WANTED

  Name: Sir Robert Williams

  Affiliation: The English Crown

  Reward: 50,000 Silver Pounds

  Notes: Subject is one of Blackbeard’s lieutenants. Exercise extreme caution

  — The Iberian Crown

  By the time Francis was fully awake, the sun was well past the horizon.

  Not that it mattered, however, as attending mass was a distant memory.

  Besides, it’s not like I have much to do these days anyway.

  Fortunately, his “roommate” was already eating breakfast, sparing the awkwardness of sharing the bed with her for longer.

  “Good morning,” the woman said as she sipped her drink. “You had quite the night.”

  “Meaning?” Francis asked flatly, hoping there was no innuendo.

  “You kept tossing and turning all night,” the woman added. “It almost made me reconsider our agreement.”

  “You would be doing me a favor,” Francis replied as he headed towards the table.

  Thankfully, the woman made no advances at night, sparing him the inconvenience of shutting it down. He was no prude, naturally, but mindless fun was the last thing he needed in such a time.

  “Ever had a croissant before?” the woman asked as Francis sat on the chair opposite her. The wind coming from the window was slightly refreshing, especially when combined with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  Maybe it is worth the seven silver after all.

  As far as he was concerned, the woman had no reason to know his origins. “Can’t say I did.”

  “Really?” she said in apparent surprise. “Have you been living under a rock?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Give it a try,” the bartender said, handing him one. “It goes well with cappuccino.”

  Francis raised a brow at that. “Aren’t you fancy?”

  It was a valid point, however. Back in his hometown, most villagers started their day with a loaf of bread, and perhaps some boiled milk if they were lucky. Yet here this woman was, serving him foreign pastries with barista-level drinks.

  The woman sighed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bartender.”

  “So am I. Yet I was never taught how to make a cappuccino.”

  The woman remained silent for a short while. “Careful there, I might start asking questions about your past.”

  “I can always reciprocate.”

  In retrospect, talking back to his unorthodox landlady wasn’t the wisest move, but he also decided long ago that he would no longer tolerate disrespect.

  Assuming it wasn’t from a Venerable.

  “If only you reciprocated in other ways,” she replied with a sigh.

  At least she’s not angry.

  “How about this,” Francis said in haste, “Since we will be in one another’s presence for a while, it’s only fair that we share some details.”

  The woman appeared to humor the proposal.

  “All right. I’ll go first then,” she replied not long after. “Valentina. Twenty-four. Born and raised in Havana.”

  Francis was caught aback by his own proposition, as he didn’t know what to alter and what to keep.

  Fortunately, he was no novice. “Edmond. Twenty-three. Born in England but raised in a Caribbean backwater.”

  He expected the woman to take offense at the last part, but she miraculously didn’t. “A military background, I take it?”

  “Let’s just say my father abandoned us there,” he replied solemnly.

  Who would’ve expected lies to be more effective when it’s mostly the truth?

  His words must have soured the mood, as Valentina appeared to grow uncomfortable.

  “Don’t worry,” Francis reassured. “I’m over it. And so is my mother.”

  Assuming the dead can move on.

  “I’m glad,” Valentina said as she took her last sip. “I hope this backwater isn’t as disappointing.”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Spoke too soon.

  “My apologies,” Francis began explaining himself. “I wasn’t referring to the Caribbean as a backwater. I meant my hometown in particular.”

  Valentina’s passive-aggressiveness appeared to subside. “At least that explains the lack of cappuccinos.”

  “And horses. And most fruit. And, well… good hygiene,” Francis added with his characteristic smirk.

  “No wonder you came to Havana then,” Valentina replied as she raised her shoulders. “Though I must say, your Spanish sounds exactly like that of a native.”

  Because I am.

  “I spent most of my life surrounded by Spanish speakers, that’s why.”

  “I hope you don’t think English superior just because it’s the lingua franca,” Valentina added in an unreadable tone.

  It wasn’t until then that Francis realized the reality of the situation. Havana might not have been in Europe, but that didn’t stop most of Iberia from relocating to it.

  And if they lived in a bipolar world, Spain was that second pole.

  Making the people here proud indeed.

  “Please, English is seven languages in one. Naturally, it became the lingua franca.”

  “Huh, you know far more than I expected,” the woman said in contemplation. “Maybe you’re worth keeping around, after all.”

  Graduating from mark to an asset, what a time to be alive.

  “Speaking of knowledge,” Valentina added as she stood up. “A certain someone wants to meet you downstairs.”

  It wasn’t until then that he noticed how little the woman cared about clothing, yet she didn’t seem to mind.

  Francis didn’t either, as the stranger itching to meet him was the far bigger concern. “Do I know them, at least?”

  “You do,” she replied as she opened the door for Francis. “Don’t leave him waiting, he’s a little… irritable.”

  Francis half expected it to be the odd blonde woman, but the mention of gender and familiarity narrowed it down to one person.

  And sure enough, his suspicions were confirmed the moment he finished descending the stairs: Rhys.

  “Good morning, fellow countryman.”

  “Good morning,” Francis replied as he sat across from the middle-aged man.

  “I have a few questions to ask,” Rhys said after exhaling smoke. “I hope you’re okay with that.”

  Except it wasn’t a request, and they both knew it. Francis could simply refuse, and find himself homeless.

  And even if he could beat the man, the pair would generate enough ripples to attract half the Church.

  “Ask away,” Francis replied, feigning indifference.

  “Mind telling me more about your past affiliations?” Rhys asked, undoubtedly putting Observation to use.

  Francis wanted to lie to the man, even mislead him for the fun of it. But that would only tighten the noose. “I rolled with Captain Valeria for a while.”

  His answer caught Rhys by surprise. “Did you, now?”

  “Cat’s out,” Francis said while playfully raising his hands in the air.

  Rhys, on the other hand, wasn’t amused, and Francis couldn’t fault him for it. Valeria was no common trash, and so anyone can claim to have known her, given enough information.

  Still, that at least lowered the grumpy man’s guard significantly.

  “I want to believe you, lad,” Rhys said after another exhale. “But you’re not giving me much evidence to go by.”

  Thought as much.

  “For all it’s worth,” Francis replied. “We lost half the crew near Grenada, including our First Mate.”

  The response appeared to seal it for the seasoned sailor, despite him still looking lost in thought.

  “Not many in Havana are privy to such information,” he said at last. “Especially those that arrived recently.”

  Francis was no fool, however. He knew that the association would naturally introduce more questions. But it was a price he was more than happy to pay for Rhys’ trust.

  “So, did I pass?” Francis said playfully.

  “Almost,” Rhys replied flatly.

  “Almost?”

  “Yeah. I still need you to do something for me as a gesture of goodwill.”

  Francis raised a brow at the sheer audacity. “And why would I do that?”

  Venerable Stanza or not, Rhys was no Read. And Francis almost killed the latter.

  “Because I have something that could interest you.”

  That intrigued Francis. “Do tell.”

  “Does a Fragment of Rejuvenation interest you?”

  It did. It absolutely did. Francis was able to take four more Fragments. And Rejuvenation was as useful as they came.

  “I’m assuming it’s no Supplicant level?” Francis asked, waiting to be disappointed.

  “Try Deacon,” Rhys replied.

  “Deal.”

  Rhys looked alarmed. “But I haven’t even mentioned the task.”

  “Couldn’t care less,” Francis replied before flashing his emerald ring. “I’m done relying on this garbage.”

  “Oh,” Rhys said in understanding. “That’s where the Supplicant comment came from.”

  Francis wanted to ask about the task at hand, but that would’ve been embarrassing, making him wait for Rhys to divulge the information.

  “As for the mission,” Rhys said after an awkward silence. “You’ll be hunting a certain Carmen Valdez.”

  Francis should’ve been shocked, as the woman was a supposed Deacon, but he faced worse. “Dead or alive?”

  “Alive. Killing her renders the contract null and void.”

  Someone is desperate for a concubine.

  “Sure,” Francis said in feigned concentration. “Please hand me the intel.”

  Rhys, however, was far from amused. “What are you so calm for? I’m sending you after a literal Deacon.”

  Carmen’s lightning and tough skin might have been a nuisance, but so were Francis’ Evasion and Ruin.

  Francis simply smiled. “I’ve faced worse.”