The Rose

~ June 12, 1637 ~

The tavern door opened, and everyone braced themselves against the chilling wind and rain. An unseasonable cold front had moved through the area. Through the door came a big man, whose size seemed to make his own door as he entered sideways. He quickly shut the door, pulled off his hood and surveyed the people in the room. Through the darkness and smoke, he saw the woman behind the bar. He was not interested in anyone else.

“We are closing,” Carina quipped from the other end of the bar.

The man gazed at her through unhappy eyes, “It is still early,” he complained.

“The weather has me in a foul mood, and I am tired,” she replied.

“Come, up to the bar,” Nannette motioned from the other end of the counter with a smile, “no sense coming all this way and not having something to drink.”

Carina scowled at her older sister for, once again, countering her orders. She threw her towel to the counter and stormed out the side door to the kitchen.

The man walked up to the bar, removed his overcoat, and shook off the water, much to the displeasure of those at the nearest table. They would have said something had he been smaller. The knife on his hip was a great deterrent as well. He tossed the great coat over the bar and casually listened to the discussions around the room.

The buzz through the entire region had been the vicious attack on the Pequot village of Mistic, Connecticut, not a hundred miles south of them, by English, Mohegan, and Narragansett warriors. It brought to a head an 11-month war that had taken hundreds of lives. The Pequot had lived side by side with arriving British settlers for over 15 years, but they were territorial and had come to resent the encroachment into their tribe’s customary territory. Conflicts like this were breaking out all over New England.

Nannette poured a drink and put it in front of him. He slapped a coin on the counter. She picked it up and studied it.

“We do not get many of these,” she remarked, “used to seeing Spanish Reale’s.”

“I spend what I get paid,” he remarked, “my payment this week is English pounds.”

Nannette made motions to put the coin in her till, then discreetly slid it under his waiting hand. She turned to her patrons. “Sorry gents, we are calling it an early night. Our shipments have not arrived, so I am keeping some in reserve for the rest of the week. Until I get more, three drinks only.”

There was a grumbling from the dozen or so men in the bar. One by one they finished what they had and made the unhappy trek into the weather. Most had hoped to stay into the wee hours and outlast the storm. Within a few minutes there were only three remaining, nursing their last beer before leaving … and the man at the bar.

Carina returned and was happy to see the place was mostly empty. She went around the room, collecting mugs and cleaning tables. She eyed the man at the bar. To say he was big was an understatement: He was not fat, just exceptionally tall and big. He was not necessarily muscular, it was obvious he enjoyed his beer, but she still would not want to tangle with him in a fight.

The tinge of gray in his beard showed he was not a young man yet was far from old. The large knife on his hip was impressive. Despite his foreboding appearance, he sported a friendly, jovial face. He seemed like a nice man, but Carina was not inclined to get to know him. She casually checked that her Snaphance was where she left it under the counter. Her actions were not lost on Nannette.

“How are things in Boston?” Nannette asked, making small talk.

“The same,” he replied with a shrug, “two ships came in a few days ago from Ipswich.”

Nannette frowned, “more settlers coming this way?” Nannette asked.

“I would imagine,” he answered, “it seems they arrive in Boston, seeking a new life in the colonies, and immediately leave for somewhere else.”

“As long as they bring coin, I will serve them,” Nannette commented, “were they not due a week ago?”

He cast a frowned glance and shook his head, then checked the other patrons. Carina was at their table. She shook one awake and told them to finish up. She stood over them to encourage their departure. They assisted their inebriated friend to his feet and helped carry him out the door.

Carina followed and blew out the oil lamps on either side of the door indicating they were no longer open for business. She moved the heavy beam over the iron angles to barricade the door. She would let the last guest out when he was ready, but wanted to keep new customers from coming in. She made a last trip through the tables picking up the last remnants and taking them to the tub for washing.

“We are not going to have anything left to serve in a week’s time if we do not get supplies,” Carina complained. She leaned in close and lowered her voice, “when is Leslie going to get here? I thought you said she was dependable?”

Both Nannette and the man shared a private giggle.

“What are you laughing at?” Carina challenged.

She saw the man’s eyes flair.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Nannette calmed with a chuckle. She turned to the man, having questions now that the other patrons were gone, “why were the ships late? Do they have my forty barrels?”

Carina cast a confused look.

The man stretched and shook his head, “They were supposed to have over a hundred. But they added more passengers and cargo at the last moment and only took on thirty. They lost ten along the way.”

“Twenty!” Nannette protested, “That is it? What does that leave me? Five?”

He shook his head, “all twenty are yours, but do not you dare tell anyone where you got them,” he replied, “I have got many more customers in Boston already angry. I told them there were none to be had.”

“Well,” Nannette considered, “that is better than none, but it still puts me in a bind.”

“You are twenty barrels ahead of your competition,” he countered, “more business for you.”

“No one is going to come all the way to Watertown from Boston for a drink,” she said, “when can I get more?”

“Patience woman, I am working on a ship from the Caribbean,” he responded, “rum … give me a week.”

Carina had quietly listened to the exchange. She was confused and worried her sister was entering bad business associations. They already had a proven supplier in Leslie. The man looked vaguely familiar, but she could not place him.

“Who is this?” Carina challenged, pointing at the man, “We have a regular supplier.”

“Who, this Leslie of yours?” he mocked with a chuckle as he took another swig of his drink, “I do not exactly see your stores bulging.”

Nannette saw Carina purse her lips and put her hand on her knife. The charade had gone on long enough.

“Carina,” she said, putting her hand on her sister’s blade, “this is Les … short for Leslie.”

Carina gave him a bewildered look, relaxing her hand on the blade, “I thought Leslie was a GIRL?” she smirked.

“I will cut you,” he mocked with a smile, taking another swig.

“Both of you will do no such thing,” Nannette intervened, “we are all friends here.”

Les pulled his beer from his mouth and beamed a big smile at Carina. Beer foam covered his mustache and dripped off his dark, thin cropped beard.

“It has been too long since we have seen each other. I had almost forgotten what the other half of the Twin Sisters Tavern looked like,” he said, “it seems every time I visit, we miss each other.”

Carina frowned. Now she remembered him: He offered a room to her when she first arrived in Boston two years ago. Carina remembered his wife, Jobie, more, as he always seemed out doing business.

“That happens when you do business in the middle of the night,” she spat, “besides, right now we are just a bar, unless you know a good cook.”

Carina cast an unhappy glance at her sister.

“It is not my fault I caught Marie with her hand in my till and her drunken boyfriend deep in her behind,” Nannette defended, “I can look the other way when she does it a little, but he was demanding she steal more. I can only lose so much; I do not care how good a cook she was.”

“I still say we should have taken a knife to him,” Carina countered, “make him a eunuch and the problem goes away.”

Nannette raised an eyebrow. The solution had merit, but she would have rather done away with him completely and thrown him in the James River. The current would have carried him away quickly and he would not have been missed. She turned her attention back to the matter at hand.

“Why were the ships late?” she asked, “They usually arrive early this time of year.”

Les smiled and took another swig.

“The Rose suffered a fire halfway across the Atlantic,” he reported.

Both women wrinkled their brow. Fires were not uncommon but were generally small and did not grow in intensity enough to threaten the integrity of the ship.

“They almost lost the ship because of it,” Les continued, “they moved all the passengers to the John & Dorothy until it was extinguished. They do not know what started it, or why it burned so intensely, or even what it was that burned, but it started up on the main deck, just forward of the main mast. They said it started at night and grew extremely fast. It burned through the upper, mid, and lower decks. The only thing that kept it from burning right through the bottom of the ship was it hit the ballast and stopped.

“It is a good thing rock does not burn. I saw the hole. I could stand on the top deck and spit all the way down to ballast. It was big enough to allow a man to pass. It continued to burn for another three days. They almost had to abandon the ship. It burned so hot it threatened to ignite the entire hold. He said the stench smelled like burning dog, but it acted more like hot shot that would not go out. They lost two hands trying to move everything out of its path before it burned through to the cargo hold. That is where the other ten barrels were lost. Personally, I think some of the hands helped themselves in the confusion.”

Nannette and Carina listened in stunned silence. They shared concerned stares. Carina almost started shaking.

“She is on that ship, Netta,” Carina declared, almost going into a panic, “she has had three days to find us, they are coming for us.”

“We do not know that,” Nannette countered, “calm down.”

“What else would burn like that?” Carina frantically asked.

Now it was Les’ turn to look confused. Les knew of Carina’s fortitude. She was afraid of nothing, yet he could see her shaking. She grabbed her pistol and put it in her drawstrings. She was beginning to hyperventilate.

“Burn like what?” Les asked, trying to get back into the conversation, “What does that? Who are you talking about?”

“Someone you do not ever want to meet,” Carina explained, disappearing into the kitchen and barricading the back door.

“Was anyone else missing from the ship when they docked?” Nannette asked, her demeanor as calm as Carina’s was frantic.

“I only talked to the first mate to pick up my barrels,” Les said, “he did say they were missing one, but it was possible he was still on the other ship. After the fire they had difficulty convincing passengers to go back.”

“Not likely,” Nannette commented, “you said whatever was burning smelled like dog. Did anyone on the ship have a dog?”

“He did mention an attractive woman came on board with a large dog,” Les explained, “she actually spent the voyage in the master’s quarters … with the dog. The first mate said she was very accommodating, and the dog ate better than the crew.”

For the first time Nannette appeared rattled.

“Did she have a name?” Nannette asked, staring into space, “Was the dog with her when they arrived?”

“The dog was with her,” Les confirmed, “he said her name was Reeba, something like that, but she had others with her – five – he said they were Spaniards, very unusual on a British ship. They stayed with the other passengers. During the fire they moved to the other ship, she stayed with the master … even as the fire burned.”

Nannette was now visibly shaken, “Where is my pistol?” she yelled to Carina.

They heard Carina grunt something in reply.

“Do you have my twenty barrels?”

Les nodded, “My wagon is out back.”

“Get it inside,” she ordered, “let me know if you get anything from the Caribbean. If we are not here when you get back … do not look for us. If we need, how fast can we get passage out of here?”

Les frowned as they were his best customers, “Which direction?” he asked, “Is this woman that dangerous?”

The look on her face confirmed his fears. He could see her too shaking. She looked around the room of the business they had built from the ground up over the past two years as if she were already saying goodbye.

“Any direction,” she mumbled, “preferably South. I hate the cold. It is not so much her as the company she keeps.”

“Who is she?” Les asked.

Nannette looked into his eyes, not wanting to answer.

“The devil,” Carina answered, returning and handing Nannette a loaded pistol, “and HELL will follow her.”

That was good enough for Les, “I will get the barrels unloaded.”

He moved through the kitchen and went to his wagon. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, but fog had rolled in, muffling all the sounds around them. He hated how surreal it got when it was like this.

Carina and Nannette shared worried stares.

“I am scared,” Carina admitted, “if it is her, if she has found us, how can we ever be safe? We are in a whole new world.”

“One thing at a time,” Nannette said, “we do not even know if it is her. We do not know if she survived Estella. You and The BOOK need to be safe.” Carina nervously nodded. “I want you ready to leave on a minute’s notice. Make your way to Glenn’s farm, and then work south. I will stall and keep them here, maybe even take them north.”

“What about the others?” Carina asked, “They are the ones that really want us.”

“One thing at a time,” Nannette repeated, “she is their scout, they just follow. Until they find us, let us just worry about her. If they catch us, then we will worry about them.”

Carina begrudgingly agreed.

Loud thumps echoed from the kitchen as Les moved barrel after barrel into the back storeroom. Dusk was rapidly approaching. Although Nannette had her pistol loaded, the rain and humidity would sour the powder before long. If she stepped into the rain, it would be useless. Nannette was more comfortable with her knife and long blade, powder was unreliable. They heard a horse whinny outside … out front. They exchanged worried glances.

“That is not his horse: Get him out of here,” Carina urged in a low voice.

Nannette quickly moved behind the bar, pulled back a box and removed a small section of floorboard. She retrieved a leather pouch and made sure it had the proper amount of coinage and replaced the board and box. Carina went to the front window and cautiously peered out from behind the heavy linen. She saw nothing. Turning to Nannette she shook her head. Nannette hurried to the kitchen just as Les finished bringing the last barrel.

“Count it later,” she insisted, putting the pouch in his hand, “if I am short, you know I am good for it.”

“If I ever see you again,” he frowned.

“Then you can sell your barrels in Boston and save the long trip,” she countered with a grin.

He smiled at her, “But your pie is much tastier.”

She smacked his arm, “The next time I cook one it is yours. Go home to your wife. Give Jobie my love.”

He nodded and walked out. Nannette closed the door and moved the beam into place. Almost instantly there was a loud bang as he returned.

“His coat,” Carina called out.

She grabbed it off the bar as Nannette eased the massive beam back to the floor. She unlatched the door and it practically burst open. Before Carina knew what was happening, something was on her. It was big, wet, and growling. It knocked her to the ground and latched onto the bulk of the coat.

Teeth grabbed her wrist through the thick material and started shaking. Fortunately, it was thick enough to prevent teeth from penetrating her skin, but it had a firm grip and whipped her arm side to side. Nannette drew her pistol as Carina screamed, cocked and aimed at the large mass. There was no way she could miss.

Before she could pull the trigger, she felt something cold under her chin. She could see the end of the blade a full foot beyond her neck. Given the speed and accuracy in which it appeared, she did not have to look to know who held the blade.

“I would not do that,” a voice calmly said.

Nannette turned her head to face the woman, looking down the long blade extending from her arm. She was cloaked in a dark hood that obscured her face. No sooner had Nannette glanced out the door when another blade was under the hood at the woman’s throat.

“You are right, I would not do that,” Les said.

The woman’s shoulders slumped as she realized she had been out maneuvered. She lowered her blade and dangled it by the hilt in her fingers. Les relieved her of it.

“A LITTLE HELP WOULD BE APPRECIATED!” Carina yelled, still being savagely whipped around. Nannette raised the muzzle of her pistol, giving the woman one last chance.

“Lupa, OFF!” the woman commanded. Instantly the massive beast ceased her attack and backed off, practically at Nannette’s feet. “SIT!” The animal did as commanded.

Carina struggled to sit up splay-legged with the animal still sitting on her petticoats between her legs. She stared angrily into the beast’s eyes. She threw the coat aside, reached up and grabbed the animal’s muzzle hard, squeezing and turning at the same time. The animal gave out a high-pitched whimper.

“It is ME!” Carina growled. She held the grip long enough for the animal to recognize her. The beast’s eyes looked fearful. She released her grip, shoving her muzzle back. “IN THE CORNER, GO!”

Lupa quickly and dutifully went to the far side of the room and sat in the corner next to the warm fireplace.

“That is no dog,” Les gasped, “that is a wolf!”

The haunches of the animal easily reached his thighs.

“That is right,” Nannette confirmed, lowering her weapon and stepping back, “and a word to the wise … women have two hands,” Nannette reached under the woman’s cloak and retrieved the foot-long dagger she was gently holding to Les’ belly. She showed him the blade, “if she has a weapon in one, you would be a fool not to expect a weapon in the other. This one is good at distracting you with the long blade while the short one guts you.”

Nannette returned her pistol to half-cock. Carina picked herself up off the floor.

“You have traveled far … join us,” Nannette said to the hooded stranger.

Without speaking the woman stepped into the main room. Les took a deep breath. He had no idea the second blade was there. She could have ended him at any time.

Nannette turned to Les, “I owe you a coat,” she said, “bolt the door and stay a while. The least I can do is offer you some of your own drink.”

Les nodded absentmindedly as he closed the door and put the heavy beam into its irons. He was still shaken that she had another blade, unseen and hidden. He retrieved his coat and held it up to a lantern. Rips and tears dotted the entire back.

“Jobie is going to kill me,” he commented, “she spent a week making this coat.”

Nannette ignored his comments and dropped the blades to the bar. The hooded woman casually walked the tavern surveying the layout. Lupa stayed in her corner.

Les leaned into Nannette, “Is that her … your devil woman?” he whispered.

The woman turned to face them. She reached up to remove her hood. Les saw the mark on her arm: A small half-penny sized birthmark with a scar running diagonally through it. He winced, wondering what the rest of her looked like. He envisioned a hideous old hag. She pulled her hood off and let it fall back. His mouth fell open. The woman was stunning, hardly old, about the same age as Nannette and Carina. She sported the same raven black hair, long and running beneath her cloak. It was wild and unkempt.

Her skin had the same dark Mediterranean features as the other women. Her eyes were dark brown. He found her attractive in a death-match-kill-me-if-you-can sort of way. He hardly considered her much of a threat as she stood over a foot shorter than him, roughly the same height as the other ladies. Still, he remembered her other dagger. They all stood in silence studying one another.

“Hello Netta,” the woman quietly greeted in English with a heavy Spanish accent, turning to the other, “hello Carina. I hope Lupa did not injure you.”

Carina stared angrily at the woman, rubbing her wrist, her lips pursed tightly.

“Hello Becca,” Nannette calmly greeted.

Rebecca moved forward. Nannette let her arm fly and sent a loud, hard slap across the woman’s face. The woman’s body recoiled as her face snapped to the side. Nannette stood firm in front of her, fists clinched. Rebecca slowly returned her gaze upon Nannette. They stared each other down, no further attempts to move on either side. Nannette’s eyes welled up with tears.

“WE THOUGHT YOU HAD DIED!” Nannette cried, and the two were in each other’s arms, hugging tightly. Carina moved forward, tears bursting forth from her face as well.

Rebecca grabbed both in a hug, “No, my dear sisters,” she declared, “I am very much alive.”

Les rocked back on his heels and leaned against the bar.

“Huh,” he grunted, “I did not anticipate that happening. Sisters … that explains the other blade.”

He knew Carina and Nannette were never without at least two blades and the occasional pistol. Rebecca would bear just as much careful consideration, but he had no idea how much deadlier she was.

He stared at her birthmark with the scar through it as the sisters continued hugging. A memory stirred: He had met this woman before, long ago, but could not place her. Corte de Luna, he mumbled, staring at her birthmark and scar, searching his memories. It was a puzzle.

He gazed at the large pale animal sitting quietly in the corner, eyeing his movements.

And hell followed her.