Not long after speaking with Ferrero, Adam got his chance to talk with Serena, the master of communications. However, this conversation was far more brusque and rushed than the previous one. It started when the heavily-cloaked woman suddenly approached him, holding one arm to the side as if brandishing a powerful weapon.
With a crow atop her shoulder.
“My lord, a moment?” Serena’s voice was raspy, low, and cracked intermittently as she spoke. He still couldn’t see her face, but Adam felt more convinced than ever that she was quite old. “May I show you a message I received earlier?”
“Of course,” Adam said. “What is it?”
He looked between her and the raven, unsure where the message was hidden. To his surprise, neither animal nor woman produced any parchment. Instead, the bird spread its wings wide and raised its dark eyes to meet Adam’s.
That...is not a normal raven, he thought, despite never having imagined what a raven’s eyes looked like before. It was more of a feeling than a consideration – albeit a correct one, as just a moment later, the creature began to speak.
‘There is a Hangman following this ship. He is flying after you, in pursuit, and appears to hold some sort of Winged Talent. Be vigilant.’
Adam stared at the talking raven with a blank expression. While part of him wanted to shout and wave his arms in cartoonish shock, he was somewhat numb to surprises by now – not to mention that he knew it was better to keep his composure in times like this. “Ah, yes,” he slowly said. “You are the Master of Communications...I suppose that’s what this means?”
“Letters get lost easily, and even when they arrive safely, words can only carry across so much meaning. My birds need not even land and convey exact phrases. Simply by being close to another bird, they may...” She shook her head. “The matter at hand, my lord. The Hangman is coming.”
His first instinct was to ask how she knew of the Hangman, but he stopped himself; the fact that her Talent was Communications likely served as its own explanation. “I suppose he is.”
It was a little surprising that the Hangman was this dedicated to chasing after him. Adam had really thought they’d have more of a lead – and that the ship wouldn’t be so easy to track. “He should lose us once we reach the Mines, though. Even a Hangman can’t get in there.”
Serena examined him, then continued speaking in that hoarse voice of hers. “Do you not regret attracting a Hangman to a ship where innocents hope to find refuge from the Empire?”
“No. I’ll make up for that inconvenience by capturing the monster that’s been killing passengers.”
“Ah...yes, yes...you wish to stop that?” Serena sounded amused, yet pleased. Adam noted that she wasn’t making any effort to hide her knowledge of the disappearances. “I welcome you to try, my lord. But remember that there are monsters our kind cannot hope to defeat with mere truth.”
Adam felt the Stained Ink within him swirl once more, a sudden jet of ice that coursed through his veins.
The coldness remained long after the woman had left.
--
The last person Adam needed to speak to was the easiest to find – being easy to locate was an intrinsic byproduct of his job. Still, considering how much they were imposing on the man by boarding his ship and making him a target for the Hangman, it would probably be awkward to bring up the misfortunes happening aboard. If nothing else, it would’ve been a bit rude.
“Captain Baltsar,” Adam began, “passengers are disappearing from your ship. Why haven’t you done anything to stop it?”
Rudeness was allowed when people were dying.
“My lord, it...it’s not as easy as you think.” The captain diverted his gaze. “Consider my position. I may be a man of the Empire, but my fealty is not to the man who wears the crown.”
“Speak plainly.”
“I’m a wanted man, my lord. Even without accounting for my trips to the Puppet Mines, this ship...well, it might’ve been a gift from the late Emperor, but he died before he could, uh, officially note it as such.”
Adam doubted that the captain was being completely truthful and accurate. Still, the fine details didn’t really concern him – at least at this moment. “Is that your excuse for letting people die?” Adam insisted. “Because you couldn’t get help from anyone?”
“No excuse, no my lord, only plain facts! What else could I have done?”
“Mercenaries,” Adam said promptly. “You could’ve hired additional security. A couple extra sets of eyes to watch over the people you’re ferrying across.”
“That would’ve been just as dangerous – if not worse!” Baltsar’s plea was too high-pitched for a man of his age and size. “Can you imagine how difficult it’d be to find mercenaries that are comfortable working with Puppets? Especially to the point of escorting people directly to the Mines.”
“Orbs could convince them.”
“But the past says differently!” Baltsar corrected. “While I don’t dare presume to remind my lord of Imperial happenings...surely the incidents with the Esperança and the Avião de Fogo should give you pause. Hired mercenaries slaughtered their crews and burned the bodies to the last, all to prevent people from having the chance to become Puppets. Now I’m the only captain left who dares transport anyone to the Mines!”
This was one of those moments where Adam forced himself to pause and remain outwardly arrogant – while internally considering that perhaps, in his deliberate artistic haste, he might’ve fucked up just a tad.
Although Baltsar spoke of those incidents like they were common knowledge, Adam, naturally, had never heard of them before. If people despised Puppets so much that they’d commit massacres to prevent the creation of more of their kind...maybe the captain’s logic actually held up.
Didn’t mean Adam could admit that, though. “So you can use reason after all,” the painter wryly said, acting as if he’d known the whole time. “Tell me, then. Did you think of any other ways to protect these innocents?”
“I, I did! Give me but a moment!”
Captain Baltsar quickly produced a set of old parchments from his pocket. Even before he unfurled them, Adam could tell there was something strangely familiar about them. Where had he seen – ah! They look just like what Aspreay used to confirm my Talent, he thought, recalling the parchment from before.
“Here, my lord,” the captain said, holding the papers up as if they were shields to protect himself from Adam’s wrath. “Please, look, the proof of my efforts!”
Antonio Baltsar — Ship Captain
The Talented may navigate a ship toward its destination by only touching the wheel, without any more manual control. They are also aware of this ship’s damages, capabilities, and the like. The Talented may also move this ship towards their Captain’s Badge.
Cursed Door
This door can only be unlocked by its matching key. Breaking the door or removing it will cause the key to disintegrate. The Cursed, Antonio Baltsar, will lose a limb should the key or door be destroyed. This key can only be held by humans. Puppets, Stained Creatures, or those affected by Rot are unable to grab or use the key in any way.
The ‘Azul Brilliante’
— Captain: Antonio Baltsar
Unless allowed by its captain, no living being may enter or leave the ship while it is in motion. The surrounding barrier is nearly as strong as a Lord’s Domain. The corpse of a creature that entered the ship while alive is subjected to the same rules.
Adam read it all dispassionately, but carefully. This was far more detailed than what Aspreay had managed to glean of his Painter Talent, that was for sure. Back then, Aspreay mentioned that Talent-detecting parchment was on the expensive side, so a version that was more advanced would likely have to be even more expensive.
Or it’s a fake. Fortunately, checking that was easy enough.
Without bothering to explain himself, Adam withdrew his tablet and held it near each of the major points of interest: the key in the captain’s hand, Baltsar himself, and the very ship they were aboard. The results exceeded his expectations. As it turned out, Captain Baltsar’s parchment was a match for the information displayed on his tablet.
An exact match. Down to the letter.
Who’s writing these instructions? Adam wondered. The thought had come to him once or twice in the past, yet never stayed for more than a fleeting moment. Now, though...seeing identical wording on both his tablet and Baltsar’s parchment was curious. It felt as if an actual person had written them; like a magic system codified into text.
What came first – the magic or the text? Did they both spawn into existence at the same time? And most importantly, who was responsible for these writings?
Just then, his Stained Ink stirred once again, a sort of swirling feeling as though there was an ocean inside of him. Invisible waves crashed against rocks that never were, and Adam felt a chill creep up his spine.
Do not peer further, Painter.
Adam didn’t hear the voice so much as felt it. Words without a voice, they echoed with an aura of overwhelming superiority, to the point where they became less of a threat and more of a warning. Like a grandmaster cautioning a beginner not to make a mistake and lose the game before it had even begun.
Sorry. I’m the kind of guy who learns by experience. Fearing for his memory, he wrote down—
Adam’s Notes on the Painted World
— Someone is responsible for the descriptions of the magic system, and how it is used.
— The being that brought me to this world does not want me to investigate further.
This would do for now.
“My lord?” Baltsar asked. “You’ve been looking at the evidence I provided for, um, quite a while now. Does it satisfy you?”
“It satisfies that you have been attempting to reduce the number of casualties,” Adam conceded. “Not much else. Does that key mean anything in specific?”
“Every missing person thus far has come from the lower deck, my lord. Far be it from me to suspect my most frequent passengers, but...” Baltsar trailed off with a meaningful pause. “Do you understand?”
“I do.” Adam studied the papers once more. “So you really have been trying to prevent deaths in your own way, huh?”
Baltsar laughed sadly. “My lord, to be blunt – if I cannot be described as a dashing rogue, it is only because my good looks have gone with my youth, if they were ever there. When his Highness Prince Tenver names me as an Imperial man, he is being too kind. I was born a pirate, and will die as one. My time serving the Empire was but a brief distraction from my time flaunting its laws.”
Adam raised an eyebrow at Baltsar’s deathly-serious tone. “And that should convince me of your intentions?”
“I tell you this, my lord, so that you know I put on no airs when saying this: I wish not for a single death to occur. No family should ever bear to lose their child. My son...” He hesitated, his voice catching in his throat. “He is no longer with us.”
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“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Baltsar shook his head. “It is the way of the world sometimes, my lord. Even the Imperial family isn’t immune to tragedies, so why would I be?” he laughed. “And so I sail this river of blood, because it is the most that a dastardly pirate like myself can do. Can I save the world? Nay, my lord, nay. Yet I can ferry twenty people per trip to the Puppet Mines. Sometimes, one of them must die, and this heart of mine breaks a little more.”
He clenched his fists. “But if not for these dangerous travels of ours, they would die in the Empire regardless! What is a single man to do?”
“More,” Adam said, firmly. He turned around. “Whenever you don’t feel quite right...do more. Whatever it is. Until you’re content with who you are.”
The captain was silent as the painter walked away. With his hand on the doorknob, Adam stopped, adding one last thing. “For what it’s worth...I believe you don’t want any more deaths to happen. That much, I’m sure of.”
He left without looking to see Baltsar’s reaction.
--
Adam drew in a deep breath as he opened the door to his cabin, holding it instead of exhaling. There was always the chance that someone was hiding around the corner, and he’d rather not look like he was exhausted. Mostly because he actually was pretty tired – the worst thing you could do when surrounded by hidden enemies is to appear weak. He would only grant himself the luxury of a heavy sigh when was safely away from prying eyes.
When Adam stepped inside his room, though, he found his exhale turning into a drawn-out, quizzical, “Huuuuuuh.” He hadn’t known what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.
Solara had taken over the lone desk in the bedroom, placing a number of tools and figures atop almost every inch. She was hunched over a set of them, eyeing one figure in particular with intense concentration, appearing to deliberate between two spots on the table to position it. The figures themselves varied in shape and form. Some looked humanoid enough, but others looked closer to monsters, nearly as big as houses.
Is she...wargaming? Adam’s immediate thought was that he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Solara talked often about killing the Emperor; it made sense that she’d prepare for a potential war.
His next thought, however, came when he recognized some of the other tools she’d gathered. Rulers, paintbrushes, and ink bottles. Wait, is this some kind of game?
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Are you painting those?’
Solara whirled around in surprise, nearly knocking over one of the bottles. She frantically glanced to her sides, realizing exactly how much Adam could see, and then looked at him with a faint blush on her cheeks and ice in her eyes. Her fierce stare seemed almost to say, ‘How dare you see me like this?’, as if placing the blame entirely on him.
That lasted just a short few seconds. Afterwards, her shoulders sank, and she shrugged, graciously accepting her defeat in their unspoken argument. “Everyone needs something to do beyond merely existing, Lord Adam.” she said, diverting her gaze. “Espada-de-Guerra is the sort of game that steals far too much of your time. Painting these figures is...it takes more than a few moments.”
“Trust me,” Adam muttered, “I know.”
“You do?” Solara looked up. “Have you played it?”
“No, but some friends have asked me to paint things for them before.” One of his best side-hustles in college had been to paint figures for acquaintances who played Warhammer and other games like it. While he’d occasionally charged them for it, mostly he was content with them buying the paints and letting him keep the extras. So many acrylics. Adam himself wasn’t remotely rich enough to actually play the thing. “Would you like some help?”
Solara eyed him, suspiciously at first, then hesitantly, and finally with a fatalistic half-smirk. “Ah, why not? Sit down.” She pulled up a chair that he didn’t remember being in their room before. “You don’t mind, my lord?”
“I probably said this already, but you’re free to call me Adam.” He sat down. “It’s exhausting to be called lord all the time, and I’ve seen how you speak when you’re stressed.”
“No less exhausting than it is to call someone by titles all the time,” Solara dryly stated. She studied one of her figures, but did not paint it, instead turning it over a few times. “Yet as I’ve said before, etiquette does not come naturally to me. If I start dropping it in private, I fear the same might happen in public.”
“Suit yourself.” Adam turned his own attention to the figures. They’d been meticulously carved out of wood, each of them looking more detailed and precise than anything he’d seen people 3D print back in college. How expensive was all this? “If you ask me though, you should let some of yourself out of that bottle. Means you’re less likely to overflow in public by accident.”
“Mayhap there’s some truth to that.” Solara put on a bitter smirk. When she spoke again, the words came out casually, but not naturally. “Careful with those. Getting paint off of them is a pain.”
“I bet,” Adam remarked, turning over one of her finished figures. “Do you need a knife or something?” Don’t think you’d have a dremel or its equivalent here. “Maybe some acetone – I mean, some liquid to remove the – wait no, this is wood. Do you even use primers with wood figures?”
“My way of repainting it is to not screw up in the first place,” Solara harshly said, although she smiled at the end. “Make sure to add a base layer coat first, it helps with the—”
“—Vaguely watercolor look? Yeah, no worries. Been there.”
The two painted in near silence for a time. While they did speak often enough, it was mostly about their work, only occasionally making a small joke or two to lessen the awkwardness of the experience. Painting figures was a solitary activity for most people, and Solara was no exception.
Adam also couldn’t help but think about how little he really knew her. I know her dreams and tragedies, he thought, glancing at her. I know the unspeakable massacre she witnessed as a child. I also know what she hopes to accomplish in life. It’s sufficient to give me the idea of who she is as a person.
But not everything. There was more to a person than their morality; that was a lesson Aspreay had taught him.
Although it was common to hear that people had shades of gray to them, Adam found that even this was simplifying things too much. People had more colors to them than just their sense of good and evil. Things like passions and hobbies were usually ignored in favor of discussing what ideology someone stood for. Most people, however, spent more of their lives doing what they loved – not killing and dying for what they believed in.
Those colors mattered a lot.
As Adam looked at Solara idly painting her figures, he couldn’t help but remember what that otherworldly voice had asked him when he entered the Painted World.
‘What color is your soul?’
Even right now, Adam didn’t really know. If he was being honest, the closest thing to an answer he could give was that his soul was still unpainted. Yet lately, with everything that had happened on this odd journey of his...he thought he would start doing some coloring. Whether he wanted to or not.
Wonder if that’s why I can’t understand Tenver. I keep asking what’s black, white, and gray – but I don’t know what color his walls are. What does he do when he’s not murdering people and playing political games?
“I needed a way to stave off insanity,” Solara said, after a few hours. “Some way to pass the time while locked in my tower. This game is the perfect time sink.”
Adam tried extremely hard not to ask whether this was the main thing she’d brought with her. They’d traveled light, carrying only what each could bring on their backs. Then again, he had brought painting supplies over more practical concerns, so he wasn’t in a position to judge. “You played often?”
“No, I mostly just painted figures and read books on its lore.” Solara shook her head, then continued in a quiet, nostalgic voice. “Father played with me a couple times, even if he never quite understood the rules.”
“No one else was interested?”
“Believe it or not, socializing with an elf wasn’t high up on the courtiers’ list of favorite activities.” Surprisingly, Solara didn’t sound bitter when she said that.
Adam pondered that for a moment. “What about the other elves? I thought Vasco made Gama somewhat of a haven for them.”
“Socializing with me wasn’t high up on their list either.” This time, she did sound bitter. “They are thankful to Father for what he did, but at the same time, they resent him for his family’s actions that day. They resent most humans. To them, I am so tainted by humanity I may as well not pray to the forest with them...not that they’ll say it to my face.”
He nodded, understanding a bit better how she hadn’t gone insane being locked in that tower for so long. Solara had grown accustomed to loneliness long before then. Adam could relate to that, even if he used to have Eric around. Little good that did me.
Spouting a platitude like ‘I understand’ wouldn’t help, though. There was no amount of comfort or empathy he could show her that would make her past sting less. But there were things he could say to make the present more enjoyable. “I’d be willing to learn the rules,” he said, slowly. “If you’re willing to teach.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him. “There’s the disappearances of the passengers to discuss. Should we not focus on that?”
He considered the point, then shook his head. “While I do enjoy black and white, I also want more color to my paintings than that,” he said, chuckling softly to himself. “Otherwise, I’d crash hard if I kept at it for too long. Need a distraction now and then. We can work tomorrow. Not like there’s anything else we can do right now.”
Solara hesitated for just a moment. When she spoke, it was in a more excited tone than what he’d heard her use up until then. “Very well. My lord, Adam—listen, first you need to measure the distance between...”
--
Adam would be proven right the very next day.
No, even sooner – he was proven right that very night, after they’d all gone to sleep. Moments earlier, he’d been happily learning more about Solara’s game, listening to her babble on about why it was played using a ruler. Now he was blissfully sleeping, having not thought about noble duties, murders, and monsters for the first time in a long while. Perhaps for the first time since he arrived in the Painted World.
It didn’t last long.
In his dreams, he was visited by a Stained Voice.
“Good dusk, Painter. I have already killed who I needed to. If you agree not to pursue me, I will not murder again until you have left. Do you agree to these terms?”