“The Captain stood there laughing - bid us stand to our last breath, But we’d rather face his daughter than a terrifying death…” Paracelsus leaned against the wall of his cell, singing to himself under his breath while he relaxed with a book he’d been meaning to finish.

  He was roused from his peaceful musing by a gunshot from the entrance to the building. The bang was followed by the sound of three sets of feet, although one was immediately snuffed by another gunshot. At hearing the second, the Captain stood, book in hand, and walked to the bars of his cell to get a better view, turning the back of the book into a silver mirror for visibility.

  “What the fuck?” He asked, to no one in particular, remarking primarily at the fact that the guards Federico had were evidently less than stellar at guarding. The second set of footsteps fell shortly, and he was quickly joined by the third without much fanfare.

  Paracelsus acted swiftly, taking his place back on his seat, crossing one leg over the other, and holding the book in front of his face.

  “I know it’s you.” Diego informed him, “How did you get a book in here?”

  “Quite simply, really,” He replied, shaking the book, “I just kept it in my jacket the whole time.”

  With no further conversation, the assassin fired another shot, straight at the alchemist’s head. Luckily, said alchemist had the forethought to turn the innermost pages into steel, so his head wasn’t blown off.

  “That was quite rude.” He replied, taking the opportunity to use his would-be killer’s stunned-still emotion to literally throw the book at him, colliding solidly with Diego’s forehead.

  After the jolt of force reactivated his synapses, Diego pulled another gun he kept in his waistband, and prepared to fire a second shot. Before he could, however, his target reached an unusually long (for his rather diminutive height) arm through the bars and grabbed hold of the weapon, using it as a handle to pull Diego against the cell door and smack his head with a great metal donk.

  “?Mierda!” The assassin put a finger to the bruise he now had on his head, and before Paracelsus could regain his balance, seeing as the Captain had slipped, he himself slipped through the bars of his cell, making use of his slimy skin to lower the friction.

  “Guards!” The alchemist shouting, before both him and his foe hunched over, placing their arms and hands in a rough approximation of a wrestling stance.

  They started circling each other, slowly at first, one foot to the side of the other, but steadily their pace grew. Eventually, once Diego heard more guard’s footsteps, and he realized that it was now or never, he dashed forward, fist reared back to punch.

  “Idiot.” Paracelsus said, revealing he still had the gun from earlier and using it to shoot the assassin in the foot.

  —

  “You’re cheating.” Gareland said, looking on at the triple-sixes that Tariq rolled, and the subsequent taking of four of her marbles, “Call it. Evens or odds?”

  For his part, the invisible man rubbed his temples, hoping to deign some divine foreknowledge, or perhaps just messing with his friend, for a few seconds before clasping his hands together quickly, “Evens.”

  The fairy cast the dice into the air, letting them fall to the ground with a small click, and immediately two of them settled, on a one and a four, respectively. The third one flew higher - higher - higher still until, at the apex of its launch, its polygonal faces blotted out the sun; before it, too, came down and landed, rolling and teetering violently. It vacillated, rather teasingly, between landing with its four and three sides upward.

  “What can I say?” Tariq asked, preparing to roll the die again, seeing as it landed on four, “I’m lucky.”

  He flicked the toy into the air with his thumb, but before it even reached its apex, a slimy, scaly appendage snatched it from the air. Said slimy appendage eventually seemed to take a roundabout route through the water they were near, to Gru’lya, who held it mere inches from her face, sniffing the object curiously.

  “It’s just a die, Gr -” The helmsman laughed to accentuate his words, but Gareland, being familiar with his voice, knew there was an element of nervousness as the mermaid turned away, keeping the die out of reach of his lanky arms.

  “I am unfamiliar with this word,” Gru’lya said ponderously, “I am seeing the memories of this object - but what does it mean to have ‘loaded’ a die?”

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  “That’s -” Tariq tried to start, but was cut off, this time by a bell ringing, “One o’clock.”

  “You’re lucky I’m so magnanimous.” Garland said with a puff as she ‘rose to her feet’, which is to say she uncrossed her legs and floated a little higher.

  “Wait!” Gru’lya said, trying not to obviously raise her voice, “Where are you going?”

  “That’s the signal,” Gareland said, rubbing the back of her head, for she knew where the conversation was heading, “We agreed to regroup at one.”

  “And does it have to be so far inland?” Their scaly companion asked them, trying to hide her shockingly uncanny, and involuntary pout.

  “I’m sorry,” Gareland’s tone was not entirely unsympathetic, for she was not entirely unsympathetic, but nonetheless, “But… Truth be told, we thought that something like this wouldn’t interest you, seeing as you’re…” She rolled her hands, trying to parse her thoughts in the most palatable way possible.

  “A mermaid?” She asked in response, continuing to mope about.

  “No!” The fairy crossed her arms over her chest defensively, and despite having been thoroughly predicted, she still tried to save her pride, “You’ve just never been one for socializing.”

  “Of course I’m not!” Gru’lya also crossed her lanky, green arms over her chest - but her posture was one of a more haughty, high-strung offense, “I was just… curious.”

  “Right…” Tariq said. They all knew it was a lie, but, out of politeness (and more so because they knew that trying to push the topic would just make Gru’lya annoyed, and not be productive), they all chose to politely ignore the elephant in the water, “How about next time, we have it near the ocean?”

  “Yes!” The scaly ocean-dweller put a hand over her mouth, trying to quell her excitement, “That would be preferable… Just so I can observe.”

  When the couple started to exit, albeit not without a friendly wave, she let her mask fall, allowing her pouty expression to resurface as she slumped over, resting her chin on her arms, which themselves were resting on the stone walkway.

  She was always something of a loner - that much was undeniable, even amongst her own. Perhaps, it was for that reason that she even agreed to the unorthodox suggestion the matted, black-haired human sailor had made. Regardless, so much time around humans had irrevocably stained her reputation with other mermaids, who were themselves much more of the reclusive, antisocial type. With a final, wistful sigh, she dove down below, hoping to at least find something to quell her boredom.

  —

  “Everyone,” Serpacinno addressed the crew, gesturing behind her to Federico, “This is Federico.” She waffled with her words, trying to figure out whether obscuring his identity was better or not, before deciding on, “He’s going to be helping us.”

  Where have I heard that name before? Lonceré thought as he kept the pocket watch he’d picked prior tucked under his vest for now.

  “Did Paracelsus… Hire him?” Gareland asked, suspicious.She’d been involved in more than enough unsavory business to recognize when someone was very clearly not involved in such activities, and the heir was giving the distinct impression, despite his more grizzled appearance, of a straight-laced citizen.

  “I have a vested interest in this case.” Federico replied, with what was actually quite a convincing tone, “I know the -” He almost gave it away with the way he choked for a split second on his words, “Decedent quite well. If there’s a chance to find her real killer, I’m going to pursue it.”

  “We found this,” Serpacinno said, producing the contract, “I can’t read it, but he says that it proves someone else was responsible for killing his wi - friend.”

  “Well then, what are we waiting for?” Tariq impatiently questioned, quite eager to have a relatively normal stay for once, “Let’s go get Paracelsus out.”

  “We can’t.” The first mate grumbled, shooting a noticeable look to Federico, “We still need to find who did this.”

  Sally nudged Lonceré with her elbow, clearly signalling him, even as the cook stood there, stone still and still, in fact, trying to remember where he’d heard the name Federico. Eventually, however, she hit him at the right angle to jolt him back into the conversation.

  “Well, Sally and I encountered him earlier,” He said, pulling the watch out, “We were too slow to stop him, unfortunately, but I managed to snag this.”

  Federico immediately dashed forward, grabbing hold of the timepiece with a wide-eyed expression of shock painted on his countenance. As he examined the accessory, he made a grim realization - the inscription on the watch was one he recognized all too well, a small, yet intricate sketch of the Victoria: the flagship of the Alamrés’ Shipping Conglomerate.

  Only five such devices existed, four of which were in the hands of the members of the Board, and the other of which belonged to his brother, Miguel. That left one of two possibilities as the logical endpoint - Either someone internally had called for his wife’s assassination, or the assassin was close enough to steal this from someone else he considered himself close to.

  “You sure seem to recognize it - whatever it is.” Serpacinno commented, after a sufficiently long period of silence.

  “It’s a watch.” He muttered, not intending to sound rude, “Sorry, it’s just - This symbol, it’s one of a very powerful company around here.” He looked around at the group, and he nodded, “Thank you. I think I have everything I need.”

  “Hold on!” She, in turn, seized him by the shoulder, feeling something lumpy and spiky underneath his justacourps, “I’m not letting you leave without me. This is a matter of my partner’s safety, and I can’t not be there.”

  Seeing the determined look on most of the rest of their faces, Federico realized that it was a losing battle to try and persuade them otherwise. So, with a shrug and sigh, he led the way.

  —

  The past hour was one of significant awkwardness for Paracelsus. He sat, relaxed, again with a book in hand, while just a scant few feet and across a brick wall, sat his attempted killer. What truly made it awkward was not their proximity, but rather that Diego kept espousing threats and vulgarity the whole time, the guard’s warnings that such language would only net him more repercussions having fallen on deaf ears.

  He was about to groan, and in fact he did, but the intention was changed, as he heard footsteps appear at the entrance of the jail again. Not another fucking assassin, He dismayed. It was, perhaps fortunately, not another fucking assassin. Thankfully for his psyche, there were no gunshots - no sounds of a struggle, but just a quiet, baritone voice conversing with one of the guards, speaking Scaularese in a thick accent.

  Each footstep which approached, tapping in a strange rhythm that suggested he had either a limp, or a very strange gait that was somewhat resembling such a disability. Finally, they stopped in front of Diego’s cell, and for nearly a whole minute, there was silence. Using the opportunity, Paracelsus once more peeked his head out and saw what could only be described as an abomination eyeing the man in the cell.

  “Dark hair, dark eyes,” The smooth, deep voice of John Steele rattled his skull in a most unsettling manner, “Fair skin, and with a short, healthy build. You must be the man that Rosa mentioned.”