As Abdulhayy Mahmud waited for the kid to accept his offer, things took a different turn and he realized that the kid's mother had arrived after seeing his expression turn into one that said ''Oh shit'' after hearing his name getting called out. He also learned that the kid's name was Shahid. He turned and looked at the mother. She wasn't all that different from most of the Muslim women he had seen throughout his life - not particularly beautiful, not particularly ugly, and dressed in loose clothing that hid her features, surrounded by her children. One particular thing that stood out was the blood on her clothing. 'Poor woman,' Abdulhayy Mahmud thought. 'She gives off a solemn feeling.' Tied to children. He did not say anything to the woman or the child. Now that the boy did not need him, there was no need for bothering them. He watched as the man who was preaching to the crowd suddenly appeared next to the boy. 'Liar.' The man was young, dashing. He wanted to see a part that he could relate to. He couldn't find any. Then again, he was being nice to the kid. There was nothing wrong about that. Plus, he did not know whether there were any reasons for him to lie. Perhaps he had been ordered to. He watched as the captain and the mother talked. What were they saying? He couldn't hear it. He realized that he wasn't listening.

They went away. Hata'i decided to sit down. Looking around, he couldn't find anything to sit on. Then he realized that there was a ship that he needed to be on. Leaving the castle courtyard, he immersed himself in the charred remains of the town. He smiled. He could see the sea. He could see a young man, a survivor, hugging her mother. Sailors were rigging up their ships, crews fighting over salvaged goods. Beggars were taking advantage of the calamity and earning alms that they would barely earn in a year. On his way down to the ship, he passed by a beggar. As he walked past, the beggar smiled and started counting the coins that had fallen off Abdulhayy Mahmud's sleeve into his hands. He walked down to the ship. It was a galleon. A rather light-armed one. He could count twenty closed portholes on its port side. Occasionally, he could see the tar-covered lower parts. The rigging seemed stable. All ships started this way. The one he had boarded on his journey from Crete to Venice was a carrack. Attacked near Corfu, the ship was peppered with cannon and arquebus fire, increasing its weight. Abdulhayy Mahmud remembered the Reis ripping out pieces of his beard as he watched his goods getting thrown off the ship to decrease weight. One of the masts had been cut off, with the sail on it being used to cover the damage and keep the ship from getting water inside. The crew was unhappy. One day they had actually dared to shoot at the Reis' quarters. He had responded by filling a culverin with shot and nails and firing it at the crew's quarters. Hata'i wouldn't expect any less from a man called Deli Reis.

By the time he made it to the ship, the captain was in the middle of a speech. Hata'i did not want to listen. He eyed the sailors. They weren't the best company. They had nearly killed Deli Reis for reasons he couldn't remember. What he did remember was that they weren't important things. At least, not important for him. Remembering how the crew quarters of such ships were often filled to the brim with the stench of sweat and belch, he decided to take his belongings to the cargo hold. He wouldn't be disturbed much there.