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The Shanty Codex I, by Saint Morgan LeFay.
The moment the pair set foot onto Orange Town’s humid streets, the unease returned with vengeance.
Every face, every glance, every motion. All of it felt orchestrated. An orchestra that desperately lacked its conductor.
Truth be told, he didn’t fare much better than Leonie, but she didn’t have to know that.
Paranoia slightly gave way to ease, however, as the dozens of faces they encountered made it abundantly clear that none recognized them.
“Where is the ship heading, by the way?” Leonie asked as she walked beside him.
“Havana,” he replied in a whisper.
Leonie’s heart appeared to skip a beat. “A bit pricey, don’t you think?”
“Better that than being a few days’ voyage away from the lion’s den, I suppose.”
Francis wasn’t the kind who relied on assumptions, and so he activated his Observation the entire walk to the harbor. The relative stability of the passersby’s hearts served as another layer of reassurance, but he didn’t let that dull his senses.
Eventually, the harbor presented itself to them. The scene wasn’t much different from when they first went there—except this time, they had a ship to board.
As Francis drew closer to their vessel, Leonie’s unease grew more visible.
“You’re sure this isn’t a trap, right?” she asked, voice unsteady.
“Positive,” he replied assuringly. “Read is the flashy type; his attempt would be a spectacle.”
His words appeared to be of use, prompting the intel broker to stride forward with more confidence.
Francis, however, was only more vigilant. His Observation flared as he surveyed the crowd with renewed intensity. They couldn’t fall here, not after the last few days.
“Hello!” a gruff sailor said as they approached. “Here for the voyage?”
The captain was far from the most elegant, but his rigidity added charm for those who appreciated it.
“Yes,” Francis replied simply.
“Where to?” the captain asked evenly, undoubtedly uttering a line carved into his skull.
Exceptionally thick skull.
“The final destination,” Francis said, prompting the captain’s cheerful demeanor to return.
“Very well,” he said enthusiastically. “May I see your parchments?”
Francis presented the cursed parchment that took days to acquire, along with 160 silver pounds in total, and was greeted by a nod and a wave to board the ship.
As they ascended the gangway, Leonie was visibly more relaxed, if the long sigh was any indication.
“I haven’t the slightest clue about Havana,” she said.
“Me neither,” Francis admitted. “But it beats dying here.”
“Truer words have never been spoken, Master Yves,” she teased.
“Seems like you’ll need a pseudonym of your own, Miss Intel Broker,” he shot back.
“Hm,” she said in contemplation. “I suppose Maria has a nice ring to it.”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Francis scoffed at that; the lass was no Maria. Then again, he was no Saint, either.
Especially the Orthodox ones.
As they finally mounted the vessel, Francis noticed that it contained far too many passengers by Orange Town standards. It then dawned on him that most must have come from elsewhere.
Why else would such a large ship dock here?
Lodging, food, and the like were still left unexplained. But he didn’t mind; they made it to safety, and that was a victory of its own.
***
Valeria hoped the tapestry of color would persist forever, but everything had an end.
And what a glorious end it was.
They teleported to an island. And not just any island—a neutral one.
The scene must have been equally mesmerizing to the townsfolk, as many seemed to marvel at the beauty of the island facing them.
The dark ground, jagged mountains, and moss-covered plains were nothing like Saint Agnes Archipelago.
“What is that?” one of the villagers asked in bewilderment as he looked at the white covering much of the mountains.
“Snow,” Valeria replied, before surveying their surroundings further.
“Captain,” Daisy said as she approached. “Where are we?”
Valeria had a hunch, but it was too early to tell.
At least until she sighted the unmistakable volcano.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” she said as she turned to the townsfolk. “Welcome to Iceland, your new home.”
She expected the declaration to be met with enthusiasm. Instead, the villagers panicked.
“What about our home?” one of them asked.
“That’s right. My chickens are gonna starve,” another added.
The complaints only grew in intensity until Valeria put an end to them.
“Your home is done for,” she shouted. “Blackbeard has already claimed it as his own.”
Thanks to my idiocy.
Her words noticeably improved the atmosphere, as the shouts of despair turned to mild annoyance.
For the most part.
“Captain Valeria,” a priest said as he approached her. “Can we speak in private?”
Valeria was half tempted to refuse, as she detested the doctrine they preached, but she agreed regardless. The last thing she needed was to lose legitimacy by offending the villagers.
“By all means,” she replied as she walked toward the cabin.
“You used a Stanza, have you not?” the priest said as he caught up.
“I’m surprised you even know what that is,” she replied with a smirk.
“This is no laughing matter,” he snapped, seemingly forgetting who he was talking to. “Do you wish to see an entire town forsaken?”
His response gave her pause. Detesting the priests for theological disagreement was one thing, but actively altering doctrine was something else entirely.
And as much as she wasn’t a believer, that was a bad line to cross.
“My apologies, Father,” she said, her tone more reverent. “I did what I had to do to save the town.”
She half expected the man to lecture her further, but to his credit, he nodded in understanding.
“Well,” he said at last. “You have already been forsaken, so no harm was done.”
You’re welcome.
“Nevertheless,” he added, “I sincerely thank you for saving us at the expense of your own soul.”
The priest then bowed slightly and walked upstairs.
“Time to explore the island, I guess,” Valeria mumbled, before ascending the stairs herself.
***
By the time Leonie woke up, the sun already illuminated most of their cabin.
Thankfully, the room had separate beds, sparing her the inconvenience of sharing one with Francis.
Thinking of him instantly reminded her of their successful escape.
They made it. They actually made it.
Leonie stretched loudly, half expecting Francis to complain, but there was… nothing.
She turned frantically and quickly noticed that he was nowhere to be found.
Such an occurrence wouldn’t have been an anomaly under normal circumstances, if it weren’t for the paper on the nightstand.
Leonie grabbed the paper in haste, desperately looking for an explanation.
Dear Leonie,
I’d like to sincerely apologize for leaving in such a manner. But in my defense, I had no choice.
My presence in your life appears to have caused you nothing but sorrow, and thus, I decided to leave you to your own devices.
I know that navigating the world on your own would be no simple task, but I reckon it’s preferable to being associated with such a dangerous person.
I’d also like to thank you for saving my life. I wouldn’t have even dreamed of escaping what befell me had it not been for your aid.
To show my sincerity, I have left you most of the silver and artifacts we acquired throughout our journey.
As for your family. Have no fear, I’ll make sure to shield them from harm.
Farewell, friend.
Until we meet again.
Francis.
Leonie stared at the parchment for a long moment, well after finishing its contents. Francis leaving in the dead of night was the last thing she expected.
Yet there she was. Alone. Heading to an island she knew nothing about.
She wanted to get mad at the man for abandoning her, but was that truly fair?
Despite their bond deepening over the last week or so, he was ultimately an associate—one who treated her better than most.
The actual reason for his departure was left to interpretation, but Leonie was no imbecile.
The man must’ve decided to face Read instead of hiding forever.
His plan was certain suicide, true, but it was also very… Francis.
“Farewell, friend,” she said with a deep sigh. “It’s been nice knowing you.”