NOVPUB
Chapter 41: Fort James
Interestingly, the appearance of an AR instance was not thunderous. Rather, there was a subtle change that everyone could feel, like a gentle buzz within the soul, signaling that something extraordinary had appeared here.
Damon lifted his eyes from within the vehicle and glanced at the fort, sighing internally as he opened the door and got down. As his car had squeezed itself to the front of the fort in this time using his special police escort, he got down and was seen by everyone around.
"Eiii, no be the Bossu Kena that?" (TL: Wow, isn’t that the number 1 boss?)
"Chale, I forget sef say the guy dey from our side." (TL: Yeah, I even forget he was one of ours.)
"The guy fine small, but he be too young. What he fit know?" (TL: He’s quite handsome, but he is too young. What could he possibly know?)
"Hmm, me I say make we just shut up den watch. Abain dey, I no want take beatings." (TL: Well, I say that we should simply shut up and watch. The police are here and I don’t want to be beaten.)
The moment he appeared, Damon could feel all eyes on his person that were a mixture of curious, disapproving, and full of caution. Africans, if not Ghanaians, were some of the most judgmental fellows out there, not hesitating to openly share their thoughts about anything, especially negative ones.
However, even though they were like that, they were aware that Damon was a powerhouse above even the president of America, so just as they would be subdued in that person’s presence, they were similarly subdued when he stepped out.
From another vehicle disembarked the current president and vice president of Ghana, along with the chief of staff, the minister for defense, and the chief of police. These four men and one woman, who were all old enough to be elder brothers to his own father, came to politely greet him with controlled expressions.
"Mr. Prime Representative, would you like to make a ceremony for the opening of an AR instance here within our capital?" The president asked after shaking Damon’s hand.
"Why not? This is the first opening and Ghanaians will come to remember this day for a long time. However, I will leave the process to you, especially the speech, since you are more learned and eloquent than me?" Damon responded with a relatively amiable smile.
The President chuckled and nodded to the chief of staff, who immediately made some calls and orders. In about 5 minutes of time, new cars came in with various materials and workers who quickly cordoned off an area in front of the fort for the ceremony.
A ribbon was tied around the entrance and a podium lifted, with the singing of a few church hymns, an opening prayer, the speech from the various dignitaries starting from the chief of police right up to the president, then the ribbon cutting, more singing, and a closing prayer.
This event was broadcasted by all the local television stations as well as some special foreign stations like Fox, CNN, BBC, and Al Jazeera who came for the elusive Prime Representative more than anything else.
As the president and co were taking interviews, they managed to creep up to the side of Damon with keen eyes, feeling that this was their chance to get the Prime Representative on TV before the others.
However, it was futile as Damon only nodded to the president and walked right into the fort, keen on increasing his power and putting these meaningless political plays behind him. You think someone like Garton cared about your little ceremony while he was scheming to make you his indentured servant for life?
The fort was different on the inside compared to the outside, with some technological renovations and a special display made to showcase the various highlights of its existence for tourism purposes.
Damon hadn’t been here before, so he did stop to take a look and analyze the layout, since this fort might be the focal point of the AR instance, though it would likely be newer and more populated.
From the moment Damon stepped through the heavy gate, he had entered an expansive yard with very rough and slightly pockmarked ground. Looking around the yard of the fort, he saw the thick white walls that were tall and covered with battlements and a few dilapidated cannons.
Directly to his left from the gate, there were a bunch of small rooms with thick doors that led to some dark cells with low ceilings, the air extremely dry and stale.
Walking forward, Damon saw a stone staircase leading upwards, which was uneven but still sturdy even after all this time. At the top of the stairs, a long hall stretched out before the young man, revealing some rotten wooden beams above along with narrow windows on each side, with thin strips of sunlight creating thin lines on the dusty floor.
To the right, another door opened to a tight passage that was quite gloomy. Damon walked along and saw dark splotches on the walls, along with extremely faded handprints that seemed to paint a slight eerie image.
As he went along, the passage finally led to a deep room with cold grey walls where the ceiling was quite low and the floor felt damp due to the proximity to the sea. n𝚘𝚟𝚙u𝚋.co𝚖
Damon looked up to see rusted chains hanging from the hard stone, weaving themselves into bonds that filled the chamber on all sides. The handprints were much deeper here and so were the splotches, and the young man did not need to watch a history documentary to guess what they were for.
This was the main holding pen back then for sure, and it was a very silent area. Now, even more than before, Damon hoped that the AR instance would not take them back to a scenario within that time period, because he felt he was not ready to see what went on back then.
Walking back outside, Damon sucked a deep, clean breath and seemed to expel some heaviness in his chest, firming his mind as he continued downwards, passing by a wide tower at the corner, which was likely used to scout the area or signal passing ships.
Inside the tower, the space was round with thick walls. Damon climbed the spiral stairs to the top and took in the majestic view that showed the great blue ocean stretching far into the horizon, the sea breeze at this angle being very strong, as it made his clothes shudder, as well as cool enough to remove the effects of the afternoon sun blazing down.
Damon turned to see the AR instance which formed a circular portal-like existence within the tower, displaying a scene of the fort from a detached perspective that covered the entire front and side area.
The fort here was much newer and the roads around it were less developed, with a few carriages parked at the front. There was no sign of human presence within the fort from the instance portal’s image, so Damon couldn’t tell if it was the second iteration or the third.
In the end, he hesitated no longer and walked through, feeling his body pass through a thin film that felt like putting on a glove, but over his whole body. His consciousness blurred, as if he was zoning out heavily, and when he came to, he realized he was in a far different situation than he expected.
Gone was his modern tuxedo he always wore, replaced by traditional wear that he had patronized many times for family events in the past like funerals, which was a pair of khaki shorts, a simple shirt that was covered in white and black African kente cloth.
On his feet were a pair of Moses sandals that were stepping on the sandy and uneven road that could not support cars for any period of time but was suitable for carriages. Damon looked up to see that he was surrounded by an entourage of similarly dressed Ghanaians, many of them standing behind him subserviently.
Opposite him were a bunch of hard-faced sailors wielding swords at their waists and flintlocks at their sides. They were all white and had a mixture of black and brown hair with mostly brown eyes, with a few blue ones, like the one in the lead.
He was a tall European man with a sun-worn face, tanned from months at sea. His visage was framed by dark, wavy hair that curled at the edges of his weathered hat, along with a rough beard that covered his jaw, speckled with the first signs of gray.
His sharp eyes, a light blue hue, scanned the entourage with curiosity and caution. He wore a loose white shirt, its linen fabric damp with sweat from the hot air of the tropics, and over it, a dark blue doublet clung to his lean frame, the fabric faded from seafaring.
A leather belt, worn and cracked, held a sword on his left and an aged flintlock on his other side, leading down to brown trousers that were tucked into high boots. A beaded necklace hung from his neck, a charm from home or perhaps a trade with another land.
