The air at the meeting point was light, carrying the scent of dry dust, sweat, and the distant sweetness of ripe fruit. Under the irregular shade of a tree, Carlos conversed with the merchant Francisco and Papess Paula, whose immaculate robes contrasted with the reddish earth.

  "Basically, I'm going to need steel," explained Carlos, his fingers tracing imaginary lines on the earth table. "And you can bring us large quantities of iron ore, plus some manganese and other metals. Sulfur too!"

  He handed a list to Francisco, whose face showed no enthusiasm. The merchant cast a meaningful look at the Papess, who responded in a soft yet firm voice:

  "Unfortunately, that won't be possible. I can trade clothes with other Holy Cities without raising much suspicion, but raw ores are another matter. The only reason for me to import ores would be to refine them, and Portugal strictly prohibits any metallurgy in its lands. They even destroyed a mill belonging to a landowner who dared to refine iron. Even though the Holy City of Santa Maria is Church territory, we still have to deal with certain local jurisdictions. I wouldn't be able to justify it to my superiors."

  Carlos listened, his face a veil of concentration as his mind worked frantically.

  I can't even import iron ore? That would ruin all my plans. The industrial revolution needs iron to happen, and I'll only improve the population's quality of life with a lot of money... But she's considered a living saint by the Church. Maybe...

  A sly smile lit up his face.

  "You know, I remembered something that could help eradicate all diseases linked to bacteria. It's called an antibiotic. I just hadn't mentioned it because I didn't know if you'd have the means to acquire it..."

  Papess Paula leaned forward slightly, her eyes shining with intense curiosity. She remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

  "But, I think I could give it to you," he proceeded, the smile becoming more daring, "if you, for example, used the notoriety you have within the Church to... let's say, invent that you will perform a great miracle, one that requires a lot of iron ore to be realized."

  Paula sighed deeply, the sound laden with resignation and calculation.

  "Alright, I'll try. But I warn you now, don't expect too much."

  Carlos, visibly animated, grabbed more papers from a leather satchel.

  "Excellent! But besides the ores, I'll also need seeds. For example..." He showed a sheet with a detailed drawing of a red, succulent fruit. "This is a tomato. It should be found in Spanish colonies in Central America, along with a cacao tree. This is cabbage, common in Europe. I'll also need an araucaria sapling, a tree from southern Brazil, and a rubber tree seedling, which is found in the Amazon Rainforest. I'll pay well for each of them."

  With tomatoes and cabbage, I can make salads and, of course, tomato sauce for a good old pizza, Carlos thought, almost able to taste the memory. The araucaria can be used to make paper. Even though the climate isn't ideal, it can grow with Tassi's powers. The same goes for the rubber tree. Rubber will be revolutionary.

  Francisco looked at the peculiar list of items, his eyebrow arched in doubt. However, commercial interest spoke louder.

  "Of course, I would love to help you. But how much..."

  Carlos slid another sheet of paper towards him, with the value of each item clearly specified. The cheapest cost ten thousand réis; the most expensive, fifty thousand.

  Francisco's eyes lit up, and his face broke into a wide smile.

  "Consider it done!"

  After that, the two groups exchanged a few more formalities before preparing to leave. As the Papess was about to enter her carriage, she turned back. Her eyes met Carlos's, who was meticulously organizing his papers.

  "You know," she said, her voice a bit softer, "this ice cream really is something divine. Could you give me the recipe?"

  Carlos finished arranging the papers and looked up, a friendly smile on his lips.

  "Unfortunately, no. But you just need to come here, and I can sell you some. I'll set up an ice cream stall right at this very spot."

  Disappointed, but showing no annoyance, the Papess nodded her head and climbed into the carriage, which began moving towards the Holy City.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  In the future, I might even consider exporting ice cream, Carlos reflected, watching the vehicle move away. But I'll need many dairy cows and adepts with ice gems... It will also only be viable with magic to keep it preserved. Ah, it's too complicated. Better to just focus on the quilombo for now.

  As he was lost in his thoughts, Specter approached silently, his presence as subtle as a shadow at dusk.

  "If the Papess gets the ores for us, we can consider that a fine victory!"

  The sight of Specter smiling was rare, but it had become more common lately.

  "Yes, but this is just the beginning!" replied Carlos, his enthusiasm overflowing. "If we can produce steel, we'll elevate the quilombo to another level. We'll be able to manufacture many more machines and be swimming in money. We might even acquire magical weapons easily!"

  Specter resumed his serious expression, although a slight smile still lingered on his lips.

  "Everything went more or less as we discussed in the meeting with Ganga Zala."

  Carlos laughed, a genuine and open sound.

  "Yes, it was a very good result! If all goes well, we'll become much stronger."

  The slight smile on Specter's face faded, replaced by a shadow of anguish.

  "Be careful, Carlos. It's precisely in these moments of high expectations that we are most vulnerable to setbacks. Never count your chickens before they hatch. This reminds me that my informant in the capital of Pernambuco is no longer able to get information. I only know that the new Captain-Major seems very competent—someone with experience not only in combat but in capturing quilombolas and exterminating indigenous people."

  Carlos lost his smile, and his expression became serious.

  "I'm aware of that, from the meetings with Ganga Zala. And that's exactly why I want steel! With it, we can manufacture cannons and, eventually, even attack White Sand, eliminating that threat once and for all!"

  Specter was dumbfounded upon hearing that. He wanted to retort, but after the last battle, the idea no longer seemed like an impossible dream.

  "But you're right, Specter," conceded Carlos, his voice more restrained. "I should think about other weapons. We don't have steel, but we have iron, and Nia is becoming more skilled with complex machines. Perhaps I can develop some more advanced weapon. I'll research more about it. Thanks for the warning."

  The two began walking towards Tassi and Ant?nio, who were chatting animatedly further ahead. Tassi was gesturing vivaciously, which surprised Carlos; he hadn't expected them to be so close. Luckily, the journey back to the Armadillo Mocambo was long, allowing him to join the conversation. Specter disappeared midway, probably to make his report to Ganga Zala.

  The path, at that late hour of the afternoon, was traversed by people returning to the mocambo with goods and tools. Ant?nio observed the scene with interest.

  "It seems you are living well. I thought you were in dire straits, but I was mistaken. It's good that God has given you such a prosperous fate."

  Tassi, with a radiant smile, replied:

  "You haven't seen anything yet, Father! You already know Carlos became the chief of the mocambo, but I became the Minister of Agriculture! Basically, I'm in charge of all the food in the mocambo."

  Carlos couldn't help but smile seeing her.

  She looks like a child proudly showing off a school prize to her father.

  The priest gave her a paternal smile.

  "Really? And what else do you do?"

  It seems he's already starting to probe... He really is a spy. But we need someone who can heal serious injuries, especially with the heavy machinery I'm going to use. The risk of accidents is real, and Specter wants someone to treat his soldiers, especially with future attacks. Like it or not, we need the Church, and this will only strengthen our ties. Furthermore, with the hospital, I'll start separating the Church from the healing. Who knows, maybe even win some of them over to our side? Although the Church has a millennium of experience and, so far, no one has stolen the secrets of the healing and alteration gems.

  Tassi talked about her work animatedly but was careful, dosing the information she shared.

  "Speaking of which, Tassi, how is the latest experiment going?" Carlos interjected.

  Tassi displayed a wide smile.

  "It all worked out. Oh, Ant?nio, Carlos asked me to try to make wheat grow in the quilombo with my powers."

  Things are going really well. With this, we can make flour.

  "Excellent, now I just need to find a better way to grind the wheat to make flour. I don’t think a simple windmill will suffice."

  Still smiling, Tassi added:

  "And with the flour, you can make me more foods from your world!"

  After walking a bit more, they arrived at the Armadillo Mocambo. Carlos showed Ant?nio the site of the new church, a small, functional concrete structure the masons had erected quickly. Inside, some faithful were already gathering for their prayers. The quilombo was a melting pot of beliefs: Catholics, followers of African-based religions, some Muslims—a tapestry of faith where traditions often intertwined.

  Ant?nio entered through the back, where his room was located. The church wasn't luxurious, all painted white, with a clean, modern style that contrasted with the predominant colonial and baroque architecture of the time.

  Alone in his new room, Ant?nio sat at the desk and, without hesitation, began writing a letter to the Papess, detailing everything he had seen and heard. He bore no ill will towards the quilombo, but he trusted Paula and was determined to fulfill his mission.

  In the dense shadows of the room's corner, hidden by the deepening darkness, one of Specter's aides watched every movement of the quill on the paper. In silence, the assistant to the chief of the quilombo's army lamented, once again, how his workload seemed to increase with each passing day.