Nimrod Pinon

Pinon’s expression clouded further. How dare she address him in such a fashion. He moved away from her, ignoring her question. “We have nothing more to discuss until those papers are safely in my hands. Thou has relatively little time left to do so Lilith. I think it would serve thee well to make haste and not small talk.” He continued, his gait not halting until he had reached the door and opened it to the hallway. “I shall be here waiting for thy return. I am certain I shall find something to help me pass the time until then. Do NOT be late!” he warned.

Pinon’s reply came in the form of him violently back handing her hard across the face. Lilith tumbled to the floor, lower lip now split and bleeding. “Thou were supposed to bring them with thee, along with Lord Darnely’s letter. I know thou does like killing for sport Woman, but there actually is a reason why thy instructions included taking those ships.” Pinon bent, seized her about the throat and hauled her upright. “Do not tempt me to add one more casualty to my list. I have cart blanch from his lordship, to do what I must do including clearing whomever I must from my path! Killingsworth was shoddy and St. Claire has spent too much time at her cards as well as trying to get into Sterling’s good graces again. Surely thou does not intend to spend the next two weeks courting him as well? He did not want thee when thou didst meet, he will not want thee now. I have only so much time to set his lordship’s plan into motion, and if thee intends to get in my way, know that I will bowl thee over and not think twice about it. Remember Lilith, I am far from alone here. Now get the fucking papers and bring them back to me here before the night is over or I promise thee, thy newly acquired gold will not be the only thing thou wilt be lacking come sunup.”

"Do try to spend it wisely... oh ... and before you leave. You were to take and scuttle one or two merchant ships on your trip from home, were you not? Did you take their papers as you were instructed as well as enough cargo to damn even him?" Pinon asked holding out his hand. "After all that was part of the agreement." Hand remained unfulfilled and he leaned down over her shoulder, close to her ear. "Papers? Dutch papers? You do recall?"

“Since when have I not paid you?” Pinon asked, slightly irked by her tone. He closed the letter and moved to a trunk at the foot of the bed and unlocked it. From the safety of the chest he withdrew a small bag, muffled tingle betraying the containment of coin. Carefully letter appeared to be transferred in exchange and now locked within the dark confines of heavy iron bound chest. Pinon tossed the bag onto the table by Lilith’s feet. He straightened. He looked her over, her gruff demeanor had grown more boorish with time and he suddenly found himself thinking about the barmaid with the plump posterior.

As upper landing was conquered, Pinon tossed a transitory glance at the now vacant room flanking his. Fitting to strangle his prey? Yes but fingers could have all too easily pointed in his direction and that would have required more time than was necessary to cover up such a foolish effort. What a waste that would have been, especially now that his morning ride had proved so fruitful. He entered his own room, tossing hat and gloves upon the bed. Small satchel of common colored clothing was dropped to the floor and temporarily kicked beneath the bed. He gestured to a solitary chair for his guest to claim, then moved to the window. Seal was crushed and letter opened. As he read it, a large smile tugged with success at the corners of his lips. “Has Lord Darnely relayed any of its contents to you prior to sailing?” Pinon asked as Lilith made herself comfortable, muddy shoes placed upon room’s table top. “Delightful as ever,” Pinon grunted with a scowl. Still the sex later would be. Lilith always aimed to please.

“I am looking for a man who goes by the name…Pinon.” The barkeep nodded his head slowly. “And whom shall I tell him is calling for him?” Lilith’s eyes narrowed a bit and her voice lowered. “Tell him the letter which he waits for is finally here…and that Lord Darnley sends his regards.” “Is that so?” Pinon asked as he entered the tavern and walked up behind Lilith. The tall dark figured waited for the woman to turn to face him. She glanced up at him when she did, Pinon towering over her. Chilling blue eyes locked on her own, then traveled down her form until corner of parchment was spied then plucked from its hidingplace. “Mine I believe.” But he did not break the seal, nor read its contents in the open air of the public room. “Come along with me Mistress. I do believe payment is in order. And there are some things we need to discuss.” Pinon lead the way upstairs.

The wounded man groaned and lay back against the grass as a fourth rider continued to watch, safely at a distance.

Pinon listened as heavy shoes retreated downward then hastily began to dress. “OUT!” he shouted at the girl. “Get your clothes and off with you!” Time was of the essence. “But,” the young woman started, sitting up in bed. “Tis early yet.” “Your time is up. Take your things and go now. I have more than sampled your charms and do not see the need nor desire to renew our acquaintance in such matters. Now hurry, I do not want to find you here when I return!” Pinon roared, as he pulled his waistcoat on and hurried from the room. ____________________________________________________ The lock was a simple device to pick and Pinon quickly found himself inside the room next to his own. He had heard enough of the loud discussions of the previous night to figure out who his next door neighbor was and now seemed the perfect time to be exactly where he was. The room was still dark enough, the captain’s companion obviously having gone to the trouble of drawing the plain curtains closed and so it took him a moment or two to figure out his bearings. It was not time wasted. As he crept cautiously to inspect the figure in the bed, he was delighted to find it truly was the one and the same, John Sterling. Quietly he cast his wandering eyes over the vials and doctor’s paraphernalia that littered the table besides the sleeping man. To put it more precisely, Pinon noted with pleasure, unconscious man. He dared to lean down and snap his fingers besides the man’s ear. Nothing. Well drugged he was. Pinon’s eyes darted about the room once more. Remembering he had seen another pillow upon the floor by a couple of chairs, he went to get it. How simple he thought as he returned to the man in the bed and held the pillow over his face, and how incredibly convenient.

Pinon bolted upright in bed as shot erupted. "Come back to sleep, luv, tis too early to be up and about already," the young girl cooed, pulling the dislodged covers back into place. Pinon looked hastely about the room trying to figure out where the sound had come from then made his way to the door and looked out. He looked toward the doctor and the lieutenant. Reiley’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Oh sorry mate! Didn’t wake you did I?” the doctor asked innocently. "Son of a bitch!" Pinon exclaimed then reentered his room, slamming the door behind him.

Pinon savored his drink, the ale was far better than any he had sampled elsewhere in town. A second was ordered and appreciated, as he watched old Albert’s stout wife and her bothersome mongrel. He sat, lost in thought, interesting how a woman without children of her own relates to her servants. He questioned, for all of a minute, how they felt about that, then dismissed it entirely. A minute was more than sufficient time to spend on a matter he simple did not give a damn about. He watched her make inquiry of the tapster, the other man’s eyes resting far too long on Pinon, giving him and Cunningham away. Far too obvious, much like the two men following the Archangel's captain earlier. He exhaled his disappointment. Was no one subtle in their actions any more? He smiled to himself, picturing himself sitting, like the demon others believed him to be, hunched over his drink, enshrouded in a cloak, his hat pulled far too low for meddling eyes to see him, even too low for him to see those that would be snooping. He laughed. He made certain he was sitting up properly, holding himself in the carriage he had perfected with ease and grace. When the Cunningham woman chose to vacate the inn, taking her entourage in tow, he decided to stay for dinner. “Now that the atmosphere has cleared,” he thought. With a meal ordered as well as a third drink, he asked about lodging and was allotted one of the better rooms upstairs. He would purchase some extra candles from his host after his dinner was consumed. Tonight he would not mind his beeswax, he had very important paperwork to attend to. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Pinon cursed his poorly made watch. Someday surely someone would create something far more accurate! After all, was not time the most important commodity people possessed? He sat, tossing a worn quill upon a pile of letters. Lighting a new candle from off the old, he snuffed the spent one, admiring the ghostly wisps of smoke that bowed then arched in spirals, upward into the darkness. He ran his focus one last time over his work, how different and yet how unique. For each note, written in an entirely different hand, no one ever being the wiser to the fact that the author of all was one and the same, the language, the penmanship, even the inks use. Yet, each rambled on in lengthy details concerning their inflammatory charges regarding one and the same man. All that was left was to affix the proper seals accordingly and wait. Pinon was not fond of waiting, even though he knew it was a necessary step. He carefully collected the papers and tucked them wisely away in a small chest and locked it. Even checking twice to the security of his work before he stretched and sauntered down stairs. Far less somber, his coat left behind in his room, his blue eyes roamed over the crowd that had gathered for the evening. One lass in particular caught his eye and he made the opportunity to introduce himself. Pinon then took the proper amount of time to win her over and escort her upstairs. As her treasures were soon forsaken by linen garments, he placed himself inside her and now, made certain that every moment counted at least for him.

Pinon walked slowly back toward the town, finally coming to rest himself inside the Three Crownes for a drink. He laughed to himself about the cur and his ugly little dog. Certainly did not the beast judge folks better than the master? He ordered himself a pint of ale and listened raptly as the meal for the evening was grunted to him by one of the kitchen boys. He decided to make a point of going back to visit the young bar maid he had met earlier in the day. He looked about the room as his drink was set before him. He wondered how long he would possibly be observed and actually felt himself shrug at the idea. He did not care. As soon as the moment was right, he would strike and no one would be able to stop him. The powers that be, who supported him in all that he did, would make sure of that.

“I do not wish to alarm you, but do you know the two men who are currently following us?” Pinon asked. Sterling continued to fail as the two continued to support him as they helped him back to the wharf where the Archangel was still tied up. As the elegant brigantine came closer, Pinon could only think how convenient that She was not out further at anchor in the harbor. He quickly reminded himself that it was far too soon. Being early was one thing, missing one’s timing completely was all together an abhorrence. He could only hope that she would still be renting dock space when the time was right.

A meal neglected. But a small price to pay when time was of the essence. Pinon, pressed a gold coin into the serving girl’s hand. “But sir…” she squealed as he closed her fingers tightly around it. “See that your master gets his share. We would not want anything to go a miss now would we?” Pinon said. He supplemented his statement with one finger stroking gently beneath the girl’s plump chin, his icy stare melding with her own. He felt like laughing as she melted under his gaze but decided it wiser not to do so. She would be ripe for the taking if he felt so inclined at a more opportune moment. With a slight bow, as one must never over do such niceties where the staff is concerned, he swept passed her, his hand casually fondling her backside as he passed, a certain guarantee to more information if ever he were in need of it. He quickly stepped out into the fading sunlight. Still the air had not cooled and he thought perhaps black was not the wisest choice in coloring for such a place. His eyes darted hastily about him and for a moment he thought he had lost what he was searching for. As he looked about, he noticed the other two dinners making an exit from the nearby stable yard. He felt himself draw back, if this was actually the man Sterling, then it seemed as if his meal had not agreed with him. The man’s head bowed, and in spite of being almost concealed by the great cartwheel hat, Pinon could still spy the bloodied linen clutched to the man’s face. It was obvious he was in great pain as he was being escorted some where in extreme haste by his companion. As the two brushed past Pinon, he overheard the darker man, who was focused solely on getting the other out of the public eye, say “John.” Without missing a step, Pinon hurriedly aligned himself opposite the other man, trapping the ailing man between them. “Here, brother. Your friend seems in need of help. Let me assist you.” “No tis all right. I have him, thank ye,” the darker man replied. Pinon only tightened his grip all the more. “Oh I insist. Surely you can not manage this poor soul all by yourself. The man is gravely ill! It is all that I can do to lend a hand in bringing a fellow creature to a doctor.” The other man’s step faltered only slightly. “All right then, I could do with a bit of help. My name is Andrew March. This is my captain, John Sterling of the Archangel. I would be beholden if ye were to help me get him back to the ship. We’ve a surgeon there that can see to him.” Pinon allowed his jaw to drop. “The John Sterling? Sir John Sterling? Oh it would be my pleasure to help a brother out, even if I had not already heard so much about him.”

Pinon waited as the girl hurried over to his table. “And what can I do fer ye?” she asked. He looked up at her, placed one finger to his lips quickly, then crooked it so that she knew to bend low to his ear. “That man over there, with the wet hair, having lunch. Would you know if that is a sea captain by the name of John Sterling?” The girl stood and looked about the room, centering finally on the two men several tables over. They had finally settled their bill and were rising to leave. Pinon grabbed her wrist and pulled her and her attention back down toward himself. The girl suddenly felt uncomfortable. “That man there?” she asked in a whisper. “Well, ifin I be right, then yes, ‘e could be the captain of the Archangel. Seems that man ‘as gotten ‘isself into noffing but trouble since ‘e landed ‘ere. Got ‘isself shot ‘e did, fell ill at another establishment, mind ye not this one ‘ere another one, and then went off and married one of the Devareaux family. That could be ‘im, but I’ve not seen ‘im wifout a wig… a brown one it tis.” “Devareaux you say? Andre` Devareaux?” Pinon asked, tightening his grip about her arm. “Yes sir, that be one of em gypsies, but I cannot be certain that, that fella over there, be one and the same Sterling.”

Pinon had holed up during the storm in one of many places he found at his disposal. And with its passing, he had made his way back out into the streets. His carriage, looks and somber clothing allowed him the privilege of not needing to thread his way through a crowd. Quite the contrary, except for the young lasses who lost themselves in the iciness of his eyes and distinct, straight, black hair, most folks saw him coming and gave him a wide berth. They found him rather… unsettling. He had not come to make friends though. What good were friends unless one could truly count on them in a tight situation? Pinon made certain that those who found themselves such were never himself but them he did business with. He smiled to himself, thin flesh pulling tautly over teeth no better nor no worse then most of the populace. He now sat in the back corner of one of the local dives, a drink at hand, his watch moving quickly over the slight number of patrons, seemed people were still to busy cleaning up to frequent inns and taverns for lunch. He settled his attentions finally on the only two somewhat amusing characters in the center of the room. Two mariners, set upon getting drunk more than enjoying their meal. Two officers, or so it appeared, at least one seemed to ape the behavior of a gentleman. Pinon snorted to himself , then took a pull of the tankard he held. Twas the same fool he had seen just earlier, swimming in the harbor, his long blond hair, still wet and dripping about his shoulders. Wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, Pinon looked about, made eye contact with one of the wenches and signaled for her to come over.

He had arrived well ahead of schedule. Schedules were of the utmost importance to him. If clocks and watches had been better constructed for their day, one could set them by Nimrod Pinon's exactness. His obsession for the correctness of every minuet detail was a god to him. But then that is why he was always called in to succeed at the business at hand where all others had failed.

None taken Milady. And if such is the case I shall take it as a compliment.

Nimrod Pinon… 6’2” tall but looks taller because he is thin. Thin but quick, agile and surprisingly strong. He has long dark hair that is all his own and sallow skin. His eyes are ice blue and piercing. He keeps to himself and is an extremely professional "businessman." He born and raised in London, he has made his way to Port Royal to do a little business.

Lad? I would think not, old enough to be an experienced lover and yet not old enough to be your father I would think lass. Still drink to your heart's content beautiful one.

A tall, slender, figure, clothed in somber black enters the pub. "Good evening to you all. Pleased that I am to make your acquaintance." He places a rather large bag of change upon the bar, as the pouch opens, several gold coins roll onto the bar top. "Drinks for everyone Tapster! And see that none run dry."