“I still agree with the cook,” Serpacinno said with a groan, “We should leave now before anyone else tries to kill us. What the rich boy believes doesn’t really matter to us.”

  “Well, never let it be said I’m a tyrant.” Paracelsus stood up, pushing off of his legs and walking to the water, “Everyone, gather round!” Once everyone had gathered round, he coughed into his hand to gather their attention, “Alright everyone, since some concerns have been brought up amongst the crew, we’ll vote on it. Everyone who wants to leave, raise your hand.”

  Immediately Lonceré’s hand, and Serpacinno’s shot up into the air. Soon after, Sally raised hers.

  “And everyone who thinks we should stay and help?” The Captain’s own hand was first, swiftly followed by Gareland and Tariq’s. “Well now, that’s a bit awkward.” The group stood around, all pondering the tie for a moment, before the alchemist snapped his fingers, “Gru’lya. You didn’t vote; what’s the call?”

  “What?” The mermaid asked, petrified when all eyes were on her, “Me?”

  “You did say you wanted to be involved in the decisions.” Gareland argued pointedly.

  “I don’t think I said that.” She lied, to a series of eyes being rolled. Eventually the stares grew too much, and she replied, “Fine! I… defer to the Captain’s judgement.” Before slinking back into the water and staring up from a position of relative obscurity.

  “Then it’s settled.” Paracelsus said with a grin.

  —

  Ramona clutched her throat as she made her way back to her organization. If even Federico knew about her, and his siblings still insisted on leaving him alive, this would get significantly more complicated. She was certainly used to simple incapacitations, her clients had a variety of interests in her target from torture to yet more scrupulous pleasures. But this was different, he knew she was coming, and if he compared notes with the other six targets, things would get messy.

  She at last arrived at her destination. A simple brick building with a heavy, locked wooden door, “El lobo acecha de noche.” The assassin said, and three distinct clicks were heard from the other side before it opened.

  She stepped into the dark wooden interior, lit only by a few whale oil lamps which hardly did anything to elucidate the rundown shanty-bar that she worked at. Her boss sat at a far table, talking to another assassin she had no particular fondness for. He waved her over.

  “Hello, Ramona,” He sat with his face obscured by shadow, “You’re back soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” The woman nervously said, “The brother’s onto me. I had to flee.”

  He sighed, which was not a good sign. He was disappointed, or angry, and either way it was not ideal, but he clasped his hands together, “That’s fine, Ramona.”

  “It is?” She asked.

  “Of course, I understand.” He replied, “How about you try again? Take those two with you.”

  Her boss pointed back to the bar, sitting at it were two of the more colorful characters she’d ever met. Pedro, a diminutive, rotund man, with the scales and tail of a pangolin, dressed in simple clothes which bulged around his frame was armed with a trident. Talking with him was a woman of average height with large, dark wings - for she was an angel - sprouting from her back. She wore blue and gold robes over chainmail armor, with an armet on her head and a black scythe across her back.

  “Ahh, Ramona,” The knightly woman gestured to the seat next to her, speaking in her Cartesian accent, “Come take a seat.”

  “I suppose I can kill a few minutes.” She replied, taking that seat, “I must say I’m shocked to see you still here. I thought you’d have left searching for that treasure of yours by now.”

  She threw her head back in laughter, the visor of her helmet falling back as she did so, “Me, too, honestly. But I figured I may as well wait for the first of the new month to roll around, collect my pay, and then I can leave.” She took a sip of her dark liqueur, pausing for a few moments, “Speaking of, who’s the target?”

  “Six folks,” Ramona commented, coolly and collected, “Sailors - from Cartesia. And then there’s the brother - I’ll show you a portrait - not supposed to kill him.” She let her face drop onto the bar as her drink, the usual one which the bartender knew by heart now, was delivered, “Kill me.”

  “It can’t be that bad.” Pedro’s nasally voice rang out, “You’ve never had an issue with multiple targets before.”

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  “It’s the third week of the month,” She rubbed her temples for she felt a headache coming on, “When the number of targets is double the week in the month, it’s a bad omen. Everyone knows that.”

  “You’re too superstitious.” The pangolinman replied with a pshaw and a wave at the wrist, “Ignypso isn’t even in retrograde.”

  “Going back to the first point,” The Cartesian woman interrupted their delightfully intellectual conversation, “These Cartesian sailors - is there a blonde woman among them? Long hair,” She held her hand aloft at roughly a foot and a half above the bar, “Yay high?”

  “I don’t know her height, but -” The older woman sat there in thought for a moment, trying to recall what her own subordinate had told her, “I believe Diego mentioned a woman with long yellow hair.”

  While the regal woman’s eyes did widen, somewhat noticeably, it was impossible to tell because of her helmet. Afterwards, the three drank for a few minutes before heading out.

  —

  “You think waiting for the assassin on the Current is a good idea?” Tariq asked, “We would seem to have the advantage on our own ship.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Lonceré argued, “We have to assume she’s stealthy, yes? Then I would think that giving her so many crevasses to hide in would only help her.”

  “Who’s to say it’s a her?” Gareland asked, “It very well might be multiple, in which case the cramped inside of the ship would allow us to overwhelm them.”

  “What if they bring more than six?” The cook asked.

  “Then they wouldn’t be assassins,” The fairy retorted, with a face that suggested it was the simplest deduction possible, “They’d be warriors.”

  The Cartesian man muttered under his breath about disliking children at her sarcastic remarks. Furthermore, he lamented that she was apparently supposed to be a cutthroat gangster, and yet the things she said sometimes were equivalent to those of a little schoolgirl.

  “Okay, so if the warriors -” He corrected, “Outnumber us, then isn’t the advantage turned on us?”

  “Wait!” She snapped her fingers, and if it was invented at the time, the others would’ve remarked that it looked as though a lightbulb lit above her head, “I’ll keep lookout on the crow’s nest.” She floated over to Paracelsus to inform him, interrupting whatever conversation he was having, “Captain. Remember that gun you gave me in Ghazal to watch over the ship?”

  “Sorry?” The alchemist tried to hide any indication of the gun. It was something of his own design, and furthermore something he liked keeping close the chest, “Oh, you’re going to be a longshot, eh?” He quickly created for her another type of gun, a rifle that was not of his own design, a long barreled firearm with a large metallic slide for quickly loading in another eighty grains of powder and shot. He fixed a stern gaze on her, “I hope this is what you’re referring to.”

  “Oh, right.” She coughed into her petite, delicate hand, awkwardly receiving the message that the earlier gun was not to be spoken of, “Thank you, Captain. I’ll be aloft.”

  “As I was saying, I think it would be best if Serpacinno were to accompany you,” Paracelsus said, gesturing to his first mate, “In terms of intimidating muscle, there really isn’t a better option. And if the assassin were to strike you first, she’d be a great deterrent.”

  But what if you get attacked? The swordswoman thought. She had made a conscious habit of trying to respect his authority more, and also to trust in his own abilities, but she would be lying if she claimed she didn’t feel somewhat protective of him. Still, she nodded resolutely in agreement.

  “I can go, too!” Sally shouted, being terribly bored and needing to spend her energy on something.

  “No,” The Captain rebuffed, shaking his head, “I need you here with the rest of the crew. You’ve our whip hand, and if need be, you’re the only one fast enough to pass any messages back and forth.”

  “But I’m not a raptor!” The long-haired woman complained, but her miniature rebellion was shot down by her Captain’s stern gaze, “Fine.”

  “Alright then,” Federico said, daring to show the barest hint of a smile, “Are we all ready, then?”

  “I believe we are.” Replied Paracelsus’ voice, and the group split up. He shortly deposited Sally back at the recently un-impounded Current and grabbed his helmsman by the shoulder, saying, “Now’s our chance, Tariq.”

  “Our chance?” The Ghazaler asked.

  “Well, it stands to reason they’re still looking for me, they’ve seen my face after all. So, I’m going to go for a leisurely stroll around town, by myself,” He winked, “And you will use that invisibility of yours to tell me when someone starts tailing.”

  “And then?” The helmsman continued.

  “And then - we lead them back to the ambush we’ve set at our ship.” The Captain replied, and he rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the question.

  —

  “Phew!” John Steele rubbed the sweat from forehead, or rather, he went through the motions, but without any perspiration being permitted to form on his head (for there was no skin), it made an odd scraping noise.

  The reason for his fatigue was obvious - on his operating table lay what was once Diego, both arms removed, and his legs vivisected and crudely stitched together. He had long since fallen unconscious from the pain, but his eyelids were removed to see if there was any particular adaptation the Admiral could appropriate; there weren’t. Still though, the meticulous doctoring of the marine and his first mate ensured the man would remain alive, only to surely suffer more.

  “I dare say I’m rather famished,” Steele dipped his primary hands in the already bloodied bowl of water, which miraculously still cleaned them, before rubbing them down with a sanitary towel, “Lunch?”

  “All these years later,” Elizabeth said, holding a hand over her own mouth, “And the biggest mystery of them all is still how you maintain your appetite after that? And more to the point, don’t you want to get started on actually utilizing his body?”

  “Pish posh,” The Admiral said, rounding one arm around his crewmate’s shoulder, and making his way to the outside of the ship, “That can wait. And more to your point, you see how large I am? I eat nearly a half-pound of meat a day.”

  “Ugh, fine,” Jenner queasily moved her hand from her mouth to her stomach, “Just don’t expect me to feast.”

  “Oh, Paace!” The admiral slapped his forehead, “How could we forget to take him with us?” He quickly ducked back into his office to grab the dismembered Diego, and made a note to drop him at some hospital, or failing to find one, behind some garbage heap.

  “You should count your lucky stars you have me,” His first mate said, “No one else would tolerate this flagrant madness.”

  “Thank you, Lizzy.” He said, ruffling her hair, which was a shockingly welcome gesture.

  “Thank me by putting in for a promotion, would you? I have the record to make Captain.” She said through his ministrations.

  He smiled warmly at her, not unlike a father or older sibling, “I’ll make sure to, next time I make a report.”

  Mentally, for she still wanted to maintain a professional appearance, the Commander cheered, as more pay would never be a bad thing.