The morning after finding the kitten- Ratonhnhaké:ton wasn't sure what to call it- a new friend of his father arrived. This one was called Johnson, and was apparently something of an expert in Native cultures.
"It'll do you good to spend time with him while he's here," Haytham said, at breakfast that day. "Take that cat off the table."
Ratohnhaké:ton reluctantly picked the kitten up and placed it on his lap instead. He gave it a sliver of sausage, and it mewled happily.
"When is he arriving?"
"Shortly. Within the next hour or so, at any rate. I want you to stay here while I go to Church's clinic.
"I thought you said he worked at a hospital?"
"They're the same thing, aren't they? Stop being so pedantic."
Ratonhnhaké:ton shrugged, and pushed his food around his plate.
"You ought to be more precise in your speech," he said, curtly. Everything seemed to be irritating him as of late, and he wasn't entirely sure why.
Haytham rolled his eyes, and scowled.
"Just behave, will you?"
Johnson turned out to be a nervous-looking Irishman who wore a Native shawl and jewellery. He greeted Ratonhnhaké:ton in heavily accented Kanien'kehá:ka, so Ratonhnhaké:ton responded in kind.
"You must be Ratonhnhaké:ton. Your father's told me a lot about you."
"Oh? He has told me little about you. Or anything else, for that matter."
"You sound angry," Johnson noted, watching him wearily as he lead the way to the small, cosy library.
"I am frustrated. Father is not being particularly helpful."
"Helpful? What do you need help with?" Johnson seemed genuinely interested, and leant forward slightly, grand fatherly concern etched upon his face. Ratonhnhaké:ton halted next to a staircase. He sighed and gestured for Johnson to ascend first. He did.
"Father may have told you that I have lost some sixteen years' worth of memories. He seems to think that because of this I am some kind of fool, and he is more concerned with his business partners than with his own son's wellbeing."
Johnson nodded.
"I understand. It must be very difficult for you. I do, however, think you're being too hard on your father. He's never been very good at showing affection. He always coped with bad things by working too hard."
Ratonhnhaké:ton took them left, and they stopped in front of a set of double doors. He opened one to allow Johnson to step through first.
"Is is as though we are strangers," he said, sadly. "I know that thanks to the accident, we are strangers, but… it is like he does not know me at all."
Johnson settled into an armchair near the small fireplace in the centre of the far wall. His posture and expression were relaxed, but his eyes were intense and alert.
"I would have thought at least one of his associates would been friendly toward me," Ratonhnhaké:ton mused aloud. "Or at least seemed to know me. I did grow up with father, after all."
"Most of your father's associates started as simply business partners," Johnson said. "He became rather distraught after your mother died, and he took you in, and it all started from there, really. Turned out we all had a lot in common. We tried to help him as best we could, but we're all rather busy men. Couldn't afford to meet as a group more than one night every few months for cards and drinking. I only met you twice before today. Once when you were four, and once when you were nineteen."
Ratonhnhaké:ton leant forward, interested. Johnson was awfully knowledgeable. He could probably help him a lot with his investigations into his past.
"I shall fetch some tea," he said. "Then you can tell me more."
Johnson gave him a polite smile, but did not agree.
"I should like to, but I unfortunately came here on very specific business. Haytham has a number of artifacts from various tribes, and I came here to examine them. You can stay if you like, but it would be very boring to watch, and I only have an hour or so to work with."
"Oh," Ratonhnhaké:ton said. "Perhaps some other time?"
"Of course." Johnson inclined his head, and his gaze moved to a small wooden chest on a nearby bookshelf. "The artifacts are in that box. Could you fetch it for me, please?"
"Certainly," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, and he got up. "I shall make some tea regardless. You look as though you are in need of refreshment. It is, after all, terribly hot outside today."
Johnson gave him a thankful smile as he handed over the box.
Ratonhnhaké:ton stroked the kitten idly. He needed to give it a name.
George, perhaps?
He looked at the kitten. It did not look like a George. Besides, the name did not feel right. The kitten was inquisitive, and clever (as clever as a tiny cat could be, that is), and too frail for a strong-sounding name.
"Achilles…" he murmured.
The Greek hero whose one weak spot had been his heel. Though the kitten had nothing wrong with any of its legs or paws, something about it seemed fitting. He ran a few fingers through the fluffy, grey-and-chocolate fur, and peered into its brown eyes.
"Does that sound like a good name to you?" he asked the kitten. "Achilles?"
It mewled and nudged his finger with its nose.
"Achilles it is," he said, stroking it again.
There was a sudden knocking at his door, and Ratonhnhaké:ton rolled off the bed to answer. His father was standing in the hall, looking vaguely irritated. He smoothed his expression into kind neutrality quickly.
"Yes?"
"That sailor from the other day is here. He's in the parlour. I do hope you won't humour him any more than strictly necessary."
"I will not," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, more coldly than he meant to. Haytham gave him an impatient glare, and stalked down the hall in the direction of his study. Ratonhnhaké:ton said goodbye to Achilles before heading down to the parlour.
"Good afternoon," he said, as he shut the door behind him. Smithy was sitting stiffly on the reclining couch, looking uncomfortable. His face was pink, freshly scrubbed and shaved.
"G'd afternoon, sir," Smithy replied. "Nearly forgot your address, that's why I got 'ere so late, sir. Sorry, sir."
"Well, you got here in the end," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, reassuringly, and sat down in an armchair opposite the sailor. "Would you like some tea?"
"No, sir, always been a coffee sort o' man meself, but thank you all the same, sir."
"I believe my father keeps a tin of coffee around."
"No, sir, don't want to be a bother."
Ratonhnhaké:ton studied Smithy carefully. He certainly seemed honest enough, and something about him gave a feeling that he did not have sufficient words to explain. Smithy gave him a feeling that was… sort of blue.
Curious.
His father and acquaintances, if he really thought hard about it, gave him a feeling of red.
He wondered, briefly, what that might mean.
"When are you comin' back t' the Aquila, sir?" Smithy asked, meekly, jolting Ratonhnhaké:ton from his reverie.
"So I am your captain?" he asked. Smithy nodded, enthusiastically, and Ratonhnhaké:ton felt a surge of hope. He would have answers!
"Yessir. No doubt about that."
"When is she back in dock?"
"Not for another month at least, sir. She's gone to Saint Lucia, and she's stoppin' off at Jamaica on the way back. Tradin', see. You always been good at that, sir. Got a way wiv people."
"So you have been on leave two months?"
"I usually stay on ship an' do little jobs when we dock, sir, but I caught ill and Faulkner made me take the last three years' leave all at once. Lucky break, innit, sir?"
"Yes, it is," Ratonhnhaké:ton let out a small chuckle. "You do not need to keep calling me 'sir'."
"Oh, you always say that, sir. It's the one order o' yours we all ignore. Yer modest down to a fault, sir."
"Really?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked. "This is going to sound terribly strange, but… could you tell me more about me?"
"Cos of the memory loss?" Smithy asked, looking uncomfortable. "Erm, I don't know a whole lot about yer personal life, Faulkner's practically yer dad, 'e'd be able to tell you anyfing. I know which 'ouse is yours in Davenport, but… all I can tell you about you is stuff you prob'ly already know, sir."
"Such as?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked, feeling the hope he'd felt just minutes earlier dissipate.
"You take your tea black wiv honey and lemon. You speak one o' them Indian lingos, perfect English an' French, damn good German, a bit o' Italian and you can ask for directions in Spanish and Portuguese. You climb trees an' buildin's like a monkey- a graceful monkey, mind you sir- and you can take on twenty armed men in a fight and still come out on top."
"Twenty men?!" Ratonhnhaké:ton, despite his best efforts, let out a small, sharp laugh. "Surely you exaggerate?"
"No, sir," Smithy said, seriously. "Counted, sir. I bet Big John you could take thirty."
"I am sorry to tell you that you have probably lost your money."
Smithy gave him a knowing wink.
"Ah, but that's what you said 'bout twenty, sir."
Ratonhnhaké:ton's face was starting to ache from smiling so much. Smithy's stories were nice. He wasn't sure how much he believed the man, but receiving so many compliments in such a short space of time- from the same person, no less- made him feel nothing short of wonderful.
"Tell me, Smithy. What are the others aboard the Aquila like?"
"Honest, sir," Smithy replied, without hesitation. "They're 'ard workers, though they do like a drink. They're the best men in the world, sir, and you earnt the loyalty of every single one of 'em a long time ago."
There really wasn't much Ratonhnhaké:ton could say to that, except wrap up their meeting, and arrange to meet again at a coffee house near the docks instead of in Haytham's parlour. His father did not seem to like Smithy at all, and he did not particularly want to anger the man.
He walked Smithy to the front door, in high spirits.
Those high spirits did not last for very long.