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Admiral Bryce’s Autobiography, 20 P.C.
Francis instantly knew that it was a test of sorts. After all, what imbecile would let a stranger they just met meddle in their private affairs? Attributing it to relatability was a possibility, sure, but a few hours? There had to be something in between the lines.
Thus “Yves” played along. “Can you tell me more?”
“Well… to tell you the truth, this has been going on for years now,” the bartender replied, seemingly weighing his words. “But it reached a tipping point a few months ago, where she finally decided to do something about the boredom.”
“Do something about the boredom?”
“After our…” Bertrand said, before pausing momentarily. “Sorry, pretend I didn’t say anything.”
The right course of action would’ve probably been letting go. But something made Francis want to assist the guy, even if he was still convinced that it was a test.
“I’m all ears if you want to continue talking about it,” he replied empathetically.
“Say, got a place to call your own yet?” Bertrand asked, seemingly changing the topic.
“Can’t say I do,” Francis said in mock amusement.
In truth, lodging wasn’t an issue. With 150 silver, Francis was able to live here for months. Of course, assuming he was frugal and found a steady source of income. Otherwise, he’d essentially throw his life savings down a bottomless well.
One random pirate is worth more than my life savings. Funny how the world works.
“Would our humble establishment interest you?” the bartender added.
“You don’t mind taking in a bounty hunter?” Francis asked in amused confusion. The prospect sounded like the surest way to get your whole family killed.
“You think anyone would approach an establishment known for attracting intel brokers and bounty hunters alike?” Bertrand shot back.
“Touché.”
“Two silver and one of the rooms is yours for a month.”
The deal was… surprisingly affordable. Assuming one had savings, that is. Most jobs offered that amount in ten days, assuming one had a job.
“Got any contracts I should sign?” Francis asked, practically agreeing.
Bertrand beamed in excitement. “No. Just hand it upfront, and it’s settled.”
The whole thing was simply too sudden, too fast. Francis’ paranoia was screaming at him to flee. But again, Bertrand seemed earnest enough. That, and he had an establishment and a supposed family, so he was the one risking far more.
Francis proceeded to hand two silver, which Bertrand happily accepted before fiddling below the counter. He then handed Francis a key shortly after.
“I’ll guide you to the room in a moment,” he said, as he stepped out. “I have to close, if you don’t mind.”
Francis simply shrugged, indicating that he didn’t.
As Bertrand wiped tables and whatnot, Francis found time to ponder. In truth, becoming a bounty hunter was by no means ideal. Especially since Saint Agnes could simply teleport him anywhere.
Such a thought completely missed the point, however. Relying on others and their unpredictability was exactly what landed him in such a predicament. The last month or so had been nothing but the world pushing him around, and he had had enough.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
The only exception was Saint Agnes, but the “woman” didn’t exactly hand over assignments, so there was no need to worry.
“All done,” Bertrand said, catching him off guard. “Come with me.”
Just how long did I spend thinking about this?
Francis didn’t feel the need to respond; thus he simply followed him upstairs.
The creaking wasn’t as loud as that of Francis’ house. But it was noticeable nevertheless. It, however, indicated that Bertrand was trustworthy enough.
Or maybe I’m just grasping at straws.
Not even a minute later, Francis found himself standing next to the room he’ll call home for the foreseeable future.
“If you need anything, just ring the bell near the bed,” Bertrand said, before walking away. “Goodnight, Yves.”
“Goodnight,” Francis replied before swiftly unlocking the door and going in, preparing himself for the inevitable ambush.
***
By the early morning, Francis realized that the night had been as quiet as they came. He even slept better than he did for a while.
“Doesn’t say much when my bed has been a mixture of the sea, a moving ship, and the floor as of late,” he mumbled bitterly.
Still, Premonition not activating was the best sign he could hope for, even if it failed him last time.
Francis then realized that that thought was worth lingering on. Why didn’t it activate when the woman attacked him? Was it because she was a Deacon? Or was it because he attacked first? Either way, it taught him not to fully rely on the Stanza the hard way.
With his safety resolved, Francis moved to the desk near the window and began studying the intel he bought last night. Reading the parchment made him glad such a profession existed; otherwise, half of what was mentioned would’ve flown past his head when investigating.
If the contents were anything to go by, Dirty Fang was the type that liked routine. Whether it was bars, markets, or even docking areas, he seldom picked something different. That alone made Francis question why no one had gone after him already, before realizing that he was still a Submerged when all was said and done, even if he was a mere Supplicant.
Francis was about to consider the best course of action when a knock came. At first, he assumed it was Bertrand, before hearing the feminine voice from the other side.
“Neighbor! You there?” the woman said.
Francis was about to ignore it, but he didn’t want to deal with the aftermath, so he got off his wooden seat and quickly unlocked the door.
What met him on the other side was a woman not much younger than he was. Her appearance wasn’t much different from that of Camila, but her attire and mannerisms couldn’t be any different. Her black jacket and trousers made her seem like a burglar preparing for a crime.
“Yeah?” Francis said flatly.
“Greetings, most extinguished guest,” she said with a slight bow.
“Are you under the influence?” Francis asked with a sigh. Such antics were the last thing he needed.
“What? No!” she said, seemingly offended. “I just wanted to say hello!”
That, in turn, turned his mood for the better. Her raw energy was a refreshing change, considering the vipers that surrounded him for weeks.
“Hello, neighbor,” Francis said, choosing to lower his guard. “I’m Yves.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Yves, you may address me as Leonie,” she said in an outlandish voice.
Her mannerisms were genuinely unlike anything Francis had seen before; it was like she was a jester in a court. Still, it was entertaining enough, so he played along.
“What brings you here, esteemed lady?”
“Why, offering my salutation to you, of course!”
Francis then proceeded to laugh, with the woman following suit, undoubtedly realizing how silly the encounter was.
“Jokes aside, what can I do for you?” Francis finally asked.
“Nothing, really. I just wanted to say hi since we’d be seeing one another often.”
It didn’t take a genius to guess her identity. “Bertrand’s sister, I’m assuming?”
“Indeed, my good sir,” she replied, bowing once more. “Also, what I said earlier was a lie; I actually want to discuss something.”
Of course.
The glimmer in her blue eyes made it abundantly clear that she was enjoying herself, making it difficult for Francis to decline. Besides, such raw energy was thoroughly missed.
“Sure, wanna come in?”
Leonie simply nodded before she stepped inside and sat on his chair. She was indeed no Camila. A thought that was only reinforced as she pulled a cigarette out of one of her numerous pockets.
“Didn’t know smoking indoors was allowed,” Francis said in amusement.
“Perhaps such a detail was overlooked, but my kin own the establishment that the two of us call home for the time being.”
Her melodrama went from charming to insufferable rather swiftly, but he didn’t mind—not when the alternative was paranoia and melancholy.
“Want one?” she offered as she lit her own using a match.
“Depends. What does it contain?” Francis asked. Tobacco didn’t fit everyone’s palate; thus, some makers began adding all sorts of herbs to the product, rendering each cigarette more flavorful—and nauseating—than the last.
“Pure tobacco. Nothing fancy,” Leonie replied, which settled it.
“Give me one then,” he said with a sigh. “So much for swearing to quit.”
The second part made Leonie hesitate. “In that case, I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Trust me, it would take much more than tobacco to kill me,” Francis replied confidently.
“Oh yeah?” Leonie raised a brow. “How come?”
“Trade secret,” Francis said with a smirk.
“Your funeral,” Leonie said with a shrug before standing up, drawing nearer, and putting a cigarette to his mouth. She then snapped a finger, and flames came out of her index finger, instantly lighting his cigarette.
“What—”
“Trade secret,” she replied with an even wider smirk.