Neoklis slowly strolled through the bustling streets of New Orleans, the packed dock area was filled with the sounds of countless fishermen, merchants, slaves and other assorted occupants of the city. As he moved over towards one of the many jetties that protruded into the deep green surf he removed a small ornate spyglass from the satchel that hung at his side, catching the eye of a few small slave boys who were sat sewing nets as he did so. Moving past them slightly he extended the spyglass and swiftly brought it up to his eye, gazing out into the harbour as the gulls above him cawed hungrily. 

It took him only a few moments to see what he was looking for, a ragged mast barley protruding from the relatively calm sea draped with what was now a very tatty and mostly destroyed Spanish flag. 

“Qué demonios estás haciendo aquí mi amigo?” “What the hell are you doing here my friend?” he said quietly to himself. When he had heard he almost didn’t believe that a Spanish ship had simply sailed into the harbour and sunk itself, seemingly no crewmen on board. Neoklis thought for a few moments longer before he lowered the spyglass and returned it to his bag. He doubted strongly that this would have been anything ordered by the Spanish, seeing as they had given up their claims to New Orleans many years ago – plus the ship hadn’t actually done anything aside from create a colossal mess for the harbourmaster to deal with. 

Turning away from the gentle waves he dismissed the entire event as likely a failed scuppering by pirates or the like and maybe a desperate attempt by any remaining crewmembers to return to land. He was sure if there was some ‘secret’ bid to take New Orleans than his good friend and Governor of Havana Emanuel de Latour would have told him about anything of the sort before he had departed the isle to come to New Orleans. As he walked back through the busy streets he let his mind wander back slightly through his time in the Caribbean and the many good evenings he had enjoyed as a result of his contacts throughout Europe. All it had taken was a small gift here and a word of advice there to convince each of the various factions that he secretly had their best interests at heart – allowing him to be friends with French, Spanish and British alike. The Governor of Havana had proved to be one of his closest allies, the pair spending much time together speaking, drinking and generally enjoying the privileges that wealth brings. Neoklis had in return provided him with several small trinkets from across the world as well as the name of several men in his employ who were actually working for the British and attempting to undermine him. 

He had also eliminated a few local opponents of his, something that Neoklis would not have normally done if the pair hadn’t ‘clicked’ together so well, and if the Governor hadn’t provided him with an almost staggering amount of wealth. Neoklis was actually now a landowner in several countries, a feat that he would never have quite imagined possible. He had vineyards in Sardinia that produced some very fine wines, farms near Morocco that grow lemons, figs and many other things - and now a plantation on Cuba that grows both tobacco and sugar. It amazed him how much little effort he needed to put into things, the general running of the establishments being dealt with by those who technically worked for him, but more realistically worked for those who had gifted him the land. He wasn’t concerned overly either way though, as long as the profits continued to be available to him when he needed them then he was satisfied to leave the details to others. 

Neoklis continued to let his mind wander as he explored more of the city’s streets, oblivious to the impending doom which was rapidly approaching.