The Traitor's Stain (wattys 2019)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: New York, New York

"I'll be honest: I'm not sure about this man Hercules."

Abraham looked to Ophelia, confused. It was night time, not too far from curfew: they would likely have to stay with the Mulligans, or risk being caught by soldiers enforcing the curfew. Abraham had dressed up some, though she didn't understand why: it wasn't like they were going to some grand social event.

"Why do you say that?" Abraham asked. "You're starting to sound like Robert."

"Well, Robert might have a point," Ophelia said. "He doesn't seem overly cautious, and... well, that makes me nervous. And I know that makes others nervous, too."

"Alright," Abraham said. "Name one person other than Robert who doesn't like Hercules. Or doesn't trust him."

"I-"

"And you," Abraham clarified. "Somebody other than you and Robert."

Ophelia stayed quiet.

"See?" Abraham said. "The only two people you can think of are the two most skittish people I've ever met. Just try to relax; not everything is going to end with all of us being hanged."

That didn't make her feel any better: in fact, all that did was put an awful visual in her head that she couldn't get out of it. But, they didn't talk about it any longer: they'd arrived at Hercules' home. Already, they could hear the sounds of people talking and laughing riotously with one another.

Ophelia looked up at Abraham. "Is... this some sort of party?"

"I thought it might be," Abraham said. "Hercules loves entertaining more than the King of France."

Suddenly, the reason why Abraham had dressed up made sense. And, just as suddenly, Ophelia began to feel horribly underdressed.

"Thanks for telling me," she said as Abraham knocked on the door.

"Harsh words, but well deserved," Abraham said. "Don't worry about it: he's not much for fancy affairs."

A few moments later, the door opened, revealing Hercules on the other side.

He grinned broadly when he saw them. "Welcome back! There's a few officers here, right now. We can talk business after they've left."

Ophelia could feel the blood draining from her face.

Hercules chuckled when he saw it. "Oh, don't worry about it: they're business associates. They like me well enough, I think, but that might just be the wine talking."

He stepped aside, and Abraham and Ophelia walked into the store.

It wasn't a small get together, and it wasn't just a few business associates who'd been invited for a few drinks. There were seven men in that dining room. All of them had champaign glasses in their hands, and all of them looked like they'd had more than a few glasses.

Ophelia looked to Abraham, unsure if that was the time to strangle him.

"Please save the murder for later," Abraham said quietly, as if he could read her mind.

"Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet my friends," Hercules said grandly. "Abraham, Ophelia: these are a few of my closest business associates."

"Whelcum," one of the soldiers said grandly, motioning with one arm in a grandiose gesture. "Our friend 'ere es... a ghret man."

Ophelia smiled an nodded, hoping that they wouldn't try to have a full conversation with her. "How much have they had to drink?"

"Quite a bit," Hercules said. "I'll do whatever I need to keep my friends in red happy, right?"