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A Letter to Edward Teach.
Francis half expected his inspector to be an overworked police officer.
Instead, it was a priest.
“Name, age, and occupation?” the priest asked calmly as he took a seat.
Something was… horribly off about the man facing him. Most clergymen he saw wore black, while a crucifix hung close to their hearts.
The man across from him, however, wore white and had a tree accessory shaping his chest instead.
“Edmond Crowley,” Francis replied. “Twenty-three, mercenary.”
“You look the part,” the priest said as he wrote on his parchment.
“Pardon?”
“When did you arrive in Havana, Edmond?” the priest asked, ignoring his indignation.
Remember, you’re doing this for Valentina.
“A week ago, give or take?” Francis answered truthfully.
“Which ship?”
“An ordinary merchant vessel. I can’t remember much else about it.”
The priest raised a brow at his answer. “The captain’s name, their affiliation, the types of wares they carried. There is plenty to remember.”
“I’m sorry, but I wasn’t paying attention.”
Francis suspected that Divination was involved in his questioning, and so he refrained from thinking about anything incriminating.
“No matter,” the priest said at last. “What about your relationship with Rhys Blackwater?”
“He hired me for a job a few days ago before he disappeared.”
“Disappeared, you say?” the priest asked, tone changing.
“My apologies, he still frequented the bar I lived in. I simply haven’t seen him again since,” Francis corrected himself, refusing to fall for a trap of his own making.
“Do you perhaps have any idea about his abilities?” the priest asked.
This is bait. It must be.
“None that I’m aware of,” Francis replied. “Otherwise, why would he hire me?”
“Good question. Why would he hire you, Edmond?”
Francis couldn’t believe how clever that was. By avoiding a trap, he found himself right inside another.
Still, a pesky priest was no Saint Agnes, and neither was he Xavier.
He better not be reading my mind right now.
“Master Rhys Blackwater appeared to have found my skill set favorable,” Francis replied. “That’s why I landed a contract.”
“That skill set being?”
“Infiltration, mostly.”
Francis appeared to have handed the interrogator a treasure, as his eyes lit up. “Infiltration, you say? That’s not low-level skill, Master Edmond.”
Xavier, strike this man down!
There was no divine wrath to be seen for a long moment, however, leading Francis to improvise. “Excuse my wording. I meant breaking into houses.”
“Very well,” the priest said, undoubtedly disappointed. “What about tonight, Edmond? Where were you?”
“The auction held in the museum,” Francis replied honestly, while thinking about his next half-truths.
“What was the purpose behind your visit?”
“Selling an item I got my hands on. It proved profitable, thankfully.”
Calling it an artifact would’ve carried untold consequences, leading Francis to remain cryptic.
“How much?” the priest asked simply.
“250 silver.”
“What about Blackwater? Did you meet him at the auction?”
“No,” Francis answered. “But I have reason to suspect that he was the culprit.”
His words drew another interested gaze from the interrogator. “How come?”
“Both the man and his associates appear to have disappeared as soon as the heist occurred. Such an occurrence doesn’t strike me as a simple coincidence.”
Francis expected more invasive questions. Instead, he was met with a terrible silence.
Was he free to go? Would he be detained for a night or two? Confined indefinitely?
“Thank you for your cooperation, Edmond,” the priest said at last. “We will inform you of the results when the time is right.”
The priest then exited the room, and was swiftly replaced by two guards.
“Master Edmond, could you kindly follow us?” an unfamiliar man said.
“What for?” Francis replied reluctantly.
“You’re under protective custody. As such, you would retain all of your belongings,” the officer explained. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to follow us to a cell.”
Thank you, Rhys. That was really kind of you.
Leaving a mere cell was nothing to the bounty hunter. Especially when his Evasion was that of a Deacon. Still, that would only complicate it for Valentina, forcing him to comply.
“What about the owner of the bar I live in?” Francis asked as the guards ushered him to his cell.
“Don’t worry, Master Edmond,” the second officer said. “You’ll find her waiting for you there.”
Oh well. Not all is terrible, at least.
***
Valentina couldn’t stop laughing the moment she saw Francis.
“Serves me right for being kind,” he said with a sigh.
“A fancy way of saying moronic,” she replied, wiping a tear from her eye. “What were you thinking? Genuinely?”
One would’ve expected a bar owner in Havana to understand his decision. But apparently not.
“Running away is akin to admitting that I work with Rhys,” he said as he approached his own bunk bed. Valentina appeared to favor the one on top, leaving him with the lower one.
“I don’t see how this is any better,” she replied as she edged her head closer.
“Careful, you might fall,” Francis said in fright.
That, in turn, made her laugh once more. “I bet you’d find that very amusing.”
Someone is in a really good mood.
“I don’t see what’s amusing about our situation,” Francis replied dryly.
Valentina, in turn, dropped to the floor, before staring him in the eye. “Don’t you get it? We’re alive!”
“Yeah?”
“The Apostolic See is involved. Yet, they didn’t execute us on the spot. We’re as good as free!” Valentina explained, before lying down next to him.
In truth, the woman had a point. The Church didn’t appear to ask questions when someone was an actual threat, implying that their predicament was… mere procedure.
“Besides, I got a gentleman over here that would remove the edge off the next few days,” she added, hugging him tighter.
“That sounds wrong,” Francis said, before reciprocating anyway.
“Pardon my enthusiasm,” Valentina replied mockingly. “Escaping certain death has a certain effect on people.”
Valentina then drew even closer, before leaning for a kiss.
***
By the time Rhys’ crew reached the nearest island, it was already dawn.
As the heat of battle wore off, an uncomfortable truth set in.
He was now wanted by both superpowers.
The thought should’ve terrified him, even discouraged him from sailing ever again.
Yet, there was no effect to be had.
“What’s next, first mate?” Carmen asked, interrupting his pondering.
“We keep going,” Rhys replied as he observed the horizon. “I don’t want Iberia to catch up.”
“Perhaps unsurprisingly,” Carmen said as she leaned on the ship’s railing.
“Aren’t you curious about our destination?” Rhys asked the dark-skinned woman.
“No,” she replied simply. “Yesterday’s performance proved that you do in fact know what you’re doing.”
“About time you saw it.”
“I always did. I just didn’t expect you to be this competent,” Carmen acknowledged.
“Give yourself some credit,” he said as he looked at the woman. “Taking down a Reverend of Dominion is no easy task.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“When they’re busy with someone like you, maybe,” she shot back.
Goodness me, just take the compliment already.
Rhys then turned his attention to the golden necklace dotted with rubies that had been in his palm for hours. “Yet another artifact worth a fortune.”
“I hope you don’t plan to sell it,” Carmen said in haste.
“Not in a million years,” Rhys replied with a scoff. “This is Dominion we’re talking about.”
Saint LeFay could claim that Enthral is closer to the origin all she wants. And she would still be wrong.
Horribly wrong.
Individually, the Shanty of Dominion’s Stanzas weren’t revolutionary. The combination, however? It was enough to raise cities.
No, countries.
Rhys’ recent battle reminded him to be grateful for his Levitation Fragment day and night. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have even felt the Dominion Reverend.
And now your powers belong to me, Miss Inquisitor.
***
By the third day, Francis was convinced their detainment wasn’t a temporary one.
How could it be? The guards barely spoke to them, save for providing food. And even when Francis was the one initiating, all he received were simple, blunt responses.
Such an attitude would’ve been unheard of had they known who he was.
But they don’t.
“Looks like we need a change in plans,” Francis said to Valentina, who was lying down next to him.
Or rather, partially on him.
Ever since the cell’s door closed, the woman had been the only thing keeping his sanity. But even that was dwindling, making action mandatory.
“What do you suggest?” Valentina asked as she leaned closer.
“What do you think?” Francis replied, meeting her eyes. The question would’ve been rhetorical, had it not been for the risk of surveillance.
“I don’t know, Edmond,” Valentina said reluctantly. “Acquiring the bar wasn’t easy, you know?”
Suddenly, the pair heard footsteps.
“Lunch!” a guard shouted, before sliding two plates inside. The food wasn’t much to speak of, but it beat starvation. Although it was evidently afternoon, the two couldn’t be bothered to get up.
Not like there is much to do, anyway.
“Care to do the honors?” Valentina said, eyeing the utilitarian meal.
“Someone is hungry,” Francis replied with a smirk despite himself.
Valentina, in turn, slapped his arm. “The last thing I need right now is cold mush.”
Naturally, Francis obliged, lest the lady grow grumpy.
“So,” Francis said as he chewed. “What was that about the bar?”
“The establishment cost me a million bronze, Edmond,” Valentina replied after swallowing. “I haven’t even paid for it fully yet.”
“You don’t have to come,” Francis replied. “I already implicated you enough.”
“Oh, shut up!” she said with a glare. “It’s on Rhys, more than anything.”
Of course. It always boils down to him.
Had it not been for his heist, the duo would’ve been drinking coffee in the comfort of their home. But no. He had to be selfish and leave neither wanted nor needed consequences in his wake.
Of course, Francis wasn’t na?ve. He understood that such a world rewarded selfishness. Still, could he not have given them a warning?
“Next time we meet, one of us is walking out of it,” Francis said flatly.
Valentina snorted at his answer. “What’s next? You’re going to kill Blackbeard?”
“If the need arose.”
Valentina laughed once more—then stopped when it wasn’t shared. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Even a Supplicant can kill a Saint when pressed,” Francis replied simply, before putting his plate aside. “Again. You can stay if you want. But I’m on borrowed time here.”
Valentina frowned at that. “What do you mean?”
“I’m turning to red paste by tomorrow if I don’t drink seawater.”
“Oh,” she replied in understanding. “That.”
“Also, I’m on the verge of Descending to Deacon. One bad night is all it takes for the Church to put us in the gallows.”
His words were logical. Perhaps too logical, as Valentina had nothing to say for a short while. “Sorry, Edmond. But I can’t risk my life’s work for your sake.”
“Are you even sure they’re going to let you out?”
“It still beats becoming a fugitive and losing all my assets,” she replied as she met his eyes.
That settles it then.
Francis then stood up and began pacing once more.
“Oh no,” Valentina said abruptly. “You pacing around only means one thing.”
Francis, in turn, kept walking. He had to escape in a way that absolved her. Otherwise, her reluctance would be for naught.
To her credit, Valentina appeared to have gotten the memo. “Do what you have to do, Edmond. I just want to have a life once I’m out of here.”
Francis looked at the woman at last. “Do you mind causing a scene?”
“Pardon?”
“I want you to scream at the top of your lungs,” Francis explained. “At least until the guards arrive.”
“You really think that’s going to be enough?” she asked reluctantly.
“I’d say it’s infinitely better than getting implicated for saying nothing.”
That appeared to convince her. “Fair point.”
Moments later, Francis grabbed a handful of food, before looking Valentina in the eye. “Ready when you are.”
“Good luck out there, Edmond,” the bartender said, voice pained. “Until we meet again.”
She then began screaming.
The reaction took shorter than Francis expected, as boots hit the floor instantaneously.
“Guards! He’s trying to hurt me!” Valentina shouted as she curled into a corner.
Francis, in turn, set the sheets ablaze, instantly marking himself as a Submerged, before aiming his sights at the cell door.
The moment the guards appeared, he aimed his flintlock at Valentina. “Open the door, and I’ll scatter her brains!”
The officers must’ve been terrified, seeing how he was both a Submerged and had a weapon.
Thankfully, Valentina continued screaming. “Help! He’s trying to kill me!”
“Master Edmond!” one of the officers shouted. “This isn’t necessary! Can we discuss this calmly?”
“Calmly?” Francis replied, feigning indignation. “This piece of filth stole from me, and you expect me to be calm?”
“We can compensate you,” the second officer said in haste. “Just put the gun down.”
For all their goodwill, Francis knew that someone meaner was going to enter the picture at any moment. And so he threw the food outside the window, before swapping positions with it.
Thank you for the trick, Rhys.
Luckily, the cell was on the ground floor, sparing Francis the trouble of healing as he avoided the officers. The bounty hunter then grabbed a pebble and threw it on a distant roof, before exchanging locations with it as well.
By the time the officers reached his previous location, Francis was already five roofs away. Using Liquidation would’ve probably made the process much faster, but it would’ve also invited the attention of the Inquisition, making it a price not worth paying.
After minutes of constant running, Francis decided that he was far enough, leading him to rest at long last.
With rest came pondering, however, and it didn’t take him long to recognize the reality of his situation.
He was a fugitive.
Again.
Except this time, he had to deal with Inquisitors as well as bounty hunters.
And that’s without mentioning the bounty from his old life.
“What a mess,” Francis said with a frustrated sigh. “I can’t even get a magical face swap this time.”
Had it been the old him, Francis would’ve sulked for hours before attempting to find a solution.
Nowadays, however, such behavior was a luxury.
A luxury he couldn’t afford.
“Technically, I don’t need to change my face,” he thought aloud. “I can simply pick a profession that shields me from being seen.”
Such professions weren’t exactly ubiquitous, but a man with his skills was a rare commodity.
That line of thought quickly reminded him of a variable he detested not long ago.
He was extended an invitation by “Miss Stacey.” An invitation that might as well have been a lifeline in that moment.