Winds of Fate [Books I-III]

Chapter Ninety-Nine: Repercussions

March 3rd 1720, Present Day
Nassau, New Providence Island
The Bahamas
Meanwhile...

Under the blistering heat of the noon sun high up in the clear blue sky, clumps of brown earth fly from the shovels of the workmen huddled by the plot nearest to the backdoor of the humble new church sitting up a tiny hill near Nassau's southeast coast. Father Martin quietly watches by the doorway, with his hands clasped behind him, eyes downcast.

Standing near the shade of the church, is a podgy and stocky old man dressed in a fine brown coat and cream ensemble with a letter in his shaking hands. His white wig is worn, with strands sticking out from all his fidgeting under the sun. The Duke of Longbourne unexpectedly arrived yesterday, stalling the Admiral from leaving and sending Neville at the edge. Neville's letter about Matthew Longbourne's death is still sailing across the Atlantic. The old duke only learned of the tragedy the moment he set foot at the port and Ananias Redwood informed him.

Now, Lord Neville remains stiff as a pole, opting to skip the shade and stand in solace a few steps away from the plot beside Admiral Smith in order to fulfill their calling as the Crown's figureheads. The sun fries his lashes, despite his cocked hat. His skin burns and steams from underneath his cotton shirt and humble black coat.

Yet, the sight of the Admiral's ramrod posture doesn't permit one to fold. The man himself keeps his falcon-like blue eyes trained on the Duke, then at the plot, and sometimes to the priest. Lord Neville swallows, and unlike the priest, he keeps his hands at his sides.

Revealing the truth of Captain Smith's true identity to the Admiral is a gamble, a gamble he is entering blindly. But foremost in life, Edmund Neville always believes in justice, truth, and fairness. So long as one obeys laws set up for the welfare and happiness of all, one needs not fear. If Admiral Smith is an honest man, by all means, he has nothing to fear...

But he appears to have a tender spot for his... daughter. He winces, watching the old Duke across from them, that dastardly face almost innocent today as grief wrought his features to gnarly wretchedness that any passerby with a heart would no doubt offer condolence to. Gone is the arrogance, replaced by the basest human need for revenge in those blue eyes. Lord Neville keeps his jaw set. Their families have not been the kindest to each other, not in London and most certainly not here in the Bahamas. The Longbournes' quest for power had earned them allies and friends in colonies, employing maneuvers Neville could not have dreamed of doing while he has been knee-deep into reforming Nassau.

But as much as the Longbournes tried to weasel their way among English sugar barons and Dutch slavers to ail their faltering fortunes, Neville has turned to Britain's greatest enemy instead.

Spain.

Having Cuba behind him would cement his power in the Caribbean, would prove his capability to the King, and above all, save the Bahamas from an unnecessary war and Britain from shame.

Damn you, Del Santo. Edmund seethes. Damn you to Hell and back.

The vein at the base of his neck ticks as his pulse surges. His waistcoat tightens, and he breathes through his nose instead. Yet, the air still thins. The scalding heat along with the choking smell of hot earth holding a decaying corpse makes his head spin.

"This is his doing..." Admiral Smith murmurs beside him. "How are you certain?"

He raises a brow. "There are witnesses ready to testify."