This wasn't Abdulhayy's first experience on a ship. He knew all too well just how boring it was. After leaving his old spot to the young boy, he was able to find another spare bed that wasn't in the crew quarters. It was near the prow of the ship, on one of the upper decks. He could see the bowsprit from the spot, through a hole that was probably used to shoot cannons from. The cannon wasn't there, though, possibly omitted some time in the past. Maybe the captain had gotten it removed and placed it next to his quarters aiming at the crew quarters, like Deli Reis. He didn't seem that type, though, from what Hata'i had seen. He looked quite young for a captain. He had met captains before, and most of them were grizzled old men. This one was probably less than half his age. He looked for something like a table, and ended up finding a stool. He placed his bag on it and rested his carbine against it. He looked at the carbine. It was a slim miquelet, possibly of Circassian make, lacking decoration except a silver Star of David etched into the side of the buttstock. He had killed the Demon of Milan with this very carbine. Hata'i had no idea what the demon actually was. It was something slightly taller than him, covered in dotted white fur. Thankfully for Hata'i, it wasn't immune to musket balls.

He sat on the mattress and opened his bag. While it carried a vast amount of items, all Hata'i could see right now was a bunch of books. Most of them were his translation attempts of the writings of his close friend Spinoza. He pulled out one of the books. He silently recited the basmala, and opened a random page, for reasons he couldn't discern. [i]''Since we have proved above that God is, it is time to show what he is. Namely, we say that he is a being of whom all or unending attributes are predicated, of which attributes every one of them is perfect in its kind.''[/i] Spinoza was indeed an interesting case. Hata'i considered him to be born 'with the essence of Islam'. He had contemplated on the concepts of 'La Ilahe Illa Hu' and 'La Mawjude Illa Hu' without having any previous experience with Sufism. Indeed, he was a dear friend. He still felt guilty about being the cause of his expulsion from Amsterdam. Not that Spinoza cared much. Hata'i believed him to be immensely similar to one man (possibly a wali or a nabi) he had read of, Siddhartha Gautama. ''I should write him a letter sometime.'' Hata'i thought. As Pir Sultan Abdal had said, [i]''A bond with a friend is sweeter than honey.''[/i]

As he heard the fluttering of the sails and cheering, he noticed that the ship had set sail. After a stray gush of water nearly splashed onto him and his books through the hole, he decided that he should read later and stuck them inside his bag, and pulled the stool somewhere else where it wouldn't be subject to gushes. He had to get that hole closed. He took a closer look and saw that the gunport hatch was opened to the front. It explained how he was unable to see it. He reached out from the hole, and thanks to his long arms, managed to grab onto the hatch in one try. He started pulling, and managed to shut it. His belongings were safe now. He looked at the carbine. It was free of any water as well. That was good, as even though it was a flintlock and could fire in rain, it was still risky to keep it where it could be subject to water. Then he heard a loud 'thud' and got up from his spot to check. There was a drunken lad lying on the ground. ''Are you alright, lad?'' He asked. ''Tis but a flesh wound! Ha. I joke. What are you doing here, old man? The captain is giving a feast!'' The lad replied. Now that he noticed, he was somewhat hungry. While he could take it, he saw no reason to stay hungry just for the sake of it. As the drunk fellow walked out of his sight, he decided to get himself some food and walked up the stairs to the deck.

It was somewhat chaotic. The people were getting merry and having fun, enjoying the wine and extra food the captain had allowed them. Hata'i knew all too well that all this would be substituted by worm infested meat and moldy bread, often hardened to the point that it could act as a mace, later in the journey. He had seen it used as some sort of buckler against sword cuts. But it was important to keep morale high, and food couldn't wait forever either. He fetched a rather large loaf of bread from a box, stuck his fingers in it and ripped it open. Now he had to find something to fill it. He did not want to try red meat again. He looked at a barrel which had a group of sailors huddled around it, plunging their hands inside it and eating whatever came to hand. Getting closer, he saw that it was filled with pickled fish. Thanking God, he fetched a dagger from one of the sailors and plunged it into the barrel. He pulled out the dagger, and with it, a bunch of pickled fish meat skewered on it. He put the dagger in the bread, closed the open loaf with his hands, and pulled the dagger out, freeing the cured meat. Giving the dagger back to the guy, he started munching on the ramshackle sandwich he had made. The bread was soft, and the fish was fine, though a bit too salty, even for pickled fish. He didn't give it much thought, however. He slowly moved the butt of the ship, where he heard that fruit was being distributed. He took a seat next to a bunch of men playing cards, observing the game. He noticed that there were a few slices of pear on a wooden plate next to him. 'Hm.' He grabbed the pear slices and threw them into his sandwich and took another bite. The sweet and sour taste of the pear had alleviated the saltiness of the fish. ''That's pretty good,'' Hata'i thought to himself as he kept eating and watching the gamblers.