The ship's cabin was stifling and airless, thick with sour smells, rot, and foot odor. Henry seemed used to it. Hunched beside the crate nearest the oil lamp, he wrote in his diary.
[We're almost at the coast. Right now, I feel like Chris setting foot in Free City for the first time, full of hope and longing for the place, with just a trace of worry— What if it isn't as wonderful as they say?]
Henry put away the charcoal pencil he had whittled down, blew off the crumbs, and idly flipped through his earlier entries.
The Theater Owner, Grita Huffman, had sent him to Free City, only for Pirates to raid his ship near the coast. Because he could act, they had taken him to Pirate Island to perform for their leader. Then the Royal Navy had attacked the island, sending the Pirates fleeing in all directions, while Henry had been mistaken for one of them and locked up for more than ten days.
After his release, penniless, he had performed in a Tavern, only to be harassed with Cantrips by a Bard who thought Henry was an accomplice trying to steal his business. At last, Henry had found a group of stowaways hoping to make their fortunes in Free City and boarded a merchant ship with them as a Cleaner...
His journey to Free City had been anything but smooth.
Footsteps approached. Henry put away his diary without hurry, unworried about anyone reading his secrets.
He was the only person in the cabin who could read.
"Can that thing you're writing buy you bread?" a gruff voice asked behind him.
"If someone gave me a loaf, I'd hand it over on the spot."
A muffled burst of laughter filled the cabin. Then someone clapped his hands.
The