Gaspar stuck to the captain's cabin as the afternoon wore on and the hour of their departure neared. Gazing out the window to the west, he watched the descending sun and pondered the voyage ahead. A crew-mate had brought in a bed for him shortly after Emilio left, and though he had attempted to catch a nap he found himself too restless to sleep. It was a pity too, for he was exhausted. 

Presently Gaspar left his post by the window. The captain’s lavish quarters housed what appeared to be the only rug on the ship; a rich expanse of mottled wolf fur; and he took a moment to revel in the feeling of it against his feet as he crossed the room towards his bed. He still had no shoes. Thankfully the floors of the boat were worn smooth, so he’d not have to concern himself with splinters. Even so, much of the lower decks were rather grungy, especially in the crew quarters; and it would only get worse the longer they were at sea. It would be imperative for him to find some manner of footwear soon.

The thin mattress that had been afforded him sat wedged into one corner, his chest beside it. Gaspar picked up the small oaken container with a grunt, moved it to the table opposite Emilio’s desk, and took a seat. The lid made a familiar creaking noise as it was opened, and in a matter of no time Gaspar had littered the table with the chest’s contents.

His own personal writings, having been kept in his back room, were most of what had survived the fire. He had tried to salvage some of Adalberto’s things that morning, but a few scorched books were all that remained. Gaspar felt a pang of sadness as he set those carefully aside. Of his own affects many were journals or loose papers written on various subjects; notes, ideas, or letters from friends and family. Books there were also, on many and varying subjects. Some regarded history, some science, others art or culture. A few volumes contained information on writing itself, such as the practices of book-binding and calligraphy. There were fictions and mythologies as well, and a scant few manuscripts that he knew to contain passages on the occult or arcane. One work in particular caught Gaspar’s eye as he scanned the collection; [i]A Bestiary of Northern Europe and the Scandinavian Countries[/i]. He recalled "lindworms", possibly the northman's dragon, being mentioned numerous times in that book. He knew of the rumors that were circulating about the nature of Sintra’s disaster, and he was not quick to buy into such notions. He had seen no winged beast; but then again, he had not spent much time looking up at the sky that night. 

In any case, those passages could prove useful should the topic arise. He placed the bestiary and his other books back in the chest, and examined what material he had for writing. For loose paper he had perhaps twenty sheets, some damaged, and for unused journals he had but three. A good number of quills and wells were at hand, but only one half-empty jar of ink. These meager rations would last the crossing, but no longer. He would have to restock in Morocco. 

The sound of heavy boot traffic thundered above his head amid a chorus of shouts, and Gaspar guessed that their time of departure was at hand. After quickly gathering his things back into his chest and returning it to the floor next to his bed, he hurried up to the main deck to catch a last look of Sintra before they set sail.