To be noted that even if my English is not that bad, because it's not my native language I tend to make mistakes now and then. Please help yourself and correct me. If I'm not told I'm making a mistake I'll never improve. Thanks in advance for your support. Hope you'll enjoy this. And don't forget to leave me a comment.

- update: there was a bit of a mess when I checked the preview but now it should be okay, formatting wise, sorry for the trouble :) -

He can feel the sweat on his forehead. He knew it would be difficult but he could never have been prepared for this. A man is lying on the floor; his right hand is still holding a pistol.

He did not have time to fire. James had been too fast. But it was for the best. If he hadn't acted quickly, the future of the quest would have been critically jeopardised. He was not supposed to be here anyway. That's his fault in a way. James never meant to hurt anyone. It was not supposed to involve any casualty. He did not agree to use violence but sometimes you don't get to chose. It just happens and there's nothing you can do about it. At least it had been quick and he was surprised he didn't even hesitate. He just went for it.

The mission started a few months ago when James met Anne. She was a strange girl. Even if she tried to convince him that she was normal, he knew from the start that she was special. There was something about her, some peculiar sensation. He was sure about one point and she did not deny it: she was not from Amsterdam.

It was on the eve of October 17, on Herengracht that she appeared to him for the first time. It was exceptionally warm for the season and her fluffy coat caught his attention. She was clearly looking for direction but did not ask any of the passer-by. So after a few moments of self-evaluation he decided to take his chances and talk to the wrapped-up stranger. Little did he know that it would embark him on a dangerous adventure.

'Good evening madam. You seem to have lost your way and...'

'Good evening monsieur. Indeed, I am looking for the house of Master Witsen. Would you be so kind as to help me find my way?'

'Are you talking about Master Nicolaes Witsen, madam?'

'Yes that same Witsen.'

James was surprised. The Witsens were family friends of his father. He himself had met Nicolaes on a few occasions. The first time was in 1662 before his controversial article discrediting people's beliefs in superior forces influencing the earth was published. He remembered it vaguely. He was still a young boy, more interested in playing lummelen than paying attention to a 21 year-old disserting about how simple folks are to believe in the stars to command our world. The second time had been a few years after, in 1665 when Nicolaes came back from Moscow. He had been there to meet the tsar Alexis of Russia. James, 9 then, had been impressed by this traveller's stories. From that meeting, he nursed the idea to become a traveller himself and meet extraordinary people like Patriarch Nikon. The third time, the most recent, was at Nicolaes's wedding, in 1674.

'May I ask what is your business about?'

'No, you may not.'

Her reply had been so quick it unsettled him. But the tone was neutral, no hint of annoyance or anything indicating irritation. So he accepted the answer.

'If you would like to follow me, madam...'

She nodded and they started walking. She was keeping a reasonable distance but he couldn't sense any negative attitude emanating from her, simply because there was none. It was strange, just like if she was only focused on her objective and the world around her could not affect her mission. If only he could get her to speak, it would satisfy his curiosity. After all, she was a stranger and it was not common to cross the path of a woman, alone at night, who was asking for service rather than proposing one.

After a few minutes walking without a single word exchanged, tension was getting palpable. James's mind was imagining all kind of reasons for this woman to ask for Nicolaes's home address. Maybe she was a spy sent from abroad to kill him. What if he was held responsible because he guided her to her target? Would he be hanged even if he would to swear he didn't suspect her motivations?

'Is something wrong?'

Her question staggered him. She had finally broken the silence.

'No. Why are you asking that m'am?'

'Because you stopped in the middle of a bridge and I am quite certain that master Witsen does not live on a bridge, or under one. Unless, of course...'

'You're absolutely right. He does not. Please forgive me.'

James was troubled. He could not look at her in the eyes, too worried that she might guess the thoughts that were occupying his mind.

'You look nervous.'

'Pardon me. It's just that...'

A cat ran through the bridge where they were still pausing. After a few moments, he finally moved.

'It's getting late. We should hurry up.'

She did not question him until they stopped in front of carriage entrance. There was no living soul in the street.

'I may leave you here m'am.'

'Thanks for your trouble. You have been most kind to escort me.'

'A woman shouldn't be left alone wandering at night...'

James was relieved that his task was over but he was still wondering about the motive of this stranger. And she wasn't even knocking on the door. She was just there, on the street, probably waiting for him to go away and leave her to her own-affairs. He hesitated for a second and decided to head off.

He was about to turn at the corner of the street when he decided to look behind. Just to check that everything was alright. Or at least that is what he convinced himself he was doing. She had disappeared. He hadn't heard any noise though. It was definitely an outlandish encounter he just made.

'Where were you, Jimmy?'

A young man, slightly younger than James, was calling him from the shadow of a gateway.

'Why are you asking me? Did you miss me too much, Olive?'

'Don't call me that! I'm Oliver the Great!'

James was feeling more relaxed than half an hour before. Surely teasing his young friend was loosening him up. Oliver was not appreciating the hair scrubbing though. And he made his torturer aware of it very quickly by kicking his legs and playing with his fists to get rid of the forced embrace.

'Calm down, you-dog!'

Oliver was getting redder by the minute, enraged by the mocking. James decided to let him go and to avoid vengeance from his victim, he feigned to run away in the opposite direction. But he stopped rapidly. After all, he was meeting Oliver for business.

'Shall we go then? Or would you like to get a little more attention?'

Oliver made the decision to remain calm. James took notice and congratulated him.

'Come on big boy, let's get started. We don't have all night to practice!'

They pushed open a black door almost entirely covered by woodworm's art and disappeared from the street.

Inside, there was no light. They had no choice but groping their way along, in an almost absolute darkness. They were placing their feet very carefully to avoid any cracking sounds from the stairs. They clearly were familiar with this staircase and made it to the top floor in no time. Then James gave Oliver a leg up. He pushed a trap door leading to an attic, moved it aside, grabbed both sides of the opening and lifted himself through the aperture using only the strength of his arms.

'You're becoming quite the athlete.'

James was truly amazed by the muscular development of his young friend. A few months ago he was nowhere near that level of fitness. Surely exercising on a regular basis had its benefits and it would soon be noticed by the ladies.

'Is the ladder coming or shall I get to stay here all night?'

'It's not there' Oliver replied.

'What? Where did you leave it last time? It surely couldn't have moved, unless...'

'... Unless someone came here.'

James's pulse quickened. What if someone had found their secret place? What if someone had found their casket? He enquired Oliver to search for their equipment immediately.

'Oliver, please make sure that our safe is still at its place.'

James was getting nervous. Their coffer was truly not a treasure chest. There was no gold involved. But it contains two daggers that used to belong to his uncle Ian and he inherited them for his eighteenth birthday a few months before his godfather died of plague.

That's it for tonight. What do you think? Are you interested? Would you like to read some more? All comment/feedback are welcome. Thanks again :)