THIRST 4.2

It was the third investigation day. Dannke had discovered some sort of pattern in the lost ships. They had all set sail for Viollara, a small island to the southwest. Larger ships tended to avoid this passage because of the surrounding reefs. One false move and the ships would run aground or be destroyed. Passing through Viollara was not essential to the Empire's trade, but if neglected, it could become a good hiding place for pirates or traitors. It seemed obvious that the ships had been plundered by one of these dissident groups. In that case, the solution was simple: wipe them out. Thus Dannke and Fleas set out for the docks. According to the owner of the Mulatto Cat's Drop, a ship would be arriving from there today, manned by experienced and skilled sailors. From what he told him, it was the only ship that had made it there and back more than once.

Dannke felt his pouch getting thinner and thinner. He snorted. He had to pay the stable boy for the damage Surly had caused. The animal hated being locked up for so long. Surely, when the old knight picked him up, he would take revenge in some way, either by jumping too much when he rode him, by bringing its snout close to him and then sneezing in his face, or simply by hitting him with its hard head.

"If we manage to accomplish this task, I will demand compensation. Either that, or we will have to find work before we return to Les Iuria."

The little one suddenly stopped moving. His eyes were fixed on an empty dock. Dannke noticed a man looking out to sea with a lectern in front of him. He was an artist. It had been a long time since he had seen one, and it was probably the first one Fleas had ever seen in his life.

"Go see what he's doing. I'm sure you'll like it."

The little one trotted ahead, on all fours, because it was faster that way. Dannke soon caught up with him. The artist was so absorbed in the sea that he did not notice the hyaenid until his shadow was cast on the lectern. When he saw it for the first time, he was startled and almost fell into the water. Then they looked at each other for a long time.

"Don't let him frighten you, good artist. It is curiosity that motivates him, not blood."

"Ah, in that we are brothers... even if we are of different species," he turned to Fleas. "Can you talk?"

"Yes, I can. What are you doing? What's that? And this?"

"I am painting. This is a lectern with a canvas, and these are paintings. I want to capture some of the charm of the sea on this canvas. I want to take the sea with me, caught between these four woods."

"Well, that will take a while. Shall the little one stay here and learn the art? I have business to attend to. I'll pay you a few coins."

The artist was offended.

"I do not want any payment, good sir. Art is a plague that we must spread, for with it the old world will die, and a more beautiful one, painted by us, will be born."

“Yeah, yeah," he looked at Fleas. "Stay with him and don't touch anything. If he tells you to be quiet, be quiet. I'll be back soon. Show him the map, I'm sure he'll like it," he added as he walked away.

Dannke went around the docks and asked each sailor if he knew anything about the ship. They all answered the same: that it would not appear. He was about to give up when a group of merchants, traders, dock workers and day laborers were startled by something appearing on the horizon. It was the expected ship. It came ashore a short distance from the dock, as if it had lost its way. The crowd, curious but respectful, gathered around it. Dannke boarded before they could dock.

The scene was horrifying. Dozens of men sprawled fore and aft, their lips dry and cracked, their bodies shriveled like raisins. Only three had survived whatever had happened, and they were the ones running the boat. The captain's legs were trembling, and when he saw Dannke running toward him, they stopped supporting his body. The three murmured an almost inaudible prayer.

"This can't be. It seems like they have been at sea for months."

"Try... the water," the captain replied in a voice so dry, so sticky, that it made Dannke's tongue reflexively wet his lips.

The fresh water barrels were open and almost empty. Dannke hesitated for a moment before answering the prayer. He lifted the liquid with his cupped hand and tasted it. He did not feel anything strange, it was fresh water. He took a wooden cup and carried it to the three men. The water flew out of the captain's mouth like a flock of birds fleeing from a cat. He didn't understand, it couldn't be. He ran ashore at full speed, snatched a waterskin from the hands of one of the merchants, and carried it back. The same thing.

"Kill us," he begged, his strength almost gone.

"What happened?" He did not answer. Dannke shook him. "What happened?"

He looked at him with those unlubricated eyes, as if they were about to shed sand instead of tears.

"It was her, the lady in the sea. It was her..."

He could not say another word. Dannke sighed. He drew his knife and plunged it into the captain's chest. He did the same to the other two.