He liked Haytham's house for several reasons. Firstly, it was large and pretty, simple but with elegant details, like the stained-glass windows in several of the rooms. Secondly, it was just far enough from the crowded dock areas to be peaceful, and close enough that he did not have any trouble running errands. Thirdly, there was almost always at least one guest about, usually one of Haytham's associates.

His father's friends all seemed quite wary of him, and Haytham did not respond when he asked why, muttering things like "culture clashes" and "never really met properly" and "just don't know each other". Ratonhnhaké:ton was rather sceptical- surely that could not possibly be all there was to it?

"I brought you some tea," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, knocking gently on the door of a study Charles Lee was currently using. The man looked up sharply, as though he could not believe that Ratonhnhaké:ton was there, much less being polite.

"Oh? Er… put it on the table over there, thank you," Lee gestured vaguely to the right. Sure enough, there was a small table there, and Ratonhnhaké:ton put the steaming tray down carefully.

"You have been working very hard," he commented. "Perhaps you ought to take a break."

Lee scowled, clearly thinking that Ratonhnhaké:ton was making some kind of snide joke.

"I have, actually. If all you're going to do is stand there and make rude comments, don't. Get out."

Ratonhnhaké:ton held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. Clearly he and Lee were usually on bad terms. Now he had the opportunity to do so, he ought to fix that.

"I meant no offence," he said. "On the contrary, I was being quite sincere. It is not healthy to work yourself so hard all the time."

Lee raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious.

"I realise we are not exactly friends," Ratonhnhaké:ton continued. "However, since we have the opportunity to begin anew, I believe that we should. How do you take your tea?"

Lee's expression shifted into surprise, then embarrassment, then to polite neutrality.

"I, ah… just a splash of milk. Thank you."

Ratonhnhake:ton nodded, and poured a cupful for them both. He decided he rather liked it black, with lemon and honey.


One day, as he walked along the harbour, he heard a snatch of conversation. Two men were arguing outside a coffee house, and they seemed sober enough. Hickey stopped at a stall to talk to the vendor, so Ratonhnhaké:ton walked closer.

(Haytham, in fatherly paranoia, had decided his son ought not leave the house unaccompanied, presumably in case he forgot how to get home or something equally patronising. Still, he went along with it for two reasons. Firstly, to keep the house peaceful- he did not like arguments, especially not over such petty matters- and secondly because he really didn't remember his way around New York, as much as he loathed to admit it to himself.)

«What do you mean, you lost the papers? How are we going to get back home now?»

«Don't look at me, you idiot! You're the one who had them last!»

«We're stuck, then! We don't have enough money to buy a second lot of tickets and we can't go by foot. How does it feel to be the one who single-handedly wrecked the family business?»

«Single-handedly? I beg your pardon, you useless-»

«Excuse me,» he said, tapping one of the angry men on the shoulder. «You appear to be in some trouble. Perhaps I can help you.»

The look the man gave him made Ratonhnhaké:ton seriously consider leaving these men to whatever problems they had. If he was too proud to accept help from a Native…

«You might be able to,» the other man said, looking much happier. «We're from Quebec, you see, up north. We came here to buy stock for our tailoring business, but we lost the tickets we had to take a ship back, and due to the amount of fabric we have, its delicate nature and the current weather, it'll get ruined if we try to go by foot.»

«Could you not speak to the ship's captain and explain the situation?» Ratonhnhaké:ton asked.

«Ah, if we could, we would. The ship we booked to leave on is not the same as we came in on. We arrived on the Aquila, you see, and that's already left for… Saint Lucia, I think. We're getting the Poseidon back, and the captain is… not the most trusting fellow. We've not even spoken face-to-face.»

«And that is why you need the papers. Or some more money with which to buy your way back on the ship.»

«Yes.»

«I will see what I can do.»

Ratonhnhaké:ton gave the men a reassuring smile, and took a surreptitious glance around the docks. One ship in particular just… seemed right. He strode off confidently in that direction, and sure enough the ship was the Poseidon. A hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned around in surprise, half-expecting to have to fight.

"'Ere, what are you doin'?" Hickey asked. "What was you talkin' to them blokes about?"

"They are French colonists, from the province of Quebec, and they are in need of assistance. I offered to help them."

"You was speakin' French," Hickey said in disbelief. "You was speakin' French like a frog."

Ratonhnhaké:ton resisted the urge to tell Hickey that frogs did not speak any human language, so his comparison made no sense. In truth, he had not noticed he was speaking French. Much like with English, the words sort of… appeared in his head, and he instinctively knew what the men had said and what he needed to say. He must have worked very hard for many years to achieve such fluency. Perhaps he had known a Frenchman.

The Captain of the Poseidon turned out to be a rather grumpy fellow by the name of Ulrich. Still, he wasn't as unreasonable as Ratonhnhaké:ton feared, as he had no need to use violence to make the man agree to take the French Colonists back to their home, only about fifteen pounds worth of bribes and a long conversation over some ale.

The look of mingled awe and annoyance on Hickey's face as Ratonhnhaké:ton chatted to the Captain in rapid (though imperfect) German was almost as gratifying as the colonists' heartfelt thanks.


"Go to bed," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, in his most commanding tone. "You are far too tired to work efficiently."

"You go to bed," Haytham replied, sourly. "I need to finish the accounts."

"I can do that. You need rest."

Haytham looked as though he wanted to strangle his son. He banged a fist on the desk in frustration and exhaustion.

"Damn it, child! Stop being so stubborn! Let me work in peace!"

"You are the one being stubborn, father," Ratonhnhaké:ton rolled his eyes, mimicking his father's exasperated expression. "I used to do the accounts back at the homestead, I am sure I can finish your paperwork for you so you can get a half-decent night's sleep. Need I remind you that you have to be in Boston first thing in the morning?"

Haytham's eyes narrowed.

"Homestead?" he asked.

Ratonhnhaké:ton blinked. What was Haytham talking about?

"Homestead?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow to indicate that he had no idea what the hell was going on.

"You said- oh, never mind. Don't worry about it, I'm just becoming senile in my old age," Haytham pushed back the chair, and gave a melodramatic sigh. "If you insist, I suppose I could let you finish these accounts, if only so you'll shut up and leave me in peace. I do rather need a good night's rest."

Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded, and smiled. Haytham stood, grimacing as he straightened his posture. Slumping over a desk for so many hours could not have done his back any good.

"Very well then. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, father," Ratonhnhaké:ton replied, giving his father a hug before he left the room.

He sat down in the still-warm seat, and gave the paperwork a cursory glance. There was something rather familiar and comforting about the scratch of a pen against paper, about the feel and smell of books beneath his fingers.

It was all rather nice, honestly.