Achilles found ways to keep Connor and me occupied through the following months after our morning workouts. This particular week was concentrated on restoring the sitting room across from my bedroom. During the manor's restoration, the parlor found a new purpose of storing unused furniture among other dust-collectors. Achilles wanted what was useful and what was profitable separated so the room could one day be used for its original purpose of entertaining. I was sifting through a pile of dust covered books, causing me to sneeze every time I examined a new one.
Connor had removed himself a few moments prior to answer a knock on the front door. I was trying to overhear the conversation going on outside as I gazed over the pages of the latest book I picked from the pile. There was another man here, a voice I did not recognize speaking a language that was foreign to me. I dismissed the conversation, barely even raising an eyebrow when Connor shouted in the same language. Heavy footfalls rushing the stairs indicated Connor's reappearance, but a second pair was following behind him, too fast and hard to be Achilles. I looked over the book from my position on the floor to watch Connor and his guest turn from the staircase towards Connor's bedroom.
"Dakota!" Called Connor, sounding aggravated.
I closed the book and made my way to the bedroom, "What's up?"
I stopped short at the door when I laid eyes on our guest. I presumed he was from Connor's tribe; the two looked close in age and also in height, leading me to believe this man was Connor's childhood friend he sometimes spoke about. What made me hesitate was remembering my own appearance as the man looked at me with a strange look of confusion. Around the manor, I had a bad habit of wearing clothes from the modern day; I just happened to be in tight fitting blue jeans and a tank top with a rhinestone skull on the front. Even my hair, thrown into a sloppy looking bun, was something to remark. Achilles and Connor had gotten used to my strange and unacceptable womanly wardrobe, but to an outsider of the manor, I looked ridiculously uncommon. Our guest looked me over as my face grew hotter from embarrassment.
"We are going to Boston," Connor said, breaking the silence.
"Right," I said, pulling out my hair band, bending over to pull my hair into a high ponytail. "What happened?"
"William Johnson intends to purchase the land in which the village stands, without the consent of my people."
"Well shit," I straightened myself and pulled my ponytail tight on the back of my head.
"Achilles believes Sam Adams will be able to help us."
I nodded, "I'll grab my stuff."
Within ten minutes I was dressed in my robes with the essentials packed away in my backpack. I had given up on wearing my makeup, it was too much to deal with on a daily basis with how much Connor and I ran around outside. It also freed up a little bit more room in my backpack that was already stuffed to the brim. I moved swiftly downstairs; Achilles was standing in the doorway to the outside, where Connor and his friend stood. I moved passed Achilles with a slight smile, just as Connor sank a tomahawk into a column at the edge of the stoop, making me jump.
"What have you done?" Achilles remarked with extreme annoyance.
Connor turned to face him, "When my people go to war, a hatchet is buried in a post to signify its start. When the threat has ended, the hatchet is removed." He looked at his friend and nodded before turning away to leave.
I looked at Achilles with a nervous expression, not sure if I should smile or frown, but shrugging all the more before taking off after Connor.
"You could've used a tree!" Achilles called.
At the stables, Connor finally properly introduce me to Kanento:kon, which proved my suspicious of this man being the childhood friend I have heard so much about. Kanento:kon set off to return to their village, while Connor and I were Boston bound by the Aquila.
On the way to meet Sam Adams, we came across a man yelling at intruding redcoats from his upstairs window. The armed soldiers had accompanied a taxman with a rather nasally voice to evict the Frenchman defending his home. Ah, the city, I thought to myself. Connor and I did not make an advance until the redcoats moved in to smash in windows with their rifles. Of course, being a loudmouth, I had to verbally make our presence known.
"Aye, there some kind of problem here?" I yelled at the men.
The taxman turned to us with nose high, "By order of the British-"
"-Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get all that. Call off your men or have more issues than you can handle."
"This is official government business, intervening is acting as a traitor to the crown."
"Well intervening is our job, so in that case," I nodded to Connor, and the fight began.
The Frenchman came through his front door wielding a menacing looking butcher's knife. He jumped off the stoop at his door and onto the tax collector, sinking his blade into the man's neck as they fell to the ground. Connor pulled the redcoat closest to him that had been smashing in windows; I immediately took the other redcoat. I pulled my Sai blades and made my advance as the man started to level his rifle. I quickly used the hook of my left Sai to push the gun upwards, and the blade of my right to slice across the soldier's throat. Everything happened so quickly I felt as if I needed to gasp for air. I turned back to Connor and the Frenchman as they were finishing up with their fights. We cleaned up our mess and met outside of the Frenchman's home once the evidence was hidden.
"Justice for once," the Frenchman panted, "I dare the governor to send more."
"You alright?" Connor asked.
"I'm fine. It's not my first dance," the Frenchman smirked, "for all their teeth and claws, these little foxes, they fight like puppies. Thank you," he nodded to me and patted Connor on the arm, "I'd by you two an ale, but uh, I'm expected somewhere else."
We parted ways; I gave Connor a look of approval and a slight shrug before continuing on our way to meet Adams. When we did find our man, it brought us to a meeting with a few men that knew the trading business well- William Molineux the owner of a tavern, and his chef, Stephane Chapheau, the man whose home we had just helped defend.
They sent us on our way to do some spy work on the docks, uncovering the source ships of smuggled tea in which were being overcharged to businesses in the city. Stepping outside of the tavern, a man carrying a crate to the same facility was walking towards us. Connor deliberately walked into the man, causing him to drop the crate which smashed on the ground, spilling out little bags with matching crests stamped onto them. I examined the markings with interest, remembering the details while Connor aggressively stared down the delivery man as he ran away. I gave Connor a cocky smirk before we took off towards the docks.
We waited outside one of the depots until the entirety of the cargo was stored inside. The workers locked the doors and left, giving us the opportunity to break in. Connor and I moved to the double doors to the largest warehouse and found the door was locked with a basic padlock. We both pulled out or lock picking equipment and gave each other the same questionable look.
"I can get it," I smirked.
"So can I," Connor returned with a raised eyebrow.
I sighed, placed my equipment in one hand and held out a fist with the other with a raised eyebrow, "Loser stands watch."
He held out his fist as well, smirking slightly with amusement in his eyes and a raised eyebrow, an expression I've come to know as his Really, Dakota? look. I had taught him rock-paper-scissors during my first visit, at least he remembered. My smirk brightened into a smile. On three, we threw out our selection- I picked scissors, Connor went for paper. I smiled at him triumphantly and moved to the front of the lock while he smirked and leaned against the building with his arms across his chest. Once the lock dropped open, I cracked the door open and entered, closely followed by Connor. We took a quick look around, finding crates on crates of smuggled tea that presented the crest of William Johnson.
"This is the same tea Molineux showed us earlier," Connor said, "This has to be Johnson's."
"It's defiantly some of it," I sighed and received a questionable and clenched jaw in return. "I mean, it takes some time to bring the cargo over, destroying this will leave a dent. But I'm sure this isn't all of it."
"How shall we dispose of it all?" Connor looked down to me.
I looked up with a slight shrug, "Does tea burn?"
He returned the shrug.
"I guess we'll figure out," I said, taking the lead deeper into the warehouse.
Within ten minutes we had the cargo up in flames, and we were fleeing the scene with the casual grace of an average afternoon stroll. I could tell Connor was not at all amused with the thought of more tea somewhere along the horizon. But as for me, I just liked to walk away with chaos going on behind me.