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Alger Wilson slowly came to. The first thing he saw was a wine bottle rolling and spinning in front of him. It took him quite a while to realize that he was lying on the deck. His head had never hurt so much.
He propped up his upper body with his trembling arms. The instant he saw the sun overhead, an overwhelming joy at having survived disaster suddenly surged through him, nearly making him collapse again. A cold, briny wind whistled across the sea, and the sunlight offered little warmth. His entire body ached, and his stomach was empty, yet Alger nearly shed tears at that moment.
Why am I so happy... Today is December 3... Hasn't our voyage been going smoothly...?
His head felt heavy and muddled. He narrowed his eyes and barely made out his surroundings: the sailors were sprawled all over the deck, his employer among them.
The young man's glasses had flown several meters away, their cracked lenses glinting in the sun. The little Suitcase he almost never let out of his sight was not outside; it had probably been left in the cabin. Alger took a few breaths and recovered a little strength, then noticed that his employer's small, reddish-brown diary had also been flung aside. It lay right by his feet, with quite a few water stains on it.
Alger had not been thinking anything in particular, but when his gaze fell on the notebook, he inexplicably reached out.
He was still somewhat dazed when he picked it up. The morals that life and ambition had all but worn away kept him from crossing the line. Alger quickly found the ribbon bookmark tucked inside, saw all the diary entries his employer had written since they set sail, and slowly recovered his memories.
After