16 Sept 1808
Kingston, Jamaica - Governor’s Mansion
Governor Alton awoke to the sound of his chamber door slamming open. Peering out of bed curtains with bleary eyes he could not distinguish who approached. Sitting up, he tried to rub sleep from his eyes. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“You have disappointed me for the last time you bumbling fool. I’m here to rectify your incompetent errors,” came the voice of Tim Sladen. In a flash the bed curtains were torn away, and Governor Alton could clearly see Mr. Sladen standing at his bedside with a pair of fearsome looking men standing beside him. One held a lantern which cast an eerie glow onto their faces and drew towering shadows onto the wall of the chamber. The sound of furniture being overturned in another room alerted Alton that these men were not alone. Fear clamped the Governor’s breath in his throat, an icy chill ran up his spine.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about your belongings Governor or your servants, you should be a bit more concerned with your neck. I warned you.” Tim said through clenched teeth, then turning to the men with him, “Bring the swine, we need him to write a letter for us.” Governor Alton was dragged from his bed in his nightgown and forcefully marched from his bedchamber. In the light of the hall Alton could see the flurry of destruction Sladen’s men were inflicting. Paintings and tapestries ripped from their rightful place along the hallways. Throughout his home bookshelves, tables, cabinets and cases were being emptied and overturned. Every item of value was being stripped away. Vases, busts, sculptures and all manner of finery were being sacked and carried away indiscriminately by Sladen’s band. The men all had a rough look to them, they carried themselves like men eager to engage a fight.
“What have you done? What are you doing?” Governor Alton stammered, unbelieving of what his eyes saw.
“You’ve cost me, again. I’m here to collect on that debt on behalf of The Order. Your only value to me is now making good on that debt, the second I think you have outlived that ability will be your last.” Sladen hissed into the Governor’s ear as they surveyed the atrium of the mansion from atop the stairs.
“What do you mean debt damn you? I don’t owe you, that was never part of the arrangement!” Alton began. Tim interrupted him with a savage push sending Alton tumbling down the curved staircase, crashing abruptly onto the tiled floor.
“It was never part of the arrangement that you would send the fleet to our anchorage. It was never agreed upon that under any circumstance would my camp be invaded by your god damned admiral. There were no such concessions Alton. However, you and I agreed that any such losses would be made right by you. Did we not? Just a few weeks ago in fact?” Sladen shouted down as he slowly walked down the stairs. The governor was a pathetic sight, bleeding from a cut on his scalp and from his nose, in his linen nightgown. He tried to lift himself from the floor to address his assailant with some form of dignity only to be shoved back down by Tim’s polished black boot.
“I made no such agreement; you just make demands. You seem to think you can order me around, like I’m some piss bottom commoner. I am a Lord and a Governor! You will stop this, this treachery! It is treason!” Alton shouted back between winded breaths.
“Spare me your sanctimonious drivel. Treason would require me to be a subject of your monarch. I am in fact an American, as for treachery, well, you may have me there not that it matters much to us.” Sladen said, smiling to his companions. “Take the Lord Governor into his study, let’s get a quill and paper into his hands so he can be of some use to us.” The two men following Tim stepped around him, grabbed the governor by his ankles and drug him unceremoniously across the atrium to his office. Once inside the larger of the two men prodded the Governor with a large knife, prompting him to climb up into his chair. Tim followed the trio into the study as men were carrying arm loads of valuables out. One man passing by carried a sword with an intricate and ornately designed hilt and hand guard, its scabbard bore gold inlays that caught Tim’s attention. He prompted the man to hand over the weapon and unsheathed it, examining the blade.
“Such a fine weapon, Governor. Tell me, what does a fat sack like you do with a blade like this?” Tim said smiling as he looked at the governor from the corner of his eye. “My guess is you consider it a novelty decoration, don’t you? You couldn’t wield a weapon like this if your life depended on it.” Tim arced the blade in a spin by his side, admiring the balance and edge. “Take your quill, you are going to pen orders for that bag of bones admiral.”
“What happened Tim? What is going on?” Alton stammered. Tim swung the blade in a high arching blow, landing the edge across the governor’s desk and biting his forearm with a glancing slash that immediately produced a crimson drip of blood.
“You know full well what has occurred. That pet Admiral of yours sent a detachment of marines into our prisoner camp, killed four of my men and as of last report, is still blockading access to my bay!” Tim shouted, rage seething and building with every word.
“I didn’t, I didn’t know Tim, I swear it,” the Governor replied, cowering away from another anticipated swing of the sword.
“Then you are incompetent. The result is the same either way. Now
