Lonceré climbed out of the hatch onto the roof of the building, quietly closing it behind him. There were some sentries on the roof, but they seemed less interested in actually guarding and more in fraternizing. Still, he knew better than to loiter where he wasn’t welcome, so he quickly scanned the flat expanse for anything that looked like it might release the lock on the winch below.

  He found it after just a few seconds of looking, spotting the tied-off rope peeking through a slat in the ceiling and attached to what could be described as a mooring anchor. So, with at least a working knowledge of the mechanisms, he descended back down the hatch, cursing himself as he let it slam loudly back down.

  Thinking on his feet, he quickly sighted the mermaid and dove into the water as one of the sentries came down. All the guard saw was a splash in the water, and deciding it to be some trick his senses were playing, went back to his post and resumed his duties, none the wiser to Lonceré’s escape.

  —

  Guided by a pure, blind faith that she was being accompanied, for any proof of Tariq’s existence would’ve spoiled the whole thing, Serpacinno marched East to the appointed meeting place. As she spotted the hill she presumed was her target, she made the agreed-upon signal, pointing casually, enough so to appear as though it wasn’t any gesture at all, to a vantage point for the helmsman to watch.

  As she approached what she assumed was the meeting place, she cautiously inspected the crowd. It was dwindling, naturally so, as the festivities were predictably ended and night was creeping in. Still, there was a very obviously official group conducting their own survey of the premises, with lanterns on sticks and spyglasses.

  “I’m here!” She held her hands up in surrender just in case and walked slowly forward. As an effort to hide whatever infamy they may have received, she had earlier tied a bandana over her snakes, concealing the most obvious part of her identity and she continued her approach. “I was told that we’d be discussing what happened earlier.”

  Immediately, she was flanked and surrounded on all sides by armed guards, all ready to act on a moment’s notice. The leader, or at least the one who was bid to speak, stepped forward, “Make no mistake. You and your accomplices are still suspects. We’re here to interrogate you and decide if your story holds up. First things first - what is the purpose of your voyage?”

  “We’re tobacco farmers, from Adentone.” She replied with the constructed story she, and the whole crew, had been given.

  “That’s quite the distance.” The interrogator replied, “What brings you here?”

  “The Union has contracted us to sell our product in Machiave,” She continued, “They believe that it could help convince them to join.”

  “And why’s that?” He asked, “What makes your tobacco so special?”

  “Sorry, but we’ve been instructed not to tell.” The swordswoman replied.

  “That’s unacceptable, frankly.” He replied, taking his sword and pressing the flat side against her chin, “This isn’t a Union country.”

  “We’re wasting time.” She growled, “While you try to pick apart our business, the real assassin is probably getting away.” She tried to rack her brain for what to say next once the silence started. She didn’t want to draw her weapon and signal her friend to fire if she could avoid it, and then it donned on her - What would Parace do? “Indubitably, we need to figure out why he killed the man’s wife.”

  The interrogator, intrigued, put his sword down, “Why?”

  She gulped, then said “Because, maybe he’s going to -”

  Just then, the conversation was interrupted, and quite rudely, by the same man from the wedding grabbing one of the officers by the shoulder and ripping her aside, aiming his gun at Serpacinno.

  From his vantage point, Tariq watched the whole conversation, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but as he saw the man charging them, he found his hands shaking. He had his sights on the would-be assassin, but for some reason he found the crossbow heavy and his finger too weak to pull the trigger. The reason was evident - he was scared of missing and once more taking someone’s life.

  Pull yourself together, He chided himself, gritting his teeth and forcefully breathing to try and will himself to stop being nervous, She’s counting on you. He finally, as he closed his eyes, found his resolve to fire, striking the assailant in the leg and causing him to miss his crewmate and instead hit the man interrogating her.

  “Get him!” He shouted, rather obviously in response, and he was at once dove upon by the force, who restrained the man in record time, before the leader turned to Serpacinno again, “You - where did that arrow come from?”

  “That was a member of my crew.” She replied, “He’s long gone by now. But more importantly - he saved my life, and found your man.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Frankly, I think that remains to be seen.” He replied, seizing her arm, “You’re coming with me!”

  “Fine! Fine!” She struggled to wrest her arm free. Discreetly, she also stared down the spot she sent her shipmate to, hoping he had the good sense to follow.

  —

  “Brother…” Miguel rubbed Federico’s back comfortingly, even throwing his arm over his older brother’s shoulder at one point, “Father’s here to see you.”

  Federico nodded, and in came their father, Alejandro. What was once a tall, proud man had been reduced to a hunched, wrung-out dotard, barely able to support himself with a cane. Still, he feebly hobbled over to his eldest son, “Rico! I heard the wonderful news!”

  “Wonderful?” His son asked through tears that only came from his left eye, “What’s wonderful about this?”

  “But, Rico,” The old man said bewilderedly, “You’re married - surely that’s wonderful! Where is…” He paused and scratched his chin, trying to remember the name, “Your wife?”

  “She’s dead, father.” He replied, in an angry, mournful tone.

  “What?” Alejandro asked, his eyes wide, “But Rosa told me -”

  “It’s alright, father,” Miguel said, helping him to his feet, “You must be confused. It’s late, you should sleep.”

  “Oh, right!” Alejandro took a small box out of his pocket, and handed it to Federico with a smile on your face, “A present for you and your wife!”

  Despite his building rage, Federico received the gift gratefully, and ushered his father out of the room, “Thank you, father.” Inspecting its contents, he saw the beautiful platinum band, complete with a small, tasteful pearl, the same ring his mother wore when she was alive, “Paace, I can’t believe how bad he’s gotten.”

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Miguel said, sitting next to his brother, “Rosa and I have talked with the board - we think it’s time you take over as President.”

  “Are you serious?” Federico shouted, standing up abruptly, “My wife just got murdered and you think of business?”

  “I’m sorry, brother,” The younger one hung his head in apology, “It’s just hard to see him reduced to this state.”

  “No,” Federico said, embracing his sibling, “I should apologize. I don’t mean to snap on you. Once you’re married, you’ll understand.”

  “Brothers?” Rosa interrupted, knocking on the door, “Rico, Joaquin has the woman you mentioned. And someone else - you should go look.”

  Thanking his sister, the oldest left, slamming the door behind him - not out of rage, but simple haste. As he did, the other siblings looked at each other woefully.

  “So, what are the chances Diego can escape on his own?” Miguel asked, crossing one hand over the other and his chin on top of both.

  “Best case? Fifty-fifty.” Rosa groaned, “What do we do if he doesn’t?”

  “Teresa.” Her brother said, “I know you have your misgivings, but -”

  “Misgivings?” She held up her hand, missing her ring finger, “I’m out a finger because of her.”

  “And I’m not asking you to make the next sacrifice,” The older man rebuffed, “If it comes down to it - I will give her what she needs.”

  The both looked away and sighed, pensively, hoping it didn’t come to that.

  —

  “Admiral?” A marine knocked on the door to his superior’s quarters. The door opened on its own, and the young Ensign felt a chill run down his spine. His superior, the Captain of the U.W. Rose and Admiral, John Steele, sat at his desk, beckoning.

  To describe his boss as grotesque would be referring to a stab wound through the heart as “harmful”. The Admiral only sat in the loosest definition of the word - there was a chair beneath him, but his unnaturally long, mangled legs provided all the support he needed. Continuing upward, his thighs, both wiry and similarly long to his calves gave way to what may generously be described as a torso, a cylindrical, mottled pillar of flesh that spawned seven-finger arms at seemingly random intervals and angles with only the slightest implication of shoulders to support the hefty, awkward limbs. But worst of all was his head - with two beady blue eyes that sunk into his skinless, fleshless skull, which more resembled an equine than human.

  The appearance of him, which was completed with a heavily modified outfit, with one of his arms even bearing the four rings of one who couldn’t quite make Fleet Admiral, was complimented by the sounds. Horrible, clicking and whirring noises, like a million clock-work gears turning a terrible machine rang out from his location.

  “Yes, Ensign?” After what felt like an eternity, his calm, smooth voice asked, “Have we made it?”

  “Err - Yes, Admiral.” The Ensign confirmed, still at attention.

  “Then I think I’ll stretch my legs - have Commander Georgiou see to the docking. Dismissed.” He led his subordinate out of the room, shambling and clawing toward the door as he stepped onto the main deck. With every step, the gears in his body whirred and his jaw clicked open and shut before his back spluttered and gave way to a pair of faux-wings, allowing him to get started with his own agenda in Castego.

  —

  Serpacinno, and the apprehended Diego, were shortly escorted to the same prison as Paracelsus. The first security measure was the hand-off, wherein the men escorting the assassin gave the manacles and chain to another pair of guards. Rather, that was the plan, but the second the first set of guards let go, Diego used his gift, secreting a thick, slimy mucus over his skin that allowed him to slip out of the bonds and make for the doorway.

  “Shit!” Serpacinno, being more of a warrior-type, was the first to react, using her superior athleticism to stand in his way, drawing her sword and holding the line.

  Diego feinted left, then right, hoping to fake her out but she refused to commit to a direction before he did. Eventually, with the guards closing in from behind, he threw a punch directly at the swordswoman. Normally, she would’ve been able to respond to such a trivial attack, but the mucus flying off of the human’s skin got in her eye, causing her to lose her balance.

  Diego looked back and laughed. He had successfully escaped their grip, and learned at least something about his third target - the invisible man. Said invisible man was still following as he fled, but such a tactic was expected by a trained killer, and instead of throwing him off, decided to use a different tactic by leading him into a trap.

  Back with the snakewoman, however, she was immediately accosted in place of the assassin, not quite manacled, but certainly restrained, as she was brought to where Federico was waiting, now joined by Paracelsus.

  “What are you doing?!” She struggled to no avail, lacking in a certain raw strength.

  “How convenient -” The heir said, looking down his nose at her, who was sat, rather forcefully, next to her partner, “He manages to escape at the last second.”

  “Dammit!” Serpacinno growled, thrashing her arms as an exercise in futility, “At least I did something - Your guards just stood stunned!”

  “You saw for yourself!” Paracelsus shouted, “You have to believe that we’re not involved!”

  As Federico stood there stewing, he failed to realize how true those words were.