WANTED

  Name: Lucia Santiago

  Affiliation: Independent

  Reward: 1,000 Silver Pounds

  Notes: Subject is unusually knowledgeable

  — The English Crown

  Francis’ second trip to the bar wasn't much different from the first.

  Save for the odd man’s absence.

  Serves me just fine.

  As it was the afternoon, many of the regular patrons were busy toiling. And like Orange Town, that only meant one thing.

  The ones present weren't there for ale.

  Francis inconspicuously edged closer to the center of the tavern in an attempt to join the conversation. And sure enough, his wish was granted.

  “Did you hear?” one of the patrons asked another. “There was a fight last night.”

  “This is Havana, Jago,” the second said, unamused. “There is always a fight.”

  Jago punched his shoulder lightly. “You know what I mean! It was a few blocks away.”

  The man quickly stiffened. “Do you think it was a threat of sorts?”

  The unusual diction instantly told Francis that these two were no regular citizens. And since they were in a bar and not in an office, that left only one line of work.

  One he was all too familiar with.

  “Gentlemen,” Francis cut off. “Mind if I sit with you?”

  The former bounty hunter never fancied approaching others unannounced, but his years serving mugs fostered enough social skills.

  “What for?” Jago asked, visibly sizing him up.

  “I have information that might interest you,” Francis replied, instantly altering their expressions.

  “Very well,” Jago said as he fixed his posture. “Name the contents and your fee.”

  Francis didn’t hesitate. “Last night’s fight. Fee doesn’t have to be monetary.”

  His response ensured that their curiosity was put on full display. “What do you want in return for the information?”

  Truth be told, Francis was taking an enormous risk by exposing his involvement. But then again, he was an illegal resident with nine silver to his name, and so he had to compromise.

  “Let’s just say I... lost my identification documents at sea and would appreciate retrieving them.”

  “Terribly unfortunate,” Jago nodded in silent understanding. “But I’m sure you’ll be able to... find them.”

  The tavern wasn’t exactly full, but one couldn’t be too careful.

  Especially in Havana.

  “If my sources are to be trusted,” Francis began. “The assailants used Fulguration and Liquidation.”

  The second man’s eyes lit up. “So that’s why the Church got involved.”

  Figures.

  “That still doesn’t explain the head that splattered all over the floor,” Jago interrupted.

  “Disintegration.”

  To their credit, the men nodded in understanding once more.

  As insufferable as the broker types were, he was glad that they had enough sense to be subtle.

  “Very well,” Jago said, visibly relaxing. “I hope you’ll be able to find your papers, Master?”

  “Edmond,” Francis said. “Edmond Crowley.”

  Without much else to say, Francis bid the two farewell and went outside. He had no reason to trust that they would deliver, but he didn’t need to. Why would anyone sacrifice a perfectly functional tavern for a meager document?

  The completion of the task presented its own challenge, however, as Francis was left with little to do that day.

  His budget wasn’t much to speak of, ruling out tourism as an option. Finding work was equally pointless, considering that his expertise wasn’t of the... legal kind.

  “I’ll figure it out along the way, I suppose,” he mumbled flatly as he began walking aimlessly.

  ***

  If the old Francis was told that he would go on a pub crawl in Havana out of boredom, he would’ve laughed silly.

  Yet there he was.

  With none of the humor.

  The first few bars offered absolutely nothing of value, making him regret ever going on such a ridiculous expedition.

  Still, the back and forth did teach a thing or two, and that was enough in the meantime.

  Sadly, “enough” wasn’t a word whatever governed his life believed in, as a woman who looked out of place approached him.

  “New here, I take it?” the woman asked as she took a seat.

  Permission down the latrine, I see.

  Antagonizing strangers was the last thing he needed, however, and so he yielded. “From the locals’ standpoint, I’d say it’s the other way around.”

  The woman raised a brow. “It’s the blonde hair and blue eyes, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s your radiant smile,” Francis said sarcastically. “Half the dimwits living here look dead inside.”

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  He half expected the woman to laugh uncontrollably, as was often the case with those trying to con him, yet she simply smiled. “New indeed. Havana doesn’t have much to be happy about.”

  The longer Francis listened, the more she felt... off.

  I could swear I heard that voice before.

  Xavier was no bad surgeon, but he doubted his new face was on the dashing side, so what reason did a gorgeous woman have to approach him?

  Especially during this time of day.

  Every bone in his body wanted to cut to the chase, but that would’ve certainly introduced complications.

  Complications he had no time for.

  “So, you come here often?” Francis asked, wishing the stranger would leave already.

  “Not really,” the woman said as she leaned closer. “That’s why I couldn’t miss my chance.”

  Listening to her talk for a while longer explained even less. The young woman appeared to be from Northern Europe—what was left of it anyway—but her accent had a heavy Irish feel to it.

  She could be from both places, naturally, but then why go to Havana?

  Paranoia is really getting the best of me.

  The woman snapped her fingers repeatedly. “You okay there?”

  His gaze instantly focused on her. “Sorry. I just couldn’t understand why you’d approach me of all people.”

  “Simple,” she said with a sigh. “I’d rather stick to my own.”

  My dear lady. I’m Iberian.

  “Not fond of speaking Spanish?” Francis asked in feigned amusement.

  “Ugh. No!” the woman replied, almost defensive. “I sound like a dying frog whenever I speak it.”

  Francis doubted the self-deprecation was truthful, but he remained silent.

  “What about you?” the woman quickly added. “Did you find a way to communicate with the locals?”

  Again. I’m Iberian.

  “I actually lived on a Spanish island for quite some time. That’s how I speak it.”

  Iberian being synonymous with Spain didn’t bode well for the extinct Portugal, but that was hardly relevant in that instance.

  To his surprise, his answer actually piqued her interest. “Can I ask a couple of questions?”

  Normally, he would’ve simply left, but Havana was proving to be dull, so humoring her was no chore.

  Besides. I need every connection I can put my hands on.

  “By all means,” Francis said, subtly changing his demeanor.

  “Tell me more about the local culture of that island.”

  “Same as every other island, truly,” Francis said with a sigh. “Masses in the morning, bread and ale as staples, monotony that bordered on rot, that kind of thing.”

  The answer was truthful enough, but it was also broad. Assuming the woman was fishing for intel, that combination would give her hundreds of Atlantic islands.

  If not thousands.

  “Mass?” she asked, eyes lighting up once more. “You mean the orthodox faith is the dominant one in remote islands?”

  “Dominant is an understatement,” Francis explained. “They would shun anyone who’s a Submerged.”

  The woman remained silent for a second too long, before the innocent expression returned. “Submerged?”

  I'm such a blabbermouth!

  “The less you know, the better,” Francis doubled down. Refusing to treat the knowledge as incriminating.

  “Please,” the woman said with enthusiasm. “You can’t stop at the best part!”

  Francis had no desire to share the knowledge with her, but the woman asking others about it was the far less desirable choice.

  Besides, Submerged weren’t the only ones who knew about the phenomenon.

  “I can continue,” Francis said at last. “But that will cost you.”

  “How much?”

  “Three silver, and a promise not to share the information with anyone.”

  Francis expected the price to serve as a deterrent, but the woman obliged in a heartbeat. “I promise.”

  Francis thought for a moment before concocting the perfect explanation. “Sometimes, when people drown, they get... resurrected.”

  The woman said nothing, and so he continued. “Additionally, it is said that they gain powers akin to sorcery depending on the sea’s whims.”

  “Did you just make me pay three silver for a folktale?” the woman said, as excitement gave way to annoyance.

  “I wish I did,” Francis replied calmly. “I’ve seen what these people can do and... let’s just say I seldom sleep peacefully.”

  The woman appeared to contemplate his answer. “I see. Thank you for sharing.”

  The moment the conversation died down, Francis stood hurriedly and began heading towards the door. “It was nice talking to you, but I have to go.”

  “No worries. I’ll be on my way soon as well,” the woman said languidly.

  Right. I’m sure you will.

  “Hope to see you again,” Francis said before turning his back.

  “You’d better hope the information was authentic if we did,” the woman said with a chuckle.

  Francis merely continued walking until he reached the street.

  Then put his back to the bar’s wooden wall and activated Observation.

  It didn’t matter if he was spotted, not when the woman on the other end posed an existential threat.

  Sure enough, his suspicions were well-founded.

  It wasn’t paranoia.

  None of it was.

  Unlike the Shanty of Enthral he shortly felt.