Émile's Schooner

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((Takes place immediately after 'Dermid Returns'))

The rain came down in great torrents, but the wind, which Émile knew was often the more dangerous aspect of Caribbean storms, was for the moment surprisingly light. An occasional gust threatened to lift the hat from his head, but it would in no way hamper his way back to the docks where his small ship was moored. With that reassuring knowledge, he stepped from under the small overhang that partially sheltered the Albatross’s door onto the cobbled street, and began the trek back to his schooner.

Not more than a few minutes later, Émile was once again safely inside. Though the room was almost completely devoid of light, he was familiar enough with its layout that he was able to find his way to the nearest lantern, which hung from a peg in the wall, with only minor difficulties. A quick strike of firesteel brought the room to light.

In all, it was modest space, and a far cry from what one might see aboard a mighty first or second rater. The majority of it was dominated by a desk that was cluttered with various maps and charts, a small bed, and a tall cabinet that served as a wardrobe. It’s only real ‘luxuries’ were the mattress and the windows. But it served its captain’s needs, and that was all one could really ask.

It wasn’t long before the room was alight in the warm glow of all three of its oil lamps. Émile, who had since removed his soaking coat, sat on a small stool behind his desk, absentmindedly organizing the papers in and on it. A small glass of liquor sat in front of him. His thoughts had returned to the sudden arrival of Jacques Brodeur, who it seemed was a second representative from the king, what part his father played in it (if any), and the implications if he was involved. With a sigh, he retrieved a sheet of paper and a dip pen from a drawer. He could spend hours mulling over the situation, but he knew the only way he could be certain was to ask. With only some hesitation, he put pen to paper and began to write.

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Quote :: Father,

I’m certain one or another of your ‘contacts’ in these West Indies has by now informed you of my arrival and good health. I also expect that, shortly before this letter reaches your hands, you will read another that will tell you of my current whereabouts and identify my latest acquaintances. So as not to bore you needlessly with trifles you already know, or burden you with narrative (as my letter of June 8, to which you have yet to reply, must have) I will speak straight to the point.

I find myself in need of your good council. My official orders from his Majesty, King Lois XV, were explicit in that I was to be the Crown’s only representative to the Highland Confederacy for quite some time. Much to my surprise, shortly after introducing myself to several of its premier members, another officer ((privateer?)), a Captain Jacques Brodeur, arrived with orders very similar to my own. His presence is most welcome, but the reason behind this sudden change of plans is most troubling. You have always seemed to be able to find the truth in such affairs. Would it be too much to ask for you to find the answer to this matter?

I expectantly await your timely reply.

Cordially,
Émile

P.S. Please give my regards to my mother and Christophe.

With the letter written, to be mailed on the marrow, Émile began to prepare himself for rest he felt he much deserved. The first step: extinguish the unneeded lights. He only needed one to ready himself for sleep.

But his night was not yet over. As he made to snuff the second lantern that hung over the port side gallery windows behind his desk, he saw a dark figure running like a madman from an indeterminate number of others, whom were obviously in pursuit. To say Émile was intrigued by the situation would have been a gross understatement.

After first donning a cloak from his cabinet, he headed out on deck to see what was the matter.

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((At some point I might be opening this up for others to join, but for now, feel free to leave any OOC comments Very Happy

)

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When Émile finally returned to his cabin aboard 'La Francisque' later that night (or, more appropriately, very early the following morning), he was followed by a trail of water. Though the cloak he wore had fought valiantly against the rush of water, it was ultimately overwhelmed by its relentless force. Everything he wore beneath it had, thus, also been thoroughly soaked.

His mind did not dwell long on the puddle that was quickly forming beneath his feet or the sodden mess that once been recognizable as a French officer’s uniform, however. Instead, his focus was set on the night’s events. The brazen acts committed by the British agents, men whom evidently were officers of the British Royal Navy, were unnerving. And not simply because of their consequences (both the immediate and those yet to be realized), however severe they were. The fact that it had all occurred in a French port was what worried him. Were the British so secure in their own position that they could risk international incident, seemingly without a second thought? Were they truly that prepared for the repercussions that could follow such egregious interference in another nation’s territory? It was that very apprehension that prompted Émile’s decision to leave his ten men stationed outside The Albatross, despite the weather. Though normally one could feel almost safe from one’s enemies after such a clearly botched mission, the situation seemed anything but normal.

With some concerted effort, Émile pushed those thoughts away, if only temporarily, and relegated himself to sleep. There would be more than enough time in the coming days to ponder over this new state of affairs and react accordingly…

Subject: Re: Émile's Schooner Wed Jul 25, 2007 10:13 am

((Good read))

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((Continued from 'Erasmus de Brouwer' in 'The Albatross'.))

For a moment, Émile simply stood and stared out of sheer astonishment. Although he knew from the moment he had announced that he had been commissioned as an officer in the Marine Nationale and would be sailing to the Antilles that Christophe entirely intended to follow, Émile hadn’t expected him to even begin preparing for the voyage for another year or two at least. Actually seeing him walk through the door of The Albatross came as quite a surprise. But Émile suffered this loss of his composure for only that moment and soon recovered with a bit of a smirk.

“I see the Marquis has lent you the use of one or two of his contacts here on Martinique.”

“Naturellement…” Christophe answered, with a smirk of his own. “Of course, ‘e does not know zat ‘e ‘as…”

“Of course,” here both brothers’ smirks became smiles, “but please, have a seat and join us. I am eager to hear of your journey.”

“Truly, I would love to, but I need to be een Saint-Pierre by morning… and I need to speak with you…”

Émile nodded his understanding, and then turned to those left at the table and said, “Please excuse me mes amis, and good evening.”

With those as his parting words, Émile maneuvered himself around the table to where his brother stood, and then followed him back through the door into the night beyond.

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((Good read, indeed. I like the way you have provided Émile a place in which to reflect between encounters. This provides the reader a deeper understanding of his character.))

Jack