Chapter 16: Familiar Territory

June 8th

The next day, Ace found himself still stuck on Emi. Her situation was, in its simplest form, a mystery he hadn't yet solved. Other than the sunken boat in the harbor, it was the only mystery he considered worth solving. Maybe it was a steppingstone to solving the sabotage case, maybe not; but he had little to lose by tugging on that thread.

Asking around town confirmed that Emi's father had disappeared three weeks ago, but "disappeared" didn't mean "dead." A few people suggested he'd gone out fishing—it wasn't his usual profession, but he'd been known to lend a hand to understaffed fishing crews—and gone overboard, though none of those people could tell him who he'd gone fishing with.

Another theory was that he'd gotten caught in the bad storm that had hit around then, that he'd been swept out to sea, never to be seen again. That was a more annoying theory with even less potential proof to confirm it happened. There was, however, a compelling piece of evidence against it: the coat still on the rack in the café. Ace doubted the guy would've braved a storm without it.

By the afternoon he'd gotten a decent idea of how Emi and her father had operated over the last many years. Jemi had been a particularly good fount of information, albeit one less than willing to explain why she was so invested in Ace learning about Emi. He'd suspect her of trying to set them up if she hadn't outright laughed at the idea, and laughed so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

All that left him in his room that evening, sitting at the desk and explaining what he'd learned to a snail doing its best to mimic Marco's half-lidded expression.

"It's possible she's involved," he finished. "Her and her father. I'm not sure how yet, though. I doubt she's actually touched the flag."

Marco made a quiet noise of thought. Though the Den Den Mushi didn't see fit to share the ambient sounds of his surroundings, Ace had no doubt Marco was shuffling papers around at his desk. Giving Ace as much attention as he could, but that wasn't all of it.

"What's the point?" Ace finally asked, posing the question that had sat in the back of his mind since he saw the damage to the flag. "Go to one of Pops's islands, deface the flag, and then…what? Melt away before you can pay for what you did?"

"Plenty of people just like to annoy emperors for the sake of it. Most even get away with it. It's a vast ocean-yoi."

"If they only did it once, maybe. But they did it multiple times, and they've gone to a lot of effort to cover their tracks." He leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto its back legs, and stared out the window. "The marines, I'd get. They don't like pirates and they really don't like it when we claim territory. Everyone's seen a marine take down a flag; those stories always make the front page. But they make a spectacle out of it. This kind of hit-and-run isn't their style. They would've made a show of it by now. And it's not like this island is in any kind of strategic location."

The snail bearing Marco's visage shifts an eye in what Ace can only interpret as Marco raising an eyebrow. "You're thinking about strategic locations?"

"Just trying to figure out the motivation. The marines aren't subtle—well, unless they've got…doesn't the World Government have some kind of spy organization? CP-whatever?"

"They do, but like you said, Foodvalten isn't a target of value for them. If it was, I would keep a part of our fleet permanently stationed nearby."

"You're probably right." A good thing, too. If Ace was dealing with actual spies, he was very outclassed. "Not too close, though."

"They're still scared of pirates, so, yes. Not too close."

Ace rested one foot against the desk and used it to tip himself even farther back in a small rocking motion. "You said other places had their flags attacked."

"Several-yoi. But not all in the same way. We've caught some of the ones doing it; petty thieves, a couple of small-time pirate crews with no connection to each other."

"You don't think they're related."

"I think the status quo has existed for long enough-yoi that people are starting to resent it."

"Resent, huh?" Ace turned his gaze to the ceiling, tracing the swirls in the wooden beams. "This doesn't feel like lashing out against authority. It feels like they want attention. I'm here, they've got it, and they're nowhere to be seen." He narrowed his eyes. "It's like all they wanted was to lure me here."

"They'd have no way to know you would go-yoi," Marco cautioned. "I was planning on sending Thatch, or anyone he designated in his division."

He had a point. "They wanted to lure our family, some small part of it, here. Why? If it's a trap, they're doing a shit job springing it."

"Who knows? That's why you're there. To find out."

Ace grunted, but an idea had hit, and the longer he spent turning it over in his mind, the more it appealed to him. He'd never liked being passive, responding instead of initiating. Here was an opportunity to go on the offensive.

His chair crashed back down to all fours.

"I have an idea."

"Figured out the mystery around your café girl?"

"No, but I know how to lure these idiots out. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Not even going to expl—"

Ace hung up and set to preparing. He had to make this look at real as possible.

"Yeah, it's a shame. I wish I could've done more to help."

Jami pouted from her second-story window. "Are you sure you can't stay a little longer? Just a day or two?"

"I'm afraid not." Ace made sure to keep his voice just barely on the reasonable side of loud—more than enough for everyone traveling up and down main street to hear. Including Old Siev, who was ambling alongside Roscoe on his way to his morning pastry from Aster's. "Whitebeard called me back, I'll be leaving first thing tomorrow. He's not the type I can say no to."

"A pirate like you?"

"What can I say? He's got my respect."

Still visibly disappointed, Jemi tried a few other tactics to get him to stay, including offering a crocheted scarf for his return journey that would only take her a few days to complete, honest. He turned her down, but he was gentle about it.

Then he wandered around the island making sure anyone who hadn't witnessed or heard about that performance was in some way or another aware he was preparing to leave. It was a pretty easy sell; as he pointed out to the port authority when they questioned his departure, the flag wasn't getting defaced anymore.

"The cowards," Ace had patiently explained to anyone else who was curious, too, "probably cut and ran the second they heard an actual Whitebeard pirate was here. Spineless idiots like that don't stick around for a fight. They're weak, that's why they use childish tactics like tearing up a flag to try to get a crew's attention. It's pathetic, but it happens."

Emi, the latest to receive that story, set his pastries on the counter between them. "You sure think lowly of them."

"I do," and he meant it. "Anyone who resorts to this isn't worth the water holding up their hull."

"Well. I hope you're right."

Old Siev was his last stop, and the wrinkly old bastard looked one more word from spitting at Ace's feet by the time he finished.

"They'll be back," he growled. "You know that."

Ace shrugged, even though he was in perfect agreement with Old Siev. "If they're dumb enough to do this, they're dumb enough to slip up eventually."

Shaking his head, Old Siev waved Ace off.

With the word spread and his mission for the day done, Ace retreated to his room, kicked up his heels, laid his hat over his face, and dozed the day away. The sun had never crawled across the sky more slowly, but crawl it did, until the western horizon was a pale violet and stars twinkled from within the galaxy's colorful embrace. Ace flicked his hat down so it was resting over his back and leaned out his window to confirm there was no one watching.

Old skills, these, and poorly practiced. Stealth had always been more Sabo's thing. Definitely not Luffy's, though. Ace had at least managed to pick up a good chunk of them when he and Sabo were terrorizing High Town—so much easier to steal if the alarm wasn't raised on the way in—but the youngest of them had always been hopeless in that regard. Ace wasn't, and in the deep dark of night when occasional clouds deepened the shadows into almost pitch-blackness, those half-remembered and ill-practiced skills were enough to get him to the flag undetected.

And when the latest cloud scuttled out from in front of the crescent moon, Ace saw the flag ripped from its cords and left, torn and ragged once again, on the ground.

Two emotions laid claim to Ace's heart: one, triumph that he was right in his suspicion; the other, fury that he'd been too slow, fury so hot it demanded he find the perpetrators and burn them now, now, now for disrespecting his family, his pops, while he was right fucking there.

He leashed that fury and turned, mouth open to call to Old Siev—but Old Siev was slumped in his chair, unmoving, and Roscoe was slumped in front of him, just as still.

That fury crystallized and exploded into jagged shards that ripped clean through any concepts of a leash. Ace knelt next to Old Siev and needed four deep breaths to ensure his fingers wouldn't burn before he could check for a pulse. There wasn't—was, there was a pulse, weak and slow but there. His other hand he held in front of Roscoe's nose and relief made him sway for a second when he felt the rush of exhaled air. Alive; they were both alive.

He summoned a tiny flame over his palm to see more—were they asleep? But Old Siev hadn't woken at his touch, and the one time Ace had caught him sleeping in his time on Foodvalten, Old Siev had snored loud enough to wake the dead. Certainly loud enough to wake Roscoe, who by the time Ace arrived, had gotten so fed up that she put her paws on Old Siev's knees and barked in the man's face until he woke with a startled shout.

No blood, at least, no sign of any injury at all. Just a few crumbs on Old Siev's lap and in his beard, evidence of a late dinner. Roscoe, too, had a few crumbs around her maw, caught up in the furry wrinkles of her face.

Neither was in immediate danger, and when Old Siev didn't rouse with a few shakes of his shoulder, Ace decided to cut his losses. He dispelled his flame and, cloaked once more in darkness, made his way toward main street.

Farthest we ever got was after the second time, a little way up main street, Old Siev had said that first day. No telling how long had passed since the flag was defaced, but Ace tried his best to look for any clues regardless. Not that there was much to find; the paved path didn't exactly lend itself to tracking, and Ace was no bloodhound. No shops had their lights on, and when Ace stopped near each one, he heard no sounds from inside.

Two hours he spent walking down every street, path, back alley, and gutter in the village. Two hours wasted.

A whole night, arguably, wasted, except for one crucial confirmation.

Whoever was defacing the flag was still here.

And they had help.