In Aunt Betty's mansion, the chandelier lights flickered in the gaming rooms. Boisterous men laughed over games of dice and cards; tobacco smoke mingled with the perfume of the courtesans, and coins clinked on tables like promises of fortune.
The front door burst open, making way for the Carioca. Behind him, half a dozen of his men—weathered, armed, and with the faces of fighting dogs. Word spread quickly about the sudden visit of one of the bloodiest pirates in the Caribbean. Several patrons left immediately, while many others fled like rats along the walls; some even took the opportunity to leave without paying. Aunt Betty's girls screamed in fright amid the confusion of the hasty retreat.
Aunt Betty descended the staircase, followed by her men, who remained standing behind her. She presented herself before the Carioca with a calm expression, holding her staff. Her smile was soft, polite... but devoid of any warmth.
"What an unexpected visit," she said with poisonous sweetness. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
The Carioca wasted no time on pleasantries.
"I've come to reclaim something that belongs to me," he said bluntly.
"I'm sorry, Captain Sebastián, but there is absolutely nothing here that belongs to you."
"I saw her with some of your men, so I assume she's here, locked in one of your cells."
Aunt Betty remained serene, smiling. Yet she gripped her staff firmly, ready for any attack.
"My dear Carioca... you know well that this house offers refuge and pleasure, not imprisonment. If a girl has crossed my threshold, it must have been of her own will."
"Don't try to wrap me up in your honeyed rhetoric. Mr. Wilbur," said the Carioca, glancing back, "is what the madam says true, or are you seeing fantasies and making up tales?"
"Not at all. I know what I saw," growled Wilbur. "I saw her. Your men were carrying her like a sack of potatoes."
Betty kept smiling, though the atmosphere tightened like a rope about to snap. On either side of the room, her tedeschi took a subtle step forward, barely noticeable—just enough for the Carioca to catch.
"My men have been here the whole time. Maybe the chubby one is imagining things," said Aunt Betty.
"I know what I saw!" insisted Wilbur.
"You heard him," said the Carioca, dropping a hand onto the butt of the pistol at his belt. "And I don't like being lied to."
"I never lie," replied Betty, in a voice cold as marble. "But if you wish to search my house so badly, go ahead. The doors are open to you and yours. In the meantime, you and I can go to my salon and enjoy a fine French wine."
"You heard her!" the Carioca ordered, snapping his fingers. "Search the entire house."
His men spread out like a cloud of smoke. Two went upstairs, three more headed to the side wings, and Wilbur followed the first mate, Briggs, and two others toward the service quarters.
Meanwhile, Betty invited the pirate to her pink salon, decorated with French furniture. The Carioca sat in a baroque chair across from her. Kayin arrived with a serving tray.
"If you're going to offer wine, let it be from a bottle I uncork myself."
"So much mistrust toward a lady…" said the witch.
"A lady who's earned her reputation."
Aunt Betty, far from offended, smiled darkly. A bottle was brought, and the Carioca opened it with a hard smack against the table.
"I heard your men once served the King of Spain," he said after taking a swig.
"They're Hessian mercenaries," Betty replied. "And they sometimes offer special services."
"I see you've diversified your business."
"As you have, Captain. You started in the merchant navy, then became a privateer, slaver… and now, a famed pirate."
"Interesting that you know my résumé."
"A toast to that."
They stared at each other silently, from the corners of their eyes, as if measuring one another. Betty held her staff; the Carioca, a hand on his pistol.
When Cody arrived, he was surprised to see the doors wide open. Some patrons were rushing out, and gossip was already spreading through the corners about the Carioca's arrival. Quietly, the boy slipped past the pirates' watchful eyes, who kept glancing toward where Aunt Betty's girls were gathered.
He took advantage of the moment to infiltrate. He walked with an unsteady, staggering gait, disguised as a libertine youth from the seediest ports—loud red waistcoat, neckerchief, and a dusty wig that concealed his light hair. He did his best to appear drunk, or at least bored and carefree.
But his face went pale when he spotted the Carioca seated in the back, in the company of the witch. He swallowed hard. His legs trembled, but he had to carry on with his mission.
Following Prime's instructions, he headed toward the service quarters. He moved discreetly between the Carioca's men, who prowled like predators in search of prey, intimidating the girls and the straggling customers.
He finally reached the kitchen, where all the staff had fled out the back alley. Pots and stews still simmered over the fire. He crossed the large room and was about to head down to the basement when he heard heavy footsteps coming up. Cody immediately ducked into a pantry, closed the door, and held his breath, peeking through the cracks in the wood.
In the basement, Mr. Briggs, accompanied by two pirates and Wilbur, roamed the space full of barrels, sacks of grain, and piled-up junk. The dim glow of their lanterns barely reached the dark corners, while Wilbur ran his hands along the stone walls, searching for a secret passage.
"There's nothing here," said one of the pirates.
"Make sure to check thoroughly," ordered Mr. Briggs, crouching to inspect beneath the barrels.
After exhausting the search with no success, Briggs gave the order to leave. However, Wilbur wasn't ready to give up. He stayed behind, inspecting more carefully, while the others headed up the stairs to report to the Carioca.
From the pantry, Cody saw the pirates leave. One stopped at the stove, rummaged through a nearby basket, grabbed a loaf of bread, dipped it into the stew, and ate it before hurrying to catch up with the group. Cody, still holding his breath, opened the door very carefully. It creaked—a sound that chilled his blood. He waited a few seconds, then pushed it open more slowly and headed for the basement stairs. He descended cautiously down the wooden steps and moved toward the area where the barrels were.
Meanwhile, Wilbur had discovered a small passage: an icebox connected to a magical dodecahedron that preserved products from the Other Side. There were cans, bottles, and various items. The elf grabbed a soda bottle; his eyes lit up upon seeing the label, written in Elvish letters, advertising a red berry product. His mouth watered. Discreetly, he twisted off the cap and took several gulps.
At that moment, a wooden creak alerted him. He took one last sip, placed the bottle back in its place, and silently left the passage to investigate the sound. To his surprise, he saw a young man advancing cautiously through the shadows.
The rumble of his stomach—thanks to the soda—alerted the boy, who spun around with a knife in hand. Upon seeing his face, Wilbur recognized him instantly: it was Cody. He stepped back quietly. If Cody was here, he was probably after the same thing they were. Wilbur decided to watch in silence.
When everyone returned to the parlor, Mr. Briggs approached the Carioca.
"We found nothing," he reported.
The captain eyed Aunt Betty with suspicion, while she returned his gaze with her eternal smile.
"You're a clever one, Aunt Betty," said the pirate.
"I'm offended by your mistrust…" she replied, her voice sweet as honey. "But I understand. As you can see, it was all a misunderstanding. And I wouldn't want anyone saying I'm a bad hostess."
Aunt Betty had already ordered wine to be served, and soft music was beginning to fill the air. The courtesans glided like enchanted shadows among the Carioca's men.
The captain remained seated, his face tight with fury. His gaze was dark.
"We await your orders," said Mr. Briggs.
"Where's the fat one?" Carioca asked.
"He stayed in the basement… still searching for something."
The Carioca clenched his jaw and looked at his first mate.
"We'll wait for him to return. He'd better bring something… or we'll hang him from that very chandelier."
"What do we do in the meantime?" the boatswain asked.
The captain glanced around.
"Stay alert, " he ordered.
One of the girls approached and handed him a bottle. The Carioca uncorked it with a sharp strike against the table and raised it.
"To your hospitality, madame, " the Carioca said.
"To the honor of having you in my establishment… Cheers!" she replied, with that smile that never told the whole truth.