"Unfortunately, it wasn't the only thing sending men to an early grave."
Admiral Bryce's Autobiography, 20 P.C.
"I didn't take you for a jester," Francis shot back, refusing to get outwitted.
"Valeria does the job better than most, so it's rather hard to compete," Robert replied in amusement, drawing an honest laugh from Francis.
"Careful, she might hear you."
"I'd prefer that—at least we'd have a Deacon as a protector," he replied, before sitting down.
His casual demeanor regarding Valeria was certainly not lost on Francis. But then again, it was to be expected of a first mate.
"Could you further explain the relationship between you and the Royal Navy?" Francis asked seriously, prompting Robert to give a long sigh.
"Long story short, we get paid for harassing them and the ships they protect."
Initially, the idea sounded like suicide, but then Francis quickly remembered the status of his captain.
"They don't have a Deacon of their own?" Francis asked in confusion.
"Oh, they do. But very few can beat her in a battle underwater."
Francis couldn't imagine how that would play out, but he took his word for it.
"Pretty impressive that they haven't caught up to you yet."
Robert, in turn, snorted.
"As far as the seas go, we're just an annoying itch. They have more important matters to attend to."
"Those being?"
"Fighting the French, Iberians, Dutch, Scandinavians, Arabs, Indians, the Chinese, and the Church, for starters."
"You're mocking me," Francis said flatly.
"No. I'm dead serious."
The pseudo-lecture stirred a myriad of emotions in Francis. He didn't know whether to admire their strength, fear coming near them, or detest them for being such warmongers, so he settled for asking more questions—glad that Robert was earnest, or at least more earnest than Valeria and Saint Agnes.
"Why?" he managed.
"Hm?"
"Why would they fight on so many fronts?"
"Because they can. They are the only major nation that was left untouched after the Cataclysm."
That explained a few things. History and geography were by no means Francis' specialties, but he knew that England was one of the most populous nations in the Western Hemisphere, and the most adept at maritime warfare, making a Cataclysm that rendered entire continents uninhabitable a blessing in disguise.
"I would love to see your wanted poster," Francis said with a grin.
"You should see the captain's," Robert replied in amusement.
"Let me guess, two thousand silver pounds."
Pirate bounties were a curious thing. The average laborer in a rural area made five gold—or fifty silver—a year, yet catching even the weakest pirate offered the same amount, only highlighting the unfairness of it all.
Then again, good luck catching a pirate captain.
"Make it five thousand," Robert replied, prompting a whistle. With five hundred gold pounds, Francis wouldn't need to work for a hundred years if he wanted to keep his current lifestyle—perhaps twenty-five if he wanted luxury.
"Captain is certainly the catch… no pun intended."
"You should've seen the number of Pirate Warlords proposing to her," Robert said with a chuckle.
"Valeria. Proposing," Francis said flatly, unwilling to accept that anyone would want to marry… whatever that feral woman was.
"I mean, she has the looks, personality, and power. Kind of hard not to fall for that."
"Someone is infatuated," Francis said, taunting the first mate.
Robert, to his credit, remained calm.
"Not really. She didn't leave much to the imagination," he finally replied, as if weighing his words.
"Huh?"
"Surprise, people other than you have human relations," Robert retorted.
Such a revelation was more unbelievable than the Royal Navy's capabilities. Valeria and Robert? Together? It felt… surreal.
"We figured it was pointless, however, so we went back to captain and first mate instead," he added, partially confirming Francis' thoughts.
"No kidding. She doesn't sound like the romantic type."
"And neither am I," Robert replied.
Pirates were certainly a puzzle, one he was far too naïve to solve. Then again, they wouldn't plunder the high seas if they were average.
"What about you, though?" Robert asked, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.
"What about me?"
"You're not exactly the brash type, so I couldn't gather much—but I have a feeling you fancy her," he added, prompting Francis to snort.
"Not in a million years!" he blurted. "I don't like her kind."
"That kind being…"
Serves me right for teasing him.
"…Scary women," he admitted, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. Something Robert's laughter only amplified.
"That's unusual, at least for men like you."
"What are you talking about?" Francis asked in indignation.
"No matter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to," Robert replied, rising before Francis had a chance to respond.
As Francis was left alone, he recalled Camila thanks to the conversation and felt a fresh wave of guilt. He knew her feelings were beyond his control, but he still regretted all the lies and deceit—especially since honesty could've saved both of them a lot of trouble. Still, she hadn't been too implicated, which was at least a small victory. As for Valeria, he genuinely didn't see what could make him fancy such a woman, save for an artifact.
Boredom threatened to creep in once more, but he didn't allow it. He immediately approached the pirates again, and this time they knew better than to make a fuss.
"So. Adventures," Francis said as he settled down once more.
"We were talking about the time we found an empty ship," one of them quickly explained.
"What's weird about that? Plenty of ships are abandoned once they're not functional."
"Functional?" the pirate asked.
Right, they're not the most learned.
"As in… can't be used anymore."
"No, no!" another pirate exclaimed. "This one was fine."
"Maybe they had to flee during a fight."
"The captain went inside the ship and found rotting food on plates. She even found all their stuff in their rooms," the first pirate added.
"Okay, that's unsettling," Francis admitted.
"Right? It's like a ghost ate them or something."
"Ghosts don't eat," Francis corrected.
"Sure they do! My uncle saw one eating a horse when I was five!" a third pirate said defensively.
Francis didn't know what to say. It was on him, though—he was the one who expected a serious conversation from pirates who had never opened a book.
"I'm sure he did," he replied flatly before getting up. He felt his brain would rot if he spent another second in their presence.
The words weren't devoid of truth however, the incident was indeed strange. An abandoned ship would almost always show signs of wear and tear. Yet this one was not only pristine, it still contained all of the crew's belongings. Fleeing immediately on skiffs was an option, naturally, but why would the ship remain intact if they had escaped an attack? The more Francis thought about it, the more unsettled he felt—especially since he himself was on a ship. And so, he let it go.
***
Not long after Francis fell asleep, he found himself in the picturesque meadows again. This time, however, he wasn't alone. He was seated with half a dozen others at a table near the cliff, with Saint Agnes herself occupying the seat of honor.
"You're finally here," she said nonchalantly, before sighing deeply. "Right. I need to do introductions. Everyone, meet Francis. Francis, meet everyone."
The introduction was as horrible as they came, but he preferred not being burned to a crisp, so he didn't even dare linger on the thought.
"Which Depth?" a woman with dark brown hair and brown skin asked.
"Pardon?" Francis said, confused.
"Deacon, Reverend, Venerable, maybe?" a second woman interjected—similar in appearance, save for her short hair.
"Actually," Saint Agnes said, instantly drawing everyone's attention, "he's an Acolyte."
That prompted the group to turn their gazes toward him.
"A what now?" a gruff, middle-aged man said, his tone unmistakably disappointed.
That left two other men not unlike him in appearance, and a blonde, green-eyed woman who remained silent—though her expression hardly inspired confidence.
"Need I remind all of you that you were Acolytes not long ago?" the Saint said, immediately shifting the mood.
"I meant no offense, Most Exalted," the gruff man replied submissively. "I was merely surprised."
"Regardless, Francis became a Submerged less than a week ago," Saint Agnes added, changing the atmosphere yet again. Her theatrics were truly one of a kind.
"How is that even possible?" the blonde woman finally spoke.
"I—"
"The machinations behind such a phenomenon remain unknown," Saint Agnes cut in, preventing him from leaking the secret, "but I am in the process of putting them to the test."
Smart woman. Wait—no, she's going to hear that.
"Whatever method he used, it's certainly… fascinating," the short-haired woman said.
"Hence why he's here," Saint Agnes declared. "As such, you are expected to treat him as you would one another."
"Understood, Most Exalted," they said in unison.
Francis had long assumed, from her frequent mockery, that she was an indifferent woman. This display proved otherwise—and it made him glad he had chosen to trust her, combustion threats aside.