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Updated: May 24, 2025
Trikaliss looked very gloomy when he heard the stranger had left before sunrise, and the following night he called Timar to his cabin. "I am dying," he said. "I want to die I have taken poison. Timéa will not wake till all is over. My true name is not Euthemio Trikaliss, but Ali Tschorbadschi. I was once governor of Candia, and then treasurer in Stamboul.
"Gently now. Here is the third paper, prepared by the Dean of Plesscovacz, in whose parish the decease of Trikaliss took place, and who not only refused him a consecrated burial, but forbid me to bring the body ashore; the people insisted on our throwing it overboard." The captain clinched his hand angrily on the hilt of his sword. "The devil! these confounded priests!
Noémi also was up and boiling fresh goat's milk for breakfast, with roasted maize instead of coffee, and honey for sugar. Timéa took none, but let Narcissa drink the milk instead, who did not despise the stranger's offer, to Noémi's great vexation. Trikaliss asked Timar where the stranger had gone who came last evening? Timar told him he had left in the night. At this intelligence his face fell.
It will not escape an attentive observer that the shaven part of his face is light in contrast to the rest, which is the case with a person who has lately removed a thick beard. This is Euthemio Trikaliss, under which name he appears in the way-book. He is the owner of the cargo, but the ship itself belongs to a merchant of Komorn called Athanasius Brazovics.
As soon as he caught sight of it, Trikaliss put his dagger back in his sash; if he had turned purple at what he saw ahead, now he was livid. He hastened to Timéa, who was looking through the glass at the peaks of Perigrada. "Give me the telescope!" he exclaimed in a hoarse voice. "Oh, how pretty that is!" said Timéa, as she gave up the glass. "What?"
Then the inspector turns to the captain, and both the other officials ground their arms. Still three paces apart! One can't tell whether the man has not got the plague. The examination begins. "Where from?" "Galatz." "Name of ship's owner?" "Athan Brazovics." "Owner of cargo?" "Euthemio Trikaliss." "Where are the ship's papers?" The reception of these is carefully arranged.
Trikaliss and Timéa did not understand his orders, as he spoke Hungarian, which neither of them knew. The captain shouted to the steersman, "Keep her steady; go ahead!" In a few moments Trikaliss also could see what was the danger.
As soon as the Hungarian plains open out, the north wind storms down on the ship with such force that the towing-horses can not make head against it, and the wind drives the vessel toward the opposite shore. "We can get no further," is the general opinion. Trikaliss exchanges a few private words with Timar, who goes to the pilot. Master Fabula makes the tiller fast and leaves it.
Before the vessel had weighed anchor, he said to his pilot that there was a corpse on board Trikaliss was dead. "I knew for certain," said Johann Fabula, "that there was bad luck on the way when the sturgeon ran races with the ship that always betokens a death." "We must moor over there by the village," answered Timar, "and seek out the minister to bury him.
Michael fetched ink, pen, and paper, made one of these skillful scribes lie on his stomach on the deck, and dictated to him the deposition in which they all declared that, out of fear of hail-storms, they had thrown the body of Euthemio Trikaliss into the Danube while the crew slept, and without their knowledge or aid.
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