Winds of Fate [Books IV - VI]

Chapter 195.5: Your Life and Mine

August 28, 1720
Present Day
Havana, Cuba

Eleanore keeps quiet while the coach's rather fast steed carries them past the narrow alleys of Havana and out into the street running along by the Caribbean Sea. As they ride out from the city center, into one town and another, the houses are becoming farther and farther away that the waves are now seemingly nearer with how ominous their rumblings are and there is no more defense against the weather. The evening winds are bitingly cold as they whip past her face. Anton too, is chilled, despite his rather thick coat, and he resorts to clasping her hands in his before he attempts to unbuckle his belt to free his coat. She stops him—at least one of them will be warmer if he keeps it on. He nearly butts with her about that, but the coachman whistles and points to the palm trees by the wide... and a path between them.

"Jaimanitas, Señor!"

Anton nods and peers into the dark. The palm trees could be made out... but where the sea begins is quite hard to see. They all look at the little lanterns hanging from the coach itself. "Puedo usar esta?" Anton points to the one nearest to him and adds that he needs the coachman to stay anway. He is willing to pay.

The coachman, seeing their fine clothes, asks for an additional fee that is nearly seven times than usual. This grates Anton, of course, seeing their finances will not be steady at all for the forthcoming months. He tries to lower it to twice only. The coachman smiles sneakily and denies that; the town Alameda del Siboney is already outside his usual trip, and it is near the dead of the night. For them to go to and fro, for God knows what, is putting him—the coachdriver—in danger too, and he needs to be compensated for that. They should even thank him for granting their request. Eleanore's eye's widen... but she tenses even more when Anton clenches his jaw. That fist threatening to close.

He has been to Havana and so many other cities, however, that Anton battles it out with the coachdriver—going for a lower price than expected, half times more only, leading to the coachdriver to then offer a slightly middling compromise: twice, which is what Anton had went for in the first place.

"Fínal!" The coachdriver insists. "No puedo menos!"

"Bueno!" Anton agrees, promising the other half once they return to Havana's proper.

With it, he takes the little lantern and holds her hand. They enter the slim path. The sand is fine and seemingly white under the moonlight, but actually warm gold once the lantern shines on them. Overhead, the palm trees' sharp leaves rustle together with the wind, and Eleanore savors the moment as her heels sink into the beach. "Anton?"

"Hm?"

"Did I understand correctly," she asks, and their eyes meet as they continue under the palm trees, "he's asking for more? How did you even get him to bargain?"

"He is a swindler, tesoro, a thief not unlike a pirate." Anton winks. "Simple, and you must listen to this very carefully, so you can do it on your own, not just to greedy coachdrivers, but also to harbormasters and marketsellers." He raises a finger, and she enthusiastically nods. "You must first go for the lowest price you could accept paying for."

Her eyes widen. "So that's why!"

"Yes." Anton laughs. "Then you agitate him a little. Ask for lower. He will get angry. Higher a bit. He will now attempt to be firm. And then go a little lower once more. He will be so angry he will raise it up himself to the price you want—bueno!"

"Dear God!" She swats him, and they both laugh. "You act like you were raised on the streets! Meanwhile I spent six months on Boston's filthy streets and forests and learned nothing! Nothing at all!"