Sunset was still a few hours away when James Dericks entered The Night Watch. The secluded Tavern was situated in the less respectable parts of Port Royal and the risk of running into any soldier of His Majesty's Royal Navy was negligible. Despite the early hour the Tavern was crowded. Little light found its way through tarnished windows, casting the small room in shadows. About a dozen crudely furnished tables were scattered across the room, two benches on either side. There were booths partitioned off on the wall furthest from the widows. The far side was occupied by a large bar behind which several barrels of ale were lined up. The dim glow of candles provided the only illumination aside from the scarce sunlight. Most of the patrons were sailors and poor merchants, filthy and unshaven, some clothed in rags, others hooded, there faces hidden in shadows.
Once inside, Dericks looked around uncertainly before he headed for a dark corner on the other side of the room and slipped into the shadows off a small booth. The space was already occupied by an old man, bent half over the table with age and sickness. His scalp was bare, an eye patch covered his left eye socket and a vicious scar ran from underneath his right ear across the cheek to the corner of his thin-lipped mouth. Faded tattoos covered his exposed arms while his clothes hung in tatters around him. Yet, to a close observer the image the man projected seemed incomplete as if something was not quiet right about his appearance. Then again, The Night Watch was not known to welcome close observers.
"You're late." The man's voice was a low growl.
James forced his hands to stop shaking and hid them in his lap. "I couldn't get away any sooner."
"Do you have the map?" There was a definite note of impatience in the man's voice.
"I… I don't" James desperately faught down his rising panic when he saw the man's hand reach into his robes. "I tried. I really did." He shrank back against the wall. "Please, Mr. Roberts, I did what I could, but he never leaves it unattended. There was no way… no way, I assure you…" His voice trailed off in a hitched gasp. His breathing was fast, his eyes widened in fear.
"You are his valet, James. He trust you." The man's growl deepened to a velvet purr. "Surely you could have tried harder."
The man's hand had stilled underneath his robes and James was sure that there was a pistol aimed at him underneath the table.
"I tried." James whispered, frozen with fear. "Mr. Travers doesn't trust anyone." There was the soft noise of metal moving against metal and James forgot to breath for a moment. "He trusted me at one time," he hastened to explain, his voice low so as not to attract any attention, "but ever since he got his hands on that damned map he sees assailants in every corner and traitors all around him. He keeps the map on his person all the time. He even has it bound to his back when he sleeps and he keeps a loaded pistol underneath his pillow. He even relegated his wife to another guestroom fearing that she would steal the map. I'm telling you, your brother has gone mad with paranoia." The words tumbled out of his mouth and he realized too late what he had said. Frenzied, his gaze snapped up to Roberts face. He recoiled when he was confronted with the man's barely contained fury.
"Don't you ever dare to.." the voice was like a thunderstorm.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Roberts. I'm really…It won't happen again. I'm sorry."
The fury was washed away by an abrupt coldness. An ill-content smile twisted Roberts' face into a horrid mask but James did not dare to look away.
"Well then, my boy, if I can't simply take the map, then Mr. Travers will just have to hand it over, won't he?"
James wondered how Mr. Richards fancied to accomplish this but he felt it was better not to ask.
Richards held his tankard of ale under his nose and studied the liquid inside for a while as if it were a crystal ball revealing the future. "Yes. Yes, indeed," he whispered almost absentmindedly before he turned back to James. "My dear brother," he spat the word in disgust, "has quiet a few beautiful daughters, don't you think?"
James tried to swallow the suddenly bitter taste in his mouth.
"The youngest is only twelve, if I remember correctly. Do you think it will be enough if merely one of them disappeared? Or do you think the bastard is cold hearted enough to refuse to hand over the map until I killed her and threatened his other daughters? I suppose it would make little difference whether I kidnap one or two of them. Maybe I should take all three just to be sure." Roberts didn't wait for James to answer. "Yes, all of them. That will be best."
James was still nervous but now that Roberts' attention was occupied with the a matter other than him he allowed himself to relax slightly.
"I need to know when the ladies will be out of the house. They just arrived in Fort Charles. I'm sure they will be interested in exploring Port Royal."
James nodded eagerly, glad he could finally prove his helpfulness. "Indeed they will. They plan to go shopping tomorrow afternoon. I overheard Mrs. Travers saying that a few things were needed in preparation for the ball," he hesitated a moment. "She also seemed very keen to ask Commodore Norrington to accompany them."
Richards frowned. He had heard of Norrington, of course. He seemed a zealous, albeit capable man whose reputation spoke for itself. While Richards did not fear to cross paths with the Commodore, he was not fool enough to provoke such a confrontation. He had no desire to leave Port Royal with three ships of His Majesties Royal Navy pursuing him.
"That won't do then. But about this ball?"
"It is held at the Governor's estate the day after tomorrow."
"And I'm sure Commodore Norrington and his officers will be there as well. Tricky, very tricky." Roberts considered for a moment. "On the other hand… with so many people around three young women might not be immediately missed. It would give us a bit of a head start."
James nodded hurriedly. "I could ask the ladies out into the garden under some pretext. From what I heard there has been very little pirate activity these last few weeks. I'm sure there won't be many guards around."
There was an intense gleam in Roberts' eyes as he leaned across the table. "You better be more successful with this assignment than the last, my boy."
Fear crept back into James' eyes. "I will Mr. Richards. Though now that I thought about it I believe it would be best to make Pamela ask the girls to step out into the gardens. They will trust her. She is Miss Mirabelle's maid. Greedy little wench, would do anything for a coin, though she has not enough brains to fill a pea shell." James allowed himself a disdainful smile born of superiority.
"I didn't know you two were related."
James smile faltered at the sarcastic remark. "We are not."
Roberts didn't deem it necessary to reply. "My crew will be waiting in the gardens then." He grabbed James by the scruffs of his shirt and pulled him closer until James flinched away from the foul smell that drifted into his face. "And make no mistake!" His tone was harsh and demanding.
The man let go of him and made to rise to his feet when James' voice halted him. "Sir,… about my reward. Sir."
Roberts glared down at him. "Your reward?"
His mouth dry with agitation, James tried to remain calm. Though he questioned the wisdom of raising the subject at this time, Roberts had promised him ample payment for his service. Finally greed won over caution. "Yes, Sir. We agreed that…"
"We agreed," Roberts bend down and put a hand to James throat, "that you would get paid, once I have the map. And not a moment sooner."
Whimpering, James nodded. He frantically whispered apologies until Roberts hand eased from his throat. The man turned away from the table and James breathed a sigh of relief.
But then Roberts turned back towards him again and stepped closer to James, shielding them from prying eyes. "The servant girl. Her name was Pamela?" There was a gleam in the man's eyes that caused the young man to shiver uncontrollably.
"Yes."
Roberts smiled. "Very good."
* * * * * * *
Merry carelessly wiped the wet cloth over the crude wooden table, before she picked up the empty tankards. She was on her way to the kitchen when someone gave her a sharp clap on her bottom. Furious she whirled around and glared at the smirking sailor. "You better keep your hands to yourself if you don't want to leave this place a foot shorter and an octave higher than when you came in."
The man only continued to leer at her. "But who could resist such a sweet treat, luv." Several coins hit the tabletop. "Won't you give a poor lonely chap a spot of company?" Merry took one of the coins and bit on it to asses its worth. Then she smiled and dropped herself onto the man's lap, ale tankards still in her hand.
"If you give me a moment to clean up, I'm sure we will come to an arrangement, sweetheart."
The man was too enticed by her ample cleavage to answer with anything but a low grunt. With a coquettish flutter of her eyelashes that the sailor didn't notice, Merry departed. She had almost reached the kitchen when a light dripping noise came to her attention. With a frown she looked around. The sound must be close by for her to hear it over the noise of the tavern's occupants. Finally she glanced into the booth in the near corner. A man lay sleeping, slumped halfway across the table, his face turned away from her. A tankard had fallen over spilling its content across the table where the ale dripped then onto the floor. Merry frowned in annoyance. Cleaning up would take some time.
"Hey Merry, " a voice called from behind the bar. Merry hurried over, put the tankards down and leaned forward. Thomas, the kitchen boy, was standing at the foot of the stairs that led to the cellars and looked up at her.
"What is it?" she shouted down.
"It's dripping down here." He pointed over to the corner.
"So what? Wipe it up. Guest spilled his ale."
"Its not ale, it blood."
Merry whirled around and stared at the booth. She marched to the table and grasped the short, dark hair on the man's head to pull him up. With a disgusted sound, she let him fall back down.
The man's throat had been cut.
Supremely annoyed now, the woman stalked back over to the bar and shouted at Thomas. "Get up here and fetch the constable."
Cleaning up would definitely take some time now.
* * * * * * *
On the beach, not far from The Night Watch, a man kneeled by a shallow pool of water that ocean waves had created in a small outcropping of rocks. He splashed water on his face and rubbed furiously until the scar that had split his cheek disappeared. Then he washed the tattoos from his arms. At last the man reached for his eye patch, pulled it off and hid it in the tattered rags covering his body. When he rose to his feet he did not appear old or sickly, but cut the muscular figure of a tall man.
Roberts smiled as he strode towards the beach where two of his men where waiting for him with a small boat. *Brother, you will be sorry that you double-crossed me,* he thought. *Very sorry indeed.*
"Beware Richard," he whispered into the wind. "For the Bulldog is after you."
