“Well?” Serpacinno looked over Federico’s shoulder like a child trying to spot the puppy her parents had gotten her, “What do they say?”

  “Hold on!” He put his hand up, annoyed at the interruption, “Seems he was quite prolific - these go back as far as seventeen-twelve.”

  “The one we’re looking for is probably more recent.” She so helpfully added.

  “?Silencio, por favor!” He sighed, resuming his search for any proof of the assassin’s activities.

  The scattered, frantic, flying papers kept on their course, fuelled by impatience and annoyance at the seemingly random order they were kept in. He groaned in frustration, but just before it seemed that the man was innocent (of this assassination, at least), he found the document headed with Valentina’s name.

  “I take it you can’t read it?” He asked, receiving a shake of the head, “Well here it is, the exonerating evidence.” He rubbed his temples and sighed heavily, “And to think - I was going to let her death go unavenged.”

  “So?” Serpacinno asked, “You’re going to let him out now?”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s not so simple as that.” Federico said with a regretful stare.

  As he made for the door, the snakewoman rushed in front of him, stopping him with a hand on his chest, “Fuck you mean ‘not so simple’?”

  “Without someone else in his cell,” Federico ripped her hand away from him, “The Board won’t accept my releasing him. I need to maintain appearances for my company.”

  “Bullshit!” She shouted, “An innocent man is sitting behind bars and you’re worried about appearances?”

  “I have a job!” He retorted, “And a family who are depending on me!”

  “Paracelsus has people depending on him.” She argued, “We have a very strict schedule -”

  “Yes, yes, I’ve heard.” He huffed, “But that’s the suspicious part - I know you lot aren’t tobacco salesmen.”

  “We are!” She bit back, “But quite frankly - even if we weren’t, it wouldn’t be any of your business what we’re doing.”

  “Regardless, he still can’t be released -” The heir was cut off when Serpacinno turned around with a huff and slammed the door.

  —

  “In and out, Miguel.” Rosa reminded her older brother, impressing the importance of her words with a pointed flash of her missing finger, “Get what you need - don’t linger.”

  “Yes, as if I was planning on -” Miguel turned away from his sister, toward the door of the shack, and his jaw fell open as he saw the door was already ajar, and a Union Admiral was standing in its way.

  “Oh, hello there.” The tall, grotesque figure politely greeted them with a slight bow, he had a whole box of trinkets - seemingly upsold by the proprietress, “Buyer beware - she’s quite the salesman.”

  Miguel stopped dead in his tracks, and the two men stared at each other for what felt like an eternity spent just waiting for something to happen. While it wasn’t exactly illegal for a Union official to visit Scaular, as the country was on friendly terms with the organization, it was still something unusual. And it being him in particular was quite worrisome. John Steele was rather notorious for being an unscrupulous scientist - he never modified himself without first thoroughly testing it on a subject.

  “R - right,” Miguel said, putting his hat to his heart and slipping past, leaving the Admiral confused as to his impoliteness, ”Have a good day.”

  He entered the witch’s hut and the must and stale smell in the area hit him before the coldness of the air. Immediately after, he jumped as he pressed his hand against the wall to find his way, finding his fingers ghost a jar - with some organ suspended in some liquid.

  “Teresa!” He shouted, “I’m here to deal!”

  “Of course you are,” Said vulturewoman laid a weathered, wrinkled hand on his shoulder, causing him another flight of fright, “No one ever pays me a social visit.”

  “Right, ma’am,” The second son gulped with fright, swallowing his nerves and spit all at once, “Well - erm, sorry about that, but -”

  “You need something?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “I need something,” He admitted, coughing in his hand, “I need the Board to vote a certain way, and I can’t guarantee they will without your help.”

  “Oh, a suggestibility potion!” The cleric suggested as though it was common knowledge, “Right then, how many are you looking for?”

  Miguel did a mental calculus at that moment, counting the members of the board, he knew he could guarantee seven votes, but needed at least three more if he wanted a favorable outcome. Just to be safe, he said, “Five.”

  “Hehehehe…” Teresa rubbed her hands together maniacally, “I see… I see… And you know what I’m going to ask?”

  “I know you’ll ask for some body part, but I’m ignorant as to the specifics.” He admitted, nervous.

  “The tip of your tongue.” She informed, spreading her wings to loom over him like some sort of devil, “As long as you live - you’ll never be able to utter another lie.”

  A high price to pay, Miguel thought, watching the witch step closer and closer, I hope this is worth it. He nodded, and a second later, she produced a small, clean knife to extract her payment.

  So, with the impulsive bargain secured, Miguel left the bizarre abode to reconvene with his younger sister, who was unnervingly engaged in conversation with the admiral from earlier. Unlike him, however, Rosa seemed to be engaging more naturally with the Marine, and if anything their conversation appeared almost… amicable?

  “Well, Ms. Almarés, I believe I must get going -” John shook her hand, nearly pulling her arm out of its socket in doing so, “This has been a most elucidating conversation.”

  After he left, sufficiently out of earshot, Miguel put his hand on his sister’s shoulder, still glancing over his own to ensure the Admiral was well and truly on his way, “What was that about?”

  “You heard Federico, right?” Rosa asked, “He’s still hesitant about executing the man who ‘shot his wife’.”

  “I’m not following.” He said, and with his face turned to his sister, she finally saw what he’d paid.

  “The Admiral will take care of him for us, Miguel,” She reasoned, quite astutely, “In just a short while, everything will be behind us.”

  —

  Meanwhile, Sally and Lonceré were seated at a table in a restaurant. With nothing better to do, they figured they might as well eat. Initially, to remedy the annoyance the two had with being stuck alone, they’d tried to invite Gareland and Tariq, but they were probably off doing unspeakable things to each other.

  “You’re unbelievable,” Sally said, picking at what could generously be described as some type of fish soup, “You know I didn’t order this. Give me your food.”

  “Sorry,” Lonceré apologized sarcastically, “My Scaularese must be failing me.” He smacked her hand away when she tried to swap their dishes.

  The fencer scanned the other tables, looking for any morsels that grabbed her attention. Unfortunately, her propensity for snails and potatoes was one that was not shared by the locals. More unfortunately, the more mundane meats - beef, pork, chicken, - and the more mundane bready carbs - bread, rice - were mangled beyond recognition and twisted into nigh-inedible forms.

  After she worked up the nerves to trepidatiously try a bite of her food, she found the slimy, bitter sustenance slid down her throat in what would come to be described, by Sally herself, as the worst sensation hitherto experienced.

  “Hey, wait a minute…” She took another spoonful, “Texture aside - this isn’t terrible.”

  “See?” Lonceré asked, trying to determine if her enjoyment of the taste was genuine, and therefore warranted a gnawing annoyance on his part, “You never would have tried it if not for me.”

  The two ate in silence for a while, neither desperate to fill the gaping silence they were presented with. Patrons came and ate and went all the while, none of particular note. As they were finishing their respective lunches, however, a waiter, different to the one who delivered their food, approached the two.

  “Se?or.” Lonceré said, holding his dish aloft for the server to take. With neither hand guarding himself, however, the waiter pulled a knife from his jacket and quickly slashed the cook across the jugular, spilling his crimson blood before anyone could react.

  “Oh, shit!” Sally looked between her fallen crewmate and the perpetrator, who had already broken into a sprint. Her mind rife with indecision, she once again decided that the cook was more than capable of handling himself. So, she gave chase. Or, perhaps it is more accurate to say that she attempted to give chase, the killer having chosen the perfect spot for his crime. Even though her speed gave her a distinct advantage, the flood of people who rushed to the door after seeing the attempted murder clogged it, preventing the fencer from escaping.

  “Thank you,” Lonceré said, after a worrying amount of time, “For not rendering aid.”

  “I knew you could just make a double!” She argued back, “But seriously - how could he get so close without us noticing?”

  “He’s probably been doing this for a while,” The cook said, although his tone suggested most of his focus was not entirely on the conversation. Such an assumption would prove correct, as he was preoccupied looking at a pocket watch.

  “Is that something important?” Sally asked, hand on her hip.

  “I think that remains to be seen,” He let the chain drop and flipped the case around a few times to be sure, and he took note of the ornate design and gimbal ensuring that the watch face was always facing up, “I just lifted it from him, it sure looks nice.”

  “Are you planning on selling it?” The fencer asked, accompanying the cook in finding a new exit.

  “Am I -” He clicked his teeth, trying not to fall for her provocations, “Look, it has some symbol on it.”

  —

  Diego fled the scene expeditiously, mentally crossing off a face from the list he’d made in his mind. He wanted to get the blonde as well, but he saw her speed, and he didn’t want to get into a contest that he knew he would lose.

  Then there was the fairy. The main issue with targeting her was that he’d never met one before, and summarily had no idea what her capabilities were. Plus, she was attached to the cloaker by the hip, and with two massive unknowns, he figured it was best to leave them for last.

  The penultimate one to consider was the medium gorgon with the sword. The pros of attacking her first was that she was neither together nor particularly fast. The con was that she carried herself quite professionally, with an efficient, quick stride and a swivelling head that meant she was probably unlikely to be caught off guard.

  So then who did that leave? The man in the cell, whom he had just learned the location of yesterday - who was the main target in the first place. With him dead, any potential alibis would be irrelevant, and even if Diego still had to kill the rest, no doubt his taskmaster would allow him some reprieve for finishing the bulk of the work.

  So, with relief in his heart at the prospect of returning to his normally quite lazy life, he gathered his thoughts and went to find one of the stashes he’d left hidden around the city. Hopefully, with any luck, it would be the one he must’ve left his new pocket watch at, seeing as that would seem to be the only logical explanation for the time piece being missing.

  “Disculpe ?sabe la hora?” The assassin asked, gently grabbing the shoulder of a woman on the street.

  Before the question could be answered, he immediately regretted asking, as the seemingly random woman he’d seized was none other than Rosa, the aforementioned taskmaster - who had her hand on hip, no doubt her weapon, too. “Have you made any progress?” She asked in Scaularese.

  “Y - yes.” He replied, both frightened to say anything and being unable to bear the silence any longer.

  As soon as she heard it, her face became softer and she smiled, “Good, then. Keep at it.” And, with all the swagger of a general, turned her back and walked away, leaving Diego stunned in a puddle of his own sweat.