Paradise island
The temple's room was clean, well-lit and spacious—mostly because the only pieces of furniture were a narrow bed and a chest. The bed was hard, the chest was small, and Arca wished he was recovering in an inn instead. Sadly, his latest failure left him short on funds, and with no idea when and if he would get more.
But he still had his subordinates, one of which was now reporting, frantically flailing his hands.
"Master Santangelo, people said that Oliveira and a woman had talked with the ship captains until he found one who took him on board. And now they are gone! We were too late!"
Arca let out a long-suffering, then winced. He supposed he should be thankful that Myrna was kind enough to give him first aid for free—but breathing hurt.