Murmurings at Los Malecón

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Cristobal's pen scratched across the paper as he made permanent his thoughts in neat cramped rows. Writing helped calm his nerves, and they certainly needed calming at the present.

~
"There are circumstances in a man's life when he must needs take control of a situation, no matter the opposition, and set sail against the prevailing winds."
~

No, too pompous, too much like the ancient greek orators. He was a modern gentleman of commerce, and it wouldn't do to so egregiously pretend to an artist's touch. He could only ascribe the momentary slip to his growing sense of unease. Recalling his past few days, Cristobal had to concede once more that his sister had kept odd company.

~
"I followed my sister to Qadis. I had correctly assumed that would be her initial port of call after disdaining her home in favour of the dubious freedom of her illicit lover's arms. She had once introduced me to Gonzalo, one of her favoured city friends, an individual of dubious merit yet who was wealthy enough to own a large house. My visit to him did little to appease my suspicions of his criminal nature."
~

All in all, Cristobal mused, a greasy little weasel with too much in the way of good looks and reeking of strange southern incense. Just the kind of exotic ruffian his sister had always found so entertaining. A real friend, he posited with a disgruntled harrumph to nobody in particular, wouldn't have so boldly suggested compensation for the information a worried brother sought. But that was the average resident of Qadis for you.

~
"After some negotiation, Gonzalo grudgingly shared that Ysabel had mentioned she'd be calling upon another old friend for a favour, some merchant's son named Janucho who'd left Qadis as the result of a scandal. As to what kind of scandal that might have been, Gonzalo was not at all forthcoming. I took my leave, as it was clear I'd get no more from the tight-lipped miscreant, and made my way for the town of Arboleas."
~

Arboleas didn't have a lot going for it, in Cristobal's opinion. It had a lot of orchards, thus the name, but that had given no hint as to what possible favour Ysabel could call upon from the disgraced son of a fruit merchant.

~
"When I arrived in Arboleas I forwarded my credentials to the country estate of Garcia Luys Natalez De Arboleas, Janucho's father, explaining that I sought an audience with his son. I was forced to spend an unpleasant night in a barely adequate inn when the estate failed to reply with any kind of hospitable promptness. The sun had begun its descent the following day when a most grudging invitation arrived in the hands of an incredibly surly footman. If I'd thought Gonzalo was tight-lipped, the footman made the weasel look positively verbose. I will say little of my dealings with Janucho's ill-tempered senior, nor of the wretched Janucho himself - if only for Ysabel's sake. But I was given a destination, if only to sooner rid them of my presence, a distant village named Los Malecón."
~

Cristobal grimaced as he recalled the vine-shackled manor house hunched resentfully among the densely planted orchards. Garcia Luys Natalez De Arboleas had kept a suspicious stare locked on the travelling nobleman throughout their entire interview. In hindsight that, coupled with Janucho's furtive and elusive gaze, was cause to send a shiver down Cristobal's spine in the recollection.

The locals had been friendlier, and the hotel keeper had been able to tell Cristobal more regarding his next destination. So remote was the fishing village, thanks to the quirks of its surrounding geography, that its residents only ever seemed to leave on market days or when the Ducal tax agents were scheduled. Access to the village was either by a difficult winding trail or by hiring the services of a fisherman's boat from one of the jetties south of the town of Mojácar.

~
"I continued my search for Ysabel at the small farming village of Chirivel nearest to the start of the Los Malecón trail. The residents of Chirivel were that strange breed of hereditary peasant, whose busy livelihoods meant such that the vast majority of them never travelled further than a day from their homes. They were an unfriendly lot, perhaps put off by my finery, yet I sensed more than general hard-headed reticence when I raised the topic of the fishing village which Ysabel and her paramour had set out for.

Only a bribe was able to loosen the tongue of one of those thick-set farmers. I received the confirmation I needed: A man, child, and woman - the latter matching the picture of Ysabel within my locket - had passed through. The farmer, as if some long-forgotten sense of obligation had stirred in his dour breast, gruffly warned me away from Los Malecón. Though he wouldn't say why, his obvious discomfort on broaching the topic was alone enough to cause my stomach to churn with worry for my sister. Rather than set forth on the trail immediately, I made for Mojácar, where she would undoubtedly pass through upon leaving the fishing village."
~

Cristobal sighed. Mojácar had been a waste of time of the worst variety. None of the fisherfolk there had seen Ysabel and, in a most aggravating and stubborn fashion, had refused him the courtesy of a boat ride to Los Malecón. Even when presented with the prospect of a substantial amount of money, the nobleman had been told with infuriating intractability that the waters were unsafe. Days wasted thanks to their stiff-necked unhelpfulness. Instead, he'd had to purchase the kind of necessary supplies for the two day hike he'd need to undertake from Chirivel to reach the village.

~
"Mojácar was a dead end but the very fact Ysabel had not been seen there, I was assured, meant she most undoubtedly yet remained in Los Malecón. It was a glimmer of hope that I'd at least succeed in the first part of my difficult task: finding her. After that I'd still need to persuade her away from her currently foolish course of action, but I could cross that bridge as I came to it. I returned to Chirivel with pack, a treated canvas sleeping sack, fire-lighting equipment, and a week's supplies of dried food in case I somehow lost my way.

It had been a long time since I'd needed to carry such weight on my own shoulders in such a literal fashion, but the residents of Chirivel assured me that there'd be no taking my horse into the rough and mountainous terrain which shielded Los Malecón from outside interference. I entrusted Gertrude to the village with coin and made them promise to send word to the nearest branch of the Ducal militia if I was gone for over a fortnight. I knew Ysabel all too well and that, if I hadn't convinced her in the space of a week, I would have to bid her one final adieu and leave her to whatever her new life was. What I didn't know was the temperament of her paramour, so I left a note in Gertrude's saddlebags should the worst occur to me."
~

Just writing about preparations for the hike in brief was enough to remind Cristobal of just how sore, tired, and hungry he was. Let alone how frayed his nerves were. Trail rations were no replacement for a good hot meal, and water was a dull drink to rely upon.

~
"The hike took closer to three days, as the weight of my gear slowed my pace. I can only assume it was a fitter and stronger man who set the benchmark the farmers had quoted me. Perhaps I was over-sensitive, due to being in unfamiliar wilderness, but I felt as if I were being watched from every shadow. At night, I could swear the sounds I heard were not from regular birds nor beasts, so disconcerting and unnatural they seemed. But I have oft been told that the animals of the wild cannot be presumed to sound in a particular way. I kept to my fire, and kept my sword drawn and close to hand. What sleep I had was light and fitful, thanks in part to discomfort, and to the startling effect of the night's chorus."
~

Cristobal took a deep breath, and slightly regretted it. He didn't like the taste of the ocean air in this place, but he couldn't say quite what was wrong with it.

~
"I have reached my destination, and yet I find myself overcome with a strange reticence to enter the village. I can hear the distant flap of canvas, the creak of wood, and hints of what I assume are the locals in conversation carried on the breeze. But the air doesn't feel quite clean, in a way I can in no rational way justify, and my every instinct tells me to go home. But these are nerves, I am certain, as I undoubtedly am fearing the possibility that Ysabel may refuse my aid, refuse to return with me. I fear that more than anything else. But if I don't act, such an outcome would be inevitable. And so I shall finish this section here, steel my nerves, and finish my journey."
~

Cristobal put away his pen and journal carefully. He didn't need a mirror to know he cut a less-than-dapper figure at this time, and imagined he showed every sign of having endured a three-day hike. Gritting his teeth Cristobal made his way to the end of the trail, where it wound rocky and jagged into a opening above a large and isolated cove. He cast his gaze around the inlet, noting the intimidating arms of the tall reefs which embraced a large part of it. Finally, he settled his gaze on the village of Los Malecón itself. With perhaps only another half hour to hour left before he reached his destination, Cristobal carefully picked his way down from the trail's cliff-side entrance and in the direction of the shore-side salt-encrusted buildings he'd spotted from the cliff-side.

[Los Malecón]

“Dear Citizens,

Effective immediately, this Office declares that attendance for all further religious ceremonies shall be mandatory for all men and women of age. While this Office acknowledges this Order may conflict with your schedules, it is critical that we as a people stand together in these trying times. Only through uniting as one  will we ensure that God’s providence remains with us and guides us toward prosperity.

I thank you for your continued cooperation. May we all walk with God.

Your Humble Servant,

Mayor Anselmo Vici Liscaris De Los Malecón”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grunting loudly, the portly guardsman put the letter aside and finished gutting his fish. Once he separated the meat, he slammed the innards onto the fine parchment, crushed it all in his hand, and chucked it at the wall.

He muttered curses under his breath, pocketing the fish meat. What the fuck was that moron thinking? “May conflict with your schedules” – What a load of garbage! Liscaris knew damn well that everyone was struggling just to put food on the table, and his only solution was to have them pray some more. Now he was a faithful man, but sitting around with your head up your ass and expecting God to take care everything was a total crock of shit.  Maybe even a sin in itself. 

They weren’t suffering because of a lack of faith. They were suffering because the Mayor was an incompetent little piss weasel desperate to one-up his daddy.

Rising from his bench, the guardsman walked to the window and scowled. Sky looked like it was about ready to burst open and piss all over the village. Grabbing his cane, he opened the guard post's door and stepped outside. “Boy!” he bellowed. “BOY!” A small, dirty-faced boy rounded the corner. “Where the hell were you? Screwin’ around again?” he snapped. The child shook his head. “There’s work to be done. Gonna start rainin’ any minute, I want you to bring the supplies inside. And if any of it gets wet, you’ll be eatin’ yer supper outside, y’hear me? Now git movin’!” He swung his foot at the boy, sending him running, and laughed as he went back inside.

Once he was out of sight, the boy spit in the guardsman's direction, then went to the supply bags and started unloading them from their crates. “Stupid old Carlitos. He'll be eating my fist one of these days,” he muttered to himself. His mother said working with the town guards would be fun, but she forgot to mention the resident jackass.

Finishing unloading the first crate, he wiped the sweat from his brow and examined the sky. Carlitos wasn’t right about a lot of things, but it was gonna rain any second, just as he said. As he bent over to start on the second crate, something in the distance caught his eye. He looked up and saw a figure walking down the path to the village. His eyes widened. The Mayor hadn’t mentioned anything about expecting visitors, had he?  No. The town would’ve been in a flurry, and some of the more important villagers would’ve gotten their nightly visitors.

Dropping his bag, the boy turned and ran back toward the post. “Mr. Carlitos! Mr. Carlitos!”

The door swung open yet again, and Carlitos stepped out, red in the face. “BOY! What are you raisin’ hell for? I thought I told you to get the stuff inside! If the Captain gets back and finds our shipment is soggy, you won't be sitting right for a week, so help me God!"

“There’s somebody coming down the path!” the boy said, motioning to the approaching figure.

Carlitos’ face fell when he saw the stranger. On top of everything else, now they had somebody showing up at Los Malecón unannounced. It absolutely wasn’t one of the benefactors. As shitty as he was, Liscaris was on top of things like that. He would’ve mentioned it in one of those hundreds of damn letters he sent out a week. “This Office requests that you be on your best behavior so we don’t have to tattle on you,” or some shit along those lines.

He pulled some fish meat out of his pocket and shoved it in his mouth. Maybe it was just some traveler too wet under the ears to know to stay away from Los Malecón. If he could shoo him off, then Viscaris didn’t need to know anything about it. One less thing for him to make a stupid letter about. He’d be doing him a favor!

Swallowing his fish, he grabbed his apprentice by the warm and approached the stranger. “Hey! You need help with something there, friend?”
 

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Changers help him, it had been more gruelling than he'd thought, that whole business of going downhill carrying his heavy pack. To add to his woes at ground level the cove was larger than it had seemed from a higher vantage point. As was Los Malecón, it turned out, when he was close enough to get a better look. What artists called a trick of perspective, he assumed.

Cristobal's shoulders were complaining bitterly, as were his ankles, calves, thighs, and pretty much any part of his body which had shared the load. The appearance of another human being on his approach to Los Malecón was immediately welcomed, even if the man looked like exercise was not a part of his daily routine.

"Oh, thank goodness, yes. I am Cristobal Melgarejo De Quijas. I have business here, but I could use a chance to rest and refresh myself. That's not an easy hike, you know. Is there some place I could obtain accommodation?" Cristobal glanced around curiously, trying to get an impression of Los Malecón so as to better get his mental bearings.

[Los Malecón]

Carlitos stared at him with his mouth agape, fish juice dripping down his chin. He repeated the stranger's name in his head, just to make sure he heard it right: Cristobal Melgarejo De Quijas. Quijas. Ratty bastard didn't look like a noble, but hell if he was gonna take a chance on that. Nobody with that name had any business in Los Malecón. Some nobles would stop by to make donations and chat up the Mayor, but not from the big families, not a chance. And if the Mayor and the elders didn't know about this, somebody really shit the bed.

Turning him away didn't seem like a good shot anymore. Best to get him in a safe place and alert the higher-ups. Just as long as the blame didn't fall on him.

“Sorry 'bout that,” he said, coughing and wiping his chin. “Sure you've heard we don't get too many visitors around these parts. But it's, uh, a real pleasure to meet ya, there. They call me Carlitos. I watch after the town guards, keep their stuff in order, nice and shiny, and all that...”

He trailed off, glancing down the path at Los Malecón itself. It was a little hard to get a good look at from their angle, with the rock formations blocking it, but it was the last place anyone would expect to find one of the Quijas. A mess of shitty, run-down wooden houses and stone buildings. Like some kid tried to make something out of whatever crap he found in his yard and gave up halfway through.

“Accomodations...” he repeated thoughtfully. “We have a place or two you could stay, sure, no doubt.” Their best bet would be keeping him at Alonso's inn. Not too far from the Church, so there'd be people to keep an eye on him. Anywhere else'd be too far off. Los Malecón was larger than it had any right to be, and one hell of a maze if you didn't know your way around. And if a Quijas ended up snooping, it'd be his ass.

“How'd you like me to take you to our best inn? I can probably get ya a room for free,” he said, placing a large hand on his charge's head. “The boy here will keep watch of the post for me. Gotta let the guards know they have stuff here ready for pickup, anyway.”

He took another strip of fish meat from his pocket and shoved it in his mouth. Take him 'round the hill and down the path. Drop him off at Alonso's. Let the clergy or the Mayor know about him. And most importantly, screw off and wash his hands of the whole thing. Sounded like a solid plan, he'd say.

[Cristobal De Quijas]

To say Cristobal was relieved was putting it mildly. The superstitious idiots in Chirivel had obviously overstated things. Now he just needed to be as pleasant as possible so as not to start everything off on the wrong footing. He'd need these people's help in persuading his sister, no doubt. "Thank you Carlitos, it will be good to get off my feet. Lead the way."

At first inspection, Los Malecón appeared to be that kind of town which pretended to a level of respectability that didn't quite suit it. An inn and guards for a place that nobody ever visited? Absurd. Convenient for Cristobal, he had no qualms in admitting, but still absurd. As if the small town had the kind of economy to sustain such a venture in anything but name alone. And what was this about a church? Perhaps superstition, in varying forms it seemed, was a lot more common on the south-eastern peninsulas than he'd realised. How quaint.

Cristobal decided he should ensure the conversation didn't die down into quiet awkwardness "The offer of free accommodation is generous, and I will happily accept it. However, it's not my way to prey on the generosity of others entirely. I will happily pay for my food and drink. Depending on how things go, I may need to stay a few days. How long have you been a guard here?"

[Los Malecón]

“Long as I remember,” Carlitos answered, chewing on the raw fish. “Most people around these parts are expected to pick a role and stick with it. Little bit boring at times, yeah, but the dependability, I wouldn't trade it for anythin'.”

He led Cristobal down the dirt path and around the hill, revealing Los Malecón's front gate in the distance. For a fishing village it was surprisingly well fortified: sturdy, dark stone walls lined the perimeter, interspersed with manned guard towers; the gate itself was made of reinforced iron bars, and was flanked by several armored guards. While the town's defenses were impressive, the dirty streets and crumbling buildings on the other side of the gate betrayed its true nature.

As Carlitos and Cristobal approached, all eyes quickly fell on the stranger. “I see you've brought a guest, Carlitos,” a guard called to them, his tone icy.

Carlitos stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Ah, yeah, I do. Man's name is Cristobal, from the Quijas family. Says he's got some business here.”

“Does he now?” came a voice from above the gate. Carlitos choked on his fish and started coughing loudly. Turning aside, he bent over and put a hand against his chest, struggling to clear his throat.

The woman atop the gate ignored him, looking directly at Cristobal. “I am Captain Catalia Bienvana Venegas. I cannot imagine what business a nobleman like yourself might have with our village, but I am quite interested to know.”

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Cristobal sighed inwardly. Every time a group of people armed themselves and put on a uniform, there was always one who thought that made them some kind of lord of the manor. He could already tell Captain Venegas would be just a delightful individual to deal with.

It was perhaps best to apply the usual protocol when dealing with the jumped-up pissant bureacratic penny-pinchers from Qadis brokerages, so Cristobal put on his most cheerful expression and replied brightly "Hello, captain. I am Cristobal Melgarejo De Quijas, and I will be more than happy to discuss it with you after we've been able to arrange my accommodations, a bath, and a hot meal. In that order."

And 'Captain Vinegar' could just stew on that, Cristobal thought, as he smiled blithely up at the sour-faced woman.
"Thank you for your hospitality to the house of Quijas" he added.

[Los Malecón]

Captain Venegas studied him silently, then smiled and bowed. “How inconsiderate of me. You must have had quite the journey, after all. Let's focus on getting you rested up, and then we'll worry about more formal matters.”

“I was about to take him to Alonso's,” Carlitos said, still sounding winded from his coughing fit. “Thought it'd be right to get him a room on the house. Sure the usual crowd would love to get to know him, yeah?”

“Nonsense,” Captain Venegas said, raising a hand to silence him. “We rarely have visitors around here, let alone one of such high standing. Surely this must be a blessing from God. Mayor Liscaris would certainly love to have him as a guest.” She glanced at the guard to her right. “Raise the gate.”

As the gate opened, the Captain motioned for the two to pass through. “Carlitos, I assume you remember the way to the Mayor's manor?”

Carlitos saluted. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Escort out guest there, then start bringing the supplies down to the barracks. You could use the exercise.” Turning, she started for one of the towers, but suddenly stopped and looked back at them. “Enjoy your stay in Los Malecón, sir.” She then went inside, closing the door behind her.

Carlitos muttered a curse under his breath. “Let's get moving then, yeah?” he said, starting through the gate.

[Cristobal De Quijas]

How much did it hurt her, Cristobal wondered, having to concede to even that small amount of courtesy. He smiled "Much obliged, Captain." Having won even that slight verbal duel made his aching body feel a little less painful.

As they passed into the the township proper he commented to Carlitos "It must be inconvenient for you to have to go through this, on even irregular occasions. Sorry to add to your workload." As if an afterthought "Am I the only recent visitor of late to receive such fanfare?"

[Los Malecón]

“Nothin' for you to be sorry for,” Carlitos grumbled, leading him through the streets. “Damned bitch is always causing problems. Don't let her bother you none. If you're gonna be stayin' with the Mayor, you won't be seein' much of her.”

As they found themselves deeper within the village, its poverty only grew more obvious. Everyone they passed was wearing ratty clothes, and many looked like they hadn't bathed in days. There wasn't a building in sight that wasn't nearly ruined. Children were running around unattended, chasing one another with sticks and playing in the dirt that covered the roads. And unsurprisingly, everything stank of fish.

“Yer probably the only visitor we've had in months.” Carlitos laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “Well, unannounced, anyways. Mayor makes a point of lettin' everyone know ahead of time when anybody's poppin' in, 'specially a noble like yerself. Last guy we had was the founder of some big bank. Name was Segostro, I think.”

Nearing the shore, they could see the church in the distance – a towering archtectural marvel overlooking the sea. Carlitos stopped and knelt down on one knee, muttering a brief prayer to himself. “Sorry 'bout that, didn't have a chance to pay my respects this morning,” he said, standing up. “We're all pretty religious down in these parts. Know that doesn't appeal to most of you outsiders, but it's part of the culture and all that. You'd be more than welcome at our services, but don't feel pressured or nothing.”

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Only unannounced visitor? And why would a banker be visiting a pointless out-of-the-way place like this? Cristobal's brain started prodding at the flood of non sequiturs he was being subjected to. "Oh, I've always felt it's important to live by one's principals, and I imagine religion's somewhat similar. I don't mind at all."

Cristobal set down his pack, indicating he could use a slight break, but mostly wanting to extend the conversation without risk of further interruptions. "You know, if I'd known the mayor liked visitors to announce themselves I'd have sent word. I'm assuming the family that passed through Chirivel to come here a few months back must have done so, especially with an infant in tow. You know, for all their gossiping about old news, they're an unhelpful lot at Chirivel. Must be all the parsnip farming. Have you found that?"

[Los Malecón]

So this Quijas kid wouldn’t say a word to Venegas about why he was here, but he opened up to him, even if he was beating around the bush. Even though he and the boy had to drag all them boxes down themselves, getting one over on Venegas brightened up his day just a bit. It’d be nice to have something to brag about to the other guards for a change.

But Carlitos couldn’t pat himself on the back just yet. From what this kid was saying, this looked like a whole mess of trouble.

The Mayor didn't send any letters out about a family showing up, but that didn’t really mean nothing. There were some visitors they wanted recognized, and others, well… folks weren’t supposed to see them, and if they did, they’d best keep their mouths shut about it. Somehow he felt Cristobal here was gonna end up in that group.

“We don't deal with the Chirivel folk all that often, so I can't speak on that,” he said, scratching his chin. “But this talk of a family passin' through here – you sure about that? Because they usually announce visitors, as I said, and I'm pretty sure I never heard about no family with a kid comin' through here.”

He paused. “But they keep me pretty busy, you know, so I might’ve just missed it. Something you’ll want to take up with the Mayor. If anyone knows anything around here, he’s your man.” Best to avoid saying anything that might come back to bite him later. This was on Liscaris. If anyone was gonna get in trouble with the leadership, it ought to be that sorry excuse for a mayor.

The two continued along the shore, through the winding, dirty streets, always under the eyes of passerbys. Soon they reached the mayoral manor, which, like the church, looked out-of-place among Los Malecón’s run-down houses. It resembled a miniature castle, complete with towers and embattled parapets; it was made of smooth, dark gray bricks, and had tall windows. A well-tended garden surrounded the manor, filled with trimmed hedges and exotic flowers. Outside the front door was a large fountain, decorated with stone fish spitting out water.

“You’ll probably feel right at home here, eh?” Carlitos laughed as he led Cristobal past the fountain to the front porch. Moments after he knocked after the door, it opened, revealing a short, mousy-looking maid.

“Good morning, sirs. How may I help you?” she asked.

“We got an unexpected visitor today, Miss Blanca,” Carlitos said, smiling. “Cristobal here is from the Quijas family. Captain Venegas told me to drop him off here so the Mayor can meet him. But before that, he’s gonna need to get cleaned up, okay?”

“Oh, um…” Blanca stepped back, staring at Cristobal. She brushed her hair from her face, giving him a small, nervous smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. If you come with me, I’ll show you to your room and run a bath for you.”

[Cristobal De Quijas]

A leaden sensation was beginning to settle somewhere in the vicinity of Cristobal's stomach as Carlitos cheerfully dashed his hopes of being able to find his sister with relative ease. He knew she'd come this way, he'd confirmed that much at Chirivel, and she'd not been seen in Mojácar. How and why could she be unrecognised by the man who seemed to be one of the regular guardsmen?

Cristobal shrugged in response to Carlitos' question as he picked up his pack "Ah well, who knows? Maybe the folks at Chirivel were having me on. Twitting a travelling nobleman could be seen as a good laugh to last them a harvest or two." As the guardsman led him through the town, Cristobal did everything he could to make a mental note of landmarks and points of reference. The place felt like a maze with streets never seeming quite straight and most certainly not laid out in a nice orderly fashion. It'd be easy to get lost, he supposed, if one was trying to find one specific person or building among the mess of housing.

The mayoral manor was another non sequitur, deepening Cristobal's sense of unease. This wasn't what a fishing village looked like. He'd seen fishing villages. They weren't hidden in coves with castles and strange churches with bankers visiting. Due caution, then, must be applied. He definitely did not feel right at home "Thank you, Carlitos, you've been exemplary. I hope it doesn't rain before you get the supplies in."

Cristobal examined the mayor's residence as Carlitos announced their presence. The grey stonework felt oppressive, a slap in the face of the more bright facades of typical Corezan estates. At least there was a comforting familiarity in the more typical routine of being granted entry into a merchant's manor. The secret to an easy stay in enemy territory - and in Corezo any merchant house is enemy territory, even when allied or friendly - is to be on good terms with the house staff. A little courtesy typically went a long way. He smiled pleasantly at the maid "Why thank you, Miss Blanca. I'm much obliged. Please, lead the way"

[Los Malecón]

When Blanca woke up this morning, she suspected it was going to be one of those days. How right she was.

Smiling, she ushered Cristobal inside and closed the front door. The foyer's décor was also lavish, perhaps to the point of decadence: an intricately designed rug covered the floor, and pots filled with flowers lined the walls; a glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, its frame crafted like an entanglement of vines; and there was a split staircase at the back, set beneath a large circular window overlooking the sea.

Blanca led him upstairs and down the left hallway, passing by portraits of well-dressed men. She glanced at them, her smile fading. Each was of a previous mayor – all ancestors of Mayor Liscaris – and were labeled as such. Once she dropped Cristobal off, she'd have to break the news to Liscaris. The Mayor had enough on his mind already: the fish trade was suffering, their reserves were low, and the people were understandably frustrated. And now they had a surprise visit from a Quijas! God have mercy on them all.

“I hope Carlitos didn't bother you too much,” she said, chuckling softly, as they ascended another staircase. “He has a reputation for being a little uncouth. I'm sure you'll find Mayor Liscaris more appropriate company.”

Stopping at a door, she opened it, revealing a tidy, well-furnished bedroom. “Please, make yourself at home,” she said, stepping inside. “I'll run a hot bath for you.” Walking to the adjoining bathroom, she paused and motioned to the closet. “Feel free to search for an outfit to your liking. Our previous guest was a nobleman like yourself, and he found our selection quite agreeable.”

[Cristobal De Quijas]

Cristobal responded to the maid's small talk jovially "No, no, not at all. Salt of the earth, that Carlitos. Went out of his way to be of assistance." Though the man had reeked atrociously of fish. It didn't bear dwelling on, though.

Upon reaching the room, the temptation to just flop down on the bed and sleep was strong. But Cristobal was made of sterner stuff, as any member of the Quijas family had to be "I appreciate the offer of finer accommodations. I imagine the last travellers through probably went to Alonso's inn. The peasants at Chirivel said a small family with a newborn child came here a couple of months before me. Did you hear about them?" It was appropriate, Cristobal mused, that he was fishing for information in a fishing community. As he talked, he set down his pack for hopefully the last time that week.