2.Guild

The docklands of Silver Port were enduring a heatwave unseen in thirty years. Here, there were no lush trees of the upper town, nor the tightly packed red-brick houses of the lower town. Only low, scattered wooden shacks stood, with the sea breeze offering a futile comfort to the toiling people. Yet the laborers numbed themselves with the lie: "Since the weather is so dishearteningly hot, then go earn more money to lift spirits and delight the mind and body." It was a lie because in the civilized order dominated by shrewd merchants and nobles, ordinary people did not earn more for their suffering.

But the people of the docklands, or the entire West Indies, held fast to such a creed. Regardless of skin color or nationality, they toiled every day just to make money, ignoring everything else. In the second year after the official end of the War of the Spanish Succession, the passion for trade in the New World surged, with the flow of gold and silver faster than ocean currents. From Cuba to Florida, from Hispaniola to Jamaica, everyone was reveling in this huge wave of maritime commerce.

However, liveliness did not represent prosperity. Trade swelled the purses of merchants but failed to secure the livelihood of most people. The landless poor could only sell their labor in the docks or plantations. The hardworking porters, busy all day, could only earn about a guinea a month. But even this meager pittance attracted a large number of workers. The docklands were called the "land of passion" for this reason. People here had no time to complain, just living exhausted them. Therefore, for this hard-earned money to get by, they rarely saved it and often squandered it in taverns or in the arms of some woman that very night.

For port cities, in addition to the climate, there is another more dangerous thing challenging the rules of the world, that is, pirates. Since the death of Queen Anne, the Royal Navy has gradually lost control over the privateers that are as ubiquitous as rats in the ocean. After the war, many sailors lost the way to make quick money and simply abandoned the legal facade, joining the ancient industry of pirates. This was the golden age of pirates, the fluttering black flag causing a bloody storm in the open sea (but if the pirates did not raise the black flag, the blood rain would be even more intense...), the losses of the merchant fleet going to sea were huge, and the navies of various countries guarding the sea ports were all completely lost. The pirates were very arrogant and even established organizations such as maritime fortresses or pirate republics. They have occupied a large area of the sea and are ready to attack passing ships at any time. They are always drunk and always singing the legendary deeds of Henry Every.

Outside, there were the threats of pirates and various nations; inside, there was a clear divide between the rich and the poor. Even in the fervent Silver Port, when conflicts filled every corner of the city, everyone had to be cautious with their words and prayers, living in fear from dawn to dusk. And if anyone dared to speak out of turn, or attempted to discuss the political situation or the extravagance within the governor's mansion, he was either drunk or on his way to getting there. That was the problem: the docklands were originally a humble and simple place, but as long as the Sea Breeze Tavern paid its taxes and tributes on time, trouble would not spare the poor people.

Trouble often came from one's mouth, which might have almost become the original sin of mankind. But to profit from it, the owner of the Sea Breeze Tavern had to refine a method of sifting through information. These ungrateful wretches would always speak blindly and illogically, fueled by alcohol, and their words would change with the weather, the situation at sea, and the color of the mayor's clothes that day. Much of what they said was of no benefit to making money, and it was not worth judging. For these people, the owner only hoped they would pay for the watered-down wine, which was enough. Like the rest of Silver Port, the owner was solely focused on making money, regardless of nobility or humility, for him and his customers alike.

However, compared to discerning information, distinguishing the identities of these unguarded speakers was more important. If the other party was just a ruffian with interesting news, the owner would actively fulfill his duty as a model citizen, willing to eavesdrop to prevent any evil from taking root, and then hand over the information to the guards. Generally, doing so would earn the owner a modest reward, sometimes accompanied by a bronze medal. Although he really couldn't bear to see those who committed minor crimes being brutally flogged, the punishment was not set by him, and naturally, he should not be blamed.

As for others, even if they were conspiring to rebel or murder, the owner would whistle a cheerful tune, pretending he hadn't heard. He was a smart man, knowing that in a place like Silver Port, where morality was in decay, one absolutely should not report the real villains—even if they were sitting in the most conspicuous place in the tavern at that moment, talking about the most shameless deeds.

These were three men in tattered clothes, their faces and bodies stained with the mud of several days prior—a posture that, to a certain extent, declared their stance. Among them, the red-haired man was at ease, while another man with beady eyes looked gloomy. He occasionally cast sly glances around, as if worried they weren't conspicuous enough.

They were members of the Silver Port Guild, individuals who treaded the fine line between the law and the entanglement with authority.

The man with beady eyes slapped the table and said, "I don't want to wait any longer. We're wasting our time!"

"We must wait for Yemir. This is about checking the information, making the final preparations for the operation!" spoke the red-haired man, who was none other than the clever Klaw. At that moment, he was sitting with his legs crossed, carefully applying paint with one hand to his hair—an Indian dye used for body decoration. Europeans, upon arriving here, had repurposed it for coloring hair, fabric, and the exterior walls of houses. But Claw wasn't doing this for aesthetics; rather, he was trying to make his red hair slightly duller, less conspicuous.

"Eric, how's that job going? I suppose you've made a decent profit," he turned to ask the third man, the strongest, most hearty, and most naive of the trio, with a flat nose bridge and brown hair streaked with some white strands.

"Don't even mention it," he dramatically swung his arm, as if Klaw had referred to something unfortunate. "The projects are getting harder and harder to complete, even those that Uncle Bo personally took on. Look at these officials in Silver Port, they indulge in revelry all day long, only knowing to act when it's crucial. I heard an officer from London on a whim wants to inspect the defenses of Jamaica, so they want us to finish quickly..."

"Is there a need to rush like this? The officer from London isn't going to fly to the Caribbean immediately."

"That's not what the officials think. Perhaps because before the officer's inspection, the governor of Jamaica and the mayor of Silver Port will check first... They have to get through these early arrivals first, then they'll have time to deal with the latecomers at leisure. In any case, our esteemed officials told Uncle Bo directly that they want thirteen houses built within a week."

Klaw whistled. Thirteen houses in a week, this was likely to break a record again. Without a doubt, they would be required to be placed along the most conspicuous route from the dock to the lower city, a sight that officials loved the most. The guild would take on such face projects every year. They had the skill to quickly build structures, focusing on the exterior to make them look substantial, and using mechanisms to reinforce the interior, so that they could stand firm against wind and rain. Of course, such houses were not meant to be inhabited; they had to be demolished immediately after fulfilling their purpose of receiving distinguished guests, and they must never enter the market, which was the guild's bottom line. However, some officials might think that this was the guild ensuring that the demand side was always in a favorable state for them.

Klaw had joined the Silver Port guild in his childhood and had been taken care of by Uncle Bo, so he naturally followed him with unwavering loyalty. Because of this, Klaw could not have a good feeling about the facade projects. And since he was quite clever, he would generally leave such tasks to Eric.

"The work is done, but the brothers have given up most of their lives. Sometimes I also feel that compared to what we give, what the officials give seems a bit too little," Eric complained endlessly, and Klaw echoed him perfunctorily.

This angered the man with beady eyes, who didn't care about the interests of those "brothers" at all, only caring about the state of the two people on the scene. Such a loose and comfortable attitude was not what he wanted to see.

"You should know that if that kid gets caught, we will all suffer!" He said, winking and making faces, a bad habit he had whenever he was anxious.

"Yemir won't mess up," said the red-haired Klaw insistently, but he was also a bit anxious in his heart. He picked up the glass and took a sip to cover up.

"Everyone has a time to mess up, Yemir will fail, and you, Klaw, have suffered a lot of times too! This operation is related to the interests of the guild, but you have been chatting here all the time!" The man with beady eyes said angrily, he has always been a narrow-minded guy, so these voices sound like a mouse squeaking.

"Joke!" Klaw sneered. "Unlike you who are idle, I have thought about this operation for a long time. As long as the intelligence is accurate, there will be no possibility of failure! So, Rat-Eye, can you guarantee that the intelligence you give is accurate? If you have completed your work perfectly, why do you always complain about others? Do you think this operation will fall through?"

The man named Rat-Eye screamed and immediately stood up to start working, but when he saw the expression on Eric's face, he sat down silently.

"Klaw," Eric said solemnly, "I absolutely trust your judgment, but... this plan is very risky, it's not a sure thing. If anything goes wrong, remember that preserving your life is crucial."

"Relax, Eric, I have confidence," the red-haired Klaw glanced at Rat-Eye and said, "There's only one way my operation could fail: if someone hasn't fulfilled his duty—and we'll know soon enough."

"Nonsense! He's making excuses for his future failures! This red-haired monkey hasn't been jailed for his many screw-ups!" Rat-Eye said. His face was green and sickly, as if he had eaten something moldy.

Klaw's patience was pushed to the limit, and he cursed: "It's called a detention center, not a prison, you idiot."

He was speaking the truth; prisons were indeed not places that any small-time crook could end up in, but getting into a detention center was much simpler. All you had to do was beat up someone you didn't like on the street, and you could get a free two-day tour of the detention center. Although these two places didn't have much functional difference, Klaw was aware of his status as a guild member; walking on the edge of the law did not mean breaking it, and he would not easily let himself be imprisoned.

"Alright, stop arguing! I think, to be on the safe side, let's go over the intelligence again and see if there are any risks we've missed," Eric said.

"We... we don't have time. But if you insist..." Rat-Eye suppressed his anger and said, "Alright, of course I can go over this mess again for you."

"It was three nights ago, I went to Uncle Bo's place to report as usual. On my way back, I found an extra piece of paper in my pocket... That must have been the intelligence collected by Uncle Bo, probably already a closed case. It said that a group of 'suspicious individuals' were wandering around Silver Port..."

"I'm warning you for the last time, never steal from Uncle Bo again," Eric said through gritted teeth.

"...The point is, the information on it matched what I saw in this tavern later... It was the night before last, I was here gathering information, and I happened to see those 'suspicious individuals.'"

Rat-Eye paused and began to leisurely sip his drink. If this was his first time describing it, such a posture would surely pique people's interest. Unfortunately, he had used this trick a few times, and now it only made people impatient. Seeing that no one was paying attention, he cursed under his breath and continued:

"I bought them drinks, hoping to get some intelligence out of them. As expected, they came here for a treasure."

"Yes, you've said that many times," Klaw interjected, abruptly cutting off Rat-Eye and the drawn-out mystery in his narrative. "They know about the wealthy merchant in the lower city, Lord Bard, who recently acquired a treasure 'worth a fortune.' So they came here to catch a glimpse of this treasure."

"Ha, they'll have to ask the local powers in Silver Port—that is, us—if we agree," Rat-Eye said smugly. "In fact, they are people of the underworld and indeed are not satisfied with just looking. So, this cooperation came to be."

"The biggest problem is that you took on this job without Uncle Bo's consent," Eric shook his head, "This is not right."

Rat-Eye ignored him, "Now, these guests who have come from afar have provided me with an intelligence report that Lord Bard is going to hold an exhibition dinner in the near future, inviting friends he knows or doesn't know to appreciate the treasures he has brought from all over the world."

"This doesn't make sense, why would he do this?" Klaw asked, this was the problem he had been entangled with, and it was also the reason why he sent Yemir to check the intelligence. It is necessary to know that Silver Port never lacks hungry eyes and the determination to kill and rob. Exposing his wealth here is undoubtedly courting death.

"The rich have thoughts that you, a poor man, cannot imagine... You should know that those guests originally planned to rush into the venue directly, grab the treasure and leave, but I stopped them. In the territory of the guild, of course, it should be us who have the final say."

Eric nodded, "But we must be measured, we need to know what can be taken and what cannot be taken, and we should not tarnish the reputation of the guild."

"Of course, I don't believe that all of Lord Bard's treasures have legal registration records. This 'treasure' is even less likely."

"What exactly is the treasure?" Eric asked again.

"They said it's a 'gold coin', and some of the children I sent out also confirmed that there is indeed this rumor. It must have extraordinary commemorative value, otherwise it would never be regarded as a treasure by the rich merchant. And while we are here hesitating, those guests are preparing a carriage for us - can you believe it, we can actually use a carriage! Thanks to my tough attitude, without these things, they won't be able to see that treasure at all."

"Rat-Eye, you don't even know who the other party is, yet you threaten them?" Klaw asked incredulously.

"I can't see them? Phew!" Rat-Eye spat. "Since that group walked through the tavern door, I've figured out most of their story. They're the bad guys who have long been wandering at sea, reeking of a nauseating brininess all over."

"You mean... they are pirates?" Eric was somewhat horrified, "Why didn't you say it earlier? Are we going to deal with those bad guys?"

"Rest easy, Eric, pirates are no threat on land. Moreover, representatives from London are coming soon, and the whole city is on high alert. The poor guards are developing prickly heat under the sun every day. They wouldn't dare to make a big fuss," Rat-Eye said, then glared at Klaw again. "Compared to others, I'm more suspicious of the guy I know well. Klaw, you said you wanted to sneak into Lord Bard's banquet, are you sure you have the skills to steal the treasure?"

"I'm different from you, I have brains," Klaw said, tapping his head with his finger.

"You see, Eric, look at his attitude. When he gets caught and goes to jail, he will definitely betray us all, implicating the guild and suffering together with him!"

"Rat-Eye, have you forgotten the purpose of the guild!" Eric reprimanded sharply. "You, me, and Klaw, we are all brothers, we should not attack each other. Remember, all for one, and one for all."

This was not just a slogan, but a reflection of the guild's will. Just like the other day, Klaw had made a deal worth ten pounds, but after treating everyone to drinks, he still handed over the rest of the money to Eric, who then passed it on to Uncle Bo's accountant.

"Now is the most difficult time, we must trust each other in order to get through the hard times," Eric said gravely.

Klaw understood his meaning. The guild was not a charity organization, it required members to work hard to make a living. This ancient and huge organization, along with the expansion of Britain, gradually spread all over the world, its power entwined, infiltrating local politicians and rural folk. It can be said that it is another form of the British Empire, crawling in the dark, filling the gaps of human nature. Since the great earthquake in Port Royal, the affairs of the guild in Jamaica have been transferred to Silver Port, but due to the war and pirates, the affairs of the Silver Port guild have been in bad luck, and now the gray area of business has been difficult to support the large organization. The reason why Klaw and his companions took risks to do this business was also to let the guild get out of financial difficulties.

They didn't notice that at this time, the tavern door was gently pushed open. A boy's head carefully poked in from the outside, his slightly sickly face was full of fatigue, but his eyes did not show any laziness. His clothes were very shabby, with a hole in the shoulder, exposing the malnourished skin and bones, and the hem of the trousers was artificially torn - it was obviously picked up from the dock, only to be properly "tailored" to fit the child's figure. The boy walked in cautiously, looking for the person he was looking for. His face was dirty, and his curly golden hair was full of dirt, forming independent hills, and the front of the golden hair hung down along the forehead, just covering one eye when he turned his head. So the boy blew the golden hair up hard, and continued to observe when the vision was clear.

"Found it!" He said to himself and ran towards Klaw and the others.

"You damned little brat, you're late!" Before little Yemir could even get close, Rat-Eye started scolding him. However, given his poor popularity in the guild, not many people took his words to heart, even though he was somewhat of an official.

"Yemir, what's the situation?" Klaw asked urgently, unlike the composure he displayed, he had to make sure the situation on the ground matched the intelligence, after all—as Rat-Eye and Eric said—this concerns the collective interest and his own safety.

"There is indeed a banquet there, tonight," Yemir said, "Caspar was working odd jobs in the lower city today, and he also overheard something about Lord Bard. It seems the old man has invited a lot of wealthy people to hold a treasure auction."

"Auction... This is different from your intelligence," Klaw frowned, turning to Rat-Eye. Now, he knew why Rat-Eye was so resistant to Yemir's arrival.

"What's the difference? Exhibition or auction, aren't they all rich people gathering to have fun?"

"There is a difference, you idiot! If it's an exhibition, we can pretend to be gentlemen interested in art, so we can sneak in. But an auction requires collateral, people without money can't sneak in at all. Damn it! How did you collect the intelligence?"

"If I could get completely accurate intelligence, would I still need you to take action?" Rat-Eye sneered.

"But you're not even as good as a child working odd jobs, you waste."

The two were on the verge of a conflict, and Eric stopped the conflict in a sharp voice.

"Enough, this is not the time for internal strife. Klaw, can this business still be done now?"

Rat-Eye glared at Klaw, his eyes full of disdain, but reluctantly revealed some begging. Klaw looked at him with satisfaction and made a difficult expression.

"Rat-Eye, remember to have the car ready," he said simply, "I've done too much for you, a waste. I will handle this business, but don't think it's over like this."