La Diciassettesima Storia: Un Audace Salvataggio
Debito waited, his back pressed against the wood paneled tavern wall. He glanced sideways at the pirate standing sentry across the doorframe, and decided to screw the silencers on his pistols. Just one guard, but there could easily be a dozen others inside the room.
He strained to hear the muffled voices beyond. He could hear the sound of Amica's voice, but not clear enough to distinguish any words. The heavy drapery made short work of any snip of conversation that tried to escape. Finished with his preparations, he inched towards the maroon barrier, lifting one side just enough to eavesdrop. The pirate at the doorway snapped his narrow-eyed attention in Debito's direction. It was not concern for the pirate that made Debito's stomach clench- that man could not see him however hard he looked- but the argument clearly heard from the room beyond. The meeting seemed to have taken a sour turn. The way Amica's violet eyes flashed like a mean-eyed cat, it really came as no surprise. It did make his self-proclaimed mission all the more urgent, though. Debito's eyes darted between the guard and the curtain. If lifting it so slightly were enough to gain the shrewd man's attention, Debito could never hope to slip through unnoticed, regardless of his Arcana. He was invisible, he couldn't walk through walls.
What he needed was a distraction, and it presented itself in the worst possible way. Twin gunshots came just milliseconds apart, followed by the explosive motion of all the patrons bearing steel at once. Some at least, seemed to declare for Amica. Some but not most. The bartender to Debito's left whistled shrilly through his fingers.
"Oh, no! Not in here, ya don't! Ya take this out of doors. I've had enough of your lot breaking things in my tavern. Those two may be King and Queen of the Sea, but they no be the king or queen of my tavern. Keep your war out of my common room and on the seas where ya blighters belong. Now, git! All 'a ya," the bartender shouted emphatically, disappearing into the crowd and waving his hands like a village woman herding geese. The codger had a courage that bordered on madness, but with some strange stroke of luck, the crowd thinned to emptiness.
The guard's attention elsewhere, Debito slipped into the room just as a young man was walking out. His face was tight with a manic smile that made Debito's blood run cold. He had the urge to follow, but it was swallowed up by the sight further in. Two goon-ish looking men milled around the room, laughing coarsely as they hoisted Amica's comrades on to their shoulders like sacks of grain. Dead, surely. But where Amica was, he could not say. A wet cough drew his attention, and he finally discovered her whereabouts. A large pool of blood glistened ominously around her on the dirty floor.
It was all Debito needed to see to spring into action. Before he even stopped to consider another path, his pistols were raised. He was close enough to end them both with a single shot to the head for each, and he took it without remorse. It was only after their bodies had hit the floor that he turned to examine Amica. It hadn't looked good, and it wasn't.
"Cazzo, I'm too late," Debito chastised himself. His eyes raked over her, desperately. A black rose of blood bloomed just above her stomach, and he could see the tiny streams of blood lacing through her fingers where she clutched the wound. He felt sick.
Amica's eyes flickered open, distant and unfocused. "D-Debito?" she murmured, her voice frail and small. Wrong. He thought he might throw up. Her weak apology did not help.
"Enough of that shit! Save it for later when you can apologize properly. I've got to get you out of here," he snapped, harsher than he intended.
She smiled, weakly nodding as she closed her eyes. Her head rolled limply forward, and he watched her entire body relax. His chest lurched painfully. He grasped her shoulders, shaking her roughly. Calling her name garnered no response. Nothing he did seemed to make a difference and the string of expletives in his thoughts did nothing to improve the situation either. He could think of nothing, nothing save her pale, bloodless lips and his complete inability to do anything, anything at all to save the woman he loved. God save him, but it was the truth.
He did the only thing that he could think of. He scooped her up, as gently as he could and walked straight out of the tavern. He did not notice the gaping mouths of the bartender and the serving maid. He did not see the battle in the street dissolve around him, all eyes staring at him in blank confusion. He did not notice, he did not care. He could only hear her small, wheezing inhalations. That she was still breathing was enough. He took each mechanical step forward, plodding through the disgusting mud, and he did not stop until the soles of his shoes met with the sun bleached deck of Il Diavolo. Even then, it was only because the first mate stopped him. The man's eyes were wide with fear that Debito was only distantly aware of.
"I-I don't know what sort of witchcraft is here, but leave our captain and begone," the man said hoarsely. Debito looked down, and suddenly realized, he still held the Hermit's power. To their eyes, and to everyone else's it appeared that Amica floated in the air. He let it go, reluctantly, shuddering into view. The crew that had gathered around gasped and took a collective step back, staring.
"Don't just stand there like idiots! Do something!" Debito roared.
"The man has the right of it, boys. Go an' fetch Cook and tell to heat the water before he comes." He glanced at Amica before adding "We be needing it. The rest of you fools, we set to sail."
At first no one moved, but the man's booming voice overcame their wonder, "I said, GO! And I meant now. And Regalo, ya follow me. Ya can tell me ya story as we walk," the man - Debito believed his name was Azaf- said. His low voice was thick with accusation, but Debito followed him into the Amica's quarters anyway. The fool could think whatever he wanted so long as they saved her.
The small room was dominated by a large four post bed, an impressive carved hardwood desk and a high back chair with richly embroidered upholstery, all bolted to the floor. Debito moved to set Amica down on the bed, but stopped as he noticed Azaf sweep the contents of the desk on to the floor without a glance. He uncorked a jug with his teeth and upended it on to the desk, scrubbing at the caramel liquid furiously with a piece of cloth. The room smelled strongly of rum. Moments later, a man Debito presumed was Cook, entered with a kettle and wooden box.
"Lay her there, boy. And Azaf, strip her down to the waist. Cut it all off if you have to," Cook directed. His voice was even and smooth, as if he asked them to cut potatoes.
They both did as instructed, but Debito reflexively averted his eyes at the sound of tearing cloth. Cook leaned toward him and whispered, "Now is not the time for modesty, boy. If you're going to help, then help, or get out and send someone else in. If you get in the way, she will die. Do you understand?"
Debito only nodded, but Cook seemed satisfied. "Then hand me that. The round glass bottle with the red cork." Debito opened the wooden box, and found the bottle. Cook snatched it from Debito's outstretched hand. He bit the cork off, spit it out and took a swig before pouring some into the gaping wound in Amica's side. After prodding Amica's side, Cook sighed in relief, "At least I won't have to go rooting around in there to pull the bullet out. She nearly killed herself this time, fool woman. Hand me the hot water. Hot, mind you."
It continued in much the same manner for what seemed like hours, Cook ordering for things, Debito getting them. Azaf held a leather strap between Amica's teeth. Cook worked silently otherwise, and finally began pulling the wound closed with even stitches. He carefully wiped the blood away, and bathed it in more of the clear liquid.
"She'll live. The blood loss damn near killed her, but she's going to live," Cook said, finally. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a bloody rag and threw it in a bucket full of the same. "Have the boys clean this mess up, and get this fool into her bed." Without another word he walked out the room. Debito collapsed to the floor, watching the slow and steady rise and fall of Amica's bare chest, laughing relieved laughter until he grew hoarse.