Chapter Text
Law wakes up facedown in a pillow that smells like mothballs and spit. It's his own spit, but he still peels his face up with a noise of disgust. Wriggling a little, he finds a dryer spot and flops down again with a grunt.
“It's alive,” Cora calls over with a touch of melodrama. “Good morning, Law!”
He's too cheerful. Law isn't sure what time it was, but it's definitely too early to be that cheerful. Instead of answering, Law groans into the pillow.
“Went shopping,” Cora says. His voice sounds a little hoarse, but he's cheerful enough. “I splurged just a little, but we need supplies, and the treasure chest I took should last us a while. If you're getting up, there's fresh clothes for you.”
Law doesn't open his eyes, but he turns his head so that the pillow won't muffle his voice. “How long was I 'sleep?” he asks groggily.
“Almost sixteen hours,” Cora replies. “How do you feel?”
Thinking back, Law vaguely remembers dozing off in the inn's bath after scrubbing himself raw, then staggering to bed and falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. If he dreamed, then whatever he dreamed about hasn't left much of an impression. The room at the inn smells musty and mildewy, and the blankets are rough and dusty wool, but more than anything Law feels clean.
He says as much to Cora, who laughs and throws a fresh shirt at him. Grumbling, Law sits up, stretches, and yawns until his jaw cracks. His eyes fall upon his bare arms, and he has to pause a moment to marvel all over again.
His skin is not left completely unmarked. It's discolored in some places and rough in others, but the poison-pale color is gone. The marks left are not harmful, or indicative of leftover sickness. They're simply a reminder of something that used to be there, but can't hurt him anymore.
Like Lami's scars after she had chicken pox. The thought comes to him unbidden, and with it come memories in a wave.
Lami frowning in the mirror, counting the pock marks on her skin. Lami poking and scratching until Mother stilled her hands and told her that scars and ugliness were not the same thing. Lami's eyebrows knitted together, so thoughtful that it was almost comical on her little face, as she tried to puzzle out whether her belief that pox scars were gross was stronger than her belief that Mother was very smart and always right about everything.
“They're like dents in my face, aren't they, big brother?”
“You look fine. I can't tell the difference between them and your dimples.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Are you lying to make me feel better?”
She stopped worrying about pox scars when the amber lead poisoning turned her skin white.
The memories rise, threatening to overflow, and Law presses down on the images behind his eyes until they're back where they belong, quiet and out of sight. On the outside it looks like a hard blink and a shake of his head. If Cora notices, he doesn't say anything.
Recovering himself, Law rubs sleep out of his eyes and reaches eagerly for the new clothes Cora laid out for him. He'd put on his cleanest ones before going to bed, but even his cleanest clothes are worn thin and smell of seawater and blood. “Thanks,” he manages, slightly muffled as he changes his shirt. He winces. His ribs are still bruised from the beating he took, and the swelling on his forehead has gone down but it's still tender. He glances down and grimaces – it's like he's traded white splotches for blue and purple.
“Anything broken?” Cora hovers close by, worried. He's not looking much better, even with the blood cleaned from his face. The cut on his eyebrow will probably scar, and he won't be growing that tooth back anytime soon.
Law considers fibbing, and decides against it. “Some. But I fixed it, while I was fixing the, um. Other stuff.”
“With your-” A cough cuts Cora off. “'Scuse me. With your Devil Fruit?”
“It's... weird,” he says, pulling his fresh shirt over his head and hiding the bruises once more. “Just something I did with my power. I can't speed up healing – at least, I think I can't? I can't make the bone grow any faster. But everything's where it's supposed to be, and when it heals it's gonna heal right, so I can do that much.” He doesn't go into detail. He's not sure how much Cora saw when he was wielding his power against his illness. But if Cora doesn't know how much he had to put back, how close the bone came to poking holes in his lung, and just how much Vergo broke with each punch and kick, well... it's fixed. There's no reason to spook Cora over a problem that's already been solved.
There's a reason he's spent the better part of a day unconscious.
Cora reaches over and ruffles his hair gently. “It might take time, but you'll figure out your powers,” he assures Law. “The more you use it, the more you'll learn you can do with it.”
“I know,” Law murmurs, thinking of his half-developed scanning and the delirious split seconds in which he felt – he knew – where things were and how they were, and how easily he could simply change the where and the how. He thinks of a boulder that became Cora while Cora became a boulder, and the boulder hit the water and sank while Cora landed safe on shore within Law's reach. “It's a lot, I think. There's a lot I can do. Just not yet.”
“Take your time,” Cora says. He sits in silence for a moment, and then he laughs, rich and bright until Law's smiling without meaning to. “Time, Law,” he says, grinning back with his battered face and the gap in his teeth. “You have time now.”
Law surprises himself by hugging Cora.
When all is said and done, after Law is dressed and Cora has recovered from his bewildered euphoria, Law finds his way to breakfast, or lunch, or whatever you're supposed to call a meal you eat after sleeping for sixteen hours. “So what to we do now?” he asks.
“We need a better boat,” Cora says. “The old one's on its last legs, and it'd be good to have something a bit sturdier, now that we're both Devil Fruit users. This is no Water 7, but I'm sure we'll find something.”
Law swallows his mouthful. “What's Water 7?” he asks, and Cora grins again and paints for him a vivid picture of a city of shipwrights, with canals and boats instead of roads or streets.
There's a newspaper on the table, which they split. Cora lets Law have the front page to skim while he eats, and pores over the other articles for any useful information. There's nothing about the incident on Minion Island, at least not on the front page. The most interesting headline that Law sees is about reports of Red-Haired Shanks' ship showing up somewhere in East Blue. But there's nothing about Doflamingo or where he is or what he might be doing, and a quick glance over Cora's part of the paper doesn't offer any more clues.
“Are we safe?” Law asks abruptly, once he's finished.
“How do you mean?”
“From Doflamingo.”
Cora sighs. “That... is a good question.” He rubs his forehead and puts the newspaper down. “It's probably better to assume we aren't. He has a strong presence in North Blue, and our best defense right now is that he might think we're dead. We'll have to keep looking over our shoulders. But, our chances are better provided we keep our distance from Spider Miles.”
“We'll have to leave, won't we.” It's not a question. Not even flying under the radar can protect them forever, after all. The criminal underworld of North Blue is Doflamingo's domain, and there will always be a chance that one of his contacts will recognize them if they stay.
“That was always the plan,” Cora says. “When I said we should sail the world together, I meant it. But we'll need a boat first. And it wouldn't hurt to have a couple of transponder snails-” He pauses and coughs again into his sleeve.
Law frowns at him. “You all right?”
“I'll be fine,” Cora assures him.
He'd been too groggy and exhausted on the boat to take notice of anything like this. “How long've you been coughing?” he presses.
“Law, there's no need to-”
He stops talking when Law latches on to his wrist and looks him dead in the eye. “Cora,” he says. “How long have you been coughing?”
There's a moment of silence, some bewildered blinking, and Cora's eyes soften. “It's been on and off since Minion Island,” he replies. “I may be coming down with something. Just – getting shot and dragging myself through the snow and across the sea didn't do me any favors.” He must see the look on Law's face, because he smiles again. “I'll be careful,” he assures him. “And whatever it is, I'll live. After the past few weeks, I'd call it a step up, wouldn't you?”
Law frowns, but he resolves to keep a close eye on Cora until he stops coughing and looking so pale. “If you say so,” he says, and lets go of Cora's wrist.
“I do say so.” Cora quirks a smile at him. “What do you say we have a look around the harbor?”
Law nods and gets up. His hat is on the bedside table, battered and dirty, but he dusts it off and puts it back on. “What's it like out there?” he asks.
“Rough place,” Cora says, shrugging into a coat. It's loose enough to hide the awkward way he carries himself – Devil Fruit or no, injuries take time to heal. “We'll have to keep a low profile.”
“Obviously,” Law mutters, and follows him out.
Like Cora says, it's a rough-looking town. The inn looks like it's seen better days, as does the innkeeper. The grizzled man catches Law staring, and Law quickly averts his eyes and keeps moving.
Upon leaving, he's hit with the smell of stale booze and old cigarette smoke. The town is gray and brown, battered-looking buildings and battered-looking people. Men loiter on street corners, smoking or chatting or just standing around looking shifty. Law keeps close to Cora.
A few blocks down, the streets open up to something like a marketplace. There are shops and stalls, and a thicker crowd of people. At the sudden noise and activity, Law stops short on instinct. Crowds have been bad news to him for years now. Most people can hide in crowds and disappear in a sea of people, but not Law. For Law, more people means more eyes on his patchy white skin, more voices carrying the message – “White monster, plague carrier, someone grab him, kill him before he spreads his sickness-”
But there's no shouting now. He's purged the poison from his body. The sickness is gone. He's free of it. There's no reason for anyone call him a monster, ever again.
And yet-
Looking out at that crowd, just the thought of taking a step further makes Law's stomach turn. The streets behind him are shady and run-down, and he could get snatched right off the corner and no one would care or be the wiser, but at least it's quieter and emptier.
“Law?”
Cora's voice is soft, but it still reaches him in spite of the bustle around them. Blinking, Law raises his head and focuses on Cora's face and Cora's eyes. He's holding out his hand, patiently waiting.
Only after clenching his teeth and swallowing against the sour taste of dread does Law force himself to step forward. After a moment's hesitation he takes the offered hand and lets Cora draw him closer. “It's all right,” Cora assures him. “I'm right here with you, remember?”
Law doesn't quite trust himself to speak, so he simply nods and follows Cora through the crowd.
It takes a few minutes, but his instinctual fear finally recedes enough for him to feel comfortable with looking around. He can smell food, but his stomach is full enough to keep it from tempting him.
There are other stalls – in one, an elderly man sells hats and jackets and scarves, while in another, a scar-faced woman trades beri for knives. The crowd thins as they approach the docks and pass stalls that sell lower-quality food or secondhand junk for pocket change. Law doesn't let go of Cora's hand, but he does slow his pace when he spies a shelf of books at one.
Cora takes notice. They're right at the edge of the wharf, and he pauses when he sees Law's attention diverted. “Want to have a look at them?” he asks.
“Er.” Law fidgets a little, embarrassed. It's not like a place like this will have high-quality literature anyway, but still – books.
“Go on.” Cora smiles. “Don't wander off – I'll have a look at those bulletins, see if they don't have anything useful to say. Won't be long.”
Law needs little urging. The promise of reading material presses down his nervousness, especially with fewer people on this end, so he lets go of Cora's hand and makes a beeline for the shelves.
No medical texts, but there's a book on sights in East Blue that interests him well enough. Law flips through idly, wondering at the wealth of Goa Kingdom, the history of Loguetown, the Island of Rare Animals, and the orange plantations of the Conomi Islands. It would be nice to see it. In spite of its history as Gold Roger's birthplace, it's supposed to be the sea where the least dangerous pirates come from, so it should at least be safer than here.
“Hey, kid.”
Law jumps, visibly. He knows it's visible because it's enough to jar his injured ribs, and he has to grit his teeth to keep from voicing his pain. It's bad enough to spook so easily in front of a stranger; he doesn't need to show weakness on top of that. “What,” he says finally.
The man towers over him, and Law can tell he's doing it on purpose. He's just some ragged street thug by the looks of it, but Law's in no condition to fight anyone right now. “What's a little boy like you doing all alone in this town?”
The book in his hands is a poor shield, but clutching it to his chest and keeping it between himself and the man makes Law feel marginally less like he's about to get murdered. “I'm not alone,” he says. “I'm with-” He glances over in the direction Cora had taken, and his heart plummets in free fall when he's nowhere to be found. “-my parents,” he finishes. It's a terrible lie, even worse than any of Cora's attempts. It was doomed the moment he hesitated, and the smirk on the man's face only rubs the failure in his face.
“Really now. Your parents.” The man bends down until they're almost eye to eye, hands on his knees like he's talking to a small child. It makes Law feel small, and he steps back and tries not to fidget under the scrutiny. “Where are they now?”
“What's it to you?” Law shoots another quick look around, searching for any sign of Cora, but he can't spot him among the people milling around by the docks. Damn it all to hell, where has he gone?
“What's the matter, I can't get worried when I see a little scrap like you wandering around all lost and alone?” The man's smile is somehow even creepier than Cora's. “What is it, you've got nowhere to go?”
“I told you-”
“You're with your parents,” the man says. “Right, right. And where are they now?”
“Getting food,” Law says, and he decides then and there that he will never tease Cora for being a bad liar again. He's never had to lie like this before, swallowing down panic and thinking of excuses on the fly with someone's attention fixated on him. No one has ever interrogated him like this. No one has ever had the chance. People can't ask you questions if they can't see you at the bottom of a pile of corpses, and they don't ask you questions if you're trotting at the heels of North Blue's most infamous pirate.
“What happened to your face, then?” the man asks. “You look like you've taken a beating. Makes you tough. That's useful around these parts.”
“None of your business-” Law begins, and a hand descends upon his shoulder. He starts again, almost wincing at the pain in his ribs, but before his alarm can turn to panic, Cora's voice chases the fear away.
“There you are. Come along now – oh, did you want to buy that book?”
The man blinks, and slowly raises his eyes. He towers over Law, but Cora towers over him, and Law can't see the look on Cora's face but he can see the man's reaction to it. His stomach has twisted itself into knots, but seeing the man back away loosens them.
Law tosses the book back on the shelf. “Let's go, let's just go,” he mutters, and lets Cora steer him away again.
“Next time just come straight to me,” Cora whispers to him. “It's not a good idea to make a scene in front of the locals.”
“You were gone!” Law hisses back. “I would have, but I couldn't see you anywhere.”
“Law, I was right over there.” Cora points to a wooden board posted on the dock, covered in flyers and reports and docking schedules. Other people are gathered around it, checking for information. It's barely thirty feet away from the stall where Law was looking at books. “You were within my sight the whole time.”
Law stares at him incredulously. “Bullshit,” he blurts out. “I looked around, and I couldn't even see you. Anywhere.” His voice cracks as he says it.
Their pace has slowed by now. Cora checks over both shoulders, and sighs. “Damn. I'm sorry about that, Law. I didn't even realize I was doing it-”
“Doing what?”
“Slipping into old habits.” Cora checks around them again and finally slows, then halts under the pretense of inspecting another bulletin board. “You pick up a few things, living like I do.”
Law lets go of his hand, but he keeps his eyes on Cora just in case he pulls another vanishing act. “What do you mean?”
Cora doesn't answer immediately. He keeps his eyes on the board, and Law sees his jaw clench, just a little. It means, probably, that he's going to lie. Or that he's going to tell only part of the truth. Impatience makes Law want to fidget, but he presses it down.
“I've been hiding for a long time,” Cora says finally. His voice is so quiet that Law has to turn his head to hear him clearly. “Since I was small.” In spite of himself, Law snorts quietly. “Yes, I know, I'm very tall, thank you for noticing. But the point is, when you hide for so long – I mean, when you live in hiding, it's not enough just to duck around corners and stick to the shadows.”
Or hide under bodies, Law thinks, and squashes the thought with as much mental force as he can.
“There's a trick to it,” Cora goes on. “A lot of tricks to it. Hiding in plain sight. Blending in with a crowd. Talking to a stranger, so that they to tell you what you need to know, and then forget about you as soon as they turn away. It's all in how you carry yourself, how you move, how you speak. I didn't even realize I was doing it just now. I'm sorry, Law, I didn't mean to give you a scare.” He hesitates. “Old habits die hard. It came in handy with, well... you know.”
“So it's sort of like spying,” Law says.
“It's exactly like spying.” Finally Cora glances at him. He looks thoughtful. “I can teach you, if you like.”
The handful of words sends excitement racing through Law, and realization hits him like a mule kick to the chest. Up to now, he's been wandering in a dazed, disbelieving dream, knowing in his head that words like “free” and “alive” apply to him now, but not truly grasping what they mean. He's been existing, the same as he always has been, ever since the day his birthplace became a death sentence. But now, Cora's simple offer brings it all rushing in, knowledge and belief and comprehension-
He's alive. He's alive with Cora. They're free. They're together. Whatever else happens, he doesn't have to die and he doesn't have to be alone and he doesn't have to be anything or do anything except exactly what he wants and what he can.
Trying to put the feeling into words would be like trying to fit the ocean in a bucket, and so he doesn't try. Out loud all he says is, “Okay,” but his eyes are bright with joy instead of fever, and there's a smile on his face that matches the feeling in his heart.
“Right. First lesson, focus on the task at hand. Now let's see about that boat.”
The next island they arrive at is unnamed, and small enough to have only one town, if it can even be called a town. Its only inhabitants are the proprietors of the island's single tavern and scattered shops. It's a quiet, out-of-the-way stop for North Blue sailors, largely ignored by the Navy, the government, or anyone else wielding official authority. As such, it receives quite steady traffic from anyone hoping to avoid official authority. The island may be small, but its harbor is never empty.
Among the ships, the barks and caravels and brigantines, Law and Cora dock their small cutter. Cora looks miserable, and Law feels miserable just looking at him – he's pale and wan, and the bags under his eyes are at least as dark as Law's ever were. But in spite of Law's fears and Cora's still-healing injuries, a fever is far from a worst case scenario – Law can handle it perfectly well.
Restocking the medicine chest doesn't hurt, of course.
“Sure you don't want me to come with you?” Cora asks, for at least the fortieth time. It's almost ridiculous to hear him say that, bundled up in a blanket to keep from shivering.
“I can do it,” Law says. “Just stay low and stay quiet. I'll be in and out.” He pauses, then adds, “I hope.”
Cora makes a strangled noise.
“Okay, forget the I hope. I'll be in and out.” Law checks his wallet (tucked under his shirt), his decoy wallet (in his pants pocket), his baby Den Den Mushi (safe in his jacket's inside pocket), and the loose bag on his shoulder, and pulls his coat tighter around himself. He can feel the press of a knife hidden at the small of his back. It's just for emergencies, but it makes him feel a bit better about venturing onto the island alone.
“I'll try and work out our course until you get back,” Cora says. “Keep your ears open for any news. And if you see any recent newspapers, grab them.”
“Got it.” With that, Law slips out to the deck to have a look at the wharf. It's a little after noon, and the sky overhead is gray and cloudy, with a chilly wind picking up. Sailors and dockworkers make their way around the wharf, carrying loads or tending to ships or just shaking off their sea legs. None of them seem to be paying any mind to anything or anyone besides themselves. Nervousness kicks up a crawling feeling in Law's stomach, but he burries it down and disembarks. Water laps at the dock beneath his feet, and he's more aware of it now than he ever was before. He suppresses a shudder, swallows his anxieties, and slips in among the other sailors.
It's not hard to find the island's single apothecary. Though, calling it an apothecary is charitable; the place is more of run-down shack full of shelves and bins piled with various unsorted medicinal supplies. Law frowns at the labels, unscrews caps to check the contents, and carefully tallies up the price in his head. He keeps his ears open, but doesn't look over his shoulder too often.
Disorganization aside, there's plenty of what he needs – pain relievers, fever reducers, even immune system supplements. Good fortune strikes when he opens a bottle labeled and priced for cheap antihistamines and finds prescription-grade antibiotics inside. He tries not to smile when he caps it again and goes to pay for everything.
His nervousness wells up again as he approaches the woman standing behind the counter. She's heavyset, musclebound, and heavily scarred, but she looks bored – bored is good. Bored people daydream and don't pay attention.
If you have to get something done that involves talking to someone, then just do it. Get it done and over with. Don't dawdle, don't socialize, but don't look like you're in a hurry. I know, it's confusing, but it's important to balance between the two.
Law lays out his purchase and puts his money on the counter, and waits patiently while the woman takes his beri and counts out his change. He feels like every eye in the room is on him, and he wants to fidget, but he forces himself still. He matches the bored look on the woman's face.
“Little young to be wanderin' round this town by yourself, aren'tcha?” she remarks, glancing at him.
“Cap'n's orders,” he says simply.
“Cabin boy, then.” She snorts. “Must be some kinda fool cap'n, having little boys out fetching medicine.”
“Not if I'm the only one who can read,” Law says.
The woman snorts again and hands him his change. Law sweeps his things into his bag and leaves.
Don't be too memorable, be funny but not too smart. If they like you but forget about you the second you're gone, you've done it right. Do your bit, and then go back to being part of the scenery.
He hadn't seen any newspapers in the store, so he takes note of a tavern on his way back to the boat. No one stops him, or even seems to take notice of him, as he slips aboard and goes down to touch bases with Cora.
He finds Cora coughing over charts of North Blue, and grabs a clean spoon to dose him with more cough suppressant. “How's it look?”
“Not good,” Cora rasps, tracing his finger over the chart. “'S a tightrope walk through this sea, just avoiding Doffy's territories. If he doesn't control it, then he's got the place crawling with contacts.” His finger moves, tracing a route and tapping on another island. “Best chance for us is this island here, Sampetra. Pirate controlled, but not by Doffy or one of his men. Not too much Marine presence, and since we're not flying a pirate flag nobody'll expect us to pay tribute. They'll overlook us there.”
Law nods. “I didn't find any papers, but I saw a tavern. I bet I can pick up something useful.”
Cora meets his eyes. “Be careful, Law.”
“I know.” Law leaves his real wallet on the boat but keeps the decoy with a few hundred beri in it, just so he'll have something to give up if someone tries to mug him.
Going out a second time is a risk, but they're short on information so it's one he's willing to take. Law navigates the busy sailors on the docks again, careful not to get underfoot, and makes his way back into the town proper. He creeps closer to the tavern, but shouting, crashing, and gunfire from inside make him shy away. There's a tavern brawl going on – if he goes in, he'll be caught in the crossfire, and anyone inside will be too busy fighting or ducking to say anything useful.
Unperturbed, he tries his luck at the town's run-down general store, just down the road. It's quieter inside, though it smells of mildew, overripe fruit, and milk that's gone off. He keeps his eyes and ears open and wanders under the pretense of browsing. Other shoppers converse in low tones, and Law keeps his distance.
“-and check the price on these sewing supplies, the sails could use some-”
“-you think they'll buy my hat? We can afford to sell some-”
“-guts are aching, must've been something bad in that ale-”
“-and I heard the Goreleech has been spotted in the Blues again, Daskar's a persistent old bugger.”
“That's nothing, there's a new bounty on Doflamingo, look, here it is.”
Law wanders closer. The lattermost speaker is a tall, rail-thin woman, all points and angles as she bends over a newspaper. Two other pirates stand near her, and Law isn't sure whether or not they're all from the same crew.
“Bastard's at ninety mil and he hasn't even dipped his toe in the Grand Line yet.” the speaker, a frowsy woman with a stocky build, grinds her teeth.
“Smart, if you ask me,” the third, a heavyset bearded man, replies. “That Pirate Graveyard crap's for idiots and powerhouses.”
By now, Law is close enough to peek at the paper. It's dated for today. Maybe, if he's lucky, they'll toss it out once they're done.
“Speaking of idiots,” the woman with the paper says. “Looks like that jumped-up moron in Sampetra finally ate it.” Law glances up at that, and curses himself when the woman notices him. “That catch your interest, kid? What do you know about Sampetra?”
Law forces down his alarm and blinks owlishly at her, playing the part of the wide-eyed, dutiful cabin boy once more. “Cap'n says it's sunnier there,” he says. “And Marines stay away. I'd like to see it.”
If ever you get dragged into a conversation, it's best if they think they're smarter than you are. People love showing off how much they know. Be dumb enough to make them feel superior, but smart enough to keep from being a nuisance.
She smirks at him. “You're gonna eat those words, kid. Or didn't you hear the news? The Donquixote Pirates just took it over yesterday.”
Law hides his growing dread behind confused curiosity. “What's so special about that?” he asks. “They're pretty strong, I bet they take over loads of places.”
The stocky woman aims a lazy kick at him, which Law dodges. “Pups like you shouldn't yelp unless they're smacked,” she says dismissively. “'S only special 'cause ol' Mad-Eyes on Sampetra was the last hold-out in this sea. From what I hear, everywhere else is either crawling with Marines or under Doflamingo's thumb.”
“He keeps going like this, the government's gonna lob a Warlord offer at him before he even sniffs the Grand Line,” the man remarks.
The woman with the newspaper barks out a laugh. “Who needs to conquer that bullshit ocean over some fairy story about treasure? Just set up in one of the Blues and conquer everything there, and you're set for life. You ask me, Doflamingo's got the right idea staying put and milking this sea for all it's worth. Just sucks for the rest of us.”
That's not quite true, Law wants to say. Doflamingo has no intentions of staying in North Blue, and he would never be content with being king of one slice of the world. Once he has what he wants out of this sea, he'll be raining hell down on the Grand Line as soon as possible.
“He's gonna get old and rich staying right here,” the stocky woman groans. “While the rest of us scrounge for whatever scraps he turns up his nose at.”
Not true. Not true at all. Law longs to tell them so, but he keeps his mouth shut.
One of the hardest things is keeping quiet. You'll hear people get things wrong or say things you don't agree with, and you'll want to correct them, but nine times out of ten you can't do that without showing you've met people or learned things you have no business knowing. Just hold your tongue, Law, be a good listener and no one will look at you twice.
The three of them brush him off like a bothersome fly, and Law backs off. Eventually the woman crumples the paper and tosses it over her shoulder as she leaves, and Law is quick to retrieve it. With his prize in hand, he hurries back to the docks.
“Bad news,” he says when Cora looks up, eyes bleary and tired. Once this conversation is over, Law decides, Cora is going to sleep whether he likes it or not. “Sampetra's no good.” He unfolds the newspaper and smooths it out over the charts Cora has been looking at. The article's not hard to find – sure enough, a headline announces Doflamingo's defeat of the pirate Mad-Eyes Ublaz, and the Donquixote family's subsequent takeover of his island domain.
“Damn,” Cora rasps. “We're out of options. We need to leave this sea as soon as we can.”
“We need to find somewhere safe to hole up so you can get better,” Law tells him flatly. “If we're gonna leave, that means either going to the Grand Line or finding some way over the Red Line to East Blue, and we can't do either of those things with you coughing up a lung and running a fever.” He meets Cora's eyes. “We can't stay here, or people will start to notice us and remember us. Isn't there anywhere we might be safe?”
Cora scowls over the article, then over the chart, brows knitted together. “I'm not...” His mouth tightens, cheekbones shifting as he grinds his teeth. “We can't just... but there's... damn it all.” Cora's hands shake as he traces and retraces routes through the sea.
“Heard something else,” Law adds, quietly to keep from disturbing him. “Something about a – a gore leech? And someone called Daskar.”
The corner of Cora's mouth twitches. “Ah, him. I've heard of him. He's a pirate out of this sea. I wouldn't worry about him – Marine reports say he doesn't get up to much, so he's a low priority. Last I heard, his bounty's eight million.”
“Oh, good.” Law sighs a little with relief. “Um, speaking of Marines... I think Marines are better than Doflamingo. They won't know me, and we're safe as long as we're not flying a pirate flag.”
“Yes... and I wasn't well known...” Cora murmurs. “Still a risk. Vergo – what if Doffy has more spies in the Marines?”
“If we want to be completely safe, then we'd have to go somewhere he won't,” Law points out. “Someplace he hates so much he won't touch it with a ten-mile pole.” Does a place like that even exist? Doflamingo has his strings everywhere and anywhere he can.
Cora's hand stills over the map. He grinds his teeth some more, and says, “I know a place.”