The Architect

“LA PUTA MADRE!” bellowed the man dressed in the fancy clothes that were now drenched with pig’s blood.

On his rush to alert the lieutenant about the approaching ship, Diego had collided with an Indian slave who had been carrying a container full of the crimson liquid used for the mixing of mortar.

The container and its contents had flown through the air and splashed onto the prim and extravagant attire of a bespectacled man who had been standing nearby.

“Look what you’ve done?” the Architect said pointing at the wall. Such was the nickname the soldiers had given this new resident of the fortress. He had been brought from the mother country and put in charge of continuing the restoration that had begun some time ago, years after the destruction wrought by the infamous English pirate.

“Get the slaves to clean it,” Diego told him and began to walk away.

The Architect stepped in front of him and blocked his path.

“Look at this stone block!” he hissed, removing his spectacles. “You see these forms right here? They’re the remnants of animals. The frozen remains of God’s own creatures. This is his fortress,” the man said spreading his arms as if embracing magnificence, “the first of its kind in the new world. It is the overt divine will of our Great Architect!”

Diego looked around him and saw the amused looks of the Indian and black slaves who had put down their tools to watch the dispute.

Then he looked at the quarried stone.

...its intricate marine forms...

“Forgive me, Don Ovideo, I see now the error of my way. The thing is,” Diego said raising his spyglass, “I just spotted a flag-less ship on the horizon, and if they are enemies of the crown or murderous pirates, I need to deliver my message to prevent the scoundrels from blasting your puta madre.”

He pressed the spyglass on the Architect’s chest and moved him aside.

The man’s face turned white then red like the clay in the mortar, but he did not protest and stepping aside, he let the soldier continue on his errand.