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Rosa “La Serpiente” Delgado’s Private Journal.
By the time Francis was done sharing a few prepared stories, most of the patrons had already left the establishment.
It was within reason, however, as most were either too drunk or too tired.
Additionally, while folks in Havana gave the impression of being nocturnal, most other people slept quite early.
Serves me just fine.
The newfound stillness was refreshing, as it allowed the fugitive to relax at long last.
“Tiago,” he said to the bartender passing by. “Are you still cooking at this hour?”
The young man looked on the verge of insulting him, before seemingly thinking better of it. “We do. For a price.”
Of course. Might exploit the foreigner while it lasts.
As questionable as the offer was, Francis couldn’t blame the man. Simple townsfolk seldom made more than fifty silver a year, making cutting corners a necessity.
His life back home might not have been the same, but neither were the circumstances. He was a single man with a steady income and a roof that he didn’t have to pay for. And that eliminated more than half the cost.
“Sure.” Francis handed him ten silver coins. “I’ll order when I’m ready.”
The gesture left the bartender speechless for a moment. At least until he connected the dots. “Got humble origins, I take it?”
Francis replied with his favorite trick. “I used to work as a bartender, actually.”
“Nonsense!”
“I spent every single afternoon wiping mugs and listening to senile drunks grumbling,” Francis added.
“That’s not a detail one could just fake,” Tiago replied with a chuckle, seemingly convinced. “But then, how did you become a wanderer?”
“As silly as that sounds,” Francis began. “I didn’t choose this life. It chose me.”
The man appeared to crave more, but duty called. “I should get the kitchen staff going. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
As soon as the bartender left, the tavern’s door opened.
Francis hoped those few minutes would be spent pondering, but the newcomer demanded otherwise.
His hometown might have been as orthodox as they came. Yet even they didn’t have what met his eyes in that moment.
With a long flowing robe, a veil of the same shade, and a pendant hanging proudly on her chest, the nun walked with confidence seldom seen in remote areas.
And that made her interesting.
The two locked eyes. Yet instead of the woman taking an interest in him, she simply continued ahead.
He nearly took offense, then remembered her role. Worldly matters were far beneath her. Why would she pay attention to yet another newcomer?
And so change plans, he did.
Francis eyed the woman again before attempting to break the ice. “Salve.”
The Latin naturally caught her attention. “Salve.”
Blast it. I didn’t think I would get this far.
Still. He already started the conversation, and so it was his responsibility to continue it. “It isn’t often that I see a servant of God in the wild.”
“No more Latin?” the woman replied, seemingly amused.
Francis wanted to bite mold. “I know how to recite the Our Father in Latin if that counts.”
“Go for it then,” the woman said, before taking the seat across from him.
Hey. At least I got her attention now.
“Pater noster, qui es in caelis,” Francis began. “qui es in caelis,
Sanctificetur nomen tuum.”
It has been a while since he last said the prayer, but he managed to remember the rest. “Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, Sicut in caelo et in terra.”
By the time he finished the first part, however, his brain went blank.
“Go on,” the nun said. “You’re halfway there.”
What’s up with her attitude?
Most of the clergy Francis came across were rather easygoing and amiable. Yet the woman staring him in the eye was nothing like that. She appeared… predatory. Like his suffering amused her.
Then again, he brought it upon himself, and so he couldn’t complain.
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After a prolonged moment of silence, the woman finished the prayer for him. “Oh well, at least you tried.”
Truth be told. His attempt was impressive, but he wasn’t going to pat himself on the back for it.
“So,” the nun added. “Any reason why you wanted to speak to me?”
Francis cut to the chase. “I’d like to learn more about the new gods.”
“From an orthodox nun?” she replied flatly.
The fugitive was far from the most learned regarding theology, but the priests from his town divulged a thing or two. “I mean. It’s a part of your training, is it not?”
“A country bumpkin, I take it?”
The unfortunate soul couldn’t understand why every single woman he spoke to was sharp, and he didn’t linger. He had to learn more about the Apostolic See’s doctrine if he wanted to fight them.
Well, survive them, truly.
“Yes. I was even approached by the clergy.”
His reply appeared intriguing enough, as the woman took him more seriously. “Huh. Perhaps I underestimated you.”
In a sense, she was right. Her fellow ecclesiastics didn’t extend an invitation to just about anyone, especially when it came to adults.
“The knowledge won’t be cheap, however,” the nun added.
“Aren’t you in a sense breaking your vow?” Francis replied, testing the waters.
“Who said anything about money?” the nun retorted. “Just treat me to a meal, and my knowledge is all yours.”
“Sure?” Francis replied, dumbfounded. “I was going to order a dish or two, anyway.”
As if on cue, the bartender approached the pair. “So. Have you made up your mind?”
Francis didn’t know why Tiago didn’t speak to the nun, but it was of no concern. He then eyed the menu, and quickly made up his mind. “I’ll take a Picadillo.”
The mixture of ground meat, tomatoes, and olives was bound to be heavy on the stomach, but that was a problem for future him.
“What about you?” Francis asked.
“Tell him to give you two plates,” the nun replied.
“Why not tell him yourself?” Francis asked in confusion.
At least until Tiago spoke.
“Who are you talking to?” the bartender asked. “Are you okay?”
Oh.
“I’m just rehearsing a role, I’m a method actor, you see,” Francis quickly explained. “Just bring me two plates. I’m famished.”
Tiago simply nodded, before going his way.
Francis then turned to the woman, confusion giving way to caution. “A Deacon of Dominion?”
“I wish,” the nun snorted.
“How could you conceal yourself, then?”
“I merely ingested a Fragment,” the nun explained. “But you probably already know what that is.”
Francis didn’t believe her. But her explanation was plausible.
After all, why would a Deacon of Dominion serve as a nun in a remote town?
“You can see me, though,” the woman added. “What does that say about you?”
And my cover is blown. What a delight.
The fugitive nearly attacked the woman, but then she explained herself further.
“Relax, I mean no harm,” she said. “I just like testing the waters whenever I hear about a newcomer.”
“What if you come across the wrong newcomer one day?”
“I don’t think that would be much of an issue,” she replied nonchalantly.
Most would’ve called her behavior arrogance. But he knew better.
Submerged didn’t survive by sheer bravado. Each Stanza was a lifeline.
And a sword. A sword most didn’t see coming until it was too late.
He half expected the woman to look alarmed to a degree. But her posture remained as relaxed as ever.
Whatever Stanza she hid, it was formidable.
“You got me,” Francis replied in defeat. “I am, in fact, a Deacon.”
“Hi, Deacon. I’m Viviana.”
Francis heard many atrocious jokes throughout his lifetime, but that one took the cake.
His lack of amusement must’ve shown, as the nun quickly spoke again. “That was horrible on purpose, for the record.”
“Thankfully,” Francis replied flatly. “Now. Can you answer my question?”
“After I eat.”
This city is going to be the end of me.
“Fine,” the fugitive replied in defeat. Hoping that Viviana would keep her word.
***
By the time the two were done eating, Francis had essentially ordered half the menu.
The Arroz con Pollo was quite refreshing, as the chicken was a nice change of pace.
The same couldn’t be said about Ropa Vieja and Lechón Asado, however, due to how heavy the beef and pork were.
Nevertheless, the Deacon’s body desperately needed nourishment after his last fight, so he couldn’t complain much.
“Are you done yet?” Francis said to the nun in frustration.
“Almost,” she replied as she chewed on her third Croquette.
Croquetas, Empanadas, and Tamales were all snacks she was more than happy to order after finishing the main course. Francis was half convinced that the woman lived on sunlight before they met, but he kept the thoughts to himself.
She still hasn’t delivered what she promised, after all.
“There,” the woman said, finishing the last of her food. “What do you want to know again?”
“Everything.”
“Everything being?”
I'm going to shoot her.
“Everything about the new gods,” Francis replied, keeping his annoyance at bay.
“Oh, those,” Viviana said absentmindedly. “It all started with Morgan LeFay, truly.”
Francis wanted to ask further, but he feared that interrupting would take her back to her usual snark.
“The moment she discovered the Shanties, she established her own pantheon,” the nun continued. “Whether they’re real or not, however, is beyond me.”
“How did she manage to convince an entire institution to adopt those ideas?” Francis asked, struggling to imagine a coherent timeline.
“By killing everyone who opposed her,” the nun replied flatly. “She is the first Submerged, after all.”
Fair enough.
“But how? I doubt one Submerged could eradicate an entire institution.”
“A mere Supplicant, maybe,” Viviana replied. “But what makes you think she didn’t simply withhold information until becoming a Saint?”
The woman’s points made him feel moronic. But truth be told, it would’ve been common knowledge if most could grasp it.
“Her Shanty must be formidable indeed,” Francis scoffed.
“To say the least,” Viviana confirmed. “Rumor has it that she can kill an entire city without lifting a finger.”
“Nonsense,” Francis exclaimed in disbelief. Before thinking better of it. Saint Agnes burnt a ship in mere seconds without lifting a finger. Why assume that Morgan LeFay was any different?
Especially when she was the Supreme Leader of the Apostolic See. An institution that hoarded Shanty knowledge for decades.
“Now you get it,” Viviana said, seemingly reading his mind.
Wait. Did she?
“I hope you didn’t just use Divination to read my mind.”
Viviana, in turn, scoffed. “Please. I wouldn’t be talking to you if I had such a Stanza.”
The reply made him feel indignant, but he had to ask further questions. “What are the names of the gods they worship?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Not if I’m asking, no.”
The nun sighed deeply before elaborating. “Supplicant, Acolyte, Deacon, Reverend, Venerable, and Saint. You think calling them such was a mere stylistic choice?”
“Not sure I’m following,” Francis replied, not knowing where the woman’s confidence came from.
“You’re a Deacon of what?” Viviana asked.
“Dominion.”
“There you have it,” she said as she reclined on her stool.
“Oh.”
“Oh indeed,” the nun said. “The Church views Shanties as more than a tool. To them, they’re gods.”
Suddenly, it all made sense.
The tree symbolism, the Inquisition, the ordinary people’s surprising orthodoxy.
It was a religion that wasn’t meant for everyone.
Just those who were touched by the sea.
People like him.
The epiphany also explained why orthodox priests labeled his kind as heretics.
Because as far as they are concerned, we truly are.
Francis had a dozen questions to ask, but one stood out more than the others. “What of the tree? Are they insinuating that the Shanties share a common root?”
“Sharper than you look,” Viviana replied. “Precisely. Even LeFay herself admits that fact.”
“What’s the origin?” Francis asked, dreading the answer.
The nun stood on no ceremony. “Kaleidoscope.”