Set Sail (Vitale)

[Horatio Davis[Inactive]]

0100 Hours, May 28th, 1707 - Fort Charles, Kingston Harbor

It was very late, but Horatio had only just gotten in.  For the past few months, the Nightingale had been patrolling north, ultimately assisting Charles Town, Carolina after a failed Spanish and French attack on the little port.  England was very much still at war even if Cadiz, Vigo Bay, and Gibraltar all felt like a lifetime ago.  A world away, the powers of the Old War were fighting across their colonies as well.  It was a target rich environment.

Commander Davis dropped his hat and coat as he entered the dark room.  The other naval officers had returned to their ships and the garrison officers had returned to their quarters for the night.  He had the room alone to himself and the stack of letters he carried.  With several months at sea, there was no surprise he had back post.  There were two letters from his wife, Mary, and a third from his son, William, though addressed in Mary's hand.  Robert Smith from Yorkshire had also written, and there were three others from more local sources: a fellow captain passing through, a merchant from George Town in Grand Cayman, and an exceptionally late dinner invitation from the governor right here in Kingston.

Yet there was a surprise, though not in the stack he carried.  As Horatio lit a candle he noticed an eighth letter already sitting on the table of the common room.  On its face in ornate writing read "Horatio C. Davis."  The mysterious letter was waiting for him.

Cautiously, he picked up the envelope and turned it over in his hands.  On the reverse was an unbroken crimson wax seal bearing the insignia of the Assassin Order.  One could go on for hours speculating as to how it arrived, what was inside, and why he was being contacted now, but Horatio was not one to waste time.  With a click, his hidden blade shot forward and in one swift movement the seal was cut open and the blade had once again disappeared beneath the commander's sleeve.  A moment later the letter was in hand.

The message was short, direct, and ciphered.  In chief the letter instructed that Vitale Demato de Cordoba was to join him on this mission, that the other Assassin would provide further details, whatever the assignment was it was of the highest importance and urgency, that Horatio would have overall command of the mission, and that Horatio should wait in Kingston until the other assassin arrived.

"Cordoba." Horatio said aloud.  "Would that be you?" he asked of the darkness.

"How did you know?" came the darkness's response.

"The smell." he replied.  "You and the sea don't get along."

[Vitale Demato de Cordoba[Inact]

Vitale had never been a sailor.  That is to say, he'd never wanted to be a sailor.  Oh the sea wasn't his enemy, he didn't see sailing as some crappy post, nor did he even have a home too miss, he'd just spent most of his life with the Brotherhood, and none of that was spent at sea.

Being from Venice, where the majority of his childhood was spent, Tali knew a bit about boats, sure.  But that was all gondolas and small boats of the like.  He'd seen many ships, and even spent a fair amount of his time working around ports and harbors.  But he'd never set sail anywhere in his life, with four exceptions to England years ago.  Those weren't exactly voyages.  So sailing across the Atlantic was a change in pace for the man, and there were many reasons.  Firstly, Vitale pretty much never spent a week, much less weeks on end, in the same place.  There were postings that held him down, like Poland, but those days were far, far behind him.  So living out the last four weeks without leaving the same hundred and sixty feet and sleeping directly next to two other fellows being bumped all night in those damp hammocks was hardly Vitale's idea of fun.

Ship life, as with many things, sounded better before the voyage started.  Eating dry salted three week old horse meat, and drinking stale water, or better that cheap, bitter stomach wrenching beer everyone aboard fancied so much, just made him want to run to the edge, and throw up or jump off.  Then there were those wonderful moments when one has to relieve one'self, and one gets to enjoy sitting on the forecastle to the settling feel of sea spray showering your hind end until you don't need to wash after.  Couple that with the foul language, perverted jokes, horrid state of health and cleanliness, and working yourself ragged each day under the blistering Atlantic sun.. you've got yourself an average day.  Most of the guys aboard the Severance were pretty tough, and they all knew their craft without any doubt, but Lord in heaven, had even one of them learned what century they were in?

In short, Vitale got a big eye opener on that he was no longer serving the Creed from the pomp life of the Royal Court.  He was in what so many agents had told him about, "The dirt and grime".  And he decided that he didn't like the dirt and the grime, and that when he caught up with whoever had the Totem, that he would take out his frustrations on that person, and then return to France, or Italy, and live the rest of his life near good food, righteous men with faith, and clean water for bathing.  Vitale lifted his arm a bit, and smelt of his shirt under his jacket.  His clothes reeked from use, and after he'd reported in, Vi fully intended to go find a barrel and wash them.

He'd snuck into the small military fort home of Horatio Davis not a quarter an hour ago, and in that time, he'd realized that the man either favored some other residence, his ship or a brothel, or he hadn't returned yet.  That was when the voices approached, and Vitale slipped behind a crook in the wall from the side room.  The man he presumed to be Davis appeared with mail, and shed his unneeded garments, before picking up a parcel Vitale had seen a thousand times.  Maybe double that.  It was the unmistakable fold and seal of an Assassin letter of intent and Order.  Davis, for it was Davis both by description, and the hidden blade he now proved to carry and use, opened the orders and took them in.  After a minute or two, Vitale saw his eyes dance about in thought before he announced, "Cordoba.  Would that be you?"

"How did you know," Vitale replied without stepping from the shadow.

"The smell," Davis answered, "You and the sea don't get along."

Vitale smirked now, and slipped from the shadow, stepping before the man in charge of this Guild.  Tali was surprised to see that he stood at even height with Davis, and as he noticed the British officers heeled boots, he imagined he might be a touch taller.  The man looked extremely presentable, and only smelled of the seawater that one would never escape.  Vitale reached out to exchange pleasantries, and offered, "Was a long voyage and was certainly no Peari." As an afterthought, considering the man's probable dislike of France, Vitale added, "Or, it was no London."  He smiled when he said that, as although he hated her politics, France was in every way a more refined and alluring culture to Vitale.  Far more than London, a city of pimps and whores, although, he may never have voiced his personal views on this, as London has almost always been an Assassin home, while Paris has mostly been a Templar burg.

Sometimes, it was better to keep those types of thoughts to yourself.  "How do you find your orders?  I assume you've had time to prepare for my arrival?"  It was a redundant question, Vitale knew full well the man couldn't have known too far ahead of this handshake, but it was better to let him say it, and get any frustrations out early.

[Horatio Davis[Inactive]]

The voice stepped from the shadows and revealed a man much as Horatio expected. In fact, this man, Cordoba, was a mirror of Horatio at least in body size and type. He was no Englishman sure, tanned under the scorching sun and then more so, likely from a Southern European heritage. As predicted, the man did look like a mess, the type who sailed infrequently and had just come off a hard transatlantic voyage. He was stained with salt, sweat, and a trace of vomit on his boots. If the two were to travel together, this did not bode well.

Yet, the man was well enough to sneak into the heart of Fort Charles where hundreds of soldiers slept. He'd passed a dozen sentries and snuck through a gate, over a wall, or in by some others means. Then he'd manage to hide well enough even in the same room, though after the tip off of the letter and a few minutes time, Horatio was able to sniff him out. It was impressive to say the least. Maybe not a born sailor, but the Order had sent someone with skill.

"Was a long voyage and was certainly no Peari. Or, it was no London." Vitale said with a smile as he offered his hand.

Horatio extended his own and the two men shook. "Wet and dreary." he replied. It was classic weather in the British Isles. Nationalism didn't blind one to simple climatology.

"How do you find your orders?" the visitor then asked. "I assume you've had time to prepare for my arrival?"

"I find them late and lacking." Horatio replied. "I've only just returned from Charles Town, and these provide but an explanation for the man in the shadows." He placed the tip of the letter over the candle's flame and soon the entire message turned to ash.

"They say you would tell me more. Well, Mister Cordoba, I am all ears." he said with a slight bow. "Horatio Davis at your service."

[Vitale Demato de Cordoba[Inact]

"I find them late and lacking." Horatio replied. "I've only just returned from Charles Town, and these provide but an explanation for the man in the shadows." Davis replied before burning the orders over a candle he'd lit, and then adding, "They say you would tell me more. Well, Mister Cordoba, I am all ears... Horatio Davis at your service."


Vitale returned the slight bow, another indication of the man's superior upbringing, and then the floor was Vitale's.  As he spoke, Tali looked for the last indication that this was indeed, Horatio Davis.  His left hand was suppose to have a traditional Assassin's Gout, the removal of the ring finger past the first knuckle.  It ancient days, this was to allow the hidden blade a space to extend through one's fingers, and also served as a sign of one's dedication to the Creed.  In this day and age, it was nearly unheard of, and the only men Vitale knew of who'd undergone the trial, were fervent followers of the Creed.

Speaking while thinking was something Vitale had unfortunately become accustom to throughout his life, so the spring of words he'd started before this satisfying development were unhindered.  "Our current mission was first begun back in ought one, when I tracked a Templar agent by the name of Charles Gerard.  The man was orchestrating the collection of first civilization artifacts that preformed magic like the stories of old.  I saw this myself in England.  The first of the three would bring about changes in weather, how I still do not understand, but it was evident, and unmistakable."  Vitale stopped talking just long enough to let that sink in, as he moved to the miniature pile of ashes that had been the orders, and plucked the red wax seal into his hand.  It was still warm, and now pliable from the short fire, and Vi mushed the seal's indention from existence as he continued.  "Gerard served no crown that I could suss out, not informally in any case.  The man had himself worked into the Commission of Elector for Hanover, and it stands to reason that whatever his goals, they tie into greater political powers.  The Artifact, which we now call The Totem, was sent south before I could recover it.  I spent a year hunting the man who carried it, and was delayed by a di..."  Vi paused to find a prudent gesture, but after several seconds, "Pissing match" was the best he came up with.  "In the end, the Totem was successfully taken into Spain, where it was boarded and prepared for transit to the new world.  I believe you are familiar with this story somewhat.  The battle for Vigo bay?"

Davis gave his reply, as Vitale expected, and then Tali continued, "It was recovered as you say, and arrived here presumably prior to my arrival.  What you haven't heard, and are to keep in severe secret, are that there are two other Totems, which can increase the strength of the first.  How much these minor Totems effect the major, and how they are implemented are still a mystery, much less how the Templars intend to use them to their advantage."  Vitale paused, then adding to the last thought he said, "I was privy to a council with several commanders in the British Navy and Army that are of the Brotherhood, and each gave significant ideas of how they could use such a device to tip the odds heavily in their own favor under multiple circumstances."  Davis seemed to agree to this with a nod, and Tali continued again, "How the Templars intend to use it, or why, is irrelevant to me.  My orders are to hunt it down, and either destroy the Totem, or capture it.  The only lead I have thus far, is the ship's name which it was transported on once it arrived.  Hors Pair."

"I'm sure you have some questions about all this, but if you could wait, there is more," and with that, Vitale recounted the whole of his adventure, excusing a few facts that were either irrelevant, or too personal, or that were tainted by both his own feelings and lack of sure information.  When he finished, he deposited the chunk of red wax on the desk, and then folded his arms as he lent against the escritoire.  "Well Master Davis, you've been a patient listener.  Your concerns, and ideas on how to find this ship, Hors Pair?"

[Horatio Davis[Inactive]]

Vitale began his tale and thus Horatio listened attentively. Without a written account this would be all he'd know. Words are wind and if not captured when spoken could be lost forever. As the ranking assassin on the mission, it would be up to him to put Cordoba's knowledge to purpose and achieve their goal.

The journey began back in England with a story Horatio was somewhat familiar with. It was a hard thing to miss and was on everyone's lips at the time. An assassin had taken out Charles Gerard, the Earl of Macclesfield and the ranking Templar in all of England. Shortly thereafter the Templars retaliated against the northern guilds with Lancashire's chapter being completely wiped out. It was a debacle.

What Horatio didn't know was the root of Gerard's work and why he had been taken out aside from the obvious of his affiliation. The next story was also a familiar one, yet again, Horatio did not know the connection to the first incident nor Vitale's involvement in it. Vigo Bay had been a defining moment in Horatio's life. He'd been the agent behind the instigation of the battle as well as the focus on a certain artifact.

"The Oriflamme?" Horatio asked. As far as he'd been concerned Vigo Bay had been a mission accomplished. The artifact had been swallowed by the sea where no one could use it for evil, and from all reports the higher ups in the Order had confirmed that it was not salvageable. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack at the bottom of the ocean. But that had been five years ago, plenty of timed for a determined organization like the Templars to uncover it. "Someone actually recovered it from the wreck?"

Vitale confirmed the suspicion and then detailed two other devices and their amplifying capabilities. He didn't need hearsay to know what power they were speaking of. A sailor knew and respected the awesome power of the weather more than any man on land. Rain and sun were all well and good for growing crops or planning a picnic, but the true power of this artifact was with the sea. Even just control of the wind could tip the scales in any number of battles or even to defeat an enemy before a battle ever occurred. Horatio could think of a hundred uses for such a power and the great imbalance it would create in their struggle against the Templars.

By the time Vitale had stopped speaking, he'd pretty much told his life story for the past decade. But in the end it was mostly history and no actual leads. For every piece of information they did have there were a dozen questions left unanswered. Finally, Vitale turned to him to come up with an answer.

"Hors Pair." he repeated. "French?"

"Peerless." Vitale answered.

"Common enough. Could be anywhere." Horatio stated. "From what port did she sail? What type of ship is she? What other cargo? Any known passengers?" He was fishing, but it might help narrow things down. Fortunately they were at war which effectively closed half the New World between the English, Dutch, and Portuguese ports. Add to that the sometimes tenuous loyalty of the Spanish to one claimant or another from colony to colony and a French ship suddenly had fewer and fewer safe options.

[Vitale Demato de Cordoba[Inact]

"Common enough," Davis accpeted, "Could be anywhere.  From what port did she sail? What type of ship is she? What other cargo? Any known passengers?"

"She's a third rate French Vessel, out of Redondela around three months ago.  Exact dates were sketchy due to what we assumed to be Templar meddling..." Vitale answered as best he could as he pulled a set of worn folded documents from his inner coat pockets.  As he unfolded the papers, he began to fish through them for more, "Let's see, she had very little.  Mostly just what they need for the return trip.  As to any wayfarers, I didn't see anyone who stood out.  Two frenchmen named were odd in that they don't own any holdings either here or in maritime... at least not that I know of.  Didier Martinelli is a young french aristocrat who I've known for years.  If anything, he's just a dreamer who has a rich family.  I know he has Templar ties, but I've never considered him a vital threat to our greater concerns.  In our discussions, he has always had very linear views of the world and is simply too young to know better.  I've often tried to correct his failing political ideals, but you have to understand his family, and their close walk with the Conti.  As to him being an agent for the Order, I seriously doubt it.  As I said, he's young, maybe overly passionate, but hardly a threat.  If anything, his family is very well off, and Didier does draw to excitement.  Perhaps he pushed his way into this adventure out of boredom.

"Jean-pascal is a known agent, and who we have assumed is not the man in control of the ship.  I'm sorry, Jean-pascal Fauconnier, again, an aristocrat with a simple mind.  It's a common theme in Peari in these times.  I assume you'd heard of Jean-pascal, as he served with the French Navy under Claude de Forbin hunting down privateers from Vlissingen.  I don't believe he was a great Commander, but I digress... they apparently gave Jean some latitude with the Hors Pair.  Again though, I doubt he's in charge.  Jean-pascal is simply too affable to be in command of anything, he's likely here simply as a financier.  I know he isn't very high in the Order, so this may be his self proclaimed moment to heighten his career.  You know how Templars are," Vitale paused to deadpan his point as he handed the manifests over to Davis, "The only other name here that stands out is Jaroslav Gyldenløve.  He's not a part of their crew, and his older cousin is Ulrik Christian Gyldenløve, who was made an Admiral of the Danish fleet in..." Vitale frowned and buried his eyebrows deep as he tried to call it up, "Ninety seven?  I think.  But I haven't worked in the Danish theater so I have little to offer in his regard.  I only mention him, as he's an oddball here.  Being Danish that is, as They aren't friends or enemies with France, nor do they have any known Templar affiliations of note."

He watched as Davis perused through the documents for about sixty seconds in silence before prodding, "Seeing anything?"

[Horatio Davis[Inactive]]

Davis took the documents when offered and scrutinized them. They pretty much said precisely what Vitale had reported, minus all the connections between individuals and brief personality profiles. Cordoba knew his European politics, that's for sure, or at the very least had done thorough research before heading west. The documents themselves appeared to be the harbormaster's, lifted right out from under his nose.

That the Hors Pair was a ship-of-the-line certainly made the search easier. There were few enough of them around and even fewer in the Caribbean. It would be a hard ship to hide, and given enough time Horatio didn't doubt that they could find it. However, theirs was a short timetable. The Assassin Order wanted the Totem not the ship that carried it which meant that they needed to find the Hors Pair sooner rather than later.

The passengers were the only lead they had. Vitale might have been right about Didier being small time, but Horatio was not convinced he posed no threat. Cordoba seemed to have spent too much time with the enemy in Paris and genuinely liked the kid. A Templar was a Templar no matter how incompetent.

The other Frenchman, Jean-pascal, sounded familiar but Horatio didn't really know him. The commander did, however, know of Claude de Forbin and had actually exchanged shells with the man years back at Barfleur. Jean-pascal seemed like a typically ambitious Templar as Vitale said; someone to watch no matter his flaws. Yet they were still no further knowing two men with no connections to the New World.

Finally, Horatio settled on the third name. Cordoba was right, the name did stand out. It was odd to see such a name on a Templar ship but also odd to see him in the New World no matter the circumstances.

"Seeing anything?"

Horatio placed the documents down and then scratched above his right eye. "Gyldenløve." he stated then asked rhetorically, "Where would a Dane be headed?" A moment later, Horatio had pulled a rough map out from underneath a book and opened it across the table. "Sankt Thomas?" he pointed. "The only Danish Colony in the Caribbean, neutral in the war, and isolated enough from other traffic." It was a leap, but so far it was the only thing that made sense. If not there then the Totem was equally likely to be in a hundred different places.

[Vitale Demato de Cordoba[Inact]

The British Assassin Master set the documents down and scratched above his eye thoughtfully.  "Gyldenløve."  Vitale watched as the man worked it out on his own, "Where would a Dane be headed?"

As the Master pulled a map out and unrolled it, Vitale repeated the question internally.  Where indeed?  The Danish were hardly a threat to anyone, anywhere.  In point of fact, why was the man here at all?  The Danes were almost a laughing stock in modern Europe.  Nearly fifty years ago, Charles X Gustav, the King of Sweden, launched an all out attack on the Danes not three months after signing a peace accord with them.  Had it not been for the Dutch sending aid, there wouldn't be a Denmark, much less their unquenchable desire to re-fight the same feud for what looked like all of eternity.  As far as the rest of Europe was concerned, Denmark was a healthy buffer between Norway and Sweden.  By all that was holy, the Danes had already given up most of their holdings to avoid these same fights...  Not the most popular kid in the royal block.

That said, they didn't have much of any lands in the new world, but other than his broad knowledge of their political history, and their ragged wars, Vitale knew almost nothing about the country, or her modern politicians, or their worries over the new world.  So rather than where a Dane would be going, Vi wanted to know why Gyldenløve was here.

More than that however, Vitale didn't know enough about the new world to merit his own unlikely appearance to these lands.  This riddle was truly in the Jamaican Master's hands.

"Sankt Thomas?" Davis speared his finger into the island and continued, "The only Danish Colony in the Caribbean, neutral in the war, and isolated enough from other traffic."

"The Danish West India Company," Vitale asked, trying to keep the seeping sarcasm out of his voice, "Small time competitors of the actual trade companies, wouldn't you say?  Why take it there rather than the actual Indies?  I don't see the point of bringing the Totems here in the first place.  Surely the Templar Order must know that the real stone in their path is heathen China.  Spanish silver and the sugar trade aside, there's nothing here...  What I wouldn't give to know what their truly..." Vitale trailed off thinking about the real reason for the whole scheme.  He looked up to Davis a moment later, "My apology Master Davis, Sankt Thomas then.  It's as fine a lead as we're likely to uncover."  He stood straight, and popped his back from top to bottom.  They'd been at their introduction for nearing half an hour, and Vitale had nothing more to offer than several handfuls of untested theories.  Davis was offering fresh leads and the courage to go after them.  No, Davis was doing his job every bit as systematically as the Masters in England had assumed, and he was in control of this contract.  He had far more intimate knowledge of the Caribbean, and first hand dealings with her politics.  If the man said Sankt Thomas, then that's where they'd start.

Vitale had only one burden to satisfy, and that was the Totem, and Sankt Thomas was as good a place to start as any, "If there are no other affairs or concerns, then when should you wish to depart?"

[Horatio Davis[Inactive]]

"The Danish West India Company." Vitale replied. "Small time competitors of the actual trade companies, wouldn't you say? Why take it there rather than the actual Indies? I don't see the point of bringing the Totems here in the first place. Surely the Templar Order must know that the real stone in their path is heathen China. Spanish silver and the sugar trade aside, there's nothing here... What I wouldn't give to know what they're truly..." he started to trail off before abruptly looking up. "My apologies, Master Davis. Sankt Thomas then. It's as fine a lead as we're likely to uncover."

Horatio nodded.  Vitale was right, at least partially so, in his assessment.  The Danish were a bit of a joke.  Sure they were raking in money and had some power, but when compared to the other powers and their respective companies, there was no comparison.  However, the Spaniard had a very Euro-centric view of the New World that failed to grasp the value these little islands held.  There was a reason the powers of the Old World fought viciously over these little rocks far from home.  Spanish silver and Caribbean sugar paid for the extravagant lifestyles back at court.  A small number of individuals could run an extremely profitable enterprise.

As for the Totem, well, the New World was out of the way.  Compared to Europe, there were no large navies or armies that could be called on for an attack.  The land was poorly explored and sometimes completely unexplored.  Those places that were explored were not terribly populated which allowed ships and items to easily slip from sight.  And unlike in the East, there were no powerful native powers that could interfere with any European plans.  Perhaps the New World was not the ideal place to use such a powerful artifact, but it was a good place to assemble it in secrecy and away from threats.

Vitale stood straight and stretched at the apparent conclusion of their discussion.  He seemed confident in Horatio's suspicions about Sankt Thomas, which was only mildly encouraging.  They were only guessing on the fate of the entire world.  "If there are no other affairs or concerns, then when should you wish to depart?"


"Is immediately too soon?" Horatio asked with the slightest hint of a grin.  He looked to the window where it was still completely pitch black outside.  "After a few months at sea, the men tend to scatter to the wind the moment they get back in port.    I can begin rounding them up though.  It should take a few hours at least before we're ready, but the Nightingale should be underway before dawn."

Horatio quickly rolled the map back up and began to gather it along with the letters and a few other documents laying around.  "If you have no other business in town, I'd suggest a bath and a hot meal." he said without looking up at the travel weary man that clearly needed it.  "Might be hard at this time of night, but who knows when you'll get another chance."  He slapped the last book on top of the growing parcel and bound it up for transport.  "Try Kozy's at White and Orange, three blocks off the waterfront.  The Nightingale is the twenty gun down on the west end."

[Vitale Demato de Cordoba[Inact]

"Is immediately too soon?" The Master asked, and Vitale would have sworn that the man was being facetious.  He went on with his plans for the next few hours as he picked through what little he looked to prepare, and then offered some options for directed rest.  "Try Kozy's at White and Orange, three blocks off the waterfront. The Nightingale is the twenty gun down on the west end."


With that, the two men seemed to stop all movement and a second passed between them, Vitale thought it must be his turn to speak, so he studiously straightened up, and offered, "Well.  Master Davis.  The Nightingale in four hours then."  He lingered only a moment longer, as was proper, before disappearing back the way he'd come.  Not out the door mind you, that would not have been prudent.

After re-traversing his original path out of the fort, Vitale made his way into the sprawls of Kingston.  He found 'Kozy's' as per his directions, and sure enough they were willing to oblige him a room for the night.  Vitale stripped down to his barrens and fell into a bath for the better part of an hour.  The water had been warm when he'd gotten it, but by the time he finished it was only above the temperature of the night.  After Vitale had returned to a state of average cleanliness, he found sustenance in main hall.  The cooker, if he could be called that, was a half drunk white man looking every one of his forty years and then some.  By this time it was well into the night, about half past two in the morning and Vitale was just happy to have found him at all.  After a long and arduous difference of opinion that nearly came to blows, Cordoba convinced the drunk to re-stoke his fires, and throw a meal into a pan.

Meal hardly covered it.  Dinner was most of Snapper lightly seasoned in salt and pepper, and tasting of some other dish that the pan had obviously cooked far before.  He found two plantains to eat while he waited, and with the fish, Vi had a form of Ginger Beer, and used a piece of bread to soak up the oil before eating it.  It was not a good meal, it wasn't even a bad meal, in short, Vitale would not have fed this to his dog in France, but it wasn't dried, salted anything, and as such it was the best meal in two weeks.  Vi sighed as he finished and wiped his mouth and hands, wondering if this was the best there was to hope for.  Another patron, a young man of about twenty or so, assured him that the service, the drink, and the women were far greater earlier, or during festivities upon where he told it would last throughout the night and well beyond into the the breaking of the sun.

Vitale paid with British coin that, upon the very sight of, was snatched away and deposited to the dark pockets of his cooker's pockets.  Vi didn't bother to wonder if the man was honest with his Kozy's about the meal, instead, he made for the docks to retrieve his belongings from the Bureau Stash of the city.  It was only the shortest of walks to the Nightingale to finish his business, where he found Davis again, and the ship well into the morning and mostly groomed and rigged for the trip.




_{(((OOC:  For the remainder of our RP, each city will have a Bureau Stash point, in the case of an Assassin who got into port, and had no where to put his crap when he got off the boat, for instance, Vitale here.  Feel free to use this at your leisure, and throw it into RP whenever you please.  For the Purposes of Jamaica, the duties of keeping up the Port Royal Stash, would have been for Davis to assign to one of his "Hey-you's" more commonly known as "Do-boys" or if you are from the south, you'd know these types as "F***-boys")))}

[Horatio Davis[Inactive]]

"Well. Master Davis. The Nightingale in four hours then." Vitale said after a pause. Once again he lingered for a moment, as if unsure how or when to make his exit. Sneaking into places was the norm in the business, but it typically wasn't for friendly chats with other assassins. Either it wouldn't matter because the person you just paid a visit is now dead, or you've had a surprise meeting with an unsuspecting guest and now must vanish as quickly and spectacularly as you arrived.

That wasn't the case presently, but Cordoba eventually found his way out of the candlelight and then out of the room. Horatio wasn't too far behind him, but of course the officer took the door and walked directly through all the sentry posts on his way out.

Davis was back on his ship by two and soon had woken the sailing master and instructed him to have the crew assembled. There was a grand total of twenty-seven still aboard, with the remaining sixty either not yet returned for the night or having found lodgings in town... if you know what I mean. As unpopular as the late night orders were, that was still enough men to begin preparations and to send some runners out into the night to gather up the balance of the crew.

For his part, Horatio went straight to his quarters and began to plot a course from Kingston to the tiny thirty square mile island seven hundred nautical miles away. As he worked on his charts, the commander second guessed the trip half a dozen times and planned a score of potential stops along the way and other contingencies to try and search as many places as possible. In the end, the simplest path was chosen with speed as their only goal.

By then, more than half the men were back aboard and the hold was slowly filling up with fresh supplies for the trip. Most were carried in from the naval warehouse, others from merchants that had been willing to deal at such an early hour, but others still were liberated in the name of military urgency. It was still predawn as Horatio observed from the quarterdeck as the hoist lowered bag after bag of flour down into the cargo hold. The carpenter had also begun to hammer away, further adding to the growing din that was sure to result in a complaint or two to the governor.

Horatio was the type of Assassin that was so visible and obvious that others became blind to the truth that stood before them. He made no efforts to conceal the ship's sudden and unexplained haste to depart Kingston, and in return no one questioned a thing. There would be complaints, sure, but not the slightest hint of suspicion. "Hide in plain sight." Horatio recited quietly to himself. He looked down at his maimed hand and then out at wharf where Cordoba stood. "Never compromise the Brotherhood."


((OOC: Are we continuing on in this thread or going elsewhere?  I'm fine with either.))