Puerto Rico always heard them. Those whispers that were supposed to be quiet and hushed behind raised hands and exchanged glances. After all, what kind of 13 year old boy was made to work heavy labour in the fields? He was obviously some kind of troublemaker (he had grinned at that) and clearly too small to be anything but a burden.

He'd heard them say it and he had scowled darkly at them, daring them to speak the words to his face. España just wandered the rows of sugar cane with a cold but carefree smile and gazed down at him expectantly.

"Emmanuel, if you just stand there glaring at me instead of working, you'll only be proving them right," he told Guey mockingly. "So show them how strong you think you are."

Guey examined España from head to well-shod toe. The bastard didn't even have the decency to sweat when the rest of them were half-drowning in it. And so it had seemed like a good idea to spit at the Spaniard and maybe landing face-first in the dust with a boot digging into his spine wasn't ideal, but it gave him some satisfaction to see that arí lose his cool.

He'd made sure he loaded the next wagon by himself.