As the ship left the bay, the shore shrank behind it, growing smaller and smaller until only a gray line remained.
At first, everyone on deck stood by the rail, watching the water. No one went below first.
Once the ship swung broadside into the waves, half of them stopped standing.
One wave after another passed beneath the hull, lifting the ship and gently setting it down again.
Some crouched by the rail, some squeezed through the hatch, and some simply sat on a coil of rope.
Everyone aboard was bound for the Land of Snow.
Their equipment was stowed at the bottom of the hold. Passengers and cargo shared the space, with wooden crates stacked higher than their heads.
Ropes secured every crate, their ends tied to nails in the walls of the hold and pulled taut the whole way.
The wooden ladder beneath the hatch was narrow. Whenever someone came down, someone else had to turn sideways to let them pass.
The hold was packed. No lamps were lit; a single strip of light spilled through the hatch.
Whenever the ship rocked, the crates gave a dull, muted knock.
No one spoke. Only the knocking of crates mingled with the sound of water, making the cramped air feel even heavier.
The film crew crowded the hold, using crates as stools and planks as tables. No one could stand upright. The person holding the light stand huddled in a corner, sitting on his coat for padding. The one farthest inside simply lay still, staring at the crack in the ceiling and groaning every time the ship rocked.
The hold smelled foul. Someone had vomited, and even a covering of straw ash failed to smother the stench.
Koyuki sat on a crate lid, her coat wrapped tightly around her, her