"The witch called LeFay, for instance, has weaponized the sea itself."
Admiral Bryce's Autobiography, 20 P.C.
"Now, shall we begin?" Saint Agnes asked, not waiting for an answer.
"Can I go first?" the short-haired woman said.
"By all means," Saint Agnes shrugged.
"I've been stationed in Havana as of late, so I wasn't able to gather much intel," the woman began, "but the Apostolic See appears to be frantically investigating something." That revelation seemed unsurprising to most of those present.
"No kidding. It's been just as tense here in London," the woman with dark brown hair and brown skin added.
Asking for clarification would've been the sensible thing to do, but Francis didn't want to seem ignorant, so he kept his questions to himself.
"What would they even be looking for?" the gruff man from earlier wondered, earning no meaningful response.
"Regardless of what it is, it presents an opportunity for us to act," Saint Agnes declared, drawing the group's full attention.
"What can we do, Most Exalted?" the blonde woman asked.
Good question. What could they do? Saint Agnes seemed capable of feats most Submerged would consider mythical. Then again, Francis quickly reminded himself that she wouldn't have founded an organization like this if she were truly omnipotent.
Maybe she's just bored.
The gaze she gave him sent a jolt down his spine, but luckily, she didn't address him.
Right. Mind reading.
"Investigate it further. Every piece of intel matters," Saint Agnes commanded.
"Where can we start?" the blonde woman asked again, which was awfully proactive for a group that only knew how to react.
"You're in Grenada right now, no?" Saint Agnes asked the woman, immediately drawing Francis' attention. A dozen ideas flashed through his mind at once. Perhaps he could get the woman's help—maybe even befriend her. Assuming she'd want to be tied to a mere Acolyte, that is.
"I want you to pay closer attention to the commodities passing through the black market there," Saint Agnes continued, which seemed to explain everything to the blonde woman.
"Assuming it's a stolen artifact, Grenada is by far the best choice," the burly man explained to Francis, unaware that the latter was hauling a stolen artifact to Grenada.
Wait. Could it be?
No. Valeria was more muscle than brains, sure, but she certainly wasn't stupid enough to steal from the Church—especially not something that could put her and her entire crew in jeopardy. Francis cursed himself for even lingering on the thought, worrying that the Saint might divine his mind again.
"What about you, Francis?" the short-haired woman asked. "How do you plan to complete your assignment?"
He would've assumed it was rookie-bullying hour, but her expression was sincere enough.
"I'm actually…" He weighed his words carefully. "On my way to Grenada currently."
"Aren't you full of surprises?" the blonde woman said with a whistle. "Name's Lina, by the way."
Maybe it was the mention of Grenada, but Lina suddenly seemed far more interested in him—something that suited him just fine.
"You two can cooperate when the time comes, then," Saint Agnes declared.
"As you wish," they said in unison, with Francis feeling more awkward than he cared to admit.
Saint Agnes shifted her posture, drawing the group's attention once more. "With the first agenda aside, is there anything you would like to share with me?"
"The identity of the seized vessel off the coast of Havana was finally revealed," the short-haired woman said. "It belongs to a privateer going by the name Valeria."
The news wasn't surprising to Francis, but the fact that the investigation had borne fruit unsettled him. Still, his hometown was in the middle of nowhere—Valeria and Camila should be safe enough.
"That clown," Lina said, drawing no objections from the rest.
"Clown?" Francis asked, fishing for information.
"Yes, clown," the blonde woman repeated. "Who in their right mind would commit high treason just to become a petty privateer?"
"I doubt the Royal Navy cares whether you're English or not when you're within cannon range," Francis replied, attempting to defend his captain.
"You've got that right," one of the previously silent men said. "My whole crew was executed. Didn't matter who was from where."
"With all due respect, none of your subordinates were Submerged—unlike the rumored Deacon in question," Lina replied.
"I'd say five thousand silver is impressive enough," Francis cut in, instantly regretting it.
"Someone seems to fancy her," Lina said with an infuriating grin. "Don't trust the poster—she's nowhere near that dazzling in person."
Francis wasn't infatuated with Valeria in the slightest, but that was nonsense. She was attractive enough, even if she behaved like a rabid dog most of the time.
He nearly blurted out that she was his captain—then thought better of it. These people might have been handpicked by Saint Agnes, but that didn't mean they were to be trusted blindly.
"Just giving credit where credit is due," he said, letting the matter drop. Thankfully, no one pressed him further.
"I have something to share," the woman with dark brown hair and brown skin announced. "There is talk of the English taking advantage of the chaos in the Eastern theatre to usurp the Iberian crown."
That earned a hearty laugh from everyone present.
"Right, good luck with that," Lina said, wiping a tear.
Francis genuinely felt like a fish out of water. He hadn't the slightest clue about Iberia's capabilities, but the reaction told him everything he needed to know. By extension, he was glad to be on their payroll.
"I bet they'd change their minds rather fast if they saw a dragon burning London to the ground," Saint Agnes said in amusement.
"Dragon?" Francis asked. He could ignore many things—dragons weren't one of them.
"Iberia and the Apostolic See are allies, which allows them to deploy a Saint or two under the Church," Saint Agnes explained, apathetic as ever.
"Trust me," Lina added. "The last thing you want to see is a blue dragon flying toward your island."
"Unless you want to perish, that is," the short-haired woman said with a scoff.
Of course dragons exist. Why am I even surprised?
"I have something to share," Francis said, refusing to be the butt of the joke.
"Go ahead," the Saint replied with a wave.
"Have any of you heard about ships being found completely devoid of people, even though everything inside was intact?" he asked, hoping to make sense of what the pirates had been discussing.
"Shanty of Enthral, Mastication Stanza," Saint Agnes answered immediately.
Huh?
"It's a Venerable Stanza that allows the Submerged to consume their victims," she added, undoubtedly sensing his confusion.
If his fight with Valeria was any indication, the Shanty of Enthral was certainly a twisted thing. That left him briefly wondering about the Saint Stanza, before he gave up entirely—the less he knew about this world, the better.
"That's… morbid," he finally said.
"That's one way of putting it," Lina replied. "Though maybe a tour around Grenada would change your mind," she added with a wink.
Is she flirting?
"Um… yeah, I'd appreciate that," he replied awkwardly.
"There she goes again," the short-haired woman remarked with a sigh.
"Oh hush, Arwa. It's not my fault you're socially inept," Lina replied, instantly turning the secret gathering into a mockery. Thankfully, Saint Agnes intervened with a cough, snapping the two back to attention.
"Got anything to add?"
"No, Most Exalted," the group said in unison after a moment.
"Excellent. We'll meet again in two weeks. Do your best before then," she said, before snapping her fingers.
***
As Valeria took her customary bath, she nearly applauded her own genius. The artifact would be discarded in a month or two, effectively rendering her insignificant once others laid hands on it. And even if the crew got caught, she would only lose half of it. Parting ways with Robert and Francis was a hefty price to pay, true, but her life was the ultimate prize here.
She dove deeper, letting her skin absorb the water. As troublesome as the ritual was, it was still relaxing in its own way.
If only I could get one of those swimsuits.
The moment of peace was interrupted, however, as she felt the ripple of a Stanza coming from the opposite side.
She immediately emerged from the water, trying to discern the source. The Royal Navy she could deal with, but if it were the Apostolic See, she would swim to the other side of the Atlantic, clothes excluded.
Thankfully, it was neither. The closer the ship drew, the clearer it became that it was simply another pirate crew.
A pirate crew ripe for eradicating.