Lola let out a short, musical chuckle, her one good eye dancing with amusement as she watched Faust's somber expression.
"You didn't seem so emotional last night, Doctor," she teased, her voice dropping to that husky register that made the hair on his arms stand up. "But I suppose a man of science must have his moods."
She gestured toward the shadows where her father stood.
"Anyway, you came exactly where the doctor ordered. My father is the finest wandering magician in the New World—and the Old, if the stories are true. He personally trained me, and he's been trying to beat some sense into my brother's clumsy hands for years. Though," she added with a smirk, "Father complains that Mateus has the grace of a startled ox."
The following week blurred into a feverish rhythm of study and sweat. For Faust, who had spent decades mastering the rigid laws of biology and the precise grammar of languages, the "magic" of Don Francisco was a revelation.
It wasn't about breaking the laws of nature—at least, not yet. It was about the logic of the human mind, the psychology of performance, and the art of misdirection.
"You have the mind for it, Faust," Don Francisco remarked one afternoon, watching as Faust executed a perfect French drop with a leaden coin. The old man looked over at Mateus, who was nursing his bandaged shoulder and struggling with a simple card palm. "He is already better than you, my son. He understands that the hand only moves because the eye is looking elsewhere."
As the day of departure neared, Faust visited the town's small, drafty administrative office. The Sheriff, a stout Dutchman named Van der Meer, looked up from his ledger and sighed.
"So, leaving us again?" The Sheriff was one of the few men Faust considered a friend in this rough settlement. He had helped Faust navigate the complex land claims and settle into his home when he first arrived.
"Only for a year, Peter," Faust replied, shaking the man's hand. "I have a patient."
"Is it already time?" the Sheriff asked, glancing at a calendar.
Faust nodded, his expression darkening.
"Soon will be the anniversary of my mother's passing. And Wilhelm's."
He thought of his younger brother, Wilhelm—the boy who had been the most vibrant of the two, but whose heart had simply given out shortly after their mother died. Faust sighed, waving a hand as if to brush away the ghosts.
He had watched them all go.
He was the only one left to keep the dates.
Back at his house, Faust performed a final check of his gear. He packed his medical kit and checked the weight of the heavy flintlock pistol in his leather holster.
He was a doctor, but he knew the Atlantic was a graveyard for the unprepared.
He made his way to the harbor, where the scent of tar and salt hung heavy in the air.
The ship wasn't a standard Dutch merchant vessel. It was sleek, low in the water, and built for speed. Standing on the gangplank was Lola. She waved to him, her black eye-bandage and the elegant rapier at her hip giving her the unmistakable silhouette of a privateer.
She looked breathtaking in the morning light. Faust felt a sharp, familiar sting in his chest—a ghost of a feeling he had tried to bury.
'Not the time for emotions,' he told himself.
In his long, stagnant life, he had fallen in love more than a dozen times, but he had only ever allowed one woman to truly see him.
His hand instinctively went to the small silver necklace tucked beneath his shirt. Inside was a miniature portrait of a woman with kind eyes.
She had been his neighbor, then his classmate in Germany, and eventually his patient during a fever outbreak. They had married in a small stone church, and for fifty years, he had watched her grow old while he stayed frozen in his thirtieth year.
"Elena," he whispered the name under his breath, a sacred anchor in the storm of his memories.
He approached the ship, his boots clattering on the wooden dock.
Lola watched him come, her lips curling into a grin.
"Come on then, Doctor," she called out. "Don't just stand there staring at the hull. We have a ship to catch."
Faust looked at the vessel, then back at her.
"I assumed we'd be taking a merchant transport. This looks more like... well, a pirate's prize."
Lola laughed, guessing his thoughts with unsettling accuracy.
"Don't worry, Faust. The Inquisition doesn't steal from people—they 'requisition' for the greater good. And since my father and I are the only ones left who know how to sail her, I'd say we're the law on this deck."
She reached out a hand to pull him aboard.
"Welcome to the Isabella. Let's go save my brother, shall we?"