Chantilly Angevin and the Wanted Notice

January 28, 1720 -- Grenville, Florida

Chantilly dashed into the tavern, breathing heavily and in a great panic. Was I followed? she thought, her mind racing. Her eyes flicked quickly from side to side, searching for an empty table, until her gaze settled on a small one in a dark corner. She beelined for it, nearly knocking over a barmaid in the process.

She quickly decided on the chair facing away from the door and pulled it deeper into the shadows before sitting down. Her hands were shaking furiously, as was the crumpled piece of paper crunched within her frightened grasp. Calm down, she told herself sternly. You're just a patron, just like everyone else in here. No one is looking for you.

She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to halt the adrenaline-fueled instincts to run and hide that would surely draw even further attention. Inhale... exhale... Slowly, Chantilly was beginning to turn the tide of her fears. Inhale...

“Do you need something, mademoiselle?” a barmaid asked, shattering Chantilly's carefully crafted calm.

Chantilly turned to the barmaid standing over her shoulder and shot her a steely look. It was the same one she'd run into a few minutes earlier. “No. Nothing. Go away,” Chantilly snapped.

A look of confusion flashed past the barmaid's face, but was promptly replaced by annoyance. “Good, because you're not getting any service in this establishment,” the barmaid retorted, stalking off in a huff. Immediately Chantilly felt a pang of guilt for her harshness. She reached up and pulled her hat down lower on her face as if to hide her shame.

The motion rattled the crinkled paper that Chantilly had nearly forgotten was in her hand. It was a wanted notice that she had found posted outside the magistrate's office just a few minutes before her panicked arrival. She had read it then, casually, looking for an easy reward to supplement her flagging business ventures, but as her eyes poured over the words, her blood ran cold. She just reacted, ripping it off of the wall and running inside the nearest building, which just happened to have been the tavern.

Now Chantilly unwrinkled the the notice that had upset her so much. Now that she was calmer, she re-read it slowly, diligently, afraid to miss a single detail:

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WANTED

Pirate "Mean Célestine"
Given name unknown.
Native of Marseilles, France
Last known location, Tortuga

Short, fair brunette woman of 30 years or less.
May be posing as any profession or as a male.
Likely dangerous, approach with caution.
Has a weakness for rum.

Wanted for Acts of Piracy against French Nationals
along French ports in the Antilles Chain, Thievery,
and the Murder of the honorable businessman
Armand Maugan of New Orleans.

1000 DOUBLOON REWARD
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Chantilly sighed in relief when she'd finished. There was nothing in this notice that would point to her specifically; in fact, the only link would be for those who knew the name of her former lover, and although her indiscretions were more common knowledge than she'd like, the details, she was certain, were still fairly quiet. Beyond that, there was absolutely no one who knew that Chantilly was a name she'd adopted only recently. As long as she stayed unrecognized – a sporting new haircut and wardrobe had done wonders – along with avoiding Tortuga and anyone associated with the place.

The last part might be easier said than done. With conflict heating up, Chantilly had found contact with pirates to be an altogether common experience. And then there was the small matter of other confederates with pirate-laced backgrounds that she ran into all-too-often...

Another rise of panic stuck in her throat. Perhaps I should go back to Marseilles, she despaired. And what would be waiting for her there? A cloister of angry nuns? And what could she do with herself after they put her back out on the street?

No, I won't go back. I can't, now. It's much too late for that, she thought to herself resignedly. She folded the wanted notice neatly and placed it into her pocket, resolving later to burn it so no others would see. Tomorrow, she would set sail along the coast and not stop until she had ripped the notice from every magistrate's office between here and the Yucatan.

(I really like this Chantilly, you are a great writer, looking forward to more of yours)