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A Letter to Edward Teach.
Francis thought he was mistaken for a long while.
Yet, the coordinate was identical.
In his mind, Stacey’s hideout was going to be an abandoned warehouse, a shoddy house, even an alleyway.
What met his eyes, however, was a relatively luxurious establishment.
A questionable one, sure, but luxurious nevertheless.
As the fugitive approached the large door, he was stopped by the guard outside. “State your business.”
“Your boss wants to see me,” Francis replied as he met his gaze.
To his disappointment, the guard didn’t flinch. “Proof?”
Francis instinctively handed the larger man the parchment containing the coordinate.
“That’s his handwriting, alright,” the guard said, swiftly coming to a decision. “Very well. You’re free to enter.”
Francis wasn’t a fool; he recognized the paper’s code. Otherwise, the guard wouldn’t have let him in.
Serves me just fine.
The moment he entered, Francis was overcome by a dozen different scents.
Some resembled scented oils, others incense, with a few even mimicking the wild flowers he left back home.
All shared one trait, however.
They were all suffocating.
“Good evening, sir,” a youthful woman said from behind the counter. “Is this your first time in our establishment?”
Clearly.
“Indeed,” Francis replied with a faint smile. “I’m not here for business, however. Not the traditional kind, anyway.”
The woman raised a brow at his reply. “Are you sure? Our girls could satisfy all tastes.”
Francis took a look around the building and was indeed greeted by women of various origins wearing silks that would’ve been scandalous anywhere else.
That explains the perfume at least.
His gaze lingered too long, resulting in a dark-skinned lady smiling in response.
“No, thank you,” Francis said to the clerk. “I’m only here to meet Miss Stacey.”
The mention of her boss made the woman flinch for a second. “Do you have an invitation?”
Francis handed her the parchment. “This was written by a subordinate of hers.”
The woman examined it. But unlike last time, it wasn’t smooth sailing. “I’m sorry, sir. But this is insufficient.”
Huh?
“What can I do to prove it, then?” Francis asked, frustration growing.
“You can wait in the lobby while I take this to a higher-up,” the woman replied, before hurriedly instructing a subordinate to take over before leaving.
Well. At least I was taken seriously.
If he was honest with himself, the establishment made him rather uncomfortable, but he persevered, as Stacey’s aid was his only option.
Suddenly, Francis was approached by the dark-skinned woman from earlier. “Hello, hello. Your first time here?”
“More or less, yeah,” Francis replied flatly.
Interacting with such a woman was as dangerous as they came, and his experience in Orange Town only reinforced that. And so he kept her at arm’s length.
“Want me to be your first?” the woman said with a smirk.
“I’d love to,” Francis replied, softening the rejection. “But I’m here for business.”
The woman didn’t give up, however. “I’m always here once you’re done with your business.”
Blast me to bits.
The man nearly died half a dozen times over in the few months he sailed. Fleeting pleasure was the last of his concerns, as things stood.
“Depends on my schedule, but I’ll try my best,” Francis said at last, hoping she would drop the matter.
Mercifully, the woman simply nodded, then went on her way. “Name’s Delyse if that helps.”
It didn’t.
What does she see in me? I don’t even have eyebrows.
Francis had no illusions about the attractiveness of his new face, as he noticed the number of doors it opened firsthand. Still, the makeover was by no means beautifying, making her advances confusing indeed.
Not long after, the clerk returned. “You’ll find Miss Stacey at the end of the first floor, sir.”
Francis merely nodded before handing the woman a bronze coin. “For your trouble.”
The woman must’ve been delighted, but he had no time to observe, as he made his climb.
The further he ascended, the louder the noises got. Culminating in a rather awkward walk.
The floor in question had a dozen doors facing one another, with the exception of a larger one sitting at the far end.
As uncomfortable as the symphony of vice was, Francis was glad no one loitered in the hallway, sparing him the trouble of rejecting yet another employee.
Without reservations, Francis knocked the moment he reached the larger door.
A second later, the door opened.
Here goes nothing.
Francis entered the much larger room, and was surprised by the absence of the suffocating aura. Then again, it must’ve been her office.
Literally.
The abundance of costly furniture and silks quickly gave the fugitive second thoughts, however, something that was further reinforced as he took a glance at the woman sitting across from him.
With a form-fitting crimson dress, intricate braids, and jewelry the cost of someone’s house, Stacey looked less like the woman who tracked him for days, and more like a noble from across the Atlantic.
Which was probably the point.
“You look different,” Stacey said with an annoying smirk.
“Such is the way of outlaws,” Francis replied with a sigh. “But you probably know plenty about that, Miss Stacey.”
The dignified woman raised a brow at his reply. “Is that mockery I detect? Edmond?”
The way she said his name implied plenty, yet it still bordered on cryptic.
“Not necessarily,” Francis said. “Just implying that you and I aren’t so different.”
“Indeed,” Stacey said in amusement, before taking a sip of her red wine. “Your talents are certainly the impressive kind.”
Why are we talking like it’s a play?
“Do tell,” Francis said, already knowing the answer.
Stacey, in turn, was more than happy to share. “First, an acolyte-level artifact, then a prison break using a Deacon-grade Stanza. You are full of surprises.”
Francis took a seat, unconcerned about her permission. “Explains why I’m in Havana, I suppose.”
“Actually, that is intriguing,” Stacey replied, now locking eyes with him. “Most people who come here attempt to make it big. Yet here you are, living in obscurity.”
A good observation, that was. Most Submerged he met in Havana did in fact have an ambition or two. Yet, he showed none.
“Who said I came here willingly?” Francis admitted. “I’d leave in an instant if I could.”
His words prompted Stacey to place a parchment on the table.
And in it were his new face, name, and a price.
A very handsome price.
“This is what’s stopping you, I reckon?”
Initially, his lack of funds was the biggest hurdle. But after Rhys’ theatrical heist, it became the law.
“It hasn’t even been a day,” Francis said as he eyed the 2,500 silver bounty on his head.
“Welcome to Havana, Edmond,” Stacey said as she reclined on her sofa.
“Quite the hospitality you guys have,” Francis said mockingly.
“You’ll get used to it,” the woman said with a shrug, seemingly speaking from experience.
Truth be told, the bounty did complicate matters. What was a simple ticket purchase became the acquisition of a new identity, buying a ticket, and evading arrest all at once.
Then again, what were gang leaders for?
“I don’t plan to stay, sadly,” Francis said, steering the conversation towards his goal.
“You seem the type,” Stacey replied, eyeing him once more. “But let me guess, my help is an important part of your plan.”
Francis didn’t even attempt to hide it. “Bullseye.”
“Makes the two of us,” Stacey said, catching him by surprise. “You handled the job I assigned you splendidly. It would be a shame if your talents weren’t tapped into once more.”
More like exploited.
Francis didn’t stand on ceremony. “Name your price for a new identity and a ticket out of here.”
Stacey, in turn, appeared to be in thought, which was certainly for show. As she appeared to always know what she wanted.
“Considering your talents,” she replied at last. “You’re most suitable for assassinations.”
“Of course,” Francis replied bitterly. “Murdering people is all people want out of me.”
“Oh, chin up,” the woman said with a wave of her hand. “Your victims won’t be missed.”
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“Gang leaders, I’m assuming?”
Stacey smiled at his response. “Bullseye.”
Ego aside, the deal was… perfect. A few killings here and there, and he’d acquire a ticket out of Havana.
A ticket back home.
As for ripples. He was already a fugitive with a bounty on his head, making him the ideal candidate for such actions.
Sharp woman.
“Names and addresses,” Francis said, keeping his excitement at bay.
“Doesn’t sound like this is your first,” Stacey said with a chuckle.
“You’d be surprised,” he replied, thinking about Warlord Read.
“Very well. I’ll hand you two tasks, then you’re out of here,” Stacey replied. “Try not to botch them.”
“With a 2,500 silver bounty on my head? Not in a million years.”
“Good,” Stacey said with a predatory smile, before placing a document on the table between them. “This is your first target.”
It didn’t take long for Francis to examine the document.
Name: Victor Herrera.
Age: 27.
Occupation: Intel Broker.
Address: 08 Avenida de Rosa.
Physical Description: Medium height, slim build, brown hair, brown eyes, bronze skin.
Special Traits: Likes wearing dark clothes.
Notes: Address might have already been compromised. Seek other alternatives if needed.
The sketch provided next to the text did little to distinguish him, as he could have passed for countless other Iberian men. Still, the combination certainly simplified matters.
“Doesn’t look like a gang leader to me,” Francis said as he eyed Stacey.
“Because he isn’t,” she explained. “He’s something far more... inconvenient.”
Francis was half tempted to back out, as killing an innocent man was obviously not a part of the deal.
Still, he wanted to hear what she had to say. “Elaborate.”
“He used to be a subordinate of mine,” Stacey said. “Until the highest bidder bought him.”
“And that’s my problem, how?”
Stacey sighed at the remark. “He’s negotiating my arrest.”
Francis was still unconvinced. “Still isn’t my problem.”
His tone was evidently antagonizing, but Stacey remained calm. “Trust me, Edmond. I’m far from the worst gang leader.”
The audacity of such a statement made Francis scoff. “You run a brothel for heaven’s sake!”
Confronting her was likely unwise. But in his defense, he was tired of being pushed around. Especially after Rhys’ betrayal.
“Do you think those girls would fare better under anyone else?” Stacey replied calmly. “Do you think the other gang leaders would treat them with dignity?”
That gave Francis pause. “Well, how are you treating them?”
“They keep 70% of what they make, which is far higher than average,” Stacey explained. “I also provide them with subsidized housing, security, and medical aid when the need arises. So yes, Edmond. I am far from the worst.”
“Would you really say it’s fair if they didn’t choose such a profession?” Francis pushed back.
“I never said it was fair,” Stacey admitted. “Besides, they can always do other tasks.”
Francis wanted to argue further. But that was only going to cause a headache and potentially offend the unpredictable woman. And so he refrained.
“Regarding my situation—”
“I know, I know,” Stacey interrupted. “You’re a fugitive, so you’re in desperate need of accommodation.”
“Basically.”
“You’re free to stay here until your ship departs,” Stacey said. “Just make sure not to have... too much fun with my girls.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” he replied flatly. “But thank you.”
I'm either leaving this island. Or I'm becoming an artifact.
The prospect wasn’t mere paranoia, especially since he was far more valuable as an item. But Premonition wasn’t purely for show.
“Which room?” Francis asked.
“Go talk to Beatriz,” she replied. “She’ll know what to do.”
“Who?”
“Right. You don’t know her personally,” Stacey said as she facepalmed. “The clerk you talked to not too long ago.”
“Got it,” Francis said before getting up, document in hand.
Whatever Victor did, he would see to it that he got a fair trial.
Even if fair entailed endorsing the lesser evil.
“Oh, and Edmond?” Stacey said as he was halfway across the room. “Try not to bring up ethics in front of the girls. I don’t want them getting any ideas.”
Nevermind.
Francis simply nodded, before exiting the luxurious room.
***
The island Rhys found himself on was far from ideal.
The pier’s wood was rotten, houses were coated in a substance unbeknownst to him, even the people looked miserable.
Which said a lot considering the world they lived in.
Still, it had to do.
And truth be told. It’s the perfect hiding spot.
The man quickly remembered that he and his “captain” killed an Inquisitor not long ago. Making him Havana’s priority in the short term.
And as everything surrounding Havana was Iberian property, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Care for another drink, first mate?” Carmen said from beside him as she chugged another jug of ale.
I hope she doesn’t lose it like she always does.
The tavern’s liveliness should’ve delighted him. Especially after a grueling journey.
Yet, there was no joy to be had.
How could he be happy? His wife was dead, his son was dead, and everyone he even knew and loved was an ocean away.
Most assume deserters are cowards. But was abandoning a burning ship truly meekness? Or was it pragmatism?
Not that I expect any simpleton to see my point.
Regardless. The purpose behind humoring his captain wasn’t loitering while reminiscing. And he focused on his target once more.
The lass might have dyed her hair black, but he would recognize her face anywhere.
How could he not? When that blasted grin was plastered on it in every wanted poster.
The fact that she casually sat on someone’s lap while playing cards made Rhys dislike her more, but he kept his conservatism to himself.
After all, he was in the world of outlaws and cutthroats. Not English gentlemen with dueling canes and performative accents.
Let’s just get this over with.
With another moment of hesitation, Rhys approached the woman, then eyed the group. “All of you. Get lost.”
All the men looked at him in indignation. Save for the one serving as her chair.
Rather close, I see.
“Blasted fool. Who do you think you are?” one of the half-drunk men said, rotten teeth on the verge of falling off.
Rhys, in turn, threw a silver coin at each, save for Master Chair. “Out.”
This time, the group was far more understanding. As they grabbed what was akin to several days’ labor, and went on their way.
Rhys expected the woman to look offended. Instead, she was amused. “Who starts a conversation like that?”
Rhys took a seat, not waiting for her approval. “A man with a proposal.”
The pair exchanged a glance.
“We’re listening,” the blonde man said.
Speaking on her behalf? Close indeed.
“I heard of your bounty increase recently,” Rhys said, eyeing the woman. “And it sounds like you need protection.”
The woman raised both brows at that. “What gave you that impression?”
“The fact that you’re hiding in a dying town?” Rhys retorted. “Admit it, Eloise. You can’t run forever.”
The mention of her name made her smug smirk fade at once. She must’ve tried to use Enthral a moment later, as Rhys vaguely felt the Stanza.
“I’m afraid that won’t work on me,” Rhys said to the wide-eyed Eloise.
The man then pulled out a herbal cigarette and lit it. “Now, as I was saying. Protection.”
“Name your price,” Eloise said, less enthusiastic than before.
Which suited him just fine.
“Your services and those of your companion,” Rhys elaborated. “In exchange, you’ll be granted my protection.”
“Who are you, anyway?” the blonde man said. Undoubtedly an attempt to regain control.
Rhys smirked in a rare moment of pride. “Does the name Rhys Blackwater ring any bells?”
The pair appeared frozen solid at that.
“It does,” Eloise said at last. “It sadly does.”
Rhys detested using his name casually. But in that instance, it was pivotal.
That, and seeing her ridiculous smirk fade once more, was worth the hassle.
“I have a condition, however,” Eloise added, before unearthing a flintlock. “You claim you can protect us. Well, prove it.”
“Prove it how?”
“Shoot yourself in the head,” Eloise explained. “If it doesn’t kill you. Then you’re worthy of our allegiance.”