Sitting in my cell is the perfect time and place to think on my life. My future. I’m sure some of the people here probably think they’re actually holding me for their purposes. I knew too much, or did something wrong, or the like. Jan doesn’t seem the sort to think that though. He seems to understand I’m just thinking. I am grateful for being put to work on the journey here. We sailed past several of the Antilles islands, and I got a sense of scope. Not just on how small the islands might be, but on how large the sea truly is. This place is unsuitable for a home. Too much chaos, not enough places to get lost. Well, unless I want to go wander around the jungle for a time whenever things start to go awry. From what I understand, most of the established cities around here are Spanish, but I know that’s just the start. The English and the Dutch are still focusing further north, but I get the feeling that’s only temporary. There’s too much possibility around here, especially with the constant European wars, for any one kingdom to be given full control. I expect the English with their improved fleet will come sooner than later. And with the transport I came in on, I suspect the French are not far behind either. The more such settlement happens, the more likely I, and my family down the line, will be able to blend in. Jan has some kind of plans for that. But his thinking seems to me to be too linear. Perhaps he needs to be educated. Yes, an education is in order. The question lies in how.
In the dirt on my cell’s floor, I sketch out what I can remember of this new world’s islands. They form a belt around the sea. The large pair of islands are Spanish owned, operated, and controlled. That would be an ideal region for a fort of some kind, but not with the Spaniards so prevalent. Perhaps one of the lesser islands in the belt chain, however, would prove helpful. Preferably breaking Spanish domination via multiple other kingdoms asserting regional control. More kingdoms means more cities. More cities means more places to get lost in. More places to get lost in means less likelihood of getting found.
As I’m drawing in ideal spots for fortified containment of the current Spanish region, Jan comes down to visit. He has been doing so occasionally, in an effort to make this seem less an imprisonment and more a sort of barebones hospitality. Seating himself across from me, he smiles. “What’s that you’re doing?” he asks me in Dutch, looking at the floor.
I smile back. “Just thinking. I find visual aids helpful, at times,” I answer truthfully in Dutch. I have been practicing, so I am likely speaking as well as a young child at this point.
He gestures towards one of the marks, vaguely. “Van Dyk’s post is on the wrong island,” he informs me, trying to be helpful. I believe he misunderstands my map.
I look up at him, not moving the mark. “I wonder why you’re at this place, when you have a friend up there, closer to your goals? Unless it’s the friend which holds you away.”
“Something like that. And those marks, they don’t represent anything,” he muses, “There’s definitely nothing there or there.” He gestures towards a couple more marks in the chain of southleading isles.
“Then perhaps you know not what I’m marking,” I inform him. “But enough of me, what brings you here today?” I take a whiff of the air. The tea is old. He was expecting a new shipment last evening. He seems stressed as well. Something has gone wrong with the shipment.
“Just being a good host,” he replies with a friendly smile.
I nod. “Of course. So nothing went wrong with yestereve’s shipment?”
His smile falls away as though it were never even there. “Who told you?” he asks.
I shrug, still smiling. “The universe.”
Jan shakes his head. “It’s just, there’s a Spanish Galleon anchored near the mouth of the river. Dealing with their trading posts in the region, we think, but their presence is enough the ward off some of the coming ships.” With a sigh, he adds, “I’m half thinking of marching a squad out there and demanding they move.”
“Have faith,” I say, “I’m sure things will work out.”
“I’m not quite what one might call a man of faith,” Jan admits.
I shrug once more. “I know. And yet I still ask for faith and a cooler mind. I suspect everything will be fine.”
We talk on other things, but by that point, my mind is already elsewhere. Getting out of here would be childsplay. As would removing the targets. The question is how to get rid of a whole Galleon without anyone taking offense. Just pulling up anchor wouldn’t be enough. If it crashes too close to where it is, the dead would be found. But if it were to sink… I smile. A plan is starting to form. It has been too long.
The dim glow of dusk settles over the jungle. It’s time. Heading over to the corner of my guest quarters, I give one of the blocks a precise, hefty shove. It slides out halfway. Seating myself, I push it out the rest of the way with my legs. Sliding through the hole, I replace the block to flush with the wall. Best I simply vanish. Swiftly, I head into the jungle, to be lost in the greenery and wildlife of the Wild Coast.
Hurrying through the trees, I follow the river to its mouth. Sure enough, a ways off shore sits an anchored Spanish galleon. From the treeline, I estimate distances. About a lieue to swim would be stressful. Especially before a quiet session of hastening eventualities. And having to swim back. I spot their dinghy. That will do. Leaving the dinghy’s lamp ashore on a pillar, I take the boat itself and push it into the dark waters. I begin to row over.
There are lights on deck. Once I can point out people on deck, I need to be less visible. But until then, I can row relaxedly. I make it roughly halfway there before I can spot the figures walking around the deck. Keeping to the shadows and covering the boat with a blanket, I keep the dinghy moving with the current, like it is just another wave. Without light, people only make out irregularities in shape and movement, and by both metrics I am invisible. I keep moving like such until I am under the shadow of the vessel itself. Then, rowing to one of the anchor lines, I use that same blanket to loosely lash the dinghy to the anchorline.
Climbing up the line part way, I enter through one of the holes in the hull meant for cannonry. I look around the area, avoiding areas well lit. Eight people sleeping on this deck, one preparing to sleep. They stand no chance. Without a single noise being made, I make it so there are now nine corpses. Taking up their weapons and enough belts to hold them all and more, I lash them around my body. I don’t bother with the powder, though. I don’t want to use it during this fight, and if everything works as it should, my actions will render the powder ineffective. First, I need to sweep the belowdecks, then I can take care of the decks above me.
The next deck down is where people are supposed to sleep. And indeed, there are those, both awake and asleep. However, out of politeness or common sense, they keep it dark down here. That makes it easier for me to dwindle the numbers down even more. Nineteen corpses in all.
There is only one person left below me. A person watching over the foodstores in the bottom, the area where I stowed away on the last galleon I traveled on. He is easy enough to take care of, as watching over and napping seem one and the same here. Adding a new pretty pistol and sword to my collection, I finish my sweep. Before heading up, I think about what I saw. Skeleton watch is likely all that’s left. Assuming enough to fire a full volley from the cannons. Twenty on each side, one side at a time, so assume twenty five or so. Less the twenty I’ve taken care of already, leaves around five. One will be up at the nest, and whoever was left in charge will likely be availing themselves of the captain’s quarters. Assume a couple of men on watch, then. Three, maybe four. Taking a saw from the cooper’s station, I head to the corner of the deck directly below the captain’s quarters. Carefully and slowly, I cut a hole between the decks. Pulling myself up, I see a dirty young man, fast asleep on the expensive sheets. Clearly this person is not used to such luxury. Drawing a knife, I make sure he does not awaken from such a beautiful slumber. Quick and it’s over before he can stir from his silken dreams. I grab the map, rolling it up and sliding it into a strap. Peering through the window, I watch the patrols on deck. No one ever looks into their captains quarters unless there’s trouble.
I am right. Three men, even patrols. Always in sight of one another. The only benefit I have is their focuses tend to be on the water outside. I make a plan quickly. I should be able to make it to the nest without being seen, if I head down through my hole and back up through a grate near one of the masts. Take care of him, and I no longer need to be invisible, just too fast to react to. Waiting for their next cycle to begin, I rush down and up. I make it halfway up a mast before one of their gazes might spot me. Fortunately, people tend not to look up. Upwards has little threat compared to outwards. Slowly, as excessive movement can draw notice, I slide up the mast towards my prey at its top. I can see him, watching the waves out towards the open sea, awaiting an attack from some ship. Finding a good place to hold with one hand and my legs about a third of a toise below the man, I draw a rapier. Taking a moment to ready myself, I thrust upwards as far as I can reach. I pierce through the man’s groin and, with exertion, make it up through what I suspect is his heart and lungs. Removing the blade, he looks down in surprise as he dies. He slumps over the railing, but does not fall. Start climbing across the rigging, I head to one of the sails. I stab my rapier into the spar. Drawing out my knives, I hold one in each hand and wait. As one of the three begins to walk below the sail, I throw my knives at the other two, grab my rapier, and fall onto the final patrolling guard, impaling him through the gap in the shoulder and down into the vitals below. The other pair shout as I, leaving my rapier inside, rush to the next, drawing out a saber and cutting through one. The other tries to flee into the water. I hurl a cannonball at his legs, tripping him up. Standing over the final survivor, I say, “I’m sorry, but this is what must be done. And I thrust a dagger deep into his chest. Taking back the blades from the corpses and returning them to my many belts, I set to work on making the boat disappear without causing trouble for the Dutch. The best way to make things disappear isn’t to give no clues. It’s to give enough clues to give the people investigating a good enough story. It just needs to be believable. I can’t help but smile to myself. It has been a long while since I told a good story.
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