That night, the tavern "The Swan Pond" was as lively as ever. In the main hall, the hum of conversations, the clinking of mugs and cutlery, and the music formed a constant backdrop. Mrs. Marley was giving instructions to her helpers, who were busy preparing vegetables, seafood, or frying fish. In the back, Sammy, wearing a grease-stained apron and with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, was helping wash the dirty dishes that kept piling up. Cody, for his part, was assisting in the main hall, weaving between the wooden tables with a tray full of beer mugs, greeting customers, and taking constant orders.
Suddenly, the tavern door swung open, and a group of four pirates entered. Their sun-worn faces reflected suspicion as they scanned the room. They headed for a table, where Cody attended to them.
"Gentlemen, are you ready to order? We have rum, wine, beer, and for dinner, tuna stew... or you can choose from the menu," Cody said while wiping the table.
The four men looked at the young man and ordered a round of beer. Cody quickly served the mugs and brought them over. One of the men placed some coins on the table; the boy hurried to take them, but the man grabbed him by the wrist. Cody looked at him, confused.
"Do you know Malachias Wilbur?" the pirate asked.
Even more bewildered by the question, Cody shook his head and replied:
"I don't know him, sir."
"I don't believe you. You look like someone who knows everyone. A boy like you must know where he is."
"You'll have to forgive me, sir. Though I'm a dock boy, I don't meddle in things that don't concern me… Would you kindly let me go?"
The pirate met his gaze mockingly before finally releasing him, while his companions exchanged glances. One of them, with a scruffy beard, cursed under his breath before taking a swig from his mug. Cody picked up his tray and resumed serving the beer, but one of the pirates deliberately stuck out his foot, causing Cody to trip and catastrophically spill beer all over the bearded pirate.
The man, enraged, sprang to his feet and, before Cody could react, shoved him.
"You damn fool!" he roared.
"I'm sorry, that wasn't my intention," Cody said nervously.
The pirate grabbed Cody by the front of his shirt and shook him.
"You'll pay for this, you little rat."
Before things could escalate, Sammy, alerted by one of the waitresses, rushed in from the kitchen and quickly intervened, grabbing the pirate's wrist to make him release Cody.
"Calm down, friend," Sammy said. "It was an accident."
"Oh, look at that, the girl's got more guts than the boy," the pirate sneered.
He stepped closer to Sammy with a smug grin and, staring at her, asked, "And what do you plan to do about it?"
"I could smash your face in if that's what you're asking," the girl replied firmly.
The room fell silent. Just then, Sally arrived, still wearing her apron. Her serious expression reflected years of dealing with drunkards and trouble.
"What's going on here?" she said, raising her voice with authority. "We don't tolerate fights here, and I certainly won't allow mistreatment of my staff."
"That scrawny kid spilled beer on me, and this wench is looking for a fight," the pirate spat.
"Well, I apologize for the situation, and I can send you another beer on the house," Sally offered.
"That's not enough. Not only did they spill beer on me, but they also insulted me," the brute insisted.
"Oh, so you're looking for a fight. If that's the case, you'll have to deal with my friend here," Sally said, nodding toward the large pistol hanging from her belt. "At Sally's tavern, folks come to have a good time. Troublemakers, we treat with special care… Isn't that right, Frank?" Sally turned to an old man with gray hair and an eyepatch, who casually showed off a shotgun.
"And I've got great aim," the old man added with a crooked smile.
The pirate glared at her, but the hand of his leader fell on his shoulder.
"Come on, Edgar, we came here to cool off, not to cause trouble," the leader of the group said. "My apologies for the incident. It's best we leave."
The four men stood up and made their way to the door. Before leaving, the leader gave a slight bow, tipping his hat. Once they had disappeared through the door, the music and conversations resumed.
"Thank you very much, Miss Sally," Cody said.
"Be more careful, Cody. And you, troublemaker, what were you thinking?" Sally scolded Sammy.
"I just wanted to defend Cody," Sammy replied.
"With that kind of people, you have to be very careful. They're like rabid dogs… Now, get back to work."
The three of them returned to the bar as Sammy resumed her place in the kitchen.
"What would you have done if the guy had drawn his sword?" Cody asked as Sammy put her apron back on.
"What would I do? Fight. That's all."
The boy returned to the bar, where one of the waitresses approached him.
"A group of men just arrived. Can you serve them? I have to deliver an order with several mugs and plates."
Cody looked toward the back, where the waitress was pointing. In a corner, a group of three men dressed in discreet clothing was conversing in whispers. Among them, one man's appearance stood out—he was an albino.
Cody was about to approach them when Sally stopped him.
"I'll handle them. You go to your aunt's house and pick up some tarts," she said.
The boy removed his apron and hurried off to complete the errand. He grabbed his tricorn hat and left the tavern.
Sally approached the men. They were talking among themselves, but she quickly realized they were speaking German. That wasn't unusual; Tiburon Bay was a meeting place for all kinds of sailors, smugglers, and pirates of various nationalities. After taking their order, the albino raised his hand.
"We're looking for Virgilio Coppieter. By any chance, do you know where we might find him?,"he asked.
Sally pursed her lips in doubt.
"Doesn't ring a bell," she said.
"Tiburon Bay isn't very big. I bet everyone knows each other."
Sally narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, standing defiantly.
"Look, pal, if I knew, I'd tell you,"she said. "Now, do you want to try the stew, or just the beers?"
"Do you have bratwurst sausages?" one of the men asked.
"What do you think this is, Hamburg? I've got dried fish with spices."
The pirate grimaced in disappointment. They would stick to just the beer. As Sally walked away, an old pirate nearby chimed in with a grin.
"Oh!" he said, scratching his beard. "This afternoon, I myself delivered a crate from Amsterdam addressed to a fellow with that name."
"Could you tell us where to find him?" the Germans asked, offering a few coins, which the old man caught in midair with surprising agility for his age.
When Sally returned with the beers, she was surprised to find that the Germans had left, which made her furious. When she went out to look for them on the street, the men had vanished into the darkness, as if they had been a trio of ghosts.
******
Later, in Aunt Connie's kitchen, she placed the pies in a wooden drawer and instructed the boy to carry them carefully, ensuring the crusts remained intact.
"Hurry up and deliver them, Cody, and for the love of God, no fooling around. That Sammy is going to get herself into trouble one day," she said.
"She just wanted to protect me from those mad dogs. You know how she is—a fearless brat," Cody replied.
"I appreciate the care she takes with you, but we can't deny she's a troublemaker—that's what she is," Aunt Connie said. "Now hurry up, it's getting late."
At that moment, loud knocks began pounding on the door. Both of them fell silent and looked at each other in confusion.
"Who could be knocking at this hour?" Aunt Connie asked.
Cody shrugged, just as puzzled. Connie grabbed a musket and headed up to the upper part of the house, with Cody following close behind, to peek through a window between the shutters. Outside, three men were waiting. Cody leaned in for a better look and felt a chill run down his spine as he recognized them.
"They were at the tavern," Cody whispered.
"What do they want?" Connie asked, opening both shutters and peering out, musket at the ready.
The albino man looked up and gave a courteous bow, touching the brim of his tricorn hat.
"Good evening, ma'am. I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, but we're looking for Mr. Virgilio Coppieter," he said.
"There's no one here by that name. Good night," Connie replied, moving to close the shutters.
"Forgive me, ma'am, but we were told that someone here might have information about Mr. Coppieter," the albino insisted politely.
"Who are you?" Connie asked, her voice sharp with distrust.
"We are agents of a publishing house in Amsterdam, and we were told you might have information about Mr. Coppieter. Could you tell us where he resides?" the albino man asked in a conciliatory tone.
"The owner of this shop lives in Port Royal. Perhaps you can find him there… Good night."
With that, Connie slammed the shutters shut, but they both remained, spying through the gaps. The men hesitated for a moment, one of them even peering into the glass. They exchanged a few words in German before turning away and leaving.
"Aunt, Coppieter is Sammy's grandfather's name—the old man Van Buuren," Cody said once they were sure the strangers had left.
"How do you know that?" Connie asked confused.
"Sammy confided in me. Mr. Van Buuren took that name to see if the publisher would start promoting his book again."
"I don't like any of this, Cody," Aunt Connie said.
"They look like mercenaries from Balin's novels."
Aunt Connie went down to the kitchen and placed the musket by the door.
"Go and warn them," she said. "Go to Balin's house and tell him about these men. It's obvious they're not from a publishing house."
******
The German mercenaries walked down the narrow street leading to the port when, behind them, they heard hurried footsteps. The four of them turned and found themselves facing a fat man dressed in a tight vest and a loosely tucked-in shirt. On his head, he wore a misshapen tricorn hat, with its wings bent irregularly—neglected, tattered, and with more past than future.
Discreetly, the Germans moved their hands to the hilts of their weapons.
"Excuse me," said the man, who was an elf. "I couldn't help but overhear that you are publishers and that you were looking for Balin at his shop."
"Uh, yes," the albino said, glancing at his men. "We are from a publishing house in Amsterdam."
"How wonderful! Are you from Van Dijk & Zoon Uitgevers or Keizersgracht Boeken?"
The men exchanged glances, but the albino smiled calmly.
"The first one you mentioned," he answered smoothly.
"I'm a great fan of the books from your publishing house "the man began to say enthusiastically. "What a lucky coincidence to meet you here. I'm Malachias Wilbur, an amateur writer. I've written several adventure and fantasy novels. They may not rival the master of the genre, Mr. Van Buuren, but in quality and originality, I believe they hold their own. In fact, even a master like Van Buuren doesn't always succeed. Take his latest novel, Heart of the Caribbean—it was just as melodramatic and over-the-top as Love in Excess by Liza Haywood..."
"We're a bit busy, we must go now…" the albino interrupted him.
"Yes, of course, I understand," Wilbur said, trying to contain his excitement. "I just want to say that I'm very interested in your publishing house for my works. I would greatly appreciate your help."
The albino looked at one of his men, who cleared his throat.
"Of course. You need to send your manuscript to our publishing house in Amsterdam for evaluation."
"By chance, I have it with me," the elf said, pulling it from a leather satchel.
"Of course, but we can't take it… house policy. If you like, we can discuss it tomorrow at the Swan Tavern. Would noon work for you?"
Wilbur grinned from ear to ear, his eyes gleaming. He clutched the manuscript to his chest with excitement.
"It would be a pleasure. I truly appreciate it," he said more than happy.
"Well, then it's on the agenda. By the way, would you happen to know where Mr. Virgilio Coppieter lives?
"The only writer living on this island is Balin Van Buuren himself. I'm sure he knows where to find him.
The germans looked at one another and exchanged a few words.
"Could you tell us where we might find him?," the albino asked.
The elf smiled.
"Of course. He lives in a house on the cliff, along the Hare Trail. If you follow the street up two blocks from here, it will lead you to the path toward Balin's house, on the other side of the port."
The Germans bid farewell and left Wilbur watching them walk away, thrilled to have met them. He walked down the street toward the port, heading back to Queen Anne's Fort, humming a tune from a Handel opera. When he turned the corner, he stumbled upon a strange scene—Balin was arguing with a pirate he recognized. The elf crouched in the shadows and stayed hidden, listening with curiosity.