Federico was currently stood outside one of the Almarés Shipping Conglomerate’s numerous warehouses. Its simple wooden exterior, made of no great lumber, but rather menial in craft, was, as he knew, very intentional. The door only had a simple lock, to which he had the key. The lax security and meager appearance belied its true contents, the shares (which numbered to around twenty-six per-cent of all those issued) held by the Conglomerate itself.

  “There’s only one way for my family to be free of this.” He said to himself, as he threw the boxes they were contained in, eschewing all the paper about the floor. Then he took a flask of tallow he’d grabbed at his home earlier, pouring it out over the place. Finally, as a last accelerant, he made sure to leave some of his vines behind, adding one final alcohol to the cocktail of flammability he’d constructed.

  “Adiós, Scaular.” Were the final words he had thought to say, before he took the final ingredient - a match - and set the building ablaze, watching as the black smoke filled the air. Then, with a twitch of the neck, he realized something, “Oh damn, I hope they haven’t left yet!”

  —

  Gareland, hoping to conserve some strength, and also to not have another seizure or fainting fit, prevented herself from teleporting, however hard it was, as she searched the streets. While she was in public, the limbs were more discreet in their approach, spawning on a table and slashing her with a knife, or seeking to trip her up. She thought to seek refuge in a secluded spot and gather her thoughts, but instead that only emboldened the attacker, who more aggressively attacked the fairy in the cover of dimness.

  “Think, Gareland!” She tapped her temples as she fled, trying to use her physical strength to force her brain to function more quickly, “She must be a woman with glossy nails and smooth hands, a bit tanner than you, and she has to be able to see you - so she’s probably higher up, to the north.”

  Her eyes immediately landed on a terrace, high enough to give a vantage point, affixed to some local shop. There were only two people who fit the skin tone, and both were men, so she decided it couldn’t be them. Her target must’ve realized what she was doing, and perhaps partially out of worry, spawned an arm on Gareland’s shoulder, aiming to gouge her eyes out. She would’ve succeeded, were it not for the fairy’s impressive reaction speed in excising the tumor, rather carefully, with her sword.

  “Not there,” She said, observing a guard standing post on top of a building, “Not there either.” Was accompanied by her viewing of a family up on a hill, “There!”

  And then she saw her, a woman with slightly ruddy hair who was now in a full panic at her discovery. The fairy took a deep breath, and ignored the limbs that were mid-bloom as she took aim with her musket at the lady atop the gate, and fired. Within two seconds, the shot hit true in the stomach, which made any limbs that were about to flourish wither and fade.

  —

  A few minutes earlier, as Gareland departed, Tariq and Lonceré were still fighting Aflorocoso on the deck of the Current. The beast had slain over five of the cook’s doubles, and that gift was reaching its limits. He estimated that he had but one last copy left in him before he was spent.

  “Alright then, better make this count…” He huffed and puffed, putting both hands forward, along with his doubles, “Boy, just buy me one minute to prepare!”

  “Boy?” Tariq asked, trying his best to keep the thing occupied, “I’m only…” He tried to count in his head, but any distraction would be fatal, so he wisely estimated, “Ten years younger than you.”

  “Whatever!” The cook replied, slowly gathering debris, mallets, and anything else not bolted down in a maelstrom of his telekinetic force, “Just a few more seconds!”

  “Fine -” Tariq said, but one of things not bolted down was a damaged plank that he was about to find footing on. Instead, his foot shot right through the gap in the deck, and he let out a quick prayer for his soul as he saw the rocky fist headed his way.

  Before his life could be cut tragically short, though, Lonnie pulled through, and all the gathered materials coalesced to crush what remained of the creature to dust.

  Wiping the sweat from his brow, he helped his crewmate to his feet, shaking his head, “Let’s just hope everyone gets back alright.”

  “And let’s hope I have time to change my trousers.” Tariq admitted.

  —

  Désolé, papa. Sally thought, shedding a tear as she watched the scythe plummet toward her, and only daring to hope for a swift, painless death. But nothing happened, and after a few seconds, she hazarded to open her eyes, “Paracelsus?”

  “In the flesh!” The Captain strained, holding the scythe back, “You’re my crewmate, I wasn’t going to leave you for dead!”

  “You know him?” Genevieve asked, managing to once again wrest control of her weapon away.

  She flew backward, but this distance was not to her advantage, as she quickly saw this strange man construct a cart from nothing, loading Sally onto it. She went to dive back in, but a second later, he held a punt gun and aimed it at her.

  “Seems you’ve found good friends, ma fleur.” She said, rising to a safe distance. When her altitude was self-assessed to be sufficient, she used her powder once again to summon a few illusions, hoping to throw the sailor off guard.

  “I’m not -” Sally coughed, hacking up blood.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Quiet,” Paracelsus said, “Save your strength.”

  As he turned to leave, one of the illusions the knight had created earlier swooped down to attack him. Not wanting to unload such a powerful firearm in a busy street, he instead used his gift to dislodge one of the handles of the cart and turn it into a baton. He swung it, but stumbled forward when the mist evaporated and he found no purchase.

  “What the fuck?” He asked, as though such a thing were unheard of (it certainly wasn’t at that time, you couldn’t go more than twenty minutes in any major city without stumbling upon an illusionist, though not many had the ability Genevieve did). He pushed off the ground as the real opponent swooped in to attack him, and this time was knocked on his ass by something very real.

  “Go…” Sally sputtered, clutching his wrist, “I’ll just slow you down.”

  “I’m not abandoning you -” He replied, “What good would I be as a Captain if I can’t protect my own crew?”

  He saw the smoke rise from Serpacinno’s flare, recognizing the slightly blue hue he had given the smoke, and came up with an idea of his own. When another double came to attack him, he took some powder of his own, which is to say a few grains of gunpowder, and blew it, allowing it to suspend in the air. Once properly dispersed, he created a match and struck it against the cart, before tossing it into the cloud of powder.

  Immediately, the arms were engulfed in a great conflagration, revealing the true nature of the illusion, and he grabbed the cart, running towards the flare. If nothing else, perhaps Serpacinno could help him fight off the attacker.

  —

  “Phew!” Admiral Steele sighed as he patted his stomach, “Those… what did the owner call them… angulas, I think, were delicious.”

  “Sir?” Commander Jenner tapped his shoulder, pointing to the smoke rising in the distance, “What do you make of that?”

  “Hopefully nothing dangerous.” John said, making his way to the boat, “But this isn’t a Union country, nothing for us to do.”

  “Sir.” Elizabeth deadpanned, “With all due respect: you’re an admiral. Isn’t part of your job to gain goodwill with non-Union nations?”

  “Is it?” He asked. A quick disappointed look was enough to change his tune, “Fine, fine. We can take a look.”

  —

  “I thought they were supposed to be assassins!” Paracelsus remarked, noting the very conspicuous way in which they were attacked, “This seems rather non-stealthy!”

  At last, after a few more minutes of running, he arrived at the flare, and saw Serpacinno slumped on the ground, the Shah standing vigil over her unconscious form, which was bleeding profusely.

  He crouched down, as silently as possible, and created a small length of bandage, applying it to his partner’s shoulder. He thought to himself about how strange the man she was most likely fighting was; he’d never seen any creature quite like it.

  “This voyage just gets stranger, and stranger.” After taking a peek, and seeing that he had a moment of safety, he created and lit up a cigarette as he hauled his first mate into the cart. He’d assuredly be asking her to recount what had caused such a sorry state later, but for now, needs necessitated a certain ignorance.

  “Oh, how funny we should run into each other.” Behind him, Paracelsus heard the unmistakably eerie voice of the Admiral he’d met not three days ago.

  “Fucking hell.” He said, stomping the smoke out. He turned around, with his arms spread wide and a smile on his face, “Funny indeed. What brings you here?”

  “I was investigating the smoke, but -” The navyman stood on his tip-toes, peeking over the alchemist, “It looks like you have this handled?”

  “This?” The Captain looked behind himself, and slapped his forehead, “No, this isn’t - I’m not a kidnapper. They’re my crewmates, just ran into a dash of trouble was all.” He then remembered the rather large firearm he’d been hauling as well, “This is for defending us.”

  “From whom?” The taller man asked.

  “You looked up?” Paracelsus responded with his own question, “Fucking madwoman - attacked us out of nowhere, you see what she did to them.”

  The Admiral blew a wolf whistle, “I see the predicament. Liz?”

  “Yes, sir?” His first mate replied.

  “You said part of my job was doing good?”

  “I said it was gaining goodwill.”

  “Ah, pishposh,” John argued, cracking his neck and allowing his wings to unfurl, pushing his jacket off his back and giving him an even more monstrous silhouette, “A friend in need is a friend indeed. You go on then, Mr. Paracelsus.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.” The Captain replied with a surprised, relieved intonation. He thereupon took up the handles of the cart, resuming his earlier hustle.

  “Wait a second, there,” The Commander grabbed him by his arm, stopping him in his tracks. So focused was she, she didn’t even spare a glance to see her boss engaging in an epic midair battle, limbs flying hither and thither to deal with the illusions created by his foe; some of his arms would be cut, and grown back within a few seconds, his skin would harden, or become rubbery as needs dictated, and at one point, a great big pole emerged from a cavity in his chest, striking forward with mechanical force, “I don’t believe we’ve met. Elizabeth Jenner, Commander of the Rose.”

  “Paracelsus, master of the Current.” He tried to politely retrieve his arm, but her grip was ironclad, and the more he struggled, the harder she held him up, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, really, but you understand I’d rather get back to my ship in One Piece, yes?”

  “I saw the paper.” She replied sternly, leering at him, “I couldn’t read it, but I saw your name. And that drawing of the dishonored Lieutenant. Where did you say you came from?”

  “I didn’t,” Paracelsus laughed, “But I come from Adentone. Look, I’m sure the Admiral can fill you in -”

  “No. Where did you come from before landing in Scaular?” The navywoman’s grip was starting to dig into his skin.

  He took a moment to respond, he knew she knew of the paper, and it wasn’t like he could just well admit to being in the same place where it all went down, “Soto, Arbabane. You probably read about my work there - I was helping some beekeepers design a new apiary.”

  With no evidence to warrant an arrest, and a slightly more pressing matter, the Commander let go of him, “Right.” She said, not once taking her eyes off of him, even as he departed, “We’ll see about that.”

  —

  “Captain!” Lonceré shouted, waving his friend down. As he got closer, he saw the load he was hauling, “J’Hallucine.”

  “Everyone here?” Paracelsus asked, observing that, in fact, everyone was there. “Perfect, all hands - climb aboard, we should get underway.”

  “Why the rush?” Gareland asked, “And what happened to them?”

  “Very long story, look -” He took care to get them on the gangway, “I can explain everything - but we need to get moving!”

  “Alright, but -” Tariq said, as the crew was already raising anchor and unfurling the sails.

  “Wait!” They heard shouting from the land, “Wait!”

  “Who is that?” Tariq asked, now not interrupted.

  “I don’t believe it.” Gareland said, putting a hand over her eyes, “I thought he said he wasn’t interested.”

  Federico was running along the dockside, and the slow, meandering winds ensured he was in lockstep with the midship, but at least a few dozen yards because of the gap between coast and ship.

  “We can’t stop!” Paracelsus shouted back, “I’m sorry, but we have to leave!”

  “Fine!” Federico shouted back, uncoiling a length of vines and grabbing onto the gunwale, “Pull me in!”

  The crew, now sufficiently used to hauling, but unused to being down four hands, with a great deal of effort managed to lift him onto the boat, though they all fell backwards, crashing into one another.

  “Welcome aboard,” Paracelsus said, “What changed your mind?”