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Rosa “La Serpiente” Delgado’s Private Journal.
The distance between Havana and Francis’ location was great enough, but he couldn’t be too careful.
After all, the farther away he was, the less likely it was for the Inquisition to sense anything.
Even when Rumpelstiltskin offered his “help,” he still had to rely on himself.
This brings me back.
The open blue, flanked by islands too far to see, was a sight Francis would never forget. Of course, people seldom forget the time they become Submerged.
And he was no exception.
The memory quickly gave way to others, each more painful than the last. He remembered his bartender job, the bread he ate every morning, mass.
And of course, Camila.
The more time went on, the more Francis was convinced that he made a mistake by sailing.
The thought would’ve sounded foolish in hindsight, but what did sailing give him? The powers of a Submerged were certainly a positive. Yet even those were poisoned once Camila rejected them.
The countless near-death experiences? No one relished those, perhaps save for lunatics.
Fortune? He had forty silver coins to his name. His assets might have been worth more, but that was akin to saying his heart could fetch a price.
No. The moment he got on that skiff, his world collapsed. And the only thing he had left was hoping the second skiff didn’t carry him to a similar fate.
As if on cue, a ship became visible in the far distance.
The vessel didn’t hoist a naval flag, marking it as either merchant… or pirate.
Only one way to find out.
Francis waited patiently as the two vessels drew close to one another. And sure enough, the ship’s crew spoke to him. “Lad! Do you need help?”
The man speaking to him didn’t look the most presentable, but he didn’t resemble a pirate, either.
And as far as Francis was concerned, those were the most dangerous ones.
Looks like this is worth investigating after all.
“Yes!” Francis shouted. “I went fishing and got too far offshore.”
His predicament must have been amusing, as the crew member laughed slightly before offering him a rope ladder. “Can you climb?”
“I can try,” Francis replied.
And sure enough, he did. The ascent wasn’t dignified in any way, but his muscles did the job.
The moment Francis saw the deck, he knew he was in for an exciting afternoon.
Clothes were mismatched, teeth were ashen, even the mast had a few knots loose.
He was aboard a pirate ship.
Suddenly, Premonition activated.
Francis pretended to crouch to tie his shoe before a fist landed where he stood seconds ago.
“Did you just move?” Francis asked, feigning obliviousness.
“Aren’t you fast?” the crew member said with a laugh. “I tried to pat you on the back.”
Further observation made Francis come to an uncomfortable realization.
Some of the men moved with practiced ease; others flinched at every glance. The women’s gazes stayed low, bare shoulders tense.
Whatever the pirate crew was, they didn’t seem to care for treasure.
They cared for something far more sinister.
Attacking the man was the easiest thing in the world, especially when he demonstrated that he had no powers to speak of.
Could didn’t mean he should, however. His actions could easily trigger a massacre, and so he was forced to tread lightly.
What could I say to both avoid suspicion and de-escalate?
Asking to see the captain was the fastest way to cause a riot, and so was a direct confrontation.
Thankfully, there was a third option.
“Could you please give me some food?” Francis asked the man who “saved” him. “I can pay.”
“Nonsense!” the man shouted, undoubtedly feigning offense. “You’re a guest, it’s on the house.”
Well, ship.
“Thank you,” Francis replied with a smile, hoping it wasn’t too fake.
The man then ushered him indoors under gazes weary and pleading alike.
Francis wasn’t sure of the predicament, but he had to do his best.
After all, who was going to stand up for those people? Certainly not the law, judging by what happened to Pierre’s sister.
The outside’s gloomy atmosphere was only matched by the claustrophobic halls. Francis wasn’t defenseless, considering his Premonition, Observation, and Rejuvenation. Nevertheless, the scene was eerie all the same.
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“Your food will arrive soon,” the crewmate said as he gestured for Francis to enter one of the rooms.
Forced to keep appearances, Francis simply nodded before making his way inside the… refreshingly average room.
He wasn’t exactly a moron, but the incident was simply beyond him.
What kind of pirate crew acted in such a manner? Most would’ve either ignored him or hunted him for sport. And with his appearance? Only the Lord knew what they might do.
Let’s just get this over with.
Moments later, he was already seated, waiting for the undoubtedly poisoned meal.
Rejuvenation being active perpetually was non-negotiable, lest he choke to death. The same went for Observation, Inquisition be blasted to bits.
The moment Francis activated the latter, he felt a heartbeat approach his nearly empty room. And sure enough, there the person was.
He half expected the pirates to be incompetent enough to send a “servant.” Alas, it was the man from before.
“There you go!” he said, putting a stew of dubious quality on the table. “I hope it’s to your liking.”
It wasn’t. But what can a man do?
Francis simply thanked the man before swallowing a spoonful.
At first, nothing happened, making him reconsider his caution.
Then he felt it.
Warm, invasive, crawling up his spine. It was a sensation he knew far too well.
The sensation of getting sedated.
Luckily, his healing was working in the background, saving him the inconvenience of fainting before knowing what happened.
Still, he had to play the part. Otherwise, there was no telling what the pirates might do.
Here goes nothing.
Lamenting what came next, Francis pretended to faint, his head hitting the wooden table with a thud.
“Finally,” he heard the man say, tone far less warm than before. “The blasted thing was giving me the creeps.”
***
It took an eternity for anything meaningful to happen.
The scene almost made Francis think they simply… forgot about him.
The thought, in turn, introduced another variable. Was the poison meant to kill or simply incapacitate? He hadn’t the slightest clue, and he didn’t want to risk knowing the hard way.
Rejuvenation healed all that came its way, no matter its effect.
Talk about suffering from success.
Mercifully—if he could even say that—a new voice echoed through the hallway. The man was bombastic in a way most weren’t, entailing but one thing.
We finally meet, Captain.
“How did you even find him?” the man said, steps echoing as he walked.
“He said he was a fisherman who drifted too far,” a familiar voice replied.
Francis would’ve mocked the man’s stupidity, but in retrospect, he truly did resemble a simple fisherman.
Slowly but surely, the footsteps grew closer.
“Are you sure that’s even a lad?” the raspy-voiced man asked in puzzlement.
“Last I checked,” his lieutenant replied.
“No matter,” the captain said. “A handsome price would be fetched regardless.”
The elevated diction of the man only made him more dangerous in Francis’ eyes. Simple seafarers did not speak in such a manner, possibly alluding to a powerful backer.
At least on land.
On the open seas, however? Francis held the edge, and he had to make sure that it persisted, lest they reach Havana’s port while he was still pondering.
But how can I prevent them from hurting the captives?
It was an unenviable predicament, one Francis loathed stumbling into by accident.
But again, if not him, then who?
Mistakes were bound to happen, and the same went for compromises.
But it still pointed to success. Success that would never materialize if he didn’t take action.
The moment the pair stepped closer, Francis raised his head, hand on his flintlock.
The captain attempted to say something, but Francis didn’t allow it. “One sound and I’m going to blow your brains out, understood?”
It must have been humiliating, but the two simply nodded.
Not leaving it to chance, Francis approached the door, then closed it firmly. “Now. Explain yourselves.”
“We specialize in transportation,” the captain spoke in haste, answer undoubtedly rehearsed.
“Mhm. Of which kind?” Francis asked, flintlock still raised.
The lack of resistance either meant that the pair had a Shanty that provided little protection.
Or they had none to begin with.
Jumping to the latter was what a dead man preferred, however, and so Francis kept watch.
“Commodities at times,” the captain answered. “But mostly laborers.”
Francis raised both brows. “Define laborers.”
“Workers that perform—”
“I know what a laborer is, moron,” Francis snapped. “I’m trying to ask if they’re being paid for their labor.”
The duo’s nervousness spoke louder than words, essentially confirming Francis’ theory: they were traffickers.
The fugitive couldn’t help but feel like he intercepted something very dangerous.
After all, such people seldom associated with common folk, making their employers powerful indeed.
Question is, am I strong enough to see it through?
Francis released the hammer, painting the walls a deep red.
The lieutenant tried to scream, but Francis’ palm covered his mouth long before he could.
The difference in strength made restraining him a challenge. But Rejuvenation compensated for what he lacked.
Soon enough, his trusty flintlock became usable again.
And so he shot.
The fact that the weapon was silent provided a well-needed edge, as it meant only he knew that the two were dead, making the sky the limit.
The second kill wasn’t without drawbacks, however, as he was now drenched in the lieutenant’s remains.
The scene was revolting, but Rumpelstiltskin having his way with Warlord Read provided well-needed conditioning.
The aftermath left Francis with two options: either execute the rest of the pirates in haste or lure them into a trap before doing so.
The first was the most practical, while the second was the cleanest.
After all, a direct confrontation was bound to cost the lives of the innocent, and he wished for the blood of none to be on his hands.
“Well, aside from the pirates’,” he mumbled in amusement while observing his scarlet-coated body.
Unless.
The port was still an hour away, rendering ripples obsolete.
What wasn’t obsolete, however, was the necklace hugging his neck. A necklace that could turn him into the late captain, if the need arose.
“No rest for the wicked,” Francis said, sighing deeply.
Upon further inspection, however, impersonating the captain was harder than expected.
The lieutenant’s corpse could be explained by the intruder’s attack.
But what of the captain?
There was a solution, there always was. It only depended on how brave you were.
And in that moment, Francis was the bravest of them all.
Even if it was revolting, even if it left scars.
He had to do it, lest innocents die.
The first order of affairs was stealing the captain’s attire—a task his headshot made simple.
I wouldn’t fancy explaining a torn shirt to the crew.
Next came… making the captain indistinguishable.
Luckily, his flintlock was functional again, allowing him to utilize it on the body a few more times.
The harrowing sight was enough to make most recoil, but there was no time for that. Not when his ripples could be felt at any moment.
His reasoning didn’t stop the nausea, however, leading him to take breaks in between.
With great difficulty, Francis finished the second task, rendering the arrogant fool no more than crimson grime.
For a moment, Francis was appalled by how procedural it all was. It was simply a far cry from his old self. The one jumping in fright at the sight of snakes.
The one running away from a forest fire for dear life.
A fire I started.
As juvenile as the idea sounded, he was now capable of becoming fire itself.
Or at least, not be bothered by standing inside it.
As the captain was no more, Francis approached the last step delicately. Truth be told, the face had already become a blur, but it was of no consequence.
After all, confidence was key. And Francis was at his most confident when he wasn’t himself.
Wait! I almost forgot.
Cursing the oversight, Francis hastily removed his clothes, before burning them using his flames. The captain’s attire sagged over his body shortly after, rendering him ready for the final step.
And ripples, there were.