255
"December 3..."
Richard picked up his pen, thought for a moment, then put it down again.
He raised his head slightly and quietly regarded Alger Wilson, who stood silently before him, greeting him with a smile. "Good afternoon, Captain. It's nice and cool today. I thought you would sleep a little longer before getting up."
"Noon... on December 3?"
Alger spoke hoarsely. He looked neither at the dim, lightless sky nor at the black-red seawater, but stared unblinkingly at the composed researcher. The crew members bound to the masts and railings sometimes burst into deranged laughter and sometimes roared in languages no one could understand. Those tones, whether shrill or terrifyingly deep, sounded nothing like anything a human could produce, as though their throats and vocal cords were no longer human organs but had become dwellings for devils or things of that sort.
"Just what is this place..."
Richard smiled gently. "Please rest assured. The spirituality here isn't enough to mutate you completely. You may develop some harmless mental issues, but I will treat them and get you back safely."
His face ashen and his expression haggard, Alger's gaze briefly lost focus when he heard "get you back safely." Looking at Richard Ernst, he once again heard a certain voice in his heart, and a certain malicious thought flared up: during the two bouts of internal strife, they had used up all their food. From then on, the looks everyone gave one another were no longer innocent; they had become enemies and hunters. The despair and anger that followed were like a visible black mist, flowing soundlessly through the ghost ship, immersing everyone in it.
And so fighting had erupted without any need for a reason. The crew vented their pent-up anger and malice to their hearts' content, paying