They walked along Hartogstraat until they reached number 17. All of the buildings along the street were townhouses, and presumably homes, however each was also a place of business despite the absence of business signs on the walls or above the doors. Daniel walked up the front step of 17 and knocked, while Isaac Dorislaus and Robert Blake stood on the foot walk and waited. When someone inside looked out through a small hatch in the door, he pushed a card of introduction through to them, as Isaac had told him to do.
There way here from the embassy had taken them past the Binnen Hof, the great palace used by the Stats-General as their seat of office. Isaac had told them that the representatives from each of the eight Dutch republics had little say over the army or navy, which was controlled by Stadtholder Frederick, but they did have control of the Dutch East and West Indies companies. The value of each of those companies equaled the value of the eight provinces, and the area of land each company controlled was many times the area of the eight provinces. Control of these two mighty companies and their unlimited resources was the main thing that kept Prince Frederick from declaring himself a king.
The Stats-General had agreed that the eight republics would stay neutral in the English civil war, which meant that the two mighty companies were also neutral, which meant that the public merchant banks were also neutral. In convincing the Stats-General, Walter Strickland had cut Henrietta off from much of the readily available financing great enough to buy the crown jewels that she had stolen from England. There were still two other sources. Other royal courts, and the families represented by this row of houses on Hartogstrat.
In these houses lived the representatives of private banks. The private banks were family based, and those families had similar home offices all over Europe and the Levant. Each one of these houses represented a hidden empire that stretched far and wide. Hidden, for these bankers did not own things, or run things. Instead they owned the debts of those who did own and run things such as land and buildings and ships. Number 17 represented a Venetian family of bankers who were well known for accepting jewels as collateral for debts.
The doorman was dressed all in black and his face was hidden by a fluffy beard and hair that had seemingly never been cut. On his head was a skullcap, perhaps to hide a bald spot, or perhaps in some religious custom. His dark eyes stared at each man in turn for hard moment as if memorizing their faces. First at the tall fair man in the plain wool cloak, then the normal sized man with the neatly trimmed beard and the courtly cloak, and then at the short man with dark hair and the cavalry boots. He looked down at the card in his hand and asked in heavily accented Dutch, "Which of you is Mister Dorislaus?"
Isaac answered in fluent Dutch. He had grown up in Holland as the son of a Calvinist Minister, and had read law in Dutch at Leyden, but his career as a teacher, a lawyer and a judge had all been while living in Cambridge. "I am he. There is a meeting here today, I believe. A meeting at which I am expected."
They were shown into the house. Although from the outside the front door look like a common wooden door, once inside there was a second door, or rather a gate. A gate made of heavy iron bars the likes of which would have been more in place in a goal than in this tall townhouse. Or perhaps not, since this was a bankierhuis. Only once the door was bolted did another man, a younger man and armed, come and open the iron gate. They were led past a series of plain and unadorned rooms and then up a staircase. On the next floor the house looked far more welcoming and comfortable, nay, lavish, and most of this floor was taken up by one room in which seven men were sitting quietly on one side of a long table.
The table had one chair on the other side from these men, but two more chairs were quickly placed beside that one. Their winter cloaks were taken from them, and taken away out of the room, which made Daniel very glad that he had thought to move his pocket pistol from his cloak to his jacket pocket. He wondered where Rob's pocket pistol was. They were ushered to sit in the three chairs. Only once they were sat, were they asked if they needed refreshments or a warm drink such as cacaolait, and they all chose the cacao for Dutch cacao was made very rich and served very hot, and mixed with cayenne pepper in the way of the new world. It was the best of drinks to warm a body.
The seven men introduced themselves, and mentioned which house number they were from, but failed to mention the name of the banking family that they represented. All of them shared the look of the man at the door. These seven men were the voice of Jewish banking in The Hague, and therefore the voice of Jewish Jewelers throughout the eight republics. Once the introductions were complete, they waited politely and patiently for Isaac to warm himself, catch his breath and gather his thoughts.
When Isaac spoke it was in his fluent Dutch. "I have come from Walter Strickland, the Ambassador of England, to once again ask that your banks refrain from assisting our Queen, Henrietta, in the selling or attaching of the crown jewels of our kingdom."
"A point of clarity,” the youngest of the seven men, perhaps as young as fifty, said softly with an accent, perhaps Portuguese. "In Dan Haag there are two Ambassadors from England, one appointed by King Charles and the other by Parliament. They have widely different views on the provenance and ownership of the jewels that your queen has offered for sale. Your queen claims them as the personal property of the king and she possesses a letter from him proclaiming this, describing the jewels, and naming her as his agent in the selling of them. That said, we accept that there are valid legal claims on both sides. Please continue."
"The queen has obviously been able to sell or attach some of the jewels, for this winter she has chartered ships, gathered and paid an army of foreigners, and loaded the ships with weapons and other supplies of war. The storms may have turned this convoy back, but it will surely sail again once the weather calms. This convoy amounts to a foreign invasion of England. Each jewel she is able to sell will cost England more hardship, injury, and death."
The youngest man made another point of clarity. "In Amsterdam the queen has been able to sell some smaller pieces, and some smaller gemstones, plus a fine collar of pearls. Her claim was that these were her personal jewels, and as she is a daughter of France, it was a believable claim. None of these pieces were described on the description lists that the ambassador provided to us. Although the sales were arranged by members of our community, we advanced no funds towards the purchase. The buyers were the vain wives of wealthy merchants. Please continue."
"We have heard that the ruby collars and the three brethren stones, which are the centerpieces of the crown's collection, have either been sold or attached,” Isaac said. Attached was the polite way of saying collateral.
"First, such mammoth stones do not interest us, other than for our admiration of such wondrous gems. Such gems are priceless, which is to say, they have no real value but only an imagined value. This because there is no active daily market for stones of such size and quality. Smaller gems have a real value only because dozens of them are bought and sold every day. Gems are things of vanity, and selling to vanity is a fickle business."
"Then diamonds and rubies are like tulip bulbs,” Isaac said with a frown. These families had become very wealthy, not from speculating in tulips, but from making loans against land and buildings so that other could speculate in tulips. When the tulip market crashed, many Dutch families were ruined when these families foreclosed on the collateral. "Did any of your community arrange for the sale of the collars?"
The eldest of the men spoke out with a thick Italian accent which did not hide all of the anger in his voice, "If men speculate and lose, and afterwards are forgiven all their debts, then this rewards them for being foolish. In banking that is considered as immoral as theft, for someone must always pay. Whether it be the greedy speculator, or the careful saver, someone must pay. It would be most immoral for the savers to pay for the mistakes of the greedy."
The man stopped speaking abruptly and took a deep breath before continuing in a softer tone. "In answer to your question, we were all offered the collars, and all of us leaped to the chance of holding them in our hands and viewing them, but all of us refused to deal in them. There is one rumour that the King of Denmark guaranteed a loan based on the collars and another rumour that the guarantor was the Prince of Orange. A loan was indeed made by the merchant William Webster of Amsterdam, but his own pockets are not nearly deep enough for this. We believe that the funds actually had a French source."
"Why all the rumour and subterfuge?” Isaac asked with a sigh. "Her brother is the King of France. Why would he not make such a loan directly?"
"Did I mention the king? Nay I did not. Henrietta's mother was Marie de Medici of the House of Medici, the Florentine banking family. They are the power behind a dozen thrones included the throne of Rome. Look to the bright side, for there is good news in this. The jewels were a surety for a loan, but not sold, so if Parliament humbles the king they can simply repay that loan to regain the jewels."
"Then I have your word that your community have taken no part in paying for the invasion?” Isaac asked pointedly.
"We gave you our word when we sent our petition with you to London. We have kept our word. What became of our petition?"
Isaac nodded to Rob, who then placed a leather folder on the table and pushed it towards the grey haired old man with the dark eyes and hooked nose. "Inside,” Isaac told them, "you will find seven letters of passport, one in the name of each of your families and each for one agent. Also there is a five year lease on one large house near to Threadneedle Street in the City of London. It is a grand house, large enough to be shared by those seven agents. Now, do you have something for me?"
A similar leather folder was pushed across the table towards Isaac. "Inside,” said the man who pushed it, "you will find a partial list of Orangemen who are your queen's strongest allies, plus a partial list of her English and Dutch agents in Holland. As promised there are copies of the ships manifests which show the cargo loaded onto her ships, and most of the passenger list. As a sweetener, there is one paper that gives the next departure date and course of her convoy, its destination, its alternate destination, and the name of the city governor who has agreed to change to the king's side in order to enable the landing."
"I am satisfied,” Isaac said, having to hold himself in check from grabbing up the folder so he could read the names immediately. That however, would be a breach of trust. He must wait until at the embassy to read them. "Are you satisfied?"
"We would have preferred the rescinding of the law from 1290 which banned Hebrews from England, but this is a good start. Will we be allowed to practice our faith?"
"In private in that house, and nowhere else. And be warned ... your agents must dress and groom themselves as Englishmen or Dutchmen,” Isaac said while motioning to the beard and hair of the old man.
"Agreed. Then we have a deal."
Isaac stood and reached across the table to shake their hands. At first they held back, but then one by one they offered him a limp hand as if they were helpless to refuse the touch. He picked up the folder and led Daniel and Rob from the room, down the stairs, through the iron barred gate and to the front door where two men were waiting to help them with their cloaks. Daniel quickly moved his pocket pistol into his cloak pocket and then motioned Rob to do the same.
"Do you wish an escort back to your embassy?” the gatekeeper asked. He was young and his Dutch was without accent, but he had the dark skin of someone just returned from the tropics.
"No, we don't have far to go,” Isaac said, and then went through the door and into the cold air of winter.
They walked briskly to the end of Hartogstraat and then crossed the De Plaets square towards Viver Berg, the road that led along the Viver reflective pool on this side of the Binnen Hof palace. They decided to keep off the wind swept road and instead took the more peaceful foot path through the grove of tall, though winter naked, trees that ran along the pool. Strickland's Embassy was in a house just beyond the Binnen Hof so they did not have far to go.
This peaceful path through the graceful grove of trees was unusual in a Dutch town, but then The Hague had never been walled and so the houses had never been crushed together. Because it had no protective wall the Dutch referred to it as a village rather than a town. Perhaps they were right in this, for every cluster of houses around the various palaces of the various royals and embassies was each like a village.
Though it was cold, the sun was high and bright, and there was a majestic view of the Binnen Hof through the cathedral like columns of these tree trunks and across the reflecting pool. Daniel took Isaacs arm to steady him on the rough path so they could step up their pace. He wanted desperately to open the folder and see the date, course, and destination of the invasion. Isaac had looked at it briefly once away from the meeting table, but he had not yet shared the information. He would not do that without Strickland's permission.
Isaac refused to be hurried. The embassy was mere minutes away along this peaceful pathway and he was enjoying the walk and savouring his success with the bankers. Suddenly Daniel was holding him back rather than hurrying him on. He looked up from the rough path as he came to a stop. Ahead of them three men had stepped out from behind tree trunks to block their way. Rob, behind him, whispered a warning, and he turned around and saw another three men step out from the trees they had just past, to block their retreat.
It was obviously an ambush, but by whom? As parliaments ambassadors, Walter and Isaac had made many enemies this winter in The Hague. Enemies from many different factions. "Identify yourselves,” Rob called out in simple Dutch to the men behind, as he pulled Isaac to stand protected between he and Daniel. He had not yet pulled out his pistol. When you had only one shot against many, it was best to keep it a surprise.
"Wouldn't you like to know,” came the reply in a snotty Oxford tone. The man was wearing cavalry boots.
"The king's men,” Isaac told Rob. In truth they would be the queen's men because each wore a catholic cross around their necks.
"They daren't risk the sound of shots bringing the palace watch, so they will use their sabres,” Rob replied. "I've always hated sabres."
"Our own shots will kill two of them as well as bring the palace watch,” Daniel muttered.
"Perhaps first we should find out what they want,” Isaac interrupted and then he raised his voice and switched to a snotty Cambridge voice and asked, "What do you want with us?"
The only answer was the hiss of steel being drawn from scabbards. Six men with six sabres began closing in on them to form a ring around them so there would be no escape. "They must know what you are carrying,” Rob told Isaac.
"Every spy in The Hague is a double spy,” Isaac replied in a nervous voice, "so I doubt it not.” He had drawn his dagger but the sight of it simply made him realize how hopeless it would be for defending him from well trained swordsmen. Swordsmen who were now just five of paces away and slowly moving closer.
One of the swordsmen stopped moving towards them and turned slightly. He seemed to be looking at something, or perhaps he meant to stand watch. The other five continued to close. Then a second man stopped moving and he seemed to be stretching his neck. The four continued to close. One of these turned and yelled at the two on watch to catch up. As he was yelling, one of those men slowly, ever so slowly, slumped to his knees. It was as if he had been hit by a pistol ball, and yet there had been no noise or smoke. And then the other slumped. Meanwhile the man who had yelled had lowered his sabre and seemed to be wobbly on his feet.
"Now!” Rob yelled out and he drew his tiny, short range wheellock pistol and waved it towards the nearest swordsmen. Without looking he knew that Daniel would be doing the same. If they downed two more of these buggers with their pistols, it would be two against two, though true enough, two sabres against two long daggers. The ambushers saw the pistols, and the small size of the pistols and retreated backwards ten steps. It may have been to put them out of range of the small guns, but more likely so that they could find out what had happened to half their gang.
They must have seen something in the trees for suddenly the assassins, or at least three of the assassins began running towards the road along the pool to get beyond the trees. The other three Germans were all on their knees and staring transfixed at the dappled sunlight coming through the bare branches above them.
"Come on,” Daniel said as he physically pulled Isaac along in the opposite direction from the fleeing assassins. "Let's get to where there are some people, or better yet, some of the local watch.” The three of them stumbled sideways off the path and towards the houses that ran along the other side of this grove.
"You are no longer in danger,” a voice called out from the trees. The words were Dutch but the accent was Portuguese. Daniel and Rob were both pointing their toy pistols towards the voice, as the tanned gatekeeper from the bankierhuis stepped out from behind some bushes. Two small men in black cloaks and carrying canes broke from the bushes at the same time and ran towards the three assassins kneeling under the great trees as if in prayer.
"No, you mustn't kill them,” Isaac called out to them. "That will cause an international incident."
The gatekeeper called after them in a strange language wrapped around a few Portuguese sounding words. The two little men called something back. "They did not go to kill them, but to save their lives,” the gatekeeper said. He called something back to them. "Excuse my words. They must seem like a secret language to you. My servants are from Amazonia. I speak but a little of their language, and they but a little Portuguese."
"Amazonia, the Brazils, I knew it,” Daniel said as he stared in the direction the other assassins had run, just to be sure that they hadn't doubled back. "You are a Sugar Jew?"
"Not a label I am fond of, but yes."
"Do you prefer slaver?” Rob muttered.
"Who are the Sugar Jews?” Isaac asked.
"The Morranos of Iberia who know all of the secrets of sugar,” Rob told him.
"Not Morranos, not any more,” the gatekeeper told him. "When living amongst the Dutch it is quite dangerous for a Hebrew to pretend to be Catholic but quite safe for him to be true to his ancestors.” His two diminutive servants came to him and held up some tiny pens for him to see and then they grinned at him. Each had gold filled teeth that made for an ugly smile, but more disturbing, they had bones piercing their ears. Their skin was yellow but tanned dark and their eyes were wide, as were their nostrils
"They are tribesmen from the New World,” Robert said the obvious, for they were shorter even than he. He reached forward to take one of the pens, so he could look at it, but the Indian pulled it away and lodged it in what would have been a bandoleer if it weren't so small and being used as the shoulder strap of a woven bag.
"You must be careful, sir,” the gatekeeper told him. "They are not pens, but darts, and the hollow point is filled with poison. When I said they were saving those men's lives, I meant it. If they had not plucked out their darts from their necks, the dose of poison would have become too strong. A small dose in the neck causes a numbness of muscle and mind, but a continuous dose stops the breathing."
"Poison darts?” Rob stepped back.
"Yes. Blown through those blow guns, they are accurate for twenty paces,” he was pointing to the canes both of the Indians were carrying. He saw that Rob was looking at the short tube in his own hand so he held it forward so he could look at it. "This is a shorter version, with a shorter range. I do not have the lung power for the longer pipes."
"Only in The Hague,” Isaac mumbled in English. He was feeling a bit scrambled by the threat to his life. He switched to Dutch. "Only in Den Haag can an English diplomat be set upon by assassins working for a French princess married to a Scottish King and be rescued by little people from the Amazon commanded by a Portuguese sugar Jew."
"No sir,” the gatekeeper said with a laugh. "Not just in The Hague, but in every capital of every empire that has ever existed, for such is the complexity of politics in every empire's capital. And that is what we are building here, a worldwide empire. Every day there are new embassies opening up. Embassies from places I have never heard of, and with people that make my servants look very ordinary."
"Servants, not slaves?” Rob muttered.
"Their tribesmen are too valuable to be used for brute labour. They know all of the secrets of all of the plants and animals of Amazonia. Compare that to me. I know the secrets of only one plant, sugar cane. Think of what they can teach us. Think of the food, the spices, the medicine, the..."
"Poisons,” Rob finished. "Come we should go. Will you escort us as far as the embassy?"
"And what do you think I was doing, even without your permission. Do you not realize how important this deal is to us? To be allowed to do business in London? Do you not realize how corrupt this village is, with spies listening at every keyhole?” The tremble in his voice spoke of his emotion, his concerns. "Do you want us to walk with you, or behind you?"
"With your permission,” Daniel told him, "I wish to walk with your servants and have them show me their blow guns. What a fabulous weapon. The range of a pistol without the noise and smoke and bulk. We were there you know. Rob and I were in the New World two years ago exploring. We met sugar Jews on the coast of Negroland in Africa, and in Barbados and Saint Kitts and then again in Rhode Island near to New Amsterdam."
"Of which families?"
"Lopes,” Daniel replied. "All four of them were cousins within the Lopes clan."
"Then you have just met a fifth,” the man laughed. "May I present myself. Antonio Lopes Suasso at your service. Newly back from the Brazils and a doorman for this day only, due to the importance of your business with us."
They were followed, of course, by the three assassins who had escaped the Amazon darts, but they followed from a distance. At the embassy, Isaac went inside, but he turned to the two captains and told them, "You had better attend to the safety of your ship and your crew, and keep the crew close by. Once these documents are copied, there will be a great hurry to get them to London.” Though he knew that these two men were eager to see those documents for themselves, he could not allow that. Not yet. He motioned the embassy guard to close the door behind him.
Daniel almost lost a finger to the door jam as he stepped backwards from the closing door. "Aye, well that is a diplomatic thank you, then, ain't it."
"I take it that you are both new to Den Haag,” Antonio told them. "Before you go to your ship, gentlemen, allow me to give you a quick tour of the situation here. It will not take long, but it may save your lives."
"Lead on,” Rob replied.
Antonio took them the other way around the Binnen Hof, and over a series of small bridges that crossed its moat. The streets on this side of the palace were far busier with walkers, riders, the carriage set, and there was a watcher on every corner, so eventually they relaxed and stopped eying every man carrying weapons. Their way led along Het Achter street to the market, and then to the cathedral, or rather, De Groote Kerck. Antonio slipped some coins to a watcher who then allowed them to climb the steep steps of the tower.
The great church tower gave them an all around view of The Hague. The first direction that Daniel stared was along the Verversingskanaal which connected the town to the sea, and served as the port, for there was no true port on this low, flat delta land jutting out into the sea. In typical Dutch fashion, a meandering river prone to flooding had been contained by dykes, and those dykes also served as the foundations of quays. He pointed out the Swift to Antonio, and then asked, "But where is Henrietta's convoy?"
"Look just to the north of the canal,” Antonio replied. "That village is Scheveling. Do you see the masts in the pool there. Those are your queen's fluyts. Now, look to the south west, through the mist. Do you see those masts in the distance. Those are the navy escort ships gathering at the Hook.” The Hook of Holland was the town that protected the mouth of the River Sheur that led inland to Rotterdam.
"And the men, her army?” Rob asked as he shielded his eyes from the winter sun so he could look through the rising mists.
"They will be camped by the ships in Scheveling, and forbidden to approach The Hague. They are, after all, a foreign army and The Hague has no defensive walls. You can imagine how relieved the folk of this town were when the exiled Germans of Elizabeth of Bohemia, and the exiled English of Henrietta, and the French and Flemish mercenaries all set sail across the sea and far away from here. Think then, how disappointed the townsfolk were when those same ships returned and offloaded those same vicious men."
They spent well over an hour in the tower, while Antonio pointed out all of the landmarks that they would need to find their way through the streets, including where all the important palaces and embassies were. By the time they clamboured back down the steep steps, they felt like they already knew the town.
"Now I will take you to a most unique market,” Antonio told them as he led them away from the great church.
"A market? Why would be interested in a market?” Rob asked, "When we should be getting back to our ship."
"Ah, to answer that I must show it to you, yes.” He led them away from the cathedral square and into some of the smaller streets where real people lived, rather than the nobility and ambassadors. Even though it was icy cold outside, it was bright and sunny, so everyone was outside and they had to dodge between and around other walkers.
To Daniel these narrower, more crowded streets were more like London, or any other busy merchant town, but slowly he realized that there were major differences between these streets and London's. Everyone was neatly dressed and there was no one in rags and no one barefoot. There were no urchins or homeless or pickpockets or rough looking dirty men leaning against walls watching for an opportunity to do mischief. And then it hit him. There were no tu'penny whores. In all the women they were passing there were none that he could label as a whore. Half of all the women on the streets of London were whores, and yet here there were none. "Are there harsh laws here against prostitution?” he asked.
"There are such laws,” Antonio replied, "but I would not say they were harsh. There are never enough whores in The Hague to fill the needs of the diplomats and petitioners, so whores are expensive. Because they earn well, they call themselves escorts, share fine houses with each other, and wear fine clothes, in public anyway. What? Did you expect whores to be humping men in the streets for a few sou, as they do in Paris?"
"I was comparing this street to a London street,” Daniel told him. "The young women of London often live in poverty, so they sell their favours cheaply."
"Too many whores? Street whores? That is a sure sign of corrupt governance. A sure sign that both England and France need to becomes republics. The type of republic where even whores have a vote."
"I'd agree with that,” Daniel replied.
"Don't be absurd,” Rob said. "Whores with a vote? Yes we need a republic, but only the wealthy and educated should have the vote, for who else would vote intelligently?"
"Spoken like a wealthy and educated man,” Antonio said softly. "I suppose it is natural for men to want women to be poor, so they can have their way with them, frequently and cheaply. Ah, there is the market I spoke of.” He pointed towards a large building where the bricks were painted white. Almost all of the houses of The Hague were built of fired bricks, but few of them were painted.
"Market? But the sign says it is the Witte Zwaan Inn."
"Yes an inn, but also a place where travelers from all over the world come to trade stories, and spies come to sell information. They even welcome the little people of the Amazonas. Come, I will buy you a drink so we can sit at one of the tables and watch the scene. It is a bit early for them to be serving genever, so will you take kofe?"
They stepped through the door into a scene typical of a large and busy alehouse in any busy port, except here the folk were better dressed, they were drinking kofe rather than ale, and there was no sawdust or straw on the floor. There were no alewenches, err kofewenches, because you bought your drinks at a bar and then carried them yourself to your table. There was only one empty table, and the two diminutive dartmen slipped easily through the thronging crowd to claim it, while Antonio went to order five kofes.
Daniel and Rob just stood still and slowly turned on their heels while they looked at the customers. There was every size and color of person, wearing every sort of clothing imaginable. Eventually they noticed the dartmen at the table, and Daniel went to sit with them, while Rob went to help Antonio carry the kofe. Daniel sat for only a moment, and then stood again so he could continue to look around. It was as if the entire world had come to this one room. Behind him and to the right, a man dressed like a ships purser was telling a tale about a spice island in the Malacca’s, and of a new spice he had found there that had a taste like a cross between spearmint and cayenne.
Rob and Antonio balanced the kofes and protected them from the swirl of backs and elbows until they could set them down on the table. Antonio had no sooner sat than a man leaned over to him from the next table and whispered, "For a price you will know which duchess Prince Karl is sleeping with tonight.” Antonio waved him away. He looked at the two captains and asked, "Did I exaggerate? Is this not the most unique of markets? Everyone is here to buy or sell information."
"Agreed,” Daniel told him as he sipped his kofe. He made a sour face. "Too bad they over roast their kofe beans. This tastes more like ash than nuts."
Antonio began to laugh. "But this is an inn. If you want good kofe then you should go to one of the new..."
"Kofe shops.” Daniel finished the statement with a knowing nod.
"Cha shops,” Antonio finished, "for cha drinkers are more discerning in their kofe."
"I wonder if Isaac knows about this place?” Daniel asked. "He would love it. He has such a keen interest in history and geography, never mind the stories of spies."
"No, you must never bring Senhor Dorislaus here,” Antonio told him. "He would not be safe here. Think of today's ambush, and then look around at the faces. Look at the eyes. These are dangerous men and some of them are desperate."
None of them finished their charred kofe. The dartmen did not even taste it after their first sniff of it. The kofe was the price of admission, nothing more. That said, they could have spent many hours just sitting at the table watching the strange mix of people. It was Rob who ended it by saying, "Enough, we have a ship to prepare."
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The Pistoleer - Invasion by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-15