"What other fruits would you recommend?"
= Success
Opposed roll
The courier turns the guava slowly in his hand as Carlos speaks.
“Hispaniola?” he repeats, lightly.
Not surprised. Not impressed. Interested.
His eyes flick briefly over Carlos again—clothes, posture, bearing—re-evaluating.
“That is not a common trip,” he says after a moment.
A small pause.
“Trade?”
The word hangs there—not quite a question, not quite an accusation. He takes a bite of the fruit, as if the answer is unimportant.
But his attention does not leave Carlos.
“Or… something else?”
The courier’s attention lingers on Carlos for a moment longer after the mention of Hispaniola.
Then Elena speaks.
A simple question. Harmless. Easy.
The kind of question that belongs here.
His gaze shifts to her.
The tension does not disappear—but it softens. Redirected.
He turns the fruit in his hand slightly, considering.
“Depends what you’re used to,” he says.
His tone is mild, but deliberate.
“Some prefer what they already know… even when better options are available.”
A faint pause.
His eyes flick briefly back to Carlos.
“Others travel far… and still fail to recognize quality when it is in front of them.”
He selects another piece of fruit, holding it up slightly.
“This one is consistent. Reliable. It does not pretend to be something it is not.”
He offers a small, polite nod to Elena.
“A safer choice.”
Elena accepts the fruit and says "I'm always eager to try something new - whether it's a fruit, or -" her voice drops to a whisper so low that not even the fruit vendor can hear her " - politics."
The courier says, "Napoleon is our emperor now, I think..."
Elena takes the offered fruit and says "What kind of fruit is this?"
Carlos notes which fruits the courier selects during his exchange with Elena, not sure if there is any relevance. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it when the whispered word politics is spoken.
Carlos turns to the fruit vendor and asks about the fruits on the far side of the stall. Where they come from. The price he pays his suppliers. Maybe he could provide some fruit in the future. Taking a step away from the courier and Elena.
The fruit seller hesitates as Carlos begins asking about prices and suppliers, clearly a bit surprised by the sudden shift in interest—but business is business.
He turns, gesturing toward the far side of the stall, answering in practical terms, though his tone suggests he’s not entirely sure what to make of the questions.
It works. Not cleanly—but enough.
The conversation shifts just far enough to give Elena and the courier a pocket of space.
The courier watches this happen.
He notices the timing.
The coordination.
He says nothing about it.
Instead, he looks back to Elena as she takes the fruit.
“Guava,” he says.
A slight pause.
“Common here.”
His eyes remain on her a moment longer than necessary.
Then, more quietly:
“Reliable, although maracuya is a bit tastier for my table.”
Another small pause.
“Not like empires.”
He turns the fruit slightly in his hand, then adds, almost idly:
“Napoleon is our emperor now, I think… or is the King back, do we care about Europe anymore? Are we protected and with what navy?”
He watches her reaction carefully.
Not the words—
The instinct.
In a neutral and casual tone, Elena says "As far as I know, Napoleon is the emperor, but there are some who say we are so far away from Europe that we should rule ourselves. Do you have an opinion about that?"
The courier studies Elena quietly after the question.
Not suspicious now.
Measuring.
The noise of the market fills the brief silence between you. Somewhere beyond the waterfront, a church bell rings faintly through the humid afternoon air.
“Rule ourselves?” he repeats softly.
A faint smile touches the corner of his mouth—not amusement exactly, but recognition.
“That depends on who ‘ourselves’ are.”
He glances toward the harbor where foreign ships rock gently against their moorings.
“In Spain they say one king sits imprisoned while another wears his crown.”
He shrugs slightly.
“And now every city in the Americas suddenly claims to speak with the King’s authority.”
His eyes drift briefly toward the inland road.
“Crackdowns in Sante Fe (Bogota), Cartagena forms a junta. Quito rises. Rumors spread through New Granada faster than ships.”
He lowers his voice just slightly.
“Some call it loyalty others call it opportunity.”
He rolls the guava once in his palm.
“But distance…”
A pause.
“Distance has a way of teaching people they have been governing themselves for years already.”
His expression hardens just a fraction as he looks back toward the sea.
“And if the British arrive tomorrow…”[b]
Another faint shrug.
[b]“With what navy are we protected? Napoleon is blockaded, he sold Louisianna to the United States and Haiti has gained its own independence.”
The question hangs there between you—not quite sedition, not quite loyalty.
“Be careful discussing such things openly,” he says at last.
“These are uncertain months. Men discover new principles very quickly when governments grow weak.”
He gives Elena a slight nod.
“Still… it is wiser to ask questions now than after the answers have already been decided for you.”
With that, he pays the vendor and disappears once more into the crowd.
"Well, that was useless..." Elena mutters under her breath. "Come on, Carlos, let's go back to La Cadena and ask her what other avenues we can explore to make contacts for the resistance."
Carlos watches the conversation between Elena and the courier while discussing fruit with the vendor. When the courier pays the vendor Carlos steps aside and nods his head in a sign of respect. After seeing him disappear into the crowd, he turns to Elena.
"Useless?" Carlos asks. "I'll wait to hear about it until we meet our friend."
La Cadena listens in silence as you recount the conversation in the marketplace.
The only sound in the dim room is the faint creaking of the old customs house timbers and the distant wash of water against the docks below.
When you finish, she remains quiet a moment longer, thoughtful rather than disappointed.
“No, You learned quite a bit.”
She folds her arms loosely.
“You learned the courier is politically aware. Educated. Careful.”
“You learned he was willing to discuss the juntas openly with strangers he believed were cautious enough to understand him.”
“And you learned he fears instability more than ideology.”
She glances briefly toward the shuttered window facing the harbor.
“That is important.”
“A fanatic is predictable. A pragmatist survives.”
Her fingers tap lightly once against the table.
“The mention of Haiti tells me something else.”
“Men like him are thinking beyond Spain now. Beyond loyalty to a crown.”
A slight pause.
“Haiti frightened every colony in the Americas. Merchants. Governors. Plantation owners. Priests. Everyone.”
“Once a colony successfully breaks from Europe, every official begins wondering if authority is stronger than distance.”
She leans back slightly.
“And the British…”
A faint smile.
“The British are always listening. Always trading. Always waiting. They are also wary, they lost half of their American jewel and may seem keen to reacquire it”
Her expression becomes more serious again.
“Most importantly, he did not treat your questions as absurd.”
“That means these conversations are already happening beneath the surface.”
“Perhaps quietly. Perhaps cautiously. But they are happening.”
She studies both of you for a moment.
“You were expecting certainty.”
“There is none.”
“Not in Spain. Not in New Granada. Not even among the governor’s own people.”
Another brief silence hangs in the room.
“Right now everyone is testing everyone else.”
“That is what you just experienced.”
She nods once toward Carlos.
“And the fact that he walked away instead of denouncing you means you passed well enough.”
Elena looks at both Carlos and La Cadena and says "So, we've initiated contact. What do we do now? Show up at the fruit stand tomorrow, and continue the back-and-forth banter?"
"I can see why you are in your position," Carlos says with a nod to La Cadena. "To deduce that from our words...very impressive."
He rolls a cigarette. "The fruit merchant will get tired of me proposing to bring him fruit from the jungle." He chuckles.
"We could always pick a different stand in the market, perhaps close to the fruit vendor, and not try to hide our presence, and see if he comes over to talk to us."
"That's a fine idea," Carlos says. "We need to be careful of people overhearing our discussion. We should find quieter areas eventually."
He lights his cigarette on a nearby candle. "I wonder if Spain can be freed from Napoleon's control, would that be a second reconquista?"
"After a couple more quiet public conversations to get comfortable with each other, we could ask him if we could talk in private?"
Carlos nods to Elena's suggestion. "For his safety and ours."
Carlos' eyes trace floorboards. "Do you have any locations in mind? A tavern where people mind their own business for example."
"Well, anyone nearby could overhear a conversation in a tavern. I hadn't actually thought that far ahead, but maybe something like a walk in the woods or along a beach?"
"La Cadena, what do you think about this slow, let-him-come-to-us approach?"
La Cadena smiles and says, I agree, however.."No te juegues todo a una carta" Don't place all of your bets on one card.
She continues, "Maintain with that courier and try to develop the others as well."
"Any suggestions as to how to do that? We're both used to fighting, not this spy stuff."
"I wonder if the courier told the others about us," Carlos says. "It might make our approach easier. Either way, we can probably use a similar method. See where they stop and initiate conversation. See who they are visiting and maybe start talking to them first."
"Sounds good. But let's continue interacting with the one we've already made contact with, maybe tomorrow - don't want him to think we're not interested in him."
"Of course," Carlos says with a smile. "He is an interesting fellow."
La Cadena nods in agreement. And then she shuts the shutters behind her. She then says, "I have an assignment that may take you to the jungle for a few days."
She produces a message.
It is not written on proper paper.
Instead, several strips of rough river reed have been tied together with dyed cord and wrapped in oilcloth against the damp. The writing itself is uneven—written by someone practiced enough to communicate clearly, but unconcerned with elegance.
La Cadena places it carefully on the table.
“This arrived yesterday.”
She pauses.
“Which is interesting Because I never told anyone where this meeting place was.”
She unfolds the message.
“To the woman who calls herself La Cadena—
You ask the city who rules Buenaventura.
Ask the river instead.
Men carry letters through the streets while boats carry everything else.
Your people have been seen asking questions. Some quietly. Some less quietly.
If you wish to know who profits from uncertainty, come upriver.
Send few people. Send useful people.
— Mama Yandira, Río Dagua”
La Cadena folds the reeds back together slowly.
“I dislike that she knows about us.I dislike even more that she may be correct.”
"How quickly can you acquire a small riverboat and crew? I don't know about Carlos, but I've never even been in a canoe before...