The man that greeted him was Sarel Cilliers. Sarel had a hand stretched out, and Jan took his hand, shaking it.

"Good to see you here," Sarel remarked, speaking in fluent Elfrikaans.

"Good to see you too, Sarel," Jan replied, and their hands disconnected from each other's grasp.

"Much more confident than your first time, shall I introduce you to everyone around here?"

"Thank you very much, Sarel."

The two slithered around the room. Sarel pointed to the various peoples who showed up, fellow Veldkornets and Commandoes who were popular enough in the various local communities to get elected.

"Most of these men…" Sarel paused to greet someone else before continuing," were there at the Great Trek with me and Pretorius. Thus, they settled around Pietermaritzburg."

"Wait, so the members of the Volksraad consist solely of members in Pietermaritzburg? Isn't the Volksraad supposed to represent the Natalia Republic in its entirety?"

"That would be the ideal. But the other Commandoes further out did not want to fall other Pretorius authority, so they settled further away from us. It's the best we can come up with. What can I say? We are fiercely independent people."

Sarel stopped in his footsteps and turned to face Jan.

"That reminds me, have you gone to the Church recently?"

Jan was about to scrunch up his expression, but he suppressed that feeling and replied, "I've recently had to meet with the missionary leader at a local Anglican Church. The pastor had clothes shipped from England to clothe the local natives and sought my opinion on its distribution."

Sarel did not hold the same restraint and scrunched up his expression instead. He was polite, and let it fade away. Jan naturally didn't question him on it.

"How did you do it?"

"I had the pastor sent the clothes to a Veldkornet managing the Zulu districts. I let her decide on the distribution. The pastor was uncomfortable, wanting to have some oversight on the matter, but I told him it would be best to let local authorities handle the situation the best."

"Did the man back down?" Sarel was interested in the story and kept mum on his displeasure of Jan's dealings with the Anglicans.

"He insisted on taking part in the distribution process. I joined in as well, curious about how the Veldkornet will handle distribution. She had subordinate elves lug over the English clothes and went hut to hut, letting the occupants have a look at the clothes they want. At every stop, a few minutes would go by, but clothes for an entire family would disappear. I believed we passed through about a quarter of the Zulu districts before the clothes ran out. The pastor had no complaints but requested to join any future clothes distributions."

Sarel nodded in understanding.

"I understand that the local Dutch Protestant Church may not have as many resources as the British, but I'm sure we can collaborate in future events."

"More volunteers would be a delight in future charitable events. I may have to seek out the pastor to see if they are willing to collaborate."

'I know that you're going to mooch off the English resources and claim that it's donated by you. Smart. There's little reason for the pastor to reject it after all.'

"It would be better if we are close by. Would you be interested in funding a local Dutch Church in your little town? It would be easier to collaborate this way."

"I would be interested, but I lack the manpower willing to staff such a building."

"I will look into it. I have a few candidates in mind, that would best spread the teachings of God to your people."

"Thank you very much, Sarel."

"No, thank you, Jan. Now, where was I…"

Sarel absentmindedly looked around him and found that people have already shifted positions while they were lost in their conversation. He pointed at someone and told Jan, "Come, let me introduce you to…"

Every man in the room was amiable to him. Most men here were comrades during the Battle of Blood River, all their descendants. They mostly joked about his poor showing when he first came to the Volksraad but praised his good command of Elfrikaans after about a couple of months. They told stories about him and his father, and all the dumb things his father did. But most of all, they remarked on his quick ascension through the Boer hierarchy.

"A mere son of a Veldkornet. And now you're a fully-fledged Commando."

"I don't think so, he has to share his power with the Zulus. More of a Veldkornet than a Commando."

"Still a promotion nonetheless."

In the end, he went to his position, right beside Secretary Joren who greeted him.

"Ahh, Jan. Glad to see you here. I've been busy with other affairs. So, I'm sorry to not spend so much time visiting your town."

"It's ok. You have done plenty for the town."

"There is one matter I was looking to discuss with you face to face, but I haven't found the time to do so. Do you mind if we discuss this now?"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Sure."

Joren took out another stash of papers and ruffled through them.

"You see, the presence of the Anglican Church is a nuisance to the slave trading business I have with the Abyssinian Alemayehu. The pastor and his men have intruded into my men's affairs, disrupting the network. My men have resorted to using wagons to discreetly transport our stock to Alemayehu's vessels, but the pastor is making investigations into our activities. Could you do something to get rid of the man? I don't know why you decided to invite the Anglican Church, but they are an unwelcomed presence."

Joren stared at Jan, wondering what the hell he was thinking. A Dutchman, sucking up to the English. Their faiths aren't even similar, and they have to go to different Churches.

"It's not up to me. You see, the Port has attracted a sizeable population of English trekkers and they requested a Church. Since I have little reason to do so, I decided to invite missionaries nearby to construct one in the Port. I'm sorry if it causes trouble with your trade. Perhaps you should pay the man off?" Jan lied, hoping Joren didn't notice.

Joren squinted and sighed. "I would have done so, but that man took my bribe and thanked me for donating to the Church. I don't even know what to say. How can there be such a shameless pastor!"

"Perhaps a secluded section of the port can be constructed further away from his eyes. You might be able to conceal your activities then."

"That would be good. But I do not wish to burden you with this since the current measures are working. Perhaps if the pastor escalates this, then we shall consider doing so."

The two made small talk for the next minutes before settling down as the Volksraad began. Andries Pretorius was nowhere in sight, but it didn't matter, for the words here have little effect in this expensive social club. At least Jan's getting two-pound sterling a day.

After the day's meeting, he headed for the library and looked at the various books. Most were in Dutch, but there were scant English books, no doubt donated by some English trekkers. He leafed through those and enjoyed the pleasure of reading Victorian-era literature from England.

He took a short break at the shooting range firing rounds with his trusty musket to allow his eyes to rest. There, he met with Pretorius who was busy firing away round after round at the targets.

His first shot struck the centre of the 50-metre target. His second shot struck the centre of the 100-metre target. His third shot, as you have guessed, did not strike the centre of the 150-metre target. Swearing, he reloaded his musket and cocked it before firing another shot. This time, it struck through the centre.

Pretorius looked at Jan looking at him. Jan looked at the targets with holes in them.

"Jan, good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Pretorius."

"I bet you're wondering why I'm still practising so hard even though the Zulu war is over. That might be true, but they aren't the only tribe here. Another Shaka Zulu might come and take away everything we built."

Embarrassed that Pretorius read his thoughts, he tried to mould his expression into someone as emotionless as he could be.

"Good attempt at a poker face. But I can still tell it's one. You get that much experience leading trekkers through hostile elven tribes."

"You think war's going to break out, aren't you? I doubt another Shaka Zulu would pop up. Queen Mpande is unlikely to betray us since we installed her into power. I don't think the British would be reasserting their rights on us since we haven't been hostile to them. So, who is the true enemy since we should be safe in Pietermaritzburg?" Jan asked, analysing the situation.

"You have talked with Sarel. You should know there are many other trekker parties led by other leaders out there. Some of them are friendly to me. Friendly might be understating it. They look up to me for the victory at the Battle of Blood River, allowing us to settle in these lands without much resistance from Elfrican chiefs. The rest are hostile and fear that we might do something to them. Such as reasserting my leadership as representative of all Boers in South Elfirca," Pretorius shook his head.

"You fear that one of the Boer Commandoes would launch an attack? Who would do so?"

"There is a man named Hendrik Potgieter. We were once brothers, fighting to avenge our fellow Boers slain by Dingane. He once led a group with another commander, Uys. They were ambushed at Italeni by the Zulus, and Uys were slaughtered. We knew the two didn't get along, so some even blamed him for causing Uys death. He left and moved further North, in the Transvaal region."

"What happened to him?"

"He went off to form a town called Potchefstroom, from what I heard from him. He established a Republic known as the Potchefstroom Republic, though, I do not know how Republican is it since he only brought his followers along with him. This is somewhere in the Transvaal region, so somewhere far north."

Jan tilted his head to the side.

"There's very far away. It doesn't seem to be something to be worried about."

"But that's the thing. We are extremely decentralized, and I have little contact with the other Commandoes. I know little about their affairs. There might be conflict amongst them, and we may get dragged into something troublesome. The British will ask about this and that, and I will have to answer to them."

"I don't think that's something to worry about. We have access to the latest British firearms. We can get them quickly compared to the trekkers who are further inland. Let us not mention the easy availability of British artillery. We could outmatch them in any conflict."

"I do not wish for conflict amongst us. But I fear that the young Commandoes would get too hot-blooded and bring trouble upon me. Then I must put an end to their conflict with our guns. It might lead to unthinkable consequences."

"I see."

The two stayed silent, unsure of what else to discuss.

"Anyway, Pretorius, mind coaching me on improving my aim?"

Pretorius shrugged, "It wouldn't harm me to do so."

A small group of English council members from St Lucia decided to visit Port Mpande. As they sat in their wagons and watched the passing scenery, they noticed the increased traffic amongst the shipping lanes as they neared the town. A couple of kilometres away, they found the Port.

"It seems bigger than St Lucia." Tom Simon, an English councilmember remarked, and the rest of them nodded.

Their wagon entered the town's dirt roads, where work has been done to pave them. A mix of elves and men worked to pave the district roads. They did not mix amongst themselves, segregating themselves into two groups to work amongst their people.

"They have a lot of slaves!" A councilmember remarked, pointing at the elves.

"Are you sure that's a slave? That one has a rifle on their back. Could be a Griqua? The elf gene must be strong."

Now that he mentioned it, he noticed how everyone had guns on their backs. He even saw a rat. No! The wagon turned around the bend and he saw a whole group of rats carrying all manner of instruments that he could not recognize. The one leading the group held a compass, and they spoke in German.

"The rats that appeared during the Black Death are also here. Damn it, why can't those vermin just be left in Europe!"

The rats all turned to look at the man cursing their name, and he quickly shut up, showing a meek smile.

They got off their wagon, docking it by a local inn before wandering about the town. Two things they found out quickly. The two were divided in two. One was for humans, and the other was for elves. And whenever they tried to cross into the elven section, they were warned not to do so. They decided to do it anyway, but they received stares from the elves on the other side. Thinking better, they retreated to the human districts. One notable thing was that food was considerably cheap. Zulu maize was the cheapest and seemed to be purchased by most city dwellers.

At the town hall, they found a couple of men picking up litter and trash. One of them swept the manure left by the various cattle away. When a passing cow decided to add more manure to the streets, it yelled at its owner, and the owner yelled back. The men grumbled but continued picking up the trash.

Walking into the town hall, they could see bureaucrats scrambling from room to room hauling papers. Introducing themselves as a delegation from St Lucia in English, the bureaucrat headed off to another room and brought a certain red-haired man. That man looked like an Englishman.

"Greetings gentlemen from St Lucia, I am Russell Corbyn, the head of the Port Mpande administration. How can I help you?"

"We are here as a social call to our neighbours by St Lucia Bay. We thank you for the warm welcome."

"Let me bring you a tour around town. I'm sure you must be lost."

Russell Corbyn began bringing the group around. Like the other residents, he explained that the town was divided in half, one half belonging to humans, the other belonging to elves. He advised them to stay in their districts due to recent tensions between the groups.

"Some might say the elves are savages or whatnot. But we have employed elves in the administration, and I can say they are as capable as humans. It's not as if they are hostile to you. I heard from a colleague that they are rather fascinated due to how different you look from them," Russell pointed at his pale arms.

"My skin colour is pale, while theirs are much darker. You can understand where the fascination lies."

Russell waved to a female elf dressed similarly in Victorian wear as him at another district, who also waved back.

"Let us go to the heart of the town. The port."

He led them to the port and showed them the crowded waters filled with boats. Men were lugging cargo from ships to warehouses by the shore. Men were paddling small boats filled with goods unloaded from bigger ships, bringing them to shore. Others were inspecting the ships, scraping the barnacles off the bottom of the hull.

"We carry various goods from Ethiopia, Egypt and even Arabia. The port is rather attractive as we are a free trade port. We do not tax whatever goods you bring in. We collect a fixed service fee depending on the vessel."

After walking about the port, they headed back to the town hall.

"So, any questions?"

The Englishmen were speechless throughout the tour. And here, they did not what to ask either.

"I see there are no questions. Well then gentlemen, do have a good day."