Chapter 2: The Secret of the Celeste (Part Two)

Yet, as the sailors of the Celeste had once heard in the Far East, there was a saying: “The loss of the old man’s horse—how do you know it isn’t a blessing?” The meaning of this phrase is that a man named Saiweng lost his horse and was very sorrowful, but someone consoled him, saying that losing the horse might not be a misfortune; perhaps it would turn out to be a blessing. Sure enough, a few days later, the horse returned, bringing another horse with it. Of course, the story does not end there—there are further twists and turns—but the point remains the same: fortune and misfortune are intertwined, and under certain conditions, they can transform into one another.

On the third day after leaving the supply port, a sudden storm forced the Celeste to change course. Attempting to evade the trouble, they managed to avoid the tempest, only to become ensnared in a vast mass of seaweed.

The Celeste was like a reckless child who had wandered into a sprawling marsh, and by the time they realized the danger, the seaweed had surged in from all sides, cutting off any chance of retreat.

Worst of all, the wind that had been steady for so long had vanished. The sea was deathly still, with nothing but icy water and the slow, inexorable advance of the seaweed.

Panic seized everyone. Without wind, the sails were useless. Who could say when the wind would return? If, in the meantime, the ship were attacked by swarms of sea creatures, the Celeste would be doomed. They had to get out of this cursed place as quickly as possible.

Although the Celeste had been designed to allow for rowing in the absence of wind—sections of deck could be removed along the sides, letting sailors man the oars in the rowing hold—oars were of little use in this vast trap of seaweed. Only with the help of the wind could they hope to escape this maritime graveyard, and they needed to do so quickly. The seaweed was thickening by the hour; if this continued, the Celeste would become a green monstrosity, and even a return of the wind would be futile.

“The fortune charm only ever gives you more wind when you already have some, but when you lack it entirely, it won’t give you even a breath,” Armand complained. Though displeased with the ship’s figurehead, he refrained from smashing it—the enchanted sculpture, with its permanently affixed spell, was worth a full tenth of the ship’s cost: five thousand Landian silver coins.

Again and again the sailors tried to row free of the seaweed, but their efforts were in vain. After several hours, exhausted and dispirited, they gathered on deck, staring blankly at the green sea around them.

Wei Wuxi did not slump on the deck, but remained standing. He possessed thick, dark brows and bright, spirited eyes; his nose was straight and well-formed. Even by the standards of the Western Continent, he could be called a handsome man. Unlike Armand’s refined good looks, his figure was more robust and athletic.

“This is truly troublesome now,” the young man said anxiously.

“If only we had some wind, there might still be a way,” Wei Wuxi said resignedly.

Fulton, the boatswain, burst onto the deck from below, agile as a monkey as he scrambled up the tall mast and shouted, “Damn this weather! Have you all given up so soon? Do you remember how we fought through storms and pirates on our journey to the Far East?”

The sailors’ response was one of dejection. It wasn’t for lack of effort, but sheer manpower could not free them from the seaweed. The Celeste was not built primarily for rowing, but for sailing; without wind, they had lost their main source of power. With a displacement of three hundred and eighty tons, the carrack far surpassed the old cogs and the caravels favored in the north in both size and weight.

From high atop the mast, the boatswain did his best to rally the crew. To motivate them, he announced that Captain Kaplan would employ a magical device on board to aid the sailors.

The news reinvigorated the sailors, who returned to their stations and manned the oars at the gunports once more. Armand and Wei Wuxi also pulled with all their might. This time, the Celeste came closer to success than in any previous attempt, but still fell just short, like a beast ensnared in a trap, thrashing wildly but unable to break free.

Just as the sailors’ strength was flagging and their spirits were about to collapse, a new force surged through the Celeste, pushing her forward. Everyone aboard felt it—Captain Kaplan had not deceived them; he had indeed activated a magical device.

Only Wei Wuxi’s eyes reflected a flicker of wonder as he murmured to himself, “The power of Daoist arts?”

With the combined effort of their oars and the power of the magical device, the sailors redoubled their efforts. At last, the Celeste broke through the seaweed, surging forward like a wild beast escaping a trap, relentless until the crew was utterly spent and the enchanted propulsion alone bore the ship onward at a slow but steady pace.

A breeze began to stir. Sailor Leia was the first to leap up and shout, “Wind’s up! Hoist the sails, fill them all!”

One by one, the sails were raised on every mast. Billowing with the returning wind, they propelled the Celeste forward with tremendous force, and she sped toward her destination like a hound that had eaten its fill, escaping the perilous green waters for good.

“Gone?” The man from Hua seemed to have discovered some new amusement. His curiosity, which had faded as he grew accustomed to life aboard the ship, now soared higher than ever, surpassing even what he’d felt upon first boarding.

———

After the day’s ordeal, everyone except the sailors on watch had fallen into dreams.

Moonlight washed over the deck, cleansed by the sea, casting a chill and lonely gleam on the empty boards.

Beneath the second deck, outside a small compartment in the middle of the Celeste’s hull, a fit and shadowy figure appeared in utter silence. This little cabin had not been opened since the Celeste set sail from East Sea County in the Far East. Only today, after breaking free from the seaweed, had Captain Kaplan—holder of the sole key—unlocked it.

The lock twisted and fell away with no sound, caught deftly by a hand. The entire process was noiseless.

The hatch swung open quietly. The darkness all around seemed to pose no obstacle to the visitor; every detail within the compartment was visible in perfect clarity.

Strange runes were inscribed on the floor, forming a peculiar set of concentric circles, and at the center sat a raised vessel, now empty.

“A rune for gathering energy, another for conversion, and finally, one to turn all this power into thrust,” the shadow murmured, deciphering the arcane symbols. In one corner, the runes extended beyond the concentric circles, their destination unknown.

Golden light shone in the shadow’s eyes, as if penetrating the decks in search of the runes’ path. “Ah, it leads all the way down to the hold—there’s a massive paddlewheel there.”

As the golden glow intensified, the pupils shifted rapidly, displaying different visions: sleeping sailors in their quarters, even Leia sneaking a drink from another’s bottle under the pretext of getting up to relieve himself. Finally, the vision settled on the great paddlewheel at the stern.

The wheel was now still, though strands of seaweed still clung to it. The runes extended only as far as the wheel’s connection, meaning the runic power was ultimately channeled to drive it. This was the source of the force that had miraculously propelled the Celeste free of the seaweed.

The golden gaze returned to the vessel at the heart of the runic array. “So this is where the spirit stone goes.”

The shadow closed the hatch; the twisted lock fluttered back as if with wings, locking itself once more, as though nothing had ever happened.

Only then did the shadow vanish, satisfied.