Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes-Chapter 80: Lamplight

The sala was dim, empty, and quiet.

I had arrived in Boac mid-afternoon, but I wouldn’t get home until very late in the evening.

On the table was my cold meal, covered in banana leaves—a bowl of rice and a bowl of milkfish stew. Beside them were a plate and a spoon and fork.

Isabela must have waited for me for a while.

I threw my rayadillo jacket onto the sofa, and it left my shoulders like a bag of stones.

Then I removed the socks—they had felt like cold metal chains wrapped around my legs.

Tired and hungry, I dug into the meal wordlessly. The staleness of the food and the silence of the house could almost make me cry. Heavy thoughts swirled in my mind, suffocating. I was too old for this.

So it was music to my ears when I heard the door creak open.

Isabela stood in the doorway of her room, scratching her newly woken eyes. After a moment, she smiled at the sight of me—and it chased away the dark cloud hanging over my head.

"Buenas noches, papa..." she croaked, and it was the first grammatically correct sentence she’d ever said. "I can heat up the stew for you."

I shook my head. "No need... it’s still delicious."

With a burst of energy, she skipped over to the table and sat close beside me. She was ever the gossip queen, and I thought she’d want to talk about the problem with the Contrerases. Even if she had, I still would have gladly obliged.

But she picked a better topic.

"Was it true... about the pirates in Santa Cruz?" she asked, eyes wide, her hand on my fork-bearing wrist. "You beat fifty pirates easily?"

"Why—don’t you believe it?" I raised my eyebrows.

"I believe your soldiers could defeat them. What I’m dubious about is you killing three pirates. A pirate captain, at that," she shrugged, curling her lower lip.

I dropped both utensils, letting them clang against the glass plate. I huffed in mock indignation. "Well, I did. And you should have seen the pirate captain’s face when I shot him."

Her tiny snub nose curled. "I don’t believe you. Wasn’t it not long ago you slipped on carabao poop and ended up bedridden for months?"

"Everyone slips, Isabela. It’s not indicative of one’s combat prowess," I replied with a chuckle. "And that was long ago—two years, in fact. You don’t plan on forgetting it, do you?"

It was, in fact, the former Martin who slipped. But to his defense—who lets their carabao take a crap in the middle of a downward narrow footpath? I could still feel the damage to the hip through his memories.

She was still laughing—bright as flowers, as cute as a month-old puppy. I decided I’d had enough of the meal and gave her a sudden bear hug.

"You’re odd," she giggled. "You don’t usually do this!"

I sighed as I let her go. "I thought I’d die in Santa Cruz."

Her smiling face immediately melted into one on the verge of tears. Then it was her who dove in for a hug.

How I yearned to spend this second life entirely in moments like these. I could have, in fact. And many times already, I had doubted the wisdom of my decision.

"How were you while I was away?" I asked, stroking her hair, her small head leaning against my arm.

She slowly sat up and crossed her arms. "Teniente Vicente... he’s a handful, really. He’s mean when he’s teaching, and he’s too controlling when escorting me. He even doubts my friends."

"You can’t blame him. If something happened to you, I’d have him hanged," I said, gently pulling her back to lean on me again.

"I’d be fine if you hang him right now," she mumbled into my shirt.

I chuckled. I totally believed her. Vicente really was a handful. His nerdiness made him very particular with details. But it was precisely for that reason I trusted him.

That said, it was possible for him to go overboard.

"I could replace him, if you want," I offered. "You can choose from any of the junior officers or cadets. But I’m afraid only Vicente would be able to teach you Spanish."

Isabela sat up straight again, faster this time. "Well... uhm... yeah, I still want to learn Spanish. And he’s not that overbearing... well, actually, he is..."

"But what I meant to say is... I can handle him. You know."

I raised my eyebrows, amused. I’d seen that look too many times to be mistaken. Flushed cheeks... playing with her hair... unable to make eye contact... stuttering.

Very dangerous.

---

Isabela chose to sleep in my room that night.

As soon as she hit the bed, she resumed the sleep I had interrupted.

I followed suit. I slipped under the thick blankets and laid my head on the pillows. I thought I’d fall asleep immediately, being both mentally and physically exhausted.

But after a few minutes, I grew uncomfortable. Maybe the nap on the ship had ruined my body clock.

I sat up at the side of the bed and, for a moment, in the silence, wondered what to do to pass the time.

The sight of my satchel gave me an idea.

I took something out of it and moved to the bedside table.

I was annoyed. Under the lamplight, I noticed a smudge on the wooden box. It was minor, but it had been given to me pristine. Even the gun case was a beautiful thing—polished mahogany, if I had to guess.

I briefly considered finding out who had handled my satchel while I was on the ship. But with all that was going on, it felt like an unnecessary bother.

I opened the box. The smooth metal and velvet gleamed. It was only my second look at it, but the first time I truly had the chance to admire it. freёwebnoѵel.com

The pinfire revolver really was a thing of beauty. Produced in the mid-19th century, but with an old-world charm—it wouldn’t have looked out of place in the 17th.

My eyes went to the folded piece of paper. At once, I was reminded of the tragedy. A letter from a dead man—one I thought I had saved.

I assumed the paper looked small because it had been folded many times. But it turned out, it was only folded twice—and was, in fact, just a small piece of paper.

On it were only two sentences:

"To our savior and defender, Heneral Martin Lardizabal. May you continue to save and defend."