by Smith, Skye
"We are coming in."
There was a pistol shot and the shop filled with the acrid smoke of gun powder. Once their ears stopped ringing they heard the landlord call out, "Sorry about that. These pistols have hair triggers. Are you all right out there?"
The wail of an awakened baby was followed by the sound of Lydia’s voice calling out from one of the upstairs windows. "Who is out there waking the dead, and waking my baby at this hour? I want your names. You there. Tell me your name."
The men outside were calling out again, but now it sounded like they were down the street a ways. "We will put you on report as having resisted our writ. Good night." Then there was quiet. Everyone was quiet, listening.
"What's going on?" Lydia whispered from behind them. "What was that shot?"
They turned. They could still hear Robby wailing away, safe upstairs. Lydia was standing in the stairwell in her cloak, with a tiny candle lamp in one hand and her husband's pistol in the other.
"Go back to Robby," whispered Jon. "I think it is over."
One of the doormen, the hard-as-nails Dutchman, Daniel, came to talk to them. "I took the ball out of the pistol before I fired it. There should be no damage. This is much as ve expected. Typical of the governor's hired goons. They pretend to have a writ to talk their vay inside. Once they are inside there is no stopping them. That landlord of yours is wily. I think his wit and your baby's cries saved the day."
"My baby!" Lydia exclaimed, and turned and ran up the stairs.
"Won't they just come back another day?" asked Jon.
"No. This was their one chance to grab evidence left when everyone went to the meeting. Now that they have warned us, they vill assume ve vill clean this place out."
"But there was never anything stored here. This was just a good warm place to meet," said Britta.
"You know that, and I know that, but do they? Everything that was prepared in secret over the last three weeks, went fully public tonight at the hall. Anyone can attend a town meeting. The governor still has many friends and relatives in Boston. Now ve must wait for the governor's reaction. He von't like this idea of every village connected to every other village through the correspondence committees. I think he will hate it plenty, you bet."
"Will Sam and Jemmy be safe?" asked Britta fearfully.
"Aye, they vill be. Ve learned a good lesson at the British Coffee House years back ven Jemmy was conked on the head. They are vell protected in the meetings. Trusted friends take up all of the front seats."
"But what about pistols?" asked Jon.
"Can't be helped, but after the massacre back in '70, the governor had to go into hiding, so heaven help any of his men that cause that to happen again. Especially in vinter, ven he is cut off from England."
"So it is done now, finished?" asked Britta. "No more meetings, no more riders, no more pamphlets."
"It should go very quiet until the new year. Months ago Jemmy was asked by the town meeting to arrange for a report that explained the rights of the people of Boston. That has now been made public. The setting up of the correspondence committees was something they had been vorking on for a long time. They knew that this meeting would be vell attended to hear the report on rights, so it vas ideal to describe the committees to the entire province."
The other doorman joined them. "I've checked the streets. They are gone. Britta, love, go back to bed and tell Madam Lydia that all is well."
Britta thanked the rough man and motioned Jon to stay in the shop. These men had changed their attitude to her since she first met them, but she still did not trust them. That was the day she first met Jim and Mercy and Jemmy, and these men had thought her a honeypot spy and had roughed her up to make her confess. No, she still did not trust them.
* * * * *
Britta was very quiet when she came downstairs in the morning. Jon had kept the fire smoldering all night, so the kettles were still hot. She made a pot of coffee, and put a cup of it beside the head of each of the snoring men. She giggled while watching them being woken by the delicious aroma from the cups.
"Ja, you vill make a good wife, engel," said Daniel yawning and stretching.
Jon looked over to them and pushed himself up and trundled out the back way for a piss, a fart, and firewood. When he came back he said, "There is damage to the back door. They were probably trying to break in while we were yelling at the front door. They must have forgotten that this used to be a tavern. They damaged the jambs, but the door itself is three inches thick of solid oak. They got nowhere with it."
"Ja, vell ve von't open shop until more of our men get here."
"How many more men? When?" Britta was already walking to put more water on to boil.
"Ven they vake up. There vill have been ale and rum last night after the meeting. They vill sleep late."
He was wrong. Not an hour passed before there was a frantic knocking at the shop door. The doormen were sitting beside the window, and they unbarred the door immediately. A young man stepped through the door and the doormen slammed and barred it again. "Are you being chased?"
"No," the young man said. He was not much older than Jon. "I'm just bloody cold. Is Samuel Adams here, or James Otis?" His face fell when they told him no. He stopped speaking because an angel had just placed a steaming cup of coffee into his freezing hands. "Curses, I was hoping I would not have to walk all the way uptown. The governor is on the move. On his way to hide in Castle William. I must tell them. It could be nothing, or good, or bad, but I must tell them."
"Jon," Britta said calmly, "borrow the landlord's cart and take this man where he wants to go. Quickly." Jon grabbed his cloak and put on his boots and was gone. The young man made to give her back the cup. "No, finish it. Stand by the fire and get warm. It will take Jon a while to hitch up the mare."
* * * * *
With Jon and the young man gone, Britta felt it best that she keep an eye on the doormen, so she stayed downstairs even though the shop was not open. She made some fried eggs to go with yesterday's leftover bread. She was still cleaning up the dishes when she heard a cart in the street and then heard Jon's secret signal to her, the cry of a fen's hawk.
"It's Jon," she called to the doormen. "Let him in."
It wasn't just Jon, but also the young man, Samuel, and Jemmy. She watched the door carefully even after the men were all inside. Jim was not with them. She sighed, and went to pour coffee.
Sam and Jemmy barely said hello before they made for the meeting room and started lighting a fire. She brought each a coffee, but she had already started making matea for Jemmy. The meeting room smelled like paper smoke.
The two political leaders were browsing pages and pages of papers that they must have left in the meeting room when they went to the hall yesterday. Most were being thrown into the fire, but some were being put carefully into a leather folder. When they finished Sam grabbed the folder and said, "Jemmy, do you have the code key? We should translate these into code and then burn the originals."
"I didn't bring it," replied Jemmy. "I thought we were taking them to Mercy's house for safekeeping."
"We have to get them there first," said Sam. "Hmm, too risky for anyone known to the spies to take them. What about the two lads? The cart is outside. The papers would be safe in no time."
"Don't you dare," said Britta angrily, "they just brought you here. If there are spies, then they will be pounced on immediately. Besides, if they suspect men, they may pull pistols. I will go."
"You will not." Jemmy dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
She did not move. "I will dress in drab, carry my market basket, go out that door and straight to the market. Even if they follow me there, they will get bored watching me do my shopping. After I am sure I am no longer watched, I will walk to Mercy's house. They can send me back in their shay."
"Jon," said Sam, "she is your sister. What do you think?"
"She has a better chance than me. I don't relish having my head smashed, and that is surely what the
y will do to any man."
"Aye," said Jemmy, absent mindedly rubbing his head where he had once been smashed. "They've done it before."
Britta didn't wait for more discussion. She had seen before how long it took committees to make decisions. After grabbing the folder from Sam, she went to get her cloak, bonnet, boots, and basket. In ten minutes she was out the door and walking towards the market swinging her basket.
She looked braver than she felt so she tried to keep looking straight ahead, all the time positive that there were eyes watching her from every doorway. It is hard not to hurry your step, while inside you want nothing more than to run. Always her ears were alert for the sound of footfalls behind her. Never was she so glad to reach the market than on that morning.
She pretended to look at baked goods and fruit, while she tried to be natural about turning to see if anyone was following her. Absent mindedly she bought a few things just to put something into her empty basket. The pie ladies that often brought their pies to her shop for the excuse of stepping inside for warmth and gossip were at the far stall. That was near to the gate she would be best to leave by, so she went to buy a pie.
"Pies for the coffee shop, or for you, dearie?" asked one of the moms.
"Just one. A treat for me."
"Then take this small one, dear. It's fruit and nut mince. There, taste it. The secret is the rum."
Britta smiled a thank you while trying not to spill crumbs from her mouth. It was delicious. Her offered coin was pushed back, so she spilt more crumbs trying to say thank you again. The banter of the pie ladies was friendly and so she ate slowly, all the while looking around for men that looked like they did not belong.
"Trouble, dearie?" asked the pie lady.
"I feel like I am being followed, and not just by men’s eyes looking for a smile. Do you ever get that feeling?"
"Not so much since my second baby, but I know what you mean. Well, you be careful. There was mischief here last night."
"Ta," said Britta and turned out of the market and started the long walk to Mercy's house.
The pie lady watched her go, and sighed. The coffee lass was so nice. Unusual for someone so pretty. She caught something out of the corner of her eye. Two rough-looking men had fallen into step behind the girl. She grabbed at her eldest daughter. " 'Ere, Winnie, go get Pa, and tell him to bring the lads. Hurry."
Britta was well away from the market area now, and feeling relieved and happy. There was only one block of rough rooming houses left, and then the nicer areas began. She picked up her step to almost a skip. Maybe Jim would be at his aunt's house, she was thinking happily when something snatched at her basket and pulled it from her hand.
There were two of them, and they smelled strongly of rum and body odor. One tipped out her basket while the other locked her around her waist with his strong arms. She opened her mouth to the sky and she screamed over and over as loudly as she could.
"Nothing in the basket, check under her cloak." yelled the other man. "And for Chrissake shut her up."
The man holding her tripped her with a leg, put a hand over her mouth and pushed her cruelly to the ground. "You don't want to get hurt, girl, so lie still while I have a look under your cloak." She bit his hand but didn't get much skin between her teeth so it was more like a pinch. He lifted his hand and formed a fist. "How would you like that pretty nose smashed though your face, bitch? Now be still."
"Get off her, asshole." came a voice from behind him. He looked around. There were four of them. Fishermen dressed in oil cloth and holding fish batons and wickedly long filleting knives. The oldest one stepped towards him and yelled, "Get off her else I'll fillet you where you stand!" He rolled off the girl like a wrestler and came to his feet beside his mate.
"Get running, and don't stop," said a young fisherman while twanging his filleting blade against his baton.
The two villains looked around. Other people were stopping to look, or coming towards them. Soon it would be too late to run. They took off like hares.
"Yeh, run you shits, run!" the young fisherman yelled after them. Some neighborhood lads took up the chase but he called them back. "They may be armed, come back you lot." Then he bent down and righted the basket and picked up the things spread on the ground. "You all right, lass?"
Britta pulled her cloak closed again and slapped the side where the folder was. It was still there. "I think so, though I will ache tomorrow. Thank you. Thank you so much." At first she was fearful that these men would continue what the others had begun, but then she recognized the young one as the brother of one of the pie ladies, and the older one as one of the husbands.
The pie ladies families had a mid-sized fishing sloop at fisherman's dock, and a clapboard shack at the foot of a wharf. Their three families slept either in the shack or in the sloop.
"They trailed you from the market. My wife sent us after you," said the older man. He shrugged his shoulders. "This is the long way back to your shop, isn't it?"
Britta stayed sitting on the wet ground. Her heart was still racing and her throat was sore from screaming. A cart had stopped and a man was standing in it. Behind him sat his wife and children. "You lot! What are you up to? Get away from her."
Britta hauled herself painfully to her feet. "It's all right. They saved me."
The wife in the cart said something to her husband. He called out again, "Be that as it may, I think you should come with us, girl. We will take you home."
"Aye lass," said the older fisherman, "less trouble for all of us if you go with them."
The young brother held out her basket. "Thank you," she said and gave him a smile, though it hurt to do so. Her mouth felt bruised. He helped her climb into the cart and as the cart pulled away she turned and waved to them. They were already heading back to the wharf.
"Where do you live, girl?" asked the husband.
"Do you know the Warren house, on the hill?"
"I know it," said the wife, "Mrs. Mercy Warren. Am I right?"
"I am expected there. If I do not arrive, they will worry."
"Say no more," said the husband and turned at the next corner.
They asked her endless questions about the attack, but Britta pretended to be in shock. She did not have to pretend very hard.
The husband helped her down from the cart, and took her arm and walked her up to the front door. Bessy answered the knock, but there was a large man standing right behind her.
"Miss Britta, oh Miss Britta, what has happened? Come in, come in," Bessy said.
The big man stepped in front of the husband to block the doorway.
The husband pointed back at his cart and family and said, "We were just giving her a lift. I'll be going now."
Britta was told that Mercy was upstairs writing and was led straight upstairs to the master's bedroom. "Oh, my child, what has happened?" asked Mercy as she left her desk and rushed over to Britta.
Britta reached under her cloak and handed her the leather folder. "From Sam and Jemmy," she croaked, "put them somewhere very safe."
Mercy opened it and leafed through the pages. "These are lists of men who have committed to correspond with us, and their addresses. A page for each county. And they entrusted this to you, a bond girl? The governor would sell his soul to gain these lists. With these he could gut our entire movement."
"I was so frightened," Britta blubbed out, "they- they... he.. " she was at full cry. "I thought they were going to beat me. Smash my face."
"Who, Sam? Jemmy? Never."
"Not them, the spies that caught me."
Mercy pulled Britta into her arms and hugged her. "There, there, you are here and safe. The papers are safe. You were very brave. Have a good cry. There is no hurry to tell me the story." She cursed Samuel Adams under her breath. He would sacrifice anything for his cause against the bankers. Jemmy was not much better. His hatred of the governor sometimes led him to do silly things.
Mercy rocked Britta slowly in her arms, and vowed something to he
rself. If the politbureau was going to continue to use this girl as a spy, then they were damned well going to teach her how to defend herself.
* * * * *
* * * * *
Nana rocked Maya slowly in her arms. "Shh, love, it's not real. It's just a dream; just a dream of someone else's memory. It didn't happen to you. Calm yourself. Take a sip of water."
"It was so real," sobbed Maya trying to catch her breath. "That's the trouble with these crystal dreams. The everyday ordinary things are so difficult to visualize, because like, no one remembers the little things that happen all the time. But the extraordinary things, they like, leap out and bite you in full 3-D with stereophonic sound."
* * * * *
* * * * *
MAYA'S AURA - Destroy the Tea Party by Skye Smith
Chapter 6 - Britta learns self defense
The sun shone strong and warm. It was one of those rare warm autumn days that fool you into thinking that summer may be lingering after all. Maya, wrapped in a blanket and carrying a mat, walked down to the east facing beach of the island. She was trying to get back into the habit of doing yoga first thing every morning, like she had done at the ashram she had visited in India. It was an easier habit to keep in tropical India where the morning air was warm and soft and invited you out of your bed.
She placed the mat on the sunniest stretch and then steeled herself to take off the blanket. She was a great believer that yoga was best done au naturel. Not because that was kinky or naughty or anything, but because nudity heightened your senses, including any aura sense that you may have.
She started with a salutation to the sun for a warm up and stretch, followed by some good arched stretches and then some isometric stretches while lying down. This not only gave herself a chance to warm up a bit, but it gave the fall sun time to warm up as well. She had a lovely meditation because she had no fear about allowing her aura build to it's full tilt boogie power.