The air in the Jabuticaba Quilombo still carried a residual smell of smoke and gunpowder, but it was now overlaid by the tempting aroma of roasting meat and the sweet, fermented scent of cacha?a beginning to circulate. One day after the battle, a wave of relieved euphoria swept through all the mocambos, turning into a celebration. Singing, drumming, and laughter echoed everywhere.

  Everyone, except in the Armadillo Mocambo.

  There, the commotion was of a different sort. In front of the banquet hall, a crowd of people chatted animatedly, their stomachs growling in unison. The smell of boiled cassava and a stew that wasn't quite ready yet tortured their senses. Carlos had asked them to wait, arguing that the hunters would bring more game and that the drinks bought from the merchants were still being distributed. The reward for their patience, he promised, would be a much more abundant feast than those in the other mocambos.

  Finally, Carlos slowly climbed onto an improvised wooden platform. His hands were cold and sweaty, and he discreetly rubbed them on his pants before steadying himself.

  "Good afternoon, everyone!" His voice came out a bit weaker than he'd hoped. He cleared his throat. "I know you're eager to start the party, and so am I. But first, I'd like to properly introduce myself. Many of you here still don't know me. I am Carlos de Nogueira, the chief of this mocambo."

  He paused, taking a deep breath. The eyes of hundreds of people were fixed on him.

  "As you all know, we were attacked by a force of nearly two thousand men. And, against all odds, we won a decisive victory!" His voice gained strength on the word "victory." "And this victory... this victory was won primarily by us, the people of the Armadillo Mocambo!"

  A murmur of pride ran through the crowd. Some shouted and raised their fists.

  "Almost all the weapons our warriors used were made by our hands!" Carlos continued, gesturing towards the workshops in the background. "The gunpowder that cleared the path was manufactured here! And the clothes and fabrics we produced were what gave us the money to buy the necessary iron! It was a collective effort! From the blacksmith to the weaver, from the seamstress to the farmer who kept our warriors fed! And as I promised, everyone will be rewarded!"

  The murmur turned into an excited buzz.

  "With the profit we made, we will start paying a wage! One hundred réis per month for every worker in the workshops and factories!"

  Applause and exclamations of surprise arose, but Carlos raised his hand.

  "I know it's not a fortune! And unfortunately, we can't yet extend this to field workers. But it's a start! It's our seed! And many of you must be thinking: 'what good is this money if there's nothing to buy?' Well, starting now, there will be!"

  "First of all, the restaurant!" Carlos announced. "I know everyone got used to eating there for free, but some clever folks, who don't put in a day's work in our factories, would come early and snatch the best parts, leaving the real workers with the crumbs. That ends today! The restaurant will now be subsidized, offering a quality meal for a symbolic price, affordable to all who receive a salary!"

  Scattered applause echoed, mainly from those who had been disadvantaged by the so-called "clever folks."

  "Secondly..." Carlos made a dramatic pause as Nia stepped onto the stage, wearing a colorful skirt and a vibrant blouse. "...the clothes we produce! They aren't just for selling out there! They will be available to you, right here!"

  He signaled, and Pedro stepped onto the stage. He wore black denim trousers and a pristine white cotton shirt—the clothes of a prosperous urban worker.

  Tassi appeared next, wearing a dress inspired by the warrior women of her homeland, with vertical white and blue stripes that accentuated her figure, tightly cinched at the waist. Finally, Quixotina stepped up, somewhat hesitantly, wearing a long, light-blue dress with delicate ruffles at the hem. A collective sigh, especially from the women, swept through the audience. The looks were of pure admiration, mixed with the naked, raw envy of those who worked the fields, knowing this was temporarily beyond their reach.

  "High-quality clothes!" Carlos pressed on, capitalizing on the impact. "And you don't have to pay all at once. You can pay in installments! Pay part now and the rest over the next few months!"

  "Third, housing!" he announced, before the excitement for the clothes could wane. "We are starting to build masonry houses, with bricks and cement. They will be closer to work, more resistant to rain, cooler in summer. The mocambo will rent them out at a fair price, or..." he emphasized the word, "...you can buy them, also in installments!"

  This time, the crowd fell silent. The idea of paying for a house, something that had always been simply built by the community, was strange and met with skepticism.

  "Fourth benefit!" Carlos quickly shifted focus, sensing the hesitation. "A bar! We will open a bar here in the mocambo!"

  Now, the appreciators of a good drink in the audience cheered with shouts and waves.

  "Fifth: sweets! Ice cream! Treats! Specialized shops will open!" The mention of such rare luxury items made the eyes of children and many adults shine. "Sixth and last: everything we produce in the workshops – tables, chairs, pots, cutlery – will be for sale! You won't have to wait months in line for a simple wooden chair anymore. If you have the money, you can have it right away!"

  The crowd was now divided between enthusiasm for the novelties and an underlying unease about the new responsibilities.

  "If you want to enjoy all this, we're hiring! Speak with Aqua tomorrow. She will also be responsible for paying everyone's wages!" Carlos concluded, raising his arms. "And with that... enjoy the party, everyone!"

  He had instructed some people close to him to start the applause, and the plan worked. A group began clapping, and soon the whole crowd joined in, the sound swelling into a roar of approval and relief that the speech was finally over.

  Phew, Carlos thought, descending from the platform on still-trembling legs. I thought there was going to be an awkward silence at the end.

  ***

  The next morning, in the Mountain Range Mocambo, the air was heavy and formal. Inside the meeting room, Ganga Zala occupied the head of a large jacaranda wood table, swirling a glass of red wine between his fingers. The smell of the drink and floor wax filled the space. Specter, standing, reported the details of the battle to the chiefs of the nine mocambos, including Carlos, who remained silent.

  "The battle consumed almost all the gunpowder we had stockpiled," said Specter, his voice clear and impersonal. "But the fruits were immense. We suffered not a single casualty. On the enemy side, we counted eight hundred and fifty-seven bodies. And we captured one hundred and seventy-nine prisoners of war, among them many slaves who agreed to live with us under surveillance, of course."

  He paused, and a slight tone of satisfaction colored his words as he continued.

  "We seized dozens of magical weapons: swords, necklaces, armor, shields... and a spyglass with a gem of vision. A trophy that will be very useful to us."

  Specter then looked directly at Carlos.

  "This overwhelming victory was only possible thanks to the firearms supplied by the Armadillo Mocambo. I hope we can all soon count on that power."

  It was then that Zala slammed his glass on the table forcefully, making the wine slosh.

  "Indeed, we must thank Carlos for the victory," said Zala, his voice a low roar. "But I must also hold him accountable! You exhausted the iron of the entire quilombo to feed your production! And you left nothing for the other mocambos!"

  Carlos kept a neutral expression, but inside, a volcano of indignation erupted.

  So what? Half my profit from the fabrics went to the quilombo! Where did that money go? Did you buy any iron? Or did you, Zala, pocket the cash to fill your wine cellar and left the other mocambos high and dry?

  He suppressed the thoughts with a superhuman effort, born from years of dealing with incompetent bosses in his past life.

  "I understand, Ganga," he replied, his voice calmly controlled. "I won't repeat the mistake."

  Zala took a slow sip of wine, savoring the moment.

  "I hope not. And furthermore, increase clothing production. The quilombo always needs more money."

  The silence at the table was heavy. The other chiefs exchanged uncomfortable glances, sensing the injustice, but none dared to challenge Zala openly.

  Carlos's anger boiled, but he channeled it into a plan.

  "Since I will bear all the costs of the iron from now on," he began, his voice still serene, "I suggest that all the blacksmiths from the other mocambos be relocated to the Armadillo Mocambo. We will have food and work for everyone. And in return, I promise to supply any iron item your mocambos need, free of charge."

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  A murmur of discontent swept the room. It was a bold request, one that would weaken the other villages. But, in the context of Zala's accusation, it sounded almost like a logical solution. Chief Malik broke the ice.

  "That's fair. I will send my blacksmiths to your mocambo."

  "I will do the same," added Fernando, the chief of the neighboring mocambo.

  Specter pondered for a moment.

  "I will send half of mine. The other half needs to stay for maintaining the weapons we already have."

  One by one, albeit reluctantly, the other six chiefs agreed.

  Zala banged on the table again, ending the discussion.

  "Then it's decided! You are dismissed. And Carlos... Don't make this mistake again."

  "Yes, Ganga," Carlos replied, with a slight nod of his head.

  As soon as he was away from the room, walking back to his mocambo with his guards, the mask of composure dissolved. He gritted his teeth, his anger finally overflowing.

  I can't believe it! That greedy old man diverted all the resources and still blames me! It's time to bring the guillotine to this place!

  He took a deep breath, the fresh forest air helping to clear his thoughts.

  ...Or it would be, if I were impulsive. No, for now, I don't need to worry. In time, life in my mocambo will be incomparably better. The people of the entire quilombo will see which is the path to follow.

  As he entered the Armadillo Mocambo, his mood improved. He saw a dirt street being leveled, flanked by improvised wattle-and-daub shops. The priority was still the factories and the town hall, but the outline of a commercial district was taking shape. With abundant iron, they could use beams for larger structures. The shops, still rustic, showed their promise. The clothing store displayed its dresses and shirts on wooden mannequins carved by Tassi herself. Women stopped to admire, some going inside for a closer look. Next door, a tool shop and a furniture store were already operating. Across the street, tables and chairs were set up in front of the bar, where the smell of cacha?a, still expensive as it was imported, began to mix with the air.

  Now all we need is a place selling pastel and sugarcane juice... Carlos thought, smiling to himself. All in due time.

  At the end of the street, the skeleton of the new town hall was rising. The workers, now motivated by wages, moved with renewed purpose. Carlos approached to inspect. A young man of indigenous origin, Renato, was laying bricks with fierce concentration.

  "Good afternoon, Guaíra. How are things going?"

  The young man looked up, surprised, and quickly stood up.

  "Good afternoon, chief! Going well, yes. Learning to handle the cement. Your house was good practice, but this town hall... it's much bigger. We're slowly getting the hang of it."

  "Great. Any questions, just call me."

  Leaving there, Carlos headed to the cotton fields on the outskirts of the mocambo, where Tassi was conducting her experiments. He found her collecting samples from cotton plants sagging under the weight of white, fluffy fibers. She was dictating observations to an assistant who was taking notes on a clipboard.

  "Looks like the fertilizer made a difference," Carlos commented, approaching.

  Tassi looked at him with reluctance.

  "Unfortunately... yes. The mixture of manure with my magic produced better results. It wasn't what I expected."

  "Well, what plants like isn't always pleasant for us," he said with a smile. "Now that we know, we can think about optimizing production even further, freeing up more labor for the factories."

  "You really want to put everyone in these factories of yours, don't you?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow. "And what will my role be then, as your 'minister'?"

  Carlos rubbed a cotton leaf between his fingers, observing how the fibers came off easily. The smell of fresh vegetation filled the air around the experimental fields.

  "Good, you're understanding me," he said, turning to Tassi. "Now I want to see if we can go further. What would happen if we combined the organic fertilizer only with the power of your grass gem? Could we produce cotton with more resilient fibers that don't fall apart at the first use? Or perhaps develop varieties of edible plants that retain their nutritional value even after the magical process?"

  Tassi gripped the handle of her staff, her fingers turning white from the pressure. Her eyes narrowed, and when she spoke, her voice had a sharpness Carlos had never heard before.

  "So that's it? After all I've done for this mocambo, now you want to replace me?" She gestured with her staff towards the lush plantations around them. "This cotton that sustains your factories, the vegetables that feed your people - it all grows because I channel the energy of the earth through these gems. You think you can do without my services?"

  Carlos didn't answer immediately. He picked up a handful of soil, letting the sandy texture trickle through his fingers before looking into her eyes.

  "Ha ha ha!" His laughter sounded genuine, not provocative. "Tassi, please. Replace you? That would be like trying to replace the sun with a candle." He stepped closer, his voice lowering to a more serious tone. "What I want is precisely the opposite: I want to lift this burden from your shoulders. You spend days on end bent over these plantations, draining your energy to feed hundreds of people. What if we discover how to replicate part of this effect - even a tenth of what you do - so that other mocambos can produce their own food in abundance?"

  Tassi kept her expression closed, but Carlos noticed her posture relax slightly. He continued, gesturing towards the factories in the background.

  "Right now, we depend completely on your staff and your unique skill. But imagine if we could free you from this exhausting work. There are so many other areas where your knowledge would be invaluable - in medicine, logistics, or even in the defense of the quilombo, if you so wished. You are much more than just a magical farmer, Tassi."

  The silence that followed was broken only by the buzzing of insects among the plants. Tassi looked at her calloused hands, then at the ornate staff, and finally at the horizon, where the mocambo's new constructions were taking shape. When she finally spoke, her voice had lost its sharpness but retained a certain proud resistance.

  "I think... I understand what you're proposing," she said slowly, as if savoring each word. "Perhaps I was hasty in judging." Her eyes met Carlos's, and a stubborn glint ignited in them. "I will start these experiments today. But let one thing be perfectly clear: even if you manage to replicate a thousandth of my work, know that I am truly irreplaceable. There are secrets in these lands that only my gems and I can unravel."

  A genuine smile lit up Carlos's face.

  "Great that you're excited! And don't worry," he replied, with a tone of genuine respect in his voice, "I never doubted for a second that you are one of a kind. That's exactly why I need you for more important things than just making plants grow. Let's hope these experiments work out - for the good of the entire quilombo."

  Leaving the fields, his path took him to Quixotina's simple house. Before he even opened the door, he heard excited voices coming from inside. He entered quietly and stopped on the threshold, observing the scene.

  Quixotina was in the center of the room, surrounded by a group of mesmerized children. An open book rested in her lap, but she wasn't reading; she was performing.

  "'Save me, my knight!'" she cried, in a high-pitched voice full of despair, her hands trembling near her face.

  Immediately, she straightened up, puffing out her chest, her voice dropping to a deep, heroic tone. "'Fear not, my noble lady!'"

  Then, she leaned forward, her fingers contorting like claws, and whispered with a hissing, malevolent voice: "'If you want to take her, you'll have to go through me, you insolent knight!'"

  Carlos watched in amazement. So this is how she controls them, he thought, a smile forming on his lips. She doesn't just tell the story; she lives it. Even I want to know what happens next.

  And that's exactly what he did. He remained there, leaning against the doorframe, until the end of the story, surprised to find that a tale of knights and dragons could be so captivating. Perhaps it wasn't the story itself, but the contagious passion with which it was told.

  When the last child left, still chattering excitedly about the final battle, Carlos applauded softly.

  "You are a fantastic storyteller. And I think you would be a wonderful teacher."

  Quixotina closed the book and stored it in a chest under her bed, slightly flushed.

  "Me? I don't know... My uncle, yes, he was a born teacher. And he told stories much better than I do."

  "Now I'm curious to meet this uncle of yours," said Carlos.

  She poured herself a glass of water from a clay pitcher, her voice a bit hoarse from the effort.

  "Look, if I could, I'd bring him here in the blink of an eye. But I have no idea where he is. I doubt he endured the quiet life with my parents."

  "Since he isn't here," Carlos leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, "how about you take the post? I want to open a school. For everyone. The town hall is on its way, and with it, projects like a census. Aqua needs help with the records, Tassi with the notes... We need to copy books. We need people who know how to read and write, and that's a rarity not only here, but in the world."

  The effect was instantaneous. Quixotina choked, stifled by surprise and the water going down the wrong way. A jet of liquid shot from her lips and she coughed repeatedly, her face turning red with effort as she beat her own chest with a closed fist. Her eyes teared up, but not just from the choking. They were eyes of disbelief.

  "Wait... cough... a moment!" she managed to say between fits of coughing, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Are you serious? You... you want me to teach? But Carlos, look where we are!" She gestured towards the door, to the simple, hardworking mocambo outside. "There are no etiquette halls here, no young ladies to learn harp or Latin. There are no... nobles. Who would I teach? And what, in heaven's name? The art of chivalry is dead, and the rest... the rest I barely remember."

  Carlos wasn't shaken by her skepticism. His eyes shone with a conviction that seemed to illuminate the simple room. He stepped forward, pulling up a wooden stool to sit facing her, his knees almost touching hers.

  "But of course I'm serious," he said, and his voice was as solid and real as the earth under their feet. "And it's not about recreating a noble salon. It's about building something new. Something this place has never seen." He paused, letting the words echo. "I'm going to open a school, Quixotina. A school for everyone. For the blacksmith's son, for the girl who helps in the fields, for the warrior who wants to understand a map. A people's school. In this school, not only children but adults will be taught to read and write, basic math, biology, geography. You already know all that."

  He leaned forward, his expression one of urgency and admiration.

  "And to do all this, to build this future we can barely glimpse, I need the greatest treasure a people can have: minds that can read, write, and think. And that..." his voice grew grave, "...that is rarer than magic gems in this quilombo. No, it's rare in this entire world. And you, Quixotina, carry that treasure within you. Not the etiquette of nobility, but the key that unlocks everything else."

  Quixotina didn't answer immediately. She seemed to have been struck by a truth larger than herself. Slowly, she stood up and went to the table. Her fingers, which had once brandished an imaginary sword, now clenched the clay cup with a sudden solemnity. She raised it to her lips and drank the rest of the water in one long, continuous gulp, as if sealing an oath.

  As she lowered the cup, her face was transformed. The uncertainty and melancholy had dissipated, replaced by a spark of purpose that lit up her eyes in a way Carlos had never seen. She was no longer looking at the past, but at a future he had painted for her.

  "Alright," she said, and her voice, once hoarse, was now clear and firm, like the clinking of metal. "I accept. I want many children to be able to lose themselves in books like I did, and perhaps to dream."