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Rosa “La Serpiente” Delgado’s Private Journal.
The moment Francis’ metamorphosis was done, he began causing a scene.
“Everyone! Come here now,” he shouted right after opening the door.
He didn’t know for certain if the captain spoke in such a manner usually, but he figured that none shall question him if he was intimidating enough.
Especially considering the circumstances.
Naturally, the pirates gathered around him in haste.
“What’s the matter, captain?” one of them asked, before the gore was made known to him.
Francis must have underestimated the scene, as most of the pirates looked deeply uncomfortable, with some even appearing on the verge of vomiting.
Nevertheless, the “captain,” looking unfazed, was a factor working in his favor.
“What do you know about the lad from earlier?” Francis asked, voice firm.
Silence persisted, as most were concerned with recovering from the harrowing scene.
“I… I can’t,” one of the lot said, before heading out.
Soon after, a few followed.
After the plan was set in motion, Francis couldn’t help but inwardly admire how ingenious it all was.
After all, the loudest person in the room was seldom questioned. Especially when said person was the captain of a pirate crew.
The predicament nearly made him begin pondering what it would look like if he established his own pirate crew. But he quickly refrained, as that hypothetical was for another day.
“Not much, captain,” one of the pirates eventually said. “All we know is that he looked harmless.”
“Harmless?” Francis scoffed, before gesturing at the mess he made. “Does this look harmless to you? He killed one of our own!”
The gesture made the pirates focus on the headless corpse once more, while undoubtedly avoiding the crimson paste.
“If I may,” a female pirate said. “What happened?”
“The lowlife pretended to eat the poisoned dish,” Francis explained in feigned anger. “Then he shot him before I had time to react.”
The explanation must have been hard to grasp for most, but there was no questioning him.
“But what about… you know,” the female pirate said, before mustering enough courage to gesture at the pool of blood.
“Oh, that,” Francis replied. “I used his own weapon against him, naturally.”
“What kind of weapon can do that?” a random pirate asked, eyes closed.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Francis said, hoping that would be the end of it.
Naturally, it was.
“Regardless,” Francis added. “Bring me all the slaves aboard this ship. I will be in my cabin.”
The pirates obliged in haste, before walking out of the room one by one.
The moment those words left his mouth, he regretted them.
He hadn’t the slightest clue where the captain’s cabin was.
It was but a hiccup, however, and so he quickly got to work.
The now pirate captain scoured the ship corner by corner under the pretense of investigating, until eventually stumbling upon a comparatively lavish door.
Found you.
Refusing to let a second go to waste, Francis approached the door, and mercifully found it open.
The fact that the late captain dared to leave his corner of the ship open either meant that he fully trusted his crew, or instilled enough fear in them.
And judging by how they regarded him, it appeared to be the latter.
***
It didn’t take long for the first knock.
Francis already made himself comfortable, and so there was no need to leave the person waiting. “Come in.”
Not long after, the door opened to reveal a female pirate captain escorting what appeared to be a captive. Francis was able to glimpse a line of a similarly dressed group behind, but it was of no consequence.
He would speak to them one by one, after all.
“Excellent work,” Francis said to the pirate. “Now go back to your duties.”
The female pirate looked perplexed. “But, captain, what if they attempt something?”
Francis unleashed a faint wave of Intimidation as a response. “I’ll handle it.”
The motion wasn’t lost on the woman, as her face quickly grew ghastly. The same went for the others, but none dared utter a word. The collateral made Francis’ heart ache, but it was for a greater cause.
Supposedly, anyway.
Not another word uttered, the female pirate nodded, before hurriedly closing the door behind her.
“Now,” Francis said to the captive. “What’s your story?”
He expected meekness.
Instead, he received defiance.
“Why do you care?” the young woman said, gaze as tough as a monolith.
You poor soul.
“Because you’re a free woman.”
His words only served to anger her further. “Since when?”
“Since now,” Francis replied. “You and all other captives on this ship have been freed.”
Calling those words hard to swallow would’ve been an understatement. The woman’s face made half a dozen expressions in less than a minute. Francis didn’t exactly know what she was thinking, but he was sure that such a reveal was a heavy one.
“Why?” the woman managed weakly.
Might as well say the full truth.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“I’m not the captain,” Francis admitted. “I’m merely wearing his skin.”
“Are you a Skinwalker?” the captive said, fright manifesting on her face.
“A what?”
“Skinwalkers,” the dark-skinned woman managed weakly. “Witches that can turn into anything.”
Francis fancies himself a scholar, but in that moment, he felt like an ignorant peasant. “No. I’m not a Skinwalker.”
His words did little to calm the woman. “That’s what they all say.”
“Why would I free you if I were a Skinwalker?” Francis retorted.
“To eat us?”
The response made him laugh against himself. “Don’t you think it would be easier for me to eat you while you’re still captives?”
“That’s… fair,” the woman replied as she noticeably calmed down. “Still, why free us?”
Francis shrugged. “Because I felt like it.”
“You’re an odd man, Mister?”
A valid question that was. As things stood, Francis went by four different names, with none matching his current persona. So naturally, he picked the flashiest.
“Yves,” Francis replied with a smile. “Yves Saint Agnes.”
His reply made the woman beam. “You’re him! You’re the man who killed Warlord Read!”
The enthusiasm was appreciated, but he still gestured for the woman to lower her voice. “Please. I have a cover to maintain.”
The evidently Native American quickly nodded. “What can I help you with, Master Yves?”
“What I need is simple, truly,” Francis replied. “I want you to tell me how many captives there are on this ship.”
“I… sure,” the woman replied. “Excluding me, there are thirteen of us.”
Fourteen captives? No wonder none of the pirates are Submerged.
Francis wasn’t the most versed in such a line of work—thankfully—but he knew that the successful ones transported hundreds of captives at a time.
Still, selling fourteen people in Havana must have fetched a tidy sum, seeing how the captain’s cabin appeared more lavish than most.
I’m glad I blasted him to bits.
“What about the pirates?” Francis asked. “How many of them are there?”
She appeared to be in thought once more. “Ten.”
Eight then.
The woman was about to speak further, before Francis interrupted. “I hate to interrupt, but it would be suspicious if this continues.”
The woman nodded in understanding, before she headed for the door.
“Wait,” Francis said in haste. “I need you by my side. I want to confirm who’s a captive and who isn’t.”
“Alright, Master Yves,” the captive replied simply, before standing next to him as requested.
“By the way, what’s your name?” Francis asked.
“Malibu.”
“Malibu,” Francis said absentmindedly. “It has a nice ring to it.”
Francis inwardly cursed his idiocy, as the implication of what he said hit him too late.
The woman, in turn, blushed slightly. “Thank you.”
The moment highlighted another folly of his. He was supposed to go through an Advancement Ritual so he could help an acquaintance. Yet there he was, saving a group of people he hardly knew.
And it never felt better.
Blast Havana and its institutions. Life was never about proving he was the strongest or meanest. It was about giving back to the world. And he was finally doing that.
In a tangible way, anyway.
“Next!” Francis shouted, unearthing the late captain’s mannerisms once more.
The display appeared to frighten Malibu. Though to her credit, she swiftly regained her bearings.
Not long after, a young man with olive skin entered the room. And mercifully, he was nowhere near as defiant as Malibu.
“Is he one of your own?” Francis asked the woman.
“Yes,” she said in a flash. “He was captured near the Bahamas.”
The interaction must’ve confused the young man, as he looked at the pair in a daze.
At least until Francis intervened. “Malibu. Would you mind explaining the situation?”
“Not at all,” the woman said, before recounting what Francis said—shapeshifting included.
“A witch?” the young man said in fright.
Blast me to bits.
Nevertheless, being called that was better than having to explain what a Shanty was, leading Francis to compromise.
One after the other, the captives received the news, with each more enthusiastic than the last.
As the last captive left the room, Francis turned to Malibu. “Thank you for your help, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”
The woman nodded, before blushing once more. He didn’t know if her reactions were due to his reputation or attitude, and he didn’t want to get into it.
“You can either leave,” Francis added. “Or stay here. As you wish.”
The woman appeared to consider it. “I… I think I’m going to stay.”
Figures.
In retrospect, her behavior was to be expected. Francis must have been the first person who treated her with such dignity in a long while. Her fellow captives might have been amiable enough, but he doubted they had enough mental fortitude to be kind.
And who could blame them? The pirate crew appeared far from accommodating.
With little left to do, Francis began rummaging through the captain’s documents. He was going to discern who the clients were, then hang them by their lower bowel.
The first few documents were short and clinical, offering him plenty of names. What came next, however, was far from that.
Dear Thiago,
I am writing this to inform you that your proposal has reached us.
As for the verdict, we conducted a thorough background check, and your service appears to be most splendid.
Granted, your yield is far from the most impressive. But you operate in secrecy, surpassing that of most. And that’s a commodity we highly value.
As a rite of passage. Bring forth a dozen samples to Havana’s main port, then we shall discuss specifics.
And of course, refrain from attracting unwanted attention, as that would render all your efforts futile.
Yours truly.
The letter was… odd. Every other one had a name. Yet, the one in his hands had none.
What it did possess, however, was an elaborate seal.
A seal with a tree at its center.
You must be joking.
There was only one institution in the world that used a tree as its symbol.
And only they could ask for slaves with such nonchalance: the heretical Apostolic See.
Suddenly, the infiltration became far bigger than both Francis and the lowlife pirates he conned.
He was stepping on the Church’s toes. Making their intervention a matter of time.
“Malibu!” he said as he stood in haste. “Gather the others here. I have a matter to attend to.”
Francis was sure she wanted to inquire further, but he had no time, leading him to pass by the terrified captives with a jog.
Eight witnesses.
Eight bothersome witnesses.
A part of his conscience warned that some might not have been as bad as they seemed. But the involvement of the Inquisition rendered it irrelevant.
Besides, they voluntarily chose to enslave people.
“What’s the matter, captain?” a woman he didn’t recognize said from the side.
“Call a meeting, I have something important to discuss.”
“Oh,” the woman said, tone noticeably shifting. “I didn’t expect you to hear me.”
The odd words were swiftly followed by a column of flames.
A column of flames he didn’t unleash for once.
Francis barely had time to dodge, causing the flames to scorch his upper body.
“Who are you?” he hissed, as Rejuvenation mended his wounds with difficulty.
“You already know,” the woman replied, hands working on another attack.