Timing is everything in business. Christophe’s merchant father told him that, and Christophe follows this religiously. His father is a very successful man. Never drink from another man’s well. His mother told him that, but his mother was paranoid. “I require hot water.” He hands him his teapot. Besides, there were ways to protect oneself from mildly hostile barkeeps.

"¡Buenos días. So, which of you has the other half of the map?”

“That would be I.” Nettle’s shoulders and neck stiffen when Christophe speaks from behind her. She did not see him walk in, or else she would have given acknowledgement. She should be more aware of her surroundings, or else she may be taken as for rude.

Christophe dumps his backpack onto their shared table, revealing the other half of a map, a number of utensils, tea leaves, dice, cards, saucers and cups and other knack and knicks. And thirteen snakes, which his stunned companions are most surprised

At this most perfect time, the barkeep squeakingly hands him his teapot back.

“Give ‘dem a ‘ood show” his mother said.

When he received his teapot, he open up the lid and breathes in deeply. His eyes roll to the back of his head and trances momentarily. Clean.

“Let me share with you friends.” He speaks in his deep, baritone voice. He picks through the snakes for tealeaves and not a few times they give a warning hiss toward him, but none did bite. He pushes them around to accommodate the cups, which he soon filled with hot tea. He finally sits down.

“This is what you were looking fer right?” He speaks with a moderate creole accent, though he speaks with the King’s English just fine. He whips his half torn map from this pile of snakes and rests it just on top of them.

“They look anxious.” Alexandrine whispers. The tiny garden snake always whispers, though Christophe is the only one who hears her.