The sun rose and set, and one uneasy day passed into another deep night. The shadows of dead trees sliced the moonlight into pieces, scattering it through the ruins of the shattered village. The beams left behind after the thatched huts had burned leaned crookedly against their earthen foundations like charred ribs. The air was still thick with the smell of ash, and with the stale, moldy stink of blood. That icy chill was like the Death God sitting silently in the dead Taino village, waiting for vengeance and the harvest.
"Guten Abend, mein Herr! Good evening, Your Excellency!"
Mercenary captain Reinhardt, dressed in a dull gray cloak, stood beneath the shadow of the church's wooden hut with two trusted brothers at his side. From the darkness on the other side, nine men gradually emerged. Eight of them were armored Cipangu Warriors. Only one wore a cloak, his forehead painted and carved with an "evil" pattern, and he answered in a familiar hometown accent.
"Good evening, Knight Reinhardt!"
"You are... His Excellency Martin Behaim?"
"Mm!"
Priest Ah Ding nodded, examining the mercenary captain before him, strong as a lion, by the dim moonlight. From the man's face, he saw a hint of closeness at meeting someone from home, but far more wariness, and greed hidden within that wariness. He had seen that mercenary's posture far, far too many times before, and he knew how to deal with men like them.
"Fritz told you all our terms of employment, didn't he?"
"Yes! Lord Martin. Fritz said forty-five pounds of gold to hire us for one year."
At that, Reinhardt paused, his gaze darting everywhere before quickly fixing on the grass baskets carried on the backs of two Cipangu Warriors. But he was not certain which one held the gold, and could