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Admiral Bryce’s Autobiography, 20 P.C.
Not long after Francis entered his room, he fell asleep.
Yesterday’s terrible sleep schedule should’ve left him restless until sunrise—but it didn’t.
It was convenient.
Too convenient, in fact.
Almost like someone orchestrated it.
Suddenly, Francis found himself in the dreamscape she called home once more.
The setting wasn’t much different from last time: grass at every corner, waves crashing below, several attendees, and the woman herself in the seat of honor.
“Greetings, Most Exalted,” the attendees said in unison, catching him by surprise.
“Greetings,” Saint Agnes said, nonchalant as ever. “Your invocations have indeed reached me, as they always do.”
So that’s how it works.
“Lina,” Saint Agnes started. “Any new developments in Grenada?”
Francis didn’t know if the Saint genuinely had no clue or if it was her way of summarizing what happened, and he didn’t want to ask.
“Rumor has it that Edward Teach has acquired a Saint-level artifact, though the Shanty is up in the air.”
“What?” Francis shouted, drawing everyone’s attention.
That would’ve never happened under normal circumstances, but the timeline was too elaborate.
“Got anything to say, Francis?” Saint Agnes asked, thankfully ignoring his informal attitude.
“This is just a hunch,” Francis explained. “But my crew and I were smuggling an artifact to Grenada before everyone just… disappeared.”
His words turned the mood solemn.
“Disappeared?” the short-haired woman said, baffled.
“You’re paraphrasing a bit, aren’t you?” Lina said, clearly as confused as everyone else.
Francis was too embarrassed to say the truth, but it was better than withholding information from Saint Agnes and her entourage.
“I was ambushed by a spy before getting knocked unconscious,” he explained, feeling ashamed for the first time in a while. “I’m not sure why, but she spared my life.”
That only served to make the atmosphere more suffocating, at least until Saint Agnes broke it.
“Did anything about her stand out?”
“Not much, aside from looking Irish.”
“Figures,” the Saint said with a sigh. “Only the Apostolic See can operate in such a manner.”
“But, Most Exalted,” Lina said hurriedly. “Where does Blackbeard fit into this?”
“It’s simple, truly. The pirate responsible for escorting the artifact saw the ambush coming and ran for dear life,” Saint Agnes explained, drawing a few nods of realization.
“Shanty of Cognition?” one of the men asked.
“Introspection, to be more specific,” Saint Agnes added. “The third Stanza is always a potent one.”
Third Stanza?
“He said he was merely an Acolyte,” Francis exclaimed, inwardly cursing his na?veté.
“In all fairness,” Saint Agnes replied, “it’s a covert Stanza. Not like he can shoot lightning from his fingertips in an emergency.”
That should’ve been reassuring enough, but Francis still regretted not seeing it sooner. The insidious pirate must have been planning such a betrayal for a while now. He wasn’t reckless enough to defy Valeria without a plan.
Then again, can I even claim to know him?
“It matters not,” Saint Agnes added. “Not much will change as long as it’s not a Dominion artifact.”
“With all due respect, Most Exalted,” Francis said, bracing for a fireball, “how did you reach that conclusion?”
The Saint laughed lightly. “Trust me, Francis. If such a thing existed, I would feel it from an ocean away.”
The mention of Saint Agnes’ powers reminded Francis of someone unlike her in vastness, even if his appearance was far less dignified.
“There is something else I would like to discuss.”
“By all means,” Saint Agnes said, leaning back.
Suddenly, Francis felt… confused. He knew he was about to say something, yet the details were a haze. It was only after the Saint spoke once more that he collected himself.
“Go on,” Saint Agnes said.
What was he going to say?
“I… forgot,” Francis replied, a shiver running down his spine. How did he forget? He couldn’t recall a single detail. It didn’t make any sense.
“Happens to the best of us,” Saint Agnes said in slight amusement.
An amusement that seemed fake. What happened wasn’t natural—not by a long shot.
And if it could surpass her divination, there was no telling what it couldn’t do.
“Regardless,” Saint Agnes added, “does any of you have anything to add?”
“Yeah,” Lina said casually. “Francis. When are you coming to Grenada?”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
That, in turn, made everyone stare at him once more.
Am I becoming famous?
“Turns out the town I’m in isn’t as dull as I first thought,” he said honestly. “I’ll inform you once I’m done exploring its secrets.”
“Fair enough,” Lina said with a shrug. “Just try your best to hurry. I have plenty of tasks that require both skill and secrecy.”
And coins, I hope.
Thankfully, the topic shifted to matters concerning the other members. Some sought artifacts, others requested intel. It was mostly pointless, however, as most items were out of reach.
***
Eventually, Saint Agnes bid them farewell before snapping her fingers.
Unlike last time, Francis lingered. Alone. Or rather, alone with an apex predator.
“Did you recall the topic of discussion from earlier?” Saint Agnes asked from her seat of honor.
“I… still can’t,” Francis replied truthfully.
The Saint shifted slightly. “Do you at least remember anything noteworthy about Orange Town?”
Francis tried to come up with something outside the ordinary by global standards, as everything was bizarre in comparison to his home island.
“The medium-sized town is under the control of a Pirate Warlord.”
“Nothing new under the sun,” she replied dismissively. “What else?”
Fortunately, Leonie’s assignment was still fresh in his memory.
“I received a report about a… contaminated area that caused anyone who drew near to fall ill,” Francis explained, hoping the information proved useful. “Some even died in the process.”
“Huh,” Saint Agnes said thoughtfully. “Must be a new Shanty.”
A new what now?
She chuckled. “You genuinely assumed the number was finite? Just look at how vast the ocean is.”
The prospect was mind-numbing. The sea was unpredictable, even with the Shanties they already grasped. The last thing the new bounty hunter needed was getting ambushed by something beyond comprehension.
“That’s… unsettling.”
“It shouldn’t be,” Saint Agnes replied confidently. “You’ll get it once you become a Saint.”
“Your confidence in me is flattering,” he replied humbly.
“No,” she interjected. “Just a simple fact. The fourth Stanza will guarantee as much—if you’re not reckless.”
A Shanty that granted the easiest yet also hardest path to maritime sainthood. The irony didn’t escape Francis, as he noticed how his current life was the perfect foil.
“Assuming you’re done with self-pity, that will be all for now,” Saint Agnes interrupted.
I hate Divination.
***
Francis didn’t know when he returned to the real world, but he figured it was no fewer than hours ago, as he vaguely remembered a few dreams in between.
The fact that he felt refreshed despite the sun not fully rising yet was rather perplexing, but he paid it no heed, assuming it was the work of the Saint.
Francis, my dear.
You have terrible sleep, I hear.
Well, have no fear.
For Agnes shall fix your drear.
The suicide attempt was an excellent one, but unfortunately, the Saint either didn’t hear him or didn’t care enough to address it, leaving him with the investigation at hand.
“No rest for the wicked,” he said with a sigh as he began packing. The new method was a far cry from the old, making him feel oddly nostalgic.
Not long ago, all he had to defend himself was a dagger and an artifact he barely understood. Now his mere existence was a weapon.
One that could easily be turned into an artifact.
The irony would’ve been laughable, assuming the punchline wasn’t his death.
Francis pushed the nonsense aside and filled the bag with a waterskin, some dry food that didn’t taste like cobblestone, the intel, and, of course, his trusty dagger—as one never knew when Shanties could falter.
“Looks like I’ll make it to the rank of Saint if I keep that logic intact.”
Bag settled, Francis took a deep breath and walked out the door.
This time, however, there was no town to hide from.
No pirates to lie to.
No partner to mislead in the name of the greater good.
The early morning quiet made the stairs creak loudly, making him pray no one heard it.
Sadly, his prayers were in vain, as a door not far from his creaked open.
“Someone is an early bird,” Leonie said as she walked closer, her voice still groggy.
“Makes the two of us,” Francis replied in amusement.
“I only woke up because a certain someone was loud,” she shot back, playful tone betraying her words.
“Sorry, dear. It’s the price you have to pay for four hundred silver.”
Leonie held her chest in mock offense. “You miscreant! How could you insinuate that my sleep is worth less than four hundred silver?”
Perhaps I don’t have to lie to everyone, after all.
The thought turned more longing than intended, leading him to bid the woman farewell and leave in haste.
Another minute or two, and he was going to pounce on her.