Lord Henry Beaufort entered the musky tavern, and couldn't help a grimace as the unpleasant odor of mold, sweat, and cheap beer greeted him. He turned to his companion, a young, muscular man with short brown hair.
“For whatever reason our informer chose this place, it certainly wasn't the smell,” he said. His companion nodded, but remained silent. Lord Beaufort stepped forward, holding a lantern above his head, and surveyed the room. It was small and mostly empty, furnished with only rickety tables and chairs. There were a few cupboards on the far wall behind a short bar, and a door on the further end. He tried the handle and discovered the door to be locked. Moving to a table, he set the lantern down, and pulled out a chair.
“If I remember correctly, he is to arrive within the hour.” He lifted his watch, which hung on a chain from his belt. The time read ten-thirty. The other man nodded again, and followed him to the table, where he hesitated for a moment. Beaufort laughed heartily.
“You can have a seat,” he said, motioning to the opposite chair, “and there’s no need to be reserved. These missions are too stressful and boring if one is silent the whole time. Heaven knows there will be time enough to be silent later on.” He took out a pipe and lit it. “Now, my fine lad, what is your name again?”
His companion hastily sat down. “John, sir.” he replied. “John Claxton.”
“That’s a good, sturdy name,” Beaufort said appreciatively. “I hope to find you as sturdy a companion for our cause. However, we should probably come up with an alias, for your safety.” Not waiting for an answer, he continued. “Now John, I hear from my good friend, Sir Drake, that this will be your first mission of this kind.”
John confirmed this. “Glad to hear it,” Beaufort smiled. “I love taking the newcomers. The mistakes they make are so amusing.” His voice turned serious. “Of course, as the result of this visit is important to our cause, I’d appreciate it if you tried not to make any blunders.”
“I shall do my best, sir.” John replied earnestly. “I hope, sir-”
“Tsk! tsk!” Beaufort shook his head. “We can’t have any of these formalities. We are all comrades here, living, fighting, and laying down our lives for the same cause. Liberty, equality, and fraternity! Don’t bother to defer to me what you wouldn't to any other man, or what you wouldn't expect for yourself. Please just call me Henry.”
“Sorry Lord Beau…” stuttered John, “Um, that is, thank you… Henry.”
There was silence for a moment, but Lord Beaufort noticed that John quickly forgot his discomfiture in his excitement. His eyes sparkled, and he looked at the room around him with an air of curiosity. “So what is his name?” he said after a while.
“What’s that?” said Lord Beaufort, distractedly.
“The informer - what’s his name?”
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. He claims it is Mr. Black, but the truth of it is doubtful.”
The minutes ticked by, and the hour in which Mr. Black was scheduled to arrive neared its end. Both men appeared to be absorbed in their thoughts. At last, Lord Beaufort checked his watch. “When he does arrive,” he advised John, “be attentive to our conversation. There is a certain way these dealings must be taken care of, and you never know when you might be called upon to undertake a similar mission. Pay particular attention to how I act. If he is the sort I usually deal with, a menacing attitude and a few carefully voiced threats should be all I need to help him remember any few details he is inclined to forget.”
A strong wind blew against the building, and the ancient boards squeaked in protest. Rain began to fall, quietly at first, but quickly increasing in volume and frequency. Soon a deep rumbling was heard. Beaufort lifted an eyebrow. “A thunderstorm, eh?” he muttered. “You like to arrive in style.”
If John was wondering who the sentence was addressed to, he had no chance to ask; for at that moment, three loud, deliberate knocks shook the door. Beaufort took the pipe out of his mouth, and slowly breathed out the smoke. “Go ahead and open it,” he ordered.
John stood and walked to the door. Delaying for just a moment, he took a deep breath, and lifted the latch. There was hardly time for John to back out of the way before a violent gust of wind blew the door open.
The smoke Beaufort had exhaled a moment before blew back into his eyes. He blinked a few times as his eyes watered. It took a second or two for his vision to clear; he saw the visitor standing two yards away, cape billowing in the wind, and a dark hood overshadowing his upper face. Rain rushed wildly in, and a streak of lightning lit the doorway. With a great effort, John swung the door shut and the air inside the building was once again still.
The newly arrived man coolly shook the mud off his boots. Streams of water ran down his clothes, and out of his thick beard poured a miniature waterfall. The water flowed down in reckless rivers around his feet, running across the floor boards and soaking through cracks. Finishing with his boots, he proceeded to dramatically pull off his thick leather gloves, and shook the excess water off of them. That completed, there was nothing to do but pull back his hood. He lifted his hand as though to do so, and John was eager to see the face of the one who had just made such an exciting entrance.
