The Infamous arrived at Kingsport, gliding in with an imposing and menacing presence over the harbor waters under a leaden sky and tropical rain, its dark hull bearing the scars of countless battles. The port, with its red-brick houses and wooden balconies, looked like a piece of Bristol transplanted to the Caribbean, surrounded by palm trees and salty breeze. The figurehead —a demonic face with a mocking grin— seemed to challenge all who crossed its path, while the sails, tattered from old encounters, creaked as they were furled by the crew aloft in the rigging. The hull, marked by shrapnel and sea salt, slowly approached the dock, leaving behind a trail of dirty foam. Finally, they cast moorings, and Mr. Briggs went to inform the captain's cabin that they were ready to disembark.
The Carioca sat in a high-backed chair, calmly smoking his pipe.
"Thank you, Mr. Briggs. Tell the men no one else disembarks. Only you, Wilbur, and three armed men of your choosing will come with me."
He reclined and glanced through the forward skylight. He could see the ships anchored in the harbor. Then he placed the pipe on the desk and wiped the sweat from his brow with a lace handkerchief, the result of the tropical heat. Two knocks were heard, and the door opened cautiously to let in the elf, followed by the boatswain and two other pirates.
"Well, Mr. Wilbur," said the captain. "Let's see if what you told us holds water."
The elf, handkerchief in hand, wiped his sweat —more from nerves than from heat.
"Of course. This woman has magical powers to locate people and creatures in this and other worlds..."
"Spare me the voodoo nonsense," the Carioca interrupted.
"What I mean, captain, is that Aunt Betty is renowned for her divinatory arts."
"I know her more for her madam-like magic," said the captain with irony, drawing laughter from the boatswain and the other pirates.
"I assure you she'll confirm what I've said."
"She better. Otherwise... you'll be floating in the harbor."
The pirates headed to the deck to disembark, watched with envy by the rest of The Infamous' crew, who looked longingly at the port, denied their chance to squander their gains on local taverns and brothels.
The boatswain was the first to descend, scanning the dock with a stern gaze. Behind him came the two armed pirates, securing the area. Finally, the Carioca appeared —his silhouette framed by the furled sails, descending with firm steps and his tricorn hat slightly tilted. Wilbur followed, stepping onto the gangplank, feeling the wet wood creak beneath his boots.
Around them, dockworkers, slaves, sailors, and crew from other ships stepped aside in silence, recognizing the ship's reputation. The sound of boots on timber was the only thing breaking the harbor's murmur. The captain, Wilbur, the boatswain, and the others made their way toward Aunt Betty's mansion.
They marched down the main street, parting the crowd —merchants, wagons, and townsfolk going about their business. Some were in rags; others wore the latest European fashions: powdered wigs, bright-colored frock coats, tricorn hats, and ladies in wide dresses holding parasols against the tropical drizzle. The pirates moved with confidence through the muddy street. Georgian façades on either side housed taverns, shops, and various establishments. After several blocks, they finally arrived at Aunt Betty's mansion.
It was a two-story house in a Creole style with strong English influence, built from fine wood painted ivory white, contrasting with deep-blue shutters. A wide balcony with wrought-iron railings wrapped around the upper floor. Like the ground floor, it had French doors and dark wooden shutters, revealing the glow of chandeliers and oil lamps inside. Laughter, whispers, and the gentle sound of a harpsichord drifted from within, wrapping the house in an air of refinement and temptation.
The Carioca climbed the porch steps and approached the main entrance —a double mahogany door with floral carvings and polished bronze fittings. On either side, white columns with Corinthian capitals supported a small portico. Standing guard was a massive black man dressed in a red livery with golden brocade, satin breeches, stockings, and shoes with buckles. Upon arrival, Wilbur requested an audience with Aunt Betty.
"Cause, reason, or excuse?" asked the man.
"We need her divination services."
"Sorry. Madame Betty is busy. You need to book a month in advance."
Wilbur swallowed hard and insisted, but the man kept repeating the same line. Then the captain stepped forward.
"Listen, friend, tell your mistress the Carioca is here. Even if she hasn't met me personally, she'll know my name. So move your ass and pass the message. Don't make me wait."
The doorman looked at the pirates and vanished through the doors. A minute later, he returned and gestured for them to enter. In the reception room, a dark-skinned youth dressed in blue velvet breeches and vest, white stockings, and shoes with buckles motioned for them to follow. He led them to a small parlor lined with gilded panels and Venetian mirrors. It was furnished in French style, with an elegant crystal chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling.
The pirates entered and were invited to sit in twisted-legged baroque chairs upholstered in floral fabric. The youth said politely:
"Madame Betty will be with you shortly."
"Then tell your madame not to take too long," growled the Carioca.
The boy left, closing the door behind him. One of the pirates rushed to check the handles, ensuring they hadn't been locked in. He cracked the door open slightly and peeked out discreetly, hearing the bustle of the adjacent hall and music from an orchestra. He closed it again and exchanged glances with Mr. Briggs, who nodded at the captain.
"He'd better be right, Mr. Wilbur… my sword is always ready for those who disappoint me," he said, taking a seat at the tea table.
The elf swallowed hard.
"Absolutely, captain… Aunt Betty is a woman of business."
"And that's exactly what worries me," replied the captain. "Now sit down somewhere —your twitching offends my view."
The elf quickly sat at a safe distance from the pirate.
The captain lit his pipe and leaned back, while some men took seats and the boatswain remained standing, alert.
Soon the door opened again. The same young servant entered with a tea service, placed it on the table, and began pouring into the cups before offering the brew to the pirates. One of them scoffed.
"Tea? By the thousand devils of the Caribbean! Bring us rum! We're no ladies at St. James's Palace!"
Mr. Briggs cleared his throat and shot a stern look toward the Carioca, who at that moment was delicately preparing his tea with sugar and lemon. The scoffing pirate fell silent, hoping he hadn't been heard. But the Carioca seemed entirely absorbed in his ritual.
"Is it Gunpowder or Hyson?" he asked the servant.
"Hyson, your lordship, but I can bring Gunpowder if you wish."
The captain shook his head, and the boy left. Once his cup was ready, the Carioca looked at the elf.
"Very well, Mr. Wilbur… won't you join us for a cup?"
The elf smiled nervously.
"Thank you, captain… but I don't drink tea."
The Carioca stared at him over the rim of his cup.
"Well, starting today… you'll like it. Drink a cup. That's an order."
All the pirates gathered around him. Wilbur looked around, then shakily poured himself some tea, adding sugar and lemon.
"Make it plain. Quickly," barked the Carioca.
Wilbur gulped nervously and raised the cup.
"It's just… I don't like the bitter taste," he mumbled.
"You heard the captain, you worm," growled the boatswain. "Drink it or I'll make you swallow the whole damn teapot."
Wilbur nervously brought the cup to his lips and began sipping carefully. Everyone watched him without blinking. The Carioca stared coldly. Wilbur set the cup down and gave a forced smile.
"It's… delicious," he said, trying not to grimace.
"It's not poisoned," Mr. Briggs remarked dryly.
The pirates muttered in approval. The Carioca resumed drinking his tea slowly, while the others, grumbling, resigned themselves to quenching their thirst with the brew —though, of course, more than one regretted that it wasn't rum.