Inside the galley, the chicken was boiling in the pot, its rich aroma wafting through the air, causing a few crewmen to drool. Very much contrary to their enthusiasm, Uthayn sat calmly on a wooden stool, his eyes zeroed in on the bubbling pot of chicken.
In his hand, he held a large glowing lantern. He raised it, holding it near the stewing pot. On his right side, a tiny phantom, lit within like a moonlit marshmallow, hovered in midair. Its eyes and mouth were hollow, and its body looked like laundry caught in a breeze.
"Boo…" it murmured like a wounded cat, worriedly staring at the boiling pot, clearly distressed.
Uthayn looked at the phantom and clicked his tongue. "We need to wait a little longer, Mara. Be patient."
"Bo," the phantom agreed with a sad nod.
A few men in the galley glanced at Uthayn weirdly, seeing him talking to himself. But they didn't bother with him for long, soon returning to focus on their tasks.
A few seconds passed. From the stew pot, a white, translucent soul slowly drifted out.
The soul looked dazed, its head turning from side to side, observing its surroundings. But the moment its gaze fell on the glowing lamp, its eyes widened and it darted in the opposite direction, quickly trying to escape.
Little Mara's hollow eyes doubled in size, and he quickly caught the fleeing soul with his tiny hands. Uthayn brought the lamp closer, and like a frog trapping a fly, the soul was sucked into the lantern.
Uthayn lifted the lantern, peering inside to see the soul hanging its head low, its translucent hands pressed sadly against the glass wall.
"Of all things, you chose to possess a chicken. Aren't you ashamed?" Uthayn scoffed, hooking the lantern to his belt.
He smiled widely and patted little Mara's head. "Three down, ten more to go." He sighed and was about to leave the galley when a few men came rushing into the kitchen, their eyes darting around.
When the crew spotted Uthayn, they let out a collective sigh of relief.
"What happened?" Uthayn asked, a frown forming on his lips.
One of the short men with a round belly responded with a look of worry, "Captain is searching for you."
Uthayn raised his brows. "And why is he?"
The man looked toward the chicken boiling in the pot. "Your chicken caused a tragedy to the captain's hair."
Uthayn chuckled, walking toward them. "How much did he lose?" he asked casually.
"A bunch."
The smile quickly dropped from his lips.
"Uthayn Marcelleus Corvail!"
A roar interrupted their conversation.
"Fuck!" he cursed under his breath and ran quickly toward the porthole inside the galley.
Rowan, now wrapped in a towel, was storming toward the kitchen, his face red with rage. The once majestic front of his hair was now chopped into short bangs, transforming his fearsome pirate aura into a shy gloster canary.
A few men turned their faces away from their captain, trying hard to suppress their laughter, but at the sight of the large saber in his hands, they wisely chose silence. They looked at Uthayn, wondering which part of his body he was about to lose.
Seeing him ready to escape, Rowan's beard trembled. He hurled the saber in his hand with lightning speed, and it slammed the porthole shut just as Uthayn opened it.
The blade landed beside Uthayn's fingers, slicing off the tip of his nail. Uthayn yanked his hand back and blew on his fingertip, glaring at Rowan. Mara shrieked and hid behind his master.
Uthayn gritted his teeth and snapped, "Are you trying to chop my fingers off?"
Rowan sneered. "Apologies. I was aiming for your head," he stated nonchalantly.
The two of them stood glaring at each other. Sparks flew, and the crew standing around felt a chill run down their spines. Their heads darted between their captain and the handsome young man who'd asked for a lift in the middle of Netherveil and had practically moved into their ship for a month.
"Booo…" Mara mewled hesitantly, finally breaking the tension between the two.
Rowan looked at Uthayn and barked, "Get a rag and clean my bathtub. If I find even a single spot, I'll drop you exactly where I picked you up."
Uthayn scoffed. "I'm not a child to fear your threats," he replied airily.
Rowan's brow twitched, but then his lips curled into a cruel grin. "Tell me after I finish eating that. It looks tempting enough to devour." He pointed toward the lantern hooked to Uthayn's belt.
Uthayn narrowed his eyes, dark clouds shadowing his expression. His voice turned cold. "You dare."
Rowan tilted his chin arrogantly. "Try me," he challenged. "Get a rag now! And if you don't find one, use that laundry flying above you." With that, he turned and left.
Rowan's crew stood bewildered, glancing up and around, wondering what "laundry" their captain was even talking about. Meanwhile, Uthayn's gaze was fixed on the back of Rowan's head, drilling a hole through it.
Once Rowan disappeared from sight, Uthayn turned to meet the so-called laundry Rowan had spoken of.
"Seriously, what is he?" Uthayn muttered. "How could he even see you?"
Mara looked at his master, tilting his head and spreading his tiny glowing hands wide, "Boo."
Uthayn rolled his eyes, caught him mid-air, and started dragging him toward Rowan's bathtub.
"Let's go. You've got a cleaning job to do."