Poster: Jacob Anderson
Post # 6
The voyage across the ocean was without major incident. The crew went
about their business, not grumbling in the presence of the three about a
female on board, the Captain was pleasant, and the weather cooperated,
for the most part, though a day out, they ran into a small squall. No
damage done, and by the evening of the next day, Magpie, was
safely docked at the harbor of Port Royal. Since the Port and lands were
held by France, there were the usual questions, though, again, there
were no problems, proving once again that Joseph McDonough had many
contacts. The Captain recommended the Boar and Hammer Inn as the place
for them to stay. Run by an Englishwoman named Lucille Smythe, they'd
have no problems. The town itself was full of people from different
lands, as well as Natives. The three would draw little attention. Mercy
had chosen to wear a gown of dark blue, modest at the neckline, and with
full skirts. She was trying to draw as little attention as possible to
herself, nearly an impossible task with that blonde hair.
Mercy would hear low by her ear. "When out in the wilds you're
going to dress like a lad if you want to come." Dark eyes were
constantly shifting giving a nod where eye contact was made be it white
or native as all were equal to him. He was attired in nondescript or so
he would label his attire. Dark pants, boots, shirt all under a
lightweight dark grey cloak. His duffel bag swung over a shoulder with
his need of change. "Although I like how you look in the
skirt." Steps slowed as brows dipped and there seemed to be an
argument growing between a native and one ornery soldier type.
Clark departed the ship not far behind Jay and Mercy. His duffel,
weighted down with journals and notebooks, bumped and banged against the
rope that kept the passengers on the wooden planks and out of the murky
waters. He'd cut a look over his shoulder, offer an apology to the
person behind, but continue on - bump, bump, shift sides, bump,
bump, look back and apologize. As Jacob spoke quietly to Mercy.
Clark re-acquainted himself with the port. If he wasn't mistaken, the
Boar and Hammer was to the right. Wait. Left. Wait. Hmmm. He paused just
to the side of his traveling companions. A heft of sack to reposition
the weight, then a squint in both directions. He'd just stand until one
of the others set them off in the correct direction. From there, he'd
have his bearings. Right. Yes. From there he'd know where to go.
Mercy was carrying her own duffel, and somehow managing not to do the
same as Clark. Though as with any port, it was quite crowded. The First
Mate pointed out the direction of the Inn, while warning them to stay
away from another part of the docks. Left was the direction of the Inn,
right where they shouldn't go, at least not with Mercy dressed as she
was. She glanced at the ones who seemed to be arguing, giving a shake of
her head. "Seems things are the same everywhere." A woman came
over to Clark, with a sway of her hips and a flutter of lashes, and
offered him a good time. Another eyed Jacob but saw Mercy with him and
turned away. Clark should catch up!
The Indian man was older and had the mark of the bear on his arm. The
other man took a swing but the brave ducked out of his way. Jacob took a
step in that direction. Hand coming to the hilt of his dagger and when
the one in a tattered soldier's coat pulled out a flintlock, Jacob's
dagger went flying to knock it out of the man's hand. It would have been
an unfair fight. He was already on the run the short distance. The man
went to pick up the gun again even with his hand bleeding, the brave
stood there staring the man down and not trying to defend himself. When
the battered soldier saw Jacob he stumbled back catching his
steps then turned and ran. Jacob picked up his knife and the gun as he
turned to the brave, eyes met and held. No words needed as he threw the
gun in the trough before he was around to join back up with Marcy. On
the way he noticed the woman about to solicit Clark and a pent up burst
of adrenaline came in a good laugh.
Left. Yes. He knew right was not correct. Left it was. He searched the
crowds to find that Mercy and Jacob were heading in that direction, but
a woman stood between him and progress. What? Huh? The din of the docks,
at first, made her offer difficult to hear. Clark pushed around her with
a light pat on her head. If you can't understand a stranger, at least
let them know you appreciate their friendly approach. Everything was
good. Yes, yes. Thanks for the welcome. He planned to have a good time -
doing that which he enjoyed most. Seeking out information. He left the
woman blinking behind him with her hands on those well-shaped hips. Who
could really get mad at a man such as Clark? Oblivious yet ... soaking
it all in. He smiled, and nodded, and offered over greetings to any he
passed, apologies to those who were in the path of his duffel when he'd
turn to extend any of the previous. That Jacob was stepping in, standing
up, settling down a situation may not have even been noticed by the
newest addition to the team. Clark Davis was busy making mental notes so
that he could make ink-scribbled ones later.
Mercy watched Jacob with concern then relief. She waited until he joined
her while trying to find Clark, then she blinked when Jacob laughed. She
hadn't seen the woman so they'd have to explain that later. She studied
the brave for a long moment before looking away, not wanting to be rude.
Now she'd wait for Jacob to lead them to the inn while making sure Clark
didn't get too distracted.
"Did you at least get her name?" Called out to Clark as with
their pausing, he was able to catch up. The brave was long gone and the
soldier back out looking for his flintlock. "I think we should
continue on." Now that Jacob was with two others the man didn't
seem to recognize him or hadn't bothered to look. Once started on their
way, as the Inn's sign could be seen swinging over the board walk, he
made mention to the two. "The older brave had the mark of the bear
tattooed on his arm."
"No." Clark was grinning, joining them so that they could
continue on. "But I gave her yours." There was, perhaps, more
to Clark than most thought. He looked toward where the brave had hurried
away. Bear. Arm. Got it. Not just the tattoo on his arm, but the native
had a scar just above his left eyebrow. "Ah, here we are. I'll
check us in."
Now Mercy laughed and looked at Jacob to see how he took that bit of
news. While they walked, she took note of people who passed by, looking
if any took more than a passing interest in the three. The Inn was well
kept, the outside painted white, the trim dark. Middle and upper class
seemed to make up the clientele. They passed three women, a mother and
daughter and maid, who stuck their noses in the air at the three. Mercy
made a face after they passed.
That got a good laugh as the retort followed once letting it free.
"Good, I can make sure to keep all valuables locked up and practice
being a phantom." He was up to follow Clark into the Inn as he
would drop off his bag here in the room provided. "Shall we freshen
up then head out to the seedier side of town? Can you pass for at least
nineteen as a lad, Mercy?" While Clark gave the names he collected
his key once his name was checked in. Jacob didn't even notice the three
Clark gave their names, provided Joseph's voucher of payment, then
started for the stairs that would lead to his room. "Sure she can,
Jay." Though, it was meant as nothing more than a compliment for
Mercy's talents at disguise, it could also be taken as an insult by the
woman. Although, this was Clark - and he continued on up the stairs,
ricocheting off the wall whenever his steps brought his duffel too
close to that solid barrier. He needed to put to paper all that he had
taken in from dock to dwelling. Freshen up as Jacob had instructed. Then
prepare his own disguise for their journey into the less desirable parts
of this place.
"Aye, I can." She had makeup in the smaller bag she carried
and might surprise the two when she emerged from her room. She wasn't
insulted in the least by Clark's statement, just flashed him a grin. She
headed up the steps in front of Clark to avoid being bumped even
once by that duffel. Likely would knock her down the stairs. "See
you both soon." She gave them each a wave before unlocking her door
and heading inside. The room was absolutely heaven after being on board
a ship for so long.
"Half past the hour." Which would give them plenty of time
including Clark to write his thoughts down. He would soak then put on
the attire of plain clothing. Worn looking but clean for here. Some of
the places in the wilderness he would go smelling ripe for that would be
expected or give them away as outsiders. Pants had a few extra mendings,
shirt a button or two missing, cloak was in one piece as usually that
was the most prized article. Once he was ready he awaited them down in
the lobby, enjoying a cigarillo as he watched ones come in and out.
Drawings and markings, words and numbers all found their way to his
journal then he spent the remainder of what little time remained washing
the sea-salt from his body and his hair, and then preparing. When he
emerged below his facial hair was added to, providing him a full beard,
a red and black flannel shirt over a faded blue tee. There was even a
scar which snaked from the hairline at this throat down into the collar
of his shirt. A small club, the right size to tuck into the side of his
pants, provided what might be conceived as a weapon. Ah, but Clark was
good at disguising more than just his person. Within that club was a
rolled up piece of parchment and a leaded piece of wood for writing. He
swaggered his steps on over to Jacob and pulled out a chair, dropping
without ceremony, sprawled of leg, into it. A thin shard of wood was
tucked between his teeth and he talked beyond it. "Waiting for the
lad?" He glanced to the steps. "For all the delay, you'd think
him more feminine." A huge grin, teeth clamping down on that wooden
pick, and he, like Jacob, waited.
The 'lad' came down the stairs in a clattering run, looking about for
his mates. Mercy's blonde hair had been changed to a mousy brown, her
brows thicker, and there even seemed to be a bit of peach fuzz on her
chin. Facial putty had widened her nose and made her chin less pointed.
With coloring added to make her more tan, one would be hard pressed to
tell she was female. The clothes she wore were padded to make her
shoulders wider, her curves less noticeable, and even her hands looked
rougher, dirty under nails and all. The clothing was all in browns, and
slightly big as if they were hand me downs. With a swagger, she joined
the two, and grinned. "Ready when you are." There were few
patrons in the common room but those seemed uninterested in the trio,
though the keep looked a bit confused.
"Indeed," retorted to Clark as he admired his disguised.
Stetson shadowed his features some but as they got close they would
notice the warrior type braids in his hair along with a moustache
and goatee. A scar touched to the height of his left cheek. He had the
look of a scout which by skills he was good at tracking. One thing
Branan Cairns had exploited every chance he got. A lifetime ago. At
first he didn't recognize her as the pass of the last bit of smoke
trailed around and up over his head. The butt was crushed out in a
receptacle for that very use. A double take as he straightened.
"There you are Marcus. I'm so glad you could catch up." Making
it sound like the lad was not even staying here. The night watch only
gave them a passing glance being they seemed to be leaving and not
recognizing them. "No time like the present." A nod as the
game was afoot and he headed out the main doors, purposeful stride on
this one as a man intent on any business he got into.
Marcus? Who was Marcus? A frown marked Clark's brow and he slanted a
look in the lad's direction. How did Jay know someone here? Then his
eyes narrowed, and Clark tilted toward the youth. Hold on here. "Mer....arcus?"
And Clark thought he was good at disguise. Impressive, that. He jumped
to his feet, ready to head out. Ready to start the evening. Ready to get
to the nitty-gritty of what they did best. Blending in...to fledge out.
This was what it was all about!
Mercy wore a wide brimmed hat to help in the disguise, and she pulled it
on as they headed down the street. It was adjusted to shadow her
face, adding to the disguise. Tucked away in boot, and belt were
daggers. She said little as they walked, instead noting
directions, landmarks and a few of the ones who seemed to take note of
strangers. One man she did notice had been watching the fight
earlier. He was squinting in their direction so she hoped he was merely
unable to see them well. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she
glanced at her two companions.
Jacob couldn't help it and the conversation was one Mercy would need to
get use to. A cigar of Cuban blend was taken out and lit as they headed
for the tavern aptly named The Dare Devil. Match flared to life then
flicked away in a puff of smoke that was angled right at her as he
turned his head with the question. "So, Marcus, have you bedded any
Clark's fingers tapped out the rhythm to an unheard melody on that
wooden club. Once or twice he turned full circle to take
everything in. Were they in danger? That would be up to
Mercy and Jacob to decide, the third partner of this party was just
scanning and tucking away to memory. Except, he had already
forgotten the information regarding Marcus. Marcus? He
turned to look to his companions to see who else had joined them.
OH! Marcus. That's right. MercyMarcus. "He's not
bedded any lasses. He's still too busy tucking himself away in
shadowy niches to practice for when he gets brave enough to test his
skill." An apologetic smile tugged at his lips when he looked
to MercyMarcus, and then he had to look away before she reacted...in any
"Marcus' opened his mouth to react then turned to stare at Clark
from beneath the brim of his hat. "Have too. Ye've jus' been
too busy wi' yer books to notice." His walk became a bit of a
swagger. "Why ye thin' I've been practicin' so much in Ol' man
Rogers barn." Did that suffice for the disguise. The
tavern wasn't far ahead and she needed to keep up that act. And she
"Goats don't count, Marcus." Was the quick reply before
he even thought his words through.
"But sheep do."
"Aye, sheep do. I'll give him that then." Clark
slapped a hand to Mercy's shoulder, and since he didn't give much
never-mind to his actions, perhaps with a bit more force than what
was needed. All in the show though. All in the show.
"Just cause ye two old men can't git it up anymore, doesn't mean I
use sheep or ... " The last was cut off with the slap to her
It just went all wrong there when she added Ol' man Rogers barn.
"Marcus we'll find you a brothel and have them fix it all up for
you right. Even if it's all dented and bent from being in Ol' man
Roger's barn." And the smile couldn't be help. They could prey
Mercy didn't get into any man talk! Otherwise the sea captains will be
whisking her off. "Ah, here we are." Barely the words out and
a man came flying out, held by one HUGE male that had him by the scruff
of his neck and band of his britches. One, two, sway and sail. Dust
puffed up in a cloud around the one that splatted on the ground.
"Nothing like a mouthful of dirt to wash down an over abundance of
alcohol." Clark cleared his throat and, along with his
disguised companions, stepped around the man sprawled on the ground.
Bah. They just liked having fun at her expense. But she really
didn't mind. She didn't have a retort and anything she could have
said was lost when the man came sailing in their direction. Just a
lift of a brow and a bit of a smirk appeared as she followed Clark.
The man on the ground wasn't moving too well, so maybe he had a bit too
much. Or it could be from the shaking the bruiser had given him.
He was heading up the steps and inward. One female came sauntering by to
take a grab at Marcus' crotch, whispering sweet nothings and how she
could make a man of him for a few coins. That much Jacob caught and
caught the woman up by her arm to draw her away from Mercy. "I
think maybe after he has a few drinks he will be ready for you."
Smile was a warning and she intoxicated as she pouted. He angled her
away to another man passing who she latched onto. He grumbled something
about certain kinds liking to corrupt like it gave them some power or
purpose. Place was crowded as he started to shove his way through but
keeping close to both. "Spot an empty table, grab it."
"Got it!" Since Clark was especially good at looking
around, he had already eyed a vacated table and so, started plowing a
path in that direction. "Watch it, step aside, coming
through, move your little arse along." And on and on until he
stood, triumphant at the table.
It was a good thing that Marcus had something for the woman to ... grab!
She stammered a bit, getting red from the neck up, and ducking her head
as Jacob pulled the woman away. It was with a good bit of
relief that she followed Clark to the table then looked at Jacob, a half
grin appearing. "Mighta caught somethin' from that one."
That's when another man pushed, or try to, Clark out of the way.
"This is our table, we saw it first." Thinking that he was
alone. The man had a knife that he shoved into the wood right by
Clark's hand as another one came up to join his buddy. He was grinning
showing off the few teeth left and one that was silver. Couldn't
afford a gold but he acted like he had that million dollar grin. Jacob
nudged Mercy, and foregoing the serving wench that block their way in
holding them up in reaching Clark.
Clark tipped toward the side with that shove but he gained his footing,
his gaze slowly lifting from the knife to the man. Now, there was
the opportunity to dispute the man's claim with a 'how can you see
anything?' and poke the intruder in both eyes and take out a knee but
... there was still his friend there to contend with. Clark gently
removed his hand from the too-close blade of that weapon, squinting an
eye toward the foul breathed miscreant. "Think so?"
He scratched just below his eye where that fake beard tickled.
"I'd wager you're right. Want to wager? If I'm right, then the
table is ours." The large man jerked that blade free, eyeing
Clark a moment before grunting out his reply of "Aye, if you're
right, the table is yours." The investigator smiled, not too
much, lest he lose some of his own teeth and asked, "Did you see
this table first?" His buddy roared out in the man's stead.
"He did!" "He did!" Clark repeated, with a
firm nod, lifting a hand and slapping the stout shoulder of the stranger.
"That means you're right, and since I wagered you were right, that means,
I win the wager. Which also means, the table is ours."
And he was quick to add as he pulled out a chair. "But that
wench over yonder is eyeing yooooou, this table is too far away from the
action anyway." Stunned, attempting to make sense of how it
was that he was right and had lost the table because of it, the stranger
scrubbed at the back of his head, turning as he did to look toward the
woman Clark was talking about. Rather than look more the fool for
not understanding, or not catching on, or not seeing the female that
Clark mentioned or ... just not wanting to look a fool period for all
those things, he grumbled under his breath and pounded a meaty fist to
his friend's chest. "This table is too far way from the
action." As if that was his idea, and he was all the more
proud because of it. Davis just grinned, lifted a hand, and waved
MercyMarcus and Jacob on over. The table, for now, was their's...
Mercy stepped around the serving wench when Jacob nudged her and watched
Clark then glanced at Jacob. She started in that direction, but by
then the two men were gone and Clark was grinning. "Don't know what
you did, but you did it damn good." She kept up the act, but
it was a bit harder for the laughter that wanted to escape.
Glancing around, she took one of the seats, turning her chair so she
could watch most of the room. She was counting on the others to watch
her back, and she'd watch theirs.
"Making friends already?" Of course Jacob would say that with
a grin. The bar wench grabbed as she went to pass him, literally of a
rounded backside which certainly caught her attention. When she turned seeing
his face that retort turned into a smile instead. "What can I
git ye handsome gents?" Eyeing each in turn but sidling up closer
to Jacob. "Three tankards and a bowl of mix." Which would be
this and that of whatever the tavern offered in eats. He placed the
coins on her tray while leaning in close with a few words and a squeeze
of her asset still in his hand before released. Once the transaction was
done he took up a seat with his comrades.
Clark pulled a chair around so that he was straddling the back, his arms
braced on the top. "Thing is, there is no argument when
everyone agrees." He had learned that at an early age with
older brothers to manipulate. Clark scanned the room, taking
a moment to watch Jacob place their order, then back to scanning.
Who were they looking for again? He might have to pull out his
notes to check. Just to make sure, of course.
Mercy hadn't seen Jacob's tactic with the bar wench. She was too
busy trying to study faces. There were a couple of natives in here
which surprised her, being that she had heard of the prejudices many had
against them. Apparently if they had coin, they could buy drink.
The crowd made it hard for her to see them well. She looked up at
Jacob as he joined them, then grimaced slightly. It would have
been nicer to be a bit taller but then again, she could slip through the
crowd quickly if it became necessary.
He was down in a comfortable sprawl and this secretive type grin
plastered over his features. The serving wench was back in record time
first to place a bowl of bread, cheeses, nuts, dates and some cured ham
to the center of the table. It would have her leaning over even more and
certainly ample bosom to expose right towards Clark's view for the
angle. Next the tankards were set, Mercy, Clark as she sauntered very
close in a rub along his shoulder and arm while placing it but when she
got to Jacob, her lips were very close to his ear seductively as she
reached around setting the tankard. Nice view offered him as a coin was
discreetly slip there in the valley so deep. She straightened then
before sauntering off again. Jacob tossed a look between the two.
"Ten little Indians." Like the child's rhyme. With his eyes he
cast a glance first over a few tables. "Two, Then
with a scratch to his jaw and a thumb indicating behind.
"Five." A discreet look to his left across the way.
"Three." Then he took up his tankard.
It was too bad that Clark was concentrating so hard on the faces
in the room. He completely missed the fact that an ample supply of
flesh was exposed to him or that she even rubbed against his arm.
It was just contact, you know, and the place was crowded. What
kind of counting was that? Ten, two, five, three. It was
code! It must be! Hey! He didn't know that code! Even
though he followed Jacob's gaze, saw the natives, it still didn't click.
Yet. He forced himself to remember his nursery rhymes. Ten Little
Indians. Okay. "Hickory, Dickory, Dock."
There you go, Jay. Clark slid his gaze to Mercy-er-Marcus. A
lift of brows followed. Her turn!
Mercy nodded then blinked and stared at Clark. Across the room,
one loud woman complained about her man not paying attention and sent
him and his chair flying. Mercy's couldn't stop the grin as she
answered Clark. "Humpty Dumpty had a great fall."
Cinnamon colored eyes then drifted back to Jacob. "I saw Two. One
with markings on his face." But whether he was Bear or Turtle, or
any of the other clans, she didn't know. The couple were now
screaming at one another, arms flailing. A mug was sent flying ...
in their direction! Mercy was ready to duck, were the men?
Jacob ducked as it went flying by, more a lean to the side as he grabbed
a chunk of bread and a wedged of cheese. "The cluster of five bear
the markings of the claw. It seems they are the more predominant tribe
here but the other two are competitions. Clan of the horse are of the
two, they wish peaceful relations but the clan of the rattlesnake, there
is something wrong, matters and bad blood want the blood of the bear
Clark didn't duck, although the tankard sailed close by, it wasn't close
enough to cause the man to flinch. Or maybe he just didn't see it
coming! With each mention of tribal names, Clark's eyes darted
about. Old McDonald had a Farm, Eee-eye-eee-ey
Ohboyohboyheneededhisnotes. "It's the Bear we need
though." And he nodded toward the Five Little Indians that were, by
no means, little!
"We'll have to be careful then if the clan of the puma want blood.
We don't need to get caught in a war." She glanced at the men
of the Bear clan who seemed to be ignoring everything, even the arguing
couple who were being escorted out. Brushing some of the spilled
ale from a sleeve, she looked over at the ones who wanted blood. They
were not ignoring the men of the bear.