A Letter a Day <Tag: Chord>

[drake]

"No, I need to search you. It won't take a moment, if you cooperate." came the Redcoat's reply. 'Damn! Gotta get something goin'...' Drake thought. Amelia could take care for a few moments, no? Drake moved with blinding speed and such unnoticed silence as he ran over two houses, then leapt into a bale of hay. Things were going according to the plan it only took him seconds to devise. Drake waited for a few seconds, then struck. A oblivious redcoat was walking by the hay bale, only to be grabbed, and then tied up and gagged with a piece of cloth. Drake pulled him into an alley and began to undress himself and the soldier. It only took a few moments for them to switch outfits, and then Drake took his weapons and the man's. He then took out his dagger and slashed his own hand. Drake, taking the letter in the man's pocket, the one he had stolen earlier, made a tight fist and let the blood flow onto the letter.

Drake then rubbed it onto his new uniform to make it look like a skirmish took place. He took out the cloth from the man's mouth and untied him, and struggled with the redcoat. "Lieutenant! Got him!" said Drake putting his new hat lower than most soldiers would, covering his face. "No! No! Just- no!" screamed the redcoat, who looked similar to Drake. "The Yank jumped me, and attempted to kill me! But, I bested him. He had this." Drake extended his hand, which held the blood-stained letter. Amelia, all the while, was speaking to the former messenger. "Oh... but don't you actually want to search me? Why don't we find some place quieter..." she said moments ago, licking her lips. She went on and on, attempting to seduce him, and then Drake barged in. This was interesting work, indeed, she thought.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew tried to keep his cool as the girl answered him seductively, making his cheeks heat up even more. He shuffled nervously, not overly certain how he was meant to react.

Keep calm and carry on... he told himself. He'd seen it enough times before to know that seduction was a common tactic used against both military sides. Matthew took a deep breath and attempted to gather himself together, his eyes still fixated on her adorable face and unfaltering smile...

"Uh..." he stuttered, resisting the urge to tug at his collar nervously. He shook his head. "No...I mean a proper military search. Particularly your pockets and your basket."

Matthew looked around at the mention of his name, frowning at the pair approaching him. A Redcoat and a Patriot, both similar looking.
Matthew raised an eyebrow when he recognised the clothes on the Patriot.

But...how did he know who to go after? The Brit frowned, studying the two faces. They could well have been brothers for all he knew, they were so similar looking. The Patriot continued to stutter protests, only adding to Matthew's confusion.
He took a step back when the other soldier extended his hand, a bloodied letter held out with it. Matthew glanced at the girl beside him, still a little flushed from her earlier advances.
"Um...I'm a little busy right now," Matthew frowned. "Arrest him and take him back to the others. They can see to him."

Matthew reached out to take the letter from the other Redcoat, narrowing his eyes. "And I'll take that, thank you very much."

He still kept his musket close to him, just to be safe. He didn't want the freshly-arrested criminal causing any more trouble for the day.

[/size]

[drake]

"Um...I'm a little busy right now, arrest him and take him back to the others. They can see him. And I'll take that, thank you very much." The lieutenant seemed flustered and paranoid, thought Drake. All the while, Amelia was attempting to seduce the Redcoat to do questionable things. She had nerve, that little 'angel'. Amelia could, like Drake, steal something from right under your nose. And now the two stood, and in-between them, a "captured" redcoat and a messenger who failed the job, so far, that is. Drake, gave Amelia a look, and she knew which look that was. It was the 'Perform along with me, or this situation's gonna go to shit!' look, that she also had seen many times. Drake then let off some pressure from the "prisoner" in his arms, who was screaming obscenities and protests and oaths. Was he really that dumb to not say he actually was a redcoat?

The prisoner pushed Drake back a step, and began running off. Drake cooly drew out his pistol and shot him at the spot. He sheathed the pistol then looked back at Matthew and Amelia. He widened his eyes in fake surprise and exclaimed, "VANESSA! What in God's name are you doing with him?! Are you doing what I thought I saw you were..." Quite good, he thought. Now, for her part. The duo were skilled at creating scenes, especially when their roles were brother and sister. "James?! I thought you were... Oh no. No, no, no, no!" Amelia cried, her own face turning red. How she always managed to do that, Drake would never know. "You were supposed to be at Father's house, taking care of him! And now, you run amuck with a Lieutenant, and I suppose you were going to get in bed with him!"

For some reason, Drake seemed to disregard the corpse, which now lay in a pool of blood. His own clothes were now bloodied and... wet. Ah, he had many more outfits like that at his hideout, Drake thought. "No James, I was... Oh no, I'm sorry I dragged you into this, kind, handsome sir..." Amelia said, choking back fake tears. Quite realistic, indeed. She broke down and began bawling. A crowd was now forming watching the scene, some appalled at the actions of either "James", "Vanessa", or Matthew, the lieutenant.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew laughed nervously at the girl's continued advances, still not quite sure what to say. He settled for remaining a quiet and doing his best to ignore, though it was extremely hard to do.

He watched as the other redcoat released his grip on the prisoner, who quickly shoved him aside and ran.

The Lieutenant couldn't help but jump when his comrade shot the escapee. 
"What the bloody hell was that for?" He yelled. "You weren't given orders to shoot him!"
Matthew was tempted to go over to the now-dead man, just to check he was officially killed, though he figured there was no point.

Matthew wrinkled his nose as the redcoat started yelling at the girl, and he almost went to intercept them, even though they appeared to know each other. He couldn't help but smirk as the girl's own cheeks were tickled pink, and Matthew didn't particularly make an effort to hide his amusement, either.
He found himself spluttering though when he was brought into the concersation. 
"Excuse me?" He forced a laugh, though this time he certainly wasn't finding anything funny.

He glanced around at the crowd gathering, some of which were redcoats. They seemed very interested in the dramatic little scene, some even setting down their muskets to watch. 

Matthew glared at the girl when she turned to him again. "I should think so!" Matthew snapped, but bit his lip when he noticed she was on the verge of tears.
The crowd looked on in suspense, all wondering what on earth the little scene was about.

Matthew stared at the redcoat 'James', frowning slightly.
I don't recognise him at all... he thought to himself, trying his best to make the flush on his cheeks go away. However, with the crowd still watching, it didn't look like the humiliating scarlet tint was going to be fading away any time soon.

Some people had began to notice the still corpse on the floor and the pool of blood around it where the man had been shot. A murmur broke out amongst the people and Matthew rubbed his face with his free hand.

Another thing he'd be blamed for, no doubt. 

[/size]

[drake]

The crowd was watching intently, wanting to find out what would happen next. Just then, a voice came up from inside the crowd. An elderly woman, of probably seventy or eighty years old, yelled at the lieutenant. "Never treat a lady like that! She's only a girl! You bastard!" The crowd was murmuring, most of which sounded like agreement with the old lady. "Yeah, jus' 'cause you're wearin' tha' redcoat don' give ya the right ta say everythin' and anything your sorry lil' heart desires!" an African slave, spoke up. 'Well this is interesting...' Drake thought, as his eyes scanned the crowd, and suddenly, he saw a familiar face. 'Oh, that bastard...' The crowd grew angrier and angrier, and began yelling at the lieutenant, some of the redcoats in the crowd, and some arguing over things not in the least related to the situation! Drake nodded over to the familiar man in the crowd, and the man seemed to reach into his coat.

"NOW!" Drake yelled, beginning to run, along with Amelia, the letter in her dress the entire time. The familiar man, another Patriot, took a pistol from inside of his coat and discharged it into the air. The were some screams, much yelling, and a whole lot of fighting. Patriots fought the Loyalists, and the redcoats were attempting, but failing horribly, to keep order. It was a complete riot! Drake took Amelia by the hand and they began running off, until they were out of sight from anyone on the street. "Do you have it?!" Drake asked, hoping Matthew didn't conduct his search. "'Course I do, Drake." Amelia said with a smile as she pulled the real bloodied letter out of her dress. "Good, don't open it up 'till we reach Gregory's." People ran past the two, going to the street where the entire commotion was.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew glared at the elderly woman who started to speak up, probably preparing to give him a full-on lecture. He glanced at the other redcoats, shifting his hand further down his musket to lift it up a little a little bit more.

He narrowed his eyes furiously when she snapped an insult at him.
"Bastard? I was going to search her for evidence for a murder case, and she was trying to flirt with me!" He yelled back furiously. Stupid old hag - what on earth did she know about him, anyway? Some of the British soldiers sniggered, and Matthew felt his cheeks redden even more - if that was even possible.

Matthew took full control of his musket when a black slave spoke up, some of the other redcoats preparing their weapons too, sensing the upcoming brawl.

"You have no right to speak here!" Matthew snapped back, and another person in the crowd laughed.
"And you have no right to be here!" They taunted in return.

Matthew growled, having had enough of the situation. He scanned the crowd, looking for any of his commanders, hoping they'd give him a nod to let him know he could use physical retaliation against the crowd. Before he could do anything, however, a furious riot errupted from nowhere, the crowd completely forgetting about the previous drama and instead taking out their frustrations on each other.

Matthew glanced back at the market girl and the other soldier before running off to intercept the crowd, trying to help his comrades to break up the fight. A gun shot fired into the crowd, making everyone stop momentarily, before the action errupted again with a few screams and punches thrown in any direction.
Matthew hissed furiously as a Patriot, being attacked by a Loyalist, was thrown into him. The redcoat soldier slammed the butt of his musket down on the American's head, quickly stepping out of the way as the Loyalist clambered on top of him to continue punching him.

Matthew stared around, trying to fight his way through the massing crowd as they continued to attack each other. There was a yell as a British soldier was thrown out of the brawl, a group of Patriots running after him as the continued to kick him.

Matthew resorted to using his musket to get people out of his way, kicking and shoving anyone who wouldn't move and eventually jabbing them with his bayonet. Some how he managed to break away from the crowd, staring back at the sea of people all grabbing each other by the throat and breaking each other's noses.

This is all my fault... Matthew thought, mouth agape slightly as he watched.

"Lieutenant!" A man ran up to him, his uniform shirt stained and his nose bloody. Matthew frowned at him.
"The officer and the girl have run off...and that Patriot wasn't a Patriot...it was Johnson!" He rasped. Matthew's eyes widened.

"That sly bastard..." he hissed, making a wild guess at who the 'redcoat' could possibly be.
"Pardon?" The officer raised an eyebrow, wiping the blood off from his face on his sleeve.
"Get a group of soldiers to check every street and house, where possible," Matthew ordered and the other man stuttered in protest.
"I don't care about obtaining permission. If anyone asks why, just tell them they have orders to do so. Is that clear?"
The officer nodded and ran off again.

So that's how you want to play it... Matthew scowled as he pushed his way back through the crowd again, kicking a man in the shin as he attempted to push him over. That's fine. I can play games. It's just a shame so many have to get hurt in the process - and all over a bloody letter.

Matthew made it out through the other side, struggling to fight off a Patriot that had grabbed hold of him, trying his damned hardest to strangle the soldier.
Matthew didn't hesitate to bite the man's fingers when he attempted to cover his nose and mouth, and the Patriot let go, hissing protests at him.
Matthew spat on the floor, disgusted. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He snapped back at the furious man, who soon ran off to target another soldier.

Both the Patriots, Loyalists and British were acting like complete, mad savages as they attacked each other. Matthew couldn't decide, really, which was worse - seeing civilians, neighbours, tearing each other apart without any really reason too, or seeing soldiers being blown apart by canons on the battlefield.

Matthew was relieved to see that the officer had followed through with his commands as he spotted a group of redcoats -from a selection of soldiers that were not yet involved in the brawl - making their way through the streets in front. Matthew brightened at the sight of his brother - a Captain in his troop - ordering parties of redcoats to search the streets and houses. The older man waved quickly when he spotted Matthew in return, but continued on with his objective.

Matthew held his musket tightly as he ventured down an alleyway on his own, stopping at a door and knocking. If they didn't answer in one minute, he'd kick it down and enter. He'd contributed quite well to the havoc so far; he was going to sort this out one way or another, and hopefully save his own neck in the process.

---

OOC: I'd so laugh if that letter turned out to be the most insignificant thing in the world haha.

[/size]

[drake]

Not caring for what the hell happened at the street they had just escaped, Drake, still in his redcoat disguise, ran with Amelia to Gregory's house. It was a few blocks away from the riot, and they had arrived in a matter of minutes. Drake looked left and right, and approached the door, pounding on the wood. "Gregory! Open up, dammit!" An elderly doctor answered the door. "Why Drake, what a surprise. What can I do for you today?" Gregory asked. He was one of the more... prominent doctors around Boston. His methods were questioned quite a bit, however. Yet, Gregory, in his younger days in England, was associated in the dark arts of espionage. Decades later, the Revolution came, and he was back in business, both as a doctor and a Patriot 'information-gatherer', "hush, hush," though, as he would put it.

Drake, was breathless, and Gregory, not the most patient of men, motioned him and Amelia in. "Amelia, darling, you look as gorgeous as ever." Gregory said, looking past her still-red face and now-dirty dress. "Doctor, we need to get moving." Amelia said, her eyes showed such determination that Drake was somewhat surprised. "Yes, yes, of course. Don't tell the senile old man anything, eh? No, no... What were we talking about? Oh, yes!" The doctor rambled as he led his two companions down a stairwell. "I've retrieved a letter from England to the Governor here. It probably arrived on that military shipment that made port here a week past, as a redcoat, a bastard at that, was the messenger." Drake said, regaining his breath, as he walked down the stairs. As the three reached the last step, Gregory hobbled towards a bookcase. He ran his hands through his snow-white hair, and began rambling once again. "Where did I put it.. Where did I- Ah! There it is. Voltaire. Wonderful..." he said as he pulled one of the books from the bookcase. Gregory then pulled a short lever, which was revealed when he pulled one of Voltaire's many poems from the bookcase. A secret door opened through a wall, and Amelia and Drake walked in as Gregory put the book back in it's place.

As the three walked in, the door closed and once again became a wall in the basement of an old doctor's house. Another set of stairs was revealed as the three walked through, and, once again, they walked down. This time into a small room. Drake lit a few candles, and light coursed through the secret lair. Maps, letters, portraits of Loyalists and English officers, everything that was considered a secret to the British, was sprawled across tables and placed in book cases. "We can speak freely now. No one can hear past these walls..." Gregory said, his voice trailing off. Amelia spoke up, her voice filled with confidence. "We must act quickly, no doubt the Redcoats are searching homes, and a riot took place a few blocks from here, and they'll be in over our ears in a matter of moments." Drake put his hand on chin, and began thinking quickly. "We came here, because we need your services, Gregory. You're the only one in the entire Massachusetts colony that knows how to do this."

Gregory knew exactly what Drake was speaking about, and began rummaging through a basket of supplies. Amelia produced the blood-stained letter from her dress, and placed it on the table. "Drake stabbed the messenger in the side, and the blood from the wound spread to the letter, which was in the redcoat's pocket." She explained. Gregory took a few vials and brushes from the basket and slowly walked over to the table. "A chair, please, my darling." he asked of Amelia. She took a chair and placed it in front of the table. The old doctor cut open the letter and read what could be read. "Dear Governor of Boston, smudge smudge smudge, battalion of troops sent within a month, more smudges... Patriots shall be run out of Massachusetts colony by... smudge. Give me a few moments." And the doctor went to work.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew was growing impatient as he waited for the door to open, so he backed up, preparing to run at the door. With luck it wouldn't be stubborn and would either splinter or bust open - he'd taken shit from people all day, and he wasn't about to have a door show him up either.

The redcoat ran at the door and kicked it open with full force. He was surprised at how easily it swung open, smacking into the adjacent wall as he marched in, musket ready as he walked through the hallways, ever-alert.

The house looks deserted... he thought to himself as he entered the store room. There were a few supplies, so someone must have lived here - whether or not they still did was another matter.
Matthew searched every cupboard and room before heading upstairs, continuing to search everything whilst still trying to keep the place undisturbed. The last thing he wanted to do was find out he'd raided an important Loyalist's house and have to pay back any damages he'd done...excluding the door, of course.

Satisfied the house was empty, Matthew headed back down stairs again, pausing at the door to check no one was stealthily emerging behind him. With huff of irritance, he stepped outside again. He'd all but forgotten his previous injury in his side, despite it still aching every so often.

Matthew headed further down the alley, knocking on another door. A young girl opened it, staring wide-eyed at the soldier greeting her. When she noticed the blood on his scarlet uniform she started to tremble, and gave a small scream before running back inside the house.
A man soon came to the door, glaring at Matthew. He went to shut the door again, only the redcoat stuck his foot in it.
"I need to check you and your household," he glowered. The home owner narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"Some soldiers were murdered, information stolen...things you should let me worry about, and simply go along with," Matt scowled. "Now empty your pockets."
The man rolled his eyes and turned all his jacket and trousers pockets inside out, never taking his eyes off the soldier's musket.
"You are not to come inside with that," he snapped. Matthew sighed and reluctantly set his musket down against the wall, pushing the man aside. "Which side do you support?"
"Neither, we don't want either of the militaries barging into our home," the man ran after him, trying to stop the soldier from searching through all the drawers.
Matthew smirked at him. "Well I shan't be the last who'll pay you a visit, I'm sure of it."

He continued to search the house, making sure to check every individual within it. They obeyed his commands, just about, unlocking every room and cupboard he wished to search, willing him to leave as soon as possible. When the Lieutenant was again satisfied that the house was clear, he left, picking up his musket on the way.

"This is a waste of time," he seethed as he returned to the mainstreet, frowning at the view of citizens being forced to stand out of their houses as they and their homes were searched. And all over a letter...it must have either have been very important, or the thief was wanted for other crimes too. People now knew who he was though which, Matthew hoped, should make tracking him easier. Though being the sneaky bastard he was, the Lieutenant suspected that catching him would be like trying to trap smoke.

"I've already searched there," Matthew shouted to a group of redcoats who headed down the alley he'd just come from. They shrugged and continued anyway, heading back into the apparently empty house with their weapons at the ready.

Matthew rubbed his face with his hand. This was such a mess...and all because he couldn't have just left with a simple 'good bye' at the tavern.

Further down the road, the riot was still raging, though a lot of the British had left the Patriots and Loyalists to it, more interested in continuing their search.
Matthew grimaced when he thought he noticed a few men in wigs barking orders at some officers. Men in wigs meant trouble for everyone - no matter who you were, you were going to be looked down upon and recieve a bout of scornful words.

[/size]

[drake]

Amelia was pacing back and forth, her hands on her head, her mind racing, as Gregory slowly did his work. Drake sat on a sofa in the small room, still in his redcoat disguise. 'Better change out of this...' he thought. "There is a closet just to your right..." Gregory said, slowly, concentrating on his work. Drake was surprised, when Gregory seemed to read his mind. The doctor dipped a brush in a vial of a cleaning formula of some sort, and slowly went back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth with the brush... The letter began clearing up, and more words became visible. Drake watched Gregory dip his brush again and repeat the process. He yawned and walked over to the closet, opened the door, and wasn't surprised to see many clothes in it. He saw a pair of outfits, both were his. Drake visited Gregory a week's past and changed into a rich Loyalist disguise, leaving garments similar to the ones he had on earlier that day. The other was another redcoat disguise. Why not add to the collection? Drake closed the door and changed into his normal attire, and walked back out.

"Well hello there stranger," Amelia said as Drake laid on the sofa once more. "What're we going to do? We just can't go back out there..." She began, but was cut off by Gregory. "The private journal of my father. Take it out." Amelia gave him a puzzled look and ran her fingers across the spines of many books, journals, and memoirs. She finally found 'The Testaments of Silas H. Blunt'. Amelia pulled the book out, and a second later, a wall retracted to reveal what seemed to be a tunnel. "It leads to the outskirts of Boston. Just outside the city, where the redcoats are non-existent." Gregory said, chuckling. Drake wondered what was going on in his mind. Perhaps he was thinking about the "glory days" of his career in the line of work they both shared? "We can't leave yet. All of us need to know what is in that letter..." Drake said, getting up from his spot on the sofa then walking towards Gregory's workplace.

"Just about done restoring the letter, take a look-see, my friends." Gregory smiled. Amelia walked over and read the letter along with her two companions. It read: Dear Governor of Boston, your request for reinforcements of the emplacement of British soldiers has been accepted, and a battalion of troops shall be sent to Boston by the next month or so. I understand that the American colonists who call themselves 'Patriots' have been a nuisance to you and your duties, and so, I have taken it upon myself to wipe the so-called 'Patriots' from your city, and the entire Massachusetts colony. Soon, the troops occupying your beloved city shall be sent to other colonies, in hope of cleansing the blood of our American colonists. My friend, I leave you at that. [Unreadable smudge of blood.]

Drake grimaced, and began pacing across the room. "We must stop this. We need to contact the leaders of the Patriots. They must know of the impending "cleansing" of these few 'British colonies'. he yelled, his face the expression of pure anger and hate. Drake was furious at the arrogance of the Englishmen, and he slammed his hands on the table. "Dearest Drake, please calm yourself..." Amelia said in a comforting tone. She placed her hand on Drake's shoulder, and a few hard knocks came from above. Two floors above them, there were Redcoats, knocking on Gregory's front door. Gregory quickly took the letter, and held it over the candle. Drake watched it burn with great speed, as Gregory fed the paper into the fire. After a few moments, all that was left was soot, which Gregory quickly threw out into the tunnel. "You two must leave. Now!" He ordered. Amelia opened a chest, which revealed weapons. She strapped daggers onto her legs, which were hidden by her dress. Drake took his daggers, which he had placed on the sofa. He inserted one into his baldric and one into his belt. He ran over to the chest and took ten throwing knives, strapped another baldric over his left shoulder, and inserted them into it. He also took two pistols, which were already loaded. Drake shoved them into his belt, and nodded at Gregory. "Thank you for your invaluable help, Doctor." Gregory gave a hearty smile, and watched the two run through the tunnel.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

More British started to join the search, alert and ready for orders. Matthew noticed a Lieutenant from another troop and walked over to him.

"Williams?" The blonde raised an eyebrow as he approached. The other officer turned to him, smiling briefly.
"Hello, Chord. What are you doing here?" He greeted his old friend - pupil, even. Matthew forced a smile back in return. He'd been taught everything he knew by this man, along with his brothers. Though they held the same rank, Matthew still saw him as if he were his tutor, and respected him highly.
"My troop was moved to Massachusetts three weeks ago when rebellions started up again," he explained as the older man took off his tricorn hat to scratch his head, then settled it back on again.
"I'm glad to see you alive and well still," the middle-aged man frowned, his voice monotone and expressionless. "I figured you would be dead by now."

Thanks, Matthew responded mentally, then glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the troops being lined up to recieve orders then being sent off to certain areas of town to search.
"I should return to my duties," Matthew turned back to his friend again, and the older redcoat smiled. "We think we've found the trail of the traitor. You're welcome to join us when we invade the building."

Matthew smirked darkly, falling into line beside the other Lieutenant as they began walking in the direction of the house. "I suppose I could accept your offer," he nodded. The older man patted him on the back fondly, resting his musket against his shoulder as he carried it.
"Did you witness the fight between the thief and the messenger earlier? By the time our troop had recieved the news and prepared to go send help, he was already back to his duties...letterless," Williams murmured. "If I were him I'd be preparing for a rather heated visit from the commanders...apparently that letter was extremely important."
Thanks for letting me know that, Matthew thought bitterly.
"Yes, so I heard..." he trailed off, halting at the house the rest of the soldiers had stopped at. A few headed up the steps to knock on the door, though they didn't even bother waiting for an answer before they kicked it open. Soldiers also went round the back of the house in case the inhabitants tried to run away.
Matthew followed the others inside the building, all of them staring round suspiciously.

This building, just like many others, looked deserted.

Matthew exchanged looks with Williams, who simply shrugged and shouted orders at the other men.

If you see him, shoot him. Don't hesitate, Matthew told himself as he inspected a bookcase. Whoever lived here certainly read a lot...
Matthew smiled fondly at the thought, taking a quick moment to glance over the titles of the books. He was brought back to attention when there was shouting from upstairs, and he turned away from the shelves of literature and non-fiction, gun at the ready for a confrontation as he headed upstairs.
His friend's words kept repeating themselves over and over in his head, making it hard to concentrate on the matter at hand.

Quit dwelling on old mistakes!

He noticed more soldiers had entered the building, the search being carried out more vigorously now. Matthew joined in, still keeping his guard up should he notice anything or anyone suspicious.

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[drake]

Drake ran through the tunnels, Amelia following him. They heard the redcoats knock down the door, and storm into the house. They knew Gregory would probably be killed. Gregory watched them disappear from view, then hobbled over to a corner of the secret room, and found the bucket he was looking for. He began spreading vegetable oil all over the room, the books, the maps, everything. When Gregory was done, he pulled the lever, which opened up the secret door. He then took two torches from the tunnel, then walked up the staircase. At the top, he threw the torch into the drenched room, and waited. The room took a few moments before fire began pouring out. In a matter of moments, the blaze that Gregory hoped would burn down the house, would commence, and would probably take the entire street with it.

Gregory then began quickly rummaging through the bookcase, trying to find something of great importance. His old, shriveled fingers found a book, which had a spine about ten inches wide. Gregory often told people it was an encyclopedia, but it was actually a case. He took the "book" and opened it up, revealing two old grenades, which would explode when the fuse was burnt. He lit one, then walked up the stairs, and saw two British soldiers guarding the front entrance to his house. "Freeze!" they both yelled, pointing their muskets at him. The grenade would explode in five seconds, and Gregory threw it up to the main level. The soldiers hadn't any time to react when the grenade exploded, shrapnel impaling them, a horrible, painful death. Gregory, unscathed, walked up the steps to find ten soldiers in his living area. "You bastards are going to die today!" he yelled as he lit the grenade and threw it at them. The soldiers shot him on the spot, and so, the old doctor died. They, like their two now-dead companions, had no time to react.

Drake saw a bright light at the end of the tunnel they just came from, and heard the two grenades explode. They stopped a moment, to catch their breath, and to honor their old partner. Amelia shed a tear, and wiped her face with her dress. "He was a great man..." Her voice, trailing off into echos, across the tunnel. "Yes, well, if we don' get this damned letter to the boys headin' the Revolution, he'll have died in vain. We'll join him soon, if we don' get movin', now!" Drake ordered, and the two began running down the tunnel. He assumed by now the house would be burning down, and wondered where that lieutenant was, and whatever the hell he was doing. Perhaps he was getting yelled at by some pompous commanding officer, or the 'dear' governor himself. Drake smirked at the thought, as they approached the door to the other end of the tunnel.

Drake took a torch and held it out in the area of the door. A lever was there, next to the door. "How convenient." he said, grunting, as he pulled it. The ground shook for a moment as the door began to retract into the wall. A bright light shone out... They were on the outskirts of Boston, just as Gregory said they would. And, even more surprising, there was a horse, waiting for them. Drake mounted the horse, and pulled Amelia up, onto their new method of transportation. "You there! Stop!" 'Dammit!' Drake thought, as two Redcoats were approaching them, on horses. One was a man of about forty, and the other was no more than sixteen. Perhaps he was his son? "Stop right no-" the redcoat was cut off by a gunshot. Drake had swiftly taken out his pistol and pulled the trigger.

As the mounted redcoat fell, his young companion, afraid, retreated into the city. "Of all the God damn things that would happen to us... We have to hurry!" Drake said, disappointed that they had failed to make a silent exit. No doubt the young boy would alert the forces inside the city, and soon a Patriot and a girl mounted on a horse would be the most wanted people in the Massachusetts colony.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew jumped as a group of men ran past him to deal with commotion downstairs - it seems the action had moved from the upper floors, downwards again.
Matthew was about to follow them when he heard an explosion, flames engulfing the downstairs. He heard guns going off and attempted to go back down, frowning at the scene of soldiers dead on floor and, with them, an old man.

"What the-?" Matthew stuttered before he was shoved out of the way.
"The building's on fire! Get out!" Someone shouted at him and he glared at them.
"What about the search?" He yelled after them. They laughed hysterically, mocking him almost.
"If you wanna go through the fire and search for ashes of evidence, be my guest, but I'm getting out of here," one soldier shouted back. Matthew nodded, following them, taking one last glance back at the doctor dead on the floor, a small pool of blood around him from where he'd been shot. There were shouts from upstairs as the flames reached the other floors, some of the soldiers trapped.

Matthew didn't bother going back for them - fighting Rebels was one thing, fighting infernos was another.
Everyone in the street was in panic; the riot had dissembled to watch the house that had suddenly exploded into flames, all the British running away from it as fast as they could.

"Lieutenant!"

Matthew whirled around, frowning at the sight of an injured soldier clutching his arm, which had a bit of shrapnel imbedded in it. He ran back to him, supporting him as they walked.
"What happened? There was a bang and then...fire and just..." Matthew stared at the younger man's face - if he could even be called a man; he looked only eighteen at the most.
"This...crazy old man with some grenades...just set them off," the boy stuttered, grinding his teeth together in pain. "He must have been protecting, hiding something, cause I think he set his basement on fire."
Matthew looked over his shoulder at the house, which was officially enveloped by flames, some sparks spitting off onto the other buildings in the street.
"Well whatever it was, he died saving it," Matthew growled, furious. The young soldier at his side was trying his best not to gag in pain, his face screwed up in agony.
"I'm sorry, sir," he murmured to Matthew, and the blonde narrowed his eyes.
"You needn't apologise," he snapped back. "It's those bloody Yanks' faults!"

The street was quickly becoming void of people as they ran to get help - anything from military back ups to water to put out the fire, anything they thought would help to resume order in the chaos.
Matthew helped the younger officer towards a group of injured Redcoats, some others trying to tend to their wounds whilst keep control of the situation.

Matthew settled the young ensign down amongst the patients, allowing the other officers to analyse his injuries and calm him down.
The rest of the soldiers looked up as another young man came running full-pelt towards them.
"They shot my father! The Patriot and the girl! They're heading out of Boston!" He panted.
Matthew looked around as the officer in command approached, red faced with anger.
"We need to retreat," he ordered. "Get back to the barracks and hold up the fort, and make sure we put scouts out to ensure no more Americans try and mess us around."
Matthew nodded, turning to the other officers. "Take any who are fit enough to be moved, and help them back to the barracks. If their injuries are too great then we'll have to leave them."

The soldiers carried out their orders, helping some of the less-injured officers onto horseback, the ones in good enough help getting back to their regiments to return to camp.

Matthew stared at his feet as the commanding officer approached him.
"Do you know what this Patriot looks like?" He asked the Lieutenant and Matthew looked up.
"Yes Sir," he answered, and the commanding officer frowned as he got back onto his horse.
"Then send out messengers with his description to alert the other state colonies. If we have all states on the look out for him, he will have to travel far to be safe."
"But sir, the messengers will take days to spread the word," Matthew protested. "It would be quicker to send a cavalry party after them."
"I'd rather prevent further deaths to our side than run head first into a fight. The tyrant could well lead our men into a trap, and then that's another lot of recruits dead and gone," the Commander snapped back and turned his horse away, glaring at Matthew over his shoulder. "And you are on guard duty back at the barracks. You can select a number of officers to help you."

Matthew nodded, not bothering to argue back. When the Commander rode his horse away, the Lieutenant turned back to the injured soldiers left - most would not survive with their injuries, and others would need a lot of medical care.
Matthew took his pistol out of his belt and handed it to one, expressionless.
"Shoot yourselves when you've had enough," he ordered. "I won't be responsible for any more unecessary blood on my hands."

He quickly walked away back to his regiment, sorting out his uniform as best as he could on the way. He glared down at his own injury, which still bled every so often.
"You should see to that back at the barracks," an officer walking beside him nodded to the gash in his side.
"It's nothing," Matthew glared at him. The officer shrugged, frowning at some of the people rushing with water to put out the fire, which was quickly spreading to other buildings. If they didn't stop the inferno soon, the entire street of homes could be lost to the fire.

[/size]

[drake]

"Dammit!" Drake exclaimed as he and Amelia rode off. "Where are we to go?" she asked, curious as ever. 'She can't stay with me.... We've gotta stay separate, now.' Drake thought. Amelia was a valuable ally, but they had to part ways, for her safety. It was him they were truly after, anyway. Drake was also the one they got a good look at. He would soon be the most notorious Patriot in New England, and then all of the colonies that Britain controlled. Amelia waited for Drake to say something, yet he was silent as ever. He was listening to the gallop of the horse, and looking back ever so often, afraid to see a group of cavalry chasing after them. Finally, he mustered up something to say. "I'm going to drop you off at the nearest town. There, you can lay low for a while." Amelia's face said it all, she was sad, scared, and above all, disappointed.

They reached a small town, about twenty miles from Boston. Their horse skidded to a stop, and Drake watched Amelia get off the horse and walk towards an inn. "Goodbye, dearest Drake..." she said, softly. Drake nodded to her, then rode off, not bothering to look back. He and the horse could manage forty or fifty more miles, a considerably great distance. Day slowly turned into night. He could barely see the road, and he chose to stop at another small town, about fifty miles from where he dropped off Amelia. Drake had just about made it to the border of Massachusetts and Connecticut, and felt he had a comfortable distance between him and the redcoats. He walked into an inn and quickly rented a room. Drake opened the door to his room and acquainted himself. As he lay on the bed, exhausted, he thought about what he would do. He would have to travel farther the next day, perhaps through Connecticut, into southeastern New York, or he could ride south, along the border and go through Rhode Island. All he had to do was avoid being seen, and to travel quickly and silently. Drake's thoughts tormented him for a few moments, and he slowly fell asleep.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

It was already starting to get dark by the time the troops had all returned to their barracks, all of them kicking off their boots and sitting down to rest. Some of the injured soldiers were taken to an infirmary for their wounds to be treated or, in some cases, amputated.

Matthew stood outside the doors to the barracks, musket at his side. He'd been lucky so far; his commanding officer had kept away from him, and the governor hadn't followed up on the story of the soldier spontaneously showing up at his house, and no  'men in wigs' had come to shout at him. Still...this was probably some form of spiteful punishment - stick a wounded soldier out on guard duty in the freezing cold.
Matthew, try as he might, couldn't stop his teeth from chattering, and eventually resorted to pacing back and forth to try and keep warm. It was hard to concentrate on playing lookout when your fingers and toes had lost all feeling in them.
It wasn't a great night; it was heavily clouded, and you could hardly see the moon and stars. The slight breeze also had a bitter chill to it - the sort of whether a lot of the British soldiers had seen before back on their dreary home island during the frosty winters and crisp autumns.

Matthew stopped as he noticed movement, and started to back away towards the entrance to the building, holding his musket up ready as the figure approached. 
They, too, carried a weapon - as far as Matthew could see - and they made no attempt to put it down as they got closer.
"Stay back or I'll shoot!" Matthew snapped. "Who are you?"
Matthew relaxed as a familiar face emerged into the torch-lit entrance area, taking off his hat and tucking it under his arm.
"For Christ's sake, man, put the gun down before you hurt somebody," the man smiled broadly and Matthew held his gun at his side again, smiling grimly back. 
"Cold?" The other soldier smiled, running a hand through his well-trimmed brown hair. 
Matthew exhaled, a cloud fogging up where his hot breath hit the cold air. "Yup."
"I suppose I can keep you company, eh squirt?" The older, senior soldier smirked. "Come, tell us what you know about this soldier who royally messed up everything?" 
Matthew looked away, frowning. " Please don't discuss this, John. Not here or now."
The Captain patted the shorter man on the back. "What's wrong, brother?"
Matthew wrinkled his nose and began pacing along the front of the building again, John keeping up with him.
"I was the messenger," Matthew snapped and John's mouth formed an 'o'.
"Well...you'll be ok," the older man tried to comfort his younger sibling, but failed miserably.
"No I won't," Matthew grumbled. "They've got it in for me, I tell you."   
John sighed and squeezed his brother's shoulder before heading inside without another word. Matthew stopped lacing for a moment, pausing to stare at his surroundings, before returning to marching back and forth again.

 

Matthew was exhausted by the time morning came, having relentlessly kept guard all night without a single snippet of sleep. His eyes were black with exhaustion by the time another soldier came to relieve him of his post, and he quickly hurried back inside to warm up again. 
"Lieutenant Chord!" Someone shouted at him, and he turned around to confront them. "Yes?"
The soldier addressing him tilted his hat in salute as his approached. "The Governor and Brigadier Newton wish to speak with you. Right this way," the ensign lead Matthew along the corridor towards a room and knocked once before holding it open for the nervous Lieutenant.
"Chord?" The Brugadier raised an eyebrow.
"Sir," Matthew bowed his head, taking off his uniform hat and tucking it under his arm.
"Come in. We have some matters to discuss," the Governor commanded and Matthew obeyed, his feet moving on their own as they carried him to front if the desk the two were stood at. 
"You were the messenger on duty yesterday, were you not?" The Governor questioned. Matthew nodded in comfirmation, adding a: "yes Sir" for extra measures. 
"And were you not the soldier involved in the street fight?" He continued to press and Matthew nodded. 
"Yes sir, that is correct," the blonde answered, clearing his throat agitatedly. 
"You'll be pleased to know that our original decision to enforce corporal punishment on you has been changed," the Brigadier lifted his chin arrogantly, his mouth in a thin, serious straight line. "As we have no evidence of exactly how much of the chaos you are responsible for, we are simply going to place you on guard duty until we state otherwise and, if we go into battle, we will ensure you are in the first rank."
"Thank you," Matthew muttered; he wasn't overly sure why he was thanking them, but felt compelled to do so anyway. Perhaps it was the relief that his punishment had been made less severe than planned?
"You may go now,"  the Governor waved dissmissively and Matthew nodded his head, spun on his heel and went to leave.
"Oh, Lieutenant?" The Brugadier called after him. Matthew stopped and slowly turned around.
"Yes Sir?" 
The Brigadier looked furious, only just biting back his anger. "Next time you are given a message to deliver, don't stop at the tavern for a pint, hmm?" The officer hissed. "If you are found to be neglecting your duties again we will not hesitate to enforce physical punishment on you."
Matthew stared at them, his eyes wide slightly and his teeth nibbling at his bottom lip nervously. He swallowed then nodded once, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him as he went. 

He couldn't help but smile at the fact he'd returned from the room with his body and mental state still intact. That itself was an achievement - at some point during his life as a soldier, he must have done something that outweighed this particular case to sway the two away from punishing him severely. He'd seen young men flogged for hours, simply for answering back to their officials. And it wasn't like rank was any protection either; both his older brothers had climbed the pecking order much faster than he, and even as Captains they'd both had their fair share of a few beatings. 

"Lieutenant, we're sending out a scout party to check the village, try and recruit more men and to see if we can locate those tyrants. Are you coming?"
Matthew looked around then shrugged, forcing a small smile at the group of fifteen or so soldiers, all armed with muskets and bayonets and knives. 
"I suppose I could join you," he replied, settling his hat back on his head again. 
They set off down the slope from the barracks, some grabbing horses on their way, then they all collectively started making their way down into the town and further into Boston. From the sagety of the barracks it had been easy to watch the flames engulf several other buildings, quickly claiming more homes.
"We'll start in the tavern where the two were murdered yesterday," one officer decided, looking to Matt for confirmation.
"With luck we can get more information, and perhaps find some new recruits. With any luck it was both Patriots and Loyalists that lost their homes; at least then we might by able to manipulate their opinions of that bastard Rebel," Matthew added on. "I'm sure the Patriots won't be too pleased when they find out it was one of their own men that started this all."

The group entered the tavern, surprised at how quiet it was. Even the bartenders, who were normally running back and forth to customers, had little to nothing to do.
"Do you know anything about two of the King's soldiers that were murdered here yesterday?" Matthew asked as he approached the tavern owner. The owner stared at him, bereft.
"I don't know," he replied monotonely, returning to drying his dishes. "Plenty of people were murdered here unecessarily yesterday."
Matthew nodded in agreement, frowning at the few pairs if eyed that turned and stared at him, scowling at the redcoats furiously.  

"Sir, the messengers were sent out yesterday, as you ordered," one if the officers whispered as they left the tavern. "They should be in Rhode Island, New York, Connecticut and New Hampshire as we speak, providing they kept riding all night."
"Good," Matthew snapped. "It's about time we find that little shit and have him hung for all his crimes. He deserves nothing more than that."
The officer beside him nodded in agreement as they proceeded to pass from building to building; checking up on citizens, searching for any British or Loyalists, and prying for information - all without much success.

[/size]

[drake]

Drake had a restless night, and only achieved two hours of sleep. He awoke to the sound of a horse's gallop, just outside his room... He heard the front door of the inn open up, and then a few moments later, shut. Just then, he heard thunder, and a flash of lightning. Drake stood up from the bed, and checked himself. He was still wearing an entire arsenal on his body, with his two daggers, two pistols, ten throwing knives, and who the hell knows what else. He opened his room's door, and walked a short distance to the entrance. There, he saw a drenched man wearing a coat, and a tricorn. No doubt he was a Loyalist. Drake approached him, and cautiously began "interrogating" him. "What ya doing here, so late, eh?" he prodded, trying to find some answers and perhaps, information about his current whereabouts with the "law" in Massachusetts and maybe all of New England. "Ugh. Oi, mate, list'n, you don' wan' to be out there. It's rainin' cats and dogs, and there's enough lightning to blind ya. I've ridden here all the way from Boston, spreading out a message 'bout a Rebel." the messenger said, exhausted. He took off his hat and coat and placed it on a coat rack. "That so? Can you show me something or give me an idea of what this 'rebel' looks like?" Drake asked, a slight grin crossing his face. Poor bastard, he thought.

"I suppose so," said the messenger, fishing through his coat to find a roll of wanted posters. He took one from the batch, and placed the rest in his coat. He began to unroll it. "Hmph. Seems he has dark brown hair, some stubble on his face, a murderous gaze, and a rugged face. And to think, as if the man is... Standing. Right... Don't hurt me! I'm only a-" he said, trembling. As he began to stutter, Drake took out the dagger from his baldric and picked up the man from his collar. He placed the dagger on the man's throat, and began to threaten him. "Tell me where your friends are! Where are they spreading this message!? TELL ME!" Drake shouted, the people in the inn turning round to see what the commotion was all about. "I-I-I-I... T-they're spreading it round New England! New Hampshire, Connecticut, all over the Massachusetts colony, New York, and Rhode Island... Please don't hurt me!" he pleaded. Drake looked at him with immense rage in his eyes.

He slit his throat with the dagger, blood spraying from the man's wound. Drake, fortunately, didn't receive a bathing in blood from him. Drake began dragging the unfortunate messenger, and opened the door. He then slammed it shut. Hard. Drake dragged the corpse through the mud of the village, rain pelting him, thunder booming above him, and lightning flashing from what seemed to be everywhere. Drake dragged him to the town's gallows, and hung the corpse, as if the poor man's body needed any more torture. He then took a plank of wood and began carving a message with his dagger. Drake found a hammer and two nails lying around, and nailed the plank to the corpse. He stepped back, drenched, and threw the hammer down into the muddy ground. The "sign" read: DEATH TO ALL LOYALISTS. DEATH TO ALL REDCOATS. Drake, satisfied with his point soon to be read by the entire crowd that would soon come, left the gallows.

He walked back into the inn and gathered the few belongings he had. He then approached the messenger's coat and took out the roll of wanted posters. Drake walked over to the fire, crackling peacefully, and threw the posters in. He watched as the quickly burnt and, after a few moments, turned to soot. The night was still young; Drake left the inn, took his horse - which was fully rested - and began riding. East. To Rhode Island. 'Death to all Loyalists, eh? Let's see it in action, then...' he thought. A fire was lit, in his heart. Soon, it would be replaced by an inferno. Not even the rain pelting his body would stop it; not even the entire Redcoat army could stop it. He would live up to his "promise". Drake rode down the border, and as he neared Rhode Island, he saw a man on a horse, which was galloping quickly. Drake didn't need to get a closer look; he knew who it was. "H'yah! H'yah!" Drake yelled, and slapped the reigns on his horse. It whinnied, then began galloping closer and closer to the messenger. "Stay away from me!" screamed the messenger, seeming to know who it was, even in the immense darkness of the countryside. Drake rode up, and was soon side-by-side with the man. He took out his pistol, and didn't hesitate to discharge it into the man's face.

The messenger rolled off, no doubt he was dead. Drake rode back, not to check if the Loyalist bastard was dead, but to begin riding towards New York, through Connecticut. The messenger was shot in the face; he would've died instantly, for the shot would've rendered his face unrecognizable, a bloody pulp of just human skin. Drake rode past, his horse trampling the horse, just for good measure. The people would see what would happen to those who opposed the Revolution; they would see blood! Drake didn't bother with his drenched clothes, the rain picking up, hitting the ground loudly, the thunder, creating cannon-like explosions of sound. His horse galloped, picking up gigantic chunks of mud with every step, the earth seemed to try to stop him. But he wouldn't back down, not now, no. The Patriot was just beginning. The messenger, hopefully, was deep in Massachusetts. Drake pushed his horse far, and soon it would pay off; three colonies wouldn't know of his existence.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew masaged his temples, feeling a headache coming on from the stress of everything. The men with him continued stopping passers by, a little more gently than the day before. This time the people seemed to respond a bit less hostily, some even offering their condolensces for the citizens and soldiers lost.

Matthew begrudgingly opened his eyes, which was a real struggle due to his fatigue, and stared at the redcoat running towards him.
Is this going be a common thing? People running up to me shouting 'Lieutenant!'? He thought as the man skidded to a halt in front of him, panting slightly.
"Some of the messengers have been shot," he explained and Matthew narrowed his eyes.
"Send out a search party on horseback, and make sure they're heavily armed," he instructed. "If he's killing our messengers then it's clear we need to take military measures."
"But sir, the Brigadier said-." The officer protested, cut off by Matthew grabbing the collar of his red coat.
"I don't care. If we don't send the cavalry out soon, more blood is going to be shed. Do you want that blood on your hands, soldier?" He snapped and the officer shook his head briskly.
"I'll spread the word immediately," he nodded in compliance and ran off again.

Matthew looked round before heading back to the group of soldiers he was with, turning one round to face him.
"Separate into pairs and head to the border of Massachusetts, and take some cloth with you," he ordered. "Set up at regular intervals to keep guard of the border, and spread into the other colonies if you can. Keep look out for the man on horse back, and keep the 'wanted' posters with you. If you see him, tie the cloth to the end of your bayonets and set it alight - the other officers down the line can repeat the process to alert back up to go. It may be a slow process, but it's better than messengers running around."
The other redcoats nodded, dispersing to follow through with their orders.
Matthew turned to a remaining soldier. "You're with me," he explained and the officer nodded. "He left with a girl, and since nobody appears to have seen her, we may have a spot of luck and be able to capture her. If all goes to plan we can use her as bait and catch the bastard."
"Do you know where she is?" The officer asked as the pair mounted two horses, settling their muskets down in front of them, stabilising them with one hand.

I really cannot ride horses... Matthew thought to himself as he tugged at his mount's mouth with the bit.
"I have a feeling he would have dropped her somewhere during his course. If we can track where he's been, it should lead us to her," Matthew answered the soldier, who seemed amused at his Lieutenant's lack of horseman skills.
"I suppose this Patriot won't be expecting such a move...and neither will the commanders?" He asked and Matthew winked.
"That's the plan," he responded, nudging the horse in the side with his heel. "Let's just pray that it goes accordingly."




OOC: Fuuuuuu------------ what is this rubbish that I coughed out at school? Please excuse my lack of...win. It's the biggest fail I could conjure up hahaha. And Matthew's going through a genius moment...don't expect it to last hurr.

[/size]

[drake]

The horse wouldn't stop going. It was as if it had felt Drake's fire and determination to keep going. He felt he had to do this for the sake of the colonies and his own sake. They, the British tyrants, sent out messengers detailing their request for people to find him and kill him. And so, Drake was returning the favor; he had already killed two of their messengers, and was on the verge of killing a third. No doubt they had already found out what he was doing now, and they had no doubt mobilized. Who would face him? An entire battalion? A cavalry party? Drake couldn't think about that now. He had to focus on the task at hand, and that was to murder the damned messenger attempting to spread lies to New York. Drake rode down the road, trying to get a glimpse of someone, anyone who knew anything about the current situation in the New England colonies. He saw what the thought was just a man walking down the road, but it was the messenger himself! He was muddy, so his horse most likely fell into a ditch and broke its legs, or something to that extent. Drake's horse galloped up to the messenger, and skidded to a stop. As it did so, Drake stood up on the saddle and leaped off. He drew his daggers and landed on the messenger, stabbing him repeatedly. He then took the corpse and threw it into the bushes surrounding the quiet, muddy road. Drake mounted his horse and made for the heart of the Massachusetts colony.

He wondered if they had already found out where he was before he even knew it, so he had to be cautious. But, just as the thought came to him, he saw a patrol of redcoats! They were a few hundred yards away, and it looked as if they never heard his horse. Drake jumped off the horse and silently ran into the bushes. They had made a camp on the road, and they had prisoners. Two Native American warriors, by the looks of it. "Sir, what are we to do with them? Kill them, like they killed that messenger for riding through their "holy land"?" one of them said. Well that was convenient. None of the messengers had made it to their destinations, and Drake was unknown to the other colonies besides Massachusetts. Drake, without hesitation, took out a few throwing knives and dispatched the patrol. He then looked up at the Indians, as he took out the knives in the corpses, and watched one of them struggle with English. "You... White man... You who they call... Patriot... We kill man who delivers message on horse... He have your face in pocket." said the Indian, obviously having trouble with Drake's native language. Drake stood up and untied the two warriors. "Well yes, you killed one and I killed three. Now, can you help me give those damned redcoats hell?" he said, grinning. "Yes. We would be... honored." said the warrior who spoke before.

Drake and his two new companions took the patrol's horses, and rode off deeper into the Massachusetts colony. Drake wasn't afraid to get into a head-on fight with the redcoats, he was only questioning the tactics he would use, he couldn't just ride in there, guns firing and all. He needed a well-thought out plan... As the thought came to his mind, a blessing came. More warriors! They were most likely a war party trying to retrieve their friends, but Drake beat them to it. They brought their rifles up, ready to shoot, but Drake's companions told them what he had done for them. The chief nudged his horse to walk forward so he could get a better look. He muttered something, then looked at the warriors. "He says... you are a friend of our tribe. If you need anything, just... ask him." Drake told his companion to translate for him. "Tell him, we're going to kill some redcoats today..." he said with a grin. The warrior did so, speaking in his native language to the chief.

Drake was now leading a group of twelve Native American warriors. He had not pictured doing it, but nonetheless felt... 'honored', to fight with them. They would be very useful, he thought. As they rode for an hour or so, it was just past noon. Drake winced, he had lost track of time. He had rode all night and morning, and had gone a long time without sleep. Was he exhausted? Hell yes. Would he back down? Over his cold dead body. He grinned at the thought, and urged his horse to go faster. Just as he did so, he slowed his horse down. There was a British cavalry party just up the road, about half a mile or so. The chief muttered something, and the warriors went through the bushes and hid their horses. Drake did the same, and the warriors hid themselves up in the trees and the bushes. Drake laid prone, behind a bush, rifle at the ready. He was ready to have some more fun. The past day or two was quite wild, he thought.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew struggled to keep control of everything - not just his horse and gun, but also compose himself in front of the officer, who was having a hard time not laughing at the Lieutenant's lack of riding skills.

Matthew stared at his officer, who looked completely at home on horseback. He wanted to ask 'how on earth do you do that so easily?' but decided to keep quiet - besides, his face said it all.
The ensign laughed before answering his commander's unvoiced question. "I used to be in the cavalry," he explained. "You learn quite a few things when you charge at a bunch of soldiers on horseback."
"Let's hope we don't have to do that today, then," Matthew smiled back grimly, freezing as he felt his horse slip on the road underneath him.
"Relax," the officer smirked. "The more nervous you are, the more it's likely to bolt."

Matthew stared at the other soldier, white. For sure, he was brave when it came to going into battle and during combat...but trekking around on horseback was certainly not his strength.

They continued on along the road cutting across the countryside, both keeping an eye out for any ambushes that could occur. Everything seemed so peaceful, and before long they started to relax.
Up ahead was a small town - their first area to search.

---

On the colony's borders, the lookouts began setting up, making sure they could see the next soldiers in the line from where they were stood. They all waited with bated breath, anticipating the moment when one of them would spot the Patriot.
One soldier watched a cavalry party closely - they weren't from their regiment, and were most likely travelling from the other colonies. With luck, though, they would know of the rebel and know what to do should they run into him. There was quite a few of them - at least fifteen - and they all were armed with muskets and guns at their side.
"They're packing some heavy artillery," the soldier murmured to his partner, who nodded.
"They may be on their way back to battle," he answered. "But I don't know. We don't seem to know much at the moment, what with our communication efforts always being interfered with. I doubt half of the news we recieve is recent, or even correct."

The pair were silent again for a moment, watching their surroundings. They'd all tried to pick as high ground as possible, to give them the best advantage point.
The first soldier narrowed his eyes when he spotted another party of horsemen advancing quickly down the road.
"Joseph," he hissed to his partner. "Take a look at this."
The second soldier stood up, squinting to see the scene properly. Within moments the two mounted groups would be in sight of each other, if they weren't already.
"It's just a bunch of Indians," the second soldier shrugged. "They won't do anything."
"I didn't think there were many left in Massachusetts, let alone on horseback riding towards a town," the first glared at his partner. "And Indians are plenty of trouble - don't underestimate them."
The second sat back down again. "So? The cavalry can deal with them. It's not like it's our duty to report every person who travels on that stretch of road."

There was a tense pause, the first soldier fidgeting uncomfortably.
"I think we should start burning that cloth," he glanced at his partner. "Because they don't appear to be stopping...and there's a white man with them."
The second soldier looked up. "Him?"
"I can't be sure from a distance...but I think so," the first bit his lip.
The second soldier got to his feet quickly, tying his red piece of cloth to his bayonet and lighting it on the torch they'd lit up between them.
"I knew he was a pain, but shit, we've only been here an hour. Can't he stay out of trouble?" He grumbled to himself before lifting his musket as high as he could and waving it. Along the line, the other soldiers saw the beacon, and copied the signal.

"Hah!" The first soldier laughed. "Those pests have another thing coming if they think they stand a chance against the cavalry! For one, they're outnumbered!"

---

Matthew and the officer with him stopped at the edge of the town, tying up their horses and setting off through the streets on foot.
"Any idea where to search first, sir?" The officer asked.
"Check the inns, taverns and other such public places," Matthew instructed. "If the girl's in the town, then the chances are she'll be there. I highly doubt she has a home wherever he dropped her off, so she'll most likely have had to find somewhere to stay."
"Well she won't need to rent a place once we get a hold of her," the officer grinned darkly. "We're taking her back with us, right?"
"Of course," the Lieutenant smirked back. "Even if we have to take her kicking and screaming."
The pair continued on through the town, pushing open the doors to their first place to search - the entrance to an inn.
The innkeeper looked up from scribbling something down, and raised an eyebrow at the two soldiers.
"Do not attack us, simply cooperate," Matthew held his hand up to stop any protests the innkeeper may have had. "We just want to question you about something."
"Have you seen a girl?" The officer asked, glaring as the innkeeper smirked.
"I've seen plenty, yes...which specific one are you after, lads?" He grinned back toothily, and Matthew and the officer exchanged looks before stepping towards him.
"She was with a Patriot man," Matthew lowered his voice, not wanting to attract attention. "He dropped her off somewhere in Massachusetts, we presume, and we...need to take her back with us for safekeeping."
"She will be in danger if we don't find her," the officer added, shrugging when Matthew shot him an inquisitive look.

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[drake]

The Indians seemed to understand Drake. They knew what to do, and Drake led them. They silently and quickly crawled through the bushes, and after a few minutes or so, they were three hundred meters away from the cavalry. "Alright, men! Be at the ready! Our lookouts have spotted some Indians, show no fear when dealing with them." said a redcoat who appeared to be the commanding officer. There were about fifteen men, twice the size of Drake's 'troops'. But they were all expert marksman, and, with two rifles a man, could fire four shots in a minute, per man. Drake brought his rifle up and fired. He hit the redcoat commander square in the chest, bringing him down. His Indian allies quickly followed suit, a barrage of shots coming from the bushes and trees. Drake threw down the rifle then took his second, strapped across his back. He took a second to aim, then fired.

The party was dispatched of in less than a minute. Drake looked up at a nearby hill and saw two more men. They had gathered their things and ran off, leaving their post. The Indians had gone back and gotten the horses, and Drake mounted his. He rode after the two redcoats, followed by the Indians, who were whooping and hooting loudly. Drake grinned as he quickly approached the running redcoats. He reached into his belt and felt the handles of two throwing knives. He brought up his arms, and flung them downward. He felt the cold metal of the knives leave his hands, and watched as they buried themselves into the backs of the redcoats. Drake and the Indians rode past them, and returned to their path on the road. The group slowed down, and the Chief muttered something. One of the warriors Drake had rescued spoke up. "We have strayed too far out of our territory. We must bid you... good-bye." Drake nodded and said he understood. He bid his allies farewell, and rode off on his own, towards the town he had left Amelia. No doubt since they were out here, they would be occupying the village.

Drake reached the village, and saw a few redcoats. He jumped off his horse and landed in a hay bale. He quickly got out and hid behind a cart. 'What the hell now, genius... Oh, I know...' he thought to himself, running to the back of the inn he had left Amelia at. He attempted to open the back door, to no avail. Drake took a moment to pick the lock, then entered. He was in a storage area, and he could hear the innkeeper speaking to the Redcoats. "I dunno, mate. I know quite a few girls, but with a Patriot man... Oh, I know. A girl came in here not a day ago, and she was with a shady looking man, presumably her husband," Drake winced at the thought. Amelia and he were close friends but... No. That was just... not "right". But was he talking about him, exactly? Then thoughts barraged his head. Where was she? What was she doing? "Anyways, she and her "husband" left for New Hampshire..." the innkeeper continued. New Hampshire? Hmph. But she was with another man, who could that be? He thought. Drake listened as he heard someone approaching. Nowhere to hide... The footsteps became louder, and a person came through the door he had just entered.

"Dearest Drake? Is that y-!" Amelia almost exclaimed as Drake grabbed her and cupped his hand around her mouth. She was wearing an apron, and seemed to be actually working at the inn. He whispered into her ear. "I knew I couldn't leave you alone! The Reds are lookin' for you..." He let go of her face and watched her turn around and flash a grin. "Of course you can't stay away from me, dearest Drake." Drake looked away, raising an eyebrow. He lifted a finger to his mouth, and the two became silent. They listened to the Redcoats question the innkeeper, and Drake let his hands rest on his pistols. When was fighting never the solution?

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew shook his head firmly and the officer at his side drifted away to start nosing around the surrounding rooms, musket at hand.

"No, he definitely is travelling alone," Matthew replied to the innkeeper. "And they are not husband and wife, this pair...for one, the girl can't be any older than twenty, I would say."
The innkeeper nodded, tapping his stubby finger to his lips.
”There was this one girl,” he continued, keeping his voice so quiet, Matthew strained to hear it. ”She came in yesterday in a right state…her companion rode off without so much as a backwards glance. She rented a room and offered to help us out a bit, but I haven’t seen her since…not really.”
Matthew nodded, inhaling sharply as he stood up straight again.
”With your permission, may we check all your rooms?” He asked and the innkeeper frowned furiously.
”Certainly not. But I can take one of you upstairs to the room that she rented, and you may search there,” he answered in reply, glaring at Matthew as he handed him a set of spare keys. ”As far as I’m aware she should still be up there.”
Matthew nodded in thanks to the innkeeper, fishing in his pockets for a few coins which he set upon the counter. ”Thank you for your help.”
The innkeeper quickly stuffed the money into his pocket, eyeing up the Lieutenant for a moment before leading him towards the stairs.
”What happened to your friend?” The innkeeper asked, referring to the officer Matthew had paired up with. The blonde shrugged, keeping silent as they headed up the creaky stairs.


The said officer edged through the backrooms, alert and poised should he hear or see anything suspicious. As he passed by a particular door, he frowned when he heard whispering. Well…muffled, excited, girly squeaks. The officer narrowed his eyes, flattening his back against the wall as he continued to listen, his attention flitting from the conversation inside the room, as well as the sound of his superior questioning the innkeeper upstairs about the girl.
The officer’s eyes widened when he heard a feminine voice whispering, still in the same happy tone. The second she mentioned the name Drake, the officer’s heart began pounding. He’d have to find a way of keeping them detained in the room whilst he waited for Matthew to return, and all without letting them know he was stood right outside the door.
Slowly and silent he slid down against the wall, turning to peek through a gap in the wooden door. It was difficult to tell the shadows apart, but he could see a door was cracked open slightly…a door leading to the street outside.

The officer bit his lip, trying to think of what to do.

He grinned as he thought up an idea and very carefully shifted a crate of god-knows-what in front of the outwards-opening door. Before they could react, if they had heard him, he quickly left the inn, making sure they heard him leave this time. May as well let them think he actually was heading off, even if they weren’t likely to fall for it.
He headed round the back of the building to where the door had been broken into. Yes, broken into – so clearly they were not meant to be there, in the storage room. The officer stared around at his surroundings, looking for something to bar the door up with. He settled for a plank of wood which had spontaneously been strewn upon the floor, and quietly shut the door to the storage room, wincing as it shut fully with a gentle click. He pushed the plank up under the handle, making sure it was fully wedged into the moist soil before backing away, satisfied that it would take them a fair amount of time to be able to get out from either doors. For sure, he didn’t doubt that they would get out, which was why the officer than returned back into the inn to find the Lieutenant coming back down the stairs again.

”I appreciate your help, sir,” Matthew smiled at the innkeeper. ”Thank you for all the information, we should be able to find her soon.”
”No problem, soldier. Is there any chance you’ll be needing a room here any time soon?” The innkeeper asked, hopeful. Matthew shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. ”I highly doubt that. I’ll have to make do with a tent when we move camps, I’m afraid.”
Matthew looked up as the officer approached him, a finger to his lips. The blonde Lieutenant arched an eyebrow, silently questioning the other man.
”I think they’re in the store room…and I think I may also have barred off both exits,” he whispered as quietly as he could to Matthew; not even the innkeeper could hear.
Matthew grinned. ”Good man…show me where, and we can get this over and done with. And what do you mean they?”
”He came back for her, sir,” the officer explained as they approached the store room, careful not to make too much noise. The officer shifted the crate out of the way, just enough so that the door would open wide enough to let them slip through.
Matthew nodded at the officer as they loaded their muskets, wary that they may be making enough noise to alert the pair that they were stood the other side of the door, providing they were there in the first place.
”I forgot to mention, sir,” the officer murmured as Matthew placed his hand on the cold handle and prepared to open the door. ”I noticed a few more British troops heading this way when I went out. They should be here in a few minutes, if that. If things go apeshit, would you like me to go find them?”
Matthew put his finger to his lips, taking a deep breath before opening the door quickly, both men stepping inside with their muskets ready to fire whilst their eyes adjusted rapidly to the new darkness.

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