[u]1 June 1715 - St. John's Town, Antego[/u]

A cloud smoke obscured the bustling shanty. It smelled of tobacco, warm beer, and musky sailours, yet not a single complaint could be heard over the drunken revelry. Men of many classes collected in the humble little tavern so that the well-dressed Spanish officer only looked a touch out of place. Still, like any man so distinguished, the Spaniard conducted his business with his assistant and the Englishman across from them smoothly.

"Eso es demasiado para un mapa," scoffed Capitáno Avecedo. He slammed a fist against the wooden table. It wobbled from the force and tipped the tankards until beer spilt out.

The Englishman grimaced and looked at the captain's servant. Francisco met the gaze quickly, hoping his confusion escaped notice. He found a mix of judgment and aggression in the man's eyes that gave him pause. The man's worn, sun-faded long coat was patched and stitched heavily. It added an otherworldly look to the Englishman that made his unkempt beard and hair all the wilder. 

"This is too much for a map," Francisco translated, finally.

"You must be misspeakin', groid. We're talkin' about [i]more[/i] than a map," the Englishman retorted in a hard, gravelly voice. He leaned closer until his worn, sun-faded coat soaked with beer. "P'haps yer monkey brain can't grasp it. This's safe passage tuh riches. E'erthin' from sea dragons tuh whirlpools tuh known patrols. Should be askin' for more, really."

Francisco blinked and gripped the handle of his tankard tighter. He took a drink, glancing to the captain over the rim. Avecedo sat back and let his arms fall to the sides of his chair. The Spaniard looked larger than before in his fine, layered coats, but something Francisco could not quite put a finger on also appeared off. 

The Englishman cleared his throat. "Listen, if business in't goin' tuh happen I can think of bettuh ways tuh waste muh time."

"Siéntate, maldito perro."

"Sit down, dog."

"Scuse me?" the Englishmen barked as he jumped to his feet. A brief, yet sharp scrape of wood-on-wood earned the gaze of others around the bar.

Capitáno Avecedo pulled a pistol from beneath the table. Looking down the barrel of the Spanish blunderbuss, the Englishman's face paled.  "My asistente speaks to you politely, though he clearly fails to grasp that such modales are wasted on the likes of you. Now, señor, shall we continue negotiating?" The Englishman nodded and Avecedo nudged his head toward a chair closer to himself. "Mullato, relieve nuestro amigo of his pistols, por favor."

Without meeting the Englishman's eye, Francisco did as instructed. One wheellock a little larger than the capitáno's blunderbuss and twin flintlock pistols that seemed, to him, more suitable for an officer. Avecedo noticed as well. Francisco deposited two of the weapons into his satchel and kept a flintlock in hand. 

When the Englishman took a seat Avecedo responded with a smile. "Beautiful pieces, señor. If I return them to you, that should over the map, sí?"

The Englishman grew red in the face. He made to speak then his eyes flicked to the blunderbuss and his jaw tightened instead. He nodded and reached inside his coat. By the time Francisco raised the pilfered flintlock the Spaniard's blunderbuss was already in place. Its barrel pressed against the Englishman's mouth as if a comical mask. Slowly, he revealed a rolled piece of parchment. 

"Gracias por hacer negocios."


Leaving the tavern, Francisco allowed the captain to walk ahead. He'd learned early on to play how others' viewed themselves and Spanish officers, naturally, preferred to lead. It helped that Capitáno Avecedo walked briskly. Despite being more than twice Francisco's age, his speed revealed a man full of vigour. He was roughly the same height as Francisco with arms and legs thickened by the demands of the sea. However, despite all the characteristics of a man still in his prime, Avecedo could not stop the greying hair or wrinkling skin others less fortunate never saw. It wasn't until now that it occurred to Francisco the captain was growing old. He thought of his father.

They walked deeper into the town until the docks, and [i]La Cadena Negra,[/i] was no longer in view. St. John's Town sprawled out further than Francisco expected. Buildings of sun-bleached stone and wood-lined relatively decent roads giving clear access to the bustling markets, farmstands, and entertainers. Merchants exclaimed their wares, eyes following sailors who looked heavy with coin. While the captain ignored it all without so much as a smile, Francisco was enamoured. This was a proper town, after all. More than a shanty bar with watered down beer and hay beds and whores boasting itself a grand isle. He imagined St. John's Town had all of those things, of course, but it was the charm that delighted him. His eyes wandered toward a building with roses woven over a decorative metal frame above the door and a British woman looking out. Their gazes met, her's longing and his curious. She curtsied, revealing much of her breasts, and she waved him toward.

"¿Estás escuchando?" 

Francisco's attention snapped back to the captain. "Lo siento."

"Where is your focus, Mulato?" Avecedo glanced around the street until he found the brothel. As if on cue, the woman repeated the scene. "Oh. Well." 

"Mis disculpas. How can I be of help, Capitáno?"

Raising a hand to his eye, to his assistant and shook his head. "No apologies. I..." he paused and smiled. "I [i]understand[/i]. I trust your attention is stronger than your impulsos?"

"Sí."

"Muy bien. I need you to find el cartógrafo by the name of Josiah Kenway. Él puede verificar que el mapa sea verdadero. Do not lose either of these, entiende?"

Avecedo scanned the street then stopped. Following suit, Francisco found many walking about the street, but none paying them more than a brief glance. The captain handed him the rolled parchment and a small coin purse making sure each were firmly grasped before letting go. It might have been the closest thing to payment he'd received since boarding [i]La Cadena Negra[/i].

"Entendido. Where shall I find you after?" His assistant looked at the woman in front of the brothel as she enticed others passing by. She appeared successful. 

"Diablillo," the captain replied. His voice sounded soft, but he wore a stoic expression on his face. "I have other business. Find me by the dock by nightfall."

"Is Señor Kenway expecting me?"

"No. No te preocupes, he is an old friend. A gentle heart. No mas preguntas. By nightfall, no later."


Without the captain catching eyes hungry for coin, Francisco found he disappeared into the crowd. Merchants and whores saw him for a second before focusing on the fat purses and fine coats. He watched with amusement as bolder folk grabbed the sleeves of those walking near with one hand and displayed their goods in the other only to be shrugged off or rewarded with attention. More compelling, though, were how many let go of the sleeve and slipped their fingers into the pedestrian's pocket. He made to say something, but thought better. 

The market continued further than Francisco cared to venture. He turned off the main street onto a quieter path too small for horses or carriages. He saw the wooden signs waving over doorways with illustrations and letters identifying each shop. A needle and thread for the tailour, two crossed rifles for the gunsmith, a vial for the apothecary. Francisco walked the road leisurely, noting each sign, until he arrived to the cartographer. Over the door the wood placard displayed black checkered lines and a red teardrop flipped upside down. Francisco shook his head in confusion as he pushed the door open.

"Don't be a fool! It's a well-known fact a serpent roams those waters," said the spectacled man.

A second man, this one without spectacles or hair, replied, "A [i]serpent[/i] off the coast of Porto? He's blood Portuguese, I think he might've noticed a [i]big bloody snake[/i] swimmin' about."

"Excuse me," Francisco interjected. Neither man looked up from their tables. "My name is --"

"Say he has noticed and you adding the serpent confirms your authority. Might not be a dependable map if you miss so big a feature."

"Would you return to a city terrorized by a sea serpent, Josiah? By ship at that."

"Pardon my interruption. I am --"

"I would not," Josiah replied with an eyebrow cocked as he thought. "But I deal in maps and navigation and only sparingly go out into the unknown. This Portuguese is a sailour. Bit of danger suits him. To the real question, Henry. What if the serpent is friendly?"

Mouth agape, Henry ran an ink-blotted hand over his head. Dark black streaks from his fingers lined the bald skin, a near match for faded ones. "You want me to put a [i]sea serpent[/i] off the coast of [i]Porto[/i], but it'll be mint because he'll be [i]grinning ear to bloody ear?[/i]"

"Please, I am here on behalf of --"

"Well that's rich, Henry. Here I thought we were being serious. You know full well snakes do not have ears."

"Capitáno Miguel Avecedo."

The chattering cartographers paused and finally observed their visitor. Henry, mouth still wide open, sat his quill down and walked out from behind the large table that separated the entry from the work area. Fresh, white parchments stacked on top of far older, yellowed ones all around their work. So much clutter in a place producing such precision.

"Thought you'd be older, Captain. And forgive me, I thought a man of your station might dress --" 

"He is not Miguel," Josiah interrupted, rising from his stool and wiping his hands on the cloth hung from his apron. "Too young. Miguel would not come in person, anyway."

Francisco cleared his throat and decided to, once more, attempt an introduction. "My name is Francisco Bagua. Capitáno Avecedo asked me to bring this to Mister Kenway." He pulled the parchment from his satchel and handed it to Henry. "He asks you confirm what it shows."

The mapmakers exchanged glances. After a moment, Josiah replied, "The last time I saw Miguel he was a lieutenant. Your visit comes as a surprise."

"Bloody hell, I'll say it," Henry exclaimed. The man placed his hands on his sides and leaned forward. "Don't look like you keep the company of Spanish captains. How do we know you aren't a privateer seeking free help?"

"Capitáno Avecedo took me slave ten years ago."

Josiah nodded and took the map. "This must be difficult for you. I have no power over your situation, but I can offer you coffee and a food in the least."

"Am I missing something?" Henry replied, grabbing and opening the map. "This Miguel some kind of slaver?"

"When I apprenticed, my Lord, some thirty years ago now," Josiah sighed. "Miguel came in on behalf of his captain for a map to Africa. The specifics made it quite clear they were in pursuit of, well, [i]merchandise[/i]. I was a boy excited for work. It's not something I'm proud of."

Francisco pulled a corner of the map out of Henry's hand. On the right the West Indies and there ports were clearly illustrated with red and green marks pointing to them. Dotted lines with arrows moved between the ports and around the map, some south, others north, and a few ultimately leading east toward Africa. Small, black bodies appeared across the African coast. Neither of the mapmakers uttered a word as he observed the map.

"Slaves," Francisco whispered. His face paled suddenly. "How long would the trip to Africa take?"

Josiah fumbled with his spectacles. "I'm no sailour. Maybe two months. Longer with bad weather. Mister Bagua, you, uh, you weren't [i]there[/i] were you?"

Blinking back tears, Francisco replied, "No. But my father was."