The crew of the Current were out for a walk the morning after their strange visit by Mr. Lascu. Well, currently, they were occupied waiting outside a charter-house. One Paracelsus exited, looking quite pleased with himself and holding a small loculus.

“I’ve set the mast repairs in motion,” He started undoing the clasp on the bag, “And better still -” He produce three small pieces of paper best described as ‘certificates’ declaring that himself, Serpacinno, and Tariq were all part owners of something called ‘The Current Company’, “I’ve got a business charter, legal travel papers and official documentation proving our venture’s legitimacy.”

“Are you forgetting someone?” Gareland asked, noticeably annoyed at her exclusion.

“I’m sorry, I was under the assumption that you’d be disembarking permanently in Morrelone.” The captain answered, “No sense in issuing you a share if you’ll be leaving so soon.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Gareland’s tone was pensive and somewhat somber, and she chewed on her bottom lip as she willed the words out.

“I was under the assumption -” The words felt a bit more forced from Tariq, as though he was trying to force himself to sound more mature, “That Morrelone was our ultimate destination.”

“I guess now’s as good a time as any,” Paracelsus saw all eyes on him; it seemed that Tariq’s misconception was shared by the others, “My dream, or ambition, or whatever you want to call it only starts in Morrelone. When I was a kid, I had a bad habit of reading my sister’s journal. Around the age of thirteen, I became aware of a certain item the marines were searching for.”

“Kósmeidí, yes, you’ve told us.” Gareland urged.

“Yes, Kósmeidí,” He picked up, “They were searching for it for a long time, but never found it. That’s because they shouldn’t be looking for a sword, but six pieces of a sword. Each at the center of a different shell.”

“Wait,” Serpacinno interjected, “I’ve been following you for two months because of this ridiculous story? I thought you were joking.”

“I know how it sounds, trust me,” He stated, “And I won’t blame you if you decide to desert. But allow me to at least say this - once we get to Ashland, and we get the piece that Dakrine has, I can prove the existence of the others, I swear it.”

“My answer hasn’t changed,” The ever-stalwart Tariq replied, putting his hand forward in the center of the group, “I’ll see it through.”

“If I’m to leave out of Morrelone, then I might as well stay until then.” Gareland put hers in as well.

“I think it goes without saying I’ll be there.” Paracelsus added his own hand to the mix, “Serpacinno?”

She stood there for a few seconds, evidently pondering her options. Please, Paracelsus found himself involuntarily thinking, Please put your hand on mine. I’m not ready for you to leave me. After a few more seconds, she rolled her eyes and puffed, before she too joined the gesture, and the group was all resettled.

“Good, now -” He grabbed the shoulders of the two people whose feet actually touched the ground and dragged them into an alleyway, before Gareland swiftly joined them, “Marines. I recognize the woman from Iralo.”

“I thought they weren’t getting involved?” Serpacinno asked.

“Look at their clothes,” He pointed out, “Not in standard navy dress, they’re on leave. I guess they just so happen to be vacationing here.”

“Just so happen?” Tariq asked, peeking his head around the corner, “I can’t help but feel like it was deliberate.”

“That’s what I was getting at.” The captain confirmed, to which his helmsman dumbly nodded.

Just then, the announcements started up for the morning and the mice stood at attention, all mindlessly repeating the words they’d been fed, “Bonjour! First, to the captain of the Living Current, I extend my thanks for your opium. Of course, should anyone wish to donate, simply leave it on your windowsill -”

Paracelsus didn’t bother to listen past that. Whoever was behind this had stolen from him, although he didn’t really care for opium, he kept it for medicinal reasons, and moreover, it was the simple principle of the thing. Now whoever this was had made it personal, and Paracelsus silently vowed his reprisal.

—

“Madame Mayor,” Copain shook his longtime friend by the shoulder, trying to rouse her from her sleep, “I believe I may have some information for you.”

“Hmm?” She yawned heavily, throwing her arms above her head within the dark confines of her office, “Oh, Copain. What is it?”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“The announcements this morning mentioned a ship - the Living Current.” He explained, “Specifically, Monsieur Domingue expressed his gratitude for their opium. Perhaps they’re connected?”

“Speculation?” She asked, taking the cup of tea her assistant had so graciously offered, “I can’t say I’m impressed. Though, I suppose investigating it can’t hurt. See if you can’t find a crewman, please.”

“Of course,” Copain started to the door, but stopped just shy, “You have a public appearance later, shall I send someone with your medication?”

“Yes - Merci, Copain.” Even after thirty-three years of living with her gift, she still had the tendency to treat him with a certain level of respect. Respect some would say was undeserving, given the fact that he never requested it, but respect that she felt he was nonetheless entitled to as both her assistant and friend.

—

“Lieutenant Graave,” Bordeaux exclaimed, “Good to meet you. When I heard marines were landing here, I admit I was surprised. How did you get Jean-Baptiste to agree?”

“Not one to mince words, eh?” Graave responded, “I appreciate it. I normally serve under a close personal friend of Captain Bonaparte’s.”

“Normally?” Bordeaux leaned back, “What happened?”

“Routine diplomatic mission in Terrinia,” He responded, “We thought it was routine, I should say. Turned out there was a crazed gunman who tried to shoot the governor of…” He paused for a moment as he tried to force the words back into his mind, “Pinare. The Captain intercepted the bullet and the assassin was arrested. He’s off medical leave in just two months.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” The only thing betraying Bordeaux’s words was the smile he bore - wide and wicked, with plenty of teeth and a lack of eye, “The world always needs more good marines.”

“Good marines, sir?” The lieutenant asked.

In response, Bordeaux chuckled and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a lengthy scar running down the entirety of his arm. It was a pale red, angry and pulsing and looked fresh, “Admiral John Steele’s gift to me. You see, I got into a bit of a spat with the law when I was younger.”

“I’m… sorry to hear that. Would you mind?” He inspected the scar. Definitely fresh, contrary to what his words would indicate, “It still looks new.”

“Well, never let it be said I didn’t get anything out of it.” Bordeaux, like a madman, pulled a needle out from inside his jacket and ripped the scar open, clenching his teeth with a familiarity that could only come from repeated exposure. When the whole job was done, he turned his arm topsy-turvy, and a sickening amount of blood fell out. It pooled on the ground, like a red river that flowed towards itself, coalescing to form a shortsword which was sickeningly crimson, “He put a weapon inside of me, with no regard for my safety.”

Graave tentatively picked up the sword after Bordeaux waved his hand to it, “It looks normal. What interest did the Admiral have in it?”

“The wounds caused by it never heal.” Bordeaux reclaimed the sword and placed it against his arm. Sensing its home, the weapon returned into his arm, even going so far as to fix the wound and leave another fresh scar.

“And you say he implanted this in you, without your consent?” The bearman asked, leaning in.

“I suppose I did technically choose it,” Bordeaux said, “Although the other choice was execution. Not much of a choice, that one.”

Graave, truth be told, didn’t believe it. Nothing in particular was suspicious about his story or mannerisms, but his own beliefs about the marines informed the lieutenant of only their good side. He was only a lieutenant, not even a commander yet, and as such lacked the experience to truly tell if his story was true. Still, he had a duty, and bowed his head as such, “On behalf of the Union, I offer my apologies.”

“No need,” Bordeaux waved him off, “It’s an old wound. And besides, I’m a successful businessman now. I don’t have much to complain about in my life.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Graave pushed off his knees to stand, “If you don’t mind - I’d like to start my shore leave now, as it were, and relax.”

“Of course, of course,” Bordeaux handed him a small bag, “A token of our friendship.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Please, call me L’Orange.”

—

“No.” Serpacinno said, crossing her arms, “I’m not letting you go.”

“I’m the Captain,” Paracelsus replied, indignantly, “Unless you’ve forgotten?”

“And I’m the first mate,” She pushed a finger into his chest, “That means you have to trust my judgement sometimes. The Current is in enemy territory now. We agreed we won’t go to it until we’re ready to depart.”

“I know who’s behind the announcements here!” He shouted a little louder than intended, “I swear - I have heard his voice. I know he’s from Cartesia, and I know his love of opium. If I can get a message to him, we can figure this all out.”

“What do you care for ‘figuring it out’?” Her words were punctuated by her own fingers curling and unfurling repeatedly, “This has nothing to do with us.”

“I know, I know,” He rubbed his hair, a nervous habit he’d picked up from his sister, “Tariq!” He snapped and pointed to him, “You can do it without being seen.”

“Me?” He pointed to himself, “I can only stay invisible for maybe ten minutes.”

“I can’t become invisible at all.” Serpacinno said.

“Me neither.” Gareland and Paracelsus, respectively, said, followed by the captain’s “Then it’s settled. Besides, I thought you were all-in.”

“Fine,” Tariq slapped himself lightly on either side of his face, “I’ll go. What am I looking for?”

“Opium. Stand just abaft the mainmast, grab the third plank. It has what we need. Godspeed.” Paracelsus gave a sarcastic salute and sent him on his way.

“You think he’ll be fine?” Serpacinno asked, watching him depart.

“You worry too much,” Paracelsus replied, going back to his general sight-seeing, “He says he’ll be back, he’ll be back.”

“What makes you so sure?” She inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“I suppose the same thing that inspired you to believe in me.” He cracked a smile seeing his partner’s exasperated, cringing reaction.

They were about to resume their lackadaisical walk about town, when all of a sudden, a glowing, humanoid entity appeared in front of them, and introduced itself, “Greetings, Paracelsus. You may call me Copain, please come with me.”

“Sorry, why exactly?” He raised a fair point.

“The mayor wishes to speak with you,” He urged, “Please, we haven’t much time. I insist you come with me.”

“I suppose I’ll be back, too, then,” He saw the look on Serpacinno’s face, “Seeing as it is so urgent.”

“Please step back, mademoiselle,” Copain said, putting a halting hand up, “I know who you two are. I’ve simply decided Mr. Hoeinheim’s cooperation is more important than your arrest.”

So, the captain left with the companion, once more leaving the two women (who were not on the best of terms at the moment), alone. Gareland was the first to speak up, asking “His last name is Hoenheim?”

Before Serpacinno could answer, though, Sally came up to her, “Sorry, fairy, can I borrow your lady-friend for a spell?”

“Huh?” Serpacinno sputtered at her arm being grabbed and her being pulled along. She wrested control back from her assailant, “Hold on. Gareland, doesn’t it feel like we’re intentionally being split up?”

“I can assure you I mean no harm,” Sally urged her along, “The fairy can handle herself.”

“For what it’s worth,” Gareland said, “I doubt she’s lying.”