act39side

Saltfin-sick...

Blurghhh—!

Between bursts of vomit, the girl stuffs the badge back into her bag.

A wayward glance shows Isidro a dozen or so of the Alguacil's belongings within bag, alongside a few bottles of his own popper potions.

He is not entirely sure when she took them off him.

...Forget it.

We're even now. I'll be off, then.

You're asking the wrong guy.

I haven't even gotten to the question yet...

Go ask somewhere else.

I haven't even...

Ask someone else.

At least let me ask! I heard there's a local sword technique created by pirates, one that can be used to 'fight the wind and waves'. Does that sound familiar?

P—Pirates? Santo cielo, Aarón will be ruined once more...

Wha...?

It's about to rain! I need to go home to take in the laundry! Just go away! Vete!

...Isn't this your house right here?

...Also, isn't this the driest part of Iberia?

As he voices his doubts, he hears a clattering of footsteps behind him. He turns to see the entire street devoid of people.

As he sweeps his eyes across the street, doors and windows slam shut one after the other in raucous cacophony.

Is it actually going to rain?

The lump of meat in his mouth is shriveled and dry. One of his left molars is loose and hurts like hell itself, leaving him only able to mash the meat with his right gums.

Madre had told him this was the last of the food in the house.

He thinks about how she looked as she threw it on the ground, so tender and caring. He thinks about how she looked as he picked it up, so cold and cruel.

Such contradiction. He blames the jumbled memories on the hunger.

Just as he does not remember if it was Madre who struck that molar loose, or if it was just a new one coming in.

The hunger is too great. He swallows the lump of meat and mumbles to himself.

'This is the last portion. There's none left after I eat it...'

'Where can I find more...'

There is the sound of a knife being sharpened from outside the door. He remembers hearing this noise... before Padre disappeared.

The ghastly truth dawns on him as he feels cold all over.

He recalls how Madre opened the door as she held the meat, a terrifying smile on her bloodstained face. She bade him open his mouth, bade him chew, bade him swallow...

He licks at the empty sockets in his gums. They had hurt, once. They don't hurt any more.

It is only because of sin that he yet lives. He should stretch out his neck and await the axe. In death, all things will be washed away.

The scent of dried blood upon a sharp bone spur has drawn all sorts of small, bloodthirsty beasts. They cannot stop themselves from crawling towards the gruesome wound.

First come insects bearing wings, landing upon his chin, crawling across his pale lips, then his cheek, before finally stopping atop his eyelids.

Just as they are about to enjoy their meal, the man's eyelashes begin to twitch.

Ah...

Anastasio, you sinner. Since when was it your time to die?

Those ensnared by greed, corrupted by that compass. They yet roam free, yet commit evil.

You must find them, purge their avarice, end their suffering.

...This is your duty.

The man slowly pulls himself off the skeleton, the bone barbs and hooks tearing at his flesh as he does.

But he does not tremble in pain. Not even once.

Anastasio walks deeper into the Salt Flat. Behind him, the beasts hungrily paw at his trail of blood.

Pascuala! You made it. Here I was, thinking you were buried in the Flat.

*Huff*...

You're as pale as the salt. Run into something on the way?

Shut up, Teach... Let me in already.

You wanna come in? Did you get what the boss asked for?

'Course I did. Not just the compass, either. I got another big haul too.

Señora Juana's been looking for an alchemist, and I've got a lead.

So can I come in now?

Of course, Master Thief Pascuala. You honor my humble abode.

Anchors aweigh, hoist the sails♪

High winds roar, our clothes a-tore♪

Rain drowns our drunken haze, and lights our hearts ablaze♪

Ready, ho! Sail forth! A thousand ships break port!♪

At dawn break we charge ahead♪...

Aaaahhhh! Who are you?! What're you doing in my house?!

This alley... is your house, señor?

That cardboard you've got on your head is my bed, joven...

Sorry, I saw it by the garbage bin. Didn't think anyone wanted it.

Mind if I hide from the rain here? I'll go once it stops.

This town hasn't seen a drop in over two months.

Even if it <i>is</i> going to rain, mind putting down my bed? Here, you can use my blanket.

...Thank you, señor.

So what're you here for, Ægir?

I'm looking for a local sword technique. The legends say the ones who devised it were—

Ahem. A few months ago, I heard about a technique that can 'fight the wind and waves', and decided to come here to learn it.

That's mighty brave of you. Don't you know the Inquisition's been cracking down on pirates these days?

I'm not interested in becoming a pirate. I just feel like my own swordsmanship's been lacking.

Swords are for cutting people down, not cutting through the waves. Besides, why'd you want to learn it anyway? Heading out to sea?

Too many questions, señor.

*Sigh* There's always folks believing such foolishness. If you'd come by half a year earlier, I could have brought you to the guy you're looking for.

Back in the day, he learned a thing or two from those pirates, always bragging about how he could chop up the sea itself. In the end, he was just like me. Came running back to town, waiting to die in peace and quiet.

Did he leave anything behind?

His diary? Took that to his grave. You'll have to dig it up yourself.

If he knew someone wanted to learn the sword from him, he'd be so happy he'd jump right out, bones and all.

With a shovel by his side, Isidro cracks open the coffin. He brushes aside the grains of salt that fell inside, exposing a lustrous, red-flushed corpse.

The corner of a book pokes out of its clothes.

Isidro gingerly pinches the book and pulls it away, doing everything he can to keep the flimsy paper—made brittle by the salt—intact.

Is this the diary he mentioned?

It's too tattered, I can't read a thing.

*Cough* *Cough* *Cough*... Pfft—pleh!

Did I just inhale bits of paper...? Damn, that's salty.

I should look elsewhere.

Elsewhere? Where else would a wicked grave robber and cannibal such as yourself want to spread his evil?

Grave robber? Cannibal???

I've been watching you creep about the cemetery, molesting its graves. I've caught you red-handed.

I can explain, señor.

'Señor'...? Do you not know who I am?!

Do you... happen to be a local celebrity?

I am a cleric of the Inquisition, in charge of inspecting the entry permits of all visitors at the town gates.

So if you don't know who I am, then how did you get in here?

I...

Guards! Arrest this man!

Are these petals crushed enough...?

Doctor Añora!

What? Oh! More or less, a few more times and you can start blending in the oil.