97.

“Name.”

“Rosetta Dracaum.”

The man grasped the glasses perched on the tip of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Then he bent forward, peering closely at Ro’s face.

“Not a bit alike.”

“She’s the heir.”

“The heir.”

He let out a raspy chuckle from a throat full of phlegm. Each time he opened his mouth, a yellow gold tooth glinted.

“Of all the people who’ve come here spouting that line, not a single one has ever recited the woman’s actual code.”

“I’m different.”

“That’s what they all say.”

The man shrugged, then elegantly flicked his pen-hand to the right. In the direction he pointed, skulls lay piled in heaps, stripped of flesh. With a weary tone, he continued.

“We clear them out twice a month, and still they pile up like that. If you get the code wrong, you’ll end up occupying a spot there too.”

“I told you, I know it.”

“You know, do you?”

The man expelled another sound that could have been either a cough or a laugh.

“They all think they ‘know’—right up until they get caught. Well, fine.”

With an air of smugness, the man rose from his seat and pulled a cord, drawing back the curtain behind him. The wall revealed behind it was entirely lined with shelves, each crammed with crooked little drawers. He manipulated a dial the size of a palm and tugged a lever; one dusty drawer snapped open. The man climbed a ladder and pulled out a tightly rolled parchment from inside.

“Now then, let’s see.”

He pushed his crooked glasses higher up his nose and spoke.

“Is it a code? Or a key?”

“A code.”

“Place, time, and person. In the unforgettable order.”

“In front of the Malevi statue, winter.”

“Next.”

“Barna Naval Residence, spring.”

“Good. Next.”

“Montrosa, summer.”

“All correct.”

The man clapped twice without enthusiasm. Then he rolled up the parchment, tossed it carelessly into the fireplace, and smirked.

“Finally, after four years, the rightful owner of the vault has appeared. Indeed.”

“Stop the nonsense and open it quickly. Time is critical.”

“What an impatient temper. It takes a very long time to unlock an old account.”

Muttering, the man pulled the lever attached to the desk. Immediately, the floor beside where she stood split open lengthwise, revealing dark seawater beneath. As Ro leaned forward to inspect it closely, the man warned in an exasperated voice:

“I won’t take responsibility if you fall in. Man-eating sharks swarm down there.”

“Man-eating sharks?”

“With more and more madmen trying to sneak in underwater, you’ve got to hire the best guards.”

The man pulled the lever once more. From beneath the water came a metallic clanking, as mechanisms engaged. Ro stepped back tensely. But the chain-laden devices rattled a few more times, then fell still.

“Damn rusted scrap heap.”

The man cursed and kicked the desk violently. At once, the pulleys began moving again. A dull object cut through the water, being rapidly hauled upward. Soon, a massive iron chest surfaced, encrusted with barnacles and an octopus clinging to it. The man grunted and strained to peel the octopus off, but still managed to boast:

“Made with Valua Mountain iron. It’ll stay intact even if soaked in seawater for a hundred years.”

Finally succeeding in removing the octopus, the man dumped a pile of small metal objects onto the desk. He scrutinized them one by one under a crude microscope, then picked out a flat piece. It looked less like a key and more like a scrap of metal.

“Here it is.”

He inserted the fragment into a crack in the vault. A series of sharp clicks followed, sounding like the lock disengaging. Ro waited, breath held tight with anticipation, for the man to open the vault.

And in the next moment, she sharply gasped and snatched the vault from the man’s hands. She stared back and forth between his face and the vault, disbelief written all over her.

“This… Are you sure you opened it properly? What is this?”

Inside the vault lay only a handful—barely four or five—gold coins, a few jewels, and assorted trinkets. The treasure said to equal three years’ worth of the eastern region’s entire budget was nowhere to be found!

“Where did you sneak off all the valuables?”

“We followed the contract. The Crimson Dawn has been dead for four years now.”

“But—”

“After three years of death, 70% of the assets transfer to the bank’s ownership.”

“Damn it… You’ve been skimming interest all this time?”

“Do you think we’re selling water? It’s the dead man’s fault.”

“You mad—”

Ro reached out to grab the man by the collar. But he was quicker, seizing the lever on the desk. She heard the floor beneath her feet shift ominously, interlocking. It was a clear threat: one wrong move, and she’d be dropped into the sea teeming with man-eating sharks.

“Now, now. Step back.”

“You… dog… bastard… lower than a starfish… the kind who’d gulp down seawater if it were gold…”

Ro squeezed her eyes shut, then snapped them open, swallowing her rage. No wonder a pirate-eating bank looked exactly like this. As she struggled to calm down, the man pretended to snatch the vault back.

“If you don’t need it, just give it back.”

“Like hell… Who said I don’t need it?”

Glaring fiercely, Ro swiftly pulled the vault behind her. Fortunately, it seemed the bastards had only touched the gold coins ‘ethically.’ The rare jewels and trinkets she had separately stored, along with antiques like the ‘Kirgos Token,’ remained untouched.

The ‘Token’ was an object used by pirate captains when swearing loyalty to the alliance, typically small enough to fit in one’s palm. Rosetta’s was a crumpled silver coin; Kirgos’ Token was a chess piece carved from wood.

Ro carefully wrapped the Token in a handkerchief and secured it deep within her clothes. She dumped the remaining valuables into a leather bag she had brought. Slinging the bag firmly over her shoulder, she warned:

“Close the account. And don’t harass me again with some twisted logic about interest.”

“Will do. Oh, and…”

“What?”

“That thing. The Kirgos Token?”

The man asked, nodding toward Rosetta’s chest with his chin. Ro gave a rough nod. The reason this maritime bank, filthy and overpriced as it was, still operated was its well-earned reputation: it never disclosed any information related to account holders.

“Yes.”

“Then you must be the one. Someone’s been looking for you. They said to pass on a message—if anyone comes asking for it, or tries to deposit it: tell them to meet at the tavern Bahamuth.”

Tavern Bahamuth? She strained her memory until she barely recalled it was the name of a tavern at the entrance of the Ship’s Graveyard. Ro asked suspiciously:

“Do you know who it is?”

“How should I know? They wore a dark hood. I’m just passing on what I heard. You decide.”

“…How long ago was this?”

“About two or three weeks?”

Three weeks? She had assumed it would be a story years old. The surprisingly recent timeframe only left her feeling more uneasy. Ro asked sourly:

“What else?”

“Since few sloops have left since then, maybe take it as advice to go check it out?”

“What busybodies you are.”

Ro pulled a copper coin from her pocket and tossed it to the man as information fee, along with a gesture to keep his mouth shut. The man swiftly snatched the coin midair.

* * *

The moment she exited the bank, she headed straight for the alliance office adjacent to it. ‘Office’ was a generous term—it was little more than a gambling den where gamblers blew cigarette smoke everywhere. Though by pirate standards, it was an exceptionally respectable place.

“You want to use El Trabata?”

A one-eyed man standing guard at the counter held up the Kirgos Token under the dim lantern light and asked. In the past four years, not a single familiar face remained in the alliance. Either they’d grown old and secluded themselves, or ended up dangling from the gallows. Ro shook her head sharply, pushing aside pointless thoughts.

“Yes. As quickly as possible. When can it be arranged?”

“Possible? As long as you have the Token, it’s possible anytime. Even tomorrow at dawn, if you wish.”

The man had answered readily, as if ready to hand over the route and ship immediately, but suddenly lowered his voice into a whisper. He pressed his thumb and index finger together, forming a circle.

“Of course, provided you show us sufficient诚意—shall we say,诚意?”

“…Isn’t it true that anyone bearing the captain’s Token has free access to the route?”

“But you’re neither Kirgos nor a pirate. If we don’t feel like helping, well… there’s nothing you can do.”