“Ellis, was it?” One of the people from earlier asked Paracelsus, now that they were safe inside what appeared to be a slum-lord’s paradise.

“The one and,” He doubled over to catch his breath, “Only. Wow, you people are athletic.”

They pulled down their hoods and revealed the secret of their athleticism; two brown rabbit ears sprouted from their heads, and it was suddenly all too obvious why they were so quick.

“I’m Anne-Marie Marseille,” The woman of the two replied, “This is my brother - Felix.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintances,” Paracelsus assured, “And, er - thank you for assisting me earlier.”

“As I said,” Felix butt in, “Any enemy of Copain’s is a friend of ours.”

“I think you might be mischaracterizing our relationship,” Paracelsus so eloquently put it, “It was a small disagreement, nothing major.”

“One that led to him threatening to arrest you.” Anne said. Paracelsus sputtered for a moment, trying to come up with a retort, but found himself unable to, “Now the question is - what happened?”

“You understand I’m a bit hesitant, yes?” He chuckled nervously, “I mean, I hardly know you folks.”

Then, getting a good idea, Felix’s eyes widened, and he produced three shot glasses from a cupboard. Digging further in, he found a bottle, nothing high quality, but of a very special make that was sure to turn strangers to friends. He filled each of the glasses to the brim.

The captain blew through his teeth, clearly unsure, but took it nonetheless. It tasted like piss, to be honest, it was clearly some type of poor hooch, “I appreciate the drink,” He threw it down, immediately recognizing that it had been spiked by cocaine, “If you really want to know - I stole a great sum of money from a merchant in Bataine. Poor form got me caught, and he’s trying to hold me until the marines come to pick me up.”

Anne whistled, leaning back after enjoying her own drink, “Damn, not bad. Care to share?”

“Not particularly, no,” He said, laying out a bill, “But I can pay for the drink.”

She shamelessly took the bill, stuffing it into her pocket; it was worth significantly more than all three of their drinks together. “So what brings you to Tannendile?”

“I’m only here temporarily,” He answered, “Just passing through on my way insea.”

“Give it up,” Felix sighed, annoyed, “It’s not going to work.”

“I beg pardon?” The captain asked.

“Anne-Marie,” Felix continued, unabated, “I tell you - it won’t work.”

“We know you’re lying,” The older sister gestured to her ears, “About your name. And about what you were talking about.”

“And if I am?” Paracelsus raised an eyebrow, gripping onto his waistband, which concealed an emergency pepper-box pistol.

“Calm down,” Anne told him, “We’re just interested in mutual cooperation.”

“My name is Paracelsus,” He admitted, still holding the weapon, “Now we know as much about each other as each other.”

—

“You were right, sir,” Farah saluted Graave, “Tariq’s the easiest to get at. He seems to see his captain as some sort of older brother, or perhaps father figure.”

“That’s your professional opinion?” The lieutenant asked sarcastically, and Taylor certainly didn’t appreciate it.

“My apologies, Lieutenant,” She turned her nose up and away, “I assumed you actually wanted to catch them.”

“Hah!” Peeares snorted, “She got you with that one, Lieutenant.”

Graave grumbled, annoyed, but continued on, “Regardless, that fails to provide us with an appropriate approach.”

“Why not just lift him? It wouldn’t be too hard.” The angel suggested.

“We have to obey the captain’s stipulation,” Graave countered, “Even including you two in this is stretching his goodwill.”

“I think the three of us should be sufficient,” Taylor suggested, “At least if we can catch him alone.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“If catching him alone was guaranteed, we’d have one of them already,” He sighed, this was looking to be a bit more complicated than he thought, “Do we know anything about any of them that might let us guess where they might be?”

The trio sat enraptured in thought, each of them with their own tics. Graave scratched his chin, Taylor tapped her lip, and Peeares sat there blankly. Then Taylor gasped, snapping her fingers.

“The fairy - she’s a devout Paacist, yes?” The other’s eye lit up in recognition, “Can we grab her at the Saturday sermon tomorrow?”

“Seems like a waste to have looked into Tariq then.” Peeares pondered.

“On the contrary,” His superior countered, “I think furthering our psychological profiling of them can only benefit us.”

—

“Is everything in place, Sally?” Allifer, a tall man of a darker complexion, with a greying blonde mane, asked, “I assume you’ve sent out the black letter?”

“Of course, of course,” She thought back to Paracelsus, “I think the people will enjoy it.”

They found themselves at the site of the gala to be held the following day, inspecting the grounds for one final go-about before preparations were to begin. Despite Lonceré speaking of it like it was an ill omen, the event was truly meant as a harmless celebration. Unfortunately, the politics of the city precluded this intent, and as such the organizers were worried about the potential of sabotage.

“I should hope so,” He was drinking directly from a barrel, using both of his strong arms to empty the container into his gullet, “We’re celebrating a great occasion, after all.”

The occasion in question was the recent passing of a referendum, officially recognizing the Bohemian lifestyle, specifically by re-allowing immigration from Gallore, a country to the north of Cartesia. The two nations had long been of a strenuous peace, preferring to stay out of each other’s way, rather than cooperate. Gallore’s recent admission to the Union, however, made their relationship difficult to maintain.

“Yes, yes,” Sally waved him off, “You forget my mother’s from Gallore.”

“I don’t forget,” Allifer lied, “I just want to make sure everything goes well.”

“Alfie,” Sally punched him in the shoulder, “You worry too much.”

“I worry too little,” He shook his head, “There’s so much that could go wrong. The refreshments could spoil, the musicians could strike -”

“And the buildings could collapse,” She added, “Or maybe the ground will open up and we’ll all be swallowed up by the devil.”

“I’m serious, Sally.” He sighed and leaned forward in his seat, putting his face in his hands, “All this stress is gonna make me go gray.”

You are gray, She kept to herself, “It’ll go off without a hitch.” She said.

—

“So, let me get this sorted -” Paracelsus made a gesture with his hand like he was encircling the whole conversation, “The ‘Contre-Force’ is clashing with the government of the city. They seek not to depose the current mayor, but… what, exactly?”

“We wish to weaken her support,” Anne-Marie explained, “So that none, not even the aristocracy or the clergy can enable her re-election.”

“At which point, the obvious front-runner would then be Bordeaux?” He asked, to which she nodded, “For a democratic dispute, it sure seems militant.”

She sighed, pouring herself another drink, “It didn’t start this way. It was always intended to be peaceful.”

“Then what changed?”

“The truth,” She whipped her head around as she quickly downed her second drink, “Is that I’m not qualified to speak on that. All I can say is that if you treat your citizens like dogs, they’ll have to bite back at some point.”

“It’s a shame,” He held his cup out for another drink, which he received speedily, “The mayor seemed like an amicable enough lady.”

“Well, that amiability is what got her elected.” She shrugged, “She promised change - seemed like a real champion of the hero. Then, as soon as she’s elected, she’s come down with some mystery affliction and scarcely leaves her office.”

“Certainly odd.”

“Certainly - but I’d like to swap topics now, if you wouldn’t mind,” The words were more of a demand than a request, “Domingue - where is he?”

“I swear I don’t know -” He put his knuckles against each-other, a common Paacist gesture for sincerity, “But I’m working on it.” The explanation would have to stand for now.

—

“Again.” Serpacinno, after a huff and a puff, said. The Shah, fully realized once more, took up a defensive pose, and the snake woman approached, silver sword aloft and arms covered in minor nicks and cuts. There was no point to training without consequence, after all. And the river made a nice backdrop for it.

When they were just at each other’s range, with the King barely having a longer reach, Serpacinno stopped and appraised her options. She deliberated for but a moment, and feinted a slice from the right, before abruptly changing angles as Bahmen went to block it. It was too late, and she was deflected anyway, followed by her opponent going on the offensive, batting away her defenses before his sword was at her neck.

“Dammit!” She shouted, throwing her weapon to the ground, before recentering herself and picking it back up, “Again.”

Opting not for a feign, but for an overwhelmingly fast strike, she pointed her sword forward and lunged. It was sidestepped, but she anticipated this and twisted her ankles to redirect her momentum. Then, she bore a wicked grin on her face as the silver made contact with his ghostly flesh, and for the first time in the hour they’d been sparring, he recoiled in pain with a hiss.

In response to the sensation, he redoubled his efforts - slicing at her and finally allowing her to truly be on the backfoot. To her credit, she did well against his shamshir, even if he was a bit more nimble, she was at least able to keep up with the current barrage. However, her relative lack of experience meant the Shah was able to pick up on a small gap in her swordplay - any attack on her left flank she was slower to react to.

“Dammit!” She lost her footing as she tried to pivot around his blows, and once more Serpacinno found herself on the ground, sword at her neck, and once more her pride was wounded. Standing there, offering her a hand, was Tariq, of all people. She was thankful regardless, though she would’ve never admitted it, and took it to stand.

“What’re you doing here?” She asked, dusting herself off and dismissing her sparring partner.

“Waiting for the captain.” He replied plainly.

“Course you are,” The swordswoman sighed, “You a queer or something?”

“No,” He chuffed, “My dedication isn’t motivated by romantic interests.”

“You’re even speaking like him.” She muttered under her breath.

“Don’t worry Tariq,” Both of them jumped when they heard Gareland’s voice, the fairy forcing herself to put on a cheery facade, “She’s just wary of competition.”

Before Serpacinno could indignantly reply in the negative, Paracelsus shouted, accompanied on either flank by some type of rabbit-person. They were all clearly drunk, with red faces and shaking, stumbling legs.

“Please tell me these aren’t new crewmates,” The first mate, observing their unserious faces and ragged clothes, observed, “No offense meant.”

“The Marseilles,” He continued, unabated by her protestation, “Anne-Marie and Felix. No, they’re not joining our crew,” He hiccuped into his hand, “We’re just helping each other out until we depart Cartesia.” He extended his hand, “So, Tariq?”

The helmsman handed his captain the planks of wood, and his captain in response broke them both open, finding the greyish crystals in the second.

“As I told you earlier -” He pointed to the siblings, getting a paper to write on, “This is how I get in contact with him; we go back quite some time, I’m sure he’ll respond.”

“Another friend from college?” Serpacinno asked.

“No - good guess, but no,” He replied, starting to write with great vigor, “You know I was involved with the Revolutionaries for a time. We were in the same section.” Then, he sat in thought for a moment, his hands not moving, “Though I suppose I did join the Revolutionaries when I was in college.”

“You say that like it’s normal.” Gareland added.

All the captain defended himself with was the simple declaration that “Everyone has their hobbies.”