The afternoon sun gilded the mocambo, and Carlos walked through the construction site where his new brick house was taking shape. The house wasn't large, but the mere fact it was made of bricks, such a rare and durable material, represented a huge leap forward. Inside, solid wood furniture was being carved. And he had insisted that Nia create iron beams to reinforce te house.

  Finally, he thought, running his fingers over the rough texture of a brick, I'll have a decent space to study and hold meetings. And, more importantly, a safe place to keep my belongings and the devil artifacts.

  Satisfied with the progress, he headed to Nia's workshop, eager to see the famed sewing machine. Still a few steps away, a euphoric shout leaked through the cracks in the wooden walls:

  "It works! Finally! Thank you, Ogum!"

  Did they actually manage it? Carlos's heart sped up.

  He entered the workshop and followed the commotion to Nia's room. Inside, the scene was one of pure celebration. Nia, her face shining with sweat and hair disheveled, was dancing awkwardly, holding the hands of a smiling Bentinho. Around them, the apprentices watched with curiosity and some amusement. At the center of the chaos rested the sewing machine, surrounded by a pile of cloths and rags—some perfectly stitched, others tragically torn from previous attempts.

  "So you really did it! My congratulations!" Carlos exclaimed, entering the space. "I was starting to think it was impossible!"

  Nia let go of Bentinho's hands with a jump and grabbed Carlos's, pulling him into the impromptu dance.

  "That's right! But it wasn't easy, let me tell you!" she said, breathless, while trying to guide Carlos's clumsy feet. "With Bentinho's help, he used his mana to activate most of the iron gems on the glove, and I just used my mana to guide the iron, plus the fire gem… at least that was the idea, but the execution… Ow, my foot!"

  Carlos, rhythmless, stepped hard on her foot. Nia let him go suddenly, limping slightly and taking a deep breath.

  "Sorry," said Carlos, blushing. "Dancing… was never my strong suit."

  Nia mustered a pained but still playful smile.

  "Don't worry, I'll teach you!" she offered, with a mischievous look.

  Immediately, all the men in the room turned their eyes to Carlos, expectant.

  "Better… better not," he retreated, embarrassed.

  "What a pity!" Nia sighed, dramatically, before perking up again. "So, what's the next crazy invention you're going to ask me for?"

  "Hate to break up the party," Carlos replied with a kind smile, "but actually, we need twenty more just like this one."

  Nia's smile froze and vanished in an instant.

  "Don't worry!" he hurried to add. "We're closing a deal with the church. We'll get more iron, and with that, we can make many other different machines!"

  At least, I hope they accept the deal, he thought, a chill running down his spine.

  "Alright…" Nia murmured, resigned. She then turned to the apprentices with a sweet, fake smile. "Could one of you kindly do me the favor of taking this machine outside for our boss? And while you're at it, how about cleaning this room a bit? I'm going to rest a little, pretty please?"

  The response was immediate. Several men crowded around, eager to please. Taking advantage of the confusion, Quixotina, who had been watching from a corner, approached Carlos and whispered in his ear, her warm breath laden with disapproval:

  "You're too soft on her! Can't you see she's manipulating you?"

  Carlos was surprised by the attack but recovered quickly.

  "Hey, I'm not being manipulated!" he whispered back, defensively. "I already planned to give her this work!"

  The whisper quickly turned into an audible argument.

  "Men are all the same," Quixotina spat, crossing her arms.

  "Oh, really? And how would you know? How many men have you been with to have so much experience?"

  "Quantity doesn't matter! Just seeing there aren't many real knights around tells me men are worthless!"

  "That…" Carlos lowered his guard, surprisingly. "You're right. I'm really not a knight."

  The unexpected response put a victorious smile on the knight's face.

  "You're smarter than you look. You immediately recognized I'm right."

  Carlos didn't answer. Instead, he turned and left the workshop, with Quixotina following him like an irritable shadow. Outside, the helpers had already placed the heavy sewing machine on the dirt ground.

  "Since I'm not a knight," Carlos declared, pointing at the machine, "and you are, you can have the honor of carrying it to the textile factory."

  Quixotina's smile evaporated.

  "But you're a man!" she protested, indignant.

  "And you're the knight! I don't have any strength gems. You do."

  The knight bit her lip so hard it nearly bled. In a silence heavy with anger, she crouched and, with visible effort, lifted the heavy machine, which had previously been bolted to a table. The necklace on her neck glowed with a soft, inner light, bearing witness to the use of her enhanced strength.

  "That factory is too far!" she complained, adjusting the weight in her arms. "Why does everything have to be so far away?"

  "So no one can spy on us," Carlos explained, starting to walk. "But don't worry. One day we'll have vehicles to take us there. For now, it's manual labor."

  "Vehicles? What would those be?" asked Quixotina, interested despite her bad mood.

  "Machines capable of taking us from one place to another."

  "Wow, amazing!" her eyes shone for a second. "Is that the new invention Nia will make?"

  "Sorry, but no. That will take… a long time. In fact, I don't even know what I'll ask for next. I was thinking about cannons, but I don't know if they're useful right now. Maybe a steam engine for mining?"

  "How about a mechanical knight?" suggested Quixotina, her face lighting up with a genuine smile. "I need a worthy opponent to train with!"

  "Sure!" Carlos replied in a sarcastic tone. "In a hundred years, I'll make you one."

  "You don't know how to treat a lady!"

  "Ladies who ask for the impossible deserve to be treated like this."

  As they argued, the path passed by, and soon the textile factory appeared ahead. From inside came a constant, deafening noise: the hum of machines mixed with the buzz of workers' voices. As there were still no sewing machines, dozens of people, mostly women, worked seated at long tables, sewing clothes by hand. Amid the organized chaos, Gabriel and Malaika circulated, teaching the operation of other equipment and fixing the machines, which were so rudimentary they frequently jammed or broke down.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Upon spotting Carlos, the two interrupted their tasks and approached.

  "Boss!" greeted Malaika with a wide smile. "Good to see you! But what's that machine Quixotina is carrying? Don't tell me it's the famous sewing machine!?"

  Quixotina, exhausted, wasted no time. She found an empty space on the nearest table and placed the machine down with a care that contrasted with her strength.

  "It is!" Carlos confirmed, following her. "I thought Nia wouldn't manage it, but she did!"

  Gabriel approached to observe the invention more closely, his eyes tracing every gear.

  "Thank goodness!" he exclaimed. "The cloth was piling up so much… Fabric production is much faster than sewing. It was as you said: these machines increase production dozens of times! We have so much fabric we don't know what to do with it anymore."

  "I know: sell it. I hope the church accepted our deal; it's been a month. We desperately need iron to make more weapons. Our stock is almost gone, and the governor's attack can't be far off."

  Both Malaika and Gabriel responded in unison, with determination:

  "We'll do our best!"

  And to think, a month ago, these two treated me like a complete ignoramus, Carlos reflected, observing the seriousness on their faces. But all it took was for them to use the machines and see the results to learn to respect me.

  He picked up some spools of thread and pieces of fabric and approached the machine.

  "Using it is quite simple," he began to explain. "You place the fabrics here, and the thread goes here…"

  Carlos continued, meticulous, demonstrating each step and anticipating every possible doubt. Gabriel was the first to venture. With a natural ability, he got the hang of it quickly, and as he sewed, he didn't stop praising the contraption.

  He picked it up so fast, Carlos thought, impressed and relieved. If it were me, it would take days… Thank goodness this time I left the testing to Nia.

  "It really is a magnificent machine," Gabriel declared, admiring the straight, uniform seam coming from the machine. "With this, we'll greatly increase our production. Tassi can make cotton grow instantly, we have machines for ginning, spinning, weaving… and now, for sewing. All we need is a machine to dye the clothes, because the current process of cleaning and leaving them in the sun for days is too slow." He then looked directly at Carlos with a hopeful smile. "It would be nice if there were someone who could change that, with technologies from another world…"

  Hearing the hint, the mocambo chief coughed, embarrassed.

  "In the future, maybe. But right now, we have other priorities."

  To make clothes white, we'd need chlorine, his thoughts flew away, which would be very difficult to produce now. But when this attack is over, maybe I can focus on that. Especially since chlorine could be used to make white paper for the schools we're going to build… and it would be a great product to sell.

  After spending some more time supervising the first steps with the new machine, Carlos and Quixotina headed to Aunt Vera's restaurant for lunch. The smell of spices and home-cooked food filled the air, a comfort after a morning of work.

  Leaving the restaurant, now alone, Carlos encountered Tassi, who seemed to have been waiting for him.

  "Chief!" the young woman said, her face marked by contained urgency. "The merchant showed up again! The church accepted our deal!"

  Finally! A wave of warm relief washed over Carlos. Now things will really start to change!

  "Take me to him!" he ordered.

  Tassi quickly guided him to Victory Ridge, where Specter and the merchant Francisco were already waiting. The short, portly man seemed to tremble with fear, but a little less than last time. As soon as his eyes landed on Carlos, he pulled a crumpled letter from his trouser pocket and held it out with trembling hands.

  The new boss took the letter, broke the wax seal, and began to read aloud to the small group:

  "I, the Saint of the New World, the Benefactress…"

  The beginning was a long, tedious parade of self-praise. Eventually, however, the letter got to the point.

  "The information given to me was very useful. Although I have not yet been able to conduct many experiments, the initial results demonstrated that the information passed on was true."

  "I would love to have in my hands the books that cite this information. To that end, I have secured a caravan of trusted merchants, full of iron imported from Portugal. If you want all this iron, simply hand over the devil's books with content related to diseases, health, and the human body. Thus, it will not be necessary to sell any clothing to the merchants."

  "Signed, Paula, The only papess in the history of the church."

  Funny, Carlos thought, folding the letter. This time, the letter was much less pompous. I wonder why?

  Specter turned to the merchant.

  "Stay here. We need to discuss the contents in private."

  The merchant, relieved to be dismissed, mumbled:

  "Yes, sir!"

  Specter led Carlos and Tassi a few meters away.

  "This is great news!" he said, his eyes glinting beneath the mask. "Iron has always been one of our biggest problems. Carlos, you've finally solved one of the Quilombo's greatest difficulties! We can talk to Ganga Zumba about giving her the books she wants!"

  Carlos sighed deeply before answering.

  "We can't…"

  "But why not?" Specter was perplexed.

  "Because I don't have any books on those subjects. Everything I wrote are things I know by heart. The most I have is the description of the microscope, in the book of inventions that changed the world. But it's not the end: we have plenty of clothes to sell, which will yield good money and a good amount of iron."

  "Alright…" Specter assimilated the information. "In that case, we don't need to involve Ganga. But don't reveal that you don't have the books."

  "Right."

  The small group returned to Francisco, who was being watched from a distance by some guards.

  "Thank you for waiting," Carlos resumed the conversation. "But, unfortunately, we will not exchange the books for the iron. They are… too precious to me. However, don't worry. We have plenty of clothes to sell at a fair price. By the way, where are these merchants with the iron?"

  The portly man, still a bit trembly, answered:

  "Do you have enough clothes to sell to all of us? There are six carts in total…"

  Hearing the question, Carlos couldn't contain a wide, confident smile.

  "Ha ha ha! We have enough to fill ten carts! Maybe even more!"

  Immediately, the fear on Francisco's face gave way to commercial skepticism. He raised his chin.

  "But are they finished clothes or just fabrics? And what's the quality?" he questioned, pointing to his own worn, patched clothing. "These I'm wearing lasted years and have been through everything! I spent twenty thousand réis on them! Almost what a well-paid worker earns in a year! But that doesn't matter now. You know coming here is risky. Even with the church's permission, if Portugal finds out… That's why, if the quality is really good, I'll buy the complete set for only ten thousand réis!"

  Carlos, still smiling, put his hand on his chin, pretending to ponder the proposal.

  "How about…" he began, pausing for effect, "five hundred réis per piece of clothing? And fifty réis per meter of fabric"—he looked at Francisco's confused expression—"a meter is a little less than a vara."

  The merchant's jaw dropped, his chin almost hitting his chest. He seemed to be in a state of shock.

  "The… the price for the clothes is good," he stammered, regaining some breath. "But the fabric… too expensive! Especially if it's low quality."

  "But who said it's low quality?" Carlos, prepared, pulled a piece of smooth, white fabric from a bag and handed it to Francisco.

  The merchant took the cloth with experienced hands. He smoothed it between his fingers, feeling the texture. Held it up to the sunlight, examining the weave. Smelled it, searching for any odor of mold or acidity.

  "If it's all of this quality…" he said, slowly, his voice laden with a new, greedy curiosity, "could I come back here more times? Until your stock is gone?"

  "Ha, ha, ha! But of course!" Carlos laughed, satisfied. "We need many things here in the quilombo. Besides iron, you could sell us paper, tools, other products… So, deal?"

  He extended his hand to Francisco, but the merchant hesitated.

  "Anything that seems too good to be true…" Francisco said, with an air of rekindled caution, "usually is. So, let's just do this first deal. With the Papess's support, even if you try to cheat us, we won't lose out."

  Hearing the insinuation, Specter let out a low growl of anger, but Carlos spoke first, his voice calm and diplomatic:

  "Alright. It's always good to be cautious. We understand perfectly."

  Francisco smiled, relieved.

  "You really are a smart man. The merchants and the carts are in a nearby clearing, at the edge of the forest. There are several guards with them, trained by the church. They're not like the elites from the Old World, but they are capable." He paused, looking at the two. "Don't get me wrong. It was all done as a precaution."

  This time, Specter couldn't contain himself:

  "You think we're thieves!?"

  Once again, Carlos intervened, placing a calming hand on Specter's arm.

  "In any new and risky business, precautions are necessary. And frankly, the ones at greater risk of losing out in this story are them!" His gaze turned to Francisco, and his smile returned, but now with a thread of seriousness. "I'll have my men bring the clothes and fabrics to the meeting point. Meanwhile, I will write a reply letter for Her Holiness."