Ashes to Ashes
Chapter Four
The piece of paper slid out of the printer and fell into Law's waiting hand. He'd been waiting for the chance to sneak into one of the main laboratories in Building B and run Ria's strand of hair through a series of tests to determine what sorts of drugs Caesar administered. Every other attempt had been spoiled by subordinates looking for him to fulfil Caesar's ludicrous demands.
Law's practiced eyes ran over the facts and figures. The first thing that jumped out at him was Ria's cortisol level—it spiked high above the norm, supporting Law's observation that she was stressed. The next thing to catch his eye was a foreign compound he'd never heard of before.
Apparently, the machine which analysed the hair was familiar with the compound and identified it as NHC10.
Law folded the results in half, stuffed it in his coat next to Bepo's map and walked out of the laboratory. The two guards at the end of the corridor didn't notice his appearance and nodded as he walked past. Their laxness would cost them dearly one day.
"Where is Mister Caesar?" Law asked.
"Err, I think he's having lunch," one of them said.
Right on schedule. The deranged scientist never missed the chance to pig out on whatever meal Monet prepared for him, and usually left his laboratory empty but locked and guarded—not that it was a problem for Law. He could slip past them easily enough to get to Caesar's notes.
He gave stiff thanks and made a point to walk towards the kitchen. When he rounded the corner, he waited until the guards' footsteps faded before rounding back and heading towards Caesar's personal laboratory in Building C.
Law didn't get as far as he would have liked.
"Help! Emergency! Somebody get a doctor!"
The shouts came from the main entrance of Building B. Guards spilled out of the corridors gripping their rifles and pushed past Law, sprinting towards the source of the noise. Law pulled his hat low over his eyes. Would it look too suspicious if he walked the other way?
"Oi, Trafaalaar!"
Well, it would now.
Law reluctantly turned around. "Mister Caesar. Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to talk with your mouth full?"
Caesar swallowed the pumpkin pie churning in his mouth and brushed the crumbs from his chin with the back of his gloved hand. He pointed to the group of men who had just staggered in from the blistering cold, carrying wounded guards who now lay on their sides, bloody and groaning. "What's going on?"
"An intruder." A large, orange-haired man with crocodile legs gently set four of his injured friends on the ground. Law recalled seeing the man's face on a bounty poster before—he'd been a pirate known as Brownbeard years ago. "I sent a few of my men to check out a disturbance and I found them like this."
Monet flapped past them carrying a first aid kit in her talons. She settled on the ground and began overseeing treatment, passing bottles of water, rolls of bandages and antibiotic cream around. But the guards weren't trained in first aid and they fumbled with the delicate procedure. Bottles clattered to the floor and bandages slipped from their grips.
Monet sighed and began patching up the men with minor injuries while the severely injured were carted to the infirmary. She picked up a cotton ball and dabbed alcohol on the lacerations with her wings. She'd taken her new abilities further than Law thought possible—he didn't expect feathers to be prehensile enough to replace the function of hands—but Monet's determination exceeded logic.
"Their hair and skin are singed." She grabbed a bottle and squeezed water over the horrific red marks.
The sickeningly sweet smell of burned flesh mixed with the smell of alcohol and the weaker stomached ones slapped a hand over their mouths to stop the retching. Caesar reached out and patted their heads like they were dogs.
"Oh, my poor subordinates! You have gone through such a trying ordeal and I feel terrible for putting you in harm's way. This is my fault, all my fault. No, don't argue with me! The guilt in my stomach is burning me alive and I must right this wrong for your sakes. The monster won't be allowed to cut you down anymore. Oi, Trafalgar!"
Law glared. Of course the scientist would leave the dirty work to others.
"Stop the intruder before he reaches the institute. Show them how hospitable we are on Punk Hazard."
They were pathetic, the whole lot of them, unable to handle a task as simple as disposing of one intruder. Over a dozen of them and they all turned tail at the first sign of danger. These men were supposed to be the fearsome prisoners that were locked up as experimental aids?
No wonder they couldn't hack it in the New World.
"Fine."
The wind simultaneously seared and numbed his skin. Law zipped his collar all the way to the top and shoved his hands in his pockets, locking Kikoku through his left arm. He kept his eyes on his feet, which may not have been wise, but the snow whirling around him limited almost all visibility.
It wasn't hard to work out which direction he was heading anyway—Brownbeard confirmed that the intruder was near the lake and the farther Law walked, the stronger the wind blew. The temperature differences between the Ice Lands and the Burning Lands led to extreme differences in air pressure, causing gale-force winds. If Law weighed any less, he'd have been blown away already.
"Kidnapper!"
The silver gleam of a sword flashed through the air. Law ducked, blade whistling next to his ear, and he lashed out with his foot and connected with a chin.
The intruder reeled back, a vague silhouette, but his bright orange gi stood out against the stark white background. Law hooked his ankle behind the man's and swept Kikoku, sheath and all, into the man's belly and sent him down. Snow flew all around them. The man's body snapped up from the impact and he gave a weak groan.
Law lifted a hand. "Room."
The blue field enveloped them and the man's black-rimmed eyes widened. "What ninjutsu is this?" he croaked.
Law raised an eyebrow. Wasn't the man familiar with Devil Fruits? "It's not ninjutsu."
"Then it is sorcery!"
The man sprang up and roared. His head, shoulders and chest loomed above Law and he slashed again.
Fire sparked from his sword and leapt towards Law. Law dove sideways and the flames licked the hem of his coat. He rolled onto his knees and slammed his hand over the hem, smothering the fire into nothing. The snow underneath hissed and steam rose from his hand.
The man brandished his sword. "There are many people on this island and none have given the information I seek. So I ask you: have you seen my son?"
Law fingered the scorched hem. Slowly, he rose. "Yes."
Kikoku flew into his hand and he swung it in three arcs. The impacts soared through the Room and cut through the man, who fell into the snow separated into a head, a torso and a pair of legs.
"What sorcery is this!" The head yelled and rolled around while the limbs thrashed about. "I have surely been cut in a fatal manner. Why am I not dead? This is a disgrace! Hand me my knife and I shall cut my belly open!"
With a twitch of Law's fingers, the man's head and legs disappeared to another part of the island. As far as he'd flung them, it wasn't far enough. The man's incessant bellows echoed within the mountains, threatening and promising murder once he found his son.
Law picked up the torso by the collar. There was a chance the man could find all the pieces of his body and piece himself together again. Since that wasn't an option, Law had two choices: kill the man or trap him. Even though he was a pirate, Law found murder distasteful. After all, he was also a doctor and doctors weren't supposed to kill their patients.
It was possible the man had some sort of Devil Fruit ability—that was one explanation for his fiery sword techniques. The best way to deal with this intruder, Law concluded, was to immobilise him by throwing him in the lake he'd recently crossed. It didn't matter if he wasn't a Devil Fruit user—he'd sink either way.
Law began the trek to the lake's edge. The arms struggled but Law's hold was firm and he gripped the cloth tighter, fighting the urge to beat the torso into submission.
A father saving his son.
Family members helping each other out.
What a novel concept.
Law held a hand over the hole where his heart should be and winced. The hollow anger gave way to pain that stabbed through his chest and stopped him in his tracks. What was going on? The incline to the lake wasn't high—he was in better condition than that. There were no ill effects on patients after heart removal, he knew that much. Law had spent thousands of hours of his childhood practising on Doflamingo's victims.
The pain spread like acid. Law fell to his knees, dropping the torso, and clawed at his chest, the pain stealing the breath from his lungs. He gasped for air, inhaling snowflakes that burned his nose and throat.
Law screamed.
He threw his face into the snow, muffling the sound of weakness. A cough hacked its way out of his throat and blood came with it, splattering on the snow before seeping into the whiteness. Red blotched his vision and its metallic aftertaste lingered on his tongue.
Law pushed himself up on all fours and panted, scanning his surroundings. But another bolt of pain seized him and he went down screaming again.
Shachi pushed open the submarine's kitchen door and limped inside with one hand clamped over his ribs. He looked around for a head of spiky black hair pushed back with a headband.
"Ban. Hey, Ban."
The cook turned around from the stove, took one look at Shachi's torn uniform and askew sunglasses, and motioned for him to sit at the bench.
"Penguin beat you again?"
"Through a tree."
Ban ransacked the freezer and pulled out a bag of peas. Shachi held out his hand for it, but Ban ignored him and slapped the bag over his ribs. Pain flared where Penguin kicked him. Shachi hissed.
"How many losses is that now?"
"Dunno, I've lost count."
Shachi had been sparring against Penguin ever since he joined the Heart Pirates as the fourth member. He'd never won a single round even after all the training he undertook during their time in Paradise. Almost a year and a half of pushing himself past his limits and refusing to take it easy because he wanted to be useful. But all his efforts amounted to nothing.
He was the weakest of out the captain's trio of guards. Everyone else was too nice to call him out on it but Shachi knew he lacked strength after the Rocky Port incident where he fell into the enemy's trap and almost died. Captain nearly lost everything trying to save him. Even at the most critical point, he was nothing but a burden.
Shachi gripped the peas. The tattoos on his forearms bulged and he gave a tch. They symbolised his association with The Surgeon of Death and he'd been so proud when he got them done. But all he felt now was disgust. He didn't deserve to wear such a mark.
Ban slapped his back, making the pain flare up, and Shachi sharply drew breath.
"Stop whacking me!"
"It's on your back."
"What?"
"Your good points." Ban picked up his chopping knife and began dicing potatoes. "They're on your back so you can't see them. But I can. And so can everyone else. You're not weak, Shachi, no matter what you believe. You've got strengths the rest of us don't."
"What are you, a mind reader?"
"Captain wouldn't have invited you on board unless he thought you were capable. I mean, he went to Punk Hazard alone based on the information you sourced. He trusts your abilities. You should trust his judgement."
Shachi sighed. He relaxed his grip on the peas and gave a sheepish smile. "Yeah, when you put it that way…"
Ban waved the knife at him. "If you're done moping then get out of my kitchen. Go talk to your contact so you'll have good news to report when Captain calls again."
Shachi obeyed and went down to the control room where Bepo worked. The polar bear had become a lot quieter since Captain left. He often tended to the flowers in the nursery, but spent most of his time with a dunpy and stadia to survey the land or with parchment and ink drawing maps of the New World, Zo in particular.
They all had their ways of coping with Captain's absence.
Shachi sat at the controls and picked up the den-den mushi, dialling his contact's number. He'd passed on Captain's request for information on the children in Punk Hazard and now waited for answers. When she'd gotten the call, she asked for three weeks. But she worked faster than that—Shachi was calling after one and a half weeks.
Purupurupurupurupuru…
Click.
"Hello?"
"It's me."
Her shriek tore through the snail's mouth and pierced his ears. A crash sounded behind him and Shachi swivelled around to see Bepo's look of horror at the spreading ink stain on the map he'd toiled over for hours.
"Sorry, Bepo." Shachi winced. "I should've warned you I was calling my sister."
"Bepo? Is he there? Hi Bepo!"
"Hello, Iruka," Bepo mumbled. He gathered his materials and slunk out of the room.
"Ooh, is Pengsie there? I wanna talk to him. C'mon, Shach. Call him over. I know he's there."
Shachi dug his fingertips into his temple. His sister had a large mouth—one that Captain often said was similar to his. "Shut up for a minute, Iruka. Did you get the information I asked for?"
"Spoilsport. I only wanna talk to your friends."
"Iruka."
"Yes. No."
"What's that even mean?"
"Yes, my impatient big brother, I will answer your question. No, my impatient big brother, I don't have the information you want."
"You're an information broker."
"And there's no information out there concerning the transportation of giant children. No such thing exists. The only ships big enough to carry several of them and leave no traces of suspicion would be the giants' ships, and they don't let their children sail from their homeland until they're of age."
Shachi pondered this information. "Do you think the giant children could've been raised in Punk Hazard?"
"I don't deal in assumptions, dummy. But if you want me to guess, I'd say no. Even Joker can't risk the giants' wrath by kidnapping their children. There'd be hell to pay and not even he's got enough wealth for that."
Shachi shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Captain will figure it out. He always does."
"Yes. Yes, he will."
A shudder made its way down Shachi's spine. Iruka had been smitten with Captain the second she laid eyes on him. She often cooed over his stoic demeanour, his strength and his sarcastic smirk—things Shachi and his friends often cooed about, but for his sister to do the same was slightly creepy.
"As for the children—there are thousands of missing children every year. Many cases are cold, some were resolved with happy endings and others with tragedies."
"Did you find anything?"
"I looked up the names Lawsie gave me. Momonosuke came up with nothing."
"But?" Shachi prompted.
"Mocha and Ria came up with a hit."
Shachi pumped his fists into the air. That was his little sister!
"Mocha disappeared two years ago and the Marines declared she died in a voyage accident. Ria disappeared almost a month ago and the Marines declared she also died in a voyage accident. Their parents insisted they were never out to sea but officials won't change their stance."
Marines, huh? Shachi had seen the Marine's worst side far too often to count, but he'd never expect them to be part of an underground operation like this. Not when their motto was 'justice' and they clung to it as fiercely as he clung to his Jolly Roger.
"I pulled every file of children supposedly dying in voyage accidents and in about a quarter of them, the parents requested a reinvestigation because their children could not have been near or in the waters. There's almost a hundred of them within the past two years. This is big, Shach."
"Yeah." Shachi leaned back in the chair. "Can you dig into that and see how far up the chain the corruption goes?"
"Done." Iruka sounded too smug for his liking. "I cross-referenced dates of kidnapping reports with dates of marine activity. They all coincide with one specific branch—G5."
The Marine's unruliest soldiers. No surprise there—they were a bunch of savages. Shachi had no clue how or why they were even marines. They looked no better than a ragtag bunch of pirates themselves.
"The man overseeing G5 is Vice-admiral Vergo. He's the one who officially declared each case closed."
Shachi frowned. "We're going up against a vice-admiral?"
"What's the big deal?" Iruka snorted. "You're going up against a War Lord and one of the Four Emperors. A vice-admiral is nothing in comparison."
"True." Shachi grabbed one of Bepo's quills and scrawled down the name. "Captain'll be pleased to hear this. Thanks a bunch, Iruka. How much this time?"
"One hundred thousand beli."
Silence.
"How much for me?"
"One hundred thousand beli."
"I'm your brother!"
"Two hundred thousand beli!"
Shachi sighed. "How much for Captain?"
"Ninety thousand beli plus every drop of information you can get on Punk Hazard. Climate, flora, fauna, facilities, machines, experiments—everything down to the last bottle of formaldehyde rotting away in the laboratory cupboards."
It wasn't much of a discount, but Shachi took it. He fiddled with the controls on the den-den fax machine. "I've wired it to your account."
"Fantastic. And my information?"
"You'll get it when Captain calls again."
Shachi expected her to complain. Nothing came. His stomach dropped to his bowels.
"What?" Iruka's voice was low. "Aren't you with Lawsie?"
"Uh…" Hadn't he told her? "No. Captain went alone to Punk Hazard. The rest of us are waiting for him in Zo."
One.
Two.
Three.
"ARE YOU INSANE?"
Iruka's scream ripped through the den-den mushi and bounced off the walls, magnifying its volume by ten times. Shachi clamped his hands over his ears. The whole crew could probably hear her.
"I DIDN'T GIVE YOU ALL THAT INFORMATION SO LAWSIE COULD FACE JOKER, KAIDO, CAESAR AND HIS MINIONS ALONE. NOW THERE'S A VICE-ADMIRAL INVOLVED AND NONE OF YOU ARE THERE TO HAVE HIS BACK. WHAT KIND OF A PIRATE CREW ARE YOU? WHAT WAS PENGSIE THINKING, LETTING LAWSIE GO LIKE THAT? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, LETTING LAWSIE GO LIKE THAT? ALL OF YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED—wait, did you say you were in Zo?"
Shachi gingerly removed his hands. The echoes reverberated in the control room, making his ears ring. He knocked on his head a couple of times to clear it out. "Yeah, why?"
The sound of papers shuffling and glass tinkling came through the den-den mushi.
"Perfect. I'm a few islands away on business. So when I'm done, I'm coming to Zo to kick your butts."
Shachi paled. He didn't say goodbye. He slammed the receiver down and shot out of the control room.
He crashed into a blond kid, Ginji, who laughed and took it in his stride. "Was that Iruka I heard screaming?"
Shachi grabbed Ginji's shoulders. "Where's Penguin?"
"Huh? The engine room, I think. He's still looking at them with Jean Bart."
"Thanks!"
Shachi pelted towards the engine room and threw open the door, startling both of the men inside. Penguin, high up on a ladder, jumped and hit his head on one of the overhead pipes.
Swearing and clutching his head, Penguin glared down at his friend. "What?"
Shachi opened his mouth to respond when something huge barrelled into him. He hit the floor face first and tasted blood. With a curse, Shachi spat out a red glob and glared at Bepo, who waved his arms and pointed to something in his paw.
"Bepo, calm down," Jean Bart said, shifting uncomfortably in the enclosed space.
"What's wrong?" Penguin added. "Shachi was about to say something important."
"Yeah." Shachi picked himself up and groaned, his ribs throbbing again. That bear needed to know his own strength. "I was about to say—"
"Nevermind!" Bepo cried. He thrust his paw into Shachi's face. "Look!"
Shachi peered through the fur and paled.
"Oh no," he breathed. "Captain's vivre card."
The edges of the piece of paper glowed with fire and slowly, the flames ate their way down.
"What are we going to do?" Bepo tugged at his boiler suit, his fur and his ears. "Captain's in trouble! His life force is draining! We have to help him! Warm up the engines!"
"Wait, hold on, Bepo, just calm down for a momen—BEPO!" Penguin roared.
Bepo whimpered but quietened. His ears lay flat across his skull and he kept his eyes on the ground.
Penguin took the vivre card and inspected it, brushing the tip of his index finger across the flames and watching as the paper broke into ashes. His jaw tightened, slackened and tightened again. Shachi, Bepo and Jean Bart waited for his decision.
Shachi felt bad for his friend. None of them had prepared for this possibility—heck, none of them even considered it! Captain choosing Penguin to stand in had been nothing but a formality yet here they were, with Penguin forced to make a decision that could very well break apart the crew.
"We're not doing anything." Penguin slipped the vivre card back into Bepo's paw. "Captain gave us orders to stay put and we're going to do just that."
"But Captain—"
"—is strong. He may be in trouble now but he can get himself out of his own mess, and when he does we'll see the vivre card grow back. Have a little faith in our captain, you big bear." Penguin leaned over, bumped the yellow bill of his hat onto Bepo's muzzle and smiled. "Shachi, what were you about to say?"
"Uh." Shachi thought back. "Iruka. She's coming here."
"Who's Iruka?" Jean Bart asked.
"My little sister."
"Well," Penguin said after a moment. "The timing isn't great but her company will be welcome. She'll take our minds off Captain."
A.N.
Whoo, new chapter! If you picked up on the movie reference, let me know! :D
I don't know if you wonderful people noticed, but I update approximately once a fortnight. Unfortunately, I'll be away next week and have three assignments due the week after, so I won't be updating for a short while.
I am terribly sorry to leave you guys with this cliffhanger, but I promise I'll be back soon!