His eyes widen at the pieces of eight I place on the table. It’s worth far more than the cost of a few broken tables and some spilled booze. It’s good to keep one’s friends happy. Especially friends like Santiago, who’ve proven more than once to be an excellent source of both information and ale.

“A little extra for labor,” I say with a smile. It’s the smile that’s smoothed over more than one sticky situation at the society parties my father insists on hosting. It works only half as well on a man like Santiago, but it works all the same.

The fight goes out of him as he huffs a defeated sigh. “I take it you’re not sticking around to help clean up.”

“Not really our style,” Ana chimes in as she all but skips toward the door.

“We do have a reputation to maintain,” I add, sheathing my own blade.

Santiago mutters something about street rats and hooligans, but once I cross the threshold, the sounds of the busy thoroughfare drown out his complaint.

It’s late, but Potosí is as alive as ever. Torchlight floods the road like spilled honey, leaving only the alleys in darkness. I can hear bodies shifting in some of them with the telltale sound of fabric sliding out of the way. It’s honest work, I suppose, but those women won’t earn nearly as much as the ones in the brothels down the road.

People spill out of taverns. Some to fight, some to drink, some because they’ve run out of coin to pay for their habits. There’s a place nearby that hosts the most vicious card game this side of the Atlantic, but I’m not sure I have enough left on me for the buy-in.

“Where to next?” Ana asks, slipping her hat on her head. She’s tucked her hair up under it, but there’s nothing she could do to make herself look like anything less than the beautiful young woman she is. She throws her arms out to her sides and spins as she walks. “The city is our oyster. Where shall we hunt for our pearl?”

“Aren’t you tired?” I ask.

“Tired?” Ana’s smile is more like a baring of fangs than anything else. “You know I’m never tired after a fight. I could take on another ten men, easy. Twenty maybe.”

“I envy you your vitality,” I say. It’s a lie. A small one, but still. I’m not tired. Not in the least.