A Strange Visit

Guest

Radzimierz squared himself and pushed open the door to an establishment called "The Albatross". He wasn't sure what to expect, but then again, is was not likely to be worse than what he had seen before.

Arriving in the warm waters of the Caribbean, he had fairly strict orders. The first part of which was simple, "Find the old Scotsman named Willem McDough, the proprietor of a tavern in Martinique called 'The Albatross', he can find you an officer of the Highland Confederacy, to whom you will deliver this letter."

After that, it would begin to get challanging, "After you have gain admission to their ranks as a military attache from La Royale, you will seek out the so called 'Compte de Nantes'. Find him, detain him, and bring him back in chains. By any means. Secondly, I want you to determine if the Confederacy has been in any way involved knowingly with that traitor. I should want to know if this little project is a hotbed of scandal."

Pushing his way through the crowd, his eyes fixed on a jovial looking man who fit the description he was given. Hearing the heavy trod of cavalry boots on the wood planking of the tavern floor, Willem turned abruptly around and found himself face to face with an exotically dressed man who spoke broken English in a strange accent.

"William, I need to speak with Officer of Highland Confederate. I have important letter for them, and I know you know where to find. We not play games now, find them, bring them here. It is urgent, by the name of the Regent, I order you."

With these words he raised his hand, and on one finger was a signet ring, identifying Radzimierz as an agent of the Duc d'Orléans.

Guest

It had been a week since Émile had returned to Martinique from Tampa, where he had been establishing various enterprises on his family's land there. It was a week he had intended to spend relaxing with his fellow Highland Confederates before returning to Florida to take up his newly assigned post. Unfortunately, his plans, as they often did in matters related to the Confederacy, did not come to fruition. Not long after he had first arrived, and while he had been on his way back from a meeting with the Magistrate in Fort-de-France, Jack’s ship had been set alight and subsequently sank. Since that day, the Confederacy had been on high alert while the perpetrators of this act of sabotage were tracked down, and the time each member had for rest was, at best, sporadic, and rarely overlapped with another’s.

Émile spent much of the time he had for rest and respite in The Albatross (as he currently was) conversing with its proprietor, Willem. Their conversations were never very substantive and were usually fairly one-sided, for the old Scot nearly always had some new bit of gossip or intrigue to expound at length upon. And they were often interrupted as the man had to constantly chastise one or another of his employees (more often than not, the young boy who bused the tables) or to help a patron, but the antics of the former were enough to provide some diversion and, regardless, Willem was always quick to return.

It was during one of the latter forms of interruption that a man in a red coat with a pretentious air about him entered the tavern and began pushing his way towards Willem. Though the man was not overtly hostile, with the situation as it was, Émile preferred to err on the side of caution. As such, he rose from his chair and followed the man. Because of the number of patrons and the noisy atmosphere, Émile missed much of what the newcomer said, but he did catch the last bit.
“… I order you.”

“How presumptuous of you, monsieur,” Émile said from behind the man, “to give orders to a man in his own place business.”

Guest

Radzimierz, waiting for Williem to give his reply, did not hear the other man coming uup behind him, a fact for which he would later chastize himself. If this had been back home, he would not have been so remiss. As it was, he was far from in his element. He spun on his heel quickly with his hand reaching for his saber, his face fierce, every bit the cornered animal he felt like. When he completed his turn he was as surprised as he could be, and he recognized at once the uniform of an officer of La Royale. His expression relaxed a bit, this was what he was looking for, and as of now it was the most familiar thing he had seen since he left Europe some months before.

Regaining some of his lost composure, he began to introduce himself, his English improving with use.

"I am Karmazyn* Radzimierz Ciolek, Pułkownik** in the service of the Rzeczpospolita Korony Polskiej i Wielkiego Księstwa Litewskiego***, and Naval Attaché to the Marine Nationale. I am here on an errand for the Duke of Orleans of a most urgent nature. I have here a letter containing my introduction and a list of the crimes and charges against a traitor to the Crown and Regent of France, whom I am to detain and return, and who is believed to have fled to this part of the world. In the meantime I am to act in my capacity as Captain to assist in ensuring the security of the interests of France."

It was a lengthy introduction that he had practiced in his mind many times during the long voyage to the Carribbean. He was proud that he was able to recite it, and with a tone that brokered no interruption. He waited for the young naval officer opposite him to reply, adopting for this purpose his most noble aspect.

((*The noble title of Crimson, a sort of Magnate, ** The rank equal in the West to a Colonel, *** Commonwealth of the Crown of the Polish Kingdom and Grand Duchy of Lithuania))

Guest

Émile watched, with mild amusement, the man’s reaction to his words. Although he had only half-way expected it, for he had felt that a reaction of surprise would have been far more likely than the one of panic he received, he had prepared for it. When the man completed his violent turn, he found his supposed aggressor standing just without striking distance with his hand resting on the grip of a holstered pistol. It was at this point that Émile was surprised, though he hid it well. He had expected the man to follow through with his attack and lunge across the short gap between himself and what he perceived as an enemy caught off his guard. Instead, the man’s manner abruptly changed, once again, from one of aggression to one that could almost be relief.

"I am Karmazyn Radzimierz Ciolek, Pułkownik in the service of the Rzeczpospolita Korony Polskiej i Wielkiego Księstwa Litewskiego, and Naval Attaché to the Marine Nationale.” The man began, rather proudly. “I am here on an errand for the Duke of Orleans of a most urgent nature. I have here a letter containing my introduction and a list of the crimes and charges against a traitor to the Crown and Regent of France, whom I am to detain and return, and who is believed to have fled to this part of the world. In the meantime I am to act in my capacity as Captain to assist in ensuring the security of the interests of France."

After offering the man a salute, and then a handshake, Émile replied with an introduction of his own, “It is a pleasure to meet you, seigneur. I am le Vicomte Émile deMontfort, son of the esteemed Marquis René deMontfort, Capitaine and acting Contre-amiral in la Flotte Coloniale of the Marine Nationale, and liaison to the Highland Confederacy. ” And then, almost as an afterthought, he added with a smile, “I believe it is now safe for you to put that chair down, Willem.”

The next moment or two was filled with the sounds of many Scots and Irishmen grunting and cursing and they returned to their seats and conversations from where they had left off. Once they had, and the level of noise had returned to only a dull roar, Émile said, “The letter now, if you would.”

Guest

Quickly glancing around the tavern to ensure that the patrons had indeed refocused their attention once again on their cups, Radzimierz reached into a carefully concealed fold in his leapord skin sash and procured from within a small sealed document bearing the seal and arms of the Regent of France, and the Office of the Admiralty.

Enclosed was a short tranfer order, in effect attaching Captain Ciolek to the Flotte Coloniale of the Marine Nationale in his capacity as visiting diplomat and observer.

Next was a letter directly from the Duc d'Orleans introducing him as an Honored Guest of France and distingiushed veteran cavalry officer, who following the reelection of Augustus II surrendered his military commision and returned home to Danzig, where his family ran a proftiable grain shipping company that employed many Scottish expatriates from the community in Gdansk as traders. There he gained experience as captain of a family vessel that made the rounds to Aberdeen where he learned English, and became associated with the Jacobite cause. His father, in his capacity as Voivode of Pommerania thought it best that he be then sent on a sojourn to France for a few years as a way of keeping him from trouble.

For these reasons the letter goes on to state, his rather unique circumstances recommended him for a rather sensitive mission to the Carribbean where it is believed that a traitor to the crown has sought refuge among the Scottish community there. The letter goes on to state that the bearer should be given all due assistence in the conduct of this mission as prudence should dictate.

The last paper in the packet is a signed and sealed Lettre de Cachet for the detention and extradition of one Comte Marcellin Marceau who was believed to be using an alias and posing as a merchant captain. Among the list of crimes is the most serious charge of conspiring, along with a selection of Breton nobles, with the Crown of Spain, to overthrow the Rightful King of France, and specifically to this end having secured the transport of Irish mercenaries into the territory of France under the Spanish flag.

Other lesser conspirators are believed to be in the Traitor's company in the vicinity of New Orleans, posing as family.

While the Captain de Montfort was reading, Radzimierz offered his own interjections.

"This man is very dangerous, a master of the confidence game. He uses deceit and disguse among other machinations to acheive his ends."

"Some clue to his identity is that he a enjoyer of fine and exotic wines. A notorious carouser, who is suspected of having been involved in the death of a nephew of the Duc de la Force over some lady."

"He fancies himself a philosopher and intellectual and likes to mingle in circles of the learned."

Then leaning in closer and speaking in a hushed tone, "It is even said that the reason he chose to flee to the Caribbean and not to Spain, is so that he might find the Irish mercenary captain who he feels betrayed his cause."

Leaning back, Radizmierz waited with patience while the Vicomte finished looking over his papers. Now noticibly more calm, Radzimierz had a more jovial mien, and smile crept back into his features, exaggerated by his moustache which he nervously tweaked between his fingers.

Guest

((Excellent work!!! Polish history, especially during this period, is a fascinating and, unfortunately, little known subject. Please continue the story.))

Bog

Guest

For some time after being handed the various papers, Émile said nothing as he regarded the information and the man who presented it. There was no denying the validity of the documents, for Émile had seen the same wax seal and handwriting enough times to immediately recognize them as those of le Régent. Thus by extension, the man, Radzimierz, could also be trusted. Even so, Émile almost found himself doubting what he had been told, for surely no one would take advantage of the Confederacy’s just cause only to advance their own personal vendetta. But then he reminded himself that the world was full of men who knew no bounds when it came to achieving their own ends—men very much like his father.

With a sigh, Émile looked up from the missives to the man across from him. “Perhaps it would be best to discuss these matters further in privacy… There is little of it to be had here in town, but my ship is more than secure enough…”

Guest

Radzimierz nodded at the suggestion, "Whatever you think is best, lead the way." he said with a broad sweep of his arm in the direction of the door.

Things were happening now, and events propelled him forward. It was certainly preferable, he was a man more comfortable with action. After all he had plenty to ponder that he would rather not focus on. He remembered with the vividness of a waking dream the creeping sensation of nausia he felt when his father explained to him that perhaps it would be best if he spent a few years in Paris.

It might as well be on the other side of the Earth he remembered thinking, and now here he was. When he had recieved his orders of transfer to the Caribbean, it wasn't until he retuned to his apartment and took a pair of compasses to the Atlas Maior that he could even understand where it was he was going.

So where the inertia of the moment would take him, Radzimierz would follow. If the young French Captain wanted to talk things over on his ship, he would go.

» Renaurd's quarters, upstairs. (Visit him if you like)
» Strange loot