'She is married . . . to- to- to Roman Castellan-'
The arms merchant became apoplectic, his face blackened with corrupt rage.
'Married? Married? Are you lying to me?'
'I swear- I swear!' the nervous man stuttered, clutching his hat as though praying. 'It is the truth!'
'That whore! For this alone, she and her gigolo will die!'
'Her husband,' the nervous man somehow managed to stutter, 'is a very powerful man. Yes, very powerful. Very dangerous. He runs the whole island-'
'Hah! I will crush him like an insect!' the middle-aged man spat, gesturing with his fist. 'Him and his pitiful little rock, and everyone on it with him!'
'There are guns at Port Haven, Señor!' the nervous man blurted. 'Big guns! And lots of them!'
'No doubt put there when the only power was naval,' the arms dealer told him. 'Not to worry. This is the modern age, uh? We will use the new warfare! We will land on the lake, we will take this Casa, and then you will show us the way to Port Haven, where we will overpower the men who man the guns, and then the Morta will steam into port and my men will take over. And that will be the end of the matter.' He paused to light another cigar, and said to a waiting servant, 'Bring cognac. I wish to toast this moment. Come,' he said to the nervous man, 'share this moment with me. Soon you will be rich, the traitors will be strung up and gutted like fish, and the island will be yours to govern.'
'M-m-mine?' the nervous man blurted in surprise. 'B-but . . . I don't know anything about governing-'
'Nothing to it! Nothing at all!' the arms merchant told him. 'I will leave some of my men with you, as "advisors", and you will have a life of ease, uh? What do you say?'
'It sounds too good to be true,' the nervous man said. And unknown to his patron, he meant it, wondering and fearing what he had got himself into this time.
'What's the matter?' the arms merchant cried. 'Don't you trust me?'
The nervous man knew better than to say, "No."