Henrietta

The Plan

~Chapter Twenty One~

The night lay erringly calm as thick fog covered all in its path making it almost impossible to see ahead. The wind was still as the dew of the night settled heavily over the last remaining grass. He made certain his face was well hidden as he reached the old tavern and dismounted his horse. Securing it, he hesitated a moment before taking a deep breath and walking inside. It left him a bit muddled to ponder why Lady Gades had requested that she meet the old man here of all placed. His biggest bet was that Sir Harington, her husband, had no clue of the events taking place. Did she not know that keeping something like this from him would overturn on her and Theodosian's would gossip?

He gave a sigh as he shook his head slightly, trying to pay no mind to his thoughts, he walked inside where it was warm. The air reeked of no other than cigarettes and liquor, the men, a bunch of scruffy lowlifes, pissed away what little hard-earned cash they had made for the day. Most of them were sailors as he surveyed his surroundings. This was the last place he would think it highly official to discuss matters. What kind of Lady was she? He neared the bar where an old man with thick side burns down to his chin spat into a large metal mug and cleaned it off with a rag. Calvin lifted his lip in discus faintly as he took a stool and placed both elbows over the counter, trying to blend with the rest.

"What will it be?" the man asked. A decline nearly left his mouth but he swallowed it. He asked for a mug of ale and the man quickly served it settling the dripping foamy glass before him. The man stared at Calvin waiting for him to take a sip and he had no choice but to lift the awful piss like liquor and give it a gulp. His stomach gave a turn and he clenched his jaw at the appalling taste. More than likely, this was a cheap imitation of real ale. When the man walked away, Calvin placed a few coins on the counter and stood slowly sliding the glass next to a lad sitting alongside him.

He stood ready to leave. The only thing that would come of this was chaos, and it was the last thing he wanted to create, or rather be forced to. One black boot moved in front of the other as he approached the door, and a sudden grip had him halting.

"Are you Francis O'Malley?" a man asked.

He remembered the false name he had to go by and with a faint smirk, he turned to meet a short man holding a large mug in his hand.

"Aye." Calvin replied.

"Follow me." He said.

He followed the old man towards the back but a familiar voice had every bone in Calvin's body going rigid.

"That ain't no Francis O'Malley, that there is Calvin Potent, the great Knight of Theodosia."

Calvin turned to face no other than Luther sitting to the far back, his muddy boots prepped over a table as he gave a long draw of his cigar. His face was still a mess of bruises the wound from his sword hidden behind a faded blue vest and stained cotton shirt. Murmurs erupted inside the tavern as Calvin looked around, taking in every feature.

"This is the man half you imbecils work for and get paid squat, this is the man who thinks he is above everyone else and takes whatever he wants and no one can't say a damn thing about it. Well I say the hell with what he thinks, after all he is just one man." Luther sneered.

Approving stares looked his way as Calvin retreated a few steps, determined to flee. His anger flared to think his own flesh and blood would turn against him but then again Luther and Calvin had never known each other, therefore they were strangers.

"Pay no mind to that drunk!" someone called out.

Calvin sought to find the strong voice and found a young maiden standing at the door, her face a pale complexion filled with stains of mud. She dressed like a lad, a sword strapped to her side, as a sheath for arrows lay squared behind her back. Her long braid reached a little past her shoulder as a stern angered look was thrown in Luther's direction.