Dinner time had long passed.
It was nearing midnight, time to rest.
The Secret Port within the sea cave was eerily quiet.
The ship's infirmary.
In this twenty-square-meter space, items were neatly arranged. Open bookshelves without doors displayed a dazzling collection of medical literature from the Northern Frontier Maximum Security Prison. Besides the main entrance, there was a side door leading to the pharmacy.
A plant oil painting hung on the side cabinet, with a metal tray holding various tools like chisels and tweezers. Micah still wore his stethoscope around his neck as he studied an anatomy book.
It wasn't that Micah was particularly diligent in self-improvement, but the original manuscript's author was highly respected in academic circles. The detailed illustrations of organs were like works of art, revealing every minute detail - unimaginable how much practice had gone into such mastery. The book even included progressive diagrams of heart function and detailed depictions of visceral circulation, like a comic strip that clearly revealed their workings.
The kerosene lamp was growing dim. Micah opened its cover to add more fuel, wiping the glass shade clean with a silk cloth.
Then came a knock - tentative, as if the person outside was being careful not to disturb him.
Micah assumed it was one of the new recruits. Veterans like Ren or Shadi wouldn't be so polite.
A middle-aged man entered - greasy hair, unkempt beard, wearing an ingratiating smile.
"Are you feeling unwell? Or dealing with addiction? If you're here for painkillers, I suggest you abandon that thought now."
Micah remained seated, speaking calmly as he observed the man's pallid complexion - classic signs of an addict.
While Black Sails didn't deal in such merchandise, some smugglers at Secret Port imported goods from Heaven's Port's wholesale market to distribute to local gangs along the eastern coast.
It wasn't that Li Site didn't covet those profits - he'd much rather let others do the work then rob them. Three years ago he'd specifically targeted this trade route to steal from other thieves, confiscating ill-gotten gains.
But one ship couldn't possibly intercept all eastern drug traffickers - it was a drop in the bucket that didn't affect market operations. The variety of hallucinogens was staggering - tablets, powders, tinctures - extracted from plants and neurotoxic magical beast glands. One taste was enough to haunt users forever. The number of addicts in Beima Principality was appalling.
Western continent painkillers weren't antidepressant cough syrups - they were potent enough to make someone ignore a sword wound.
Micah was all too familiar with this - he'd encountered it over a hundred times. Roughly one in ten pirates fell into this category, seeking dangerous work to feed their habits.
The man forced a nervous laugh, standing awkwardly as he struggled to speak.
"Then you're ill? What symptoms?"
Micah set aside his anatomy book and put on glasses.
Despite available seating, the man remained standing, scratching his forehead. "Actually... I can't afford a doctor. Came to get my leg treated on board."
Micah chuckled - was that all? "Don't worry. Unless it's serious enough to impair work, free medical care is standard for Black Sails crew before voyages. Which leg?"
The man pointed to his left.
Micah sighed at his denseness. "I meant roll up your pant leg so I can see."
After hesitation, the man sat and painstakingly rolled up his left pant leg. By the knee, pus and blood had glued the fabric to his flesh. Each inch revealed tore away skin until reaching his thigh - a mess of purple-black bruising and infection.
The man hung his head, eyes glazed.
Micah studied it silently for a long moment... then removed his glasses.
"You shouldn't have waited this long."
He took scissors and snipped a loose flap of necrotic flesh. The man showed no reaction.
Dark purple and blackened veins spread in a web pattern that would continue expanding. Micah's forensic experience recognized this - likely an old sword wound that missed bone but went untreated. Now completely infected.
When Micah prodded the infected area, sweat beaded on the man's forehead, lips whitening.
Micah couldn't fathom how he'd passed Ox's boarding inspection - the man loved making recruits prove their limbs worked. Yet this one had slipped through.
The man's weak voice held fading hope as he read Micah's demeanor.
"Septicemia already. Nerve death in the skin, muscle and bone tissue necrosis. You're just enduring."
Micah considered, then pulled out his purse and counted fifteen silver coins. "I'm sorry. I can't help. You can't stay aboard either. This is personal funds. It's late - sleep here tonight. At dawn, find a town doctor. Use this for amputation."
At that word, the man exhaled shakily before asking tightly, "Must it be amputated?"
Micah turned cold. "Only way to save your life. The sooner the better. Wait another week and not even an archbishop could help you. Go."
The man stared blankly before laughing bitterly.
"No need. I've got some money. Wouldn't know when I could repay yours anyway. Thank you, doctor."
No longer pretending, he limped out on his agonizing leg and closed the door.
Micah took a deep breath, rubbing his temples.
"All kinds of people."
He couldn't believe someone would refuse free money.
Long desensitized, he extinguished the lamp and prepared for bed.
Except for Wolman sleeping in storage, core crew had private quarters. As valued personnel, Micah's room was second only to Li Site and Fen's.
Exhausted from earlier activities, Micah fell asleep quickly.
Faint light entered through portholes on the first deck level where officers slept - common sailors bunked in windowless lower decks.
Micah awoke to running footsteps outside. Instantly alert, he grabbed his short-handled axe from the nightstand and emerged in pajamas.
Seeing no weapons among the crew, he relaxed.
Grabbing a sailor, he demanded, "What happened?"
"Someone hanged themselves below. Don't know who did it."
Micah frowned. "Stay here. Fetch the captain."
He followed others downward.
Soon, a dozen sailors with lamps illuminated a hallway where a man hung by rope from a doorframe, swaying slightly with the ship's motion.
It was last night's patient.