Five and Twenty Ponies #5 Letters for a Spy

 

“It’ll be dawn soon.” Kestrel watched the night sky as they left the plantation. “Just one more delivery: This sealed envelope for Mr McGuire at the King’s Head Inn. Paid in full. Await instructions if necessary. I hope we’re not waiting too long. I want to get back to Port Royal, and maybe spend some hard-earned coin there.”

“Aye.” Scar nodded.

Kestrel’s legs ached as they reached a house on the wide dirt trail running from the bastion. A hanging sign above the door depicted King Charles II, illuminated by the lamps outside.

“God rest the Merry Monarch.” Kestrel gave a mock curtsy to the sign. “I may have no love for royalty, but he was supposed to be good for a laugh. And at least he wasn't a Puritan.”

“Come on.” Scar ushered him inside.

The interior of the King’s Head smelled of wood smoke. Kestrel ignored the stares of the patrons as he strode over to the bar.

“What do you want?” The innkeeper spat into a tankard and polished it with a once-white rag.

“Ale,” Kestrel leaned closer. “And I’m looking for Mr McGuire.”

The innkeeper fell silent at the mention of the name. He filled a tankards from the cask and placed it on the bar. Kestrel raised it in a toast when he heard Scar clear his throat. His companion gestured for the tankard.

“Greedy bastard.” Kestrel handed it over.

Scar pulled out a scrap of paper wedged in the bottom of the tankard and unfolded it. He handed them both back. Kestrel squinted at the note.

I am being watched. Up to you to make the delivery.

Kestrel pocketed the note and looked around the bar. Three men in mud-caked clothes sat at one table, conversing over ale and bowls of soup. Three men in uniform sat at another. A lone man sat at the table between them. He made eye contact with Kestrel, nodding at the occupied tables.

“That must be our man.” Kestrel murmured to Scar, “Any thoughts?”

“Oi, what are you looking at?” One of the men from the first table lumbered towards the bar. “What’s with that sword? It looks Spanish. Are you Spanish?”

“This will make an interesting diversion.” Kestrel turned back to the bar and took a long drink from his ale.

“Didn’t you hear me?” the man grabbed Kestrel’s shoulder. “Don’t you speak English, Spaniard?”

“I speak it just fine, mate." He replied. "And I’m telling you to unhand me.”

“Or what?”

Kestrel elbowed the man in the stomach.

Scar grabbed the man and threw him into the second table. Tankards and bowls spilled their contents. Stools scraped. Conversations ceased. The other five patrons stood up and advanced. The lone man stood up and then walked to the door.

“Do you want to fight us one at a time or altogether?” Kestrel stepped forwards and grinned.

One man grabbed him. Another punched him in the torso.

“Fair enough.” He kicked the attacker below the belt. The second man swung at his face. He lurched sideways. The punch struck the man holding him.

“Everything alright?” He said to Scar. 

His companion knocked two heads together. He gave him a thumbs up.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Kestrel sent another man flying with an uppercut. He shoved his way to the door.

Kestrel breathed in the night air as he stepped outside.

“You have a strange way of being discreet.” An Irish-accented voice said.

Kestrel saw the lone patron emerge from around the corner of the inn.

“Well, you left it in our hands.” Kestrel produced the letter.

“Do you have a vessel? I fear your heavy-handedness has compromised me.”

“No need to shoot the messenger.” Kestrel said. “And Scar and I have finesse. We’re not heavy-handed.”

A man flew out of the window.

“That’s some finesse.” Mr McGuire said. “But I need passage.”

“We have a boat at the dock." Kestrel said. "And a vessel waiting at the mouth of the river. We must be back before the morning tide.”

“Take me with you." Mr McGuire handed over five shillings. "I’ll hang if I stay here. They’re on to me.”

“How will we get past the bastion?” Kestrel asked.

“I know a secret way.” Mr McGuire tapped his nose. “Now, we must move.”

Kestrel stuck his head through the broken window.

“Scar, are you finished in there?”

His companion opened the door and stepped out, brushing the dust off his shoulders.

*

 

The sky grew lighter as the pair followed Mr McGuire back towards the bastion.

“This way.” He gestured to a patch of grass at the foot of the wall, pulling it up to reveal a trapdoor. He grabbed the lantern from Kestrel and led them down a narrow tunnel, ending at a door. “We’re in the cellar of my townhouse. It’s how I get past the bastion without being noticed.”

“Thanks for the tour.” Kestrel said, “Now can we get to the dock?”

McGuire led the pair through the back streets and back alleys, watching for the glow of the militia’s lanterns. Kestrel pointed him towards the dock.

“That’s them!” A voice called out. “Halt, smugglers!”

Kestrel noticed the two guards they had encountered on the docks, accompanied by five more soldiers. He leaped off the jetty into the rowboat as muskets cracked, enveloping the dock with powder smoke.

“Scar! Cut it!” He drew his pistol and fired back. One of the guards fell back.

Scar drew his cutlass and hacked at the mooring line.

Kestrel grabbed one of the pistols from his companion’s belt and fired at another guard. They scattered and ran for cover.

“We’re moving!” McGuire shouted when another shot rang out. He clutched his stomach and fell back into the river.

Kestrel sat back and grabbed an oar, rowing back towards the mouth of the river. He felt the shots fly past his head as they rowed further away from the jetty.

“Scar, I have the feeling we’ve outstayed our welcome in this place.” He watched the sun rise over the coast. He looked around at where De Groot’s sloop had anchored the previous night. The vessel was not present.

“We must have missed the tide.” He scratched his head.

“They’ll be back.” Scar said.

“You’re right there, mate,” Kestrel nodded, “We’re carrying De Groot’s money. He’ll want his pay day. We’ll hide for now. Let him find us. He’ll be lucky we’ve got nowhere to spend it.”

*

Kestrel mopped the sweat off his brow as he felt his shirt sticking to his back. He beached the boat on a small island in the swamp, listening to the nasal whine of mosquitos.

“I hope we’re not waiting for long.” He lay down on the driest part.

Scar shook his head and pointed. Kestrel looked up to see The Nord and four other men from De Groot’s sloop wading towards them.

“Thanks for waiting.” He said to the newcomers.

“You didn’t make the rendezvous.” The Nord tightened his grip around a boarding axe. “De Groot asked me to wait and collect the money. He didn’t say anything about you.”

“So, we’re off the payroll?” Kestrel rested his hand on his rapier. “After all the work we put in.”

“The penalty for disobedience…is death.”

“Well, I’ve never paid attention to anybody who wants me to obey them.” Kestrel drew his sword and slashed the Nord’s shoulder. The larger man screamed in anger. He swung the axe.

“Scar! I’ve made him angry!” Kestrel sidestepped the blow and kicked the Nord in the head. Two of the crewmen drew cutlasses and charged. Kestrel dodged and parried, keeping his distance.

Scar drew his cutlass and drove it through his attacker. The fourth man dropped his blade and fled in the opposite direction. Scar stomped the Nord and aimed a pistol at the brute’s head.

Kestrel led his opponents towards the swamp, noticing a large bump surface in the water.

“Alligators!” One of the men fled.

“You’re on your own.” He grinned at the final opponent. The man stepped. Kestrel beat his blade aside and lunged. The man stumbled back. 

Catching his breath, Kestrel walked over to The Nord. He produced the bulging purse and rattled it.

“You can’t buy your life.” The Nord snarled. “Captain De Groot does not want you serving under him.”

“Our sentiments exactly.” Kestrel squatted down next to him, “I’m not buying our lives, but yours. Take the money, go back to De Groot, and tell him we’re even.”

“He will not forget or forgive.” The Nord spat at Kestrel’s feet. “You’re just delaying the inevitable. I may not kill you here, but you will die by my hand. You thieving…”

The crack of pistol cut his words short. Scar blew smoke from his pistol and then made his way back to the boat.

“Well, something’s going to feast on them." Kestrel sheathed his blade. "I’m glad to be out of that mess.”

“We’re lost.” Scar picked up the oars.

“Yes, that is an issue.” Kestrel rattled his purse. “But look on the bright side. This is the most money we’ve made in a while.”

Five and Twenty Ponies #4 Laces for a Lady

 

The river fog had dissipated as Kestrel left the Old Royal and led Scar into the back alley.

“Let’s hope the gate’s open,” he said, “We’ve got three French gowns for Lady Priscilla Wentworth, and she owes us three guineas. I don’t know about you, but I’d sooner spend that kind of coin than pay off that press-ganging pikestaff De Groot.”

Scar replied with an affirmative grunt.

*

More torches lay ahead. Kestrel squinted to see two soldiers with muskets standing guard by the city gates.

“Well, our gambling friend said the plantations were outside the bastion.” He said. “Scale the walls?”

Scar shook his head.

“You’re right. Not with the cargo we still have. How about some kind of diversion?”

Scar shrugged.

“My arse upon this,” Kestrel drew his rapier. “Let’s just fight our way out.”

Scar grabbed his arm.

“Then come up with something. It’s not like we have authority…”

Kestrel’s voice trailed off. He reached into pockets and pulled out Cuthbert’s letters.

“Alright, we might as well try and bluff our way past.” He sheathed his sword. “But if it doesn’t work, previous plan?”

Scar sighed, and then nodded.

Kestrel marched towards the gates. The first guard cocked a musket. The second one raised a lantern while resting a hand on a sword.

“It’s past curfew!” The man with the lantern said. “State your business or I’ll be forced to arrest you.”

“We’re on official business from the East India Company!” Kestrel held up the letters. “We must get past.”

The guard took the letter and held it to the lantern.

“Why do you have company business at this time of night?” He asked.

“Making up for lost time.” Kestrel replied. “Now can we please hurry it rapidly along? We must relay our messages to Lady Wentworth before sunrise.”

“There’s something about this which don’t sound right,” The guard with the musket said. “I’d be truthful with us if I was you. What’s that giant of yours carrying?”

Kestrel felt his heart beat faster.

“I’ll truthfully kick your teeth in if you don’t let us through." He said. "Doesn’t the East India Company pay your wage? I think Mr Wilkinson will be angry that you’ve interfered with us.”

“He’s a gambler who neglects his missus.” The first guard said. “I don’t care what he feels. He has no clout.”

“And you do?” Kestrel said. “Mr Scar, if you’d please?”

Scar loomed over them and growled. The two guards slunk back and opened the gates.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Kestrel bowed to them and turned to Scar. “I hate dealing with customs. They have a habit of making things intentionally difficult.”

Scar grunted and nodded.

“Oh, may I?” Kestrel snatched away the guard’s lantern.

*

Kestrel listened to the chirp of cicadas as they trudged down the dirt roads outside the bastion. Fewer lights showed in the distance.

“I don’t know how anybody sleeps with those bloody things having a party.” Kestrel held the lantern ahead. He saw a mansion silhouetted in the moonlight, surrounded by cotton fields.

Scar cleared his throat and pointed. More faint orange glows moved around the fields.

“We’ll have to stumble in the dark then.” Kestrel put down the lantern.

He made his way towards the house. As he drew closer, he sighted the lantern in the hands of a man patrolling the fields on horseback. He felt a large hand pull him into the field. Scar crouched beneath the cotton and put his finger to his lips.

*

Sneaking across the fields, the pair arrived at the manor house. Kestrel led Scar around the property to a servant’s entrance at the back of the house.

“I hope this is the right place…” He knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again, louder. The sound of a bolt being withdrawn emanated from within.

“Yes?” A servant peered out, yawning.

“Is this the residence of Lady Priscilla Wentworth?” Kestrel asked.

“Yes. What is your business here?”

“We have an order for her.” Kestrel gestured to the chest in Scar’s arms.

The servant opened the door.

“Bring it in.” He said.

Scar set the chest on the floor and opened it, revealing the gowns inside.

“Very good,” the servant said. “You may go now.”

He held the door open.

“Not so fast, mate.” Kestrel folded his arms. “Her ladyship owes us money.”

“I was not informed as such.”

Scar loomed over the servant.

“Perhaps we could seek an audience.” Kestrel said.

The servant led Kestrel and Scar to the foyer. With no lights, the ticking of the nearby grandfather clock seemed louder.

“I have the feeling she’s not going to be happy with us waking her at an ungodly hour,” Kestrel said.

Scar said nothing.

“How about a game while we wait? Blind Man’s Buff?”

Scar slapped him across the head, almost knocking him to the floor.

“Your turn.” The burly Antiguan laughed.

*

As the clock ticked, Kestrel sat on the chest and fidgeted.

“I understand that you wish to speak to me.” A blond-haired woman in a nightgown appeared on the landing. The servant accompanied her, holding a lit candelabra.

Kestrel said nothing as she walked down the stairs. In the candlelight, he saw her scowling at them, yet felt warm as he looked at her.

“Have you not the courtesy to answer me?” She said. “I asked you a question.”

“Forgive me, my lady.” Kestrel grinned, “My companion here is usually the silent type. I merely required a moment to compose my thoughts.”

“Well compose them, so you can leave and I can return to bed.” She held a perfumed handkerchief to her nose as she approached them.

Kestrel knelt down and opened the chest. He pulled out a blue mantua and showed it to Lady Wentworth.

“I’m told that this is the latest in Parisian fashions, my lady.” He said.

“Beautiful,” She felt the fabric and nodded. “These will be fine additions to my wardrobe. I am prepared to offer a guinea for the three dresses.”

“They’re a guinea each,” Kestrel said, “That’s our asking price.”

“I’d pay that when buying from a respectable merchant." She replied. "These haven’t been transported well.”

“That cannot be helped, my lady. But there is no shame in buying from smugglers if it’s something you genuinely need. Like to upstage the other ladies in your circle of friends. I’m sure one of them will make a better offer.”

Wentworth’s eyes widened.

“Very well, two guineas for the three.” She said.

Kestrel looked back at Scar, who shook his head.

“Two guineas and ten shillings.” Kestrel stroked his goatee. “One may need some mending, but I’m sure the others are fine.”

“As I am dealing with an educated man, I accept.” She turned to the servant. “Get these men their money and show them out.”

She turned and ascended the stairs with elegance and grace.

“Educated?” Scar murmured.

“Probably because I said ‘my lady’ instead of ‘m’lady’,” Kestrel grinned.

"Know any Latin?" Scar nudged him.

"Coitus interruptus." Kestrel smirked.

He watched the servant return with the coin.

“Thank you." He pocketed the coins. "Now, perhaps you’d be able to direct us to the King’s Head Inn? We have one more delivery to make.”