The Governor’s Mansion, the Next Morning
Governor Pruitt was yelling at three of his best men in his office. “How could you have missed them? They were right there, in the middle of the square! They made off with nearly five hundred dollars' worth of jewelry and money from the crowds after that pirate raid.”
“Sir,” pointed out his head lieutenant, “they did stop that pirate raid. It would have gotten worse if it wasn't for the Crimson Blade and his people.”
“Her people.” The second guard smirked. “That body couldn't belong to anyone but a woman. The things I felt when she swung into the square...let's just say I couldn't repeat them around my wife.”
The Governor raised an eyebrow. “I was lead to believe that the Crimson Blade was a man. I know I fought with a man the night of the ball.”
The third guard shook his head. “The Crimson Blade was female, all right. The way her shirt clung to her made it pretty obvious. The voice was a Frenchwoman's.”
Pruitt scowled. “The scoundrel I fought with at the ball had a heavy Irish accent. There are definitely two Crimson Blades.” He pounded his fist on the table. “Triple the patrols on the roads and around Pittsburgh Village. Stop every traveler who even resembles the Crimson Blade, man or woman. Raise the price on his...her head to 10,000 dollars! I want this criminal's reign ended, once and for all! He's undermining my authority and the safety of this village!”
Priscilla Cosgrave stomped into the office, looking annoyed. “R.P, that...that woman is here to see you. She said it was important.”
“Bring her in.” He turned to the men. “You're dismissed...and if you don't capture that red-shirted rogue and his...her band of do-gooding cutthroats, you'll be dismissed for good!”
The guards stumbled out, marveling at Captain Pavla DeVile in another well-fitted, colorful suit and plumed hat on their way. For once, Captain DeVile was in no mood to acknowledge their admiration of her decolletage. She pushed past Cosgrave and up to Pruitt's desk. “I'm not doing any more work for you. That Lady Booth, whom you said would be no problem to deal with, lead me on a merry chase yesterday. She and those blasted friends of hers from that little inn. They made a fool of me!”
“You forget your position, Captain DeVile.” Pruitt waved at a chair; she slowly sat down. “I need you and that ship of yours to keep me informed about General Washington and that so-called army he's forming. That's the only reason you're allowed to ply your trade. That, and certain society families are willing to pay a high price for the luxury goods you supply. If you turn on me, I could have you out of the water and before a firing squad in an instant.”
“You forget as well, Governor, that I am a woman, and well thought of in certain circles. If I were to pass rumors that you've been conspiring with other local business owners to help keep the colonies under British rule, I suspect you'd find yourself spending a great deal of time in jail...or on the end of a short noose.”
“It looks like we're at an impasse. You may still be useful to me.” He pulled out a stack of papers from his desk. “A friend of mine who owns the Weeping Joker Inn her in Pittsburgh is interested in buying the Monongahela Inn. Lady Redmond may be persuaded to sell. She hasn't been quite herself since her husband died in a carriage accident last year. It would certainly eliminate some thorns in my side.”
He scowled again. “I wouldn't mind taking that Elizabeth Roberts for myself. She's a lovely and intelligent girl. She would be a great asset to my empire. Without her, those idiots at the Inn would be nothing. Trouble is, she ignores my advances.”
Captain DeVile shook her head. “If I attempt to go to the Inn, the staff will toss me out the moment I come near. I'm afraid I'm too well-known to them.” Her smile turned predatory. “There is, however, still the matter of my husband Jeffrey to deal with. Perhaps it's time I visited him and discussed our...mutual interests.”
Pruitt handed her one of the pamphlets. “Have you read the work of Jonathan Arnold, Captain DeVile?”
“Yes, many times. I don't agree with all his opinions, but I can appreciate his passionate writing style.”
Pruitt snorted. “I want to find out who Jonathan Arnold is. It's come to my attention that he's found information that could be vital to keeping the colonies in line. Arnold is said to keep to himself. I'm sure with your...sources...it shouldn't be difficult to find out.”
Pavla's smirk was very nasty. “Perhaps it's time I visited my husband and asked him a few questions about his friend Jonathan Arnold...and Victor Comstock.”
A Room at the King's Inn, Boston, Massachusetts, Three Weeks Later
Victor Comstock was putting the finishing touches on his latest pamphlet when he heard a knock at the door. “Hello?” he said in the thickest British accent he could manage. “Who is it?”
“It's Lord Jeffrey Singer! Johnathan, open up! That's a direct order!”
Victor did so. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Jeff, what's wrong? You're not supposed to contact me unless there's an emergency.”
“There is an emergency.” Jeff ducked into the room. “Victor, I just had an encounter with my wife.”
“I thought Lady Hilary was back in Pittsburgh.”
“Not Hilary.” He looked quickly out the window. “Pavla. I hope I wasn't followed here.”
“Pavla?”
“Captain Pavla DeVile.” He pulled back in, his face full of fear. “We have to get out of here. Victor, she knows that you're Jonathan Arnold. I don't know how or why, but she must have tattled to the British officials here in Boston. There's guards on their way here right now to arrest you...”
Both men looked up as a fervent knock was heard on the door. “Open up! Johnathan Arnold, you're under arrest, by orders of the Governor of the Massachusetts Colony!”
“Jeff, get out of here now!” Victor started pushing him towards the open window.
“But what about you?”
“I'll stall them as long as I can. You have to get back to Pittsburgh and tell Elizabeth what happened.”
“Elizabeth?” Jeff didn't have the time to ask why Elizabeth. He got out the window just in time. Even as he was landing with a curse on an azalea bush and hurrying down the alley, the door into the room burst open, blowing off its hinges.
“You know,” Victor said in his heavy (and very fake) British accent, “you didn't need to do that, mate. I would have opened it. I was just finishing up some work.”
“You can drop the voice now, Herr Comstock.” A slender, exotic-looking woman in a bright suit slunk into the room, followed by a cluster of the Governor’s guardsmen. “We know who you are.” She sauntered up to him, looking him over. “You're not unattractive, for a double spy.”
“What makes you think I'm a bloomin' spy?”
She got closer to him. “That,” she hissed softly into his ear, “is for me to know,” she ran her fingers down his cheeks, and then to his chest, “and you to find out.”
He pushed her away. “I'm not interested, miss.” He pulled his sword out from under his bed. One of the men lunged for him. Victor managed to disarm him and wound another, but they quickly overwhelmed him. Two of the guards yanked his arms behind his back. Pavla took his sword. “You're very foolish, Master Comstock.” She once again pulled herself close to him. “I'll show you what happens to Patriot fools like you.” She grabbed his head to give him a very rough kiss.
He only turned his head away. “Miss, I find your attentions to be most unseemly. Take your hands off of my private person.”
She gave him a sound slap instead. “You have no more passion than a...a dead fish!” She turned on that shark-like smirk again. “If you are not interested in attentions, perhaps your friend Lord Singer will be.”
Victor narrowed his eyes. “You stay away from Jeff. He has nothing to do with my work.”
“We shall see.” Her smile only grew wider as they lead the tall writer away.
Boar's Head Tavern, Boston, Later That Night
Jeff was sipping rum at the bar when she walked in. He stood...but she pushed him back down. “I want to talk to you, husband.”
“I'm not your husband. I know what you did to Victor. I saw you on your way to his room this morning.”
“Oh, but you are my husband.” She lead him to a more private table in the back of the room. “It's all signed, sealed, and notarized.”
“I only did it to save Victor.” He growled. “You went back on the deal! You told me if I helped you become an actress and give up piracy, you'd keep quiet about Johnathan Arnold.”
“Your can blame your precious Hilary Booth and all those troublesome people who work at that little inn.” She grabbed his arm. “You know, I still have contacts in Pittsburgh, some quite high in the government. I could get in touch with a few of them, perhaps make sure your Hilary and her friends meet with some unfortunate...accident...”
Jeff's voice rose considerably. “Don't you dare touch her!”
“I might. Or I might not.” She caressed his arm. “I want you to use your power to get me on the stage. Tomorrow. I know some good theaters here in Boston I could talk to. Or,” she squeezed his arm, “your beloved Hilary may not live to recite another Shakespearean sonnet.”
“I'll consider it. Give me until tomorrow.”
She let him go. “You have one hour.” He watched her as she strode out of the bar. Several men watched her wiggling backside with leering eyes.
Jeff handed the bartender money. “Here. I think I have to leave town for a while.” He hurried out as fast as he could. He wasn't going to wait an hour, or even another second. He had to warn Hilary and Elizabeth, before Pavla got her hands on them...or far worse. God only knew what they were going to do to Victor.
The Adventures of the Crimson Blade
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