PART 1: ANDREA MERIWHETHER 

Savannah, Georgia. 1816.

The drop of condensation trickled its way down the side of the crystal glass, full of lemonade. Andrea watched it slide closer and closer to the table, before finally touching down, disappearing into the tablecloth. 

It was so hot. What Andrea wouldn’t give to close her eyes. Maybe she would melt away, too. She blinked heavily. 

“Andrea?”

Her head sank down. The air felt like a warm, wet blanket, pressing in on her from all sides. So…hot… 

“Andrea!”

She jerked back up in her chair. “Yes, Mother?”

Her mother, Edith, was staring at her across the garden table, a taught smile on her face. “Are you feeling all right, dear? You are falling asleep before our eyes.” Her tone was light, but there was absolutely no humor in her mother’s expression. 

Andrea brushed a stray curl off her forehead, her thin gloves dry against her skin. “I’m very sorry, Mother.” She turned to the other woman seated at the table. “Missus Whitfield. It must be the heat.” 

Missus Harriet Whitfield was the lady of the neighboring estate, and Edith’s best friend. She visited for drinks almost every other day. Which meant Andrea had to join them almost every other day. 

Harriet smiled, knowingly. “No need to lie, sweetheart. It’s all right if we’re boring you.” 

“Well.” 

“Andrea!” Edith snapped. 

Harriet laughed. “No, no, Edith. She’s right. I can’t imagine anyone but us two would find further discussion of your new table linens very interesting.”

“Oh…” said Edith. 

Andrea swallowed a smile. Her mother could have talked about those linens for hours. 

Harriet stared up into the sprawling branches of the live oak tree that shrouded the garden. “Now, what can we bring up that a young girl would find exciting? Ah, I know!” Harriet leaned forward. “Andrea, are you attending the dance at the Lancaster estate?”

Andrea held back a sigh. She’d nearly forgotten about the blasted upcoming dance. She’d been hoping everyone else would forget about it, too. 

“Of course she is,” Edith answered automatically. 

What if I just got up and walked away? What would she do? Maybe they’d just keep on talking without me. 

“Good,” Harriet said. “From what I hear, it’s going to be quite the affair. Plenty of young people, from far and wide. Excellent news for you, Andrea.” 

Andrea lifted an eyebrow. “Is it?”

Harriet took a sip of her lemonade. “Well. Darling. You’re what, twenty-one? That window of youth is closing fast, and I’m sure you’re ready to be married.”

“Oh, am I?” said Andrea. How wonderful that her mother’s gossipy friend knew exactly what she needed in her life. 

Her mother gave her a hard stare across the table before turning back to Harriet. “I’m not so sure about running off with some stranger at a dance. Our family has more dignity than that, Harriet.” 

Missus Whitfield flapped a hand. “I know, I know. Just a tease. But let’s see. Well, now, what about Emery? The Lancaster boy? He’s grown into quite the good-looking man.” 

Andrea folded her fingers below her chin. “Lucky him. Looks will be all he’s got if the Lancasters keep running their business into the ground and throwing stupid dances.” 

Harriet made an appalled, clucking sound. 

“Andrea. Would you go get some more lemonade, please?” There was a controlled fury concealed in Edith’s voice. 

As always, that was her cue to leave. Andrea rose and left the garden table, not bothering to even pretend to be graceful, and marched up the wide steps and into the Meriwhether manor house. 

Finally. Relief from the blazing sun and heavy air. Andrea closed the French door behind her and stepped into the welcoming shadows of the plush carpet and dark purple walls of the living room. She had absolutely no desire to return to the garden, with or without lemonade. Her behavior would earn her a scolding from her mother later, but that was almost a daily occurrence.

The swishing sound of her skirts echoing up to the high ceilings, Andrea left the living room and exited into the hall. Near the far corner, across from a tall oil painting of her grandfather, the door to her father’s study stood open. 

“Andrea? Is that you? Come in here,” called a voice as she approached. 

She smiled, entering the study and breathing in the comforting smells of paper and pipe tobacco. 

Her father, William Meriwhether, stood over his ornate wooden desk, a large roll of paper spread out before him. 

“Yes, Papa?” Andrea said from the doorframe. 

“I thought you were outside having lunch with your mother.”

“I’ve been sent in for lemonade,” said Andrea, flatly. 

“Excellent idea. Bring me some as well. It’s such a hot day.” William fiddled with a measurement device, moving it across the paper. 

“Papa, ‘Andrea go get some lemonade’ is Mother’s code for ‘Andrea get out of my sight, you’re embarrassing me.’”

“I’d count your lucky stars, if I were you. Your mother keeps such tiring friends.” William straightened up and waved her over. “Here, come take a look at this.”

The document William had been examining was a plan of the estate and its surrounding plantation land. A thin sheet of tracing paper had been laid on top of the plans, showing a different configuration of plots. 

“Are these the new crop distributions for next summer?” Andrea asked. 

“That they are. Smart girl. What do you think?”

Andrea looked up at her father. “We’re really switching over from cotton to indigo?” 

“It was your idea.” 

“I suggested we start diversifying our output,” said Andrea. “You’re the one who pushed for a complete overhaul.” Though the plantation had been set up by her grandfather ages ago, times were changing, and more and more owners were breaking into the trade. It meant more competition, which they could beat out if they worked fast. After reading up on indigo as a crop, and how well it took to southern soil, Andrea had pitched the plant to William as a possible supplement, but he’d gone even further. 

“What can I say? I like the sound of it!” William tapped his finger on the logo that adorned the new plans. “Meriwhether Indigo. If all goes well, we’ll be the first producers in this part of Georgia.”

Andrea looked closer at the drawings. “Hmm. The plots should be farther apart. Here to here, maybe,” she said, indicating a larger space with her fingers. “Indigo grows tall, from what I’ve read. We don’t want any of it to be in the shade.” 

“Ah. Very good thinking,” said William. “I’ll take a look at the measurements and redraft.” He smiled, the ends of his graying mustache curling up. “Where would I be without you, Andrea?”

She ducked her head. “Probably doing just fine.” 

William sniffed. “Fine is not enough,” he said, raising his voice. “Fine is not the Meriwhether path of excellence! We root out those opportunities and succeed. And that drive is in your blood, through and through. You’re going to help this business in big ways.”

Excitement and anxiety twisted around Andrea’s heart. He often said things like this, but it was hard for her to tell how much he meant and how much was just talk. Her father was boisterous and didn’t always think things through. Andrea had started educating herself about the family business when she was fifteen, in addition to her other studies, and with the right influence and subtlety, she’d been able to pass her ideas to her father. Now that she was an adult, the next logical step was that she be brought into the business officially. 

“I’d really love that, Papa,” she said, trying to read his expression. 

William nodded. “Mm. Now then. Fetch that lemonade. Don’t keep your mother waiting.”

❖

Andrea slid her knife across the breast of the game hen on her plate, watching the white flesh part, releasing a curl of steam. At one end of the table, her father was chatting eagerly to no one in particular about the previous month’s profits. At the other end, her mother was fixated on the floral centerpiece. Before dinner had been served, she’d been fussing with the arrangement of the hydrangeas. Andrea felt her thoughts slipping away, as they usually did during family meals. 

The unfortunate thing was that there was nothing else remarkable to think about. The dance at the Lancaster estate had come and gone. Much to her mother’s and Harriet Whitfield’s chagrin, Andrea hadn’t returned home that night with marriage offers. She wasn’t the type of girl who attracted attention at dances. At least, not the positive sort. It was well known throughout Savannah society that Andrea Meriwhether was an incredibly poor dancer. She had, however, met a man who was quite eager to tell her the intricacies of the distillery he was building, which Andrea had found extremely engaging. Savannah was a port after all. There was a chance for a profit to be found in such an enterprise. 

The sound of silverware tinging against crystal brought Andrea back to the present. William had stood, his glass raised, and was staring at her. 

“I cannot stand the suspense anymore,” he said. “Darling, we have a surprise for you.” 

Andrea looked at the other end of the table. Edith was beaming at her, as well. Something cold settled in the back of Andrea’s throat. “You do?” she said, setting down her fork. 

“Your mother and I were just finalizing the announcements. Congratulations, my girl. This autumn, you’re to wed Emery Lancaster.” 

Her organs seized inside her. The smell of the food in front of her made her stomach churn in discomfort. 

“It’s a perfect match,” said Edith. “Your dress has already been commissioned and was delivered this afternoon.”

William nodded in approval. “The Meriwhethers and Lancasters are both of good standing in this community. Not to mention, they are flush with the farming machinery that we will need as our crops expand. I’ve spoken with Horace, and he has some very interesting investments lined up. It’s like you always say, Andrea, it’s better to stay ahead of the times.” 

“It will be the event of the season.” 

“Undoubtedly. This wedding couldn’t be coming at a better time.” 

If Andrea didn’t say something soon, she was certain she would vomit on the table. “Wait, stop,” she said, raising her hands. “I haven’t agreed to this.” 

Her parents looked at her, blankly. 

“What do you mean?” asked Edith. 

“On what grounds would you disagree?” 

They weren’t considering her at all. They hadn’t even asked. “On the grounds that I don’t want to marry Emery Lancaster.” 

The blank stares continued. 

“I don’t want to marry anyone,” Andrea said, loudly. She had never understood the rush, the pressure. If getting married meant becoming someone like her mother, who lost sleep over table linens and centerpieces, a death sentence would be preferable. 

Edith tossed her napkin onto the table. “Andrea, please don’t ruin this with one of your ridiculous tantrums.” 

Andrea looked pleadingly at her father. He patted at his lapel and slowly sank back in his chair. “This is a shock, my girl. You expressed such interest in becoming a part of the family business. I thought you’d be pleased.” 

“I do want that, Papa, but not like this.”

William squinted his eyes. “What other way is there?”

The nausea in Andrea’s stomach grew hot, morphing into something angrier. “I want to be your partner. Not just some pawn you can trade around, like livestock.” 

“Be reasonable,” Edith said. “Playing in your father’s office is one thing, but no daughter of mine is going to be unwed, working as, what, some clerk.” 

“That’s rich, acting like you give a damn about what I do,” Andrea spat. 

Edith was on her feet. “Andrea! Language! William, do something.” 

“Now, see here,” he said, slowly. “Perhaps we should have broken the news to you in a different way, but try to contain your emotions and look at the facts. I’m glad to see you so invested in this family, but there’s no world in which I can go into business with my own daughter.” A smile played at William’s lips, as if he were restraining a laugh. “What would people say?”

The words stung about as much as she’d expected them to. All the work she’d put in over the past years had been to convince him of her value. So that when they got to this day, her father would be on her side of this argument. That he’d put her first. She’d put her trust in him, and he’d failed. 

Andrea felt her heart pound, her blood pumping in her neck. “Maybe they’d say that I should be the one running things. Maybe they’d realize that the only reason this estate is still worth a penny is because of me. They’d say that William Meriwhether is a pompous buffoon who couldn’t tell a healthy cotton plant from a dying one, even if it was sprouting out of his ass!” 

A dark purple vein had appeared on her father’s forehead. “Is that so? Wicked girl! That’s been your game all along, has it?”

Andrea rolled her eyes. Let him twist her words. Let him wail. She was too angry to care. 

“Go to your room, Andrea,” Edith said, thrusting a finger toward the stairs. 

Andrea kicked her chair away and stomped toward the dining room doors. 

“No!” William shouted from behind her. “I won’t have some scheming, rebellious beast living under my roof! I want you out! Out of this house!”

Andrea clenched her fingers into a tight ball. She refused to give her father the satisfaction of seeing her react to his theatrics. In a rush of skirts, she flew across the foyer and up the grand staircase, heading for her room. 

❖

The bedroom door slammed behind her, rattling the paintings on the wall. 

He wanted her gone? Fine. She’d leave. She wanted to leave. This house grew more and more suffocating by the day. 

Andrea tore at the clasps of the large trunk sitting at the foot of her bed, popping open the lid. It was hard to see straight. She whirled around her bedroom, unfocused, tossing anything within reach into the trunk. 

How dare he? How dare both of them? 

Something sparkled in the corner of her eye, drawing her attention to her bed. Laid out on the covers was a wedding dress. Silver white silk, drowning in beads, with the longest train she’d ever seen. All it took was one glance to see that her mother had requested something similar to Princess Charlotte of Wales’s gown, whose marriage had been celebrated a few months prior. Anything to prove Edith Meriwhether was a master of trends. The whole thing must have been ridiculously expensive.

Andrea had a terrifying vision of herself, stuffed and tied into that dress, gazing sweetly into Emery Lancaster’s face as they bound their lives together for all eternity. Her stomach lurched. 

Never. She snatched up the airy fabric, piling all of it into the trunk before shutting the lid. 

Andrea dragged her trunk down the grand staircase, hoping she was denting the wood with every thunk. 

Her parents stood in the dining room doorway. Edith clutched her hands to her chest as Andrea’s trunk rumpled the hallway carpet runner. 

William had his arms folded, his face still flushed with rage. “You will not be welcomed back here. There’s a harsh world waiting out there for you. I’m sure you imagine yourself smart enough to handle it.” 

She stared him dead in the eye. “I will root out opportunities, and I will succeed. It’s the Meriwhether path of excellence.” With each word, she felt fury radiating off her skin. She hoped it would sting. She hoped he would choke. 

“You better become a damn good thief, Andrea, because no one is going to pay a cent for that face.” 

Andrea did not reply. She left. 

❖

Andrea settled herself into the new coach. Above her, she heard the driver spur the horses into action and they pulled away from the staging station, out into the busy streets. 

Getting money had been the easiest part of her plan. Visiting the bank was one of the regular errands she did for her father, and Mister Wagner, their banker, knew her well. It hadn’t taken much convincing for him to withdraw five hundred dollars for her. 

As the coach rattled on, Andrea took a few of the dollar coins from the larger bank bag, and stowed them away in a small purse that she was able to hide beneath her stays. When she rested somewhere for the night, she’d break it up more. 

The ultimate destination, she’d decided, was Charleston, South Carolina. Her aunt Sabrina, on her mother’s side, lived there, and hopefully, wouldn’t mind putting Andrea up for a spell. They had only met a few times, but she was the closest relative Andrea could think of. 

She didn’t allow herself to relax until the coach had left Savannah behind and was rumbling along rural roads thick with trees. Andrea leaned back on the plush seat. 

She was actually doing this. Leaving home had been a fantasy she’d only indulged in when her mother had been particularly infuriating, but she’d never thought she’d actually go through with it. 

She never thought the final blow would have come from her father. 

Andrea rubbed her temples and stared out the window, watching the trees roll by. She allowed her mind to glaze over. Goodbye to all of that. And good riddance. 

❖

The sky overhead had shifted to the purple of twilight, the forest reaching up toward it, like silhouetted towers. Andrea was trying to calculate how far they’d traveled, when the coach pulled to a stop. 

Andrea held her breath, waiting for any sign of movement from the driver above her. Nothing. She peered out the window. They hadn’t stopped anywhere that seemed significant. Just a random spot in the woods. 

Andrea opened the coach door and leaned out. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Is it too dark to continue?”

The driver hopped down from his seat. “No, but I think we’ve gone far enough.” 

Andrea had gotten a good view of him while waiting at the staging station. The driver was a skinny man who wore an ill-fitting moss green coat and a ridiculously large tricornered hat, adorned with a black feather. 

Or had been. Looking at him now, his hat now sported an even larger red feather. He must have swapped them at some point during their journey. 

Why would he do that? Who would see it?

Andrea froze. She looked up, staring into the trees. Sure enough, a group of men were emerging from behind the shadowy trunks, some leading horses, walking out into the road, surrounding the coach. 

Andrea bit down hard on her tongue to keep her face steady. This had been a set up. The feather had been a signal. She was about to be robbed. 

She tried to close the coach door, but the driver wrenched it from her grasp and seized her arm, yanking her out of the carriage. 

“I don’t have anything for you,” she said.

The driver smirked. “Come now, little liar. We all know that’s not true. You took quite a fat purse out of the bank this evening. Why don’t you make this easy and just hand over the money, hm?”

Andrea cringed. So, this man had been targeting her. She glanced around at the other men drawing closer. There were four of them, all in various stages of scruffiness. Typical highwaymen. This was the kind of story Andrea always skipped reading in the papers. Only now, she was the stupid victim who should have been much more careful with her valuables. 

“Fine, then,” she said. “It’s inside. Take what you want.” 

The driver looked her up and down, his eyes narrow. He’d probably been expecting her to cry or scream or something any other girl would do while being robbed. “Riggs, hold onto her.” 

One of the men behind Andrea grabbed her arms and pinned them against her back. She shot a glare over her shoulder at the man’s patchy beard and dirty face. 

The driver emerged from the coach, hefting the large purse with one hand, grinning at his compatriots. “We’re eating well tonight, boys!”

“Wonderful. Are we done here?” Andrea said. She felt the leers of the other men. Hopefully, the money was all they were after, and this wouldn’t turn into a truly tragic tale for the papers, ending with her assaulted or dead. 

The driver tossed the purse from one hand to the other. “Such an impatient lass. Who would have thought she’d be so generous underneath that frown?” He laughed before nodding to one of the other men. “Check the trunk.” 

Something popped behind Andrea’s eyes. She hated this. Why did these thugs think they could simply have their way with her and her belongings? And worse still, why was she letting them? 

As the first latch on her trunk clicked open, Andrea moved. Using all the force she could muster, she kicked backward, trying to connect with the legs of the man who held her. She felt her heel meet the soft flesh and muscle of his thigh. 

He yelped in surprise and squeezed her arms tighter. 

With the sharp and heavy heel of her shoe, Andrea dragged it down the inner side of his leg, pressing as hard as she could, feeling the resistance and pressure as she scraped over the joint of his knee. 

Now the man cried out in pain, and let her go. Andrea stumbled forward, but managed to catch herself. The ruffian who had been leading the horses dropped the reins and lunged toward her. As his coat flapped open, he reached down, and pulled a pistol from his belt, taking aim at her. 

“Thompson, what are you doing?” called the driver. 

“You stop all this flailing about,” the man, Thompson, growled at Andrea. 

A weapon changed things. Andrea held still. The air seemed to settle around them. None of the other men moved. Something had shifted. Thompson had taken things too far, and now the others were nervous. They were fine with being thieves, but probably didn’t want to be murderers. 

If they all wanted to flee, Andrea was happy to give them a reason. 

She bent down and surged forward, ramming her shoulder into Thompson’s gut. The force of the tackle sent them both to the ground. Andrea’s sole focus was the gun, which tumbled from Thompson’s grip as he fell. As quick as she could, Andrea crawled over his stomach, reached out, and seized the pistol. 

The other men who had been rushing forward to aid Thompson stopped and backed away as Andrea rose to her feet, pointing the gun at them. 

It was heavier than she’d thought it would be. It took all she had to keep her arms from shaking. “Enough!” she yelled. She moved to stand between the coach and the five men. “You have the money. Leave. Just go.” 

The driver, the only one without his hands raised, reached up and tipped his hat. “That we do, miss. That we do. And thank you, for giving us a bit of a show for our troubles.” He laughed, and the other men joined in. The driver’s confidence oozed into them and Andrea could tell, she was no longer a threat in their eyes, gun or otherwise. Her arms shook. She wanted to shoot this man. She wanted to know that she’d fired the bullet that would pierce his heart. Or better yet, his face. Take out an eye. Blow out the back of his head. But even as the anger coursed through her, the trigger wouldn’t give. The gun felt awkward and heavy, too big for her hands. She knew she was doing it wrong. 

And she knew the men were watching her fail. With another chorus of laughter, the marauders mounted their horses and rode away, leaving Andrea, the coach, and the trunk behind. 

❖

Andrea pushed a dollar coin across the counter. “A room and a meal, please.” 

The tavern hostess looked at her with a combination of pity and curiosity. She took the coin. “Of course, dear. Make yourself welcome.” 

Andrea dragged her trunk across the floor, not caring about the racket she was making, and sat down at one of the empty benches. 

Somehow, she’d managed to piece together how to operate the coach and get the horses moving after being abandoned in the woods. She’d ridden through the night, looking for somewhere to stop, but finding nothing. She had just been considering pulling off the side of the road and sleeping amongst the trees, when the woods had parted, revealing a tavern. Dawn was approaching, but the lamps were still lit. 

It was a small building with uneven wooden floors and a roaring fireplace. Even at this early hour, there were a few patrons dotting the trestle tables. 

The hostess placed a bowl of some sort of greasy-looking porridge in front of her. “There you are.” She set a key down next to the bowl. “Your room will be just ‘round the corner. First door on the left.” 

“Thank you,” Andrea said, nodding to the woman as she glided away. 

She took a spoonful of the porridge and restrained a grimace as it slid down her throat. Food was food, after all. 

As Andrea ate, she let her eyes wander around the tavern, taking in the other early risers. In one corner, sat the broadest man Andrea had ever seen. His wide shoulders and height seemed to fill up that entire portion of the tavern. His dark skin and closely cropped black hair and beard stood out against the white fur that lined the collar of his long coat. A small pair of pince-nez were perched on the bridge of his nose and he was about two-thirds through a book. Andrea couldn’t make out the title from where she sat. 

Draped across a stool near the staircase, was another man, much scrawnier when compared to the broad man, wearing an incredibly faded and worn uniform of some kind. With a generous guess, it might have once been blue. A long rifle lay across his lap, the strap dangling down by his feet. A gray stocking cap was pulled down over his eyes. Andrea was about to rule him as asleep, when he lifted the tankard in his right hand and took a swig. 

A high peal of laughter pulled Andrea’s attention to the pair sitting in front of the fireplace. In one of the wingback chairs was the most garishly dressed man Andrea had ever seen. His long, crossed legs sported knee high boots and white and green striped trousers. His waistcoat, overcoat, and ascot were all mismatched as well, the red of the ascot clashing brilliantly with the man’s red hair. Just looking at him hurt Andrea’s eyes. He certainly knew how to dress, but had no eye for color. He continued to laugh with one of the serving girls who was tending the fire. 

As Andrea stared, the colorful man glanced her way. She looked down at her porridge, quickly. She’d been worried about making a spectacle of herself, a lone woman, dragging a trunk around the backwoods of Georgia, but when compared to men like these, perhaps she wouldn’t make much of an impression after all. 

After finishing her meal, Andrea made her way to the room she’d rented. It was a modest chamber, with no decoration to speak of, but at least seemed clean. She pulled her trunk inside and locked the door behind her. 

❖

Exhaustion crept through the back of her mind, dulling her thoughts. Sleep was going to overtake her soon. Andrea looked down at herself. She was still wearing the dress she’d worn to dinner. It already felt like days since she’d been the proud daughter of the Meriwhether house. Who was she now? 

Andrea reached around and untied every lace, hook, and eye on her dress, letting it drop down to the floor. She wished, not for the first time, that going about your day in just your shift was acceptable. It would certainly save a lot of time. 

The trunk sat in the middle of the room. After all she’d gone through to protect it, Andrea wasn’t even sure what she’d ended up packing. Upon examining the trunk’s contents, it was mostly disappointed. She’d been too angry to pack logically and had wound up with a few seasonally inappropriate dresses, a mismatched pair of shoes, one of the pillows from her bed… 

…and of course. The wedding dress. 

That would be the first step, then. To make her way to a city and sell the wretched thing to a dressmaker. 

Andrea looked at the last item in her trunk. Thompson’s flint-lock pistol. She was still upset with herself for not being able to fire it. Had it really been just because she was unsure how to operate it? Or had a part of her been afraid? Andrea squeezed her eyes shut. She hated the thought of being afraid of anything. Fine, then. She’d learn how to use it. And the next time she was in a situation where she needed to, she’d be ready. 

Andrea repacked her trunk, minus the pistol, which she slipped underneath the limp pillow on the bed before collapsing herself. 

❖

“…could do this in any other way, Theo.” 

“It’s no use trying to reason with him, Julius. You know that.” 

“You both are no fun at all.” 

The voices wove their way through Andrea’s dreams, disrupting the comfortable nothing of oblivion. Her body felt heavy and unresponsive. She had to wake up, though. She had to wake up very quickly. 

“The poor thing. She must have been quite tired to have slept this long.” 

She. Her. Someone was talking about her. Finally, Andrea’s body and mind stopped miscommunicating and reached the same conclusion. 

Someone was in her room. 

Her eyes snapped open and she pushed herself up. She had fallen asleep just after sunrise, and from the absence of light coming through the curtains, Andrea could tell night had fallen once again. The room, however, was not dark, as someone had lit the sconces on the wall, as well as the oil lamp on the bedside table. 

Those ‘someones’ became incredibly obvious. Standing in her room, looking completely casual, were three of the men from the tavern, the broad man with the long coat, the military man with the rifle, and the mismatched man. 

Andrea went still. Is this happening again? Was I targeted again? She knew she ought to scream, but truthfully, all she felt was tired. Tired and annoyed. 

The broad man nodded toward her. “Theo. She’s awake.” His voice was deep, rumbling through the air in a pleasant way, even though he spoke quietly. 

The colorful man turned to the bed, his face illuminating with a bright smile. 

“Ah! Good morning, my dear lady! Or should I say evening?” He bowed. “Theodore North, at your service.” 

Andrea didn’t reply. Carefully, she slid her hand underneath the pillow behind her, feeling around for the pistol. 

“Allow me to introduce my associates,” Theodore continued. “May I present Mister Julius Hunter,” he said, gesturing to the broad man, “and Mister Maxime Auclair,” indicating the thin man. 

Andrea still said nothing. 

Theodore spread his hands, his smile never faltering. “I’m sure you’re wondering what we’re doing here in your room, but first, might I have the pleasure of learning your name?”

Andrea was mostly positive this wasn’t some strange dream or hallucination brought on by stress, but it was hard to be sure. Her fingertips grazed against the polished wood handle of the pistol and she felt her breath come a little easier. “Andrea Meriwhether,” she said. 

Theodore blinked. “Goodness.” He glanced at his compatriots. “I feel like I’ve aged ten years by the end of that name.” 

Maxime chuckled, while Julius shook his head. 

Andrea narrowed her eyes. “Look, if you’re here to rob me, do you mind getting it over and done with? I’ve had my fill of highwaymen today.”

A look of genuine concern crossed Theodore’s face. “You were right, Julius. She was accosted.” 

“Young girls don’t often end up driving their own coaches through happy means,” Julius said. “We offer our deepest apologies, Miss Meriwhether.” 

“Thank you,” Andrea said, flatly. Try as she might, she couldn’t asses what their aim was. 

“As luck would have it, it is precisely that coach of yours that has piqued our interest,” Theodore said, lifting his eyebrows. 

“You want to steal the coach?”

“No, no, no!” Theodore flapped his hands. “My suspicious miss, we want to offer you a bargain. Allow us the use of your coach for a certain delivery we must make, and in return, we will escort you to wherever your final destination is.” 

Andrea let the request hang in the air. The corner of Theodore’s shining smile twitched.

“And you thought this was the best way to ask me?” Andrea said. 

Maxime snorted loudly. “He thought coming to your room was better than following you down the road. We told him there was no way to do this without looking like a villain.” His voice carried a slight French accent. 

“You should have listened to your friends,” Andrea said. 

Theodore pursed his lips. “I, unlike these two nonbelievers, wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt that you would understand. Despite how we did it, the request remains. What say you, Miss Andrea Meriwhether?” He elongated each syllable of her name, pretending to run out of breath. 

Determining, for the moment, that she wasn’t in immediate danger, Andrea let the practical part of her mind take over. As far as offers went, it wasn’t a bad one. If she continued traveling alone, there was a chance that more misfortune might befall her. Just a few miles from her home and she’d already been disastrously unlucky. Traveling with three men would bring some safety. There was, however, their condition. 

“I would need to know more,” Andrea said, sitting up straighter. “What sort of delivery are you making?” 

Theodore shot a look at Julius. “We are in possession of some goods which need to be sold. With haste.” 

“Goods?”

“Yes.”

“What sort of goods?”

“Goods of a most precious variety.” 

“Speak plain.” 

Julius sighed. “It’s no use, Theo.” He turned to Andrea. “Miss, if you are seriously considering our proposal, we promise to tell you everything. If you do not wish to be involved, simply say so, and we will leave you in peace.” 

In all honesty, her choice had been made minutes ago. “Tell me more.” 

Julius nodded and moved to stand in front of the door. Maxime removed the rifle from his back and propped it against the wall next to him, sagging down to sit on the floor. They both looked expectantly at Theodore.

Theodore fiddled with his bright red ascot. “This really is a story more suited for telling with a round of drinks rather than in a lady’s bedchamber, but all right. If you insist.” 

He propped one booted leg on the lid of her trunk. “The year is 1775. My grandfather, Captain Gabriel North, is the finest privateer sailing the Atlantic. The drums of revolution are pounding and fledgling America is hungry for supplies. You name it, Captain Gabriel North could get it through any British naval blockade, like that.” He snapped his fingers. “He amassed a sizable fortune, and it fell to my father and I to carry on the tradition. I was raised on the salt of a sea breeze, the ocean was my wet nurse. Of course, I join the Navy as soon as I reach the age of reason and maturity.” 

Andrea recalled a troupe of traveling actors she had come across while running an errand for her father some years ago. The leading player had been a man with a large belly and even larger voice, shouting his way through the most flowery, most overwritten monologue she’d ever had the misfortune of hearing. 

That actor had nothing on Theodore North. 

“Meanwhile,” Theodore stepped down from the trunk and gestured with both arms toward Julius, “elsewhere in the world, a young Julius Hunter, educated abroad by Christian missionaries—”

Julius scoffed. “That’s generous.” 

Theodore continued, not missing a beat. “—and taken on as an apprentice to a renown shipbuilder, is setting sail aboard his mentor’s newest endeavor, a vessel designed for speed. Able to trim weeks off the voyage across the oceans. Such an innovation could be earth-shattering, and Julius is determined that the voyage be a speedy success.” 

Theodore crossed the floor with a flourishing spin, before stopping in front of Maxime, presenting him as he had Julius. “To the north!” he cried. “Maxime Auclair, the skilled and sought after fur trapper is loading up his victorious hides, tracked relentlessly through the woodlands of Canada. It won’t be long now before he is back on French soil and raking in the profits of his trade.” 

“So much mink,” Maxime mumbled. “Such a waste.” 

“By now, Miss Meriwhether, it is the year of our Lord 1812. What sort of fate do you imagine could have befallen three disparate, seafaring men?”

Andrea didn’t have to think very hard to come up with an answer. The war itself had only drawn to a conclusion a year ago. “The war,” she said. “You were caught up in it.” She felt herself soften, slightly. 

“More than caught up,” Maxime said. “We were caught. Boarded and shackled by those British pigs.” 

“It was a common trick for them. Claiming sailors were, in fact, British citizens and forcing them into naval service,” said Julius. 

Andrea had read about press gangs. It was a barbarous practice, through and through. 

Theodore returned to the center of the room, taking up the tale once again. “With their prisoners secure and bound for England, these three ships make contact over the ocean, and transfer their captives to a larger frigate, The Shearwater.” 

Upon hearing the name, Maxime spat, his saliva striking the floorboards with ferocity. 

“That is the harrowing tale of how we three heroes met.” Theodore paused. 

Despite herself, Andrea found she’d been holding her breath. “And then?” 

A small grin crossed Theodore’s face before settling into a pained, suffering expression. “The days aboard The Shearwater were endless. Monotonous. Grim as grim can be. We were lucky enough to have each other’s company, but we knew it wouldn’t be long before we’d either be forced to fight for the enemy, or face a death sentence.

“But!” Theodore clapped once, and Andrea started. “The twin, fertile goddesses of Freedom and Fortune were on our side! The Shearwater came under American fire and surrendered, most triumphantly. We, and our fellow prisoners, were escorted back to these fair shores.

“There, we three were faced with a decision. Do we part ways as friends and return to the lives we’d led?” Theodore looked at both his comrades. “No. How could we? The spirit of my grandfather, Captain Gabriel North, smiled down on us that day, and I was struck with a brilliant idea. What better way to both drown ourselves in riches and to get revenge on the British than to sell their own goods right under their plump noses?”

The suspicion that had been slowly leaving Andrea’s mind as she listened to the tale suddenly drew up her guard once again. So that was it. They were smugglers. 

“I spent months being called a slave, which I am not,” Julius said. “Then being labeled a deserter, which I never was. I want what I’ve always wanted. To work my way toward a healthy wealth.” 

Maxime tipped his head to the side, cracking his neck. “All I want is to see those idiot British pigs suffer. If I make money while doing it, all the better.” 

In two steps, Theodore had crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed, leaning in, earnestly. “Which brings us to your bedroom this evening, my lady. As I said before, we are in possession of some goods which we need to no longer possess quite soon, for they will undoubtedly be missed. The fourth member of our band was a man we met at the shipyard, who promised to provide transport and a contact to whom we could sell. He has, however, turned tail, displaying his no good yellow belly.”

“And probably reported us by now,” said Julius. 

“So we are stuck here, at a roadside tavern with three barrels of stolen molasses and no one to sell it to. And no way to get there, even if we did.” Maxime pulled his cap down over his eyes, as he had when Andrea had spied him this morning. 

“You are holding the pen with which you will write the end of our story, Miss Meriwhether,” Theodore said. “The choice is yours.” 

Andrea considered the tale she’d heard. In several ways, these men were very much like her. Frustrated at the way of the world, hungry for something different, something better, and they’d found a way. A way to work outside of society’s lines. Their choice was criminal, but who had decided that in the first place? Why did everyone have to follow the same set of rules? Why couldn’t the rules be rewritten? Though the situations weren’t the same, there had been days when Andrea had felt very much like a prisoner in her own home. She understood how it felt to be fenced in on all sides. 

Which brought her to the problem at hand. The longer they held onto this stolen molasses, the longer they were at risk. If Julius was right, and their fourth man had betrayed them, time was even more of the essence. Loading up the coach and sticking to backroads was an option, but supposing they did reach a city, what then? If there were any way they could sell the molasses before setting out to travel any great distance…

Molasses. The word stuck in Andrea’s mind like the sticky substance itself. Her eyes went wide. “How far are we from Savannah?”

“Not far at all,” said Julius. “A few miles?”

“Why do you ask?” said Theodore. 

Andrea stared hard into his pale blue eyes. “I think I can do you one better than just providing transport.” 

❖

They waited. Waited until they were out of the house, waited until the coach had carried them through the gates, waited until the sparse trees of the thinning forest covered them once again, and Robert Matthews’ estate was far behind them.

Then they broke into cheers. 

Maxime pulled the coach to a halt and hopped down. 

Julius, Theodore, and Andrea all spilled out from inside. 

“It worked!” Theodore cried. “Andrea! You genius!”

Andrea beamed. She had led them to the home of Robert Matthews, the distiller she had met at the Lancaster dance. No one had been more shocked than he at seeing her again, not to mention with a business proposition. Andrea had reasoned that a man in the early stages of his enterprise might not be too hesitant about purchasing supplies. If Mister Matthews had suspected anything about their cargo, he hadn’t said anything to that effect. In fact, he was quite eager to buy and asked very few questions. 

“I feel like I should have flattered him more,” Andrea said. “I could have gotten you a better price.” 

“Nonsense. He was eating out of the palm of your hand,” said Theodore. 

Julius nodded, counting the stack of bank notes. “This is already much more than we could have hoped for.” 

Maxime punched a fist into the air. “Another blow to fat King George!”

Three barrels of molasses was hardly a revolution, but Andrea held her tongue.

After a bit of footwork, Theodore spread the tails of his coat and dipped into a low bow before her. “You have done us proud, miss. Now I believe it is our turn to serve you. Where might we escort you and your lovely trunk?”

Oddly, Andrea felt some of the joyful rush that had been filling her veins subside. “I was attempting to get to Charleston. South Carolina.”

Theodore blinked. “Good God, whatever for?”

Andrea pushed her lips together, defiantly. “I’ve an aunt who has a small estate there. I’m paying her a visit.” 

Julius exchanged a glance with the other men. “Have you no other family nearby?”

“I do,” Andrea replied. “That’s precisely why I’m leaving.” 

Another round of glances. They did know she could see them, didn’t they?

Theodore broke the silence by clapping his hands. “A deal is a deal, as they say. South Carolina it is. We’ll travel for the rest of today and make camp tonight. Rest assured, we shall endeavor to make the journey pleasant, swift, and free from all danger.” He opened the coach door and extended a hand to Andrea. 

She took it, more of a reflex drilled into her after years of etiquette training, rather than because she needed assistance. “You’re certain of the way?”

“Miss Andrea,” Theodore said, “there is no more powerful team of navigators on this Earth than Julius Hunter and myself. Be it sea, forest, or swamp, we’ll get you through it. And any ruffians that attempt to stop us will be halted most assuredly by Maxime’s trusty rifle.”

The Frenchman slung the weapon around from his back and winked at her.

Andrea looked at the three of them from the coach steps. When she’d spied them in the tavern only a day ago, though it felt like ages, she’d never expected their paths to cross. As she sat down on the plush seats inside, and for the first time since she’d been subjected to that awful dinner with her parents, Andrea smiled.

❖

Just as Theodore North had promised, the journey was smooth an uneventful. Julius was indeed an expert navigator, and easily brought them from town to town, making quick work of the woodlands that stood in between. Maxime remained perched on the coach’s roof for most of their travels, and they came under no threat of further robbery. In the interest of saving these men their newly earned coin, Andrea had insisted that they camp each night, rather than spend on an inn, to which they had consented. They gave her the privacy of the coach, though she often wondered if they had the better deal, getting to stretch out under the stars. 

The sun was setting on their fifth day of travel. Theodore had scouted out a clear spot for the night, and Julius and Maxime set to work preparing a fire and food. 

Andrea had grown accustomed to the rhythm of these men. For the most part, she tried her best to stay out of their way. As kind as they were, there was always the chance they’d grow bored of the arrangement and maroon her one night if she caused too much trouble. She spent most of her time observing them. She watched how Maxime handled his gun. She picked up on Julius’s pathfinding notations. She listened to Theodore’s stories and asked him about finding one’s way by the stars. The amount of information she’d learned would have taken her months to research and parse out from books. In exchange, she told them the truth of what had driven her from her home, the stifling life, the arranged marriage, and the godforsaken dress at the bottom of her trunk. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a light rapping on the window of the coach. Andrea leaned over to push the door open and Theodore climbed inside. 

“So,” he said, settling himself on the seat opposite her. “Julius reckons we’ll be crossing into South Carolina tomorrow. I do hope you’ve enjoyed the journey.” 

“I believe I did,” Andrea said. “It would have been so much slower if you’d stolen the coach and I’d had to go on foot.”

Theodore tossed his head with a light laugh. “May your future be full of exceedingly better scoundrels.” 

A silence fell between them. 

He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. “Andrea Meriwhether.” In the days since she’d met him, she’d never heard Theodore sound even remotely serious, but now, his tone was even and calm. “I have a question for you, and it’s one I want you to consider closely.”

Andrea tilted her head. “All right.” 

His blue eyes bored into hers. “You are trying very hard to leave something behind. That’s a place I’ve been before. You’re ready. Ready to walk away from a past that’s done nothing but beat you down. I can see it in your face. And I wonder, if running to your aunt is the best way to do it.” 

Her shoulders stiffened. She felt scrutinized. And annoyed. Once again, he was spinning webs of pretty words instead of just saying what he meant. “Could you speak plainly for once? What are you getting at?”

“Forget about your aunt. Come with us.” 

His words reverberated in her ears. “And…what? Smuggle?”

“You’ve a head for business. The way you wrung out that rum baron? I would trust you as the negotiator for all our future endeavors. We’ll make a fortune.”

“You don’t even know me.” 

“And yet somehow, you are so familiar.” 

Nothing about him was joking. Nothing about him was teasing, or sarcastic, or playing her. “You’re serious.” 

“I am.” 

Andrea could see the forking path in front of her. Along the road she’d been walking was simply more of the same. Staying with her aunt would only mean a slightly smaller estate, and maybe fewer society parties. More hardship, more loneliness. It was what she’d known. It was safe. But the other path…

Theodore reached out and took her hand. “I promise you that wherever we’re going is bound to be much more exciting than anything you could get up to in Charleston.” 

It wasn’t in her nature to play it safe. Her father’s words echoed in her head. We root out opportunities and succeed. 

Once again, her choice was made. She met Theodore’s gaze. “Yes. I’ll come.”

A smile as bright as the sun illuminated Theodore’s face. His grip on her hand tightened and he flung open the coach door, pulling her along with him. 

“Men! Listen up!” Theodore strode around the campfire Maxime had built. Julius put his book down. “Our fair Andrea has decided to join our merry band. What once was three is now four. Let the festivities commence! Maxime!” he shouted. “Find that godawful rum we got from the distiller!” Maxime and Theodore raced around to the back of the coach, popping open Andrea’s trunk, where they’d stashed the majority of their possessions for the journey. 

Julius looked at her over the lenses of his tiny glasses. “Is this true?”

“It is,” Andrea said, taking a seat on the log next to him. 

“And it’s what you want?”

“I think it is. Theodore was right. Whatever I want, it’s not in Charleston. It’s somewhere else. And for the time being, I’d like it to be with you three.” 

Julius nodded deeply. “Quite wise. And quite bold.” 

Theodore and Maxime returned, handing out slim bottles to the rest of them. 

“Let’s raise a glass! To Andrea Meriwhether!”

In unison, they all took great swigs of their drink. Andrea shivered as the cool liquid turned into a warm trail from her mouth to her stomach. 

Maxime promptly spat his mouthful to the ground. 

“God! That is horrible!” Theodore shook his head like a dog shaking off the wet before taking a seat next to the fire. “Now then,” he said, “I believe the first thing we need to do is get rid of that name.”

Andrea blinked. Her name? Theodore had been joking about it from day one, but he honestly expected her to change it? But even as the thought came to her, she didn’t feel affronted or appalled. What did her name matter anymore? 

“What are we thinking? Annie? Andie?”

Except, not those. Andrea made a face. 

“I’m sensing distaste,” said Theo, wagging a finger at her. “Something more dignified, then. Anastasia? Andromeda?”

“Do I look like a painting to you?” Andrea said, lifting an eyebrow. “Besides, I thought you wanted something shorter.” 

“Drew,” said Julius, his bass rumbling through the night air. 

Theodore looked at him, wrinkling his nose. “A touch masculine, don’t you think?”

“It’s simple. It suits her well.” 

Andrea perked up. It was a name she’d never heard before. Something different. “I like it.” 

“Well, that’s that, then,” Theo said. “Drew it is. What about a surname?”

Maxime appeared from around the back of the coach, holding something up to his chest. “McBride.” He let the fabric fall from his hands, revealing it to be Andrea’s wedding dress.

Julius and Theo burst into laughter as Maxime proceeded to prance around the campfire, batting his eyelashes and swooning. 

“Oh, please say yes, Drew,” Theodore wheezed, wiping the tears out of his eyes. “It has to be that.” 

Grinning, Andrea rose to her feet and snatched the garment from Maxime. She held it aloft as she faced her three companions. “Allow me to reintroduce myself. Drew McBride. Happily unmarried. Professional smuggler.” 

Theo had been right. She was ready to leave everything behind. She brought the hem of the dress to her mouth, biting to tear the seam, and then ripped. The long skirt split in her hands, spraying beads in every direction. 

The men cheered.

PART 2: DREW MCBRIDE 

Newburyport, Massachusetts. 1840.

The streets of Newburyport hummed with activity as ship after ship pulled into port and unloaded their wares. The shipyard brimmed with sailors and soldiers hauling crates and barrels. Merchants walked along the planks, checking and rechecking their inventories to see that all their goods had arrived safely. 

It was easy to go unnoticed in a crowd like that. 

Drew McBride stood at the mouth of an alleyway, the hard corners of the bricks pressing against her spine. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a cigarette, fishing with her other hand for a match. 

Her focus, however, was several yards behind her, where, in the shadows of the alley, a half-rotted barrel sat abandoned, its wood dark and waterlogged. Toward the barrel’s back, impossible to see unless you were looking for it, was a hole the size of a man’s fist. 

Drew had done her part. All she needed to do now was watch and wait. She let the noise of the city fall away and sharpened her hearing. The ash glowed at the end of her cigarette and she let the sweet tobacco smoke fill her other senses. 

There. A slight shuffling behind her. Someone drawing to a halt. 

Rather than turn around, Drew looked across the street at the newly erected barbershop’s shiny glass window. A combination of the relative darkness inside the shop, the sun’s light, and the angle from which she watched allowed Drew a near perfect view of what was happening behind her in the alley. 

It was why she’d chosen this spot as the drop point in the first place. 

In the reflection, she watched a young man stop at the barrel, glance around, and then bend down, reaching into the hole at the back. He withdrew a small object and quickly stashed it into his coat. 

An object that Drew knew to be a parcel of opium. 

He reached out again, this time placing something back into the barrel. 

Their payment. 

Drew watched as the man walked past her and inserted himself into the throng of people. He was fresh-faced, barely out of boyhood. Probably his first time. Theo sure knew how to pick ‘em. 

She enjoyed her cigarette down to the butt before dropping it to the ground. She turned and started down the alley, giving herself an off-kilter swagger. When she passed the barrel, she leaned hard to her left, colliding with it. 

“Jesus! God—dang—” she muttered. The barrel toppled to its side and rolled across her path. In its wake, having fallen out while the barrel fell, was a small purse. Drew bent down to haul the barrel back upright, and in the same motion, scooped the purse into the deep pocket of her coat. 

She continued her faux drunken stumbling until the alleyway made its first turn. This little street cut across two of Newburyport’s city blocks, and was one of Drew’s favorite passages. Easy to tell if you were being followed, and easy to lose someone if they were on your tail. She emerged on the other side, closer to River Street, and proceeded to follow a path to the door of The Lovesick Gull. 

Even in the late morning hours, the tavern was teeming with customers. Tankards practically flew through the air on trays, in hands, across countertops and tables. Chatter and laughter filled every corner. 

Despite the crowd, it was as easy as ever to pick out Theo. He’d been favoring mauve recently. Said it illuminated his palette, whatever that meant. 

Drew picked her way through the tavern mess and straddled the bench next to him.

“Drew!” he said brightly. “We were starting to wonder if you’d fallen into the sea.”

“I would never,” she said around her cigarette. “Can’t swim.”

“Did you have a nice walk?” asked Julius from across the table. Beneath it, she felt the slight bump of his large knee brushing against hers. 

She pulled the purse from her pocket and slipped it into his waiting hand under the table. “Yep. We’re lucky,” Drew said, lowering her voice. “These were kids. First time they’d done a drop like this. I could smell it on them when we met them.”

“At least it went smoothly,” Theo said. He’d been the one to make the smuggling arrangement with the young sailors in the first place. Drew gave him a hard stare until he looked appropriately sheepish. 

Julius scribbled down some numbers in his small black book. “Not a bad month for us.”

The message was becoming familiar. All the months they’d spent in Newburyport had been good months, and they were closing in on eleven of them. The port town had become a thriving place of operation for their particular trade, with desirable goods consistently coming in, and buyers that were willing to operate in the city. It’d meant they’d been able to place more roots here than they had anywhere for the past twenty years. Drew liked the security. It was a nice change. She liked the money even more. 

“Who’s on schedule?” she asked Julius. 

He turned to the meticulously detailed calendar he kept at the back of the small book. “The Alexandra is set to make port in about a week.”

“Spanish wine,” said Theo with a wink.

“Huxford Arch will be back in town at the end of the month.”

“Firearms.” 

“And we’re owed a shipment from The Crown’s Courage men.”

“Ah. Lace!” 

“Everything’s in order. I like it,” Drew said, blowing smoke from a fresh cigarette into the air. 

Theo coughed. 

There’d been a time, several years ago now, where work hadn’t been this easy. They’d done the dirty basement dealings, and negotiated with their own lives, and traveled the miles, and evaded more military men than she could ever hope to count. Not to mention, they weren’t young anymore, not like that child Drew had watched in the window, fumbling through the alley, who couldn’t have looked more suspicious if he tried. Drew had turned forty-five this year. Julius was well in his fifties. They’d earned a little leisure and the steady work that came with their reputation. 

There was a commotion near The Lovesick Gull’s entrance, and before Drew could look over, Maxime stood at the head of their table, panting. 

“You are not going to believe what I am about to tell you,” he said. 

“You haven’t given us the chance,” said Theo.

“I have found us a job, mes amis!” 

Maxime placed his hands on the table and leaned down, a grin pulling at his cheeks. Drew hadn’t seen him this excited in a long time. 

“You say that like we’re in need of one,” Julius said. 

“Because we are. A job like this? Oh yes, we need it.” 

“Slow down and hush up,” said Drew. The last thing she wanted was attention if Maxime cried about their line of work as loud as the tavern’s namesake. “What happened?”

Maxime took a seat. “I was walking through the shipyard, and I noticed these two people wearing weird sort of, uh, robes, I don’t know. I thought they might be foreigners of some kind so I tailed them for a while. Followed them to the posting board.” 

Close to the shipyard, there was a large signboard where various businesses could post advertisements, available rooms, work needed, et cetera. It was a popular stop for recently landed sailors looking for a quick job in between voyages. 

Maxime continued. “They looked at the listings for a while but apparently, didn’t find what they were looking for. So before they could leave, I introduced myself. They need something done. Something transported. And, mon dieu, are they willing to pay.”

Drew had been waiting for a number. “How much?”

“Three. Thousand.” 

“Dollars?” said Julius.

“No, chickens. Of course, dollars!”

Drew watched her partners’ eyes blaze at the prospect of such a sum, but she wasn’t about to celebrate just yet. “Details?” 

Maxime shook his head. “That’s all I know for now. They want to meet us tonight, at the wharf.”

❖

Drew stared out at the gentle waves of the ocean, their crests illuminated by the light of the full moon above. She tipped her foot back, digging the heel of her boot into the soft, wet wood of the long pier. Theo, Maxime, and Julius were some distance away, posted up in an alley. For a potential job this big, the party had unanimously voted that Drew handle the negotiations. 

Before long, two figures who could only be Maxime’s marks, emerged from the shadows of the streets and stepped out onto the pier. He’d been right, they were both wearing long robes, like members of a church choir. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but Drew guessed they were a deep blue. The voluminous robes disguised their bodily features, but Drew took in what she could. Average height, light builds, one man and one woman, hoods covering most of their faces. 

If Theo had dug through his vast wardrobe and tried to come up with an outfit that read ‘suspicious’ from a hundred yards away, even he wouldn’t have stood out as much as these two. A grin tugged at her lips as she remembered Theo’s greatest failure when it came to incognito; a three piece black suit with a long silk coat and mask modeled after a medieval plague doctor. 

The robed figures approached. “Are you the associate of Maxime Auclair?” asked the woman. 

He’d given these strangers his full name? Drew resisted rolling her eyes. “I am. Heard you two might have some work you need done.”

“Your Frenchman claims you are the best.” She had an accent that Drew couldn’t place.

“Not a claim. It’s true.” Drew struck a match in the darkness, holding the flame up to the cigarette she held in her lips. 

The robed figures shared a look. “We need something taken away from this city. Far, far away. You must leave tonight.”

“Why the rush?” Drew asked, though she was nearly certain what the answer would be. Legally obtained items rarely needed to be moved with haste. 

“These objects must not come into the wrong hands,” said the man, his voice slightly high pitched and wheezy. 

“What kind of objects are we talking about, here?” Drew inhaled deeply. She kept her gaze locked on the two figures, staring hard into their shrouded faces. 

Something stirred beneath the woman’s robes and her hands emerged, holding a flat chest, over a foot long. A golden lock, cast to look like the head of a roaring lioness, adorned the chest’s front. 

“We had hoped that our generous price would spare us from unnecessary questions,” said the man. 

Drew’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s not really how this works. What’s in the box?”

The woman adjusted her grip on the chest. “We need it delivered to our associates in Canada. We’re willing to pay you three thousand dollars if you are able to leave tonight. We can give you half now, and you’ll receive the other half when you reach your destination. Our only condition is that you do not open this box.”

It wasn’t an outrageous demand, by any stretch, but Drew didn’t understand its purpose. Her mind cycled through all the contraband that could fit in a case like that. Gold bars. Drugs. Human hand. 

A journey to Canada, hm? That would take them weeks. They hadn’t traveled like that in years. The money was tempting, but it wasn’t as though they were short on funds at the moment. They didn’t need to take this job. 

Theo would be in, no question. Drew had seen the glaze of boredom that sometimes touched his eyes while they wandered the small Massachusetts city. Some days, Drew didn’t think he was too far away from sneaking aboard a ship just to see where he’d end up. Maxime was the same way. They were hungry for adventure. The comfort and security they’d found in Newburyport was welcome, but stagnant. She knew Julius appreciated the regularity and safety, but his aspirations were elsewhere, too. Nearly a year had gone by, and looking back, Drew wondered if she missed the high stakes as much as they did. She felt a tiny prick of warmth in her heart as she remembered the first time they’d traveled together, back when she thought her journey ended in South Carolina.

We root out opportunities, and we succeed.

She leaned back, raising her chin. “Five hundred more upfront, and we never crack the lid.”

“Done,” the woman said immediately. 

Easy. Her choice was made. “We’ll do it.” 

❖

“All I’m saying is, it would be worth looking into.” Julius pulled his pack down from behind his horse’s saddle. “The government is handing out these kinds of grants to anyone who will take one. Once the land is clear, we invite settlers and help them manage. We’ll be passing directly through northern New York. It makes sense.”

“Julius, I am the first person to agree if our future takes us out of Massachusetts, but from dashing, adventurous smugglers to, what, landlords? It feels like a downgrade.” The kindling Theo was stoking finally began to smoke as the fire lit. 

“A downgrade? With the money we’re earning from this?” said Julius. “What were you planning on doing with your share, hm? Toss it on the floor and swim in it like a king?”

“That sounds fun.”

Julius heaved a great sigh. “Theodore North, you are impossible.” 

Theo rested his elbow on a log behind him and grinned up at Julius, towering above him. “I quite like that. ‘Theodore the Impossible.’” 

It was their tenth night of travel. After finalizing the deal and collecting half their promised payment and bonus from the robed figures, Drew and her partners had made quick work of their departure from Newburyport. Comfortable as the place had been, they were always ready to leave with a moments’ notice. Acquiring supplies and horses had been simple enough, especially being flush with cash, and they’d set out for their destination, a small settlement south of Toronto. 

“I’ve hunted in New York before,” Maxime said. “Mostly beaver, I think. The land is good, from what I remember. Damn cold in the winter, though.”

“See? We’d freeze to death, and how can we spend our earnings as ghosts, I ask you?”

Julius didn’t respond. 

“Drew, what do you think?” Theo asked. 

She’d been busying herself with the horses. Even after over twenty years of knowing each other, Theo still had a habit of going too far. Drew turned to face him. “I agree with Julius. I think it’s worth looking into. I still remember enough about farming. We can see if the land’s any good and go from there.”

“Thank you, Drew,” Julius said. 

Theo made a noise somewhere between a whine and a sigh and aggressively poked at the fire. 

Maxime let out a low whistle as he divided up their rations and a flask to pass. 

Drew squatted down on a log next to Theo and patted him on the shoulder. “If you can handle the slimy brig of a British prison ship, you can handle a cold night or two. I thought you’d be more excited. ‘North’ is your family name. Isn’t this destiny?”

That was all it took. “Clever Drew! I hadn’t thought of it that way.” He smiled at her before springing to his feet. “Right, men! If Julius is taking the reins of this band’s future, allow me to provide tonight’s entertainment.”

Though he’d never say it out loud, she could tell Theo wasn’t completely won over. Best to allow him to be a fool until he felt better. She took a bite of jerky, settling in for one of Theo’s stories, when he darted toward her horse and plunged his hand into her saddle bag. 

“Theo!” she yelled. She knew what he was going for. 

Her suspicion was confirmed as he turned back toward the fire with the odd chest they were transporting in hand. 

“Put that back,” Drew said, her voice low. 

“Drew McBride, my dear friend, do you know me at all?”

“’Course I do. Why do you think I’ve forbidden you from touching that box?”

Theo pushed out his bottom lip. “It’s been ten days. I cannot stomach the suspense anymore. I have to know what’s in here.”

Drew was on her feet now. “Not opening it was part of the deal.”

Theo gestured at the woodlands around them. “How would they ever find out, hm? One little peek! That’s all I need.” He pressed his hand to his forehead dramatically. 

“The lock is quite simple,” said Maxime from across the fire. 

“Very easy to undo,” added Julius. 

Drew glared at the three of them. “So you’ve all been plotting behind my back?”

In unison, they smiled slyly at her. 

No arguing with a three-to-one vote. “There isn’t a shred of honor between the lot of you,” she muttered. 

“Of course not, Drew,” Theo said. “We’re smugglers.” He took a long pin from a place behind his coat lapel and inserted it into the lock. Maxime and Julius crowded behind him, watching over his shoulders. 

Despite herself, Drew couldn’t restrain her curiosity either, and watched as Theo carefully worked the pick up and down. As he’d said, it was a simple lock, and opened quickly with a small pop. 

Theo drummed his fingers on top of the case, and glanced up at his partners. “Ready?”

“Go on, then,” said Maxime. 

Theo took a breath and then opened the box lid. 

The interior was covered in a black velvet that spread across the lid’s underside, as well as the box itself. On one side, held in place by metallic fastenings, was a flat, square sliver of stone, maybe four inches across. Its surface was completely covered in scratch marks and symbols. If it was writing, it was unlike any Drew had ever seen. 

Next to the small tablet, nestled securely in the velvet, were four rings. Theo picked one up and held it so they could all get a good look. It was a very intricate piece of silver work, the band raised and sculpted to resemble a snake eating its own tail. Tiny red and green gemstones were set where the snake’s eyes would be. 

They were hideous.

“They’re beautiful!” whispered Theo. “And look at that! One for each of us.” He plucked out the remaining rings. 

“I am not putting that on my finger,” Drew said, taking a step back and fishing in her pocket for a cigarette. 

“Not your taste, Drew?” Theo already wore two of the rings himself. 

“Creepy snake jewelry? No. But they seem plenty gaudy enough for you, Theo.” 

“Right you are!” As usual, insults stuck to Theo like water to a duck. 

“They’re very old,” Julius said, examining the ring, now adorning his left pinky. “But well cared for.”

“They are adders, that’s for sure.” Maxime twisted his hand, letting the fire light catch the contours of the ring. “Perhaps a family heirloom.”

“I wonder why they needed to move them so quickly,” said Julius. 

“Perhaps a stolen family heirloom.” 

Drew wondered more about the strange tablet that shared lodging with the rings. Toward the bottom of the stone’s surface, the lines of scratched symbols became less and less even, sloping downwards, the letters, if that’s what they were, jumbling together. What would cause someone to write like that? 

As if she needed any more reasons to be suspicious about this job. 

❖

The excitement of revealing their forbidden treasure waned as they settled in for another night. Julius’s wide shoulders were propped against an equally wide stump as he read. Maxime sat a few feet from the fire, servicing his rifle. 

Drew took up the half empty flask from where it had landed after dinner and walked over to Theo, joining him on his log as he stared absently into the flames. 

She took a swig before passing it over. “So. There a reason you’re so against Julius’s land investment idea?”

Theo eyed her before taking the flask. “I wondered if that’s what you wanted to talk about.” 

Drew stayed quiet, waiting. A plume of smoke from her cigarette spiraled into the air. 

“I’m not against it, per se, it’s just…” He had doffed his mauve coat and his shirtsleeves hung loose as he rested his hands behind his head. “I don’t know. Something about the notion of settling down and changing up our business bothers me. Sometimes I feel like the only reason Newburyport didn’t drive me mad is because we were so close to the sea. I could get my taste of it, you know?”

“Sure.”

“I know we’re getting older, and that it’s likely time to leave our days of adventure behind us, but I find myself very reluctant. It won’t be the same.”

“There’s nothing stopping you. If you wanted to hop on a voyage to Spain or Africa or the other side of the world, you could. It wouldn’t hurt our feelings.”

“So quick to get rid of me?”

“You know what I meant,” Drew said. 

Theo let his smile slack a bit. “Of course I do. But no,” he said with a sigh, placing a hand on her knee. “Freedom and Fortune may shepherd my fate, but I know where my heart belongs. I would never just leave.” 

A wave of something like relief washed over Drew’s skin. She placed her hand on top of his. “Good.” 

They both stared at the crackling fire, slowly charring away the logs in its belly. 

“You can always think about it this way,” Drew said after a few minutes. “If we become landowners, and eventually host some settlers, they’re going to need someone to look up to. Some kind of local hero who can teach them survival skills like lock picking and how to dress for a dance. You’ll be adored.”

“You’re trying to charm me. It’s working.” 

Drew snorted. 

Theo turned to face her. “You know, I should have guessed the moment I watched you tear through that lovely wedding dress with your teeth that you’d become this.”

“What?” said Drew, preparing for an insult. “A trouser wearing, ill mannered brute who smokes too much and doesn’t enunciate?”

“No. A woman I greatly admire.” 

Drew felt her chest tighten and heat up. In all her years of knowing him, she’d become an expert on sorting out when Theo was being fanciful and when he was being honest. From his expression, this was something he believed with all his soul. She admired him, too. She hoped he knew. 

“Although you do smoke too much.”

“Ha ha,” Drew said, blowing a puff into his face with each laugh. 

Theo coughed in protest. 

Drew grinned and brought the rolled up paper to her lips again. 

Theo’s coughing grew more intense. 

“Fine. Point made, I’ll put it out.” She flicked the butt into the fire. 

But Theo didn’t stop coughing. He doubled over on their shared log, the fingers on his right hand digging into the bark. 

“Theo? What’s wrong?”

Another string of coughs rose into the air. Drew whipped around. Maxime’s rifle had fallen from his hands and he was on his knees, coughing over and over and over. 

Even more coughing. Drew spun to see Julius, his pince-nez knocked askew, tugging at his collar as his body was wracked with coughs. 

“Maxime! Julius!” Drew shouted. What the hell? What the HELL? She lunged toward the water bucket and seized the ladle, bringing it to Theo. “C’mon, drink. Just drink this.”

Theo tried to take the ladle in his hands, but another violent cough sent it tumbling to the ground. 

Drew vaulted the log and grabbed Theo beneath his shoulders, dragging him toward Maxime and Julius. She had to be able to reach all three of them. Theo didn’t resist. 

She laid Theo down on the ground and rolled him onto his side. If he was choking on something, that might help. She yanked on Julius’s shoulders to do the same, pulling him onto the forest floor. Maxime had already collapsed. 

What could they be choking on? All three of them at once?

She went back to Theo, taking his face in her hands as he wheezed and heaved. “Why can’t you breathe? You’ve gotta tell me. Show me. You’ve gotta help me here, c’mon.” Theo’s eyes were wide and watery. 

Next to him, Maxime’s coughs were curling his body into a ball. Drew crawled to his side. All she could think of was what to do when someone has swallowed too much sea water, though that obviously couldn’t have been the cause of this. Gripping Maxime’s jaw in one hand, she took two fingers of her other and plunged them back into his throat. His body convulsed around her grip, and when another cough arose, she pulled out her hand, coated in saliva. 

But Maxime didn’t vomit. His coughs sounded weaker. All of them did. Their breath sounded weaker. 

“No no no,” Drew muttered, rubbing his back, her gaze constantly going back to Theo and Julius. “Just cough it up. Please. Just breathe. Just one breath, please.” Her eyes stung hot and her heart fluttered like a flag in a hurricane. “How do I help?” Her voice had never sounded smaller. 

“…D…Drew…” The rasp was so different from Julius’s normal deep, comforting bass. 

Drew choked back a sob as she scrambled to his side. “Julius, I’m here. Please.”

In a motion that seemed to take all his effort, he lifted his arm to tug back the collar of his shirt. 

Encircling his neck and forking up toward his ears and throat was a large, black vein, standing out against the canvas of his warm brown skin. Drew pulled his shirt back farther, and the wicked path trailed across his left shoulder, twisting down, down, down all the way to his hand. All the way to his pinky. 

Drew threw herself toward Maxime and Theo, tearing away at their sleeves. The inky black veins pulsed through their skin, too. Both of Theo’s arms were afflicted. 

The rings. 

The rings were doing something to them. Poisoning them. Killing them. 

She seized Theo’s hand and dug at the ring with her fingernails. It wouldn’t budge. A guttural screech boiled up from her throat as she twisted and scratched and pulled, every failed attempt at removing the ring adding fuel to her desperate fire. 

Get it off get it off get it off GET IT OFF!

“Stop!” 

Drew didn’t register the voice at first. She kept attacking her friends’ hands, Maxime, Theo, Julius, again again again. The rings refused to move. 

“Do not touch the rings!”

Someone seized her around her chest, pinning her arms to her sides and hauled her backward. 

She thrashed against this mysterious assailant. “Let go of me!” Drew screamed. 

“Hold still.”

“No!” She kicked back, striking at this person’s legs, bending down to bite the arm across her chest, anything. Anything to get away. Burning tears blurred her vision as she was dragged further from her friends. 

“Tell me. Did you touch the rings?” The voice said behind her. A man. 

Drew tried again to free herself, but the man tightened his grip.

“Did you touch them?”

Sobs and words and screams clung together in Drew’s throat, making sound almost impossible. She nodded. 

“All right. There’s still time. I can save you.”

The words found their way. “No! No! Forget me, save them! Save them!”

“I can’t.”

Drew screamed again and twisted wildly. The man released her and she fell to her hands and knees, hard. She scrabbled across the leaves and dirt to where Theo, Julius, and Maxime lay on the ground. 

In all the commotion, she hadn’t heard the coughs subside. She hadn’t felt the last rise and fall of their chests. She hadn’t seen the final expressions their faces had frozen into. 

She saw it all, now. 

They were gone. 

The man had crouched down next to her. “There’s nothing I can do for them. But you still have time.” He took hold of one of her hands and yanked it up, holding it in front of her face. Tiny, spidery, black veins were spreading from the tips of her fingers, curling around her knuckles. Drew flinched away from the sight. She felt dizzy. She felt sick. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. 

Her body wilted as the man took her face in his hands and began speaking slow rhythmic strings of words that made no sense to Drew. The world went black. 

❖

“First of all, ma’am, please accept my deepest condolences for the loss of your comrades. I cannot imagine the shock and horror you must be feeling. I will do all I can to put this matter right.”

Drew was awake. The black veins were gone. According to the man who had saved her, it was only an hour later. He was sitting in front of her now, speaking to her, she was sure, but he might as well have been speaking that strange language she’d heard before she’d passed out, for all it was worth. Her gaze was trained on the three bodies, still laying on the forest floor. The man had covered them with the blankets from their travel supplies. Theo always used to complain about how scratchy the red one was. How would he feel now, with it covering his face? Julius and Maxime would laugh, for sure. She could almost hear it. 

“I’m sure you have questions, and I will be able to answer the majority of them, but I need you to agree to something first. If you wish to know nothing and be brought to a place of safety, that can be arranged. If you wish to forget about this night completely, that can also be arranged. However, if you wish to know the truth, then I’m afraid you will have to take the life you were living up to this point, and cut all ties with it, for there is no going back from this moment on.”

It didn’t seem like it mattered, really. They were dead. Knowing why wouldn’t change that. 

This man’s words were so similar to the offer Julius had made her all those years ago. Saying yes to him had changed her life forever. She wasn’t sure if she could do that again. Not alone. 

“Do you consent to this knowledge?”

She wanted to say no. She wanted to believe whatever this man was saying about making her forget this night. If that was possible, then yes, she’d take that. She’d take that over the empty, echoing nothing that filled her now. 

But how disappointed would Julius be if she gave up? How hurt would Maxime be if she didn’t do everything in her power to avenge them? How sad would Theo be if she didn’t see this story to its end?

“I’m sorry, I do need an answer.”

She looked away from her fallen family and toward the stranger who promised a new path. “Tell me more.” 

The man nodded. “My name is Henry Davenport. I’m a member of a society called Ordo Nocturnus.” 

Copyright © 2022 by Rachael Huszar

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