From the journal entries of Benedict Marlowe.
The Inn of the King’s Arms, Port Dominion.
When I returned to the inn this evening, the common room was already full with noise and smoke, as men fresh from the day’s labor gathered for meat, drink, and company. The air was thick with the scent of roasted flesh, tobacco, spilled ale, and sweat, all mingled together in that peculiar perfume which no inn lacks, be it in London, Liverpool, or the New World. Yet for all the clamor and roughness, there was a certain comfort in it, for it spoke of warmth, of fellowship, and of a roof under which a man might find both supper and safety.
My own meal was set before me by the innkeeper’s wife: a trencher of salt beef stewed with onions, a loaf of brown bread, and a dish of plantains fried in dripping, which though strange to my English palate, I found not unpleasant. To this was added a mug of strong ale and, at the last, a small bowl of sugared lime conserve, said to keep a man’s humors sound in this climate. The food filled me well, though the clamor around me left me little peace to savor it.
At the table nearest mine sat two merchants in heated debate over the price of sugar, each accusing the other of dishonest weights. Their quarrel was half-spoken in jest, yet I caught beneath it a hard edge, for here it seems that fortunes may rise or fall upon a single measure. Elsewhere, a young officer of the fort whispered to a laughing girl in a blue gown, who covered her mouth as though to hide both blush and smile. I did not linger upon them, yet it confirmed what I had already heard: that the soldiers of Fort Hemmerly are not without their diversions.
Above the din, the innkeeper himself bustled with flagons and jests, ever quick to call a man “good sir” while slipping a coin deftly into his apron. His wife, less merry, moved amongst us with a sharper eye, correcting his levities with the occasional scold, though she too let slip words that pricked my mind. Passing my table she said, almost beneath her breath: “Keep thy eyes open, master. Here, the brightest smile oft hides the darkest heart.” I pressed her for meaning, but she turned away with a basket upon her hip, and gave me no more.
Thus, even in my simple supper, I could not escape the sense that in Port Dominion, every word and gesture is weighted, every jest conceals a sharper truth. I have heard much this day of His Excellency Lord Whitehall and his Lady Eleanor, and of their household where ambition and rumor walk hand in hand. Some declare him a just ruler; others, a man greedy of purse and appetite. Of her, the whispers are yet bolder, though always shared with glances to left and right, as if fear itself sat listening in the shadows.
Now that the day is spent, and I sit once more at my desk by the candle’s stub, I find my mind unsettled by the many voices and murmurings I have heard since morning. Dominion Square, so lively with wares and trade, did yet reveal to me another commerce altogether: that of rumor and suggestion, whispered half in jest, half in earnest, but never without import.
It is a strange thing that in this place, so newly brought beneath the English flag, the air should be thick not only with the scent of tar, spice, and salt-fish, but with suspicion and sly amusement. Of His Lordship the Governor, men speak as one might of a merchant counting his coin—diligent and clever, but not above turning his hand to ventures better left unseen. Of Lady Eleanor, their tone shifts: admiration mingled with knowing smirks, as though her beauty and her grace are weapons as sharp as any blade, and wielded with no small skill. As for young Mistress Lucy, they remark upon her intelligence and quickness, though whether such qualities will serve her or betray her in such a household, none may say.
I cannot tell how much of this talk is true, nor how much is the idle invention of tongues seeking diversion. Yet I perceive that such words, though spoken low, have weight. A man who heeds them not may stumble; a man who heeds them too closely may be ensnared.
Thus I remind myself, as I ready for rest, that I am here not to be caught in the intrigues of Port Dominion, but to carry out my duties, observe, and record. And yet—how easily one may be drawn in, by the prospect of profit, by the allure of power, or by temptations of the flesh and the heart alike. Even as I double the lock upon my chamber door, I know that safety in this place is but a fragile thing, and a man’s wits must ever be his surest guard.
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