The brilliant sunlight outside the cabin slightly dispelled the gloom in Nikita's heart.
On deck, Harry, dressed in beach shorts, was gathering the sails. The Blond Youth helped him tug the ropes, while the burly man had been hoisted back onto the mast.
"The captain said we're heading north," the demoness called to the two busy men.
"I saw it!" Harry pointed at the greenish lantern at the stern. Nikita remembered that when she had first boarded, the lantern had still shone dazzlingly. Now, its light had gone out.
"The captain had you deliver the message. Does that mean he agreed to let you join the ship?" The Blond Youth swung toward the demoness on a thick rope, his blood-red eyes narrowed with ill intent.
Nikita watched him warily without speaking.
"My name is Ryan, the ship's boatswain." The Blond Youth pointed at his own nose and threatened, "Now that you're aboard, you follow my orders."
"You're the boatswain? Then I'm the first mate!" Harry stood on the mast overhead, shouting furiously. "Who's ever seen a boatswain who can't even catch a fish?!"
"Besides, beauties don't need to obey anyone's orders." Turning around, Harry's face blossomed with joy as he eagerly brought over his deck chair for the demoness. "A beauty only needs to lie here and enjoy the scenery."
Ryan snorted mockingly and pulled "Miss Dodo" from the pocket behind Harry, his face full of ridicule.
Nikita did not sit down.
Looking at the two clowns before her, she suddenly lost a little confidence in this legendary Black Ship.
"How many crew members are there aboard?" she asked, interrupting the two who were tearing into each other.
"Including these two brats, there are one hundred and thirteen senior crew members at True Demon rank or above. That doesn't include consumables like deep-sea war beasts, elven servants, alchemical puppets, and fast-breeding wild demon legions." A gloomy voice behind her answered gruffly.
Nikita jumped. She spun around and saw a one-legged old man with a limp standing behind her, holding an extinguished Ghost-killing Wind Lantern.
Anyone who could appear silently behind her had to be, at the very least, a Greater Demon.
Nikita respectfully lowered her head.
"Harry, have you finished gathering those sails?! And Ryan! If another rope comes to complain to me that you've been dragging them around and shaking them, I'll hang you upside down beneath Arno's ass!" The one-legged old man pointed at the burly man hanging from the mast and roared viciously at the Blond Youth.
Nikita saw several grayish-white ropes coiled around the old man's shoulder and neck, their ends swaying listlessly.
Harry and Ryan vanished from the old man's sight without saying a word.
"As for you, pretty little thing, what do you think you can do?" The old man turned his face, revealing two pitch-black eye sockets. Two dim red lights flickered within them as he examined the demoness before him.
"I can cook," Nikita answered swiftly.
"Then get to it! The ship does need a cook." The old man gave a muffled snort, stomped his foot, and vanished from the deck.
The demoness opened her handbag, took stock of her supplies, and sighed.
She raised her head. Harry stood atop the highest yardarm, gazing into the distance. His pink shirt looked like melting wax beneath the afterglow of the setting sun, blurred and distorted. Ryan, the Blond Youth, stood by the railing, directing ropes to coil themselves neatly before rolling into the dry cabin. Beside him, several thin, dark-skinned white-eyed elves dragged wooden brushes and washbasins about, scrubbing the deck with all their strength.
"Where's the kitchen?" the demoness called to Ryan.
"In the cabin. Just follow the smell of blood."
"Why is he always hanging up there?" The demoness pointed at the burly man suspended from the mast. "Do I need to cook for him?"
"You don't have to." Ryan chewed on his cigarette without turning his head. "He's being punished. By ship rules, he has to hang there for a full month. His time would have been up after sunset today, but he broke the rules when you arrived, so now he has another week to serve."
"What are we going north for?" The demoness felt that her heart was full of questions.
"If you respectfully call me 'senior,' then I might consider mercifully telling you." Ryan finally turned around, glaring at the demoness indignantly. "The crew members before you all started by scrubbing floors, but you get to go straight to the kitchen! I thought relationships among demons were simpler and more equal!"
The demoness tilted her head, looked at the inexplicable young man, blinked, and finally slipped into the cabin in search of the kitchen.
To wild demons, bloody meat was an incomparable delicacy. Without the stimulation of blood, food was as bland as mortal meals without salt. Naturally, higher-ranking demons had even greater demands.
Nikita had not been speaking idly when she said she was good at cooking. During her muddled childhood, she had already learned to simply prepare food gathered from the Silent Forest. From the first day her teacher took her in, after Sir Ulrich discovered her exceptional talent, she had been responsible for feeding her teacher and that whole group of senior brothers and sisters ranging from wild demons to Greater Demons.
That was why she could easily take out the aged liquor her teacher had treasured from her handbag, as well as rummage out a large pile of suitable seasonings.
Since it was afternoon tea, there was naturally not much to prepare. The demoness finished everything in no time.
Everyone received a small pastry and a drink. The pastry was a piece of hind leg meat covered in yellow sauce. The meat was somewhat blackened by smoke, making it impossible to tell what it was made from. It rested atop a thin layer of red, jelly-like substance on a wooden plate. The drink looked quite appetizing, green and oily, very much like the Green Bee favored by wizards.
Demons ate bloody meat. As a witch-demoness who retained much of her aesthetic sense, Nikita could not tolerate the demons' crude taste. Unfortunately, in the Mist's kitchen, she despairingly found that all the cooking utensils consisted of one knife, one chopping board, and one pot.
"We need to stock up on ingredients and suitable cooking utensils," Nikita suggested as she delivered afternoon tea to the captain's room.
The captain curled his lip but did not object.
On deck, the two hardworking crew members had already prepared for departure. The heavy anchor sunk into the deep sea had been raised, and the sails on the mast had also been gathered, rolled up, and hung neatly in place.
"Not bad. You just got the number of portions wrong." The one-legged old shipwright nodded, staring with his hollow black eyes.
Nikita frowned and counted her pastries again. One hundred and thirteen portions. There was no mistake. She raised her head and looked at the old shipwright in confusion.
"There are indeed one hundred and thirteen registered senior crew members, but that doesn't mean they're all aboard right now." Harry explained through a mouthful of pastry. "Most of them went to the New World. There are only six people aboard at the moment."
The captain, the old shipwright, Harry in his floral shorts, Ryan the Blond Youth, Arno the burly man, and herself!
Nikita steadied her slightly dizzy head. The legendary Black Ship that had sailed the four seas had completely sunk in her heart.