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The Shanty Codex I, by Saint Morgan LeFay.
Leaving Daisy with the villagers didn’t sit well with Valeria. But in her defense, she didn’t have much of a choice.
Showing up not long after Pedro’s disappearance would’ve only complicated matters, perhaps even leading to a massacre. And so she had to improvise.
Stupid kid. If only he didn’t fly too close to the sun.
As the privateer finished her daily Preservation Ritual, she decided to investigate the third treasure. A task made too easy by the fact that she knew exactly where the island was.
Normally, her clothes’ dampness would have been a bother, but not today.
If her Observation was to be trusted, this treasure was the solution to all of her problems.
Well, most.
***
Fortunately, Orange Town had a wealth of books. Unfortunately, Francis spent a tidy sum on said books.
Then again, he pocketed hundreds of silver coins hours beforehand, which helped immensely.
As the bounty hunter skimmed through the 7th book, he realized that it contained no mention of Rumpelstiltskin either.
Had it not been for Saint Agnes’ attitude, he would’ve called the man a fable.
Then again, Most of the world doesn’t know about Saint Agnes. So his existence isn’t far-fetched.
History, philosophy, politics, theology. All of it offered a wealth of information. And all of it remained unsatisfactory.
He hoped to at least find him labeled as a heresy of sorts, but that wasn’t the case either.
“Who is this man?” Francis mumbled in frustration.
Still, learning more about the Cataclysm, the situation in Europe, and the Church’s newfound polytheism was much appreciated.
Francis had no idea why the Apostolic See picked Ireland as its capital instead of any other nation, but he trusted Saint LeFay cunning.
And cunning she was. Francis detested the woman, yet her intellect was admirable nevertheless. How could it not? When she single-handedly cataloged the Shanty system.
Francis skimmed through a few more books, and to his delight, found the name.
Not in a history book.
Not in a gospel.
In a collection of fairy tales.
What?
As was often the case, the author favored a poetic format, making the text rather inaccessible to most.
And so the king told the man at the mill.
Bring me your daughter you will.
Or else your fate shall be ill.
The man thought long and hard.
Not knowing that his daughter already met the bard.
Golden threads you shall weave.
In exchange for your life’s eve.
The woman naturally agreed.
Bestowing her finery and mead.
The man’s shadow shall loom.
Eventually spilling certain doom.
Rumpelstiltskin was his name.
And he never liked being tame.
The poem was far from the best Francis has read. But it at least added much needed context.
It framed the man as a miracle invoker, assuming one could afford to pay him back.
Francis wondered what life’s eve meant in this instance, and fortunately, he did not need to look far.
The time to pay came at last.
Leaving the royals aghast.
Rumpelstiltskin you beast.
Have some mercy at least.
The man chuckled and said.
Mercy is only known by the dead.
“Well, that’s grim,” Francis said as he finished the poem.
The fact that the only mention of such a thing was in an obscure fairy tale only amplified his dread. It gave him... legitimacy to an extent.
Assuming one dared to doubt Saint Agnes’ word, that is.
Francis looked outside and noticed that it was getting dark. He couldn’t believe that he spent the better part of a day reading, but it was still a nice change of pace. At least when Leonie’s noisiness was tame.
***
The moment Valeria felt the ripples intensify, she emerged from the water.
Her clothes being wet was an inconvenience as always, but she began tolerating it.
At least until I get that swimsuit.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
What met her eyes was a cavern that was surrounded by nothing but rock and desolate meadows. It was to be expected, however, as a populated area would’ve usurped the inheritance long ago.
As Valeria’s boots touched the sand, she paused to observe if there were any heartbeats nearby. Most would have deemed it paranoia, but her line of work did not reward the cocky.
After a painfully long moment, she concluded that not a soul inhabited the island, thus she went in.
As she went further, the light sharply diminished. It was of no consequence, however, as her Observation revealed far more than light ever could.
Sounding awfully poetic right now.
Valeria used the moment of stillness as an opportunity for introspection. Daisy was going to be fine, and so were her men on the main island.
Alternatively, not much was revealed about Robert’s division, but it was to be expected. Half the job was laying low, after all.
That left one troublesome factor: Logreef’s villagers.
Contrary to popular belief, the pirate captain did care. In her own way, sure, but she was nowhere near the monster the English framed her as.
Which was exactly why she landed in such a situation.
Objectively speaking, the locals were but a speck of dust in comparison to her. But she still wanted them to live.
Relocating them to the main town would certainly help to a degree, but it would introduce its own set of challenges. The townsfolk might tolerate her presence, but that never equaled approval.
Especially when said tolerance was tested.
Oh well, I’ll just take my new attendant. He’s a versatile lad.
Valeria’s assessments came to a halt as the ripples intensified. What followed next was a faint blue glow surrounding a wooden ship. She didn’t know if seeing the glow was thanks to her gift or not, but it was as clear of a sign as any.
She found the third treasure.
And it was glorious.
“A ship imbued with the Shanty of Evasion,” Valeria said, mouth agape. “This should come in handy.”
“I’m no mere object, Deacon of Demise”
What?
Valeria couldn’t imagine her shock intensifying tenfold, yet there it was. The pirate captain was no stranger to enchanted ships. She wanted one for the longest time, if anything. A talking one, however? That was... bizarre.
“I wasn’t aware your kind had sentience, my apologies,” Valeria replied, trying not to antagonize the potential asset.
“Your kind can regrow limbs and freeze water solid, I’m sure a talking ship is tame in comparison.”
A ship with an attitude, this world is going to be the end of me.
“I beg your pardon,” Valeria said, “I was merely surprised, as it wasn’t common knowledge to me.”
“Think nothing of it.”
Inanimate objects not having much of an ego made matters simpler, at least.
“If I may,” Valeria added, sounding as reverent as possible. “Would you be interested in forming a partnership with me?”
The ship scoffed.
Inside her head.
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“Aren’t you exhausted of this cavern? It doesn’t appear to be hospitable.”
“I’m a ship, Deacon. My definition of hospitality is rather different from yours.”
Right. I’m talking to a ship, I forgot.
“Is there a reason why you’re still here to this very day?” Valeria asked, deciding to switch tactics.
“I am waiting for my rightful owner to arrive.”
“Rightful owner?” Valeria asked, while knowing exactly what the ship meant.
“Could you not read the inscription?”
“My apologies, but my eyes aren’t that good.”
The ship sighed in her head, before reciting the poem:
“Thee of most closeness, the last milestone you have reached.
A ship you found near where it was beached.
This time, you only need but mount,
For my trusty ship shall aid without a shadow of a doubt.”
Valeria took a moment to process the words. It was true that the ship was waiting for its rightful inheritor, but it didn’t really have to.
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” Valeria began, “but the one expected to inherit you is a feeble old man.”
“Why would that be an issue? Aren’t you going to become a feeble old lady soon enough?”
Ouch. Still, that is a good point.
“He has no desire to explore the outside world,” Valeria explained further. “He is perfectly content with his quiet life.”
“What proof do you have?”
“He never left his hometown once, even when countless ships passed by.”
Valeria didn’t know if that was the truth, but it didn’t have to be. Not when the man was, in fact, content. She was doing him a favor, more than anything.
“Very well. I shall inform you of my decision in a week.”
Valeria wanted to protest, but she stopped herself. If acquiring an artifact this useful was worth a week’s wait, then so be it.
“Thank you for your kindness,” Valeria said with a slight bow. “I’ll return when the time comes.”
Valeria had no intentions of respecting the ship’s decision, however. If the artifact refused her offer, then she would resort to the oldest trick in the book.
A shame I don’t have Francis’ pyromania.
With the inheritance partially taken care of, it was time to return to Logreef for the last time.