[EotB] 044. Cooperative Terrorism (Patreon)

15 years before Romance Dawn (1524.05.06)

Hancock nodded. “Sure. My name is Hancock.”

...Wait, didn’t his name ring a few bells, actually?

Fisher Tiger.

Oh, wasn’t he that famous fishman adventurer? Hancock remembered finding his book, a travelogue detailing his journeys across many of the Grand Line islands, in Amazon Lily’s library. She’d pointed Sandersonia toward it, at some point, since the girl had been so fascinated by what the outside world was like. They’d discussed some of the descriptions and daydreamed about them together, and Hancock had drawn a few illustrative sketches.

Those sketches were still in her notebook, in her cape’s pocket, safely stored in Shakuyaku’s bar.

Well, if something happened to her, Sandersonia would at least have something to remember her by, at least. A strangely comforting notion.

This was no time for maudlin thoughts, though, so Hancock quickly refocused, in time to see Fisher Tiger scowl at the city around them, his fists clenching and loosening repeatedly.

“Seeing this place burn... I’ve dreamed of a moment like this for years.”

“I would have thought you’d be angry that you almost burned with it.”

Tiger turned back to face her. He shook his head. “No. I would hope not too many innocents died in the fires, but... This is a perfect opportunity to liberate many, many more from captivity. As long as that opportunity isn’t wasted, those losses are... forgivable.” He grunted. “Easy for me to say, I suppose, seeing as I’m not the one who died, but... I believe that some causes are worth dying for.”

Despite his words, Hancock elected not to reveal that she was the one responsible for all those innocent deaths. There was a very large gap between forgiving an abstract, anonymous arsonist with suspected altruistic motives, and having that arsonist shamelessly confess to their actions to his face.

Fisher Tiger’s gaze swept up and down Hancock’s body, and for a moment, she wondered if he suspected her anyway, despite her silence, but then he said, “You’ve seen combat. Are the Marines killing slaves in the streets?”

“Some.” The fanatics, Hancock supposed. She had killed every one of those she caught in the act. “But mostly, they’re busy trying to deal with the fires.”

And not just because they were genuinely busy getting the blaze under control. Another advantage to the devastation, which Hancock hadn’t immediately considered, was the psychological resistance anyone would feel at the thought of stopping someone running from a disaster. Had the city been whole, its citizens walking the otherwise peaceful streets, the Marine patrols undisturbed and with nothing better to do, arresting escaping slaves would have felt to them like catching criminals or prisoners during a prison break. Standard practice for any Marine. Few would have hesitated.

With the city in flames, though, everyone was running. Plainly, the slaves weren’t escaping their masters; they were just escaping the fires. Perfectly natural behavior. Nothing untoward there.

No one in their right mind would man a security checkpoint and carefully check IDs in the middle of an evacuation. You just got people out of blast zone in a hurry and dealt with the details afterward.

“Hmm, I see. What about the public barracks? Do you know what’s happening there? Did they evacuate the slaves housed over there?”

Hancock frowned. “I’ve... freed a bunch of slaves belonging to noble households.” Though most, she let free themselves after killing their masters and guards, like she’d done in the arena. “But I don’t know about any public barracks. What do you mean by that?”

The tall fishman returned her frown with an equally confused one of his own. “What do you mean, what do I mean? The barracks holding the city’s public slaves. Those owned not by private owners but by the city itself. Those used for menial tasks and for labor on public works and such.” His voice grew more and more dubious. “How do you not know this?”

It did seem like something Hancock should have heard about before now, didn’t it? Maybe she would have been better informed if she hadn’t been cloistered in Hoboken’s manor since her arrival in the city, but honestly, she had just been so hyper-focused on finding Saint Marlin that she hadn’t paid much attention to how the other slaves in Marie-Joie were organized. It was entirely possible a detail like that would have slipped past her regardless.

“I’m not a slave myself,” she explained. “Someone I know was. I came to Marie-Joie to free them.” Short on details, but she didn’t want to link herself to Sandersonia and Marigold – better to insulate them from the inevitable reprisals Hancock would have to face in the future.

For the first time, Fisher Tiger’s gruff expression broke, and his round eyes blinked owlishly down at her.

And then, he leaned back and burst out into roaring laughter, showing off the sharp fangs lining his wide mouth.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!” When he recovered a measure of sobriety and looked back down at Hancock, there was a ferocious grin on his face. “Brave. I’d like to think I would have done the same.” He nodded slowly, more to himself than anything else. “I guess you’re not too bad, for a human.” He blinked, then, a look of realization dawning on his face. “Wait, if you deliberately came here to free some slaves, were you the one who set the city on fire?”

...Welp.

“Yes. It was the most convenient option I had to distract the Marines.”

The fishman grunted and gave her a nod. “Fair enough. Like I said: I’d like to think I would have done the same. Some sacrifices are worth making.”

“And like you also said: don’t waste the opportunity. You were talking about public barracks? How many slaves are being held in those?”

Hancock’s sisters may not be among them, but that didn’t mean she was without sympathy.

And, from a more... cold-blooded standpoint, a crowd of slaves suddenly fleeing the city en masse would also add to the generalized chaos engulfing Marie-Joie. More cover for Sandersonia and Marigold, if they weren’t out already.

Fisher Tiger gave her another nod. “That’s right. Hundreds, easily. We could free them all in one fell swoop.”

Hancock frowned faintly as she chewed through the practicalities of it. “Will the keys to their chains and collars be in the barracks themselves or will we have to hunt down some kind of overseer?”

Fisher Tiger shook his head. “Public slaves don’t have explosive collars. They’re...” He groped about for the right words. “...the dregs, not worth the expense. If they weren’t, some noble would have nabbed them already. They’ll all just be tied with normal steel chains. I can deal with those easily.”

“Speaking of. What about your collar?”

One of Tiger’s hands half-rose in a reflexive, aborted motion toward his neck. He seemed abruptly uncomfortable when he realized that Hancock had noticed the motion. He shifted awkwardly, the rags hanging on his frame struggling to contain his impressive bulk.

“Definitely explosive. I’m almost surprised the thing hasn’t already gone off from the heat alone, actually.” He nodded toward the burning building. “Key should be in there.” He smiled bitterly. “If you feel like getting roasted, feel free to go look for them. Otherwise, I’ll have to find another way.” He shook his head and let out a sigh. “Detonator was also in there, so hopefully, it’s been destroyed by now. Either way, it can wait. The barracks are more important.” He spun around and started down the street, waving for Hancock to follow. He didn’t seem bothered by the blood coating his injured feet. “Now come on, let’s go! And keep an eye out for any Marine patrols in the area; if we can hit one of them, I could really use a few weapons.”

Hancock jogged after him, trying to keep up with his much longer strides.

Well, at least, Fisher Tiger looked confident. And he clearly had a much stronger grasp on how Marie-Joie organized its slave population than Hancock did, so as long as he didn’t do anything egregiously foolish, she didn’t mind following his lead, for now.

♦♦♦

The heavy stench of blood seemed to cling to him as Garp stepped out of the charnel house that had once been an arena.

There was not a living soul inside.

He’d checked the victims, though, and... Well, his sympathy was decidedly limited.

All of the slaves were gone.

Contrary to what his rebellious son believed, Garp hadn’t joined the navy to become a running dog for the World Government’s idiotic nobility. But it seemed that, more and more as time passed, his values and loyalties evolved to conflict with each other.

As pathetic – and downright treasonous – as it sounded, Garp kind of missed the simpler days of fighting Roger, sometimes.

Letting out a tired sigh, he stopped in front of Calderon.

The boy was... unresponsive – probably the Love-Love Fruit; its effects were kind of distinctive – but at least he was whole. Should Garp see the fact that his statue hadn’t been shattered as some form of mercy? If so, that same mercy had been on short supply for the recruits lying dead around him.

Garp had actually been visiting the Red Port, looking for a cool gift for Luffy’s second birthday – maybe a toy ship or something like that? – when Bogard had pointed at the top of the Red Line.

The fire consuming Marie-Joie was big enough to paint the night sky red. The glow was visible even from all the way down there.

Even for Garp, it had taken a while to make his way back up to the city.

Could he have saved Calderon and his men, if he’d been faster?

...All right, now that sounded way too pathetic.

With a shake of his head, Garp resolutely turned away from his petrified former student and headed off into the burning city. He sure as shit wouldn’t be hunting down any escaping slaves, but he could join and coordinate the firefighting efforts.

And send a squad to gather the bodies.

With Calderon out of commission, Garp supposed he’d write the letters to his subordinates’ families himself.

====================

Those "public slaves" would be the ones toiling underground, moving the man-operated escalators ferrying the kings for the Reverie in chapter 906 of the manga, for example.