Hundreds of miles away and hours later, in the elegant and self-absorbed city of Charleston, South Carolina, two men sit talking in a tavern. One is young – mid-twenties, apparently – with clear blue eyes and fine blond hair. The other man is dark and heavy with a thick, broad face rising from shoulders that have known hard work. His face is calm but his eyes are watchful, the eyes of a man who has had reasons to be careful. Both are well dressed and groomed, too fine perhaps for a tavern one might think, but this tavern sees a bit of business from planters come to town, and from those planters’ sons who spend more willingly than their sires. Their presence at this early hour of twilight excites no interest, and they are careful to keep their conversation unheard.
Shepheard’s Tavern, Charleston, SC as painted in 1801
“I don’t understand why you don’t want to attend the party,” the younger man says. His name is Henry Allison. It is not the name he was given at birth but it is his name on this timeline and it is good tradecraft to use it and no other. He has recently taken his pledge from the Academy and has entered on an internship with a senior brother of the Knights Temporal.
“The lady and I have a history,” the older man says, and sighs. “I thought… I should never have brought us here. I want to see her, but the last time we met she swore she’d kill me. No, I’ve lost that first rush of courage and this expedition looks less appealing with each passing moment. You could go. They’d hound you all night wanting to know where I am, but you could go.” The young man gives this the scant consideration it deserves. He has the brash overconfidence of the young and strong but he knows better than to even think of attending such an affair without his superior.
“She threatened to kill you?” The young man asks, then shakes his head. “She wouldn’t really. We’re all brothers and sisters of the Order…” His voice trails off as the older man looks at him steadily, deadpan.
“Her name is Charlotte Ravenal.” The older man checks the position of the other patrons without moving more than his eyes, a quick, experienced flick that misses nothing. “But… at home… she was Kierianne Frost, the one they called the ‘Killing Frost’. You’ve never met her, Henry, or you would not doubt her. I thought perhaps she’d cool, in time. I never expected to get an invitation to her house for a gala.”
“If she invited you –“ “Us.” “Us, then, if she invited us she must have cooled down. Perhaps she wants to apologize.”
“Hmph. The only time K… Charlotte ever apologized was when she missed, and that wasn’t often.”
“Missed… missed
people? You mean she shot at
people?”
“Keep your voice down. I’ve told you, most agents blow their cover by carelessness. It isn’t enough to speak the language and study some of the customs. You aren’t the first intern I’ve had – and you wouldn’t be the first to get himself killed, either. Yes,
people. Hasn’t it gotten through to you yet that we’re not playing a Disney here? This is no stage set. It’s real. And these very real people around us will absolutely kill you if you screw up. If it needs doing you may have to kill one or more of them. Frozen Hel, son, I’d ship you home or kill you myself if I had to do it. You know the mantra – the Brotherhood, the Mission, the Secret. Revealing any part of any one of those would get you a visit from one of the Swords, maybe from Mrs Ravenal herself.”
The young man dropped his eyes and clutched his tankard. “I…”
“You’re bright. And you try hard. I would have shipped you home before now if I didn’t think you could do well. Just keep on as you’ve begun and you’ll do fine. But never – never – forget this is real. Sloppiness has consequences, Henry. That’s why we’re always short-handed. The last intern they sent me took an obsidian knife in a fatal way after he insulted an Inca priest over on… well, I won’t say the name and you know it anyway.” He made a pushing motion. “As I said, you’re doing well enough. And… perhaps you’re right. We could take a carriage to Preston Hall and pay our respects. At worst the doorman will turn us away. She won’t dare shoot me in front of witnesses.”
“What is the reason for the celebration? Do they say celebration here?”
“We,” - the emphasis on the word was slight – “may attend a ball, or a gala. Possibly in honor of the inauguration of President Clay. Some special occasions are marked with celebration. Independence Day, or Washington’s Birthday, for example.”
“Indep… oh, right.”
The older man rolled his eyes up in supplication then flicked them around the room again. “It’s getting more crowded. We should move. There’s a livery stable – where?”
“Four blocks north, two blocks west.”
“Nicely done; I didn’t see you access your sec at all. Here, I’ll settle with the keep while you get our hats and coats.”
They were halfway through the open doorway when the older man paused. Under his breath he whispered, “Priority call. Turn here… we can loiter on this corner a few moments. Patching you in…” Then he stiffened and the younger man touched his arm in concern. A voce seemed to speak inside their heads, hoarse and rasping in urgency.
“Donneval! She’s trying to kill us!”