[Current Balance: £419,016,560 4s. 2d.]
---
January 1st, 1715.
To the rest of the British Empire, it was just another cold winter's day. The official start of the new year was still months away, a date marked on the calendar for late March. But at Kenway Keep, the grand Baroque mansion that now stood as the heart of a burgeoning, independent power in Pennsylvania, today was a day of celebration. Alaric, a man from another time, held to his own traditions.
The estate was alive with a splendor that would have made European royalty envious. Hundreds of guests milled about the sprawling grounds, their fine silks and velvets a vibrant splash of color against the crisp winter landscape.
The front and back yards, the grand halls, every space not deemed private was filled with tables laden with delicacies Alaric had introduced to his chefs, their exotic aromas mingling with the scent of woodsmoke from roaring fireplaces. Musicians, hired by Penn at Alaric's request, played lively tunes that drifted on the cool air, a cheerful counterpoint to the low hum of conversation and laughter.
The guest list was a carefully curated collection of power. Influential Quaker families from across the colonies, shrewd merchants from Philadelphia, and landowners whose influence stretched from New York to the Carolinas had all answered William Penn's invitation.
It was a gathering of the most powerful figures in the English-speaking New World, a clear and deliberate show of unity. But it was the arrival of one particular guest that turned the grand celebration into a bold political statement.
"...isn't that?"
"...the Viceroy of New Spain, right?"
"...what's he doing here?"
Whispers rippled through the crowd as Fernando de Alencastre, the highest authority of the Spanish Crown in the Americas, strolled through the courtyard with a glass of wine in his hand, his entourage of stern-faced guards a stark, disciplined presence among the more relaxed English colonists. He heard the whispers, of course. His English was as fluent as his Spanish, and the shock on the faces of the English gentry was a source of quiet amusement.
"Ah, you've arrived!"
The Viceroy turned, his eyes landing on a man who was walking towards him with a warm, welcoming smile. He had been told William Penn was a man of seventy years, yet the figure approaching him looked no older than fifty, his step vigorous, his eyes clear and sharp.
'He looks young... a lot younger than me,' Fernando thought, a flicker of surprise passing through him. He maintained his own polite smile as the most influential man in the British American colonies came to a stop before him. "Sí, Señor Penn. The winds were cold, but we have safely boarded your harbor."
Penn smiled and extended his hand. Fernando, accustomed to the more formal bows of his own court, was momentarily confused but took the offered hand, giving it a firm shake.
"Interesting," Fernando chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "In my culture, a handshake is a sign of a deal being done. Shall I consider this as you agreeing to my terms already?"
"Hahahaha!" Penn's hearty laugh boomed through the courtyard. "In this place, and as a symbol of friendship, we do this as a greeting."
Fernando smiled and nodded, his gaze sweeping across the magnificent estate. He saw his own men, their hands never straying far from their swords, watching him with unwavering focus. With a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, he signaled for them to relax, to enjoy the celebration.
"I must say, when we docked at the harbor, I was surprised, Señor Penn," the Viceroy commented, taking a sip of his wine. "Bustling streets, high-quality shelters, fine carriages, varieties of spices I have never seen nor smelled, jubilant and satisfied dwellers… it's a perfect soon-to-be kingdom, I must say." His gaze returned to the mansion itself. "And your palacio is grande... it is perfecto!"
Penn, who had been watching the crowd mingle, smiled with genuine pride. "You have my utmost thanks for the compliment, Excellency. However," the Quaker pointed towards a figure standing on a high balcony, conversing with a beautiful, dark-haired woman, "that young man is the owner of this whole place."
Fernando's gaze followed Penn's pointing finger. His eyes widened. The man on the balcony was a giant, his platinum-blonde hair catching the afternoon sun, his crimson coat a slash of vibrant color against the stone. "T-That young niño!?"
"Yes."
"...Mierda," Fernando couldn't help but curse under his breath. "I am assuming that we will meet with that man, then?"
Penn glanced at the gold pocket watch he pulled from his waistcoat. "Hmm... it's still four in the afternoon. Let's enjoy this moment to mingle with everyone here, Presidente."
"..." Fernando glanced at Penn for a second, then at the people around them, then chuckled. "Está bien, bien."
---
Three hours later, in Alaric's impossibly spacious office, the celebration outside was a distant, muted sound. The room was a sanctuary of quiet luxury… marble floors, white porcelain walls, a ceiling so high it seemed to touch the heavens, and a massive gold chandelier that glittered with hundreds of crystals. Books Alaric had never read lined the towering shelves.
Kassandra was outside, enjoying the party, but Alaric was here with Reuben and Thulani. The three of them sat in comfortable silence, smoking Celestial Cigars. Alaric was behind his vast desk, while his two friends occupied plush wingback chairs before him.
"So," Reuben finally said, breaking the quiet as he exhaled a plume of smoke. "Why did you call us in here, 'Laric? Missing our handsome faces already?"
Alaric chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "It's been almost seventeen years, you know," he began, his voice softer than usual. "Since you two started following me. I was just a kid, younger than both of you." He took a drag from his cigar. "I just wanted to say… thank you. For the companionship."
Reuben and Thulani exchanged a surprised look. This was a new, sentimental side of Alaric they rarely saw. "Seventeen years?" Reuben repeated, his brow furrowing. "And… you were younger than us?" He seemed to be genuinely processing this for the first time. "By the Saints, you were! Two years younger! I completely forgot!"
Thulani let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. "I confess, I had forgotten as well. It never felt that way."
All three of them laughed, the sound warm and genuine in the grand office. "I've enjoyed it, you know," Alaric continued, a nostalgic smile on his face. "All those years of training, back when we were just kids. You two complaining, me pushing you until you collapsed. Good times."
Reuben's smile faded slightly, replaced by a familiar suspicion. "Alright, 'Laric, what's this about? Why are you getting all sentimental? Are you dying?"
Thulani nodded, his expression turning serious. "Are you throwing us away now that you have a wife?"
Alaric just chuckled, shaking his head. "No, you idiots." He reached under his desk and, with a grunt of effort, heaved two massive, bulging sacks onto the polished surface. Then another two. And another, until twenty large, heavy sacks sat in a veritable mountain on his desk.
"Reuben, Thulani," he said, his smile returning, "you two should go ahead and think about marrying your lovers soon. This," he gestured to the mountain of money, "is my wedding gift to you. In advance."
Reuben and Thulani stared. They had seen wealth, lived in it, but they had never seen this much physical cash in one place. They were utterly speechless.
"We… we… damn… we can't take this, 'Laric," Reuben finally managed, shaking his head. "We don't deserve this."
"He's right," Thulani agreed, his voice a low rumble of conviction.
"Nonsense," Alaric insisted. "Consider it your accumulated yearly allowance that you never received from me." He leaned forward, a teasing glint in his eye. "And when you two officially get married and have kids, I'll raise it."
"How much?" Reuben asked immediately, his practical nature overriding his shock.
Thulani shot him a look. "Have you no shame?"
Reuben just shrugged. "A man has to know."
Alaric laughed. "That," he said, pointing to the sacks, "is eight hundred and fifty thousand Reales each. Your yearly allowance has been fifty thousand. If you have children, I'll add ten thousand per year, per child." He grinned. "Have a hundred kids, you'll get a million a year."
They both sighed at his absurd joke, but then their expressions turned serious. "This won't be the first time we say this, 'Laric," Reuben began, his voice filled with a deep, unwavering sincerity, "but we are grateful. That you chose us. That we followed you."
Alaric just smiled. "You can use that to build your own houses, your own manors, on the land around the Keep."
Reuben and Thulani exchanged a look, then turned back to Alaric, their expressions identical. "Why would we do that?" Reuben asked, genuinely confused. "That's just wasting money."
"The food here is free and delicious," Thulani added, nodding. "The baths are unlimited. Why would we buy a house when we already live in paradise?"
Reuben grinned, standing up. "Thank you for the money, though!" With that, he and Thulani began to haul the heavy sacks out of the office, leaving Alaric alone.
"Oh?" Alaric was surprised at first… but smirked, leaning back in his chair and taking a final, satisfying drag from his cigar.
'Wait until your wives start nagging you for a house of your own,' he thought, a knowing chuckle escaping his lips.
[Money Withdrawal: £53,125 = 1,700,000 Reales]
[Current Balance: £418,963,435 4s. 2d.]
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