Bab 18: The Spy's Journey
After the man finished his job, he made it a priority to leave the Port City of Maputo as quick as possible.
"They'll be delighted with what I have got," he muttered under his breath.
The man, satisfied with his work, pulled his wide-brimmed hat lower over his face as he hailed a horse-drawn carriage. The driver, a grizzled old man with a weathered face, barely glanced at him as he climbed into the carriage.
"Where to?" the driver asked in a gruff voice, his hands gripping the reins.
"Out of the city," the man replied curtly. "As far as you can take me toward the border."
The driver gave a slight nod, urging the horses forward. The carriage clattered along the cobbled streets of Maputo, weaving through the bustling crowds and dodging the occasional stray dog. The man kept his eyes forward, his mind focused on the task at hand. He knew he needed to cross the border into Votswana, a country under the tight control of the Empire of Triesenberg. There, he would report his findings to his superior, and the information he carried would be of great interest to the Empire.
As the carriage moved further away from the port, the man felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. The noise of the city gradually faded into the distance, replaced by the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the rustle of wind through the sparse trees lining the road.
After several hours, the man signaled the driver to stop. They had reached the edge of a dense forest that marked the border between Maputo and Votswana. He paid the driver and slipped into the trees, the shadows swallowing him as he moved deeper into the forest. The journey through the dense woods was slow and arduous, but the man was accustomed to such travel.
Eventually, he reached the outskirts of Votswana.
The man paused briefly at the edge of the forest, taking a moment to survey the landscape before him. The rolling hills of Votswana stretched out under the fading light of dusk, with the capital city of Gaborone faintly visible in the distance. The sight of the city brought a sense of urgency to his mission. He had valuable information to deliver, and there was no time to waste.
The man continued his journey through the rolling hills of Votswana, the landscape gradually transitioning from rural to more developed areas. As he neared Gaborone, the capital city of Votswana, the signs of Triesenberg's influence became more apparent. The roads were better maintained, and the architecture of the buildings grew more imposing
The man adjusted his hat and straightened his posture as he approached the city gates. Gaborone was a busy city with merchants, soldiers, and civilians moving about the streets. The Triesenberg flag fluttered atop government buildings, reminding the locals that the city is under Triesenberg control.
Navigating through the crowded streets, the man kept his head down. He knew exactly where he needed to go—the office of the Empire of Triesenberg's Governor. The Governor was a key figure in the region, overseeing the Empire's interests and ensuring that Votswana remained firmly under Triesenberg's control.
After weaving through a maze of narrow streets and dodging the occasional patrol, the man arrived at the Governor's residence. The building was a grand structure, its facade a blend of European and local architectural styles, designed to impress and intimidate in equal measure. Armed guards stood at the entrance, their expressions stern as they watched over the comings and goings of those who sought an audience with the Governor.
The man approached the guards confidently.
"What business do you have here negro?"
The man halted at the gate, his gaze steady as he met the guard's eyes. The question, laced with contempt, didn't faze him. He was accustomed to such treatment in Triesenberg-controlled territories, where the locals were often viewed with disdain. But he knew better than to let his emotions show; his mission was too important.
With a calm demeanor, he reached into his coat and produced a small, engraved medallion—the same one he had used to gain entry to the Governor's residence in Maputo. The medallion bore the insignia of the Empire of Triesenberg, a symbol that commanded respect and immediate recognition.
The guard's expression shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the medallion. After a tense moment, he stepped aside and gave a curt nod.
"Proceed," the guard said, though the distaste in his voice was still evident.
The man returned the medallion to his coat pocket and walked past the guards, entering the grand courtyard that led to the Governor's residence.
As he approached the entrance, a black servant appeared, bowing slightly as he gestured for the man to follow him. The man obliged, trailing behind the servant as they walked through the opulent halls adorned with portraits of Triesenberg's leaders and scenes of their military conquests.
Finally, they reached the Governor's office, a large, elaborately furnished room that exuded authority. The servant knocked lightly on the door, and a deep voice from within called out, "Enter."
The man stepped inside, finding himself face-to-face with Governor Heinrich von Strauss. The Governor sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his steely blue eyes assessing the man as he entered.
"What brings you here?" Von Strauss asked.
The man approached the desk and, without a word, placed the small camera he had used to photograph the Valorian fleet onto the polished wood. He then took a step back, waiting for the Governor to inspect the contents.
Von Strauss grabbed a handkerchief from the corner of his desk and delicately wiped the camera clean, his lips curling into a slight sneer as he did so. He inspected the contents of the camera where he saw an armada stationed off the coast. There are battleships, aircraft carriers, a cruiser, and destroyers. Such a magnificent fleet and a grand design made his brows furrow. As far as he knows, there is no Triesenese Fleet stationed or near the Kingdom of Zambesi. Whom could it belong to? Britannia, Francais, Ruthenia, Fredonia? But the flag fluttering on the mast of each ship was none of these. Instead, it was a flag he had never seen before.
This detail alone made von Strauss pause, his fingers tightening around the camera as he processed what he was seeing.
"Where did you take these?" von Strauss asked curiously.
"Off the coast of the Kingdom of Zambesi, Herr Governor," the man replied evenly. "The fleet arrived recently, and has made direct contact with the Governor of Maputo."
"And who are they?"
"According to the locals, they are from the country of Valoria?"
"Valoria?" von Strauss repeated. "There is no country in this world named Valoria, and if there is one, I don't think the world wouldn't notice their presence given their naval assets. Are you sure or you are just telling lies to me?"
The man stood firm, meeting Governor von Strauss's gaze without flinching.
"The camera told no lies, Herr Governor," he said calmly. "And neither do I. The locals were adamant about the name—Valoria. It's as if they emerged from nowhere."
Von Strauss frowned, his mind racing with possibilities. A nation with such a formidable navy, unknown to the world powers, was an anomaly that could not be ignored. If Valoria was truly as powerful as this fleet suggested, it posed a significant threat—or opportunity—for the Triesenberg Empire.
"Very well. I will report this to the High Command. Your job here is done, now get out negro."
The man bowed before exiting the room.
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