Of all the things, words hold the most power. I learned this when my perilous thoughts became real and ended an empire.

Ah! But so broad a statement without a proper introduction! My name is Montagia and I wish to tell you a story of love and heartbreak. It is also happens to be a story about me, which is my favorite kind.

Yes, vanity. I would have thought I’d have learned a lesson about it from all of this but some lessons last longer than one lifetime. It doesn’t help that I don’t take to any kind of teaching quickly.

More to the point, I have lived in a little town named Laruba my entire life. It is a quiet, warm port where one can make a living in trade or simply bask out their days in the orange glow of the sunsets we are famous for. During the day we fish, we do laundry, we buy and sell. By night, we also do those things and more.

Laruba is always moving but never loud. Our people may speak often but it is with a soft voice; a trait I share happily. As I was growing up, I became accustomed to the sound of fireside talking and drunken laughter. I spent all of my days smelling salt and fish on the air with a tinge of wine. I basked in the sun and the smiles of the townsfolk (another thing we are famous for.) I ran wild in the orchards at the western end of town, tasting the fruit when the tenders weren’t watching. I stared from the window of the school house, watching the sea trickle on the sands. Laruba is all of these things and so am I.

I am older now but then I was but no more than a quarter in age. Both of my parents had passed years before; my father in the war, my mother in sickness. I was not sick, nor a soldier, so I lived on with a sister who loved me but could not stand me. She is so different from me that I wonder if we shared the same father. Her skin is certainly lighter than mine but it still bears the nice brown color of our people. It would not have been unlike our father to have been with several women but he always insisted we were both his.

My sister, for all her faults, is still the star of my sky. I disagree with her on everything but I would happily die for her if I needed to. One day, if she continues the life she has, I may do just that. Her name is Luciana and she has had all of the opportunities I didn’t. I do not blame my parents for leaving her their inheritance. I would not have gambled on me either.

She and I have one thing in common: we are both experts at squandering our coin. She is much better at talking her way out of it and back into it. I happen to be better at acquiring it to begin with. Such is our life! It is ours and I love it for its faults.

When my parents went to dance with the death god, I was left with nothing but the clothes on my back and I didn’t even keep those for more than an afternoon. They may still be on the floor of the room of the governor’s daughter. It was while naked and imprisoned for the first time that I met the two most wonderful people in my life, Diego and Santiago. We all discovered our penchant for thievery, sex and love of the game of cards. Diego told me he would fuck my sister. I told him I would fuck his mother and make a new sister. Santiago told us he would rob us both as we went to work on each other’s families. We all drank the wine we bribed the guard for and toasted to our successes. We attempted to escape and failed in our drunkenness. The next night we toasted our failures and escaped through dumb luck.

Diego, like me, had lost his parents and discovered that the best way to make coin was to take coin. He was good at it and taught me several of the tricks I still use today. He had no brothers other than us but he was content to be alone. Though all folk in Laruba are soft spoken, he is the softest. Do not mistake it for shyness. All of the words he says, he means. He always makes good on promises and is very honest for a vagabond. I have always valued it when I wasn’t busy being uncomfortable with it.

He, like me, was born in Laruba from a Modestan father and a Calametan mother. His father, who he said was named Ernest, had never agreed with the war and had abandoned the army to come live on our side of the channel where, as he put it, “The water is warmer and the wine is sweeter.” His mother had fallen in love with Ernest when he serenaded her at a local Laruban flower festival (something for we are not famous but are still wonderful for.) The song itself was terrible and self written but she had said it was the way that he never looked away from her eyes that won her over.

Diego shares his father’s beautiful eyes and uses them as well as Santiago and I use the rapier. They are quite as sharp too. He can look through a man or into a woman if he stares hard enough. He did end up fucking my sister and we nearly fought over it but he won me over with a comedic quip about paying what’s due and a funny waggle of his eyebrows. He claimed he was disappointed I never got the chance to fuck his mother. We both laughed.

Santiago was a fighter. He managed to keep his family alive and safely away from Diego and I (he only had brothers, none of whom we wished to fuck.) His father, Mateo, was a diehard Calametan who was forced to retire from the army when he got to be too old. This was purely by the army’s standards as Mateo is still, to this day, capable of sword fighting better than any of us. His son takes a close second. If Diego taught me thievery, it would be safe to say that Santiago taught me swords, though not without hardship.

On the same day that Borja announced it was allying itself with our neighbor Modesta, Santiago told me that the twisted god had cursed me to be left handed because I spent too much time in the company of women. This is not true, of course. I am cursed to be left handed because my father had spent too much time in the company of women. It was a distinct difference and I said as much but it did not make me a better swordsman.

It took me the better part of two summers to become competent. This was my fault entirely. Santiago was a wonderful teacher. I was simply a poor student. We spent long days in the orchard near his house stealing fruit and fighting. Diego would watch and eat our stolen goods.

“I cannot teach an offhand to be good at anything let alone the art of the blade!” he would cry.

“Why not? Your mother taught me plenty!” I would return and we would clash again. Again and again. Over and over until the sun would glow orange and we would stop and watch together. I remember the feeling of the breeze as it overpowered the sun’s warmth at close of day and how wonderful that felt on my sweat-flecked face. Fighting was hard work but it helped when some of the local girls would stop their chores and watch us as we sparked blades together without our shirts. One simply had to be a master when pretty girls were watching. This is true in any country.

At the end of the second summer, Mateo gifted me a custom crafted rapier, that I named Rareza, as a reward for keeping his brutish son company. He never came to watch but he told me that he could tell that I had been listening to Santiago by the way I was standing.

“You stand like a warrior now. I am glad to see you no longer stand like a beggar.”

Santiago’s family was rich and by proximity, so was he if he simply asked for anything. Both Diego and I would have loved that ability but Santiago never felt he needed it. He would not ask for help in anything and whether it was pride, stubbornness or simply a lack of need, he would never tell.

Santiago was uncharacteristically loud for a Laruban and fortunately for him he was a man of few words. Those words weighed as much as he did. They were muscular and powerful. He simply is one of a kind, especially among his kin.

So it was that the three of us met and became fast friends, each covering the naked back of the others’ flaws. We became well known around Laruba as trouble and would frequently be locked up and either escape or wait for my sister to pay our fines with whatever she had scraped together.

I don’t suppose I told you what I brought to the table. As it turned out, I was an expert at planning our schemes. I would bring them a crazy idea, we would all laugh, and then we would put it together and pull it off. It was not a bad system, I think. We wound up with money more often than jail time.

I had always improvised things when things went wrong. I had a knack for it as a young boy. I was always taught that the best plan was the one you put into action instead of doubting. Doubt was a crutch for those without ambition! We were rich with ambition if nothing else.

Our story begins with Santiago and me behind bars after a botched robbery. We sat across from one another in opposite cells. There are only four cells in Laruba as it is not a huge town and crime is not rampant outside of a few local groups including ours. They had learned many times ago not to put us in the same cell.

Santiago stared at me in disbelief from his side. He was still covered in sweat from the fighting that took place only an hour ago. There had been so many mercenaries. We had been used to taking things from nobles and they always had guards but this one was different. This was the one that changed everything.

There was never supposed to be fighting. We had met at a local tap house earlier that afternoon with our usual gear. I came with a local map that had been well written on and wearing Rareza at my side. I also took a few lock picks for good measure. An escape plan is never a bad idea.

Diego brought his own lock picking kit that was far more elaborate than mine. He’d been overjoyed the day he had been able to buy them. It was one of the few things in life he’d bought with honest money. I cannot begin to understand why it was so important that he pay for the set specifically but he was very insistent that it was important.

In addition, he’d brought flint and tender for any fire we might need, which actually came up more than you might think. He’d started bringing it when we tired of needing it and not having it. All of this was kept neatly in an eblazoned leather satchel. Neatly pounded into the side was a Modestan emblem. He had stolen this one.

Santiago brought his own rapier, which was many inches bigger than my own (spare me your jokes.) His father had made it for him as a boy and it was no secret that Mateo had always wanted a son to continue his martial legacy. It had paid off big time.

Santiago also brought with him some low yield explosives that he “borrowed” from the local armory. They weren’t much longer than a foot and were sticks of maroon with sparking wire for ignition. They were effective though. We’d never needed one on the job but had spent some marvelous afternoons in the mines west of Lunega testing them. They had a way of making your bones shake, even at a distance.

He did not carry them in a satchel. Instead he wore them strapped at the waist. Only he could get away with such a thing. His father’s reputation did not keep him out of jail but it did allow him certain advantages.

We sat at the oak table, map spread before us, pouring over it with scrutiny and brushing crumbs away. It contained a basic layout of Laruba and the surrounding villages. Ambush points were highlighted and scattered along the edges were notes of what made some jobs successful and some detailing massive failures. The tap room, named “Joyous Bride” was circled and labeled fondly as “PRIMARY PLANNING LOCATION.” Also circled was the jail, which was labeled “SECONDARY PLANNING LOCATION.” The towns of Laruba, Lanega, Barderro, and Raldo were all plotted out in four separate corners.

Santiago pointed at a path that led around a set of broad hills thicketed with trees. It was solitary, with few notes written near it. His finger thudded on it a few times and slid along it from Lanega to Laruba.

“See here? This road is isolated. Nobody takes it except the miners who come outland to trade their stones. We haven’t hit it very often,” he said. He leaned back in his chair. He did not often take part in the planning so it was not unusual for him to be proud of coming up with this on his own.

We had tried to let him plan things before and his plans always involved violence. So we stopped asking. We were surprised this time when he not only approached us with an idea but that it also did not include bludgeoning someone into submission.

Diego watched his finger and then exchanged a glance with me. We both looked at Santiago together as he stroked at his thick moustache. Then we looked to the map and back to him again.

“It’s not the worst plan you’ve come up with,” I admitted.

He snorted and leaned forward again, his thick eyebrows jamming down. He huffed and clasped his hands on the tabletop. “It is clearly my best. Any idiot could see that!”

Diego chuckled and waved down one of the girls circling the tables who wore a serving apron and a forced smile. He motioned at the drinks we had and gave her a nod to send her off for three more. She simply gave a half nod in response and continued her circles.

Both Santiago and I were drinking a stout lager that tasted as full bodied as any of the girls here looked. Diego had an empty wine cup in front of him. We used to give him a rough time of it but quit when we realized that he wasn’t about to change for a couple of real men. So we let him have his fancy stuff in relative peace.

“Any idiot? If I showed you this plan, you’d understand it,” Diego asked.

“Of course,” Santiago huffed again.

“Well, then I guess any idiot can see! Well done.”

Santiago shot him a venomous glare but it didn’t seem to faze him. His father’s emerald eyes twinkled back, pleading for him to be absolved of any insult. Santiago sighed much louder than before and forgave him with angry silence.

“Ok friends, we still need to do this together if we want to come home wealthy tonight. No more drinking after this round,” I said, pointing at the empty cups. Both of my compatriots groaned and threw their hands up in frustration.

“I hate this rule,” said Diego. “Tell me why we do this again?”

“Because drunken thieves are poor thieves. I need your heads clear before the sun goes down. Sure, we could drink all we want now and be thrown in jail tonight when we walk piss drunk in circles trying to relieve some prick of his coin, or we could do this sober and spend the next three weeks staggered off the coast of La Masa.”

At that, a flash of excitement covered their faces. Diego threw his hands in the air and Santiago pounded his fists on the table. Both shouted in excitement, “La Montagia!”

It was a call to arms they had come up with years ago when it was discovered that I could be counted on to keep the plans intact. Diego said it first and Santiago followed suit because he hates being left out. Before we knew it, a rally was born that would follow us all of our days. Every victory would bring a shout. We would toast with it too, when we fancied toasts. Now I am the only one who remembers who created it, though I am content to let the other two argue it out.

I personally liked having a battle cry and one day, if I am ever rich enough, I will also pay to have my own fanfare follow me about.

Until then, La Montagia!

Late in the afternoon, we hid, sober and ready to lift coin off of a tempting target. Diego hid in some longbushes while Santiago crept behind a tree, hands clutched onto his rapier. I simply stood in the middle path, looking as sullen as possible. It wasn’t easy. I was absolutely giddy at the idea of how much we could make from this.

The target was different, which should have been our first clue that this was wrong. A high nobleman from Modesta was to visit a friend in Lanega by way of our port. He and a small band of mercenary guards would travel along the lonely path making it easy for me to stop them with some falsehood and allow Diego to move like shadow. Soon, he’d be off with the coin, my false problem would be fixed and we’d all walk away richer. Santiago simply needed to wait if things went wrong.

He did not have to wait long.

Diego was responsible for gathering the information on targets before any jobs were done. He usually did this through a combination of eavesdropping and seduction. People are only as trustworthy as their word though and sometimes we got bad info. This meant complications.

Certain complications were worse than others. One landed us behind bars for two months after we accidentally infiltrated the constable’s cousin’s house. Such is life, I know, but two months is a long time and I am a busy man!

Diego had heard from what we believed to be a reliable source the nobleman was on vacation with political amnesty so as to go hunting with his close friend. The problem was not in the location or the target’s status. Our problem was the source.

Diego had met the girl six months before this at a masquerade ball held at Governor Rafael’s villa. She was beautiful, well-educated and polite. She had the lighter skin of Modestan but he was willing to overlook that in favor of the rest of her. After all, it was not a person’s fault for the island of their birth, if they were from the islands at all.

She stood with a proper stance and walked the gait of a socialite. She must have been well connected to get an invitation without actually living in Laruba. He wasn’t sure when he first entered the marbled arches that she was the one he was looking for. After all, this was a masked ball.

Eyes don’t lie the way words do, though. When he met with hers, his chest was thunderstruck. Every beat of his heart drummed in mighty rhythm. She had such lovely grey eyes and a smile that turned at a wonderful curve. Adorned in her dark green party dress with no frills at all, Diego knew she was the one.

He spent the better part of an evening chatting with her. As it turned out, she was from Modesta. She’d come to see the governor about resuming trade between her city of Sombra and Laruba. Her name was Catalina and she said she fancied him. They danced, they ate and then danced more. Long into the night they drank and laughed until the moon was high and the sounds of frogs and crickets carried off into the dark.

When he came and told me that she mentioned a high noble making rounds near our common city, my first question was if his heart was speaking for him.

“No. Yes. Yes, okay? But gold is also in my heart Montagia. It’s in yours too, don’t deny it. This could set us up for a long time,” he’d said.

I hate how convincing he is.

So I stood in the road, waiting for the nobleman from Modesta and his meager mercenaries to round the bend. A carriage did come but it was not followed by a few mercenaries. It was surrounded by twenty soldiers. Not Modestan soldiers either. These men wore the uniform of the Boljan elite.

My heart stopped for a moment, I swear. I am not one prone to much panic. You may even call me easy going. If the Boljan Empire shows up anywhere unexpectedly, then you can make a safe bet that almost anyone would startle. I could not decide whether to run or simply continue the ruse. I started one way, stopped, then the other and then simply stood in place like a dumbfounded doe.

The nobleman was inside his carriage, I could not make him out from where I stood. I’m sure he was smiling at our folly, though.

I felt the coldness of steel wrap around me, tightly binding and unrelenting. It was a thick cable connected by two metal balls. A bola, as I later found out. Wrapped to just below my knees, I tipped over with the same dumb expression on my face. I spotted movement in the brush.

Santiago came running from the longbrush like a demon. He held his rapier aloft, ready to strike at the twenty armored soldiers. It was lucky that he never made it to them before being intercepted by a young woman clad in leather with metal plating. He did not slow his charge when she ran in his way; he would go through her if he needed.

The girl, who was dreadfully familiar though I could not place it, did not flinch at the approaching giant. She simply removed a length of chain from her belt and sent it sailing at him. It appeared to be some kind of whip with an inwardly curved blade on the end. The blade missed but its purpose was not to kill him. She jerked back on the weapon and sent it wrapping its way around his arm with a flourish. She was talented at whatever this was.

It was not easy for her to pull him down. He was a massive thing, a boulder she wrenched against. He smiled and gripped the chain with his other hand and began pulling her towards him. I admired his terrifying strength in that moment. He probably would have won, too, if it weren’t for a half dozen soldiers piling onto him to stop him from crushing her.

“Cowards,” he cried. “Boljan rats!”

The girl wrapped the chain neatly back around her waist and fixed her dark hair. She was definitely easy to look at. Even under her unflattering armor I could tell a shapely woman hid. I am far too easily distracted by these things as you can see.

She used one long heeled boot to push him on his back. Several soldier pointed their spears at him to keep him from rising again.

“Rats do not rule. They thieve and they toil. Which of us is truly the rodent,” she asked and snorted back a giggle.

My eyes darted around. Surely Diego would have bolted; he is no fighter.

My heart sank when I saw several more Boljans pull him from the bushes. They brought him beside me and shoved him on his knees. He glanced at me with a rather distraught face.

“I’m sorry Monty,” he said. “I didn’t know she was Boljan. I couldn’t have known. She said she was from Modesta!”

It was our turn for her attention. She gave it kindly to us in the form of kicking us in the ribs and stomach. For a small girl, she was rather powerful. The air escaped me and my vision blurred for a moment. I thought of a time as a child when I fell from the roof of a house I was dared that I could not climb. When I returned, she was sneering at us.

“I am from Modesta. I was born there. I grew up and watched my people starve as yours dominated the sea trade. When we asked for your help, you refused. Do you know who didn’t though? Bolja. They brought us food. They brought us ships. They saved us from you. Now, they will help us conquer you,” she said, leaning in for a good look at us.

“Wait! It was all my idea Catalina. That’s why I talked with you at the party. It was all me,” Diego blurted out.

“You noble idiot,” I cried, rasping from the kick. “You’ll get yourself killed! This is not worth a Boljan execution squad!”

“That’s exactly where he’s heading. After standing trial back in Bolja for attempted murder of nobility. You and your other friend here will rot in a prison for the rest of your little rat lives.”

My heart finally unfroze and began thumping rapidly in my chest. A life behind bars. Good bars too, not ones so easily escaped. I was never meant to be a prisoner.

I opened my mouth to protest and was rewarded with a kick to the forehead. My world became black.

I awoke to see Santiago staring at the night sky through an iron barred window. He glanced over when he saw me sit up on the cold slab that was my bed now. He simply acknowledged me with a nod and went back to star gazing.

There was an unbelievable pain in my head. Like fire tearing through cobwebs, it seized my every thought and burned them away. It was incredible how much agony I was in. All I could do was sit with my hands rubbing my dirt caked forehead. It helped the tension but not the deeper throbbing. That would take time.

I tried to say something to Santiago but only a groan came out. I remembered the conversation and the kick. I remembered the prisons for us and the death squad for Diego. It was sobering and I was able to ignore the pain for the moment.

“Santiago, we have to go,” I managed, still nursing my wound.

He was silent for a minute. I thought maybe he hadn’t heard me or I had simply groaned again. Then, he spoke. “Go where Monty? It’s over. Diego is gone, we’re still as broke as ever. No more schemes. Schemes got Diego killed. I’m not going to lose two friends for this. I’m sure as hell not going to die for this.”

I was angry. It came as a flash. Why wasn’t he fighting? It was always his first option and now when things mattered most, he was suddenly done. There was a bitterness creeping in my belly and I hated it but it was the truth.

“So what? This is how Santiago’s legacy ends! In a cell watching the same stars his friend is watching as he hangs,” I leapt to my feet and pointed a finger at him, shaking it like I would sometimes wield Rareza. “I never took you for a coward, brother.”

He leapt to his feet then. His face was red in what was either anger or shame; probably both. He walked to me and shook his own finger back in my face. “Coward? You were going to run! Leave us there! Don’t take umbrage with me over this. It’s just as much your fault. There’s nothing to do about this but call me a coward again and I will create a night’s worth of things for us.”

“There is something to do!”

“Let it go! There is nothing!”

“We go and get Diego back,” I screamed not in anger but in desperation to get my point across. I grabbed him by his vest. “We cross the sea, go to Bolja and rescue him and if anyone stands in our way we cut them down!”

He lowered his finger and blinked. He had apparently not been willing to entertain the idea, dismissing it as madness. At least until he heard me say it. Then suddenly it wasn’t madness, it was a plan.

He straightened tall and stared for a moment. I thought he would strike me but instead he grinned. Then, he laughed. It was a hearty and full laugh.

“I love you Monty, but we will die doing this you know,” he said.

“Then don’t die for this,” I gestured about the room wildly. “Die for this,” I pointed at myself, then to him, and finally to an empty cot where our comrade would have laid and spoke to us of all of the ladies he had wooed.

Santiago nodded, assuring himself of this crazy idea. He paced away from me and pointed outside. He rubbed at his moustache.

“We’re going to need to get out of here,” he said.

“That much is easy. We’re still in Laruba, yes?”

He nodded and said nothing. Now he was listening. Now it was my turn to lay out my grandest scheme and amaze him. I crossed my arms and shook my head. “You should know, we’ll have to improvise. To start, we need our weapons, some coin, and a ship bound east.”

“Consider me in. I can get us out of here. There is something I’ve wanted to try for awhile now. Follow my lead Monty,” Santiago said and moved quickly to the bars. He began calling down the hall for someone. “Hey! You need to hear this!”

His voice was loud and echoed down the narrow hall. This succeeded in drawing attention. We could hear footsteps approaching the cell block. Also, we could see a youthful woman dressed in a billowy shirt and wearing bangles of gold. She was in a separate cell and must have hidden near the back while Santiago and I argued. I was a little concerned about her over hearing us but dismissed her remembering that she, too, was locked up.

“Someone better be dying,” yelled a jailor, tromping around the corner with all of the grace of a marsh hippo. He came directly to our cell and clenched a fist. He obviously not having any of what we were up to. Santiago looked unfazed and spoke strong.

“Your mother sir! She is dying,” his eyes were wide and wild.

“What are you on about,” the jailor asked, narrowing his eyes.

“She is dying for a taste of my cock! We must hurry!”

The jailor puffed his chest and fumbled for his keys. “You little shit! I will put my blade in that cocksucking mouth of yours!”

I was caught between laughing and absolute shock. Santiago was correct; we had never tried this before. Whatever this was. I simply backed into a corner, waiting for him to reveal to me what he would do and giving him ample room with which to do it.

“Come on then, prick,” Santiago said, gesturing at the jailor with a motion that insinuated that he should suck on his genitals. This was a surprisingly effect method of angering our keeper. He threw open the door and made a dash for Santiago.

It was obvious by then that he wanted me to help him overpower the guard. I threw myself at him from the side with a tackle that worked almost as perfectly as I imagined in my head. We sprawled across the ground, a tangle of limbs and swearing. Santiago was not planning on this and looked stupefied at our spectacle.

The rolling ceased and I was pinned beneath the jailor who was almost white with rage. His brown eyes were like pinpoints stabbing into me. I clenched my teeth as I watched a line of drool escape his mouth and hit my face. Truly, it was my finest hour.

I wormed beneath him but could not find purchase. He was, in my defense, quite fat and therefore impossible to budge. I began to feel the air escaping my lungs. I was going to die from being sat on. I had always envisioned dying face down on a whore’s bed with my pants around my ankles and a dagger in my spine. There was still so much left to accomplish!

I’m not sure if my eyes were popping from my head, but it felt like it as I used them to watch Santiago come tower over the two of us. I think I mouthed the word “please” to him. I think he got the point because he lifted the jailor from me with his rough hands and squeezed them about his neck.

I gasped for air and quickly stood, deftly taking the satchel of coins and the wooden club from his belt. I quickly tossed the bag in my hand and smiled at the jingle it made. I wound back and smacked the guard across his head with the club. Santiago released him and watched with mild interest as he floated to the floor in a pile of flab and drool.

“You looked like you needed help,” Santiago winked at me and smiled, raising the corners of his bushy moustache. Damn that moustache and its ability to bring majesty to any situation! I have been jealous of it for as long as we’ve known each other. Not that I don’t like my thinner version and its matching goatee but there is a certain gravity that Santiago’s brings to whatever room he’s in.

“I almost needed a priest,” I said, shaking my head and breathing in deep.

“No priest would have you. Now, let’s get our weapons and set as the sun does.”

I did not argue. I tied the bag of coin to my waist and spun the club in my hand. It was as heavy and useless as the jailor. I am a man of what we’ll call elegance. Blunt instruments seem more fit in fatter hands. I kept it anyways, a weapon being better than none.

We hurried from our cell and made our way through the block. We stopped just short of the door at the sound of a voice.

“Don’t leave me! Free me and I can help you,” the girl in the cell called to us. We turned and looked at her. She waved frantically through the bars at us. She looked to be from the islands, most likely Calametan. Her face was thin but her hips were wide. Her hair was far too short for a lady but it was a black as mine.

“You can’t help us,” I said.

“How do you know? You don’t even know who I am!”

“Exactly. We don’t know you and you don’t know us. If we let you out you’re just as likely to turn us in for amnesty or a reward.”

For a moment she considered this. She shook her head and lined her face with worry. “Please. My name is Bianca and you two need me.”

“I need another lady like I need a rash,” Santiago said with an unsatisfied grunt.

“Would you daffy bastards listen? I’m a pirate!”

“And I’m a ghost. This is my friend, a genie,” I said.

She clutched at the bars and pulled her head through them so she could look at us better. Or maybe it was so that the daggers her eyes were shooting wouldn’t miss. Who can tell?

“Your friend, Diego. They are going to take him back to Borja and hang him. You two dick-nosed clowns will still be sitting here in port wondering which longshoreman you’re going to have to fuck to catch a ride to reclaim his body. You know where I’ll be? Sailing the fucking seas and laughing at you through my telescope,” Bianca was clearly angry. To be fair, we were talking about leaving her to rot. But these matters are always complicated. Ah, such is life!

“No, you’ll be here, in a cell,” Santiago crossed his arms and smiled with his eyes closed in triumph.

“Seriously though. I’m a pirate. Don’t fucking leave me. I wouldn’t leave you.”

I tapped my chin and approached her cell. Not nearly close enough for her to grab me. I’m a smart man when I choose to be. I made a tsk tsk with my finger. “Yes, you would. You’re a pirate.”

Bianca slumped her shoulders and exhaled. We had pushed past anger and into full fledged exasperation. She simply kept her hands clasped on the bars and breathed in and out, calming herself.

“If you let me out, I swear on my life that I will get you to Borja alive. What you fluffers choose to do there will be on you. But I can get you there, I swear.”

I turned and read Santiago’s face. He had one eyebrow comically cocked and his lip turned up. I laughed in spite of myself. I had not been expecting it.

“Thoughts,” I asked.

“She has lovely breasts.”

“So did the guard but we bludgeoned him. Can you be more specific to our plan?”

Santiago returned to our cell and retrieved the keys from the prone guard and jangled them. “Here are my thoughts Monty. First, the plan is always lovely breasts. Second, if she has a ship, we do need her. That jailor’s coin won’t get us far. If we’re going to Borja, we’ll need a reliable ship to boot. One designed for long travel and preferably with cannons.”

“My ship has many cannons! Free me and you can fire one.”

I nodded to Santiago. “Free her?”

“Free her.” Santiago returned and unlocked her cell. She swung the door open very swiftly as if to prevent us from changing our mind. She stretched and popped a few of her joints. She looked flexible and I found this agreeable.

“Thank you. Now I take my leave,” she bowed.

Santiago and I stood agape as she turned and began to leave. She made it all the way to the door before she stopped and looked back at us.

“I’m having a fuck at you, come on. We should really save your friend.”