First, it was Le Chasseur. The news of his death reached me while I was at sea, sailing as the Aquila's new Captain.
The first months in my new role had caused no small amount of trouble to the crew; the ship itself had been damaged because of my lack of experience in manoeuvring it in narrow passages. During this last period, however, Achilles had seemed it fit to hire a first mate to help me with my new role.
Robert Faulkner was a clever man in his mid-thirties. He had a good instinct when it came to the weather forecast and a strong, friendly voice.
"I really can't see how come the Captain is I, and not you" I told him as Fort La Croix came into view.
"Come on, mate. You are are underestimating yourself" he said kindly. "Now, you might want to watch out. The waters are getting shallower by the minute, and I fear the bottom is too rocky to drop anchor".
I did as he said: I stirred the ship around until I found the right track.
After the first weeks of silence – obstinate, hostile muteness – I had begun to trust him. Of course it was nothing like what it felt to sail with Shay, but at least it was something.
"I will take care of refilling the tanks. You go mind your business" Faulkner said as the Aquila was safely docked into the bay.
I nodded absent-mindedly as I made my way out of the ship and into the fort. I immediately realised that something was wrong. There were regulars everywhere, some of them gathered around a fire, others simply scattered around, having a look at the place.
"And then... boom! The ship's cannons wrecked the first tower. Even from our vessel, we could see the debris spiked into the air..."
I pulled my hood up and hid into the nearby bushes. Stealthily, I made my way out of the centre of the red coats' activity and near to the destroyed entrance of the chief's office. There was a heap of stones which covered the entrance, but I knew knew immediately that they hadn't fallen into that place, they had been placed there to cover something bigger.
Le Chasseur had been murdered, not perished following the attack. Without wasting another moment, I began to work, picking up a steady rhythm. It did not take long for me to remove the debris and finally enter the office.
Bloodied footprints had left their mark on the marble; some had even dirtied the walls around. It was a single, thick track of blood which led me to the body. Another one, smeared along the wall, had been traced by five fingers. The whole crime scene was daunting.
On the floor, Le Chasseur was motionlessly staring at the ceiling with blank eyes.
The whole place was lit by the rays that passed through the doorway alone. Without a word, I moved a few steps towards my former ally and knelt down.
"Rest in Peace" I whispered, and then I closed his eyes.
After having done so, I moved to analyse the body.
He had been pierced from side to side with a sword, then lost a lot of blood. But the composure of the corpse and the traces on the floor made me think that le Chasseur had been moved after he had fallen to the ground. By him stood his blade, crusted with a thin layer of red fluid.
Le Chasseur had been assassinated, and then his robes searched, but then respectfully rearranged on the ground: these were my only certainties.
Next, I focused on the battlefield. Besides from the body fluids spilled all over the place, there were pieces of shattered glass and a broken chair on the floor.
I followed the footprints all over the place, careful not to spoil the scene: I even tried to localise a detail, something which could suggest me who the killer had been. But still, nothing.
After a couple of minutes, I left the room. I was somehow discouraged by the lack of evidence about the the culprit, but of course I knew that in this kind of mission the chance of succeeding is very little.
So I walked back to my ship, but just before returning aboard, I overheard something which made me freeze into place.
"Red sails, and one of those fancy ice-rammers on the front ... "
"Of course. One of these privates. The King's fleet has run out of enthusiasm and strength to do something like this"
A private? How many chances were there than a 'private' – or a privateer, for that matter- would take interest in killing a secret agent like the Chasseur?
Acting more on instinct than on reason, I turned towards the man who had spoke and I grabbed him by the collar.
"What are you talking about?" I growled as a terrible doubt insinuated beneath my skin.
The poor man startled and stared at me with fearful eyes. "Leave me! " he screamed, but then stopped as soon as he caught sight of my hidden blade flashing just a few inches from my throat.
"Answer me. What is this ship which attacked the fort?"