The Bizarre Detective Agency

Chapter 660: The Voyage

“Landfall in fifteen kilometers!”

On the third day, at dawn, a cry from the foremast's crow's nest carried across the deck on a gust of wind.

The first mate strode to the bow, heels clicking on the deck, and raised a spyglass to his eye. In the distance, the faint outline of the coast was visible.

“At last...” the young first mate murmured, pulling out a locket that held the portrait of a beautiful girl. “Selina, wait for your hero to return...”

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The ship's bell suddenly rang out, and a short blast from the nearest ironclad's horn echoed in response.

Silence had come.

Sailors scrambled for the masts and railings, hurrying to brace themselves. After three careless men had vanished for the simple crime of making a footstep, no one dared to underestimate the danger.

The wind-filled sails carried the Old Gentleman toward the shore, but on deck, time itself seemed to stop. The entire crew was frozen in an unnatural stillness.

Ten minutes later, two long blasts from the ironclad signaled the all-clear.Life returned to the deck. Sailors untied the hemp ropes that had secured them and began to move about, stretching their stiffened muscles.

By eight in the morning, the two ships from the Lennon Archipelago had reached the waters of the old river channel.

Several vessels were already anchored in the calm waters: two multi-masted wooden ships, contemporaries of the Old Gentleman, and their ironclad escort.

“Signalmen, report our arrival,” Manik Pa commanded, raising his spyglass to a vessel of comparable size.

He could just make out a similarly gray-haired captain on its deck, bellowing something with an air of arrogance.

The Old Gentleman and its escorting ironclad joined the squadron. Soon, all three warships were moored at a temporary pier.

Manik Pa and Gray Wolf, his rival captain, met for the first time in decades. Neither man spoke of the past. After greeting Rocky Bailman, the owner of a smaller vessel, Gray Wolf nodded toward the anchorage. “Why are you short a ship?”

The other flotillas each had two escorts.

“We ran into some trouble on the way,” Manik Pa said after a pause. He removed his cap, pressed it to his chest, and bowed in the direction from which they had sailed.

Gray Wolf and Rocky Bailman understood the gesture and followed his lead.

Creatures had attacked the convoy during the night. One ship had stayed behind to cover their retreat and had failed to rejoin them.

“Let’s go see the operation commander, Kilan Faster,” Gray Wolf suggested.

“You go ahead. I’ll remain on board until the operation begins,” Manik Pa declined.

“Still the same stubborn old fool,” Gray Wolf muttered, waving a hand dismissively. He and Bailman then headed into the settlement to meet with the representative from the Night's Watch of True Vision.

The first mate watched from the railing as his captain walked back aboard.

“You didn’t want to meet with Captain Gray Wolf, sir?”

“There’s no need,” Manik Pa replied, heading for his cabin. His thoughts remained his own.

Half an hour later, the other captains came aboard the Old Gentleman. After a brief discussion in Manik Pa’s cabin, they departed. As he left, Gray Wolf cast a nostalgic look across the deck, muttering a few words to himself.

Before they set sail, Manik Pa tasked his first mate with briefing the crew.

They were to sail nearly a hundred miles inland and drop anchor one mile from the oasis.

At that range, the ritual of Silence wouldn't manifest as constantly as it did closer to the source. The seven- or eight-minute lulls would be just long enough to drop anchor and load the cannons.

The range was also close enough for acceptable accuracy—their first salvo had to find its mark.

The United Exorcist Organization and the locals had cleared the narrow, winding sections of the channel, but the ironclads, with their deep drafts, still couldn’t pass.

During the periods of Silence, the crews would have to keep the ships anchored in absolute stillness, preventing them from drifting ashore.

This was complicated by the strong current, but the combined experience of the three captains was expected to see them through.

Wasting no time on farewells, the three ships left the harbor and entered the winding river channel.

The five ironclads in the anchorage answered with long, drawn-out blasts from their horns. The villagers watched on, their eyes following the ships as they sailed into the Wastelands.

They carried with them the last hope of humanity.

“Get some rest, sir. We won’t reach the zone of Silence until morning,” the first mate urged.

The captain hadn’t slept a wink since the creatures’ attack during the night.

“After our first contact,” Manik Pa replied, removing his cap.

Outside the Wastelands, Silence manifested once a day. But deep within its territory, its appearances grew more frequent.

The closer they got to the epicenter, the more frequent it became.

According to the scouting party’s report, at a distance of one kilometer from the oasis, the periods of Silence lasted for ten minutes, alternating with seven-minute lulls.

Their first contact with it came a few hours into their journey, right at noon.

The sailors scrambled about in a nervous flurry, but they still managed to drop anchor and secure their positions on deck.

The other two ships followed suit, dropping their anchors.

Ten minutes later, the anchors were weighed, and the voyage resumed.

The first loss aboard the Old Gentleman was discovered that night. No one had seen the man disappear; his absence was only discovered during roll call. Then a second vanished, and a third...

The other two ships were suffering losses as well. The price for every mile they closed on the oasis was paid in lives...

At dawn, the darkness over the Wastelands began to recede.

Half an hour had passed since the last manifestation of Silence.

“According to the chart, we’re less than twenty kilometers from the oasis,” the first mate reported, handing Manik Pa a parchment scroll. “At full sail, we can be there within the hour.”

“What’s the status of the other two ships?”

“Not good, sir. Their losses are comparable to ours—about a quarter of their crews gone.”

“Keep a close watch on the channel, right here...”

The captain’s words were cut short by a sudden, violent jolt. Manik Pa lost his balance, his forehead striking a bulkhead and scraping the skin.

The first mate nearly fell himself. He helped the captain to his feet before rushing out onto the deck. “What happened?!” he yelled.

A sailor at the railing shouted back, “We’ve run aground! We’ve hit the bottom!”

“Are you certain?!”

A sailor scrambled up from the hold. “We’re taking on water, but the breach is small!”

The relief was fleeting. Another sailor stumbled onto the deck and frantically struck the ship's bell—the warning that Silence was coming.

Except for the anchor watch, the rest of the crew automatically began securing themselves.

The first mate rushed back into the cabin. He strapped the disoriented captain into his chair, then lashed himself to a stanchion.

“Careful... Ahead...” Manik Pa managed to gasp, pointing forward.

The first mate looked up. Dead ahead, the channel narrowed into a passage where the current churned with furious strength.

And the anchor had yet to touch bottom.

The tolling of the ship's bell fell silent.