The older gentleman behind the counter smiled widely, his greying moustache curling as his plump cheeks rose. "Understood, ma'am. No trouble at all, I will see to the shipment personally. The name's Jules, and you're in the right place." His voice was upbeat and amicable, as though he were talking with a wealthy patron and trying to make a sale. Anne gave her name as Sofia Stewart, and though she loathed using that last name, it provided her protection now. "Any change to the supplies?"
"None," Anne replied. "But I will need a manifest for inspection. How long until the cargo is ready for shipment?"
Jules' face scrunched as he looked outside the window to the hamlet. Anne followed his gaze over her shoulder. She could see the crewmen milling about within view of the general store, and Victoria was talking with the women who were gossiping out front while Alexandre observed the gentlemen on the step playing their game of chess.
"Given the time, we could have it ready before nightfall. The road's a bit treacherous at night, are you sure you want to be heading back tonight?"
"No, I suppose not." Anne took a few seconds to assess the situation. If they indeed were from inland and part of the pirate's crew, they would not be arriving by ship. No roads were leading to the coast for cargo, and there had been no harbour that they could see for the stretch of land they'd been able to observe when sailing in. That meant mentioning the ship would be out of the question. "Would you have some lodging for my men and me for the night, so we may head back on the morrow?"
"Most certainly," Jules replied. "You can sleep upstairs. There are a few beds and some cots."
"Thank you," Anne said.
The interaction was pleasant enough to set Anne's mind at ease. The owner of the general store and the others in town simply thought they were part of Silver Eyes' men, and they acted accordingly, and seemingly not out of fear, either. If nothing else had happened, Anne would have thought that it must have been because the relationship between the two groups was mutually beneficial.
Then, Anne saw a fly crawling around on Jules' hand. He didn't seem to notice the fly, and because he was standing stock still, the fly was comfortable staying where it was. The fly soon moved up his arm, onto his neck, across his cheek, and settled on his nose. And he never moved, nor did he even twitch with the recognition that something unpleasant was there.
Anne glanced over to William, and by the look on William's face, cutting through the man's usual stoniness, he had noticed the oddity too. He looked as confused and disgusted as she felt.
"Jules, there's a fly… on your nose," Anne said, pointing to the insect.
Jules chuckled and waved a hand in front of his face. "So there is," he replied. Then with a shrug he said, "They don't bother us none."
"Right," Anne said, drawing the word out at the end. "I suppose they don't."
"You there," Alexandre called from outside the door of the general store, "Princess, Captain, Missus Thatch, whichever it is these days. Come."
Anne shot Alexandre a look of annoyance and was about to lay into him about his liberal use of titles in front of people they couldn't trust, but he had already stepped away from the entrance by the time she turned.
Anne left the shop to follow Alexandre, just in front of the two men playing the game of chess on a small table between two benches at the side of the store's deck.
"What is—?" Anne began, but Alexandre held up his finger.
"Observe," he said, as his finger pointed towards the men.
Anne looked at each man sitting at the table, a young man and an older gentleman who appeared to be in his fifties. The state of the game looked typical, but suggested an amateurish nature. Anne felt that if played correctly, the younger man, playing black, could win with checkmate in ten moves, or played poorly reach check within eight. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
"How is the game, gentlemen?" Alexandre asked.
"Terrible, just terrible," the older man replied. "Rotten. You teach the young everything they need to know, and then they use it against you."
Alexandre lifted a piece of paper he had been holding to his chest a moment before, and Anne noticed the same words, exactly as the old man had said to them, written on the paper. And there was more.
"Now, now, George," the young man said. "You can't expect your mind to remain as sharp as it ever was. I have to win a few games here and there."
"Nonsense," the old man cut in. "Respecting your elders means letting them win, young man."
The young one laughed, and then looked up at Alexandre, Anne, and William. "We shouldn't be much longer with our game, and then you can have a go if you'd like."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," the old man said finally, and then the two went back to their game.
Each word, verbatim, was written on Alexandre's page. No variation in the words whatsoever, and unless Alexandre was psychic or a seer, the two had said the exact thing to him while Anne and William were inside the store.
Before Anne could wrap her head around the implications, or even begin to formulate a question, Alexandre pocketed the papers and stepped closer to the two men playing.
He knelt closer to the table, placed his hands on the chessboard, and glanced over his shoulder at Anne to see if she was watching. After a moment, to ensure neither of the men playing had their hands on the pieces, Alexandre pushed the chessboard to the other side of the table, away from the men, and then backed away.
The men didn't react. They both stared in the same spot on the table where the chessboard used to
