Chapter 3
A Wet Noodle
"…Pretentious stubborn back-ended swine!" Maxwell growled as he walked through the streets. There had been a guard station between the bridge and the main land, and despite having the king's "blessing" he still had to be checked for contraband, by marines! They wanted to be sure Maxwell hadn't taken anything from the palace, no doubt set up by Dreak to rattle him up. "If wasn't considering razing this island before, I certainly am now!"
"Now, now, no need to be childish," Maxwell heard Mordred tease in his bag.
Maxwell stopped in his tacks, "Childish. Childish!?"
"Yes. That's usually your job," Mineive made a side remark to her fellow demon.
"Me? Childish?" Mordred asked whimsically, "Oh how I would love to do that! If only if it wasn't trapped and padlocked beneath your padded ego…"
"I'll have you know, these happen to be entirely natural!" Mineive seemed to be referring to her true form in the Fade.
"For pig in a dress, maybe…"
"THAT'S IT—!" Maxwell winced as he felt Mordred and Mineive go tumbling through his mind. Their arguments always gave him a headache.
Maxwell instead of scolding him, took out Salem's grimoire. "I suppose that spat was supposed to be on purpose?"
Salem's red eye, opened on the emblem. "Perhaps not the roughhousing, but your mind does need to be focused on the task at hand. Let your anger bring in focus, not a distraction. If we are going to find the others, we will need to find this cult. And if we are going to find these cultist, we need allies. Confronting them alone at this point would be most foolish."
Maxwell bit on his lip, "Right. And the princess too. I'm likely not going to find any allies among the authorities though. Not with marines all over the place…"
*COUGH! COUGH!*
…That didn't sound like a regular cough.
*WHMM…* Then there was the whimpering of a dog.
The mage looked around the corner into an alleyway and saw an old man sitting on the ground, leaning against a pile of crates. An old bulldog was pacing the ally in front of him, whining in concern.
The elder's breathing was faint, but ragged. His belly bulged with every inhale, but it sounded like an guttural engine blowing. He wore a tattered sailor's tunic, dirt grey pants, and a violet captain's coat over his shoulders. His receding hair was pulled back in a ponytail, in order to make him seem like a gentleman, but his aged features made Maxwell think he looked more like a parrot.
A part of Maxwell could tell that this man was going to die. He was both old and sick, and even Maxwell knew that wasn't a favourable prognosis. The mage wanted to ignore it… But then he thought about Chopper and what he would do in this situation.
That little reindeer would probably try to treat him anyway, even if it was futile. It wouldn't matter what Chopper had on him. He would try, to the best of his ability… Besides, didn't Max start learning medicine in order to better help their crew? What would all of those hours of learning been for then?
The mage sighed. Everyone deserves to die in comfort, at the very least.
He walked into the alley, purposely stomping on the ground, making his footsteps loud. Max didn't want to sneak up and surprise the dog. That would've been antagonistic… However, this mutt must have been partially deaf, because it barely noticed Maxwell's stomping.
The dog only noticed him when Maxwell was about… 10–? 15 feet, away? It paused, then put itself between Maxwell and its master and growled. A clear warning for him not to come any closer.
Instead of backing away however, Maxwell knelt down and took his bag off of his shoulder. "I only want to help." He even reached up his sleeve and detached his prosthetic arm.
Max showed the arm, and the dog balked at seeing the detached limb. Then the mage threw it towards the dog, letting the forearm land between him and Maxwell. He was hoping to prove his sincerity, by showing the detached limb. Letting the dog know he was vulnerable, and not a threat.
Not like he cared much about the arm, anyways. It felt more like dead weight than anything.
The bulldog then tentatively walked up to arm and began to sniff it. It's jowls jiggled as the nose wiggled against it. Buzz then looked up and appraised Maxwell, seeing the mage in rather fine clothes.
…
…
…
He must have gotten their approval, because the dog walked back to his master and looked towards him.
Maxwell then stood up and approached the dying man. He was sweating, barely conscious, with his cane left beside him, forgotten on the cobbled street. Maxwell tried to rouse him, "Hello?"
The old man's breath seemed to hitch, then his head slowly turned to look at Maxwell. "…What do you want?" His voice was gravely, but strangled by age into a wispy tone.
"I would like your permission to perform medical treatment," Maxwell told the man. He could tell his potential patient was a pirate. The old purple surcoat and castaway clothes were a dead giveaway. Maxwell was going to heal him, but it was just a lot easier to do so with the patient's permission. Chopper always said a co-operative patient was the best kind of patient.
…Though that really called into question the sanity of their own crew.
The old pirate just scoffed, "Knock yourself out…" then turned back to sleep against the crates.
Maxwell's right hand began to glow, before placing it on the old man's chest. "Harumf!" He could feel the old man shudder as the energies entered his system. Maxwell was scanning him, looking to see if there was a problem beyond his old age…
…And wouldn't you know it, Maxwell found the problem.
"The f***…?"
It took him a moment to notice, but there, dark against the light in the old man's throat, was a fork. An honest to Maker dining room fork, stuck in his trachea. It seemed to be lodged in the man's windpipe, twisted in a coil, and tips stuck in the cartilage.
Maxwell looked back at the dog, "You know about this?"
Buzz shook his head. They hadn't even known what was wrong with him until now.
"Sir?" Maxwell nudged his shoulder again, but this time the old man did not respond… He was still breathing, but it seemed the mana had accidentally lulled him back to sleep.
"…Alright, I'm going to need your help," Maxwell told the dog. Buzz barked and waddled up to Max, following his lead. Maxwell then grabbed the old man by the shoulders, waking him up in the process.
"What—? Hey! What's going on!? …Who are you!?" Maxwell had Buzz sit on the ground so he could serve as a sort of pillow, while Maxwell adjusted Schneider. It was a little difficult, but Maxwell's elbows could manage it.
Maxwell had Schneider lean back onto Buzz, propped against his shoulder blades. His handless forearm was cradling Schneider's head while Maxwell sat in close. He was going to have to energize the fork and prod it out of Schneider's throat. "Alright… I'm going to need you to take a deep breath!"
"What the hell are you—!?" Schneider was cut off as he felt something wiggle in his throat. His entire head and neck glowed as Maxwell's hand hovered above his face. Maxwell had energy pour out of his stump to highlight Schneider's problem. His main hand would work on extracting the fork.
"That's it…" The fork jiggled in Schneider's throat. Schneider's mouth gasped as it tried to breath in some air. Maxwell kept his head lowered though, so the fork had a direct passage to go through.
Then, feeling the moment, Maxwell pulled on the fork and it came flying out of Schneider's mouth! It darted out like a bullet, flying through the air and out into the causeway.
Schneider immediately started to begin coughing, sitting up as the utensil was finally out of his throat. Maxwell hand immediately switched back to healing, placing it on the side of the old man's neck. That fork had certainly done some internal damage to Schneider's throat. There were tears all over his esophagus. Thankfully, Maxwell's magic was starting to heal the wounds inside.
"Hah…! Hah… Huh." Schneider rubbed his throat, suddenly finding it easier to breath. "…Well, I'll be damned! I'm cured!"
*BAOW-WOW—OOOOO!* Buzz raced out from between them and immediately started licking Schneider's face.
"Hey—ACK! NONE OF THAT—PFFT!" Schneider scrambled to cover his face, but it was already too late. Buzz's ridiculously long tongue was slobbering all over him. Yet, there wasn't a scowl on the Schneider's face.
Schneider eventually pushed Buzz off, and the dog settled for some scratching behind the ears. "So, who do I have to thank for saving my life?"
The mage smirked, "My name's Maxwell. Don't feel too grateful, I would have had a guilty conscience otherwise."
"HAHAHAHAHA!" Schneider gave a full belly laugh, like he hadn't been able to laugh in years! "A real diamond in the rough, eh? And they call me salty..." Schneider then noticed his arm, but didn't comment on it. The old pirate then reached out a hand to shake, "The name's Schneider, and I owe you big time!"
*WOOF!*
Schneider looked down at his dog, "Right, and this here is Buzz."
"Nice to meet you," Maxwell shook the gnarled hand. "So… how in the Andraste's soggy knickers did you manage to lodge a fork down your throat?"
"Was that what that was?" Schneider looked back to see the offending fork near the entrance to the ally. "Hm… Must have been one of those times I was eating spaghetti. Ha! I do love me that pasta!"
Schneider's stomach growled.
"…You wouldn't happen to have any more good will in your heart, would you?"
Maxwell stared at him with a little bit of disbelief, "…You know what? Sure. I got coin to spend. You a local?"
Schneider got up, walking with his cane. "Nah! But, I have sailed through this archipelago plenty of times in my life. Heheh, I could probably tell you every bar and hideaway on these islands. And Buzz could probably find you a dozen more.'
WOOF!* Buzz barked, walking behind them.
Maxwell thought about it for a moment. "Actually, I could probably use your help with that. How about this? I pay for your next meal, and you tell me all you can about the Creamy Mist Archipelago."
"Hah!" Schneider grinned, "Now you have a deal! Follow me!"
O O O
"Here we are!" Schneider exclaimed as he, Max, and Buzz stood outside of an inn. It was a long, squat building with a shaded terrace. The terrace showed off the rooms above and bellow the second floor, and all of it was under a straw thatched roof. The main entrance was on the right side of the street with a buttressed triangular roof, and a sign calling itself, "The Motel Merveille."
Apparently, it also doubled as a tavern.
"You know this place?" Max asked, looking around. It was a bit more rustic than the other buildings. The buildings walls all seemed to be made out of smoothed concrete. Buzz followed in behind them, still carrying Maxwell's prosthetic arm. Maybe it made for a good chew toy?
"Of course!" Schneider patted Maxwell's back, "This was our regular haunt, back when Buzz and I sailed the seas with our crew! Best pasta in the archipelago!"
"…Is it common to have a regular haunt, on the Grand Line?" Maxwell asked the old pirate as they entered the tavern. He didn't think a pirate hanging around close to a marine base was a smart idea.
"Not really," Schneider admitted. "Most pirates are scared shitless when they first try to sail the Grand Line. 'Pirate's Graveyard' and all. But my crew? Hah! We sailed the length of Paradise 5 times before we disbanded! …Somehow we kept sailing down the same route though. That first storm after Reverse Mountain is a real doozy!"
"5 times?" Maxwell's eyebrows rose, "Have you ever sail into the New World, Mr. Schneider?"
The old pirate paused, "…Once. And only once! I will tell you this lad: Do not tango with the pirates over there. They're nothing but a bunch of monsters."
"Good afternoon," A red-headed woman warmly greeted them. "Welcome to the—Wait, is that you Captain Schneider!?"
Schneider spread his arms recognizing the woman, "Ever! Lass! Look how tall you've grown! I bet your old man's been beating off lads with a club the way you've filled out!" Her red hair was done up in a ponytail. She wore a pink and magenta dress that came down to her knees, and had long but billowing sleeves. The dress also accented her figure, making her look pretty.
Ever giggled, "I can take care of myself thank you very much!" She then saw Buzz on the ground, "Oh my God, is that you Buzz!?" and knelt down to pet him, gushing over the old dog. Buzz just wagged his tail, enjoying the pets and scratches.
The hostess then realized what she was doing and stood up, "Right, it's late, and you three are probably hungry! Follow me, I'll set you guys at a table!"
Maxwell, Buzz, and Schneider followed Ever towards a table in the corner with 4 chairs. Ever then put two of the chairs aside and let Max and Schneider chose their seats. Buzz just laid under the end of the table. "So what can I get you guys?"
"Heh. I'll get the gumbo linguine! You know how I love that stuff!" Schneider grinned. "Oh and get my friend here a ruben, and two tankards of grog for the both of us!"
Maxwell quickly interjected, "Wine for me instead, please."
"What? You some sort of schmancy noble, lad?" Schneider looked at him.
"No, but I am the one paying for this. Remember?"
Schneider chuckled at the comeback, then looked at Ever, "Wine for my friend. Oh and a bowl and plate for Buzz here. You know what he likes," he winked.
"Got it." Ever wrote down their order on a scratchpad while they were talking. "I'll get your orders and bring the bottle while I'm at it." Then she walked away, heading towards another pair of customers.
Maxwell leaned in, "…So, what can you tell me about Creamy Mist?"
"Bah! None of that whispering stuff, lad," Schneider waved him off. "I don't know what's ruffling your feathers, but if you try to be discreet, you only end up looking more suspicious! Relax~!" Maxwell instead grimaced, his expression clear to see. This mission was his best chance to get back with the rest of the crew. He did not want to end up arrested with the marines!
"Here are your drinks!" Ever came by with a tankard, a glass, a bottle, and a bowl. She played the drinks and glasses on the table, then knelt down to give Buzz the bowl of water. "I'll be back with your food in a bit!"
Schneider brought the mug to his lips and drank, deeply. "Ah~! Nothing like a good beer after weeks of suffering! Drink up, laddie! Doctor's orders~ HAHAHAHA!"
Maxwell felt Chopper would definitely not approve of Schneider drinking himself into a stupor after his ordeal. But Schneider wasn't his crewmate, and Maxwell wasn't a doctor, so the mage ended up opening the bottle. He then poured himself a glass and then drank like it was water.
"Heheheh. So you do know how to drink!" Schneider grinned, despite the drink being wine. "Alright lad, go ahead, ask your questions."
Maxwell thought about it for a moment. "…You said you knew every hideaway on these islands. How many of these places do you remember, and on which islands?"
Schneider scratched his head, "Yeesh, you're already starting strong huh? Hm… I don't remember EVERY hid-y-hole, BUT I do remember the gangs connected to them."
"…Alright." Maxwell gestured for him to continue.
"Basically there is a gang for each island. The Palm Readers, the Desert Laurels, the Seabirds, and the Strongmen. Each gang is fairly obvious in their dealings, taking a theme with their jinseki. The Maruchi Palm Reader are loan sharks, deal primarily in extortion and paper trails. The Solbi Laurels are smugglers and know their desert like the back of their hand. But if you want REAL smugglers, you turn to the Oligo Seabirds. With the king's award including an eternal pose, those feather-rats are always eager to see if the winner will carry some cargo for them. Oh, and the Kisiri Strongmen are mostly hired muscle."
That was good information to know! "Have you heard of the Children of Nightmare then?"
"The what?" Schneider looked at him confused.
"They're a cult that sprang up on the archipelago in recent months. You think any of the gangs might support them?"
"A cult, in the Creamy Mist Archipelago? HAHAHAHAHA! HOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Schneider pounded his fist on the table as he laughed.
Maxwell just stared at Schneider.
"…Ah crap, you're serious." Schneider stopped laughing when he saw the serious expression on the young mage's face. "Hm… A cult, eh…?"
Schneider held his chin and thought about it for a moment.
"…If there's a cult in the Creamy Mist Archipelago, then they would have had to muscle their way onto these islands. People may be ignorant, since the kingdom can pay their taxes on time, but they're loyal to the World Government and their redirect. Most cults are the nosy sort, even when they're being discreet. So unless they're under to one of the gangs, they've probably fought one of them, at least once."
"So it might be a good idea to try and approach them then…" Maxwell rubbed his chin… that immediately made him start missing his beard again. Which immediately after made him think, "Wait. How am I supposed to be recognized by the criminal element without my beard? It's on all of my wanted posters!"
"Alright! One gumbo linguine, just how you like it, captain!" Ever then came up to their table with a circular tray in her hand. She started placing the dishes in front of them. Their orders were here. "One ruben sandwich, and one bowl of chopper prime rib for the guest of honour." Ever petted the dog, as Buzz eagerly looked into the bowl. "Enjoy boys!"
"Ah, my favourite! Iketakuma—HURUM!" Schneider grinned as he took his fork and spoon and started rolling the pasta into a ball. Maxwell bit into his sandwich, but watched as Schneider's pasta turned into a food-yarn ball around his spoon. Then, when everything was on the utensil, Schneider swallowed the pasta whole. Shrimp, sauce, race, and noodle.
It suddenly made sense why Schneider may have swallowed that fork. He was like an inverted Luffy, if that were possible…
"So, lad," Schneider wiped his mouth, "What's got you interested in this 'Child of Nightmare' stuff?"
Maxwell looked around, making sure they weren't being overheard, "…I'm looking for someone. Have you ever heard of a woman named Solona Helsing?"
"Helsing?" Schneider frowned, "…Why does that sound familiar?"
"They were once a noble family on the archipelago," Maxwell explained.
"Ah! Right! I believe they rule one of the Oligo's!" Schneider smiled as the thought came back to him. But then he thought about what Maxwell just said, "…Wait, are they no longer in charge there?"
Maxwell shrugged, "Not as far as I'm aware. I was told there was an incident, and that their current ladyship is a delinquent, who happens to be missing."
"Well, bugger that." Schneider's frowned as he drank his tankard.
Maxwell then had a thought, "…Speaking of nobles. You don't happen to know anything about the Royal Family, do you?" He knew the nobility, especially upper echelons, didn't usually recruit wanted criminals.
"Hm?" Schneider wiped his mouth again, "Well, the Cellos are decent enough folk, I suppose. They aren't like the usual pompous dictators you see on most islands. But, I suppose they have that luxury, with how productive these islands are."
"I've noticed," said Maxwell as he swallowed another piece of dipped sandwich. "Mm~!" The meat was amazingly tender, and the beef stock was delicious. Maxwell was honestly quite surprised at the quality of food these islands had. He'd have to tell Sanji about this island one day. Maxwell could only imagined what he could do with the ingredients.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!"
Both Maxwell and Schneider looked over to see a couple of thugs surrounding another table. They didn't look particularly alike. One looked like he was missing a fighting hat. Another looked like some dressed up savage. And the last guy seemed to have the wrong clothes on to be formal wear.
Sitting at the table though, was a silver haired man laid back in his chair. He was sloppily drinking from a tankard, beads of amber liquid drooling down his jowls. The red robes he wore were tattered and stained from ware and spillage. His face was poorly shaven, like he had taken a butter knife to his skin and only bothered with one stroke. It was like he didn't care about his appearance.
But what was really odd though, was the sword laid across his table. It was a two-handed longsword, but it was in remarkably BAD condition. The laced cord handle was frayed and crusty, the string unraveling. It's flower blossom hilt was rusted with corrosion caked onto the hilt. And the leather of the sheath was dry and cracked. Why would any man keep a such a rotten sword, let alone keep it that way?
"Hey, you took my brother's mug there, buddy. And now you're going to waste all that alcohol!? You got some nerve!" The failed fisherman pulled out a knife and stabbed the table in front of the drinker.
In actuality, they saw this vagabond grab the tankard as the waitress passed by. They had already been cut off, but this lush was still drinking. To them, that didn't seem fair. "Anything to say for yourself?"
The silver-ette stopped drinking and looked into the bottom of his tankard. He tried tilting the mug, but no more alcohol poured out… Then he saw the thug leaning forward towards him.
"…Who are you again…?" the swordsman said groggily. He was unequivocally drunk.
"…Ha! Hahahaha! This idiot's completely sloshed!" the tasseled hipster laughed. "Danny! Donny! How about we take this out side and teach him a lesson, eh?" He moved to grab the drunk's bicep, intending to drag him into the alley.
Suddenly, their victim lashed out with a left hook, just as Denny touched him. His left elbow then flew back like a piston, ramming into Donny's nose, making him clutch the broken cartilage. Then he rolled away from the table as Danny tried to grapple him.
"Ah crap… They better not bring that over here," Schneider took another drink as he watched the bar fight. "Well, looks like we're having dinner and a show! How long do you think he'll last?" Three versus one had some fairly decent odds.
However, there was something in his movements though, that reminded Maxwell of Zoro. The martial arts were different to be sure, but the footwork and practiced swings seemed awfully familiar.
"…I think he'll take them all out," Maxwell said, after a bit of observation. "30 seconds, max." The guy was only using one arm during the entire brawl. His body would shift and weave a he danced around the ruffians. Nailing each one in the face, belly, or back.
"Hm… You may be right." Both Schneider and Maxwell watched the swordsman knock out two of the thugs.
However the last guy, Donny, finally wised up and grabbed the sword on the table, "You're going to get it now, you—Ack! AAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!"
As soon as the ruffian started to draw the blade out of its sheath, a crimson glow emanated from an embedded jewel in the sword's bevel. Tendrils of wispy mist clung to the man's hand, pulsing with a sliding light. He let go of the sword, clutching his arm like it had just been stabbed, and the tendrils disappeared with it. The glowing jewel still shined in the sheath though.
This seemed to make their drunk suddenly a bit more sober. Like it was a reminder why he was drinking. He then kicked the sword sliding back into its sheath, then clocked the guy who tried to draw his sword.
The victor looked around, "…Ugh, what a mess… *hiccup!*" Then, stumbling, he picked up his sword and holstered it onto his back.
Maxwell stared at the blade like a puzzle. It was clearly cursed. Those draining tendrils were a dead giveaway to Maxwell. But it wasn't emanating any aura before being drawn. How was that happening, and where did this guy get it?
"Nice work, laddie!" Schneider grinned, toasting the victor. "You want another drink to celebrate? Max here's paying!"
Maxwell snapped his head back towards Schneider, "Hey! I said I was—!"
"Max…? Max…" the drunk rubbed his head like he was trying to remember something. "Maxwell Trevelyan?"
Maxwell jolted slightly. He didn't think anyone would guess his name so quickly. "…Yeah. How did you—?"
Then quick than either of them realized, Maxwell suddenly had a longsword pointed at his throat, and Schneider fell back out of his chair is surprise. Maxwell stared down the length of the blade, eyes crossed.
Saga stared at him with a drunken glare. "Where… *hiccup* is Roronoa Zoro!"