“And this was called what?” Gareland asked, inspecting what appeared to be a vase, albeit with four hoses attached to it.

“Hookah, ma’am.” The salesman said proudly, “For smoking. With friends.”

She stroked her chin in thought. She never smoked before, much less with friends! Was it the “necessary purchases” she’d been instructed to get? Probably not, but then again, she already got enough food, powder, wood and shot for two months. What would be the harm in getting this? After all, Paracelsus had clearly expressed his desire for them to be friends, and she heard sharing a drink was the perfect way to do it. Smoking was therefore number two, as far as she was concerned.

Wait, hadn’t she already drank with them? No, she rationalized, That was just commiserating. You had to get inebriated, happily, for it to act as a solid foundation to a relation… ship. The ship! She knew where to hide it and wait for the perfect opportunity. She giggled to herself, pleased with her mischief as she bought the hookah.

She struggled to articulate it, hell even just admitting it was hard - but recently, she found herself growing attached to the people she assumed were just pirates. They had a certain legitimate atmosphere, the kind that was hard to find in the world of business. Paracelsus and Serpacinno were just real with each other. She knew they’d only been around each other for a week before they met her, but it felt almost wrong to invade upon them. But in that wrongness lie her desire - they had an undeniable connection, and connection was something she lacked.

Which made the decision so frustrating! She knew that she would be leaving a comfortable life behind if she decided to travel with them; but the alternative was a life where she would always be looking over her shoulder, where she couldn’t rest without a man standing guard.

A life where she would never have the chance to see her brother again.

Maybe that was the rationalization; maybe she didn’t care for these criminals at all and was just using them as a means to get to her brother. She knew it was a lie, but it comforted her regardless.

—

“Can’t you make a torch?” Serpacinno asked in a rare moment of thinking ahead.

“No,” Paracelsus rubbed his arm in embarrassment, even though no one could see it, “A torch requires oil. I can’t make liquids like that.”

“Seems like your gift is a real headache.” She exhaled, giving them at least some light to defend themselves against the darkness.

“It can be.” He admitted. In ways you’ll never know, he thought to himself.

She grabbed him by the wrist, or at least he hoped it was she, and led him back the way she figured they came. Her sense of direction proved as infallible here as it was at sea, and they were at the mouth of the mausoleum. All things considered, this mission had gone shockingly well - no marine chasing them, no pirates assaulting them. Hell, the guarda that Paracelsus expected to be waiting for them wasn’t!

“So, please enlighten me - what exactly is the purpose of the trinket you got?” His paranoia still required him to scan the graveyard for any lingering threats.

She rang it… Nothing. The sound was dull, which should be obvious given it was a ceramic bell. However, after a few seconds, when the last lingering echoes of noise dissipated, a shape began to form some ten feet from them. It started off wavy, giving the vague impression of a bipedal creature. Slowly but surely, it became less and less abstract, and Paracelsus saw a man standing in front of them; he was tall and slender, and wore beautiful armor, chainmail, save the helmet, but adorned with purple and blue robes.

“Shah Bahmen.” She offered her hand to the apparition, but it made no movement - either handshakes weren’t a thing in his culture, or his soul, or whatever this was, had no consciousness.

Just as he made this realization, he heard the sound of an arrow flying, and he grabbed Serpacinno by the neck to make both of them duck. The arrow went clean through the Shah, and struck the mausoleum behind them, right where the gorgon’s head just was.

“Shah Bahmen!” She repeated, more powerfully, “You will fight for us!”

The ghost obeyed, drawing his long, curved sword and gliding towards the assailant. The only issue was the attacker’s invisibility, which allowed him to swiftly and continuously reposition to attack them from a seemingly endless number of angles. The ghost wasn’t faring well - he was invulnerable, sure, but was nonetheless powerless to catch up to the sniper before he was gone.

“He’s jumping from tomb to tomb.” Paracelsus observed the lack of any imprint on the grass. He conjured a dragon behind his back.

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“That’s great,” Serpacinno blocked another shot with her shield, just barely, “But how does that help us?”

The alchemist watched, patiently. He knew roughly the path the crossbower was taking, and waited until he was on a nearer grave to enact his plan. The unseen fighter fired a shot that he deemed close enough, and after waiting a second for him to reach the edge, Paracelsus took a gamble on when and where he would jump. He knew he’d only get this one chance to shoot, and did so, aiming for the air between the two tombs.

“Dammit!” The assassin cried in a rough tone, his leg now hemorrhaging as he tumbled to the ground.

“You chase him,” He handed his partner a pair of rudimentary handcuffs, “I need to check and see if any co-conspirators are at our boat.”

She nodded and set off, watching her captain find and subsequently mount the same camel they’d arrived on. Even though he was still mostly invisible, the trail of blood the assassin was leaving made for enough evidence to give chase.

She kept on his heels, closing in on him, until she saw the blood go around a corner. Serpacinno let her ghost take point, and when an arrow whizzed through him, she grinned wickedly. She probably had at least five seconds before he could fire again, so she made the most of the time by sidling around the corner, shield raised in front of her just to be sure. When no clink came, she replaced the shield for a sword and charged towards the enemy.

This particular sword was her trusted falchion, on the larger, heavier side and with a single, straight edge which she surmised would be better against the nimbleness of swords like the one the Shah used. She traded blows a few times, and was impressed with her adversary’s ability to fight against her and her apparition at once.

“What’re you attacking me for?” She asked, trying to thrust past his defense. Normally she wouldn’t have cared for the particulars of a fight - all that mattered was survival. Recently though, she started to learn the importance of looking ahead.

“Why should I answer you?” He grunted as he (assumedly) deflected a blow from Bahmen, his accent thicker than the others she’d met.

She found an opening based off the sparks from their clash, and she took full advantage of it to drive her blade into his - well she didn’t have an exact destination in mind, but it found purchase in his shoulder, “Because I could cut off your arm.”

“Don’t play coy.” He responded. This response was followed swiftly by a darkening in Serpacinno’s vision. She started breathing faster and shallower, and her lungs started aching. She fell to her knee, gripping onto the sword for leverage, but she was rapidly losing the strength to do even that.

She used the last of said strength to twist the sword, and her opponent fell to the ground. As if on cue, she was able to breathe again and she hacked at the sudden influx of oxygen. She then wondered why this fight wasn’t more one-sided, what with it being a two against one.

“Shit.” The answer became evident when she saw her opponent’s invisibility failing; he was holding a silver dagger, which meant he knew what was going on. Bahmen was clearly hesitant, or perhaps it wasn’t even a conscious decision, and was instead a matter of simple chemical repellant.

With her falchion now indisposed, she changed strategies, once again taking out her shield and rushing towards him. His face, obscured by a similar chainmail veil as the Shah’s, morphed into one of confusion as she powered through her asphyxiation. She bore a wicked grin on her face as she parried a blow from his actual sword and was forced to respond with his dagger.

“Gotcha.” She decided to spend precious air on taunting him as she caught the dagger with her hand, biting her tongue almost hard enough to sever it, all in service of bearing the pain of feeling the blade pierce clean through her palm. She gripped the handle, and used his momentary confusion to wrest it from him. Dagger still “in-hand”, she punched him across the face.

This was all the opening the Shah needed to grab her sword, toss it toward her, and bring his own blade to the assassin’s neck. “Kill me.” He said, defiance showing in what she could see of his eyes, “I’ll never do what you want.”

Serpacinno kicked him onto his stomach and bound his hands behind his back after removing the dagger, “Who said I wanted you to do anything?”

“You’re not with the Medines?” He spat, struggling against the bindings.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.” She replied, pulling out gauze to wrap around her hand, which she realized was going to become useless if she kept catching blades like that.

“Bullshit! Why are you after that bell?” He started thrashing harder, unable to accept the reality of his defeat. She examined it once again, ringing it to dissipate the Shah she was just relying on. Her face was contemplative, unsure if she should talk to someone who, for all she knew, was buying time for backup to arrive. “I admit defeat.” He grumbled, ceasing his movements.

“I needed a teacher.” Confiscating his weapons, she started walking in the direction of the entrance of the graveyard, “Couldn’t have asked for a better one.”

He chuckled, “On that, we agree.” He forced his face up, unwilling to eat dirt at her feet, “Untie me, let’s talk.”

She stopped, only to laugh uproariously at the suggestion, “So you can choke and kill me?”

“I apologize!” He pleaded, now fully willing to eat dirt, “You’re not who I thought you were!”

Serpacinno found this dilemma most puzzling. She had to admit, she was never a great judge of character. The worst case scenario was that she trusted him and he managed to kill her, and most probably at least one of Gareland and Paracelsus. Why she was worrying about them at the moment, she wasn’t sure. What she was sure about, however, was that the bell was aching, as though trying to signal that she should trust him.

“What’s your name?” She lightly pushed him over onto his back, and helped him sit up.

“Tariq bin Menir.” Tariq replied, standing up, “Why aren’t you uncuffing me?”

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, Mr. bin-Menir,” Her pronunciation was horrible, probably on purpose because of the whole stabbing her business, “I’m gonna take you back to my ship, where my captain will decide what to do with you. I don’t think I need to explain what happens if you try to run, do I?”

Tariq shook his head, and he cursed - under his breath - his luck; he could only hope this captain was a reasonable man who would listen to him. As they boarded a camel, even if he was in front, he still looked behind him, his eyes fixated on the bell.

As the port came into view, he thought a prayer in his mind for his ancestor’s spirit.