Chapter 5 Curiosity Killed the Blackguard #3
It was this urgency that brought him to the Grey Whale Tavern.
The moment Benjamin entered the building, warmth from the hearth and tightly packed room buffeted his face, making him shiver as he removed his tricorn and stepped farther into the establishment.
Candles flickered in wall sconces and across the lit hearth’s mantelpiece, barely serving as sufficient light; so much so that he had to squint to readjust. For this particular outing, he’d opted for his own clothes—commoner’s clothes—so he felt comfortable blending in with the other patrons.
“I’ll be right with you, love!” the barmaid called over to him.
Benjamin offered a smile and remained near the entryway.
While he loitered, he spotted a man matching George Stewart’s description in the far corner of the room.
He was sixty-something with thin white hair on top of his shiny, balding scalp.
As Benjamin stared, he and the older man shared a glance before the former looked away.
Despite George not knowing his face, it was wise to avoid coming on too strongly.
The barmaid approached, so Benjamin fell into the ruse and ordered himself an ale.
Seating himself in the front left corner of the room, he discreetly appraised the clientele while he waited for his drink.
As was the usual case for Lower Manhattan evenings, there were several men present: five redcoats cursing loudly while partaking in whist, two gentlemen playing nine-pins, at least ten seamen well in their cups, and quite a few loners who hadn’t arrived with any friends at all—Lady Liquor was all the friend they required.
Thankfully, he didn’t see anyone he recognized from Jedediah’s party.
“Here you are,” the barmaid purred, winking while she set the ale in front of him. “Anything else?” She placed her hands onto her ample hips, intentionally pushing up her breasts.
Distracted, Benjamin offered a weak smile and shook his head. “No, thank you…but thank you.”
Disappointed, the woman shrugged her shoulders, muttered a terse, “Suit yourself,” and sauntered off to check on the rowdy card players.
By now, Benjamin determined everyone was wholly absorbed with their own business, so he grabbed his stein and moved over to George.
Despite being the tavern’s owner, the old man often lounged about with the locals.
Fortunately for Benjamin, George was sitting off to the side by himself, writing out his inventory.
“Good evening, Mr. Stewart,” Benjamin greeted.
George grunted in response, far too engrossed in his task, so the former took it as an unspoken invitation to sit.
Sinking into the chair across from the tavern owner, Benjamin lowered his voice and said, “If Providence is kind, the winds will be easy for sailing tomorrow morning.”
George froze. It was the secret message they’d all agreed upon, and with the pass code given, he licked his dry lips and responded, “Yessir, I have a shipment that needs taken care of myself.”
With the second part of the secret message given, Benjamin relaxed and raised his stein. “To unmolested shipments.”
George barely lifted his own stein before knocking it back, his throat working as he quickly swallowed the ale. He seemed nervous… Was this his first time dealing with actual intelligence?
Leaning on his elbows, Benjamin said, “I’m from out of town and have a letter for my lady-love. Will you see that it gets to the post rider?”
“Certainly…for a fee.” George held out his weathered hand, and Benjamin placed a couple shillings into his palm. Despite the transaction not being necessary, both were determined to play out their ruse as realistically as possible. “All right,” George said. “And the letter, sir?”
Reaching into his coat pocket, Benjamin withdrew the intel he’d acquired—a coded letter restating what he’d given Amos, as well as a few Tory names he could recall from Jedediah’s ledger—before passing it across the table.
George gave it a quick once-over, swallowed, and stuffed the correspondence into his own pocket. “I’ll see that it gets to your lady-love come morning’s light,” he promised. “You enjoy that drink, sir.”
Benjamin smiled, relieved, before returning to his former seat, stein in hand. He intended to finish his drink to keep up appearances.
By the time Benjamin left the tavern, it was well into the late hours of the evening, just shy of the ten o’ clock curfew.
He felt a little overheated from being within the tight confines of the tavern, not to mention the extra drink he’d ordered, so he decided to take a walk and clear his head before returning to the Boyd estate.
With his tricorn pulled low, and his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, he trudged along the neighboring wharf, intent on remaining inconspicuous despite there being few people in the streets—no one beyond lowlifes and poor, desperate women looking to sell their wares.
Despite the pang of pity he felt on their behalf, he didn’t dignify them while he passed.
Edging closer to the dock’s edge, if only to avoid the various people sparsely lining the cobblestone street, he started walking faster. That was when a figure descended upon him from behind.
“Mister, can you spare a light?”
Benjamin halted, not expecting to be grabbed. He looked at the hand on his arm, then up at a face eerily obscured by shadows. The moon was low in the sky, and there were a few lanterns in the street, yet he was only afforded the slight shine of teeth through the dark…like a wolf.
Uneasy, Benjamin shook himself free. “Apologies, sir, but I have no tinder box to lend.”
He actually did have a tinder box—most resourceful men carried one—yet something about this stranger unnerved him. He moved to step around the man, then gave a jolt once the shadowed figure swung an arm around his neck and squeezed.
Gasping sharply, Benjamin tried to drop to his knees and knock himself loose, but was punished by the entrapment of a tighter hold. The two men grappled, scuffling dangerously close to the edge of the docks.
“I have no money,” Benjamin wheezed. Dark laughter followed, and the stranger’s stale, pungent breath burned his nostrils.
While the man giggled, Benjamin slammed his fist back and nailed his assailant in the gut.
His attacker released him with a startled “oof!” and Benjamin spun around, fumbling through his pocket for a knife.
Unfortunately, the stranger was much faster. Wielding his own weapon of choice, the man grabbed Benjamin by the shoulder and yanked him forward, his breath hot and rancid as he hissed, “Veni, vidi, vici.”
Benjamin’s eyes widened, and then an explosion of pain seared above his left hip. A sharp cry caught in his throat, and as the assailant yanked the small knife free of his wound, Benjamin’s knees buckled, and he dizzily toppled from the wharf.