— All right, come on, we've got money, — I said, flipping a coin. A five-hundred belli piece clinked sharply into the old captain's palm.
— That's not enough, — he smirked, spinning the coin between his fingers.
— It's a down payment, — I replied calmly, sitting on the nearest wooden crate. — Start the story, and then we'll see how much it's worth.
The sailor snorted, shrugged, glanced around, and lowered his voice:
— Well, listen. Most of this you've already heard… but not all. This ship isn't just a pretty vessel. Old Bin spent years building it on borrowed money. Everything was calculated: sell the ship, cover the debt, even have enough left for a new workshop. But he borrowed from the wrong person.
— From who? — Sabo asked, leaning on the rail.
— From Nelson, — the captain said with disgust in his voice. — A monopolist. He has half the shipyards on East Blue in his pocket, and the other half under his heel. He finances shipbuilding, but only with one goal: to buy up the best minds and trap them in his chain.
— And Bin refused, right? — Karina frowned, clarifying.
— Stubborn he was. Said he wouldn't work for the fleet like a conveyor belt. Then Nelson raised the interest rate. Two million debt turned into ten. The old man didn't have time to react — the ship was already seized.
— Why didn't he turn to the marines? — I asked.
The sailor gave a crooked smile, looking at us like naive rookies.
— Because Nelson is the commander of this base.
Silence hung in the air.
— He holds both money and power. And Bin has pride and the ship — the ship is just a pretext, and Bin can be made a slave, — the captain added quietly. — And if you want my advice: if you have the right amount — take it. Because there's no other ship like this on these seas.
— Why are you telling us this? — I squinted.
— Because the ship deserves to sail, not rot at the dock. And the old man… — the sailor paused for a second, running his hand over his beard. — I helped him build it. From the very start. The skeleton, the keel, every plank, every rivet — we hammered them with our own hands. This isn't just a ship. It's labor, it's… a dream.
We stood silently, listening to his voice. There was something heavy, almost personal, in his words.
— Why doesn't he just sail away at night? — Karina squinted, asking. — He has the ship, you could help. Wouldn't that be easier?
The sailor shook his head.
— This is our home island, — he said wearily. — We grew up here. Every roof remembers us as kids.
And now… — he nodded toward the dock — see those two guys by the warehouse? They watch the ship. Day and night. It's not a guard, no. Just "observers." But if the ship disappears — they'll raise hell immediately.
He lowered his voice:
— And even if it works — Nelson has the papers. Real ones. Court-approved. Loan, collateral, interest. If Bin disappears with the ship, they'll put him on the wanted list, as a thief. They'll put a bounty on his head. You see, despite all the schemes, Nelson documents everything. He may be a scoundrel, but a scoundrel by the letter of the law.
Karina crossed her arms, shaking her head with irritation.
— Then just burn the papers, — she said coldly. — Problem solved.
— You think he keeps them in some wooden box in a shed? — the sailor sighed, shaking his head.
— He's the base captain. That means under his command are a hundred fighters, and every one swore to protect the order… and his papers too.
He looked at us with slight regret, as if he already knew we wouldn't drop this idea.
— Those documents are the key to his power. He keeps them in a vault at the headquarters. Stone walls, iron doors, armed guards. Even if you break in — how do you get out? The island is surrounded by patrols, and half the people in the port will snitch on him for a couple of silver coins.
Karina leaned on a barrel, thoughtfully gazing toward the sea.
— So, if nothing can be done about the papers… — she began slowly, squinting at the sun.
— We just beat him up and take the documents — that's the end of it, — I said, shrugging. — Why bother? He's no good to play polite with.
The sailor smirked, but there was no joy in his eyes — only sympathy and a trace of worry.
— All right, thanks for the info! — I said, tossing two five-hundred belli coins to the old man. —
Here's something for your trouble.
The old man caught the coins deftly but immediately frowned and tried to stop us:
— Eh, I'm not done yet… — he began, reaching out his hand.
I looked at him sternly:
— We've understood everything already, — I replied calmly. — No use stopping us now. If it's important — say it quick, or you'll lose your chance.
The old man sighed and, as if resigned, continued:
— Fine... Just be careful.
— Thanks, old man. We'll keep that in mind.
With those words, we turned and left, leaving behind the light noise of the busy port and the smell of sea salt.
— So, shall we go to their base? — Gin said calmly, tightening the strap on his shoulder and carefully carrying the heavy bag with tonfas. His gaze was focused and firm, ready for any surprises.
— First, a good meal, — Sabo said.
— Right, — Karina agreed with a slight smile. — We'll need strength before the fight.
We left the noisy port and headed to a small seaside diner nestled in the shade of old palm trees. The building was simple — made of weathered wood with a crooked roof, but inside there was a warm and cozy atmosphere. The open veranda faced the sea, and a gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the waves.
Inside the diner, the smell of fresh grilled fish, fragrant herbs, and smoke filled the air. The aroma of fried onions and garlic beckoned us to the table. Sounds of laughter, conversations, and clattering dishes created a lively picture of everyday life in this port.
We quickly took a table by the window and sat on wooden benches.The waiter, a young guy with a sun-kissed face and a friendly smile, brought the menu written in chalk on a dark board. The menu had many seafood dishes — stewed fish, seafood ragout, fresh vegetables, as well as spicy soups and meat cooked over an open fire.
— Let's order everything we can, — Sabo suggested, wiping a drop of sweat from his face after a long day. — We need strength.
— I'll have the fish soup, — Gin said.
— Well, some people in this town do have taste, — came a sarcastic comment from behind.
I turned and saw a funny man: slender, with a square face and narrow long eyes, giving him a slightly cunning, almost sly look. His purple hair was carefully styled, curled upward into a neat hook — clearly someone who cared about his appearance.
— You should trim your nails, — Karina said sarcastically, laughing as she looked at his nails that were about 10 centimeters long…
The man only smiled wickedly in response, as if to say, better not say that…