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A Letter from Edward Teach to Bartholomew Roberts.
Rhys didn’t hesitate.
The moment the woman made her proposal, he grabbed the flintlock.
Then the trigger was pulled.
The silence that followed was far more deafening than the ringing in his ears. Which only meant one thing.
He was alive.
More importantly, he had Eloise’s full attention.
Rhys also had the attention of the entire tavern. But that was secondary. As Eloise was the only person he needed to impress.
The woman then said something. But it was beyond him. As his ears continued their melody.
“Give me a moment,” he said, hand raised.
The deserter put his Rejuvenation to use. Instantly curing his deafness.
And for a moment, he wished he didn’t.
The tavern was louder than ever. As the patrons discussed what he had done.
Some called him deluded, others inhuman. Even Carmen appeared to gaze in a mixture of awe and disbelief.
“You were saying?” Rhys said, putting his attention on Eloise once more.
“I said you’re demented,” Eloise replied. “But a deal is a deal. So I’m in.”
“We’re in,” the blonde man corrected.
“Indeed we are,” Eloise said, before leaning closer to kiss him.
Passionately.
End me.
Still. That must’ve been a manifestation of their relief.
And that was a good sign.
***
Francis made his way downstairs and was surprised to see that the number of women increased.
Must be peak hour.
Brothel economics was far from his main concern, however, and so he continued walking towards the clerk.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Miss Stacey instructed me to talk to you about lodging acquisition.”
The diction was far too archaic. But the woman didn’t appear to mind. “On it.”
Beatriz then pulled a ledger and began examining its contents.
“Room 04 on the second floor appears to be vacant,” she said after a while.
“I’ll take it,” Francis replied hastily, as safe lodging was worth its weight in gold in that instance.
Well, as safe as it gets.
Still. He had to choose between Stacey and the full might of the Apostolic See. Making his reservations juvenile.
The clerk then handed Francis an old key on the verge of rusting. “Kindly inform me if there’s anything else I can do.”
“Thank you, Beatriz,” Francis said to the dark-skinned woman. “But you’ve done more than enough.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Beatriz said with an earnest smile.
Francis merely nodded, before going on his way.
The steady rhythm was interrupted, however, as a woman to his left screamed.
An ugly, guttural scream.
Francis instinctively looked and was met by a young woman crawling on the floor.
“What are you doing here?” the fair-skinned blonde shouted.
Has my identity been compromised already?
“Amber, relax!” Beatriz said. “He’s not one of them.”
“Why is he bald then?” Amber demanded, still on the floor. Francis blinked, taken aback.
“What are you talking about?” Francis said, as confused as they came.
Amber was happy to elaborate. “You’re one of those monks, aren’t you?”
“Amber, quit causing a scene,” Beatriz hissed. “You’re scaring customers away.”
Indeed. Most of the room’s attention was centered on the two, as both patrons and workers stared at the trio.
Left without much of a choice, Francis flashed his engagement ring. “Is this something a monk would do?”
Mercifully, the gesture appeared to ease the woman’s concerns. “Why the look then?”
Staring at his hand reminded Francis, yet again, of all he had lost. But in that moment, he was almost thankful.
Thanks, Camila.
“I angered the wrong people,” Francis explained in a low voice.
Amber remained cautious, but she stopped screaming, prompting the room’s occupants to avert their gazes.
With that settled, Francis bid farewell to the clerk and the still-startled Amber and went to his new room.
***
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Francis wished to sleep forever if he could. But alas, duty called as it always did.
This time, the duty was in the form of someone pounding on his door like he owed them money.
Although knowing Havana, he probably did.
“What!” Francis shouted, still in bed.
“Miss Stacey has a message for you,” Beatriz said from the other end.
Thought so.
Then again, the woman provided him with a safety net. So he couldn’t complain.
With that in mind, Francis brushed his grogginess aside and made his way towards the door.
The moment he opened it, Beatriz was prepared with a parchment in hand. “You might need to hurry.”
“Why?” Francis replied in confusion.
“The document will explain everything,” the clerk replied, before going on her way.
Francis eyed the parchment and was rather surprised by how brief it was.
The target’s location has been confirmed. He is on his way to seek protective custody.
Francis knew better than anyone what “protective custody” entailed. But he kept reading regardless.
Target must be neutralized as soon as possible.
The wording was jarring, to say the least, but such was life in Iberia’s capital.
Francis then memorized the address before burning the parchment using his flames.
The ripples were bound to draw attention, naturally, but he reckoned the Inquisitors weren’t free enough to track every single Stanza.
Especially the low-level ones.
The next order of affairs was getting ready. Something that barely required much effort, as he was... bald.
I appreciate the reminder, Amber.
Francis wanted to wear his familiar clothes. But it was a risk seldom worth the cost. And so he compromised and wore inconspicuous attire.
As he paced around the room, Francis glanced at the wash basin and was immensely grateful. Had it not been for the seawater the establishment provided in plenty, he might have combusted by morning.
Of course, he had the option of making a run for it until he reached the shore. But that would’ve introduced other complications.
Well. At least I don’t have to fret for another six days.
With everything settled, Francis left his modest room, closed the door, and made his way to the stairs.
Whatever awaited him out there would be faced on his own terms.
For once.
***
The police station was but a carriage ride away. Yet, it took Francis an hour to find himself behind its walls.
It was to be expected, however, as his wanted poster was already splattered all over town.
The fact that Amber mistook me for a monk is reassuring at least.
Conversely, his predicament wasn’t a reassuring one.
Francis could either sneak in using a Stanza and attract the Inquisition in the process, or brute-force his way in and risk even greater attention.
Choices, choices.
Of course, there was a third option, but it required a skill set far beyond him.
As things stood, the Stanza option was by far the fastest, but also the riskiest, as Deacon-level Stanza was no laughing matter.
It wouldn’t have been an issue under normal circumstances, however, as all he needed to do was shoot the turncoat and be on his way.
But that wasn’t right.
Was it?
Am I being selfish?
Stacey was by no means a good person. But her establishment gave a sense of… normalcy. A normalcy seldom found in such a line of work.
That, and Amber’s reaction, indicated that the girl had it rough.
How many of those girls were the same, just less vocal?
Besides, haven’t I killed pirates on sight?
That thought introduced another troubling variable. Francis spent weeks hunting people simply because they acquired a bounty. A bounty issued by a government that simply deemed them inconvenient.
Of course, all of those he killed earned it. But what if one hadn’t?
Francis could spend an eternity pondering the past. But in that moment, there were three options: trust Stacey, attract the Inquisitors, and slaughter a dozen officers.
One saved the lives of many.
Two prioritized the lives of a few.
Few that were morally questionable at best.
“It’s settled then,” Francis said with a deep sigh.
He then edged closer to the “protective custody” section. And sure enough, two guards were there.
The purpose behind them being there, however, wasn’t as simple.
Were they protecting the traitor? Or were they awaiting Francis’ return?
One way to find out.
His reservations aside, Francis drew close using Liquidation.
The guards appeared to attempt to scream.
No such luck.
Francis unleashed Intimidation in haste, knocking the two unconscious.
“What’s going on?” a voice from inside the cell said.
A terrified male voice.
Found you.
The Dominion Acolyte grabbed a pebble, threw it inside the cell, and swapped locations with it.
Sure enough, the person inside looked identical to the sketch.
Francis wanted to ask him personally, but he was on borrowed time.
One simply didn’t ignore a Deacon-level Stanza.
Especially not the Apostolic See’s Inquisition.
“Who are you?” the man asked, utterly bewildered.
Not all was lost, however, as a last resort quickly presented itself.
“The boss sent me,” Francis replied. “He wants me to tell you that Stacey is onto you.”
The traitor’s eyes widened at that. “How did she know?”
“The real question is, what do you have against her?” Francis asked, fishing for information.
“You know I can’t tell anyone,” the man said nervously.
“Said who?” Francis replied assertively.
“I won’t be safe if people know the source of the information.”
Francis lamented what came next. But a choice, he had not.
“Just tell me, and I’ll make this quick,” Francis said as he drew his trusty flintlock.
“Oh no,” the informant said in fright. “You’re… him.”
Him?
Francis wanted to ask further, but the Inquisition didn’t knock. They broke doors.
“Just tell me already,” Francis shouted.
The man showed resistance at first, then seemingly thought better of it.
His death would also imply the death of the secret, rendering all his efforts meaningless.
“Stacey defected from the Apostolic See,” he said at long last. “More specifically, she was a part of the intelligence department. Make of that what you will.”
The man then closed his eyes, awaiting his judgment.
Francis nearly pitied the man, as neither wanted to be in that position.
At least until he felt the ripples.
Hesitant no longer, Francis aimed his flintlock and shot the man in the head. An action swiftly followed by throwing another pebble outside and swapping locations with it.
This time, however, he was late.
Horribly late.
The moment he stepped outside, an assailant struck him with a bolt of lightning.
Thankfully, his Rejuvenation Fragment rendered the damage minimal, allowing him to take a closer look.
The man wore white robes ornamented with golden threads, a dark yellow sash, and a golden tree necklace.
That combination left one possibility.
The Inquisition.
“That should’ve killed you on the spot,” the man said, voice indifferent. “Perhaps I should take you more seriously.”
The Inquisitor jumped off the roof shortly after.
Francis was confused by the act, before it hit him.
Yellow sash, the Fragment Leonie drank was yellow, and he used lightning.
The man was trying to crush him to death.
As if confirming his thoughts, the Inquisitor’s descent swiftly accelerated, giving Francis but a second to swap places with yet another pebble.
The Inquisitor’s fall sent a shock wave through the alley, causing Francis to fall.
The man then moved, allowing Francis to notice the crater his jump had made.
Close call.
“Substitution,” the Inquisitor said, voice coated in disgust. “I hate fighting your kind.”
He didn’t allow Francis to reply, however, as a force swiftly grabbed the fugitive and pinned him to a wall.
Francis used Substitution once more, before sprinting with the help of Liquidation.
Taking the main road would’ve introduced far more complications, forcing him to stick to shady alleys.
Sadly, the approach offered little benefit, as the Inquisitor followed close behind.
What Depth is he, even?
Francis’ knowledge of the Shanties was far from the worst. But he was no scholar, either. Whatever the Inquisitor was, it wasn’t a starting point.
As he continued evading the man’s grasp, Francis awaited more taunts.
Yet, there were none to be heard. Making the chase akin to a predator of old chasing a helpless prey.
A predator that drew ever closer.