“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill them.” Serpacinno growled, forehead against the wall of their shared cell.
“I don’t think that would be best.” Paracelsus replied, leaning his back against the wall to look her in the eye “I know this may sound strange - but at the end of this I think Federico and I are going to be good friends.”
“You want to be friends with this psycho?” She asked, scoffing.
“Cut him some slack -” He replied sympathetically, “His wife died.”
“Why?” His partner replied mournfully.
“I think I just explained -”
“Why are you so forgiving?” She cupped his bruised, damaged face gently, “First - you didn’t even kill Silver, and now you want to help this man? We could leave, now.”
“How did you know Silver was alive?” He asked, snapping his head away, “Don’t tell me you went back there!”
“I -” She sputtered, and looked away defensively, “I didn’t want to tell you, after what happened. But yes, I went back - and I killed her.”
Instead of what she expected - which was at the very least an angry insult and anything up to an exchange of blows - she was instead greeted by her Captain wrapping his arms around her and stroking the back of her head. At first it felt silly, a younger man comforting her for a choice she made, but eventually she just took it for what it was and accepted the contact.
“Please,” He said after a few seconds, “You have to promise me - killing is a last resort. That box is so difficult to close - we can’t open it so casually.”
“I promise.” She said, not entirely sure if she would honor it, before being let go.
“Right, then.” He opened a hole in the wall, “Quickly - before they come back. Leave.”
“What?” She blanched, “What about you?”
“Again, this might sound strange -” He laughed at the absurdity of his thoughts, “But I care deeply about my good name. Plus, who knows - maybe having someone so powerful owe us a favor will be a good thing? Tell the crew to start searching for the real assassin.”
“Dammit,” She hissed, hearing approaching footsteps, “Fine - but don’t you dare die in here!”
As she left, he reformed the wall behind him, leaning against it with a self-satisfied grin on his face.
—
Tariq watched his target enter a building - presumably his house. As he opened the door, the helmsman silently crept in behind, taking great care not to be caught. The curtains being closed, the room was pitch-black and the invisible man was hesitant to step anywhere for fear of a trap, instead choosing to remove his jacket and sweep the floor for any sign of a snare or tripwire.
“I know you’re here.” Diego said, causing Tariq to freeze in place to conceal any noise he might make. Suddenly, he pulled a string and a series of candles were all mechanically lit, and the invisible man put a hand over his eyes and involuntarily let out a hiss, “And now I know where!”
He immediately tackled Tariq to the floor, hoping to end the fight with a swift stab through the cranium, but the younger man bent his neck out of the way once, then twice, before managing to push Diego off of him.
“Why are you trying to kill us?” He asked, getting to his feet and taking up a battle stance.
“If you and your crew die,” Diego swung again, getting blocked by Tariq’s shield, “No one can challenge the narrative that the man at the reception killed Federico’s wife!”
The Current’s helmsman managed to deal a great blow to Diego’s head and knock him down, “Then why did you kill her?!” As Tariq tried to get on top, he slipped on the same mucus Diego had produced earlier, finding himself face down on the ground.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The assassin asked, preparing his blade.
“That’s why I asked!” His adversary parried the blow again before kicking him in the groin.
—
The sun was long since down, and the night-lights had been lit. Under the orange-yellow glow of the lanterns, Serpacinno found the remnants of her crew - Sally, Garland, Lonceré, and Gru’lya - all at the marina near the water’s edge. They were idling away, not talking about anything of real consequence as the first mate came up, appearing from the shadows like a harbinger of death.
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“Tariq isn’t here with you?” She asked, causing them all to jump in fright, except Gru’lya, who saw her coming, but decided against saying anything.
“The lanky -” The mermaid replied.
“What do you mean?” Gareland worriedly interrupted, “He’s not with you?”
“Unless he’s playing a prank, no.” She crossed her arms, “We had the assassin, but he managed to give us the slip. I thought Tariq would just follow and return.” She puffed and pushed her “hairline” back, “I really hope he isn’t fighting him.”
“You!” Gareland turned and pointed a finger at Sally, “You can search faster than any of us!”
“Me?” The fencer pointed to herself, “Well, yes, I could. But I don’t know what I’d even be looking for!”
The whole group stood around, thinking for a minute, before Serpacinno slammed her fist on her other, flat hand, “He’s left behind some sort of residue or film. I think it was green.”
“You think? That’s not much to go on.” Sally complained, but, realizing all eyes (and pressure) were on her, she relented, “Fine, I’ll look for the maybe-green slime.”
“A word, if I may?” Lonceré pulled the swordswoman aside, leaving the fairy and mermaid by themselves, “Any update on Paracelsus?”
“He decided to stay in prison.” Serpacinno said, causing a gawking expression to form on the cook’s face, “I know. I couldn’t believe it. Why would he go to this length?”
“It’s like he’s a completely different person.” Lonceré marvelled, in some weird combination of awe and annoyance.
“What do you mean?” The first mate's breath caught in her throat, hoping to act casually and finally get some answer to some long-standing questions.
“I guess you wouldn’t know.” He laughed, lighting a cigarette, “He used to be… a bit more… strict. On himself, too.”
“Can you tell me any more?” She asked, “He’s always been dodgy.”
—
“Oh, shit,” Paracelsus pushed his hairline back as he looked at the effigy he’d made of Serpacinno’s head hidden under the blanket, “I am so fucked when he wakes up.”
—
“Where are you, you little -” Sally complained, running rather aimlessly along the streets, causing quite the gust as she passed, before she saw the aforementioned trail of slime, “Ooh lá lá! There you are.” She inspected the clue, looking for any hint as to what direction to follow it in, finding herself stumped.
“Heads left, tails right.” The fencer said, producing a coin and pointing in the wrong directions as she said them. She tossed the coin and watched it for a few seconds before snatching it with impatience and flipping the copper onto her other hand, “Heads! Right it is!”
So, going left, she ran along the drying path. Later, she found its terminus at a small, isolated and run-down shack. For a second, she briefly wondered how such a conspicuous individual hadn’t been caught yet, but thought that such things were irrelevant as she kicked open the door.
“Sally!” Tariq shouted, being pinned below his opponent with his shield just barely catching the cross-guard of the assassin’s dagger, “What are you doing? Help me!”
“My flare, my flare-” The fencer patted herself down, looking for the tube the Captain had given her. Hers was to crack and make a great plume of yellow smoke, but in her infinite wisdom, it seemed she left it on the ship. As she looked back up, she saw the helmsman take a slash on the nose, and she winced at her inaction.
“Get off of him!” She dashed over and kicked the older man in the side, knocking him off, but slipping as she removed the once source of stability she had, “Dammit!”
“What were you doing?” As the assassin, now twice failed, slipped away, Tariq clutched his nose and chided her, “This hurts so damn much!”
“Sorry, sorry!” She reluctantly apologized, for she didn’t know the boy too well. Still, she had the kindness to tear off a bit of his jacket to press against the cut, “Shit - he got away. What were you doing here alone?”
“I know, I should’ve lit the flare -” He said, searching for the item, “But at least I brought mine.”
“That’s a low blow!” She complained, “I find adapting to these rules very difficult.”
“Whatever,” Tariq groaned, holding his sore ribs, “Just help me to my feet. I guess we have to find somewhere to stay.”
—
The next morning, with no night-time visits by or to any party, everyone woke up safe and sound, though unequally far-along in their own objectives and agendas.
“Hello?” John Steele knocked on the door of a small hut in the mangrove, in a tone that was more polite than his grotesque appearance might suggest. As he did so, the door fell open with a creak, apparently having not been latched.
“There you are!” A shrill, nasally voice could be heard from the inside. A few seconds, and various noises of metal implements clanging and knocking on wood, and out stepped a vulturewoman in light blue robes, with a wide-brimmed hat covering her face, “I was expecting you, Mr. Admiral.”
“Oh?” His jaws clacked together in shock when he heard that, “Are you clairvoyant then, Miss Teresa?”
“No, I just read the news.” She replied, sorting through her various potions and draughts, “Your ship docked here late last night, and there’s only one reason someone like yourself would visit someone like me. What’re you seeking?”
“That glowing one -” He pointed one of dozens of bony, lanky fingers at one of the bottles on her shelf “What is that one?”
“I wouldn’t recommend that one,” The witch warned him, wagging her finger, “Those are pheromones. I’m sure you’ve seen the vines that grow in these mangroves? One sip of that and they won’t let you go.”
“Interesting…” He remarked, setting it down, “Why would you make something like that?”
“A client of mine,” She started, “His son was weak and frail - not long for this world. It was a last ditch effort to save him.”
“Did it work?” John asked.
“It did!” Teresa laughed, then pointed to her right eye, “Has a flower right here, now.”
“Well, anything regenerative?” He asked, “That’s something that’s always bothered me - anytime I modify myself, it takes my body a long time to adapt.”
“Oh, boring.” She said, disappointed. She rummaged through a few shelves, checking the labels and scents of the potions, before finding the correct one, “Here you go.”
“Thank you, Miss.” He pulled out a coinpurse, “How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, I’m not searching for anything so mundane as coin, Mr. Admiral,” She chuckled, “No, I’m a flesh-monger, you see. I want a piece of your flesh.”
“Oh?” He blushed, covering his lower jaw, “Well, I suppose that flesh is transient. What would you like?”
Teresa gazed up and down the Admiral, like a pig looking at a trough. Her eyes started at any number of his arms, examining the tight, taut musculature that ran along his strange shape. Then, they moved to his torso, imaging the rich connective tissue, the powerful blood vessels, and especially the tasty bones. The legs were only slight nuances of the arms - less articulate, more powerful, but overall the same stock. And then, she spotted them, the two orbs hiding in the recesses of his skull, and realized her prize.
“Your left eye.” She said, holding her hand out.
He paused for a few moments at her audacity. He was an Admiral - he could essentially do whatever he wanted to her for such an audacious request, but he was of a somewhat personable disposition, so he tilted his head and gave the best approximation of a smile he could, saying “Of course.”
