Cornell followed the young woman in silence for a few minutes, sensing that she wasn't in a very talkative mood. Raphaëlle, lost in thought, slowly ascended the spiral staircase of the watchtower, which was kind of a relief for the old sea wolf who could follow her without too much exertion. They kept going up, avoiding the piles of debris that littered their path until they reached a large resting area just below the tower's pinnacle.

The first thing they noticed was the gaping hole in the wall in front of them, with tons of rubles scattered on the floor inside. The second was that the explosion that opened the hole had also destroyed the staircase leading to the pinnacle. Cornell took the lead, approaching the destroyed staircase with a squint. He then turned around, knelt in front of the gaping hole, and pulled an old spyglass from his bag, silently watching the city. Raphaëlle approached the old sailor and looked in the same direction.

"I’m sorry but I’ve got to ask." she finally blurted out after a while. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but why were you given the spyglass exactly?"

It was Cornell's turn not to answer before a short period of reflection.

"I was part of tha lookout team on the Altaïr when I was a youngin’. " he began with nostalgia in his voice. "Then, over time, radars started replacin’ us and human lookouts lost some of their meanin’. We were still up there, observin’, but things had already changed. Our eyes becam’... obsolete.

He lowered the spyglass before sighing, turning his head towards Raphaëlle.

"So, my body did tha same... When tha doc’ told me I had glaucoma, I though’ my career was dead an’ buried, but Captain Krag fought for me ta stay on his ship. He said I was basically furniture on his tub." the old man finished with a laugh.

Raphaëlle smiled at him, her heart somewhat eased by Cornell's good humor. He continued.

"Honestly, I could neva’ thank him enough for keepin’ me. Bein’ a look-out’s all I got… Ya can't ask an old sea wolf ta stay on land; it's forcin’ him to deny his true nature. Besides, the Altaïr is my home. If I leave it, I’m not livin’. Plus, I can keep an eye on tha new blood, like you and lil' Tolas."

At the mention of the bosun's name, Raphaëlle's expression darkened. Cornell tilted his head to the side before raising his eye to the sky with a faint smile.

"Ya know, back in the days up in the look-out post, we wer’ quite tha ragtag bunch of go-getters. We managed ta get along but we all wanted ta be noticed by tha captain at the time, good’ol Otto. Two guys in particular shone a bit more than tha others—Berkleys and Mazenquin. These two wouldn’ even piss on tha other if they wer’ on fire. We all liked Berkleys; a more than decent lad, smile as bright as tha sun and tha soul of a good comrade. Mazenquin was…more of an acquired taste; he worked like a madman, fillin’ report after report. I’m pretty sure he thought we wer’ a pain in his always-workin’ ass..."

The young woman sat down next to the old man, listening attentively.

"And then one day, the chief look-out falls down tha mess’ stairs and smashes his forehead open. Berkleys and Mazenquin, they can sniff an opportunity, so they both work even harda'. And then comes the day when the captain announces who’ll be tha new guy in charge."

"I’m gonna go with…Mazenquin?" Raphaëlle queried.

"Good call, little wolf. Of course, it was Mazenquin. He was as efficien' as he was a prick. And he immediately got ta work with tha same insane work ethic, except now, we had ta do tha same thing. No one could say nothin’, he was in charge and he made us feel it in our bones. He sent us all over tha Altaïr to keep an eye inside n’out. Literally. I tore my shoes open walkin’ from tha top deck to tha very bottom of our ship, lookin’ for any cracks in tha hull or any misplaced barrel in a room. And ya know the size of our ship; ya’d almost need a horse if ya wanted to walk from tha front to tha back in less than 3 hours."

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

"Talk about a rotten deal. How did it go?" Raphaëlle asked.

“After a month, most started ta whine, others couldn’ be bothered tha leave their hammock in the mornin’...I think some even tried ta deck tha bastard when he was nearin’ the guardrails. In tha end, after just a month, even ol’ Otto could sense that things weren't going well with Mazenquin in charge, so...”

“So he chose Berkleys to take over, because duh!” the young woman concluded.

Cornell nodded while looking up at the sky, observing the stars.

“Exactly. At least, that was tha plan. But once Berkleys became the chief lookout, all hell broke loose.”

The deckhand frowned as Cornell continued to reminisce.

“Ya see, a “good comrade” is just that. Doesn’ make for much of a leader. Especially when yar whole team has just escaped from Mazenquin’s overreachin’ grasp and ya don’ want ta ruffle anymore feathers. So, lots of shit started to slide. Lack of seriousness, unpunctuality, familiarity—t’was no skin off his back. People started takin’ advantage of tha'. Lookouts began to ignore him, they disobeyed, they talked back…. And it actually impacted our jobs, reports were poorly filled out, we almost got boarded a few times because no one was actually on tha job... a shitshow would've looked away.”

Deep in thought, Raphaëlle looked up at the city. She understood that Cornell was trying to tell her something about Tolas's attitude but she wasn't completely sure of his point.

“And then? What happened next?”

"He changed…toughened up a bit. Overnight, he learned how ta say “no”; got people out of bed, checked that their work was actually done…he seemed like he got a grip. At first, anyway. And then he overcorrected."

Cornell's expression darkened slightly.

"Bit of screamin’ here, bit of violence there. Punishin’ the latecomers first and then anyone deemed too slow ta be efficient. I still remember when he had us pullin’ three or four shifts in a row without gettin’ a wink of sleep. Some guys he wouldn’ even let go ashore when we moored. And tha way he started swearin’ at us any chance he got…We wer’ all just a few insults away from divin’ out of this mess. But then, after a few months he just started ta calm down. Became easier ta live with; I mean, he was still tougher than the wet mop he started as but he wasn’ tryin’ to make our lives a livin’ hell again. So everyone started to just… work again; we all learned how ta respect him enough and he did tha same. And seein’ as he retired six or seven years ago, I’d say he did pretty well for himself."

"How come? Did he feel like he was going to far and just reeled it back in by himself?” Raphaëlle asked.

"I learned tha’ a few years later." the old man replied with a little smile. "Apparently, he had decided ta take inspiration from Mazenquin to assert his authority. Too bad he only retained the most dickish part of tha fellow, and nobody could say anythin’. We’d just played tha “hard-ass boss” card. So, before everything nosedived into tha abyss, Mazenquin himself gave him a good talkin’-to, trained him and taught him how ta become an efficient chief."

"Seriously? Why? He could have been in charge again! And didn’t he hate him? Why would he do that?"

"Never told us why, but I can guess. Mazenquin was a workaholic; he always found somethin’ to do. And since we spent our time whinin’, even more than when he was in charge, he must’a realized it was simpler for him to work if tha chief could shut us up while workin’. So, they teamed up. Turns out, “divide and conquer” works both ways. Once they actually started workin’ together, everythin’ falled into place."

The wolf exhaled through her nose with a small smirk. She nodded, a sign that she understood where Cornell was coming from. The satisfied old man turned back to Ermythie, putting his spyglass back in place.

Suddenly, his body froze. Raphaëlle noticed and began to stare at the place he was observing before opening her eyes wide. A faint glow had appeared in the distance, towards the north of the city. She could see that it seemed to be coming from Vyx’s Bay, a few kilometers from the watchtower. Then she felt someone tugging at her sleeve, and she looked down at Cornell, who still had the spyglass fixed to the north.

"Little wolf, ya'll have ta go get tha bosun pronto..."

He handed it to her, pointing exactly where she needed to concentrate. She could see several points of light slowly moving between the destroyed houses of the city, slowly approaching their position.

"...’cause we're not alone on this island." the old man concluded.