In the capital of the Captaincy of Pernambuco, inside the imposing Palace of the Two Towers, the atmosphere was heavy and charged with the sultry heat of late afternoon. The salty air from the coast seeped through the open windows, mixing with the smell of beeswax used to polish the heavy jacaranda wood furniture.

  "By all the saints, this is unacceptable!" shouted Governor Bento Vidal, a man with youthful features marked by frustration, running an impatient hand through his long black hair.

  In front of him, sitting comfortably in the leather armchair, was Captain-Major Caetano Velho. A tall man of robust build, whose long beard and practical bandeirante clothes contrasted with the governor's refined attire. On the table separating them, maps and letters with broken seals bore witness to urgent conversations.

  Caetano picked up the heavy crystal glass of cashew juice, the amber drink glinting in the candelabra light. He took a slow, unhurried sip before speaking, his voice a deep bass that echoed in the room.

  "It seems these negros from the Jabuticaba Quilombo have found a way to manufacture more magical weapons. It's a pity our spy, Nyran, only located the mocambo of origin on the last day before sending the letter. If we had more time..."

  Bento Vidal interrupted, raising his hands.

  "And what do you intend to do? A direct attack now?"

  "Calm yourself, Governor," Caetano shook his head, placing the glass back on the table with a soft click. "My strategy requires patience. I was going to wait another month, give our spies an opening to send us more information. The ones Nyran will obtain are crucial. The very way they are producing steel is a secret of incalculable value. Soon, she will bring us more. That's why I only plan a small attack, a foray to gauge their defenses and, perhaps, cause some damage."

  The governor sighed, massaging his temples. The insistent buzz of a mosquito near his ear seemed to echo his own irritation.

  "Alright... I think it's a good plan, Captain-Major. A contained attack could be the key."

  "There is, however, one matter that deeply intrigues me..." he began, his voice now slower and more measured. "Where, exactly, are they getting so many iron bars from? Governor, by any chance, is some plantation owner, eager for profit, selling iron to the quilombo?"

  Bento Vidal shuddered, his chair creaking as he leaned back abruptly.

  "No, Caetano, I... I don't believe any of our men would do that. However..."

  The bandeirante rested his hands on the pommel of his cane, where a gem pulsed with a soft, inner light. His fingers tightened around the handle.

  "Speak," he insisted, his voice gentle but inflexible. "All information is essential. Everything indicates the enemy is better armed and organized than we anticipated. It's no wonder, with all due respect, that you were soundly defeated by them."

  The governor blushed, feeling the weight of that observation. He averted his gaze, staring at the wall where a portrait of an ancestor seemed to judge him.

  "Well... there are rumors," he began, lowering his voice, "rumors about the Holy City. They say you can sell anything there easily, just as you can buy goods of dubious quality. At first, I ignored it. The Church remained neutral during the war against the Dutch; in fact, they profited from it. I thought... well, I thought for a second that the Popess might be trading with the quilombo. But it sounds like madness now that I say it out loud."

  Instead of ridiculing him, Caetano Velho fell silent for a moment, his eyes lost in the gem of his cane. Then, with a grunt of effort, he stood up, leaning firmly on the cane.

  "Perhaps it's not madness, Governor. Perhaps you are not so wrong," he said, beginning to walk slowly around the room, the sound of his cane echoing on the wooden floor. "It is said the Popess has a certain... compassion for negros. But would she sympathize with them to the point of committing treason, by trading with them?"

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  He stopped in front of the window, watching the movement in the palace courtyard.

  "Speaking of which, Nyran mentioned, in passing, that there was a church inside the mocambo. I assumed it was a simple negro chapel, but now... perhaps it is her church. We need to investigate this further. And if it is true, we will have to denounce her to the Holy City of Alba. The official Church would never side with a black kingdom of unbelievers."

  Caetano turned, and for the first time, Bento saw a different glint in his eyes: not of worry, but of predatory excitement.

  "This must be the Popess's personal initiative," Caetano continued, an almost imperceptible smile touching his lips beneath his beard. "She truly is a singular person, isn't she? But how interesting... Finally, after so many years, it seems I have found enemies worthy of my steel!"

  He returned to the table and slapped his palm onto the wooden surface, making the glasses tremble.

  "So that's it, Governor! We will await more information from Nyran and prepare meticulously for our attack. The game, after all, has just become much more exciting."

  Caetano's almost imperceptible smile widened, forming an expression laden with dangerous anticipation.

  "Yes, enemies worthy of my steel," he repeated, as if savoring the words. "Which leads us to the next step. Governor, order that surveillance be doubled at the ports and roads leading to the Holy City. Discreetly. We cannot alert the Popess."

  Bento Vidal nodded, still somewhat stunned by the turn the conversation had taken.

  "And the spies in the quilombo? Do we send another message to Nyran?"

  "It's too late for that. The messenger who brought the letter will only know the contact point where he collected it. Nyran will follow protocol and send new information when it is safe. Meanwhile..." Caetano walked to the door and opened it, addressing the guard outside. "Summon Lieutenant álvaro. Tell him it's for a reconnaissance mission, not confrontation. He is to come equipped for a fast journey."

  The governor's eyes widened.

  "You're sending someone to the Holy City now?"

  "A diplomatic foray, nothing more," replied Caetano, returning to the table with a glint in his eye. "álvaro is the son of a merchant from Lisbon, he knows how to talk profits and trade. He will try to buy a bar of steel from the city's blacksmiths. If the origin is the same as the quilombo's... well, we'll have our confirmation without needing to raise a single sword. At least, not yet."

  The sweet aroma of cashew juice still hung in the air, but on the other side of the heavy oak door, another scent, discreet and earthy, mixed with the smell of wax. It was the odor of ash soap and sweaty fabric that clung to the clothes of Marcia, the governor's slave. With her heart beating like a trapped drum in her chest, she remained pressed against the wood, one cheek almost touching the rough surface, while one eye watched the empty, silent corridor.

  No... They plan more attacks, and they've discovered the connection to the Holy City! — the thought echoed in her mind, a chill running down her spine. The bandeirante's hoarse voice was as clear as a church bell. — A pity I couldn't hear the spy's name...

  Inside the room, Caetano, still standing near the table while expounding on his plans, stopped abruptly mid-sentence. His gaze, always attentive, caught a fleeting movement at the edge of his peripheral vision: two indistinct shadows cutting across the strip of light under the door. Silent as a jaguar, he took two quick steps and grabbed the iron doorknob, pulling the door open at once.

  The corridor was empty. Only the hot wind blowing from an open window at the end of the hallway swayed the flame of a torch, making shadows dance on the stone walls.

  "Captain-Major?" Bento Vidal's voice came from behind, laden with curiosity and a thread of concern. "Did you forget something?"

  Caetano stared into the emptiness for a second longer, his keen ears capturing only silence. He then turned, closing the door with a soft thud.

  "It was nothing," he replied, his voice returning to its usual calm. "Just the wind playing with the shadows."

  He sat down again on the bench, which groaned under his weight. As the governor resumed the conversation about logistics, Caetano's mind was already far away.

  I made a grave mistake, — he thought, his fingers drumming lightly on the gem of his cane. — I let myself get carried away by the excitement of the game and forgot how this place is infested with big-eared rats... But no matter. His eyes narrowed, calculating. Even if they heard Nyran's name, she is one of my best disciples. She knows how to handle herself better than most of my men. And as for the rest... well, the quilombolas must already be prepared for another 'monster' attack. But what can they do against a surgical strike? And the connection to the church... there's no way they can hide a thread like that for long.

  He raised the glass of juice to his lips, an almost imperceptible smile under his beard.

  Despite everything, next time, I will be more cautious with my words. The hunt, after all, has become more interesting.