WeTried Translations

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Wind and a Cluster of Stars

Chapter 21

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The Price of a Secret, Age of Discovery

38. The Price of a Secret

May 4, 9:00 a.m.

The ship settled down again and returned to our planned route.

At dawn today, that quiet time in the cool breeze felt especially welcome.

In the morning, I brought out yesterday's bag of silver coins, showed it to everyone on deck,

and divided it fairly.

It was exactly what had to be done now, with everyone finally sober and clear-headed again.

The silver coins were of many kinds.

Shillings I knew well, coins from the Dutch mint, Iberian ones too...

There were even a few gold coins mixed in here and there.

After splitting them up, we still had one full pouch of silver and about a handful of gold, quite a lot.

Then we distributed it by rank.

Among the gold was even a single medieval florin, so when everything was handed out, I kept that one for myself.

"Is this why people become privateers and pirates?"

I asked as I handed Amy a handful of silver.

"High risk, high reward, right?"

The line infantry received their silver in their hats.

Once they gathered, they launched into a loud argument about how well they had shot, and how badly they'd scared the pirates.

"Eek!"

The corporal's hat had a bullet hole, and small silver coins spilled through it, so the soldiers around him burst out laughing, scrambling to pick them up and teasing him.

"I had heard plenty about the Redcoats' reputation, but I didn't know you were this good. Thank you, Lieutenant, and all of you, for your bravery."

I paid them as much respect as I could and praised their hard work.

"Ha ha, what's so grand about taking down riffraff pirates like that!"

Lieutenant Shawn said, waving his hand with an exaggerated grin.

He and his men would probably brag about yesterday's fight wherever they went, making it bigger each time.

When distribution ended with the lieutenant, we moved on to one more matter.

A promotion and reward for the sailor with the greatest combat merit.

As expected, the biggest credit went to the veteran sailor who hit the mast with chain shot and turned the battle in our favor.

He was a medium-height veteran in his thirties, and with sharp instincts he dodged the hail of bullets and landed that shot.

"What's your name?"

"Colton, Elisa Colton."

Colton was promoted from deckhand to able seaman, with better pay and treatment.

In rank, that put him directly under Zenon, the boatswain.

As a reward for this action, he received gold coins and strong, heavy rum.

That was exactly what sailors always wanted most.

All through that morning, Colton relaxed on deck, drinking dark heavy rum and rolling the gold coins in his fingers.

With thick sideburns, he kept grinning and taking happy little sips.

...

10:00 a.m.

Yesterday had been too chaotic, so I couldn't write the log.

Even now that my mind had calmed down, it still felt hard to record everything that happened.

[May 3, around 1:00 p.m. Clear weather, north wind, gentle breeze.

Time of engagement: around 1:20 p.m.

Enemy: Unknown nationality (seemed like mixed crews absorbed from other pirate groups), two 200-ton sambuks

Allied force: 250-ton hybrid fluyt, 300 tons at full load

Damage: One sailor wounded, partial damage to Red Tea. Able to resume sailing.

Result: One sunk, one captured.

Gains: Some food, ammunition, weapons, one pouch of silver coins.]

"That should be enough..."

I sat in the captain's cabin, drank tea, and wrote the rest of the details briefly.

There had been many moments that were truly on a knife's edge.

"But this can't keep happening forever. We had line infantry this time too."

They said one Highlander was worth a hundred men, a guards infantryman fifty, a grenadier ten, and line infantry one to one, but now I wondered if that saying was wrong.

-Knock knock

While I was sorting things out, someone knocked on the door.

"Who is it?"

The one who came in was Zenon.

He had something tucked under his arm, wrapped in a hemp sack.

No doubt he was here about yesterday.

"Captain, this."

After checking that no one else was in the cabin, he took out yesterday's ebony box from inside the sack.

"What's this?"

My first thought was pure curiosity.

Zenon probably knew what was inside.

It only had a simple clasp as a lock.

Still, that beautiful black box, about a handspan in both height and width, was very sturdy,

carefully crafted from high-grade ebony, with small engraved patterns carved into it,

and I couldn't help wondering what was inside something this fine.

-Click

The clasp opened easily, and finally I opened the box.

"This is..."

It was filled with gold dust.

Pieces that looked very pure reflected off one another and gave off a bright shine.

Without thinking, I grabbed a handful.

The heavy weight felt strangely vivid in my palm.

The larger pieces were about the size of hazelnuts, and the smaller ones were like grains of sand, but small did not mean worthless.

It could be melted into gold bars, and even as it was now, it was obviously valuable.

"You understand why I brought this secretly, right?"

"...I do..."

If the sailors found out, we'd have to distribute it, and naturally the amount would shrink...

And now I understood why he'd brought it to me.

Maybe because he knew I had seen him find it, but with this, Zenon secured his own share too (split between two people, not everyone!), and he could avoid punishment for not reporting captured loot to the captain.

This would become significant capital.

The ship was still in good shape and serving us well, so we weren't replacing it, but unless something truly major happened,

this was solid backing.

"How should we split it?"

I spoke as quietly as I could.

"Hard to say. The ship does have some damage... and I'm running low on tobacco too..."

Maybe it was age, or maybe he just hid it well, but on the surface he didn't seem obsessed with money.

"But I think Amy, as purser, should know about this too."

"That's true."

The funds were used according to my intent, but reviewing and managing them was Amy's role.

"Then... let's do it by regulation. 4:3:3."

"Sounds good."

The ebony box was placed in the deepest loft of the captain's cabin, to be turned into money later.

And getting good liquor and tobacco for Zenon became the obvious next step, no need to even say it.

"Oh, and thanks for what you did for the deckhand."

From his side, having an able seaman as his right hand would make things much easier.

Still, wages came from the captain, and bad captains often milked everything through one officer.

"It's nothing."

After saying that, he left the cabin.

I sat there for a while, thinking about this unexpected luck that had come to me.

Maybe things would finally get better now.

I had endured times when everything seemed impossible and ready to collapse into nothing,

and now rewards were coming in more than one way.

"Cape Verde soon."

The line on the parchment sea chart (charts were made from waterproof parchment, safe even when wet) had already passed the X mark and now stretched toward the Barlavento Islands.

39. Age of Discovery

May 5, 7:00 a.m.

We arrived at Cape Verde, our important intermediate stop.

Cape Verde was an archipelago made of many islands,

and the ship put in at Praia, the city on the southern main island.

So many tiny uninhabited islets and rocky islands, small fishing villages, and clusters of coconuts...

My first impression of this southern sea was that it looked like the Caribbean from paintings and illustrations.

Praia's harbor looked like a pile of stones tumbled down from a mountain.

The traces of old volcanoes still remained, giving the place a rough and barren feel,

while near the coast, tropical trees and pretty houses shone under the tropical sun.

Now that we had come close to the equator, the temperature difference was striking.

I already knew places near the sea had less temperature swing than inland because the sea absorbed and carried heat.

Maybe those warm currents were warming these islands day and night without pause.

Red Tea quietly came alongside in the morning harbor while the wind lay still.

It was still morning, but the sun already felt like it was slowly turning harsh.

It felt like in just a day or two we had suddenly arrived somewhere that smelled of Africa.

Not long ago, we had ridden the cold current of the North Atlantic down here,

but now the wind and even the sea routes were filled with tropical Africa.

Maybe it felt stronger because we had not stopped anywhere after leaving Lisbon.

-Thud

When I stepped down and set foot on land, dry soil puffed up in dust.

This earth, probably formed from weathered volcanic rock or settled volcanic ash, was dry...

and looked totally lacking in nutrients.

As if to prove my guess right, a clump of unknown grass nearby was already shriveling in the shimmering air that had just begun to ripple with heat.

Even this narrow, stiff-bladed grass.

Yet the harbor was full of life.

This was a center of trade, a Portuguese colony, and a golden port where sugar cane, a key crop, was shipped.

And there was something even more valuable than that.

This place was like an intermediate hub for that cargo.

I arrived on time with Lieutenant Shawn, just as promised.

Since we had agreed this would be a stopover, I gave everyone enough time to ease their sailing fatigue.

With Saint George's now close, the lieutenant probably would not drink like before.

If he did, we'd have to send sailors out immediately, find him, and drag him back aboard before it was too late.

We had to leave here right away, making up for the three or four days they normally would have waited here.

The sailors who stayed behind were assigned to repair the damaged parts of the ship.

With the ship firmly anchored, they would use materials to mend the railings and hull.

The damage wasn't severe enough to need a professional carpenter anyway, so the crew alone should be enough.

The sailors found similar timber, cut it to match the broken sections of railing, and started shaping it.

...

In front of a trading post with vivid red flowers.

Inside that Portuguese-style post was the most valuable trade cargo I mentioned earlier.

Amy and I sat in the shade of a hedge, fanning ourselves with handkerchiefs to cool off.

They said the trading post owner had stepped out for a moment.

As expected for a Portuguese colony, Portuguese was spoken here,

and Amy was a huge help in this situation.

While we sat on dry logs waiting for the owner, the weather seemed to get hotter by the minute.

The difference between sea and land really was huge...

-Skitter skitter

A palm-sized brown lizard ran up the plastered wall of a shed beside the post,

then stopped and stared at me.

Its color matched the dry wood tones of this place, and so did its large eyes.

Amy and I were reflected in those glossy eyes.

The lizard looked brazen, not afraid of people at all,

and it slowly licked one eye with its long tongue.

Then it darted off again and disappeared into the thatch.

In weather this hot, that was probably the coolest spot, and maybe there was food there too.

Soon the owner came back sweating, greeted Amy and me, and offered a handshake.

Then he went straight to business and discussed how we might unload the liquor we had brought.

"Oh, this... it's not ideal to sell here. The rum quality is very high here and production is abundant...

You'd only get about 102 percent of what you brought."

"Then let's just take it to Saint George's. The cargo isn't hurting our speed much right now, and it'd be better to sell in a bigger city anyway..."

"Let's do that."

We still had three or four hours before the agreed time, so Amy and I looked around this unfamiliar landscape.

Zenon had stayed on the ship from the start to help with repairs, so he didn't come.

...

I knew this much.

Cities form below mountains when mountains are nearby.

Because of water.

That was even more true in a place like this, where water was precious.

Maybe that was why, from below the mountain, Praia looked like a single mountain rising out of the sea.

Irrigation channels had been dug, and sugar cane fields spread on both sides.

Below that, African buildings and Portuguese buildings stood packed close together.

I stared at palm trees for the first time in my life.

I had only seen them in pictures before.

I had heard their water was very good for thirst and recovery, but the fruit was still green and small.

And the next thing I saw for the first time was sugar cane itself.

You squeeze this corn-like plant and boil down the juice to make sugar.

And now, in this place warm all year round, harvest season was beginning.

The most valuable "trade goods" brought embers in dried coconut husks and set fire to the sugar cane fields.

On one side, workers had already cut cane to stop the fire from spreading, and dozens of "trade goods" were harvesting.

The useless leaves burned away in one sweep, and they split the important stalks with sickles.

As Amy and I stared at the scene in a daze, a dark-skinned Portuguese man came toward us smiling through the smoke of burning cane leaves.

In his hand were a few pieces of cane stalk, like corn stems.

Amy greeted him,

and the man, who seemed to be the plantation owner, gave each of us a piece of sugar cane.

Inside that stalk, the cane was full of sweet sugar water.

I looked it over, peeled the skin, and bit into the pale flesh inside,

and a large burst of sweet juice came out with a fresh grassy scent.

More sweetness kept flowing in my mouth.

In this dry place, maybe sugar cane stored that sweet water little by little with very little moisture.

"Tastes good."

"Yeah."

But if you chewed the inner core too long, only tough fibrous pulp remained, so you had to spit it out instead of swallowing.

While we were lazily tasting sugar cane, the black cargo hauled the cut cane away in carts.

...

A workshop with a thatched roof.

That was where we ended up after circling thick hedges and following the rich sweet smell.

Firewood burned under a huge metal cauldron as tall as a person, and in this heat,

boiling down pressed sugar cane juice looked brutally hard.

The black cargo worked without complaint, stirring the chunks with wooden paddles shaped like oars.

The process seemed well underway already, and thick brown sugar syrup stretched in sticky strands.

This was sugar after first-stage processing.

The sugar was deep brown, still carrying sugar cane flavor, and glittering crystals clung to the sides and bottom of the cauldron.

All this grueling work was done by nearly unpaid labor from the most expensive trade cargo in the world.

All of it came from the Age of Discovery, from the boom in navigation, from advances in science and seafaring, and from the sweet rewards gained through dangerous adventure.

Now we had entered an Age of Discovery so radiant the very name seemed to shine. Culture and industry had advanced,

and because of that, our lives had grown richer.

At a small open-air tea stall, I paid one silver coin and drank strong coffee mixed with sugar.

Even while we sat there, the black cargo kept walking the roads and working,

but there was not a single "person" who paid attention to that.

"That's quite a lot. Looks heavy."

I looked at a slave carrying a sack of sugar overhead and asked the stall owner, who replied in broken English.

"Ah, this place, uh... major producer, sugar."

The stall owner didn't think about slave labor or how hard the work was either.

Like coffee has both sweetness and bitterness behind it,

scenes like this unfold in what is shown and what is hidden underneath.

Coffee and sugar, ivory, gold dust...

We had grown richer, but what had they gained?

No matter how far the price had crashed, it was trade cargo I did not want to buy.

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