Camino Real

Due to the cochero technically becoming an accomplice to crimes against the Guardia Civil, he wouldn't let his passengers disembark from his carriage, or rather the carriage he drives that is owned by his amo. The driver was scared both for himself and his operator. Being complicit in a crime, regardless of severity will endanger his belongings, family, and even his own life. He had a family who lived in Morong, and as soon as they could connect his passengers to his handler and to himself, he could already consider his family tortured and kidnapped. In fact, it's so bad for an indio that even his punishment can be carried over to any Castila. He needed to sort out the situation first and deliriously declared to them over and over that "You will not get off until you talk to my boss." and that "You will have to clear this up, or this will end badly for all of us!"

Rodrigo and Guelio tried persuading him with an increasing incentives of cash, all to no avail.

"I'm not going to replace money with my own security. Besides, the friars back home will question where I got the money. They'll declare me a thief and call the Guard on me. The problem will just find a way to present itself again and again."

At every urge by Rodrigo and Guelio to change his mind, he would just pour word after word in heated, accented Tagalog. He wouldn't budge and soon, he didn't even reply to them, and only kept the carruaje trudge forward to wherever his amo lived. There was a permanent scowl was on his face, as the sweat ran across it, only looking ahead on the dirt roads that carried him and his delinquent passengers.

Guelio, sensing the situation was undesirable for now, gave up for a moment and looked the window. Though their atmosphere was tense, the scenery they were travelling along was beautiful: the Pasig River. Full of kiyapo plants that float like a mosaic on the clear, pristine water, the river was full of bancas carrying different goods from Spanish, Chinese and native traders. From afar, on the mouth of the river, Guelio could recognize the pennants and ensigns of French, Swedish, Qing, British and Dutch trading ships, using Manila as their transit hub from Asia to the rest of the Occidental world and vice versa.

They followed the river the entire time, passing through poblacions, mercados, paroquias, and haciendas, all the way east near the source of the life giving river, the town of Nueva Donostia. Their own home town.

It was originally a settlement by those who descended from warriors in Selurong, with stories of magic and mischief surrounding the small village. When the Spanish arrived a reduccion set up in the area by the Augustinian priests, to help control the enraged natives after the Conspiracy of the Maharlikas, where some of their datus were arrested for inciting sedition against the government. As the centuries past, after the invasion of Limahong, the British, and the Dutch, it soon became a suburb of Manila, Pearl of the East. Wealthy mestizo families built their summer vistas as a way to avoid the congestion of the capital, while being an hour's ride away at most. Those families happened to include the Sanreals and the Santiagos.

Although born and baptized within the stone walls of Old Manila, they were largely raised in the quiet town, probably as a way to help the children avoid the stress of their fathers' work. Growing up in Nueva Donostia as kids, they would've roamed and explored every square foot of the town. They ventured in every cave, at every clearing and through every creek possible. In fact, Rodrigo himself knew the land like it was the back of his hand, able to navigate using any landmark, natural or man-made with accuracy. It was something that Guelio couldn't seem to get a hang off, and would want to learn.

From the wide plains and lush greenery, the road they took is almost parallel to the Camino Real, the arterial road of the Province of Manila. That road led to the town, passing directly through it. The center of the town featured a generic statue of a Spanish mounted dragoon, similar to one found in the original city of Donostia in Spain. To its north lies the Parish of Saint Sebastian, a wide Baroque style church littered with carvings, murals and paintings of saints and other holy men. Beside it was the convent, built to house the priest and other religious. To the west of the statue was the municipal hall. Here the town tribunes are regularly held concerning anything from altercations, to town feasts to the monthly taxes. To the east were the rows of nipa huts, and small stone houses whose residents were the indios and some less privileged Spanish immigrants. Farther down the road, there were much bigger houses with asuteya, yards and even little patches of forest. Though all of the grand abodes were owned by equally grand families, one of them stood out the most. That house, not there a mere decade ago, was the destination of their journey.

Along the way, though he was frankly annoyed, the cochero couldn't resist telling stories about recent happenings in the town. He rambled on and on about, making gestures in the air willy-nilly, looking back to gauge their reaction.

"Did you know the parish? That corrupted thing? Yes? Well, the parish is now under a Filipino! A Filipino! A secular Filipino at that, appointed just recently by the Bishop in Manila. Even after Franciscans fought over control of the area. Probably because there's a lot of people to demand money and products from!"

Guelio nodded briskly, while Rodrigo silently stared on forward.

"The cabezas de barangay, meanwhile, were frequently meeting with each other through the tribunals because they still couldn't choose their capitan municipal. They've been struggling to decide between themselves who should be the tax collector of the entire town! Nobody wants that burden on their back." 

"In lighter news though, a new bakery opened up in the far side of town near the river. It's actually owned by my amo and her friend. She's friends with the haciendero that's settled in this town recently. I'm not sure if you know her. It's funny because she set me out to go to port to pick up some of her friends, but they didn't appear in the ship they were supposed to."

Rodrigo, though silent for the majority of the trip, perked up all of a sudden. He prodded the cochero further on who his amo is. The look on his face was as if he was about to be in a sour mood again, but it changed back a split-second later to a more cordial face. 

"Ah. Well her name is Señorita Jazmin Vargas. Why? Do you know her?"

"Yes, I do. She's an old friend."

"If that be the case, then it's great that you're the criminal. It'll make the settlement easier for all of us." replied the man sarcastically.

Rodrigo was all of a sudden in a very bright mood, smiling widely. Guelio couldn't help but sigh. He and his friend were excited to meet their childhood friend, albeit the condition of the meeting could've been better.

Jazmin Vargas was the unica hija of her family, descendants of a noble Tagalog line that became Hispanicized. Vargas isn't their true last name, though even history has already forgotten what their name was. Their entire family had lived either in Manila or the towns surrounding it as a part of the aristocracy. Her nuclear family may not be the wealthiest, or the most renown of their lineage, but they are respectable, reputable members of the Nueva Donostian community. Their family, along with the Nieves family, the lineage of their other friend, Renee, got into the business of selling foodstuff from surrounding provinces. 

The carriage went to the far side of the town, where the plaza was barely visible. Moving southward, they were to cross the great Pasig river, which divided the town in two. A bridge connected the two parts of Nueva Donostia, arguably two different places themselves. The north of the river, holding the poblacion was of a more proletarian, more indio background, with the nipa huts and small stone buildings. To the south, the rich families built their houses and created a mini-Intramuros, not walled by stone, but by wooden fences. To each of their sides were vast tracts of farmland, nestled between hardwood forests, sloping on the mountains that to the West hold Santa Ana, and to the east hold San Juan. Standing on the other side of the bridge, nearly leaning on a brick house was a rectangular tenement-like structure, akin to the buildings in Berlin and Prague. The facade was colored brick red and it had wooden French doors on its front. 

There, two women were talking to each other vividly. One was dressed in a pastel blue dress, something appropriate for the May weather. She carried the air of nobility and grace while being distinctly native. She demanded respect not by her stature -- she barely stood above five feet -- but by simply existing. The one she was talking to, clearly a mestiza, was wearing ordinary work clothes, made from light fabric. Still, she didn't look like a typical obrera though. She wore spectacles, and had the a certain aura of gentleness. She was carrying a basket full of bread and what seemed to be a stack of books, and clearly it was the focus of their conversation. 

"They're having a bread talk." said Guelio, pointing at them.

"No way, it can't be them. Nuestra amigas viejas? [Our old friends?]"

Guelio nodded, almost excited he'd get his first taste of home, with his first girl-friends. From the carriage, he already wanted to catch their attention, but Rodrigo beat him to it.

"Renee!" "Jazmin!" "I've missed you!"