by Vic Connor
“And you promised me something,” I remind him. “I remember you did. What was it?”
“Not jus’ to ya, me lad. Lord Almighty and His whole Host be me witnesses, while Ol’ Abe be breathin’ no harm will come t’ that sweet lil’ angel.” He looks again at Miyu, his gray eyes glowing with inner flames. “An’ nobody be mentionin’ she be bad luck.”
The Noh mask holds the pirate’s gaze. With her left index, Miyu points at herself, then at Juanita, then at me, and last at Abe. “Four,” she announces. “Bad luck.”
“How say—?”
“The cunning Enemy of Both sides gives me patience,” hisses Juanita. “Do not be so thick, pirate! Our sunset warrior agrees with you. She wants Uitzli back as badly as you do, so we are five again.”
Understanding slowly dawns in Abe’s face. He rumbles something unintelligible as the flame in his eyes wanes, and he blinks down at me. “Nothin’ be comin’ back ’bout that map neither, me lad?”
“You inherited it from your father, my child.”
Dad? Dad gave me a map…?
Memory Unlocked…
Failed!
“Damn it,” I grumble.
Juanita’s calloused hand gently squeezes my forearm. “All in due time, my child. The Smoking Mirror will return your memories to you when the time is right.”
Abe spits on the ground. “In t’ meantime, though—” He picks a small pebble “—Ol’ Abe’s memory be good ‘nuff, never doubt it!” He scratches the canyon’s rocky ground. “Now, Ol’ Abe cannae be readin’ thems books, ney now. And he be no fancy painter…” He draws a shape like an amoeba, all protrusions and bays. “But he be knowin’ a thing or two ’bout thems maps. An’ this here island—” He taps his pebble inside the poorly-drawn amoeba on the ground “—this be Isla Hermosa, and this be the island we be on, me lad. An’ if ya wonders, it was ya who brought us here.”
“To confront Barboza?”
“Traitor,” Miyu hisses.
“And I ambushed him as he was leaving his sugar plantation?”
“Ol’ Abe tolds ya it be a bad idea, Jake boy. Not like chargin’ head-on, like our lance lady here wanteds us to do, woulda been any smarter…”
“And what happened?”
“You did not listen to the pirate,” Juanita explains simply.
“Oh dear.” I face-palm.
“Barboza’s plantation be here,” Abe clarifies, drawing a cross on the southern tip of the island. “An’ Villarica, them Pope-lovers town, be here.” He marks the north-eastern corner. “Governor Mendoza was throwin’ a big Spanish party, an’ we knowed Barboza be attendin’, an’ we hides here.” He marks a spot right outside Villarica.
I rub my eyes. “Why do I have the feeling this did not go well?”
“’Cos, well, it dinnae go well, me lad.”
“Not at all, my child,” Juanita agrees. “We had to drag your corpse to the Aztec priestess so she could resurrect you.”
Steel flashes as Miyu’s hand springs forward. The tip of her knife is a hair’s breadth from the rocky ground, hovering just above where Abe drew Villarica. “Uitzli-san.”
“We saw Barboza taking her captive,” explains Juanita. “He and his men continued on their way to Villarica after we turned tail and ran.”
“Leaving my dead body behind, you mean?”
“Ya ordered us to, me lad. Last thing ya said before gettin’ yarrself slain. Smart thing to be sayin’, though.”
Miyu’s mask tilts forward.
“She would have stayed,” Juanita adds, looking at the samurai. “Had you not ordered us to retreat, she would have stayed there, most likely to die on the battlefield.”
Interesting.
“How did she join us?”
“Well,” Abe says, and his voice gets brighter, “now that be an inter—”
The blade flashes again, impossibly quick, as Miyu springs forward from her kneeling position. The knife’s edge is now softly biting the flesh above Abe’s throat, while her onyx beads are fixed on me.
Memory Unlocked…
Failed!
“I feel,” Juanita says, “that she does not want to talk about it. Or hear others talk about it.”
“An’ Ol’ Abe bain’t be needin’ a shave just yet,” the pirate says, not moving a muscle.
I raise my hands. “All right, all right.”
The blade retracts inside Miyu’s sleeve, and she returns to kneel on the ground. She points a stiff index finger to Juanita. “Friend.” Points to Abe. “Friend.” Points to me. “Stranger.”
I glance at Juanita, remembering what she said about Miyu trusting only combat prowess—and the complete lack of prowess I’ve shown.
Miyu’s stiff index finger points at Villarica. “Uitzli,” she adds. “Friend.”
“I have to admit, I didn’t expect not having a mini-map,” I confessed.
“Should I send Engineering a memo, sir?” Sveta asked. “Telling them to scale back on that much realism?”
“That wouldn’t be an entirely bad idea, Svetty dear…”
I focused the desk’s bird’s-eye view on the center of the small circle formed by me and my companions, and zoomed in until I could see Abe’s rough sketch of Isla Hermosa. To Barboza’s plantation somewhere in the south, and the Spanish town of Villarica in the island’s north-eastern corner, the pirate had added three more locations: the Aztec city of Tepetlacotli lay on the western shore, close to where we were now; the Dutch had a town named Duurstad in the south-east; and the free port of Morgantown was somewhere along the north-western coast. Abe and Juanita had disagreed vehemently about Morgantown’s nature: “fine folks tryin’ to make a livin’” was how Abe had put it; “den of thieves and scoundrels” was Juanita’s description.
“You’ve been following the discussion on where to go next, I assume?” I asked.
“I did, boss. Although I can’t say I’d know which direction to go, yet.”
I zoomed back out, looking at my three companions frozen in game-time until I returned from the Lobby. I needed time to think, though, and to pick Sveta’s brain in case she could offer insights or alternative views.
The four of us had agreed that our next step should be to locate and rescue Uitzli, no matter what. Even if it wasn’t a matter of loyalty to our comrade, we needed a dedicated healer in our party.
But the discussion had turned close to violent when it shifted to the issue of where to go first. Abe had said he may have contacts in Morgantown—he didn’t specify which kind of contacts—who may help us equip ourselves, while Juanita had been adamant on going to Duurstad, the Dutch town, where we’d be able to get all the supplies we might need. Miyu had wanted to go straight to Villarica, where she believed Uitzli was being held captive.
“I see what Abe and Juanita mean, though,” I said, resting my elbows on the table with my chin on my hands. “Getting better gear—even if they don’t agree on where to get it—before tackling Villarica isn’t a bad idea.”
“May I put my Devil’s Advocate hat on, boss?” Sveta interjected.
“You can wear any attire you prefer, my dear Svetty. Everything fits you devilishly well.”
“In that case…” she said, gently waving her fingers. I was half-expecting her to conjure up something her dysto-punk Razor persona might wear, but what she brought up instead was a three-horned Jester cap, with bells and all, in red, black, and blue.
I couldn’t help laughing as she put it on her head. It was a weird mix, Jester hat and secretary outfit, her dark-rimmed glasses looking like a strange, slim eye mask now. A twisted, uncanny grin spread across her face, accentuating the look.
“How do Abe and Juanita plan to pay for that extra gear?” she asked.
I shrugged, still chuckling. “I’m fairly certain there are gonna be quests in each city, to earn a few … gold coins, I guess? Whatever it is they use as currency here.”
“By a similar logic, Villarica should have its own quests, no?”
&nbs
p; “I guess…”
“And shops? Why not equip your crew there?”
“I think it’s the welcome we’d get in the Spanish town that my friends are worried about. Morgantown and Duurstad have no beef with the British, while the Spaniards aren’t London’s best friends.”
“But you are not British, boss; you are Amer—”
I smiled as I shook my head.
“—no you aren’t, boss,” she corrected herself, exaggerating a thoughtful expression by tapping her temple. “Your country won’t exist for at least another century, that’s right.”
“And that’s assuming America even happens, with this being an alternate timeline, but anyway: We all speak English, I only know a bit of Spanish… Yeah, for all intents and purposes, any Spaniard, Aztec, or Dutch on this island will assume we are Brits.”
She took off the Jester hat, bells jingling. “Hard to say, boss. Toss a three-sided dice, let Luck decide which way to go?”
“Razor’s adage keeps getting truer by the hour,” I said. “Choices are a bitch.”
“Only fools be a-firin’ their cannons before thems be loaded,” Abe growls. “Nobody be carin’ ‘bout our sweet lil’ angel more than Ol’ Abe. But if push comes to shove, we needs somethin’ to be shovin’ back with.”
“Uitzli,” says Miyu forcefully, pointing at Villarica on the crude map drawn on a flat stone. “Friend.”
“The pirate is half right,” admits Juanita. “We should equip ourselves first. But with honest traders, in Duurstad, not in that cave of smugglers and cut-throats the pirate wants to lead us into.”
“How much time?” I ask. “How long?”
They quiet down and look at me.
“How much time for what, young Jake?”
“How much time before the Spaniards do something nasty to Uitzli? Like, I don’t know, sell her as a slave, or execute her for attacking Barboza?”
“Well, me lad—”
“We do not—”
“We don’t know,” I confirm. “We have no clue. Right?”
The pirate and the witch nod. The Noh mask doesn’t move.
I pick the first of the three guns I’ve repaired during the night. “If we don’t know if our comrade may direly need our aid right now—” I aim my pistol toward Villarica “—then we go to her ASAP, I say.”
“How says ya, lad!?”
“As soon as possible, me mate. Before it’s too late.”
The Noh mask leans backward.
“I can see what you mean, young Jake,” Juanita concedes.
“This bein’ all wrong,” Abe rumbles. “Sailin’ right into t’ ragin’ storm, when our ship’s a-leakin’. But if witch, lance lass, and gun lad thems be all agreein’…”
“Very well, young Jake.” Juanita stands up. “Let us find our way to Villarica.”
15
The Road to Villarica
After leaving the narrow canyon behind, we slog for hours through an equally narrow path snaking across the tropical jungle. With my three crafted pistols attached to my left crutch, my waddling is even clumsier. And the weapons aren’t easy to draw, but my crutch resembling a walking armory gives me a feeling of reassurance. Plus, it looks cool.
According to Abe, we are walking—or, they are; I do my best to keep up with them on my crutches—across the northern half of the island, along the Northern Road.
“See yonder, lad?” he says during one brief pause, pointing toward a clump of tall hills in the distance to our right. “Thems hills, thems be in the middle of Isla Hermosa, to our south. If ya was to keep walkin’ in that direction, ya be reachin’ the Southern Road, and after that, Barboza’s plantation.”
Easy bet Barboza is this island’s Boss, in every sense. We’ll get there.
“Ssshh!” hushes Juanita. One of her bees has returned, seemingly with bad news.
Abe pulls back his head and sniffs the air like a hound. “Bee be right,” he growls. “Trouble lies ahead.”
As we round the next bend in the road, we spot four Spanish soldiers ahead blocking our path, halberds in hand.
“Spaniards,” grumbles Abe. “Thems looks all the same to Ol’ Abe, thems does.” He turns to me. “But when ya had yarr memories and wits about ya, me lad, ya was damned good at tellin’ foes apart, and lettin’ Ol’ Abe here and Glaive Girl over there know who we should be fightin’.”
Miyu’s mask tilts forward. “Strangers,” she announces. “Judge.”
I…
Memory Unlocked:
Appraising Gaze
…I can, actually. I can tell them apart.
Names float over the soldiers: Juarez, Ramirez, Vigo, Lugo; as the words appear, some of their gear flashes.
“The two on the left, Juarez and Ramirez, those only have their poor halberds,” I whisper. “The two on the right have better gear. The tall one, Vigo, carries a regular halberd and a dagger; the one with the thick moustache on the right, Lugo, has a good halberd and is wearing a rusty cuirass. None of them seem to carry firearms.”
“That be our lad!” Abe chuckles. “Thems should be a piece o’ cake then, thems should.”
As we approach, the soldiers look restless. They move a little to the sides, revealing two more figures behind them.
“Meh … spoken too soon, aye.” Abe grunts. “Maybe not so easy, after all.”
Hands clasped behind his back, a [Spanish Lieutenant]…
Appraising Gaze
…Lieutenant Escobar makes his way forward from between the soldiers. His wide-brimmed hat, crowned with a tall ostrich plume, lends him an air of rugged refinement; the scars in his face and the practiced ease with which he carries the sword and two large flintlock pistols holstered from his belt bear witness to his combat experience. I can almost physically feel his willpower as his men await his command.
An Impious Priest, his cassock buttoned up to his neck, stands behind the line of soldiers. The skin of his face is taut and yellowish, like what you might see in NatGeo documentaries of archeologists discovering millennia-old mummies. Thin like a skeleton, he clutches with claw-like hands a thick, time-worn book against his ribcage.
The book seems to throb. It seems to beat, actually—as if the Impious Priest were a mummy holding his dark, rotten heart in his own hands.
Abe, thumbs tucked behind his belt, scans the Spaniards and saunters to stand on my right. “That Priest… Can ya feel it, lad? The black, stinkin’ stench reekin’ from ‘is robes?”
There’s a rustle of silk as Miyu glides a little past me to protect my left, head cocked slightly, with the butt of her naginata gently pressed against the dirt of the road. “Vile.” She sneers.
“I guess they have forgotten what a hot bath is, back in Rome…” Juanita intones behind me. Her words sound almost like the beginning of a magical pagan chant.
Abe spits to the ground. “Oh, that book-clutchin’ candle-sucker over there be no more servant o’ Rome than Ol’ Abe be King of the Incas,” he says. “This lot prays to the Dark Powers, I tells ya, and t’ reek ya smell from their Priest, that’s Beelzebub’s foul breath, it is.”
“The Priest, that’s what holds the group together,” whispers Juanita, behind me. “Should words come to blows, that’s who you and I should take care of, young Jake.”
Lieutenant Escobar, hands still clasped behind his back, takes a step forward. “Halt!” he shouts. He looks relaxed yet alert.
Perhaps we can solve this diplomatically?
[Retreat]
[Stop]
[Advance]
I tell our group to stop.
“Ol’ Abe be in no hurry, me lad,” says the pirate. “Unless their rottin’ Priest starts a-mumblin’. That’s when the clock be tickin’.”
Miyu’s eyes shift from right to left, clearly assessing the Spaniards; she holds her ground, too.
The Lieutenant nods as our party halts. His soldiers eye us warily, probably unsure as to what to make of us: an English pirate, an Aztec witch, a cripple dragging
his feet on two crude crutches, and something that must look to them like a porcelain-faced, refined silk doll with an odd halberd.
“This road leads to the fine town of Villarica, mis señores,” announces the Lieutenant, not impolitely. “What would your business be there, if I may ask?” He’s obviously used to issuing commands and being followed, and while he expects an answer from us, he doesn’t sound threatening.
At least, not yet.
“Perhaps we can talk our way past them?” suggests Juanita in a hushed voice.
[Threaten]
[Tell truth]
[Vaguely reply]
[Bluff]
[Plead]
No harm trying, I guess. Perhaps diplomacy may be a way to solve things after all?
“We have business there,” I vaguely reply.
“Everybody does,” the Lieutenant says with an understanding nod that makes his hat’s ostrich plume bob back and forth. “That’s what towns are for, are they not? To buy and sell, to exchange and trade?”
“I suppose…” I answer.
“Traders?” whispers Abe with a smirk. “Only thing we be ‘bout t’ trade be blows an’ bullets, methinks…”
The Lieutenant continues, “And what does your fine group of traders expect to buy or sell in Villarica, if I may ask?”
[Threaten]
[Tell truth]
[Bluff]
[Plead]
“Can we take them?” I whisper to my friends.
The soldiers fidget and converse between themselves uneasily. The Impious Priest drills Miyu with his cavernous, skull-like gaze.
“Well?” prods the Lieutenant.
“Slaves…” whispers Juanita.
Hmmm. That could work…
