“Who are you?” Genevieve asked, flying backwards to avoid being impaled by the spike of bone coming out of the Admiral’s chest, “I have no quarrel with you!”

  “Maybe so, but you’re a Cartesian citizen, causing trouble for the fine people in a non-Union country!” John replied. When she proved a bit too flighty, one of his arms fell open, as though on a hinge connected to his body, and from the cavity sprouted a number of long, whitish, and lacey looking tubes which ended in barbed hooks.

  “Shit!” Anytime Genevieve cut one, two more would replace it, as though it were some hazardous hydra. Before long, she was overtaken, and several of the barbs slipped under her armor. Once the barbs pierced her skin, she was immediately envenomed, and started locking her joints up mid-air.

  Before John could catch up to her, she created a few more illusions to distract him; the tactic worked, albeit slightly, as his arms, with a dexterity and purpose befitting a mind of their own, seemed to intercept them and his course was unabated.

  Just as it looked like her foe would overtake her and snatch her, she twisted around about the waist in a rough jerking motion, and managed to catch him in the jaw. She managed to regain some motion in her upper body, and started away again, intent on ducking down into the city and doffing her armor.

  “This is unbelievable!” She shouted to an audience of none; the scythe had found purchase, but all her effort only afforded her an extra fifty, perhaps sixty, yards of advantage - a gap which was quickly dwindling. And so, seeing no other option, she dove down into the ocean - hoping to get away.

  “Oh, damn.” John said, slowing to a stop as he landed, “Well - no way she swims away in that armor.”

  —

  “I just couldn’t believe that Miguel and Rosa had done something like that.” Federico said mournfully, while he was being shown around the ship, “I mean, can you believe that?”

  “No, I can’t.” Paracelsus lied, turning around, “Well, that’s that. Any questions?”

  “What’s my watch?” Federico asked, noting with some trepidation the creaking sounds the hull made every time they crested a small ripple.

  “I figure you’ll be the bosun - you’ve sailed the ships before, yes?” The Captain stopped mid step on the stairs, “Please say yes.”

  “Of course.” Federico said, “I’ve never… eh… commanded a ship, though.”

  “Well, that’s,” The alchemist groaned, “That’s fine… I suppose. Ahoy, Lonnie!” He shouted, passing through the galley.

  “Ouais ?” The cook asked, looking up from his simmering stew.

  “Either of them awoke?” He asked, in turn.

  “Sally’s up,” Lonceré looked away, in a way that suggested he harbored some unspoken affection, or at least camaraderie, “But be gentle - she’s a bit wound up at the moment.”

  “Right, well -” Paracelsus gave Federico a slight nudge on the shoulder, “I won’t be needing you up top for a while, so, take a rest, for now.”

  —

  “You think she’s dead?” John asked, looking at the water - and more to the point - the lack of bubbles.

  “No, I don’t think so.” Elizabeth pointed at the point where the knight had breached the water, “See the angle she came in at? She definitely didn’t knock her head on the seabed. I find it doubtful she would’ve drowned in the minute it took us to get here.”

  “So what? She’s just holding her breath, you think?”

  “Probably.” She said, “How many fingers do we have on board?”

  The admiral tapped his chin, humming, “I think we have about twelve, or so.”

  “Fine, then.” The commander grabbed a metal shear from her pockets, and, taking a deep breath, placed it right next to her knuckle on her left index finger, and chopped.

  Once she had come down from the pain, Jenner kept an eye on the water, waiting to see when and where the surface would break. Eventually something started to breach, and she tossed her disembodied finger at the exact spot. After waiting a second, just to be sure, the extremity exploded with a rather large shockwave, blowing the water into the air and probably deafening the fish in the harbor.

  “Clever!” She noted, observing with a great deal of surprise that the thing that had crested the water was not their target, but rather one of said fish in the harbor. By now, Genevieve had probably used the distraction to escape, but nonetheless the maneuver was impressive.

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  —

  “Sally?” Paracelsus said, at last groping upon the lower part of the rail of the crow’s nest, “You up here?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.” Her tone was quieted, and she didn’t even turn in her overly flamboyant manner to face him, just remaining staring forward dejectedly.

  “Right. You sound like you’ve been better.” He took a seat facing away from her.

  “I have.” She replied, waiting to see if he would leave of his own volition, “I’d prefer to be alone, if you don’t mind.”

  “I mean, if you insist -” Paracelsus said, “But it’s not like you’ve got a plethora of folks to commiserate with. I’m not absolutely sure, but I’d venture to guess this is the first time you’ve left home?”

  “It is.” By now, the Captain could hear some sniffling, and she was visibly shaking. Not wanting to presume any physical contact, he made a blanket and wrapped it around her. “Thank you…” There was another prolonged period of silence, but eventually, Sally said, “Alright. Get comfortable - this might take a while.”

  —

  “I’ve lost a number of lovers over the years,” Lonceré said, ladling the soup out into a number of bowls, “I never married, but, still - they were dear to me.”

  “How old are you?” Federico asked.

  “Twenty-six.” The cook replied, “But I assure you - I’ve had a fair share of lovers over the years.”

  “You’re not that much younger than I am.” Federico sighed, “I’m not sure how it is where you’re from - but we always bury our dead soon after death. Her body was barely cold by the time she was in the ground.”

  “We wait a while,” As they discussed, the Cartesian had retrieved a bottle of liquor he kept stowed away, and poured each of them a generous glass, “She was a beautiful woman, named Marie. Her parents waited nearly two weeks. But the part I never liked about a Cartesian funeral - her body was kept in the great room the whole while.”

  “Have you ever thought about marrying another woman?”

  “I was always too poor to get married. And I never had any family willing to sponsor a bride-dowry.”

  For the next few minutes, the only sound was the bubbling of the cauldron and the sipping of eau de vie, and the rolling of the waves.

  “If I can ask: why didn’t you marry her sooner? You knew her for what, twelve years?”

  “Thirteen. That’s tradition in Scaular.” The widower finished his drink with one last gulp, “Thank you for the drink and the food.”

  “It’s what I’m here for.” The cook said, raising and finishing his own drink.

  —

  “Who the fuck are these people?” Genevieve grasped her wounded arm. It was bleeding profusely and she already had to abandon her beloved armor. She was sitting in a small gap where erosion of the cobble had provided a small pocket of air. “What is that noise?”

  That noise would turn out to be a pair of jaws, with the appropriate jagged teeth, of a shark breaching the water and latching onto her bleeding forearm. She ripped it off once - along with a chunk of flesh, but it immediately grabbed back onto her, and then it dragged her down right away.

  She eventually resurfaced, far, far away from the marines. The shark, if she wasn’t imaging it in the first place, had disappeared, and left her stranded in the ocean, just next to a medium barquentine. A man descended down the unrolled embarkation ladder and grabbed her hand, pulling the two of them aboard.

  “Hola, desconocido.” The stranger said, looking down at her sorry form, “Disculpen lo del tiburón.”

  “Get me a damn bandage!” She shouted as she rolled and doubled about, writhing with pain.

  “Sorry, sorry.” The man replied with a congenial attitude; he snapped, and she was immediately attended to by a few of his crew, “Let’s restart; my name’s Jesus. And yours?”

  Before she answered, she had a look around the deck. Clean, well maintained, and it seemed to operate smoothly with little gap or friction in motions. Then she looked up the mast, and saw a rather worrying flag; practically anyone from a Union-affiliated country would recognize it: three black swords, tips pointed outward in a small horizontal arc, set against a white background.

  “Ah, you see the points?” Jesus asked, the friendly smile still on his face. “I know what most people think about us - and guessing by your accent, I can’t imagine you hold us in high regard. Still, let me say my piece, at least, we’re a purely humanitarian organization. We saw you struggling in the water, and we even pulled you out.”

  “And why?” The knight asked, finding her voice. “I know you couldn’t have seen me as far away as you need to be to avoid the Union ship nearby.”

  “They aren’t going to attack us while we’re here.” Jesus said, “And besides, we don’t plan to be here long. We were just looking for someone. Perhaps you’ve seen him? On the shorter side, cropped dark hair, with a notable scar across the bridge of his nose?”

  “What’s that information worth to you?” Genieve narrowed her eyes.

  “Not leaving you in the water for those marines to find?” The man replied, shrugging.

  There was a pregnant silence, rife with tension, before she spoke up again with a groan, “Fine. Last I saw, he was setting sail. I don’t know what direction he went.”

  “That’s all I needed.” Finally, she was helped to her feet, and the man turned to the quarterdeck, “Reverse course!” Which was met with a duo of ‘aye’s. “Since it looked like you were in trouble, and we’re going that direction anyway, you’re more than welcome to stay until we arrive in Machiave.”

  —

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” Federico said as he entered the officers’ quarters.

  “Fuckin’ hell, how long was I out?” Serpacinno groaned, clutching her head, “Parace? Where’s Parace?”

  “Parace?” The bosun asked, “Paracelsus? I think he’s above, in the crow’s nest, talking to the blonde.”

  “Oh shit, I guess I just thought he’d be here.” Her tone was a bit dejected, and she kept an eye on the floor.

  “You two really care about each other, huh?” The widower’s face was soft and he held a slight smile, like he was reminiscing, “He talks a lot. When I was questioning him, and sorry for that whole mess, I swear half the time he would somehow loop back around to mentioning you. But I suppose when two people love each other -”

  “What? Hold on,” The first mate put a hand up, this inane conversation was taking its toll on her already aching head, “Who said we loved each other?”

  “Oh, do -” He looked around, as though that would help the situation, “My apologies. I just thought, since you two seem so close…”

  “No!” The snakewoman shook her head profusely, “I mean, I’m not saying that’s he unattractive, or that I don’t enjoy his company, or his voice, or -” She realized what she was saying and shook her head again, “But still, it would never work.”

  “Has he said that?” Federico asked.

  “Well, no -”

  “Has he said anything that would imply that?”

  “No, but -”

  “Have you ever tried talking to him about it?”

  “Never anything beyond the surface level.”

  “You should, I’ll tell you that he absolutely feels a similar way as you do.”

  “And what do you know?” She asked. Her tone, annoyed though it was, was hopeful and defensive in a way that it normally wasn’t. “I mean, you’ve barely even spoken with either of us.”

  “That’s true, but I was a married man, you know.” He sighed, “Look, just… You never know when you’re going to die. Tomorrow, you or her could suffer some heart attack - you or he could drown, could get shot, stabbed, or wither away. Do you want to go through life carrying that regret?”