by Vic Connor
Memory Unlocked…
Failed!
I shake my head. “I remember nothing about slavery, except that my family bought Juanita at some stage.”
“As Ol’ Abe be tellin’ ya, Jake me lad, mebbe not remeberin’ some things be no curse, but a blessin’ in disguise.” He spits on the ground. “Nastiest of ‘em nasty trades, t’ flesh trade. Only the rotten souls o’ thems pagans and papists would be doin’ it.”
“You mean Aztecs and Spaniards?”
“Aye.” He spits on the ground again. “No Englishman would be sellin’ another man.”
He seems to believe the statement. But even in this game, my family did buy Juanita…
She keeps sleeping.
“Ol’ Abe needs t’ be checkin’ some things on t’ canyon’s end, me lad.” He stands up, stretches his legs. “Keep watch over our ladies, will ya?”
“Check what, my pirate mate?”
“Thems things you would rather Ol’ Abe be not checkin’ here. Or windwards, if ya catches me drift.” He chuckles, then thumbs his ear. “An’ in case ya be wonderin’, ya landlubber, windwards be t’ direction thems winds be comin’ from.”
“I think I be havin’ more than enough information, Abe me ol’ mate.”
Yet I don’t feel the need to use the restroom myself, come to think of it. Is that some sort of line in the sand that Maneesh and his Engineering crew are not willing to cross, realism be damned?
Abe lumbers out of the canyon’s opening, leaving me with the sleeping Juanita and the silent, attentive onyx beads.
Our giant pirate returns making enough noise to wake up the dead. It works: Yawning, Juanita opens her eyes.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I say.
She sits up straight. “Good morning, my child.” She places her hands together as if holding water between them. With a faint buzz, the fistful of bees returns to Juanita’s tiny, invisible hive. She looks over at the pistols I’ve fixed, lying on the ground. “And a productive night, it would seem?”
“Be sure to tell this to our samurai,” I say, avoiding Miyu’s hawkish gaze. “Seven doesn’t seem lucky to her, judging by how she’s been staring at me since she woke up.”
“That’s ‘cos ya be the fairest fellow our glaive girl has ever seen, me boy.” Abe pats my back, sitting cross-legged at my side. “Lass can’t be takin’ her eyes away from ya, ya handsome devil.”
“She does not care much for words,” Juanita says. “Only actions.”
“An’ fightin’. Ol’ Abe be willin’ t’ bet fightin’ be all she cares ‘bout.”
“And you… Well, my child, you did not perform yesterday as well as you used to.”
“We be givin’ that wretched pagan priestess a fearsome shark to resurrect, but from the look o’ things, what she bringed back from t’ Land o’ t’ Dead—” Abe pokes a huge finger at my shoulder “—be more like a goldfish. An’ not even the fiercest goldfish o’ them Seven Seas, me lad.”
“In other words,” I summarize, “I used to kick ass, but now I fight like a cripple wiggling on crutches who can’t shoot straight. So our samurai friend here may have lost respect for me.”
“Aye…”
Juanita coos as another bee lands between her cupped hands. “In so many words…”
I stare back at the onyx beads. “I can’t fault you for your lack of confidence. I don’t even remember what I could do—or what any of you can do. But what I saw you do yesterday, holding your ground against six of them, and not backing down… That was amazing. As if your naginata weaved a spider’s web of steel around you.” I bring my right hand to my chest and bow my head. “Truly a wonderful, terrifying sight. My own efforts were puny in comparison.”
The mask tilts backward, making its smile stand out a little more.
“That be her favorite trick, me lad,” Abe rumbles, dead serious. “Six foes be too much for her t’ deal with, if thems be smart ‘bout circlin’ her. But three, mebbe four enemies she can be keepin’ at bay all day, unless thems also be shootin’ at her.”
“You weren’t bad at all yerself, Abe me ol’ mate,” I inform him. “Not sure if you be impressin’ anybody with yer finesse, but the way ye lured those scurvy dogs away from Miyu was mighty effective, yarr!”
“Bah!” he laughs. “Finesse be for thems Frenchmen. When ya be born an’ raised within the earshot of Mary-le-Bow bells, ya be needin’ manners a wee bit coarser than ‘oh la la’ and ‘oh mon dieu,’ believe ya me.”
“And among the few things I remember is hating it when you shape-shift into bees.” I smile at Juanita. “But yesterday, that was awesome.”
The witch smiles back. “Regardless of our samurai’s appraisal of your skills, my child, you pulled your weight. My bees alone can only hinder foes, never really defeat them.”
Abe slaps his hand across my back, making me feel as though I might throw up my own lungs. “Ya may not be hittin’ a whale at forty paces, me lad, but ya be damned deadly at less than ten!”
Skill Upgraded!
Aim: Point Blank
Promising Apprentice
Not bad.
I wonder… “Can you lend me your staff, Juanita?”
When she hands it over, new dialog options flash before my eyes.
[Tepatiki] (Cost to Unlock: 2VPs) – It’s coming back to me…
[Hand it back] Sorry; never mind.
Grand.
Getting bitten by those frigging bees in the Pain Tutorial may have been the best thing to happen to me in this game. I wouldn’t have enough VPs left otherwise.
“It’s coming back…”
Skill Unlocked!
Tepatiki
-2VPs
Grand, grand, grand.
“I don’t like the look of this.”
Sveta already had the Skill screen floating in front of my hover chair.
“Like a boss, boss!” She beamed.
“Beginner’s luck, Svetty dear. But I’ll take it.” I opened the Tepatiki skill tree, now unlocked. “Let’s see what the payout is, shall we?”
Uapaltontli (Apprentice): once per Night; Overnight; requires Resting.
Tetsoliui (Apprentice)
I scratched my head, trying to make sense of it all via the tooltips. “The uapa-thingy mends broken bones. Or, well, bone, I guess use of singular is no small detail here: one bone per casting. And it takes the whole night. And the caster and the patient must be resting. That’s … well, a lot of requirements.”
“Not something to do in the middle of a fight,” Sveta agreed. “The other spell, Tetsoliui,” she said, checking the tooltips, “that one will patch a wound and stop a hemorrhage. This one could be useful in combat.”
“What’s the cost? I mean, is there some type of Mana, or an amount of castings per day, or…?”
“Doesn’t say.”
“That’s weird. There has to be a limitation, to prevent you from casting it endlessly—ah, there you go.”
“What?”
“This magic seems to be some sort of Channeling,” I said, reading further down. “As in, it channels divine powers. More Cleric than Mage, so to speak. The channeling instrument must be what limits or boosts your powers, then—enabling a certain amount of charges, or something like that.”
“Well. Not unlike a gunslinger wielding a gun that needs reloading, no?”
“That’s a good point. Maybe that’s how this magic works: like a magic gun with magic bullets? A bummer we only have Juanita’s one staff, though. It means that the tetso-whatever, the hemorrhage stopping spell—I won’t be able to use it in combat unless I take the staff from her. Never lucky, damn it…”
“Take it easy, boss. At least you were right about crafting the guns during the night.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re right, Svetty dear. Let’s look at the bright side.”
“Coffee, sir? To make it even brighter?”
“No, thanks. I really want to find out what the heck we’re supposed to be doing here,
and where we’re going. Let’s save your awesome coffee for after that. Deal?”
“Deal.” She winked at me. “You’ve got this, boss!”
“What is not to like about my staff, my child?” asks Juanita.
“That it’s only one we have,” I say.
She looks at me quizzically.
I raise my left forearm and turn to Abe. “Abe, me mate… Can ye slash me forearm with yer cutlass? Jus’ a slight slash, fer God’s sake, mate; don’t be a-chopping me arm off.”
“Ya be alright, lad?”
“Just do—”
A lightning quick flash; a sharp pain.
“—OUCH!”
Abe has not moved. But Miyu has: The same hand that gave me the drink earlier now holds a slightly bent knife. A droplet of blood slides from its tip as the slash across my forearm begins to bleed.
Juanita frowns.
The pirate chuckles. “Be careful what ya be wishin’ fer, me lad…”
I focus on my wound, lifting the staff…
Tepatiki:
Tetsoliui
…it grows warmer, warmer…
…tiny, smoke-like tendrils wiggle around the wound’s lips…
“Haha!” yells Abe, his roar echoing across the canyon. “Well done, lad!”
Juanita smiles, eyes shining with pride.
Miyu slides the flat of her blade against her thigh, leaving a red smear on the silk as the weapon disappears inside her sleeve. Onyx beads never leaving me out of sight, her mask tilts to the right.
Then, she nods.
Silence falls upon our small circle as the early sunrays begin to lick the top of the canyon’s walls above our heads.
“All right, my old friends,” I say, “since shooting at close range seems to be what I’m good at, and since my memories seem lost, I’ll just ask directly: How have we all met? What are we doing here? And where are we, anyway?”
The witch and the pirate share a quick glance.
“Ya was carryin’ a map on ya, me lad,” Abe informs me. “Remember anythin’ ‘bout that?”
A map…
Memory Unlocked…
Failed!
…“No,” I answer. “I remember nothing about maps.”
Abe grunts.
Juanita stares at me. “Yet some things you remember, young Jake. You remember that you family bought me.”
“But we freed you. Right?”
“You did. The very next day.” She raises her right hand and shows me the tattoo on her wrist: a bald eagle, breaking the links of a chain with its beak.
“That drawing doesn’t seem Aztec,” I point out.
“It is not. But anybody would recognize it, be it Aztec or a traveler from the sunrise lands across the ocean. The wearer of a glyph such as this is a former slave, given her freedom back by her Masters.”
“But why did we—”
“Something your father used to do, young Jake. He abhorred slavery, so from time to time, he would buy a slave and set them free the very next day.”
“Yarr father sure be havin’ a comfy spot in Heavens above, me lad,” Abe chimes in, and crosses himself.
“That’s … wow,” I say, feeling a burst of pride spread through my chest. “So you know my father well?”
Abe casts his eyes down. “She dids,” he says, nodding toward Juanita.
“What do you mean, ‘did?’”
“Your father is dead, young Jake.”
“Dad…” I whisper as his words sink in. “I mean… When? How?”
“Thirteen years ago, my child. When you were nine years old. Do you remember?”
Memory Unlocked:
He’s Gone
The air is warm, heavy with the scent of wax, hard to breathe. Scores of candles light the room, casting flickering shadows.
There’s a coffin a dozen steps ahead of me. I’m a child, the only child among looming adults all dressed in black, some of them sobbing.
“Go say goodbye to him, young Jake,” coaches Juanita from behind me, gently nudging me forward.
I inch closer to the coffin. Its lid is closed.
“Damn,” I wheeze. “That was too real.”
“You remember, then,” Juanita says.
“I do. I was nine then, you said?”
She nods.
“Then this was only nine years ago, not thirteen.”
A tiny smile curls her lips. “I may have been a slave when we met, young Jake, but I was an educated woman before that. And our calendar puts sunrise calendars to shame. Believe me when I say I know how many years have passed since that awful day: thirteen.”
“Then I was five years old,” I insist. “I’m eighteen now.”
“You are twenty-two, young Jake. I met you when you were seven, fifteen years ago.”
My three companions regard me in silence as I try to guess why the game would change my age like that and leave everything else so close to what’s real.
“Never mind,” I finally say. “How did Father die?”
“Yarr ol’ man be killed, me lad.”
“What!?”
Abe nods, grey eyes peering at me from under his bushy eyebrows.
“How!?”
“In a robbery. He gots mugged, and thems muggers be killin’ him.”
Memory Unlocked:
Next Time
“How long shall you be gone, father?”
“A few months, my boy. I need to sail across the Atlantic to reach London, and then sail back home again.”
“Can I come with you? Please?”
Father crouches beside me, smiling. He wears a thick overcoat, waistcoat, and breeches. He ruffles my hair.
“Next time, you will. I promise.”
“In London…” I murmur.
“Your father sailed across the seas to buy a book,” Juanita tells me, glancing over at Abe. “A very special book.”
“A very expensive book? Is that what he got mugged for?”
“Aye, lad.”
My fists clench as if with a will of their own.
Memory Unlocked:
A Thief, Not a Fool
We stand at the top of a jungle-covered hill. In front of us, a vast sugarcane plantation stretches into the distance, and behind it, the faraway sea gleams under the sun. A large villa towers in the middle of the plantation, all red tiles and white walls.
“Thief,” Miyu hisses under her mask, staring at the villa.
Abe nods. “That he be. But he be no bloody fool. An’ only a bloody fool be travellin’ with no escort.”
“Do you have a better idea?” I ask, bouncing up and down on my toes, unable to contain my impatience. All I want right now is to attack that man. To avenge Father.
“Nay,” he replies. “But jus’ because Ol’ Abe can’t thinks a better idea, it don’t means there bain’t one. Besides, thinkin’ be yarr job, me lad, not Ol’ Abe’s.”
Miyu grabs her naginata tighter, the black onyx beads behind her mask fixed on the villa. She hisses.
“We cannot assault his property,” Juanita states plainly. She gestures at two musketeers patrolling the roof. “It is too heavily guarded.”
“I agree,” I concede. “We’ll ambush him while he travels to Villarica. He had my father killed. He’ll die.”
“Ol’ Abe be tellin’ ya, me lad, he be travellin’ with lots of ‘em guards,” Abe says. “Thief, and traitor, and much worse he be. But Barboza, he be no fool.”
“Barboza…” I repeat.
Miyu snarls softly.
“Did he have my father killed? To steal that book?”
Juanita nods, unsmiling.
I look at her. “You took care of me. Afterward.”
“I did what I could, my child. Mister Huffington, your father’s lawyer, managed your father’s affairs until you were old enough to take care of them yourself, while I was entrusted with your … education.”
The Frenchman, with his curly mustache… The German, with his dexterous fingers and bright eyes…
The broad-shouldered, thick-bearded Spaniard, with a tricorne hat and a perennially grim countenance…
“You hired teachers for me, didn’t you? And not grammar or music teachers…”
“Monsieur Flaubert trained you with blades. Herr Zygmut taught you all there is to know about crafting guns. And you learned how to shoot those guns from Señor Ramirez.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you hated Spaniards?”
She nods, looking resigned. “He was the best your father’s money could hire.”
“I see,” I say. “Thanks. Truly.”
She nods again.
“Did you, yourself…?”
“No,” she explains. “I tried to teach you my art, but the Lord of Here and Now has not shared his spark with you, my child.”
I look at my left forearm: a fresh scar marks the spot where I healed the skin torn by Miyu’s knife. “The albino girl…” I whisper.
“Yes,” Juanita confirms, “Uitzli was your fourth teacher.”
“Shi,” Miyu says, and the sound of her voice takes me by surprise. “Bad luck.”
“There be nothin’ bad ‘bout that sweet lil’ angel,” Abe growls, hurling Miyu a glance so fierce it could force a hungry shark to dash away, whimpering. “That sweet lil’ angel saved Ol’ Abe’s life, she did. Mebbe saved his dark, rotten soul, even.”
My memory is blank.
“Ya don’t remembers nothing ‘bout her, me lad. Doesn’t ya?”
Memory Unlocked…
Failed!
“Nothing,” I sigh. “Empty.”
“Let jus’ be sayin’ that right before Ol’ Abe joined this here crew o’ yourn, he be about t’ die from a grievous wound. An’ he be deservin’ it too, ‘cos Ol’ Abe bain’t no saint. An’ that sweet lil’ angel, Uitzli, she could have jus’ let Ol’ Abe die, die like t’ filthy dog Ol’ Abe be, and let Beelzebub’s legions claim his dark, rottin’ soul. But she took pity on this rabid dog ’ere, an’ she be patchin’ Ol’ Abe; patchin’ ’im whole an’ good.”