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 The Summons

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PostSubject: The Summons   The Summons Icon_minitimeFri Sep 05, 2008 12:17 pm

Jean examined the wax seal on the letter delivered to his office in Port St Joe. He wrinkled his brow and nervously stroked his “Van dyke”.

“An official letter from MacTamhais does not bode well.” He thought.

He poured a glass of wine from the family’s Tampa vineyard. He took a sip. After contemplating the bouquet and taking a deep breath he broke the seal. Upon unfolding the paper, he reads;

“Jean,

I have set sail to Bell Isle to supervise the erection of a sulphur mine. During my return trip, I wish to pause at my plantation in New Orleans to review operations there.

I request the honor of your presence there when I arrive.

Ruiseart of MacTamhais”

Jean took another sip of his wine and looked out across the yard at the sawyers busily working on yet another hull for Larkin Shipyards. He thought about the strangeness of this communication. First it was delivered via special courier. Secondly Ruiseart requested the honor of my presence. And finally, his signature.

“What does he want? “ Jean mused. “Only one way to find out.”

“Prepare the ‘Highland Trader’ immediately”, he shouted striding through the yard and toward the dock, “ I sail on the next tide to New Orleans.”
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PostSubject: Re: The Summons   The Summons Icon_minitimeMon Feb 23, 2009 12:45 pm

Jean leaned forward on the railing as he watched the masts of the ships docked at Port St Joe slip below the horizon. The crew of the trim sloop was finishing their departure tasks and was slipping into the familiar routine of sailing across the open sea. Jean allowed himself to relax and his thoughts drifted to a spring day a quarter of a century ago.

“He is wearing a skirt!” the young boy exclaimed.

“Quiet”, Jean whispered, “they will hear us.”

The two lads again looked through the window overlooking the room that Brother Xavier used as an office. Jean studied the figure that was talking to the abbot. He concluded from the sound of his voice the stranger was indeed a man. The dark beard confirmed his theory. The man’s clothes were a startling contrast to the drab robes of the monks who lived in the abbey. The Scot had removed his blue cap and was holding it in his left hand. His right hung at his side in a tension that indicated alertness. While he spoke to the monk, his eyes continued to survey the room for any hidden dangers. He was armed with a cutlass, a brace of pistols and a dirk in his stocking.

Their conversation at an end, Ruiseart MacTamhais removed a pouch of gold coins from his sporran and placed it on the table that served as the abbot’s desk. He bowed, and then turned on his left heel. After striding across the room to the door, he departed.

Jean looked up at the full sails of the ‘Highland Trader’ and smiled about the memory of his first ‘meeting’ with the man who had summoned him to New Orleans.
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PostSubject: Re: The Summons   The Summons Icon_minitimeMon Feb 23, 2009 12:52 pm

((OOC

I started last September to tell the story of Ruiseart MacTamhais and became derailed by real life events. After reading the stories posted recently I thought I should dust off my notes and take another stab at it. I hope you enjoy the tale.))

MacTavish
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PostSubject: Re: The Summons   The Summons Icon_minitime

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