It didn’t take much to wake Bento Belo up. Charred wood and burning children was enough to do the trick.

The screams hit him first, and he stumbled out of bed ungracefully, sweating thick dewy beads even though he was in the nude. The fire had reached his inn by now, but it was the slow, casual fire that spread as runoff from the other buildings. It didn’t spew out at him directly from “God’s mouth” like the rest of the town, and this gave him a chance that the others weren’t fortunate enough to get. A chance to survive.

Ben quickly gathered a bundle of clothes and a walking stick, and ran downstairs. Here, the fires were hungrier and more vicious, attacking the building’s beams and foundation like a child that lost its favorite toy. Tables in the bar room were flipped over and strewn around in random patterns, and now more than ever Bento Belo understood the power of liquor. Even when it didn’t intoxicate you, the smell was a power of its own, crawling up your nose and pushing away all other scents. Scents like burned hair and unquenchable flames.

Ben could see his friends and workmen scurrying back and forth across the building, dumping water and trying to somehow save their home. Then it hit him. As strong and powerful as alcohol could be, it still never would be a remedy to your problems. 

“Dammit, [i]meninos[/i], we can’t save her! Get my father and meet me outside! Use your brains; fire and hard liquor are [i]muito ruim[/i] together!”

The men quickly snapped to lucidity at Ben’s appearance, and did as he told. He followed them outside, trying his best to ignore the loss of something precious to him. What he saw was worse than he expected, however; men with thick arms and bulging chests were running about Sintra in panic, throwing away debris as they looked for survivors. Other men, equally large, choked out the fires that ravaged the city with large buckets. Soon, even the fires in Ben's own home were put to rest, and the city was left in an eerie quiet. In the distance Ben could see a long bearded man pulled out from under some loose roofing, and helped to some food and drink. He had a strange sort of holiness about him.

It didn’t take long for the crier to show up to even this outer part of Sintra, calling out to the sick and hurt and crying.

[b]“Your Count begs your attention, for the sake of Portugal. Be you young or old, male or female, the Count, with the authority of the papacy and Lisbon behind him, urge that you meet in the palace courtyard for the opportunity of a lifetime and a chance to travel around the world. All who decide to undergo the task are promised a handsome reward, should you be chosen to do so!”[/b]

Ben sighed. Such a grizzly start to his day. To his left, his father sat on a large broken shingle, drinking from a flask he somehow saved on his way out. Their inn was a molten wreck behind him.

“Take him somewhere he won’t get himself killed, my dear [i]meninos[/i], then help look for survivors. Hopefully our contacts are still up and kicking. I’ll make my way to the palace courtyard in the meantime, see what’s going on.”

One of the men answered him hesitantly, “Sure. But, uh..”

“What is it?”

“You’re still naked.”

“Ah...”

That ended that. Bento Belo dressed himself and made his way to the palace courtyard, walking stick in hand. He didn’t need it, but well, why not? 

The walk to the palace was slow, and a bit saddening when one looked at the destruction that was unleashed along the way. It was a short walk, however, and he arrived at the courtyard without incident. The atmosphere here was just as bad as the rest of the city; men stood with shoulders drooped like tear drops, and women sat with backs hunched like hanging fruit. There [i]was[/i] something different, nevertheless. Another kind of emotion besides hopelessness. Apprehension.

Bento Belo looked up.

Bento Belo saw a pirate.