Fifteen days.
That was the ti Pablo spent on his aerial journey from Perfu Island to Thorn Island.
Fifteen days of isolation in the sky. The wind was sotis gentle, sotis fierce. He read the books he had with him, rereading so because he no longer had anything new. He contemplated the sky, the clouds, the endless sea beneath him. He trained his ability. Boredom no longer bothered him as it did at the beginning. It beca part of his routine.
On the fifteenth day, he saw the island.
From the air, it looked black. That was not an exaggeration. Dark volcanic rocks covered much of its land. Smoke rose from several places, perhaps from fires, perhaps from weapon slters, perhaps from burning ships in the port.
The port itself was chaos. dium-sized ships anchored randomly, so flying pirate flags, so flying unknown flags, and so flying no flags at all. The wooden pier was crowded with goods, boxes, and ard n.
Pablo raised his cloud high. Hid it among the gray clouds. He jumped to the ground. Landed on a rocky hill outside the city.
He looked down. He was wearing his simple black clothes. He tucked his pistol under his belt. He carried his bag on his shoulder.
He descended towards the city.
---
As soon as his feet touched the streets of Thorn Island, he heard screaming.
It was not ordinary screaming. It was the scream of battle. The scream of death.
He stopped. Looked towards the source.
In a wide square near the port, a fight was taking place between two pirate crews. Each crew consisted of about twenty n. They were fighting with swords, guns, and bare hands. Blood flew in the air. Corpses fell on the cold ground.
One of the crews flew a black flag bearing a skull and crossbones. The other flew a red flag bearing a flaming sword.
Pablo did not recognize them. He had never heard of them. Their bounties were not high enough for their news to reach him.
The fight continued for minutes. The end was quick and brutal.
The crew with the black flag defeated the other crew. They killed every mber of it. No one remained. The twenty corpses lay on the ground. Blood ford red puddles on the stones.
The victors stood panting. So laughed. So spat on the corpses. So began looting the pockets of the dead.
Then they returned to their ship as if nothing had happened.
Pablo watched from a distance. He did not move. He did not intervene. He felt neither disgust nor anger. He just stood. Watching.
Then he looked around at the people.
In the nearby streets, the local residents had seen everything. They were afraid. It was clear on their faces. But they did not scream. They did not run. They did nothing.
They returned to their hos quietly, or continued their work as if nothing had happened. They were afraid, but they were used to it. They no longer had anything to do. This is life on Thorn Island. This is the law here. No law.
He continued walking towards the heart of the city.
---
He was absorbed in his thoughts. Thinking about the nature of this place, about the people living here, about the pirates who rule the streets with the power of weapons.
He did not notice.
A hand appeared from behind him. Grabbed his bag by the strap. Snatched it away forcefully.
Pablo paused for a mont. Felt the bag disappear from his shoulder.
He turned.
He saw a man running away. He was wearing tattered clothes, and his long hair was unkempt. He was agile, fast. He was not a young man, but his fitness was good.
The pickpocket.
Pablo did not shout. He just ran after the pickpocket.
---
The pickpocket knew the island's streets well. He did not run through the open roads. He jumped on a wooden box. Then on a barrel. Then climbed a low wall.
He reached the roof of a low building.
He jumped. Landed on the roof. Then jumped to an adjacent roof.
The chase began on the rooftops.
Pablo followed him without hesitation. He jumped over the sa low wall. Climbed. Reached the first roof. Ran. Jumped to the second roof.
The pickpocket was fast. He knew where to place his feet. He jumped between different roofs: so stone, so wooden, so covered with tarpaulin. He avoided crumbling edges. He knew which roofs could bear his weight and which could not.
But he was slow compared to Pablo.
Pablo had not trained for five months jumping between trees and running between rocks to lose him to an ordinary man on rooftops.
He got closer. Then closer.
The pickpocket looked behind him. Saw Pablo only a few ters away. Panicked. Increased his speed. Jumped to a farther roof. Almost slipped on broken tiles. But he regained his balance and continued running.
Pablo jumped after him. Landed on the sa roof steadily. Did not slip. Did not hesitate.
The pickpocket reached the edge of the last roof. Ahead of him was a wide gap between him and the next roof. He could not jump. It was too far.
He stopped. Turned around.
Pablo was behind him. He was approaching slowly. He was not running now. He was walking. Confident. Calm.
The pickpocket looked around. No escape. Roofs on all sides, but the gaps were wide. He could not jump. He could not run away.
Pablo stopped. He was only a few steps away from him.
"My bag," he said in a cold voice.
The pickpocket was panting. His eyes were fearful. He breathed with difficulty. Sweat poured down his face.
But he did not give up.
With his trembling hand, he reached for his belt. Pulled out a small pistol. Aid it at Pablo.
He did not get to fire.
Wind bullet.
Invisible. Very fast. Very precise.
It pierced the pickpocket's forehead. Exited from the back of his head.
The man fell on the rooftop. Rolled a few centiters towards the edge. Stopped at the edge. Did not move. He was dead.
Pablo looked at the corpse for a second. Then walked towards it. Picked up his bag from the dead man's shoulder. Wiped the dust off it. Sling it over his shoulder.
The bag was important to him. In it were the maps, the log poses, and the money he had brought with him from Sorbit. If he lost it, he would need a long ti to gather log poses again, and this would delay him greatly.
Pablo turned his back to the corpse. Jumped from one roof to another. Then to another. Descended gradually until he reached the street.
He was calm. He was not angry. He was not excited. He had just finished what the man had started.
He continued walking.
He entered the city. He needed a place to sleep. He needed a place to eat.
He walked through the dark streets. His bag on his shoulder. His eyes searching for an inn. Or any place to spend the night.
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