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A Letter from Edward Teach to Bartholomew Roberts.
Francis hoped to at least be offered the dignity of a good night’s rest, but the Eldritch decreed otherwise.
He hoped that the Shanty wouldn’t announce itself once more. But how could it when he denied its purpose time and again?
Claim what is rightfully yours.
My blessings shall aid in opening those doors.
Ignite.
Give him who stands in your way terrible fright.
A Shanty of Dominion you shall hear.
Shielding you from both cold and fear.
Henceforth, one mustn’t fret.
For my healing can mend all under threat.
Your surroundings you shall observe.
Easing fear and calming nerve.
Unwanted gazes must recoil.
Letting one choose when to toil.
New Stanza. Interesting.
It was to be expected. The Shanty had last spoken before he acquired his Rejuvenation Fragment.
Nevertheless, the uncanny voice was hard to get used to, no matter how many times it spoke.
And as always, the morbid voice was quickly drowned by an intensifying ringing—a ringing made only worse by the ocean backdrop, turning whiter by the second.
Mercifully, the sequence ended as swiftly as it began.
Except instead of waking up, he found himself near an imposing cathedral.
Francis was by no means a master architect, but he knew a definition or two. He also knew that the towering Gothic structure was seldom found on his side of the Atlantic.
It must be either England or Ireland.
Those two were the ones that made the most sense. England was the head of the orthodox faith, while Ireland was ruled by the Apostolic See.
That still left one question unanswered, however: how could he envision something he never saw?
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a familiar voice said from beside him, indirectly answering his question.
Francis instinctively gazed at the figure, and all calm left him. “… Xavier?”
“Did you miss me, friend?” the man replied, flashing his crooked grin. “Don’t answer, I know you did.”
“With all due respect, not really,” Francis said, still attempting to regain his bearings.
Xavier appeared to take mock offense at that. “I cleaned after myself, did I not?”
Some spots weren’t easily cleaned, however, and they both knew it.
“I get it,” Xavier added. “The theatrics were too much for your mushy brain. Still, at least you’re alive, no?”
I wish I wasn’t.
“What do you want, Rumpelstiltskin?” Francis asked flatly. Whatever that thing wanted, he refused to partake in its theatrics.
Rumpelstiltskin, in turn, gasped at that. “Using my real name so casually? Have you no manners, lad?”
“You left none to be had, Rumpelstiltskin.”
“Someone must have had a rough few weeks,” Rumpelstiltskin said, tone mercifully turning serious. “Very well, I’m here to make a deal.”
“A deal?”
“Why, of course! It’s my forte, is it not?” Rumpelstiltskin said, cathedral now nothing more than background noise.
Francis doubted whatever the man had in store boded well for him, but only a fool would dismiss a deal with him.
Especially after what he witnessed not long ago. “I’m all ears.”
“The pesky people of Havana appear to be too nosy,” Rumpelstiltskin began. “That’s why I’m here to make you an offer: aid with your Descension, in exchange for my identity leaving your memory.”
“Pardon?” Francis replied, indignant. Physical items were one thing. But his sense of self? That was way over the line.
“Over the line?” Rumpelstiltskin said abruptly. “Am I acting without your consent?”
Did he just read my mind?
Francis was in a daze momentarily. Each sentence Rumpelstiltskin uttered was more bewildering than the last.
Additionally, the offer… was not a bad one.
Rumpelstiltskin was going to collect eventually, making remembering him irrelevant.
Especially when Francis had little to counter him with.
Conversely, Descension had been a thorn in Francis’ side for far too long. And while attempting it unprepared was one option, it was the equivalent of offering himself to the Apostolic See on a silver platter.
Of course, attempting it on a different island was a better option. But he still had to put himself under the mercy of the outside world for hours.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
And that’s assuming it doesn’t generate any ripples.
“How much am I going to forget?” Francis asked at last.
“Everything.”
“Define everything?”
“You won’t remember anything about me,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “At least until I come back to collect what is mine.”
Charming.
“What about Read? You seriously think I’d mistake his death as my own doing?”
It was a good point, one Rumpelstiltskin utterly invalidated. “Trust me, Francis. The human mind is one complex mechanism.”
The man’s smugness made Francis want to punch him, but that wasn’t an option.
Besides, he didn’t hear the full deal.
“What about your aid?” Francis asked. “What can I expect?”
“Absolute protection and concealment for the entirety of the ritual,” Rumpelstiltskin explained.
Again. The deal was too good to be true.
“What’s in it for you, anyway?” Francis wondered, dumbfounded.
“Simple,” Rumpelstiltskin replied. “I don’t want my name used as a death spell.”
Of course you knew about that as well.
“Now,” the man added, “are we in agreement?”
Francis wanted to pretend to think about it for a moment longer, but it was futile.
Especially when the man read his thoughts.
“Sure,” Francis replied in resignation. “Not like I was planning to pull such a stunt again, anyway.”
“Excellent!” Rumpelstiltskin exclaimed enthusiastically. “That marks another contract established.”
Francis half expected the man to linger for a while longer.
Instead, he simply vanished.
And so did the dream.
***
By the time the fugitive awoke, his memories of Rumpelstiltskin were… still intact.
At first, he was perplexed, before quickly formulating a theory.
He’d only forget the ‘man’ once he became a Deacon, effectively suspending the contract indefinitely if he pleased.
Assuming I’m content with remaining an Acolyte for the rest of my life.
Such buffoonery yielded little reward compared to the prize.
A third Stanza.
A third Dominion Stanza.
The Shanty he heard left much to the imagination. But judging by how Deacons experienced a qualitative change, he was in for a treat.
What wasn’t a treat, however, was the wave of Premonition that engulfed him.
Did the Inquisition find me already?
Francis swiftly rose to his feet before heading towards the window.
In retrospect, not reaching for his flintlock was shortsighted. But in that instance, time was a luxury.
A luxury he couldn’t afford.
The now-blonde man observed the neighborhood discreetly, and thankfully, he didn’t have to look for long.
Had it been the Inquisition, they would’ve been solitary and discreet.
What faced him on the other end, however, wasn’t that.
It was half a dozen thugs, each more disheveled than the last.
In hindsight, they could’ve been there for anyone. But Premonition didn’t have a habit of lying.
It never did.
Francis’ fingers itched for his flintlock, but that wasn’t wise, as its ripples were now tied to the murder of the two Inquisitors.
No matter. I still have my flames.
Not daring to wait a second longer, Francis opened the window and faced the crowd. “Lads! Glad to see you finally made it.”
Under normal circumstances, he would’ve never been as reckless. But again, he was instructed to make noise, not strategize.
“That’s him!” one of the goons shouted. “He’s the one who killed Alcaraz!”
“Who?” Francis shouted, feigning obliviousness.
“The guy you burned, idiot,” the man taking the lead said.
Francis wasn’t sure why they hadn’t opened fire already, but he guessed it was due to a lack of evidence.
“Yeah,” Francis replied. “I burned him to a crisp. It was glorious!”
His words were all they needed, as the fools opened fire from a great distance, barely grazing him.
Standing on no ceremony, Francis jumped from the window, landing on the ground within seconds.
The impact resulted in an upward jolt, but Rejuvenation existed for a reason.
Not long after, the thugs switched to conventional weapons.
Axes, daggers, even clubs. The fellows were rather prepared.
For Supplicants.
Francis’ characteristic caution urged him to end it swiftly. But there was no need to. They’d handed him the perfect opportunity to test his combat skills.
One of the goons swung his club, but Francis’ reaction proved faster, and he kicked the man in the stomach.
The following grunt was like music to his ears, but the joy didn’t last, as a club connected to the back of his skull.
For a moment, everything went dark.
At least until his Deacon-grade healing intervened.
His vision snapped back. The dagger-wielding thug rushed him.
Francis dodged, leading the stab to land on his shoulder.
The man drew his knife back, but Francis’ reflexes were faster, snatching it midair before it could strike once more.
“Have you ever held a burning blade?” he mocked before using his flames on the weapon.
The man dropped his blade in haste, but it was too late, as his palms emitted a faint scent of burning flesh.
The man’s scream must have given the others pause, enabling Francis to punch another in the temple.
Sadly, the hit didn’t carry enough momentum, causing the thug to merely stumble.
So much for my combat abilities.
Still, the sequence gave Francis ample feedback, leading him to switch tactics.
“Hugo!” one of the men shouted. “Do something!”
“And risk attracting the Church?”
“You can end it quickly!” another man exclaimed.
It took Francis seconds to get it.
Hugo had the powers of a Submerged.
And that’s my cue to take this seriously.
The man’s hesitation aided Francis greatly, as it allowed him to rush to his position in a flash.
“Liquidation?” the man shouted before flames engulfed him.
For the first time that evening, the air changed.
The display stopped the rest in their tracks before Francis turned to them with a glare. “Next?”
They cracked.
Theatrical as it was, one word was all it took for the half dozen thugs to scatter haphazardly.
Francis wished to give chase, but there was no reason to.
Not when his objective was accomplished.
With the fight settled, Francis turned to the charred corpse and began inspecting it.
Sure enough, the man had a ring on his finger.
Why is it always a ring?
The piece of jewelry was pristine. Way too pristine for the ashen hand. And that only meant one thing.
Francis wanted to try the artifact, but he didn’t know its rank, making such an attempt reckless at best.
And utterly foolish at worst.
The fugitive wished to relish the moment of triumph for longer, but Havana decided otherwise.
“Quite the display that was,” a stranger said as he stepped closer.
The intrusion nearly forced Francis on the defensive, but there was no reason to.
After all, his Premonition did not activate.
The stranger wore Havana’s typical police uniform—agreeable enough that Francis didn’t need to shoot on sight.
I wish I could say the same about Inquisitors.
“What is it to you?” Francis replied at last.
“Relax!” the officer said, hands raised in mock surrender. “I’m not here to detain you.”
“Way above your pay grade, I’m assuming?”
“Precisely,” the man replied with a smirk. “We can make a deal, though.”
Such an encounter marked the third deal in the last two days, but Francis had no reason to complain.
“By all means.”
“Give me the artifact. And I’ll report this as… random gang violence.”
“Tempting,” Francis said. “Does that involve leaving me alone?”
“More or less.”
Truth be told, such a deal wasn’t bad in the slightest, especially since escaping pursuit was far from the prize.
A police connection, however? That was worth a fortune.
To a fugitive, at least.
“I’d prefer discussing this over drinks,” Francis replied after deliberating. “What say you?”
“Make it local cuisine, and I’m in.”
That was… confusing. “Local cuisine? It’s dawn.”
“Fair enough,” the officer chuckled. “Meet me at El Paraíso for lunch.”
Francis didn’t know where the restaurant was, but strangers were a helpful bunch. “Will do.”
With that, the officer merely nodded in acknowledgment before going his separate way.