"Francisco, Catalina! Are you ready?" shouted Carlos, calling for the children.
Grandma María sighed. "Those two are just as irresponsible as the others."
Carlos chuckled. "Maybe so—but they're good kids."
Francisco appeared, carrying his luggage, with Catalina following close behind.
"We're ready, Father. It's just that Catalina needed to pack the things we bought in the plaza," said Francisco.
Before they departed, Francisco paused, frowning. "I feel like we forgot something."
"What is it?" asked Catalina and Carlos at the same time.
A servant standing behind Francisco whispered, "Young master, the man who was going to sell you the emeralds never came."
"Oh, that's right! Did something happen to him?" Francisco asked.
"I'm not sure, young master. I only heard there was a fight between smugglers a few days ago. Some men ended up dead, but I didn't hear of any merchants among them," the servant said with a shrug.
"Well, whatever it is—it's just emeralds. We can find others in Cartagena de Indias," Francisco said, brushing it off. They were heading to Honda, where they would take another boat up the river to Antioquía.
That night, while traveling along the Magdalena River, a torrential rain began to fall.
Swish, swish—the rain lashed the deck, and the boat rocked from side to side, sending creaks and groans through the wood. Catalina and Isabella clung to Francisco, frightened, while Carlos spoke with the boatman. After a while, he returned, water dripping from his hat.
"What's happening, Father?" asked Francisco, noticing the deep frown on Carlos's face.
"The storm is worse than we thought," Carlos said grimly. "The boatman recommends we move to the riverbank and wait it out. With how heavy our cargo is, he's afraid we could sink."
"I think that's a good idea," said Francisco. "If we stay in the middle of the river, and something happens, our bodies could end up in the ocean."
Grandma María, who had been silent until then, gave him a sharp look. "Don't call misfortune with those cursed words!" she scolded, slapping him lightly on the back of the head.
"Ouch!" Francisco said, rubbing his head.
Isabella giggled, covering her mouth.
"Oh, you find that funny, huh?" said Francisco, raising his eyebrows. He reached over and started tickling the little girl until she squealed with laughter.
Carlos sighed but smiled faintly. "All right, enough of that. Let's prepare to disembark. There's a clearing on that riverbank. You girls stay inside while we move the boat. Francisco, take an oilcloth coat and help us outside."
Unwillingly, Francisco got up and went into the rain. The downpour was heavy, soaking through his sleeves and stinging his face. Together with the help of the servants, he helped move the boat toward the riverbank. The air was thick with the smell of wet wood and river mud.
Once they reached the shore, they moved the boat toward the land and set up makeshift tents using oilcloth to block the rain. The girls stayed inside the cabin, but out of respect, Francisco and the men chose to camp outside. The rain drummed endlessly on the canvas above them as they fell asleep in the middle of nowhere.
At dawn, around five, Francisco woke to the sound of raised voices outside the tent. They sounded nervous. He stepped out and saw the servants speaking hurriedly with his father.
"What Happened? Why is everyone so panicked?" Asked Francisco, frowning.
Carlos turned, cradling a mug of steaming coffee. "They found a body," he said quietly. "It's so mangled they can't tell if it's even human."
"a body?" Francisco followed his father to the riverbank. The air was cool and smelled of wet grass and decay. Four swollen corpses lay tangled among the reeds, half-eaten by animals.
"This doesn't look like a beast attack," Carlos muttered.
"Why not? There are bite marks everywhere—some are even missing limbs," Francisco said, grimacing.
"That's true, but look here." Carlos crouched beside one of the bodies and gently turned it over. Beneath the torn flesh, something glinted in the morning light. He pulled out a small, rusted bullet. "A shot to the chest. Someone killed him before the animals got to him."
"But there's no blood," said Francisco, puzzled.
"These bodies have been here at least a month, maybe two," Carlos replied. "With the rain around here, what blood did you expect to see?"
"So… a robbery?" Francisco asked.
"Maybe. But we should stay alert. If there are bandits in this area, it's dangerous to linger." Carlos straightened, then ordered the men to arm themselves. Muskets were loaded and pointed toward the forest, but nothing moved—only the whisper of rain in the trees.
After a while, they packed up and continued their journey. More rain followed in the coming days, though never as fierce as that night. Some of the cargo was lost, but eventually, they reached Antioquía.
Once in town, Carlos went to speak with the river administrators. When he returned, his expression was dark and thoughtful.
"What did they say?" Francisco asked.
"It seems some merchants have gone missing from time to time," said Carlos. "Each time, a certain boatman returned alone, claiming they fell overboard during storms. No one thought much of it—it happens. But a few months ago, that same boatman took a passenger described as bald, with thick facial hair. The man vanished, but the boat reached Honda. The boatman himself disappeared soon after."
"They think he worked with bandits?" asked Francisco.
"Probably. Maybe they betrayed him. Perhaps the body we found was his. The authorities will investigate, but they doubt the bandits are still around."
"Wait—a bald man with a thick beard? You don't mean…"
Carlos nodded slowly. "It seems too coincidental not to be him."
"But according to the letter, he reached Bogotá, and now he's working in Caracas," said Francisco, astonished. "You think the boatman tried to rob him—and he killed the whole gang?"
"Could be," Carlos muttered, furrowing his brow.
"But why was there only one body?"
"The others were probably eaten by animals," said Carlos.
Francisco chuckled. "A man that skilled… What a shame we didn't hire him."
Carlos exhaled sharply. "It's not worth thinking too much about. But next time, if you plan to rescue another liberal officer, be more cautious. With that kind of ability, he could have killed us in our sleep."
A chill ran down his spine at the thought.
Francisco laughed. "All right, Father. If I ever save another officer, I'll let you know first."
After that, they boarded a carriage toward the estate.
"Finally home," said Francisco, smiling as he looked out the window. The road was busier than he remembered.
"What could've happened?" he wondered aloud, frowning.