Serpacinno leaned on the railing that overlooked the harbor and came to two conclusions. One: Tariq’s party was in danger, and two: the fall from this height would assuredly kill her. She ran her hands over her face a few times, breathing heavily as her anxiety grew.
“Can anyone here fly?” She asked to her captive audience. They stayed as silent as monks in prayer, seemingly refusing to acknowledge the question, which only added to her frustrations, “If nobody answers me, I will throw you all out the window!”
One of the younger-looking marines meekly raised his hand, “I can’t fly exactly, but I can get you down the hill.”
“Good enough.” Sepracinno said and grabbed the marine by the shoulder. Then, she took a few steps back to get a running start, and jumped out the window as far as she could.
The marine activated his gift immediately, slowing their dissension considerably, but not enough that the other group of marines which were attempting to flank her were able to get a clean shot. Once she landed, she sent the marine off and ran toward the smoke signal.
—
Garleland was extraordinarily bored; she was already prone to hyperactivity and a certain amount of self-distraction, but it was getting unbearably quiet at the ship. She’d even resorted to playing solitaire by herself to keep herself sane.
“Hello, can I speak to the owner of this ship?” She heard a rough, breaking voice call from the deck.
Getting her gun aimed, she panicked at her own lack of diligence. She thought she’d hear any intruders, and even still, she only looked away from her post for a few seconds at most, “I’m authorized to speak on his behalf.”
“His? Very well!” Now that she got a look at this man, he was far from pleasant to look at, with a singed, gaunt face which was wrapped in bandages at several points. He stood tall and lanky, though with a distinct wiriness, that combined with his black robes to form an otherworldly image, “If you’ll allow me an assumption, is his name Paracelsus?”
She teleported down the mast, so as to not have to lose her sights on him, and barked, “I’m not allowing you anything until you tell me your business here.”
“This ship was just recently commissioned, sometime in early March, yes?” He continued, “Interestingly enough, this name has some significance to Parecelsus’ father.”
“His father is dead.” Gareland breathed nervously, the man wasn’t making any moves, and by the three radial arrows he wore around his neck, he was of the same belief, but his presence here was unnerving enough.
“Oh? Is that what he’s told you?” His thin, pale lips gave way to a grotesque smile, stretching far too wide and showing far too much of his yellow, crooked teeth.
“How about you tell me something? To start, who are you and how did you get on the ship?”
“Fair enough, young lady,” He dipped his head ever so slightly to show respect, “My name is Pryus Tyburn. I already happened to be in the area.”
“Don’t dodge around the question, how are you here?”
He kissed the fetish around his neck and pointed it to the sky, “I have friends in high places.”
“Don’t speak in -” Gareland was cut off when a shadow grasped her mouth, holding it silent and reached around to disarm her.
“Young lady, it’s impolite to accost guests.”
“You’re not a guest!” She struggled against the pitch-black embrace but was ultimately unsuccessful in doing anything but tiring herself out.
“That’s alright,” Pryus assured, “I’m sure Paracelsus will see things differently when he returns.”
She couldn’t teleport out of his grasp. Similarly helpless to free herself, she was unable to alert her captain on land, and realized she failed greatly at her duties as lookout. Then it occurred to her: if the man was attacking from the shadows, he would be vulnerable to light, and as she kept matches under her jacket, she started to slowly move her hands to their destination. When her hand was just over her jacket, she squinted her eyes, “Paracelsus!” Flew from her lips, and when Pryus turned his head, she took the opportunity to grab a match and strike it, before she brought it to burn her attacker’s hands.
“That was a very bad idea.” Pryus bid the shadows attack her once more, but this plan was evidently foiled as Gareland had moved out from under the shadow of the mast and had in fact requipped herself with her gun.
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She debated internally with herself as to whether or not she should shoot him, but in doing so she turned her head and caught sight of something most peculiar: a projectile, although it looked more like a great streak of blue light, was approaching the ship at an alarming rate. So she teleported below deck, and the last thing she saw was the projectile changing course to cleanly impale Pryus on the mast.
Pryus, in response, threw his head back and started sputtering with laughter and coughing. After a few seconds he seemed to grow tired of it, and he melted away into shadow.
—
“Where’s Paracelsus?!” Serpacinno seized Tariq by the collar, lifting him against a wall in the alleyway she found him.
“I swear I don’t know!” He put his hands up in defense, “He rounded a corner, and I heard some people drag him away.”
She dropped Tariq and rubbed her hairline in exasperation. She crouched down in the alley, and had to fight with herself to not run down to the harbor and buy a ticket away from Bataine. Just as the thought entered her mind, however, it also occurred to her that running away was becoming something of a pattern for her.
Whenever anything gets hard, She clenched her fist, thinking, I always leave. Always. Am I really gonna run again?
Then, like a message from above, a few seconds later a small black raptor flew over to her and delivered her a note. The letter corroborated Tariq’s story, and she probably shouldn’t have been surprised that someone like Paracelsus had already made enemies.
“Sorry, kid,” She patted Tariq's shoulders, “I was just panicked. What’s the plan?”
“It’s alright, I’m -” He was cut off by the wooosh of a great arrow flying above his head. Then, he remembered what little he knew about Bataine, specifically, about its ‘guard dog’, “Stay down! That’s Sarabi.”
“I thought I -” Serpacinno fumbled in her pouch, “I thought I disarmed her. I’ll meet you later, at the inn; I need to find Gareland.”
—
“The captain will be back soon enough,” Silver warned, “Whatever plan you have - I’m in.”
“No plan, save him coming back with Georgia.” He offered back.
“You and I both know that’s not true, and the more you stall, the less likely I am to offer sympathy.”
“I don’t need your sympathy, just to uphold my end of the deal.”
“I can help!” Silver slammed her hand on the mast in frustration, “I’m planning to mutiny already, and I think our goals may be aligned here.”
Paracelsus stared at her for a good few seconds, weighing the decision in his mind. He eventually relented and clicked his teeth, “Truth be told, alcohol would help. Strongest you can find.”
“At a time like this?”
“Not for drinking,” He motioned her to lean closer, “I’ve designed a weapon to erupt a great jet of flame. I just need fuel, and I doubt you people have any fish oil.”
“And this weapon, is it microscopic?”
“If you don’t want to do this, feel free to bow out. Or just believe me.” Lorane nodded and ran below deck, retrieving a type of reinforced vodka for him. He nodded and stealthily put it behind his back. With that matter settled, he asked, “What reason do you have for this? I like to know what sorts I get into bed with.”
“I want his position.”
“Ahh.” Paracelsus clicked his tongue. So that was the sort he was making with. He knew it was foolish to hope to be involved in the company of goodfellows (almost as ridiculous as the thought that he was the arbiter of who qualified and who did not as a goodfellow), but he felt within his rights to hope.
Still, for now, this would serve his ends; but if there was one thing he knew about criminals, he knew that they loved to increase the cost of their ransom over time. If he was to help them now, they’d no doubt be asking again for his assistance at some later point - the only difference being that this time he’d be pushed beyond his limits.
He wouldn’t have too long to marinate on his thoughts, however, as McGraw shortly returned, and his face was the definition of quiet rage. His rage had given way to another storm, and the alchemist balked at it. Worse was that this insider smacked herself like she should’ve been able to see this coming.
“You’re playing me, boy,” McGraw wasted no time in striking him across the jaw again, “Start talking. Now.”
“Once upon a time,” Paracelsus had suddenly, and unseen by anyone except Silver, who was of a particularly observant sort, gotten his hands on some type of clear crystal, holding several in his palm, “I went to college. There, I became friends with a man named Georgia, who claimed to be studying something called ‘chemistry’. Apparently, it’s the study of materials, substances and other such things-”
He was whacked again, “Tell me the truth, now, or I will have your hide.” McGraw pulled out a large serrated knife to accentuate the point.
Paracelsus, meanwhile, took the opportunity to get his breath back. The cold desert night and rain meant the crystals hadn’t quite melted from his body heat yet, and he needed a few seconds more for his plan, “I’m getting to it. Apparently, as a chemist, he discovered something called ‘pyroglycerine’, which is normally liquid. At around sixty degrees, though, it melts. And do you know what is so important about this liquid?”
The captain had heard enough, and the storm was now becoming hazardous. His rage ultimately prevailed over his reason, and with a shout, he leapt toward the mast and thrust his knife forward. Paracelsus, meanwhile, saw his opportunity and undid his shackles, jumping to his feet and dodging, where McGraw had found his knife sheathed within the mast.
“It’s very sensitive,” He said, “That’s what’s so important.” And when it had finally liquidated, Paracelsus swung his arm in an arc toward the aft of the ship; the glycerine flew and landed on the hull, but the sudden impact set it off and the captain’s quarters were alight with a tremendous fireball and explosion that knocked all on their asses.
“Here,” Paracelsus, anticipating and bracing for the ringing in his ears, got his senses about him and handed the weapon he had talked about, loaded with a canister of the alcohol to Lorane, “You want his position? Take it yourself; we’re done.”
And just like that, he was gone.
—
“Parcelsus?” Gareland asked, “You’ve looked better.”
“I’ve felt better,” He walked with a limp, clutching his left hip, “Why aren’t you on the ship?”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” She started, but realized they weren’t alone, “But Serpacinno’s here. We’ll talk later.”
“You two found each other?” Said gorgon pointed between the two, who were both in their own way severely rattled, “Tariq’s waiting for us.”
The town was quite active as they made their way to their rendezvous, having been alerted by the plume of smoke rising from the harbor. Paracelsus grinned, confident that the first responders would not only discover the pirates, but bring a swift end to their piracy. With that comforting thought, they made the trek to the inn in relative quiet, spotting Tariq nervously pacing back and forth at the portico.
“Plan’s on?” He asked, having slipped the prerequisite actions to Tariq earlier.
“Plan’s on.” Tariq responded, just happy to have some security in that moment.