-
The Shanty Codex I, by Saint Morgan LeFay.
Francis must have looked like a lunatic, but he hardly cared.
Combusting into red mist because he forgot his Preservation Ritual was the far more pressing matter, while finesse was dead last.
As he emerged from the water, he noticed a few worried glances, but none dared to utter a word.
I wouldn’t talk to someone drinking seawater from the source either.
Francis then rushed to the bar in hopes of finding Leonie. His survival couldn’t possibly have been a coincidence, not when Saint Agnes herself put emphasis on the ritual.
He cursed himself for not being as attentive. Doing it once a week offered plenty of fertile ground for negligence, but it didn’t have to.
His newfound assertiveness was stopped in its tracks, however, as his body suddenly froze.
Francis nearly defaulted to fright, but the phenomenon forbade it, depositing him in the familiar green meadows facing the ocean.
As always, Francis appeared to be the last one arriving at the metaphysical meeting.
“Now,” Saint Agnes said from her seat of honor. “Shall we begin?”
Is my body going to be okay?
“Have no fear,” the Saint who violated everyone’s thoughts said with a wave of her hand. “This realm exists outside time.”
The response seemed like common knowledge to the rest of the attendees, but to him it added a much-needed perspective.
No wonder Dominion users were hunted down. So far, Saint Agnes had been able to read minds, conceal her presence, communicate via dreams, and even stop time. What was she not able to do?
“I’m sure all of you have heard about what happened in New York,” she said, not waiting for him to adjust.
The group’s confirmation only added to his confusion. But then again, Orange Town was no Havana; news didn’t go there on horse wheels.
“All of Grenada is panicking because of it,” Lina replied. “They’re worried the island might be next.”
“Same here,” Arwa exclaimed. “News of that fraud consolidating so much in so little has upset the balance of power greatly.”
“Sorry,” Francis interrupted. “I’m rather far behind in this regard. What happened?”
“Essentially,” Saint Agnes started, “the so-called Pirate Emperor has seized power in New York and begun expanding outwards.”
“Why wait this long? Hasn’t he been an Emperor for quite some time now?” Francis asked, genuinely not understanding the situation.
The whole story was a far cry from anything he had read about in history books. One simply didn’t become an emperor until they conquered enough land. Yet here, it was the other way around.
Then again, people didn’t have Shanties in those history books.
“Your confusion is understandable, and so is everyone else’s,” Saint Agnes explained. “Under normal circumstances, such a person would’ve been crushed by Teach and the likes long ago.”
Yet he didn’t.
That conclusion didn’t leave a lot of possibilities. Once someone was targeted by multiple Saints, it was essentially over for them. Him persisting either meant a new Shanty, or a possibility he didn’t dare utter.
“Does anyone have a list of confirmed feats?” one of the men asked. Francis didn’t remember their names, and he didn’t care to.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Hard to say,” Lina replied. “There was mention of ships operating themselves, immunity to Venerable attacks, and a fog that brings about strange phenomena.”
“Strange phenomena?” another man asked in confusion.
“During a recent battle,” Lina explained. “Most of his ships were destroyed using a Saint-level power. Then the fog engulfed them, and they became as good as new.”
“What Stanza is that?” the long-haired woman asked.
“Unsure,” Lina admitted. “But one thing is clear: the time to take action is long overdue.”
“Besides,” Saint Agnes said as she shifted her posture, “you’re approaching this from the wrong angle.”
“What do you mean, Most Exalted?” the first man asked.
“You shouldn’t ask what, but who.”
Her words appeared to do little to illuminate the attendants, prompting her to sigh deeply. “One doesn’t become a Saint in the blink of an eye, especially with such powers.”
The second part added much-needed context, as the others looked at one another uncomfortably. Francis, however, was as confused as ever.
“Do you think he’s involved in this, Most Exalted?” Lina asked.
“Who’s he?” Francis asked, refusing to remain confused for longer.
The question made the group look at him in shock, making him recoil inwardly. The reaction was equivalent to admitting that one didn’t know the alphabet.
“The less you know about him, the better,” Saint Agnes explained, which only made it worse. Her, of all people, treating someone with such caution was the last thing he expected.
“There is a golden rule, however,” the Saint added. “The moment you hear the name Rumpelstiltskin, run for dear life.”
***
“Well, that wasn’t very reassuring,” Francis mumbled as he returned to the normal world.
He wasn’t sure what the Rumpelstiltskin business was about, and he didn’t need to worry much.
The insignificance of Orange Town served as a small comfort, even if he had to eventually leave.
His next destination was a mystery of its own, however. Returning to his hometown seemed to be the most sensible option, especially since he left the third treasure behind, but it didn’t feel right.
He left the cradle for a reason, and he wasn’t going to return simply because of a potential artifact.
One that might have been looted already.
Grenada was a decent choice, especially since it was far closer to Orange Town. But it still needed its own preparations.
Still, the alternative was stagnation, and he was done with that.
Francis eventually made it to Gazpachos and was unsurprisingly greeted by Leonie, who was playing cards with a man who frequented the establishment.
“Not far!” she shouted, tossing the cards onto the table with a little extra force.
“You know what that means,” the man said, his grin a little too pleased.
“Yeah, yeah,” Leonie replied, rolling her eyes, though a mischievous curve lingered on her lips. “We’ll talk about it later.”
The man’s eyes flicked toward Francis, and he got up immediately. “Looking forward to it.”
Francis raised an eyebrow, taking a seat. “What… was that about?”
Leonie pinched the bridge of her nose, annoyance—or maybe amusement—unwavering. “I made a bet in the heat of the moment and lost.”
Francis wanted to press further, but something told him it wasn’t a conversation for now. He let it rest. “So. Did you go to the bank?”
“Sure did!” Leonie replied as she tossed his cut onto the table.
Francis wanted to count, but refrained. The woman was trustworthy enough; she saved his life, after all.
Thinking of that immediately reminded him of the topic at hand. “Say. Are you familiar with Preservation Rituals?”
Leonie raised a brow. “Obviously. How do you think you survived for as long as you did?”
Figures.
“How do you know so much about the Shanties, anyway?”
“My good man,” she replied with a small chuckle. “I’m an intel broker; it’s in the job description.”
Leonie then began collecting the cards. “You really do have a habit of underestimating people, Francis.”
“Speaking of underestimating people,” Francis replied as he put the spoils of war on the table, “which one would you like to take?”
“The Enthral one,” Leonie said with no hesitation.
“You’ll be unstoppable with such a combination,” Francis remarked with a grin.
Leonie, in turn, shrugged. “You never know with the Submerged world.”
Her reply was essentially the story of Francis’s life in the last month. Whenever he thought he understood this world’s weirdness, something new appeared that shattered all of his preconceptions.
“I’ll be taking the Putrefaction glove then,” he replied at last.
That left the Ignition necklace on the table, which was only natural, as both possessed the Stanza already.
“What should we do with it?” Leonie asked.
In hindsight, selling it was the best move, as it would make a tidy sum. Upon further inspection, however, the last thing Francis needed was getting roasted by his own artifact.
“We can keep it just in case,” he replied, drawing no objections from Leonie.
“That settles it, then,” Francis said as he got up.
“Where to?” Leonie asked, seemingly confused, which was understandable, as Francis was rarely in a hurry to do something.
“Some studying.”
Leonie laughed, then abruptly stopped when he didn’t share the sentiment. “You’re serious?”
Francis nodded. “Something came up, and I need to learn more about it.”
“What is it?”
“I’m still not sure, but I was told that the less I know about it, the better,” Francis replied, which quickly made his decision sound moronic.
“Your funeral,” Leonie said with a shrug, although this time, he knew better.