Chapter 44: La Florida Business
The heat found them instantly. It pressed down on the deck with a weight that felt almost personal, thick enough that every breath took effort.
James rested his hands on the rail and looked over Pensacola for the first time.
⚓ [NEUTRAL TERRITORY — PENSACOLA]
Faction : Kingdom of Spain
Status : Sovereign Colonial Holding
Population : Approximately 300
Stability : Fragile, Undermanned
Harbor : Sheltered Bay, Lightly Fortified
Facilities : Fort, Chapel, Customs Office, Modest Market
Faction Status : Unknown to Local Authority (Flying False Colors)
Pine forests crowded both sides of the bay, stretching for miles in dark green walls. On a low rise stood a fort of timber stakes weathered to the color of old bone. A lone Spanish flag hung above it, limp in the dead air, too still to pretend there was even a breeze.
Beyond the roofs, a bell tower climbed above the trees. It was the only part of the settlement that looked as though someone had been determined to finish it.
Grey had marked the bay on his chart with an old Spanish name about the Holy Spirit watching over the place. Looking at the town now, James doubted any holy spirit had stayed. It seemed more the sort of place the Devil would rent out cheap.
The Revenge had sailed under Spanish colors under Thatch’s arrangement, part of whatever understanding the pirate maintained in these waters. On the morning they entered the bay, he had passed a spare set of flags across to the Rose. The trick carried both ships past the lookout at the pass without drawing a shot or even a worthwhile question.
Thatch had made sure everyone noticed the favor. He was the sort of man who helped you today so you would remember you owed him tomorrow.
James left the rail and crossed toward the gangway.
"Right then." He leaned over the side. "Bert! Get yer good coat on, lad. We’re goin’ visitin’."
Bert emerged from below within a minute. His coat was brushed clean and buttoned all the way to his throat despite the heat. Somehow, after a week at sea, it showed no trace of salt while every other man aboard looked as though the ocean had dragged him behind the ship.
"At once, Captain. I shall endeavor not to embarrass you."
That was all he said. James had learned not to expect much more.
They climbed down together. On the dock, Thatch was already waiting with Caesar standing a pace behind him. The pair drew curious glances from every dockhand within sight, though neither spared them the satisfaction of looking back.
Thatch looked from Caesar to Bert and grinned.
"Bringin’ your own giant, are you? Mine’s bigger."
"Mine talks better."
"Mine doesn’t need to."
Caesar folded his arms and remained silent, proving the point.
The four of them left the waterfront and headed into the settlement.
The dirt streets had baked hard beneath a sun that showed no mercy. Houses of timber and palm thatch stood shoulder to shoulder, their narrow alleys filled with deep shade and the smoke of cooking fires. Something simmered nearby that smelled of fish and pepper. Somewhere farther off, a goat complained loudly to anyone willing to listen, though no one seemed interested in solving its problem.
A woman’s voice burst through a shuttered window overhead, sharp enough to cut across even the goat’s noise.
"¡Cuatro extranjeros, Madre de Dios, qué buscarán ahora!"
James caught enough to understand. Extranjeros. Strangers. Madre de Dios was the same sort of appeal his own mother made whenever the weather ruined her washing. He didn’t need the rest translated. A woman who had seen enough strangers walk her street already knew they never arrived with good news.
Ahead, the mission’s bell tower rose above the rooftops. A Franciscan friar in grey robes crossed the open ground toward it with his hands folded and his eyes somewhere well away from James and the others. Whatever business four armed strangers had brought into town, the man seemed content to leave it in God’s hands instead of his own.
Thatch slowed and nodded toward the fort beyond the rooftops.
"Spain’s held onto worse ground than this out of spite alone, but this bay she actually needs."
He tipped his chin west, where pine forest gave way to open country. "The French sit at Mobile, two hundred mile that way, and they’ve been lookin’ east since the day they landed. Lose Pensacola and there’s nothin’ between Mobile and Havana but open water and whatever God’s willin’ to spare."
"And they’re trustin’ God for that?"
James watched the timber walls. One corner of the earthworks sagged where repairs had been neglected. A lone soldier stood watch in the tower, looking as though he would gladly trade the post for a patch of shade.
"Looks like God’s stretched thin out here."
Thatch chuckled. "Spain’s stretched thin everywhere north of Havana. That’s half the reason Juan does so well. Nobody’s got the men or the coin to look too close at what crosses his desk."
They passed near the main gate. A handful of Creek traders waited beside stacks of deerskins and woven baskets while a clerk took his time looking up from his ledger.
Beyond them, an enslaved man with skin nearly as dark as Caesar’s strained against a cart piled far beyond what any two men should have managed, the wheels biting into the hard-packed dirt as he leaned into the weight.
The soldier in the watchtower followed the four men with a wary look. After a moment he dismissed them and turned back toward the bay.
James knew something the soldier did not. Three years from now the French would march down from Mobile and take this stretch of coast from Spain with barely a fight. Spain would spend years afterward trying to buy it back with blood it could no longer afford. These walls would fail.
He kept the thought to himself and let the sentry watch a peaceful day that would not last forever.
"This Juan of yours. Tell me what I’m walkin’ into before he walks into me."
Thatch smiled, pleased to have something worth explaining.
"He’s ambitious enough to want more than any colonial post can ever pay."
They passed another pair of soldiers outside the fort. Neither spared the group more than a glance. "Wants the governorship bad enough to taste it, and there’s no road to that chair without money he can’t earn honest. What we bring him gets entered as salvage from some wreck nobody’s botherin’ to inspect. He’s done it more times than either of us could count, and never once made enough noise to draw attention."
"And if someone did make noise?"
"Then Juan makes sure no one knows that man’s name. Simple as that."
"So he’s a thief with good manners and a short memory when it suits him."
"The best kind."
The building Thatch led them to stood behind the fort depot. It was low, plain, and forgettable, the sort of place a man could pass every day without wondering what happened behind its door.
A soldier waited outside wearing a coat at least one size too large. His collar hung open, and sweat soaked both sides of his shirt. He looked off duty despite the musket nearby.
Thatch stepped forward alone and lowered his voice. His Spanish came slowly and carefully, as though he trusted the words only after thinking through each one.
"El que viene sin nombre."
James caught enough. It was a passphrase, something meant to be spoken before anything else was allowed to happen.
The soldier looked past Thatch toward Caesar and Bert.
"Espera aquí. No hables con nadie. No jodas esto."
Without another word, he disappeared inside.
James didn’t need every word. Espera meant wait, and the rest came through plainly enough in the soldier’s tone. Don’t speak to anyone. Don’t ruin this.
They waited beneath the covered walkway. The fort’s exterior wall stood close enough that James could have hit it with a spit. Even in the shade the heat lingered, mixed with the smells of tar and dried fish from whatever the building normally stored when it wasn’t serving Juan’s business.
Caesar leaned against the wall with ease, as if he stopped caring long ago. Bert stood quietly with his hands folded, patient as though waiting for church service to begin.
James was still considering everything he had learned about Juan when a voice drifted through the closed door.
It sounded calm, almost casual.
"Ya están aquí. Dile que entren."
He caught entren immediately.
Come in.
One word, and the waiting was over.
The door was pushed open.
