Jhonen rubbed his temple where the physico had dabbed the crew's shared blood. It still burned, like the night after a Spice Island whore. But those two blood-dabbed fingers had assured his crew's silence.
Oh, the crew had complained. Every sailor feared being put under a blood-bond. And rightfully so. Most captains would abuse it greatly if given the chance. But the crew finally agreed. They realized how much gold they were in for, and they realized that Capitan Jhonen was not the type of man to abuse his power. That had only taken a few broken limbs.
The drunken louts wouldn't talk, not if they wanted to keep the blood in their veins. If they wanted to keep other liquids in their veins, that was fine with Jhonen.
Jhonen shifted his weight on his cane and stared into the streets of Valencia. He had a Jew to meet, under the city. For that, he would have to go out to the mule-grounds.
There were four Dons in the city of Valencia who held the Jew-tolls. There was one royal agente who also held a Jew-toll. Jhonen wasn't going to go through any of them.
Dons? They were frocios, plain and simple. Agentes? Even more likely to suck off pretty-boy courtesans. Jhonen had no intention of supporting their expensive tastes. Besides, it was too early to let anyone know of the gold. He still had to pay the drunken, blood-bonded louts. Then, out of his share, he could draw support for another expedition.
First though, he had to get the stuff melted down. And for that he would need a smith. And for that, he needed a Jew. He started walking through the streets of Valencia with his cane; on his good shoulder the first pack of gold safely wrapped in some fluffy plant fiber the Hada had been fond of. Couldn't have tell-tale jingling drawing robbers. Not that many robbers would have targeted even the crippled Jhonen.
He made it to the mule-grounds without much trouble, hitting a small pickpocket who tried to sneak his hand into Jhonen's rucksack. Jhonen smacked the small boy with his driftwood cane and continued on without any more disturbances.
The Jew he was looking for worked in the stables as a muckraker. His illegal Jew-toll was tolerated by the muleteers only for the business it brought them, not for any toleration of the stinking Christ-killers.
Jhonen stood in the stable's front end and waited for the little muckraker to finish with his stall. He finally did and after much grunting and complaining about shit, the Jew stepped out into the open stable.
He was short and wide, like all men of his race. But he had a lean look to him, a hungry look, something that made his face, already ugly in its Jewish qualities, even harsher and more penetrating. He had a short, neatly trimmed beard that he had somehow managed to keep the muck of his job out of. His eyes were dark and beady, like any Jewish males'.
He smiled widely, his prominent hooked nose giving him an impish look.
"Jhonen, first trip to the Spice Islands and you come back a cripple, ey?"
Jhonen grinned and leaned on his cane. "Capitan Jhonen, an' I can still make a leg faster than you, ya old enano."
"Capitan? Oy vey, You Northmen work fast at treachery. And this old dwarf may not be able to best you, but I'm certain anyone with less than three legs can." He threw his arms to side, shaking off the stuff of mules.
"You Jews ar' abit too concerned with third legs. Cutting yours off duh'nt 'elp."
"Funny. Funny like that cane of yours. What was it you wanted Capitan?" The little Jew grinned even wider following his mocking tones.
"D'you want gold, Abram?"
The Jew couldn't grin any wider.
Oh, the crew had complained. Every sailor feared being put under a blood-bond. And rightfully so. Most captains would abuse it greatly if given the chance. But the crew finally agreed. They realized how much gold they were in for, and they realized that Capitan Jhonen was not the type of man to abuse his power. That had only taken a few broken limbs.
The drunken louts wouldn't talk, not if they wanted to keep the blood in their veins. If they wanted to keep other liquids in their veins, that was fine with Jhonen.
Jhonen shifted his weight on his cane and stared into the streets of Valencia. He had a Jew to meet, under the city. For that, he would have to go out to the mule-grounds.
There were four Dons in the city of Valencia who held the Jew-tolls. There was one royal agente who also held a Jew-toll. Jhonen wasn't going to go through any of them.
Dons? They were frocios, plain and simple. Agentes? Even more likely to suck off pretty-boy courtesans. Jhonen had no intention of supporting their expensive tastes. Besides, it was too early to let anyone know of the gold. He still had to pay the drunken, blood-bonded louts. Then, out of his share, he could draw support for another expedition.
First though, he had to get the stuff melted down. And for that he would need a smith. And for that, he needed a Jew. He started walking through the streets of Valencia with his cane; on his good shoulder the first pack of gold safely wrapped in some fluffy plant fiber the Hada had been fond of. Couldn't have tell-tale jingling drawing robbers. Not that many robbers would have targeted even the crippled Jhonen.
He made it to the mule-grounds without much trouble, hitting a small pickpocket who tried to sneak his hand into Jhonen's rucksack. Jhonen smacked the small boy with his driftwood cane and continued on without any more disturbances.
The Jew he was looking for worked in the stables as a muckraker. His illegal Jew-toll was tolerated by the muleteers only for the business it brought them, not for any toleration of the stinking Christ-killers.
Jhonen stood in the stable's front end and waited for the little muckraker to finish with his stall. He finally did and after much grunting and complaining about shit, the Jew stepped out into the open stable.
He was short and wide, like all men of his race. But he had a lean look to him, a hungry look, something that made his face, already ugly in its Jewish qualities, even harsher and more penetrating. He had a short, neatly trimmed beard that he had somehow managed to keep the muck of his job out of. His eyes were dark and beady, like any Jewish males'.
He smiled widely, his prominent hooked nose giving him an impish look.
"Jhonen, first trip to the Spice Islands and you come back a cripple, ey?"
Jhonen grinned and leaned on his cane. "Capitan Jhonen, an' I can still make a leg faster than you, ya old enano."
"Capitan? Oy vey, You Northmen work fast at treachery. And this old dwarf may not be able to best you, but I'm certain anyone with less than three legs can." He threw his arms to side, shaking off the stuff of mules.
"You Jews ar' abit too concerned with third legs. Cutting yours off duh'nt 'elp."
"Funny. Funny like that cane of yours. What was it you wanted Capitan?" The little Jew grinned even wider following his mocking tones.
"D'you want gold, Abram?"
The Jew couldn't grin any wider.
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