The trip to the port was uneventful, though the docks were alive with noise and motion. The smell of tar, sweat, and sea salt clung to the humid air. Sailors shouted over the creak of timbers, and gulls screamed above them as if arguing over the cargo.
Once they reached the ship, the chaos doubled. Crates thudded against the deck; sailors cursed as they hauled ropes slick with salt and grime. The vessel itself was plain—a merchantman of four or five hundred tons, no different from any other ship bound for Cádiz.
Ramiro puffed his chest. "I present to you my Lucía," he said proudly.
Carlos rolled his eyes. "You should buy a bigger ship. This one's an embarrassment."
Ramiro's face tightened. "If you paid me more, I could buy a thousand-tonner," he snapped.
Francisco and Catalina exchanged a quiet laugh—but it died as a crash echoed from the dock. A servant had dropped a crate. Ramiro's good humor vanished; his expression blackened.
"Idiots!" he bellowed, storming toward them. "Do you have any idea what this cargo is worth? If you damage it, I swear I'll sell you to pay for it!"
Francisco glanced at his father, who only shrugged. "That's him," he said. "He jokes sometimes, but when money's involved, he's all fire and teeth. It's normal."
Catalina tugged at the stiff collar of her shirt. The coarse fabric scratched her neck, and the humid air made her disguise unbearable. "Is it really necessary for me to pretend to be a boy?" she muttered. "I'm dying in these clothes."
Carlos looked around to make sure no one overheard. "Yes," he said grimly. "Better no one knows. You'll be trapped on a ship full of men for months. Not all lose their minds—but some do."
Catalina sighed, her mouth twisting. Francisco gave a sympathetic shrug. "He's right. It's dangerous enough without adding temptation. And if pirates show up and learn you're a woman, they might turn on us all."
She hesitated, then nodded. The smell of salt and rope filled her lungs as if sealing the decision. She would travel as a man.
Then, as they spoke, a group of armed men appeared—surrounding a single woman. Their boots struck the planks in rhythm, drawing glances as they approached Ramiro.
Francisco frowned. "Do you think something's wrong?"
Carlos frowned too. "I'll find out."
He stepped closer, and a burly man spoke first."My lady is the daughter of a nobleman," he said stiffly. "She came to New Granada to inspect her family's investments. Her ship suffered damage on the voyage, and we need another vessel for the return trip. But she's not willing to wait long for repairs."
The woman lifted her chin, her voice carrying a trace of arrogance."My name is María," she declared. "My father, the Duke of Spain, is a man of great importance to the Empire. I require that you rent me your ship so I can return to him without delay."
A faint breeze off the harbor stirred her veil, carrying the smell of salt and pitch between them. Her tone left no doubt—she was used to being obeyed.
Ramiro's voice rose. "Rent my whole ship? Are you mad? Do you know how much I make on a single voyage—hundreds of thousands of pesos!"
A burly man held up a sealed letter of credit. "Three hundred thousand pounds."
The dock seemed to go still. Ramiro's eyes gleamed with temptation—until he remembered his Crown contract. "Sorry, gentlemen. I'm already engaged with the Cádiz Company. Unless the viceroy himself—"
A second letter dropped into his hand, heavy with wax seals. The burly man smiled thinly. "With this, there shouldn't be a problem, right?"
Ramiro's mouth opened and closed. Carlos's gut tightened; something about this was wrong. And then Francisco froze. His gaze had caught the woman among the men—he knew that face. The daughter of the commodore. She saw him too, her expression paling beneath her veil.
Carlos began to speak, but stopped as recognition struck him as well. The pause was enough to spark suspicion. Steel hissed; the burly man drew his blade. Instantly, others followed suit.
Francisco and Carlos reacted on instinct. Francisco's hands found the polished grips of his pistols—he always carried two—and the sound of hammers clicking back was sharp as thunder under the sun.
The standoff crackled with heat and tension. Nearby sailors pretended to busy themselves but watched with wide eyes. Then the woman whispered something. Her guards lowered their weapons almost in unison.
"Our lady would like to speak with you," the burly man said, suddenly courteous. "Would you come with us?"
Moments ago they had been ready to kill each other. Now they followed the strangers into the captain's office.
Inside, the smell of ink, paper, and sea air mingled. Sunlight cut through the small window, falling across the woman's face.
Francisco broke the silence. "Miss Elizabeth—a pleasure. Or should I say Miss María, as you introduced yourself to Captain Ramiro?"
Carlos smirked. "The noble's daughter sent to New Granada to inspect investments—wasn't that it?"
Elizabeth gave a short laugh. "I don't know whether to call you lucky or unlucky. I'm no noble. I serve the Crown. The viceroy granted me permission to take this ship—so France won't suspect."
Francisco frowned. "Why would France care?"
She met his gaze evenly. "Because Spain's alliance with England draws French attention. We've learned that some officials here in New Granada have been bribed. They plan to capture me—and the information I carry."
Francisco's eyes darted to her men. "Wouldn't traveling with armed escorts make you more obvious?"
Her lips curved faintly. "The plan wasn't to take this ship, but to stage seizures of three merchant vessels. Then, beyond the coast, we'd transfer to an English frigate."
Ramiro went pale. "You'd sacrifice three ships?"
"That's right," she said coolly. "My mission matters more than three hulls of cargo."
Francisco's jaw tightened. The logic was sound—but brutal. Then, slowly, a glint of understanding lit his face. "And now that I know who you really are—and who owns this ship—you can't follow that plan, can you?"
Elizabeth's eyes hardened, her voice dropping to a whisper edged like steel. "Exactly. Which is why you and I, Señor Francisco…"
She stepped closer, the air between them thick with heat, gunpowder, and salt.
"…are going to make a deal."
The ship's bell rang outside—once, twice—calling the crew to embark.