"How could he not? When she brought a nation to its knees in mere days."
Admiral Bryce's Autobiography, 20 P.C.
By the time the crew reached Orange Town's shore, Francis was half tempted to sprint to the nearest inn and sleep for three days. Alas, as Robert's de facto deputy, keeping the others in check was expected, so he tagged along.
His hometown's dock was by no means glamorous, and seeing the bustle of a hub island only reinforced that further. Multiple ships lined the pier, uniformed sentries patrolled the streets, and vendors crowded every corner.
At first glance, Orange Town might have seemed impressive, but after reading about Havana and London, he now understood how vast capital cities truly were. Still, compared to Saint Agnes, it felt like a bustling metropolis in its own right.
"So. Who's taking care of what?" Francis asked Robert as the group walked the streets unnoticed, undoubtedly thanks to the plain vessel.
"Rodrigo, Gijs, Emiliano, and Joaquin should take care of gathering supplies," Robert explained, not realizing that Francis had already forgotten half their names. "While the rest of us gather intel."
Gather intel. Valeria's first mate indeed.
"I'm assuming I'll be doing it alone?" Francis groaned. He loathed how the crew didn't want to be near his Intimidation, but the fault wasn't exactly theirs; he was the moron who blasted the thing in the beginning.
"Sadly," Robert replied, his expression betraying his words. "But have no fear—your party trick should protect you long enough."
Robert never looked more punchable, but Francis kept it to himself, as mutiny wasn't the most commendable act in the pirate community.
It wasn't until then that the Dominion Acolyte realized his personality had… changed.
Subtly, sure, but it was apparent enough for him to notice. Such irritability and bluntness would've seemed a fantasy to the old him, yet now they were his default.
He didn't know if it was the breakup, the inescapable secret organization, or the prospect of dying, but something had shifted—and it was unpleasant.
"At least I won't be forced to defend you if things go wrong," Francis shot back at last, which only amused Robert further.
"I wouldn't worry about that," he retorted, flashing a ring with a blue gem.
If powers like that weren't so clearly rare, Francis might've thought artifacts grew on trees. Then again, strong pirates didn't keep their position by using flintlocks and daggers.
"We'll gather there at sunset," Robert added, pointing to a tavern near a small marine base. The sight nearly gave Francis a fright before he noticed the Iberian uniforms.
With nothing to add, Francis bid the crew farewell and went in the opposite direction, hoping to gather useful intel without much of a hassle. Luckily, the thought swiftly paid off, as he was greeted by an enormous wanted poster board, each bounty more flashy than the last.
Bruga "Dirty Fang", 400 silver.
Eloise "The Siren", 500 silver.
Draelos "Ironhook", 580 silver.
The names appeared to be non-English. Yet the Iberian crown coveted the outlaws regardless.
"Who would've expected people to be so complicated," Francis mumbled, mocking himself.
He then turned his attention to the pirates that really mattered.
Aruj Barbarossa, 10,000 silver.
Henry Morgan, 25,000 silver.
The bounties kept getting higher and higher, overwhelming his understanding of currency.
Anne Bonny, 40,000 silver.
Samuel Bellamy, 45,000 silver.
El Draque, 47,000 silver.
William Kidd, 50,000 silver.
He didn't understand what these people had done to reach figures ten times as high as Valeria's, especially since the latter was no rookie. Then he considered brutality. She was a pirate, true, but she certainly didn't act like one. If these lowlifes lived up to their titles, then the silver was well earned.
Francis then stared at the top of the board and nearly gasped, as the figures grew incomprehensible.
Jean-David Nau, 250,000 silver.
Bartholomew Roberts, 300,000 silver.
Henry Every, 450,000 silver.
Edward Teach, 500,000 silver.
Half a million silver. Half a million. Such an amount was the equivalent of fifty millennia of hard work for the average person. Yet here it was, ripe for the taking.
Assuming one was brave enough to hunt a Pirate King.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a stranger said beside him, causing Francis to nearly jump.
Premonition didn't activate.
It was quickly explained as Francis gazed at the stranger. The old man had greying hair, a bushy white beard, countless wrinkles, and attire and equipment befitting a fisherman. The poor soul couldn't harm a fly—assuming said fly wasn't aquatic.
"Wanted criminals?" Francis replied flatly.
"The opportunity to improve one's living conditions," the man corrected. "Think about it. Everyone is one lucky harvest away from a mansion in Havana!"
The opportunity to improve one's living conditions? Fishermen didn't speak like that—at least, not the ones Francis knew—causing his wariness to resurface.
"I doubt anyone could take out a Pirate King," Francis retorted, feeling clever for it.
The old man chuckled. "Certainly not. The small fry don't seem to pose much of a challenge, however."
"How would one go about it?" Francis asked, testing him.
"How should I know? I'm just an ignorant fisherman," the man replied, his tone mocking.
The insult proved too much. Francis activated his Intimidation Stanza, which swiftly overwhelmed the old man, forcing him to his knees.
"Did you feel that?" the man gasped.
"What do you mean?" Francis feigned ignorance, inwardly cursing his recklessness. The Descension had indeed made him careless, and he would pay for it if he didn't compose himself.
"Regardless," the man said as he rose. "I hope these deadbeats get what's coming to them."
He nodded to Francis and went on his way.
What was that?
Francis didn't know where to begin. The man could have been an educated fisherman, but how common was that? And how had he recovered from Intimidation so quickly?
Nothing added up, and that meant only one thing.
Yeah, I better keep walking.
***
As sunset approached, Francis didn't linger, instead heading straight for the tavern they'd agreed upon.
The sparse intel was disheartening, but it at least suggested the town wasn't an immediate threat—and that was good enough. As for what he had learned, the place was apparently a new favorite of a Pirate Warlord under Edward Teach himself. Worse, little could be done about it; the Iberian crown couldn't afford a war with England over such a trivial colony. Thus, Warlord Read sailed with immunity.
Francis nodded to the guards in passing, mistaking himself for a privateer, then entered the tavern. The crew sat clustered in a corner, surrounded by the stench of sweat and tobacco.
"Francis!" Rodrigo shouted from halfway across the tavern. "Find any lasses that caught your fancy?"
Classy as always.
"Did you?" Francis shot back.
"My kind of women show up at night," the pirate replied with a stupid, half-toothless grin.
"Learn anything useful, Francis?" Robert interrupted as he joined the group.
"Aside from Orange Town becoming Read's favorite plaything? Not really."
"Makes two of us. This place is dull," one of the pirates muttered.
"Dull is the best you can hope for in our line of work," Robert said with a sigh.
In the far corner sat a smaller wanted board, similar to the one Francis had seen earlier. The faces were blurred and vague—undoubtedly an effort to avoid offending influential outlaws.
"What about the cargo?" Francis asked. Leaving it on the ship didn't sound safe, but it beat carrying it around and inviting retaliation.
"What cargo?" Robert replied with his usual irritating grin.
"No idea," Francis shrugged.
It wasn't long before "entertainers" began circling tables, plucking crew members away one by one, until only Francis and Robert remained.
"Quite the crew we have, eh?" Robert said, amused.
"Eh," Francis shrugged. "Seafaring was boring even for me. I can only imagine how torturous it must've been for the non-literate."
That earned him a raised eyebrow. "The sea didn't live up to your expectations?"
"Not really," Francis sighed. "The island's fine, I suppose. But I don't think it was worth the boredom of the last few weeks."
"We'll see if you keep that attitude once we reach Grenada," Robert replied smugly.
The man was a puzzle. The western colonies weren't charming, but they had far more to offer than open water. Francis meant to keep the question to himself, but it festered.
"Why did you leave the colonies, Robert?"
"Awfully curious today," he replied, insufferable as ever.
"I'm serious."
Something in Francis's tone gave him pause. Robert hesitated before answering.
"Let's just say New York isn't the most hospitable place."
"Is that some remote island?" Francis asked, instantly regretting it.
"If New York is remote, then Havana might as well be a grave," Robert replied mid-laugh. "In all seriousness, the place is infested with outlaws of all kinds—especially maritime ones."
Not too long ago, Francis had thought the authorities were a pain to deal with. But as he sank deeper into the world of piracy, he began to understand why they existed. Whether it was the Royal Navy, the Iberian Fleet, or the Church, they all served a thankless role—one he wanted nothing to do with.
"Pirate Warlords, I take it?" he ventured.
"Try Emperor," Robert replied, sending a jolt down his spine.