I found out that the slave quarters were about a half mile from the mansion proper, down the ‘mountainside’, towards the coast. Which means the people here walk a long winding road to get to the mansion before dark every single day, even Sundays. Unlike most Catholics, Mr. Mera doesn’t seem to think much about the sabbath. Well, in a couple of days, the slaves here will have a chance to live free. I think the Zijde wouldn’t mind rustling up another ship if I ask nicely.

I bid Mr. Tormal good night, and find my way into the mansion. I stop to savor some venison that had been marinated in some kind of delicious mango sauce. Much like Mr. Tormal, this man has been the one to cook almost all of the venison dishes served tonight. Hopefully I’ll be able to hire some of these people to help supplement the crew’s diet. Fine food and drink would do wonders to keep the crews moral up if out at sea. After finishing the wonderful food, I try to make it into the mansion, but the sheer amount of people entering and exiting made it a 10 minute ordeal. Although with enough patience and a small distraction, I finally found my way inside the large glass double doors. I just hope the top of that woman's hear isn't burned too badly. I'm not sure what substance she used to fix her hair in place, but I now know that shit is highly flammable... anywhoseit.

I really did think the outside of the mansion was the pinnacle of luxury, but it was nothing compared to what I am seeing now. The floors are some red-hued hardwood, with rippling grains throughout, and buffed to an impossible shine. On either side of me, wide Italian marble staircases tower over me, extending 20 feet to the next story. Exotic animals were mounted alongside huge oil paintings, and all of this was illuminated by three, gigantic crystal chandeliers. The chandeliers were suspended from a huge white ceiling, decorated with intricate crown molding squares.

I make my way around the full-body mounting of a giraffe standing tall between the stairs, and start to mill through the few hundred people chatting and drinking. Smoke from pipes, cigarettes, and cigars is heavy in the air, and with all these people sweating and talking, it’s muggy as hell here despite the cool breeze from the ocean.

I finally make it outside to the front courtyard, and it doesn’t take long to find who I’m looking for… but what I see makes my stomach drop. I see a tall, skinny, dark headed man with silver streaks on either side of his head, and a deep facial scar running from chin to temple. I also see a slightly shorter, yet much fatter man, with similar hair, and a eyepatch. And of course, there is a man of slightly above average height, average build, with a facial burn, and silver sideburns… but the rest of his scalp is marred by a fresh looking burnscar. All three are dressed in fine clothes, conversing with one another, right where Mr. Tormal said I could find Mr. Mera.

I pinch the scarred bridge of my nose, “How is my luck this fucking shitty…”

“How are all three of those guys potentially him? I mean, the description that Mrs. Brown gave me seemed to be a pretty good one. Tall, dark hair with silver streaks on the side, and a facial scar… what are the fucking chances. I guess I could try and ask someone which is the right one, but I’m not really sure if I want people remembering the guy asking who Mr. Mera is on the night of his death. Especially now that I have this scar in the middle of my face. It's a pretty unique feature and would make it easy to remember my face.”

Once I'm done indulging in little self-venting, I crawl out from the bushes, armed with as many of my weapons as I could realistically conceal on my person.

“Well, I damn sure don’t wanna have to come back to if I don’t kill the right one, so I guess I’ll have to kill all of them. I just hope Mrs. Brown will get over the fact that I can’t make this look like an accident... killing three similar looking people, on the same night, at the same party… yea, this is gonna get messy.”

Once I finish tucking the last knife in my boot, I go back to observe my targets for a little while. They talk for a few more minutes, drinking either brandy or wine the whole time. I really thought these men had bladders of steel until the tallest one excuses himself. I follow him to one of the outhouses about 200 feet from the mansion. The outhouses are all wooden painted to match the house, terra cotta roof and all. There isn't much privacy other than being separated by a layer of tropical brush and flowering trees, but around each outhouse, the grass is very well kept. The area is lit plenty well enough to see the ground, but it’s not so well lit one could see who is who unless you’re face to face.

He walks into one, leaving the door open as he's only taking a piss. As he starts to undo his trousers, I slap the side of the outhouse, which gets me a very high pitched squeak. He stumbles out, still pissing, and lands on his back. Before he gets his bearing, I slam the butt of my flintlock pistol against his head as hard as I can. I feel a sickening crunch as I feel the handle sink a couple inches into his skull. I see his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he starts to convulse for a few seconds, before going limp. I try to check his pulse and breathing, but his pulse is beating too fast to count, and his breathing is shallow and erratic. I find a round rock about the right size, and situate it and his body to look like he tripped, caving in his skull with the rock. I kinda feel bad for just leaving him there, trousers down and covered in piss, but I know the chances of someone seeing me go way up the longer I’m here… and trying to pull a dead man’s trousers up would be pretty hard to explain away. I make sure that I’m clean, my gun is spotless, and I make my way back to the party.

It takes about 30 minutes before he is found but when he is; it’s a huge uproar. I do my best to translate the shouts, but my Spanish isn’t great. It takes a few minutes before I hear in English, “Someone get Mr. Mera. One of his guests has died.”

Well, hopefully here in a few more minutes I will at least know which is the real one. I see the guests start to part, and of course the fat man and the burned man emerge together, leaving with no clue who is in charge. I see both men listening in and nodding as the man that found the dead body fills them in. Then both of them talk to a man wearing two pistols, a saber on his belt and wearing fancy military dress. He’s someone in charge of the house guards I think. Once they finished talking, the guard captain starts barking orders to the other guards. They cover the body, and carry it off towards the front of the mansion, and the rest of the guests start to meander away. Well, I guess that one went as well as could be expected.

It takes a few minutes but the guests seem to push the death from their minds, and everyone starts to party in earnest. Everyone is drinking more, some starting to get sloppy, but pretty much everyone seems to seems to be a little jumpy. Some of the guests are making it out to be sick entertainment, but most of them seem to just be glad it wasn’t them. I watch around for about an hour until I catch a break.

It was subtle, but while they were talking to what looked like a couple over by the giraffe. The woman was flirty with both men, but she paid more attention to the fatter man. After 20 minutes or so, I see the woman reach down, grabbing the fatter man’s crotch. The woman excused herself shortly after, and he did the same after 10 minutes or so… and that’s how I have found myself in this closet, listening to these two ‘try’ and get it on.

Unfortunately for me, they both spoke English… so I can understand every bit of their cringy attempts to talk dirty…

“Yea, put it in my hole.”

“Oh, I’m already in your hole.”

“Oh you fit so much easier than my husband.”

“Yea, you're so wet my cock keeps slipping out.”

“Oh keep going, you’ll get all the way hard before you know it.”

“Yea? You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Fucking Christ, I’m about ready to shoot myself. If I knew at the beginning of the night, I’d end up listening to a fat guy trying to please a woman with a cock she can’t feel, I would have just got Zijde to bombard the fucking place.

“Yea, ugh, yea. I’m gonna finish on your stomach. Ugh…”

“Oh yea big guy, that’s hot. Oh, yea, I love how you finish, there’s barely any to clean up. So, my husband is getting another raise this year?”

“What? Of yea, of course. Our agreement stands.”

“Well, I better go. I’d hate to get caught.”

“Mmhh, I’ll see you next month my hot little minx.”

God I want to gag so bad… but after a few moments, she’s dressed and walking out the door. I wait a few moments to see what he’s gonna do, but then all I hear is comically loud snoring. I walk out of the door, and I see this huge, pasty white stomach rise and fall with his snoring. I walk over to the bed, trying to take in as little of the man’s ‘glory’ as I can, which is actually pretty easy. I make it over to the bed, barely making a sound thanks to my new stats, and pull out my longest blade and grab a pillow big enough to cover his entire head.

“Alright… so there’s his nipple… and since he’s so fat, I need to go just a little lower. I believe it should be right… here.”

I slide the blade of my knife between his ribs about 6 inches away from his nipple. I cover his face with the pillow to muffle any screaming, and despite his struggling, it takes almost no effort to keep him on his back with how fat he is.

I pull the knife out, observing the wound, “Mhh, there’s some blood, but it’s not squirting out like I need it to.”

I go a little lower, sliding the knife in hilt deep again. This time, as I withdraw the knife blood squirts out visibly a few times a second. It only takes a few seconds for the struggling and muffled screaming to stop as he passes out from blood loss. I suppress the tingling from the back of my skull, as right now I don’t need to lose my shit.

“Thank god, hopefully that one is the right bastard. I guess I’ll go clean up and watch how this unfolds from the…”

Before I could even try to hide, the door behind me bursts open. I hear the woman’s voice from earlier, “Oh, before I forget Dr. Fontesca, I need you to ... who are you? What have you done? Is that blood? AHHHH HELP! Someone has murdered Dr. Fontesca.”

I sprint over to the door, and grab her by the shoulder, spinning her around before she could run out. I kinda panic, so I hit her in the chin with my palm, knocking her out cold. As she slumps down, I hear dozens of footsteps running up the stairs. I look around, and all I can see is the window. I sprint over, throwing a chair to save me from cutting myself up. I jump through the hole left by the chair, and for a moment, I think I may have made it. Although, as I jump through, I hear a gunshot from behind me, and feel an intense radiate out from my right shoulder. I land on the roof feet first, but the slick terra cotta sends me head over heels, and I fly off the edge of the second story roof.

Thankfully I hit the ground away from the courtyard, so I end up landing on relatively soft grass. But… 20 feet is still a long fucking ways to fall. I lay there for a few moments, trying to get my bearings, but as I hear the crunching a glass and footsteps on terra cotta, I force myself up. I sprint through the courtyard, heading towards the rest of my gear and hoping to get lost in the crowd, but before I make it, I hear another shot ring out, this one missing me… barely.

“Stop that man! He murdered one of the guests.”

It’s funny how when someone tells a bunch of rich people to stop a murderer, they all try that much harder to get out of the way of that same murderer. Although, me laughing at it is out of the question regardless. I’m honestly not sure how I’m sprinting along after having the air knocked out of me. My diaphragm is spasming, my lungs are burning, and I feel like I could blackout at any moment. But, somehow I make it to my gear and make it over the wall. I manage to run two or three hundred yards before I feel it all catch up with me… in the form of passing out on my face.