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Garatier was just as he had heard from the tales and descriptions of wayfarers and sailors. Not for nothing was it considered as one of the most important towns in the kingdom, along with Gwenaelleville and Reniven. It counted over twelve thousand inhabitants, although the number of heads present there doubled daily considering the adventurers, hunters, privateers, and merchants passing by.

It was the first time in fifteen years that the Tiburon had docked at Garatier. In fact, the entire Kingdom of Waterby had never been a freighter’s destination since Ethan joined the crew. Only once did he get close to it, when they docked at the Disputed City of Geteville, located perfectly halfway between the capitals of the Kingdoms of Waterby and Vinnica.

Most of the buildings stood on several floors and were side by side. Painted in the most varied colours that the view could enjoy, they contributed to creating a jovial atmosphere, also thanks to the polychrome decorations that united the buildings and the white flags with the coat of arms of Garatier.

The narrow alleys teemed with life: carefree children, pretending to be brave knights, played wrestling with twigs and brooms, or chasing each other, easily dodging the obstacles of the alleys; the merchants tried to get as many people as possible to their food or junk stalls; the women were intent on washing the clothes of their husbands and children in large wooden containers, with the soap pouring out, flooding the streets, and perfuming them. Even the gleaming cloaks of the city guards - who divided into small groups of lancers guarding the city - in the blue and white colours of the Kingdom of Waterby, contributed to the creation of that atmosphere.

When he reached the road that connected the port to the various districts of the city, Ethan was struck by the beauty of the boulevard he heard called Boulevard d’Arbres. To the right and left of the cobbled path on which the wood of the wagons’ wheels creaked, at least fifteen tall ash trees rose with authority, alternating themselves, lower but equally proud, with lime trees with very green leaves and from which snowed pollen.

That harmonious vision shocked him perhaps in an exaggerated way since it was the custom of the sailors of the Tiburon to only stop at the ports and then set off again within a couple of days. It was a rarity to arrive in the inner-city districts, streets, and squares. Amazed by how much his eyes were watching, the path that would allow him to see the Merchants’ District, before reaching the inn, seemed short.

-

The Drunk Tuna was a building of three floors and presented at the entrance two banners from the ground. The one on the right depicted a blue rose whose thorny stem was intertwined with the blade of a long sword, on a white background: it was the coat of arms of the proud Garatier. The one on the left depicted two tuna-headed fish men toasting by pouring rivers of alcohol out of their mugs. Clearly, that was the inn sign.

Inside, the din was almost pleasant. Everywhere the men laughed and drank to the health of the neighbour diner, someone sang the pleasantly harsh verses that Bern Xern dedicated to Queen Seranna in the ballad Flower on the Precipice, someone else was sleeping after having drunk one mug too many. Less numerous were those spilled on buckets intent on regurgitating or spread on the floor, intent on being passed out.

Deniz was at the counter with four overturned mugs in front of him, his white beard darkened by the red beer he was sipping and with which he had surely wiped his lips, as was his custom.

“Old man, won’t you be drinking alone?” Ethan began. “You know what the saying goes: ‘Those who drink alone die drowning’. Miss” - referring to the brunette girl behind the counter – “fill two more mugs, please. And grant me the grace of your name.”

“Ah! Boy!” old Deniz said with a stupid smile. “I thought you were lost or ended up in the graces of some girl. You didn’t arrive and I was thirsty, I also had to start filling these old guts, don’t you agree? And now you show up and ask this little girl’s name.”

“Ronda...” the freckled girl said timidly, as she poured out what had been requested.

Ethan gave her a nod of appreciation with a smiling face and went back to referring to Deniz: “You ugly old man, you can always read my mind, huh? In fact, I met a splendid girl. Indeed, considering the sweet Ronda here, I got to know two beauties in just over an hour”. He grabbed Ronda’s small hand sharply but gently and kissed it on the back. The girl’s pale spotted cheeks blushed abruptly but she remained silent despite the initial gasp. “At the dock, the girl was blonde like the women of Aillte an Tine. Do you remember those women? Even you looked rejuvenated and back in your twenties” Ethan said jokingly after releasing Ronda’s little hand. He knew well Deniz didn’t even touched them with a finger.

”Damn Ethan, everything’s still working, huh! I just don’t want to. I have already left my heart to a woman and therefore I cannot… Ah! You idiot, you seem to know it well since you’ve done the same” he laughed in mockery. The lost gaze, elbows on the counter, hunched back, and mug quickly emptied in big gulps.

After a brief pause, punctuated by a couple of toasts and several drank sips accompanied by as many belches, Deniz continued but Ethan did not hear the words spoken by the old man. He was distracted by listening to someone next to him utter offensive maxims about an alleged witch who haunted the countryside.

There are no longer magicians, nor magical words or spells. All dead. Disappeared because of people like you, ignorant and who have no regard for the life of others. The only thing you can do is spit poison on anyone who is different. I would gladly set fire to those like you rather than the healing wizards and botanical wizards of yore, Ethan thought angrily. He turned to look at the man who so lightly filled with curses the people that many centuries earlier had held important positions like kings and warlords. He was just a fat old man with grey crescent hair, an aquiline nose, and a prominent double chin.

“Huh, got it? Cursed walnuts witch, cursed janara! It seems that she started stealing the children of the peasants. She steals them, I’m telling you the truth. She steals them and throws them whole in the pot with celery, onions, and potatoes. Then she invites the neighbours, cursed witch, and makes them eat their own little ones” said the hoarse voice of the man at his side, deliberately trying to cause disgust in his interlocutors.

Lies. How many women like her have you sent to death under false accusation? Ignorant and cowardly. There is no more magic.

“The worst, my friends, the worst is that, once the guests are full, she confesses to them what meat they ate. And she kills them too after making them feel disgust and despair. That’s why all those families suddenly disappeared, leaving the houses empty. I’m telling you the truth” concluded the fat nobleman.

“Geteville” Ethan broke in, watching the brown liquid ripple in his mug. “In the Disputed City, there is talk of a terrible disease that started in the south of the Kingdom of Vinnica at least three decades ago and it’s starting to spread northwards as well. Anthrax is called by the Pharmacists of the Tower of Dyvislande. Don’t you think, gentlemen, that perhaps those families were trying to escape from the disease, like so many others tried before them, rather than disappearing because eaten by a fearsome janara?”

“Anthrax? And what’s this thing, Edmond?” asked puzzled one of the pudgy slanderer’s buddies, a man with long, oily black hair.

“Ah, I don’t really care, Wessler. The real question’s: who’s this here? You listen and intrude in the speeches of others. Where’s the education that was imposed on our generation with the rod and the whip? Stupid brat.”

Deniz settled himself over and over on the stool. He wanted to find the ideal sitting to enjoy the scene. He found it with his elbow on the counter, his jaw against the palm of one hand.

“Me? I’m just a merchant” Ethan replied, not looking at him. “I’m sorry, old ignoramus, for intruding on your conversation. It’s just that I can’t resist when I hear a bitch like you talking nonsense so huge it makes the Four Great Seas look like ponds.”

“How dare you...”

“How dare I?” Ethan replied with utmost seriousness, preventing him from finishing the sentence. His voice was calm, yet it seemed to screech incandescent metal. “I quickly realized what kind of squalid you are. How would you define someone who blames a young woman for using witchcraft that have been lost over the centuries? I could understand you, you know. I could understand if the magic disappeared a few years or decades ago, but now more than seven or eight centuries have passed. After all the persecutions and horrors that dogs like you have inflicted them, where do you want the magic to have survived? The truth, my fat, stupid, fake noble friend, is that you probably wanted to slip between the legs of the sweet girl you think guilty, and since she rejected you because you are as attractive as hunger, then you wanted to make her pay. Am I right?”

Deniz burst out loudly with laughter, attracting the attention of most of the crew who took a break from drinking to sharp up their ears and open their eyes.

“I understand. Are you feeling smart? You think you’re funny, right? Here we have to go back to the old ways. I’ll take care of teaching you, wanderer of the seas” said the feigned noble Edmond, his face livid with anger, pulling a dark wooden truncheon out of his belt support.

“Look out! My dear fat friend, I wouldn’t want you to stumble rubbing your opulent thighs. You could hurt yourself by holding the cudgel while standing on your feet, trust me” Ethan continued with malignant sarcasm. Despite the laughter that surrounded him, he maintained total seriousness.

“You say? So… try it!” Edmond yelled, jumping to his feet and firing a downward blow at the merchant bent on the counter.

Too slow, Ethan thought, too weak. He turned abruptly, took the blow on the forearm and, twisting his wrist, grabbed Edmond's hand. He brought one foot between the fat’s legs and, levering up, threw him to the ground. He scrubbed the stool twice and perched on it again. “Seen? Just like I said.”

”Damn dog...” Edmond muttered between his teeth and, struggling to get up, hurled himself again towards the merchant’s back.

”You really don’t want to understand, huh?” He didn’t even need to turn around to dodge yet another blow, since he heard the hit cutting the air. Making a half turn at the same rapidity as a bolt of lightning, he hit poor Edmond’s jaw and cheek with the knuckles and the back of his hand. This is where you deserve to be, thought the merchant as he sat down on the tripod stool once more.

There were a couple of moments of absolute silence. The fat man’s friends did not even try to see how he was that they went straight without turning. The eyes of Ronda, the young innkeeper, shone as if the sight of Ethan’s fighting skills had made her fall madly in love.

It was Deniz who broke the silence with another thunderous laugh, accompanied by an equal thunderous clap of hands. Everyone followed him laughing and banging their wooden and iron mugs against the counters.

In that atmosphere, many other barrels of beer and bottles of rum were taken out and numerous toasts were consumed with laughter and dirty songs, some piratical and banned by the administrative offices of the cities of each Kingdom of the Continent. But it didn’t matter as the alcohol would erase everyone’s memories.

Ethan, however, could not stop thinking about the sad fate of the wizards and sorceresses who in the very land on which he now rested his feet, were cast out with fire and iron.

“So?” Deniz startled him, inviting him to concentrate on their conversation before the fight. “Thought who we can sell our trinkets? The stocks of rum and beer are starting to run out, water and bread have already run out and the florins have become a mirage. Let’s forget the gold of sequins, dinar and nemet of which by now I don’t even remember the faces engraved on them anymore. That damn brat of a Kruniar, if he had received us in Dyvislande we would not have needed to come here” he concluded by beating a punch on the counter and catching off guard the sweet Ronda, who jumped as if a dart had grazed her temple.

“Calm down, old man.”

“And explain to me how I should calm down! That Kruniar is a damn brat! What does he know about how to rule a whole kingdom?”

“You scared little Ronda” Ethan told him, pointing to the girl who covered her own face from the eyes down with a wooden plate.

Deniz promptly asked the innkeeper for forgiveness. She at first seemed to calm down but, once she had the opportunity, she quickly disappeared. Deniz again referred to the merchant on board: “So? What do you intend to do?”.

Meanwhile, Edmond had recovered and was silently preparing to sneak away from the inn. Ethan noticed it but decided not to humiliate him further. He looked at Deniz. “I saw, on the way to get here, several stalls and shops where I would see our goods. Convincing those merchants to buy rarities from Jarllander, Coharilla or Mehtop will certainly not be a difficult task. For now, let’s think about enjoying the ground under our feet before returning to the sea.”

“True!” cried a voice.

“True! It’s true!” another yelled.

A warm, clammy arm tightened around Ethan’s neck like the grip of a dipsa. It was Son. “It’s really true!”

In an instant they found themselves surrounded by the crew. Son began, with his low and hoarse voice, to sing songs so shameful as to be worthy of the worst pirates of the Mite’s Conch.

Ilker approached them too. “Have you seen Borda? Ahrr! Always there, folded up and depressed. For him to come out of the coffers a few pieces of silver, be it a florin, a dirham or a vokk, among other things sweaty I would add, my gentlemen, is like breaking his soul into pieces and feeding it to the Plagues!” Conspicuously tipsy, the boatswain gave off heat and large drops of stinking sweat ran down his wrinkled face making his dyed moustaches discolour more and more.

Ethan thought Ilker was not wrong after all. Egill Olcsson, called Borda, was sitting alone in a corner of the inn like a stray. A still full mug of ale and his long face contrasted with the rest of the Drunk Tuna air of joy and celebration.

He was a couple of seasons younger than the merchant and, barely five feet tall, he seemed made of only bones. Long, thin, greasy black hair covered most of his face. There were visible only a long pimply nose and white but crooked incisors protruding from his mouth contracted in a repulsive grimace.

Despite the not very reassuring aspect that earned him the nickname of Borda, no rumours of some villain actions had ever reached anyone. Ethan thought Egill was a good guy, after all. They teased him because he was the last to join the family and just like him, Ethan had been treated the same way fifteen years earlier, when he was still nothing but a child.

“You know what the new quartermaster is like” the merchant began, nudging Ilker and Deniz with his elbows and drinking what was left in the mug. “Give him supplies and money and he’ll be the most skilled at managing your accounts. But unfortunately, he’s not really made for human relations, my gentlemen. He prefers bills, numbers, and money to the company of a beautiful woman. That’s all.”

“It’ll be as you say, boy” the two friends at his sides almost said in chorus.

“Or maybe,” Deniz began, “it’s likely that you’re the one too impetuous, aren’t you? All you do is drink and look for women to hang out with. I don’t remember how many times you’ve risked the skin because you’ve slipped between the legs of dangerous girls. At many of them you leave a bastard without knowing it, I can swear on Ayae that it’s so. You leave them without even a greeting there on the bed in the morning. How many husbands have you antagonized, huh, Ethan? You brat” he said cheerfully, accompanying the words with a broad smile. He was obviously drunk.

The three of them could not help but bend over with laughter. The two old men knew well that in their youth they had done what just described even more than Ethan ever did. And even the ramshackle singer Son, thrown there in front of them intent on singing The Sixteen Joys was well aware of it. He born precisely from the story of a night between Ilker and a gigolette from Aillte an Tine.

The laughter faded, but slowly.

“Ah! I’ve calmed down now, old man. It’s already two years that I haven’t touched a woman’s flesh or tasted her graces. I do nothing but kiss hands and to limit myself to that only. I’m exhausted.”

“Sure, sure. You left your heart in Geteville!” he said again with a laugh that it was only meant to mock him.

Ethan thought that the old captain did not believe, and never believed, that he could love a woman of that type and known in that way. “Why, Deniz? Do you want to remind me what it was enough for Syradis to steal your heart?”

“A look and the smile that formed those dimples...” he sadly confessed only because of the alcohol. Usually, in fact, he did not like to talk about the wounds of the past. His face changed expression.

Ethan was sorry for that metamorphosis, yet he continued to pursue him. “Huh? What did you just say?”

“A look. Don’t make me repeat.”

“So, what do you have to criticize that I fell under the clutches of a woman in the same way?”

“Ah, stupid brat! Syradis was a heavenly spirit! A messenger of the Divines, I swear!” he confessed again, revealing personal details that when sober he would not have even imagined saying.

“Well, everyone can be pure in their own way. You didn’t know Maeve as I did. You didn’t look at his eyes as I did. She’s much purer than me, I guarantee you.”

“I don’t want to talk about her, Ethan. I don’t approve and you know it, but everyone makes the decisions that they consider most appropriate for themselves. Now, my dear stupid boy, fill my mug.”

Ethan smiled as a serene expression had returned to the old man’s face too, or at least that was what he wanted him to believe because the merchant knew what kind of wound Syradis Worden had left in Deniz’s heart.

The skies quickly darkened in that environment of perennial play and mockery.

Of the Tiburon crew there was not one left sober. They decided to take a couple of rooms at the Drunk Tuna to spend the night there. The next day would be important to the finances of the ship and its crew.

Quartermaster Egill, known as Borda, was predictably the first to take his leave. Deniz and Ilker followed shortly after. Son would spend the night there, sprawled on the floor or perhaps out on the straw immersed in his own vomit, as he did every time they made port. Of this Ethan was pretty sure.

The merchant greeted the men, kissed the back of the hand of the sweet, little Ronda, whose face once again burned, and took his leave in turn.

Arriving in the small room, he quickly undressed and, without even extinguishing the long green apple-smelled candle that dimly lit the room, he fell drunk into sleep.