The crippled next to the recruiter fidgeted as Enric stepped forward. “Ye the one recommended by Vega?” asked the recruiter. “Ye seem sick.”

Enric breathed in to stick out the chest. The disease cursing all who dared to witness the decimation had left him weakened and, although he was already feeling better, the ravages of weeks flirting with death could still be seen in his features. The plague, as some called it, had overcome everyone. Strong and hardened soldiers no battle had bent now rested underground. Everyone but him. Enric was not a masterpiece of war, but he was certainly a tough nut to crack. “This is just a slight shivers,” Enric took a glance at the mangled, who couldn’t take his eyes off him. “Vega’s doctor wrote it there. Nothing to worry about.”

“Ain’t worry about nothing, boy!” the recruiter snapped. “Vega’s ships are in the south, except the Dandelion and his own Azure Princess, but those need no new lubber, ye ma-”

Enric was quick to cut him off. Vega had been a mentor, but after the war, the desire to follow in the footsteps of someone he did not respect vanished. Great men to behold were just delusions of stupid, naïve fools. “Any other fleet will suffice.”

The crippled moved nervously again. The recruiter, frozen in a deep stare intending to dig into Enric’s thoughts, took his time to respond. “Well, the Tiger fleet needs people. I suppose you already know we no longer pay wages. You get what the ship earns. A portion of the total, two when you earn a master's position. Savvy?”

Enric nodded and put his name on a paper. The last time he did something similar, he was hungry to travel towards a glorious future. Now he was cherishing to leave the past behind. “The Tiger?” Enric asked. The nickname seemed as stupid as it was unnecessary. Another conceited person in need of attention, he thought.

“Admiral Hafiz,” the recruiter said. “Go to the South market, where they are building the fair, and search for his quarter, ‘Long’ Fueng. He will place you where you are needed.” When Enric took the first steps to walk away, the recruiter answered a question that he had not even thought of asking. “A short, scrawny guy who talks loudly!”

“I’ll ask around.” Enric entered the crowded street with numb legs. The heat of Bandanii City was intense, impairing a recovery the good and more refreshing northern weather had achieved. He did not like the heat for sure, but nothing was more unpleasant than the insane crowds filling the city. The square was the worst of all. No piece of cobblestone was left without shade, and all the stalls already opened before the Wonder’s fair started were all packed with curious onlookers.

The description of the quartermaster was vague, and in the first row of stalls alone there were half a dozen who could well be the man he was looking for. After a brief break to catch his breath, Enric quickly spotted two boys with red tattoos. He didn’t like having to wear a hideous octopus on his forearm very much, but knowing that it would soon disappear gave him a sort of ease. When Enric pulled up his sleeve, the couple of brothers in arms rushed to raise their ink with stupid pride.

“You’re the one they call the Rick’o War? Rick’o wreck I’d say!” said one of them. His companion pushed with disdain and raised a friendly palm to ease any retaliation. “Forget my stupid brother. I’m Timothy and the idiot is Jonah. We heard the rumours of Vega’s new … golden boy and we just messin’ round. Vega’s rep is not really welcome here, but we honestly don’t want trouble, yep? What ship are you sailing?”

“I thought the rumours were I’m Vega’s new puppet.” Enric tensed his lips. A subtle grin all three men shared. “Anyhow, I’m looking for a man called Fueng. He will assign me.”

Jonah’s eyes widened and blew with a high pitch.

“The madman? Good luck!” Timothy said. “Go to the last store in this row, where they sell the wheel guns. He was heading there.”

A light nod was enough to thank them and say goodbye. Timothy replied in the same way, while Jonah prolonged the chat with a shout from behind. “Don’t get too close to him and don’t raise your voice!”

Enric took the advice with a chuckle. No matter how crazy, dangerous, or unpredictable that fire was, nothing could scare him. Not anymore.

Fueng was far from being ‘Long’. Yet, Enric knew when someone was hiding more than their appearance showed. The scrawny build was of tanned, hardened muscles, and although he was a man who had to look from below, he was one of those who could bury you with a simple glare.

In the short time Enric stood on the side of the stall, Fueng inspected three revolver pistols with the mastery of who knows how to assemble and disassemble such weapons with ease. “This one great!” Fueng shouted. “Can ye convert cartridges?”

“Pardon me?” the seller stuttered.

“All good but loadin’ no good!” said Fueng with the same irritating volume. “Daddy need not frontload. Too slow. Chance paper to metal case. Like that one, leh!”

“I suppose…But that will cost-”

A playful but overpowering backslap turned the seller’s words into a cough. “Money lin, lin!” Fueng shouted even louder. “Ye get ready, I come sunset, all money! Old Long no lie. I promise! You no disappoint I, eh? Ye sunshu good I pay double!”

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The salesman shook his head with resignation. It was obvious he was not happy with the task shoved down his throat, but Fueng was a man not to be crossed. Enric realised it with a simple glimpse, and the seller knew it as well.

Like a mouse in the undergrowth, Fueng disappeared into the crowd without Enric having time to stop him. Spooked by his slip, he rushed behind the sweaty little man. While Enric avoided passers-by not out of shyness, but of manners, Fueng trotted in a straight line, as if protected by an invisible aura no one dared to cross. When Enric reached, the Tiger’s quartermaster spoke strangely softly. “Ye the Vega boy. Why ye come to I?”

For some reason he did not understand, Enric halted to speak, and Fueng did the same to listen. “Vega has sponsored me since before the colonies. But neither he nor anyone else gave me a hand during the war. I went through there alone. To him, I owe gratitude, but not loyalty. That is to be given to whoever takes me under command here.”

Fueng’s face gloomed with each word until it reached an eerie, intimidating darkness when silence arrived. The challenge of discomfort triggered, as had very rarely happened, a mumble to alleviate an unease Enric was not used to. “I don’t mean to snitch. It’s just.. I just need to close some doors from the past. I only want to start anew and forget.”

The last word, as if it was a magic charm, turned the frown into a broad smile of teeth and wrinkles. Fueng hit Enric’s arm with a slap that would have hurt others. “Old Long like ye, ship o’ war boy! I call ye Ricky!”

With no further ado, Fueng reprised his strides and Enric the chasing. The next stop was the shop of a mapping master who had dozens of world charts and ship blueprints hanging in every corner. Fueng rushed straight towards a small drawing: a ship without masts and a hull without a deck.

“Interesting design made by my former partner,” the artist said. “It’s supposed to sail underwater. How crazy is that!”

Fueng rubbed his hands excitedly and let out a throaty chuckle. “No crazy enough! I buy and ask my cousin to build! Then Daddy can see fishy again.”

The drawing master took down the paper and rolled it up with extreme care. Then, he put it inside a rounded case made of wood and after handing it over, dazzled to the generous pile of coins dropped over his hand. “I’m afraid, my good sir, if you build such a vessel, it will be a waste of time and money. It’s just a nice drawing to hang, but the real and only prototype ever built had many unsolved issues.”

“What issue?” Fueng said as he caressed his purchase like a child caresses a doll. “No masts, right? I know. Need mast and a sail. How to move then?”

Enric’s sight narrowed, so did the drawing master’s.

“But... then... No, well yes,” mumbled the artist. “The propulsion was manual and ineffective …But if you put sails, what… is… the…” The artist dispelled his deduction when he found himself talking to no one. From his corner, Enric shrugged and set out in search of the elusive mouse, who was already leaving the crowded stalls and reaching a square corner with empty tables.

In such a crowded place, it was strange to see a half-empty tavern. Of the outside tables, only one, the largest, was occupied. From nearby, Enric deduced the reasons. Here and there, and marking an invisible line that others could not cross, were brothers of the kraken. In the centre and sitting around the aforementioned table, ragged uniforms discussed calmly between sips of wine and coffee. Fueng stood at a distance and raised a hand to warn Enric to do the same. Everyone around gave glares of mistrust, and of those at the table, all but one did the same. Who did not care about Enric’s presence was a war crippled with prosthetic arms, a stoic individual sharing a concern thought with his steaming cup.

“That one my Daddy. Next one of his cap’ns. Mr. Kalin. Ye go with him, aye? But Vega’s boy not liked here. New job only scrap and brush, I’m afraid, my good sir.”

“I’m fine with anything,” Enric whispered, while feeling a challenging shoulder pushing to take over his space. When the burly man’s effort couldn’t make him move a single bit, he turned to Fueng to shout in whispers. “What did ye bring him here? Are you stupid?”

“What ye say?” Fueng’s step forward put the powerful man in defence, with the obvious expression of someone who has realised his mistake. “Ye cow ma friend, I make AhClan knot on ye neck. Old Long no lie, aye? Ye tell others.”

Enric, who was used to being the one who commands respect, felt as confused as delighted to see a bully walking away with the tail between his legs. Crossing his arms, he whispered. “What’s an AhClan knot?”

Fueng made a slight grunt. “Ye run a rig on I, I show ye.”

The hubbub on the table raised in tone, and few stood to openly argue with each other. The admiral remained calm, but when he knocked the wood to make his words heard, everyone froze to his will. His voice, forceful and firm, hit like a hammer. “The world has suffered enough, gentlemen. People need protection more than ever, and we are here to do so. We are shields, not blades. Such misdemeanours must be eradicated right now and entirely.”

The rant continued, but the distance and the interruption of a bald old salt deprived Enric from hearing any further. “This one goes where?”

“Kalin’s Wilde Goose,” Fueng said. “He the best deck cleaner I see all my life.”

“That so? Join me then, ‘best deck cleaner in the world,” said the bald man. “Capn’ Kalin sailing west very soon, your daddy’s orders.”

Fueng patted Enric's back and squished his shoulder. Enric, following the bald man, dragged his feet with tired reluctance.

“Ye don’t disappoint old Long, aye?” shouted Fueng, not caring about interrupting the speech of his admiral. “Ye care of ye, brother! Worry not!”

Enric shook his head and sighed. The stares around, aimed to be intimidating, were nothing but embarrassing. His new guide was slow, nothing compared to following the crazy mouse and, with baldness hovering at the edge of his vision, Enric kept his attention on the admiral.

The meeting was over, but his speech was still going on. A plea which, judging from his vigorous movements, had become more intense and despairing. If he was somehow a tiger, that was his best roar: a yell of hope and courage floating like a fresh breeze Enric had not enjoyed for a long time. Devoured by the desire to renew a life of true heroism, Enric deepened to a creed hitting his ears with conviction and hankering. When it ended, almost at the point he was too far from hearing, he suddenly realised there were still great men he could follow.