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The Shanty Codex I, by Saint Morgan LeFay.
Francis continued reading.
Well, eventually I reached an age where I could do something, and so I set sail. The first few sea voyages weren’t much to speak of, and I won’t bore you with the details. What came after, however, changed it all.
One fateful evening, a storm capsized our boat. One would’ve pronounced me dead long ago if not for the sea deciding that my life wasn’t worth cutting short.
Yes, you read that correctly. I was brought back thanks to a strange sea magic. Some called it Shanties, others gifts. It mattered not to me; however, it brought me back, and that was enough.
Sadly, that sentiment didn’t last long, as my apathy quickly gave way to anger. Now that I was a capable man, I sought revenge. Read was by no means a small fish, which made locating him far easier. What didn’t help, however, was his supposed association with Teach. The man wasn’t known for being the most kindhearted, but no matter. I had a mission to accomplish; what happened to me next mattered not.
Havana, Grenada, Tobago, and even Florida. I scorched half the Atlantic chasing his tale. And yet, he was nowhere to be seen. Until one day, I heard a few drunks speaking of how the scum of the earth had turned Orange Town into his base.
At first, it was beyond my comprehension. Not only was the place small, but it was also under Spanish control. Why would they allow such a thing? Then I understood the subtext: the alliance with Blackbeard was no lie; only he could force an entire nation to practically abandon an island because it wasn’t worth the trouble.
Regardless, I didn’t falter—not when I was so close. But regrettably, close was, and shall always be, the language of the vanquished.
It wasn’t a long battle, not by any stretch of the imagination. I had access to Fulguration, Putrefaction, and even Dissipation—lightning, rot, and ice—and yet it was still not enough. To make matters worse, I even had my own Shanties, which caused others to fall into a grave ailment the longer they were exposed to my presence.
At first, I was at a loss, but seeing him fight helped connect the dots. He was a Reverend of Demise. How could I possibly defeat such a monster? I was but a well-prepared Acolyte. I did the only logical thing: I fled.
Anyway. What met your eyes moments ago was the byproduct of my failure. Hiding as a child is one thing; not fighting until the end as a Submerged is another. And so I took matters into my own hands.
As for my remains. This might sound selfish, but I would appreciate it if you could dispose of them properly. Burial or cremation, it matters not. Consider my lingering essence a payment for your generosity. I’m sure an Acolyte artifact of the Blight Shanty is no trifle matter. I would’ve loved to provide you with more, but all my artifacts were lost in that fight. Please forgive me.
As he finished the note, he realized that a lump had already formed in his throat. The man’s journey resembling his to an extent certainly didn’t help; was he going to end up like this, too? Would anyone find him? Would he be offered a proper burial if they did?
He knew the man asked for no pity, and so he didn’t linger. Instead, he went inside once more, tolerated the odor, and began contemplating his next move.
Turning the man’s essence into an artifact wasn’t an action he was fond of, but the tower made it clear that it was the only way to stop the unleashed Shanty from killing more innocents.
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Francis looked for a piece of jewelry that would serve as a suitable vessel, but found none. Both of his rings contained a Shanty, and most of his other belongings weren’t ideal.
Except for one.
Francis pulled his trusty dagger out of his bag and looked at it in contemplation. He didn’t know if it was going to work, but it was infinitely better than remaining idle.
He slowly approached the man, gently pushed the dagger inside his skin, then clasped his hands to pray.
“May the Lord have mercy on you,” Francis whispered before crossing himself.
***
By the time Francis made it back, the town’s morning bustle had reached its zenith. It was but background noise, however, as what lay ahead was far more relevant.
Against all odds, the dagger was transformed into an artifact. More importantly, the tower was at last rid of what plagued it, which served as a small comfort in an otherwise terrible day.
As much as Francis denied it, the dull mornings in his old workplace were thoroughly missed. How could they not be? When the worst that could happen was a glass breaking or two old drunks fighting languidly.
At least none of it involved cremating a man after weaponizing his essence.
Still, the bad days didn’t mean that the rest of his life was going to be spent that way.
“Besides, I can always retire,” he mumbled as he passed by a few stalls offering fabrics of various colors. “Assuming I collect enough silver.”
Locating La Frontera Bar was no easy task, especially when half the locals couldn’t be trusted to locate their own house, but he eventually managed to.
The interior wasn’t much different from that of his inn. The atmosphere, however, couldn’t be further apart.
If Gazpachos felt like a haven for bounty hunters, La Frontera felt like their grave. The few patrons made it even clearer as the moment they saw him, they shifted slightly, undoubtedly contemplating their next move.
Talk about news traveling fast.
It hasn’t even been a few days, and yet half the pirates in town already recognize the man who burned Dirty Fang’s ship. The reputation did serve as a shield of sorts, but the constant caution was quite the hassle.
“Is Luca here?” Francis asked, not standing on ceremony. “I have a package for Alize.”
The bartender raised a brow. “The Yves giving Alize a package?”
“Yeah,” Francis said as he put the emerald ring on the counter. “She tried to decommission me, but fate had other arrangements.”
The bartender, in turn, let out a hearty laugh. “Sounds like Alize indeed.”
He then pocketed the ring and went back to wiping mugs. “Thank you for passing by. I’ll inform her as soon as possible.”
Francis merely nodded before heading out. The doorknob felt heavier than usual, but he paid it no heed.
He still didn’t trust Eloise, not fully at least, but it was a necessary gamble. If she had the capacity to lure him into such a trap, only time could tell what else she could do.
Better yet, an alliance with a foe as strong as her wasn’t an opportunity to pass up, even if she paled in comparison to Valeria.
Why am I using her as a benchmark?
When Francis drew nearer to Gazpachos, he noticed the weird feeling that lingered. His head felt light, while his body was shivering. The lack of immediate danger, however, made him shrug it off.
Gazpachos’ doorknob was even harder to open, as every muscle in his arm protested, but he managed once more.
“How’s my treasure?” Leonie said from across the bar, finding comfort in the establishment being vacant.
“Where do I even begin?” Francis said as he sat on the stool near her.
“The part about my treasure,” she said with a cute smirk.
“Well,” Francis said as he put his elbows on the counter, helping him stabilize himself. “The mission was a success, all things considered.”
That made Leonie furrow her brows. “All things considered?”
“Yeah,” Francis replied before yawning. “The client wanted me dead, and figured the tower was the best spot for an ambush.”
Leonie’s expression quickly grew troubled. “Yves, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Happens to the best of us,” Francis reassured as he put a hand on her shoulder. “You did your part perfectly, that’s all that matters.”
“Still. I should be more careful in the future,” Leonie replied after a long pause.
Francis took his hand off her shoulder and immediately felt dizzy.
“Are you okay?” she asked as she put a hand on his back.
“I’m fine,” Francis managed. “A little tired is all.”
“That doesn’t look like regular exhaustion,” Leonie said while examining his face up close. “What happened, exactly?”
Telling bits and pieces would only complicate matters further, and so Francis decided to tell her everything.
“Apparently, the tower was contaminated by the essence of a Submerged who died there,” he explained while coughing. “As you might expect, his Shanty had something to do with illness, which resulted in me falling ill over and over again.”
“You used Rejuvenation, I take it?”
“Yes,” Francis confirmed, voice barely audible.
Eventually, even sitting became a hassle, resulting in him dropping to the floor.
“Yves!” Leonie shouted as she kneeled beside him, before he closed his eyes.
“Eloise. Alize. La Frontera,” he managed weakly before drifting off.