Manik Pa replied. — Tell me instead: will the channels in the Wastelands allow us to get close to the target?

...

— Back! Get back! — Old Man Hans yelled at the workers, dragging a daydreaming digger away from the embankment.

They had barely retreated when the thin earthen wall cracked, buckled, and collapsed under the pressure of the water.

Torrents surged through the old channel, flooding the Wastelands. The jubilant shouts of the workers were drowned out by the roar of the water.

On a nearby hill, a man named Claren Fast stood watching in silence.

In two days, they had cleared the channel, avoiding a long detour around the oasis.

The water eroded the sand on the banks and at the bottom. Tomorrow, the three warships would be able to enter deep into the Wastelands and approach Silence itself, closing the distance to less than a mile.

A sudden ringing of bells cut through the celebration—Silence had once again descended upon the land.

After a brief clamor, the people suppressed their emotions, freezing by the channel in silence. They had already learned how to wait out Silence. When it receded about ten minutes later, no one had vanished.

But their earlier enthusiasm had faded. Silently, they put on their clothes, left the channel without a backward glance at the object of their recent labor, and trudged toward the city.

There was still much work to be done—every section of the channel had to be checked to ensure the ships wouldn't run aground.

— Contact the remaining members of the Alliance. We will help too, — Claren Fast ordered his assistant, an exorcist.

— We will?

— Yes. This is our last chance to put an end to Silence.