Puerto Diablo 6
Jun. 16th, 2009 11:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
janestarzI am once again reminded that perhaps this historical roleplay thing is not for everyone. Yes, Puerto Diablo is very expensive, and there are many stories of how cool Puerto 1, 2 or 3 was. Expectations were high for some, and perhaps they were too high. After all, the Arcana website tells us that you can't expect fantasy roleplay, that there is no forest filled with evil monsters, or a Dark Adversary to be slain.
It is New Amsterdam, the year is 1666, and Peter Stuyvesant is the director-general (governor) of this lovely town...
Dramatis Personae
Antoinette Fermier - a French businesswoman (widowed), played by me;
Peter Stuyvesant - Dutch Governor of New Amsterdam, appointed by the WIC, played by Johan A.;
Robert Philippe de Toulouse - a French chevalier, played by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cabaray;
Henri D'Aramitz - a French ex-musketeer, played by The Admiral;
Jerome - a Frenchman, played by Renz;
Nina - a French courtisane, played by Sonja;
Maartje van der Plas - a Dutch woman, rakker van de schout, played by Willemijn;
Van Helvoort - a puritan from Zeeland, played by Aike;
Friday
In my briefing were two additional pieces of information that would provide me with (a lot of) play. The second spoke of an old friend of mine from Paris who might drop in from Tortuga. But first and foremost was the shipment of gunpowder that had arrived from France. These all bore the fleur-de-lis - a french signature that would prohibit me from selling the gunpowder at market, since the WIC controls all trading. So I needed some help -- but where to find someone who could help me forge the stamp.
In the end, I asked Nina, the French courtisane, for help. She could probaly find someone, since she frequents the shady pub at the end of the street where I can't show my face. I'm a reputable businesswoman, so I can't go there, it would be bad for business.
Mr. Stuyvesant approached me after night had fallen. He limped over to me and I walked up to him since he spoke my name. "Antoinette," he rumbled, "is there any news concerning the trade?"
"Yes monsieur!" I squeaked, trying to stall. "I'm working on it, but it's not coming along very quickly. I'll keep you posted."
"Time is of the essence, Antoinette." Stuyvesant chided me.
"Yes monsieur!" I fled. Stuyvesant, assigned by the WIC, was taking a risk in talking to me so publicly, but the street was nearly empty and hardly anyone noticed. He was also a very troubled man, grumpy and very rigid in his way of thinking. A true Dutchman.
Not long after my encounter with Stuyvesant did I ask Nina for her help. She promised to look around for me. I went back to my home and was surprised when suddenly one of the indians stepped into my house. I had seen them in the harbour, trading their furs and trinkets, but I wouldn't approach the red man if I could avoid it. Now this woman entered my home unasked.
"You are a very tough woman to get a hold of." she said. Her black braids swayed as she closed the door behind her. I sank down behind my desk; the house was tiny and nearly completely full with the two of us.
She introduced herself, Chinook was her name, and spoke of having similar interests to mine, and I realised that she wasn't talking about us both being traders. Apparantly, someone had been speaking to the local population about serving my beloved mother France. But she did not utter the words I needed to hear to be sure of myself.
"Is there any way you can assure me that you are who you say you are?" I asked. Only then did she reply with the code phrase I wanted to hear. I was no longer afraid of her, though my trust would only go so far.
When Chinook left again, I turned the lantern down so her face would be clouded in shadows, but nothing escapes Peter Stuyvesant's eagle eyes. As I locked my door, he called out to me, limping over on his stick. "Why was that indian in your house?" he asked, frowning at me with a stern look of disapproval.
"I don't know!" I squeaked. "She startled me when she just stepped inside like that!"
"What did she want?" he hummed.
"She wanted to trade furs, but I was so afraid, I didn't know what to say. Luckily she left when I asked her to."
I doubted Stuyvesant believed my story, and he still looked chagrined, but then I could excuse myself and walked towards the tavern "Het wapen van Amsterdam". Chinook would not be my last visitor for the evening though, because I ran into Henri D'Aramitz, an old friend of mine from Paris as well as a most trusted colleague. He was a striking appearance in the tavern, although he hardly stood out in his black attire. His one good brown eye flashed around the room, the eyepatch over his left eye of a rough tan leather. He wore a large cross around his neck over his frilled blouse. One of the sherriff's helpers (de rakker van de schout) noticed this and walked over to our table. "Sir, please put away that catholic extravagancy. It is not allowed here." His gaze travelled to my (considerably French) cleavage and a similar necklace. "In your case, madam, you can hardly cover it with your doublet, but please try."
I smiled, and though Henri pretended to put away the cross, he left it dangling over his blouse. After a glass of red wine, he joined me at my house, where we could talk in privacy. He ordered me to find a new agent, loyal to the king of France. Money would not be an issue. And Henri handed me a considerable sum of money for Jean-Patrique, for services rendered to the crown.
I slept poorly, because it was such an exciting evening and mr. Stuyvesant really was quite strict with me. But I slept at home and could shower in the morning before going back to the terrain.
Saturday
Hardly anyone was up yet, but there were some people walking around the harbour and having breakfast, so I ducked into the bathrooms and donned my headwear, doffing my coat and purse. I had dressed at home, my corset working well enough so I could ride my bicycle if I didn't go too fast.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and started building my stall for the market that day. We'd brought two large boxes of goods, patterns and silly hats, as well as a large foldable table and a clothes rack. I also had a craft project: my weaving, but I hardly got around to it.
My neighbour from across the street, Maaike Eigenzorg, who helps out wounded and injured people, came to see me in the morning, expressing her interest in the wooden heddle that makes weaving easy (her interest was part out character, because she knew tablet weaving and is a re-enactor). I had several visitors, including Lisse, Jean-Patrique's new wife, and a French chevalier, Robert Philippe de Toulouse, who bought a share in the city's theatre that still needed to be built. I watched the street until lunch, noticing the visitors to Levi the jew's pawn shop across the street even though it was the Sabbat.
There was a problem with rats, though. Several people had blue-black spots on their arms that itched like mad, and people thought it was the plague. Luckily this could be contained before a larger break-out and all rats were burned.
Lunch was wonderful, bread with herring or salmon, cheese or Italian sausage. Fresh fruit was available too, and Joris Voetlicht, the theatre producer, would perform his latest play "The Dutchman" in the market square during lunch. The play was promising, with several people performing while Joris read the text of the play to us. Before the play was finished, there was a shocking event: Joris was shot dead from behind by a bystander, who ran towards the city gates to get away. Luckily Maartje van der Plas, one of the sherriff's helpers, literally threw herself in front of him to stop him from getting away, and the man was beaten to death and then hung from the neck at the gallows. In that order.
Chevalier de Toulouse introduced me to Comtesse Madelaine, another Frenchwoman who had recently lost her husband while making the crossing to the New World, but I was appalled at her servants who spoke up and used her first name, and that the Comtesse allowed this. She seemed to be fond of one of her servants especially, and I suspected that her husband had not drowned during the sea voyage accidentally, although I never voiced these suspicions.
The English arrived, by land, later that day. Dressed in yellow tunics and using phrases like "I say!" they were apprehended by the city watch. They greeted everyone, though we must have looked shocked indeed. Stuyvesant invited them -- after speaking sternly of how the Dutch and English were friends and they should have just arrived in the harbor, instead of sneaking through the jungle -- to have some tea with him on his patio. I caught the name of one of them - Lord Timothy, who later spoke with Maaike and me. He was polite, for an Englishman, but I did not trust their presence one bit.
I sewed a small heart-shaped pouch in bright red for a gift for Hein de Groot, secretary of the WIC, and bought some herbs and herbal drinks from a indian man. I also repaired the sleeve of a frock coat and sold a doublet to Admiral van Bergen.
I quickly stuffed all the items back into their boxes when it was time for dinner. I had originally written us down at the back table in the first time slot, but one of the large group of jews that had arrived the day previous had requested to switch seats since he would like to share dinner with his family, and they needed the extra chairs. That is why suddenly Maartje, Maaike and Antoinette were seated with the city council. I had hoped to be able to listen in on their conversations about governing the city, but especially monsieur Van Helvoort and monsieur Tell were adamant about not speaking about work. Instead we discussed the weather, the lovely blue skies, the clear waters of the river Hudson and the virtues of parsnip. Especially the virtues of parsnip. To such an extent that I was reminded of the French and their asparagus.
I did compliment madame Ter Borgh, the sheriff, on the excellent job of her helpers. Although Maartje was sitting next to me, this is the kind of diplomacy I once learnt from the Yoshida. Compliment the boss, to get the employee the credit. Maartje later received one gold piece (dubloen) for her work.
And I picked up a piece of gossip, but when I spoke to Henri about it, he said that the French already knew that the Dutch were trying to colonise an island not far from New Amsterdam. The question was: which island...
After dinner I carefully folded all clothing and took the time to wrap up the stock. There was not too much to do, and though I had played a game of checkers with Robert Philippe de Toulouse, he was nowhere to be seen after dinner. During our game we had spoken of his financial situation and I had revealed that if he was willing to perform some simple services for the crown, I could compensate him for his troubles, but the man did not bite. Because he had fallen ill after dinner, I couldn't introduce him to Henri D'Aramitz, but I did say I thought Robert would be a good enough candidate. The other French people there, all women, were too busy with their own affairs to qualify.
I also had a chat with the vicar of the protestant church about Maartje. Maartje and I had gossiped before and she told me the vicar had pressed his knee up to her during dinner, so now she asked me to speak on her behalf. I asked if I could buy the vicar a drink, and I dare say he didn't expect me to talk to him about marriage.
Of course, a young man of his age and station should provide the proper example, and I told him that I was asked by a young lady in her childbearing years and of good station to speak on her behalf. I asked him to think about marriage, and he promised me he would.
Jerome came by and spoke to me later. He had heard about the English coming to town and wanted to assure me that should they attack New Amsterdam, he would help me escape. He would help all the French escape - for the English have as little love for the French as the other way around. I thought it was very thoughtful that he spoke to me personally about this.
I asked Nina how things were progressing, before Stuyvesant would harass me again about the gunpowder, and she said she had to ask Levi for someone who could forge the official seals. Levi wanted money, of course, and I said that should not be too much of a problem. But before Nina could talk to Levi, people were shouting about a fire! There was a fire in the soldier's baracks, and I stayed well away. The city's reserves of gunpowder were stored there, and soon there was a large explosion. One corporal of the watch was injured badly, and the people formed a bucket chain to extinguish the fire. Maaike Eigenzorg took care to treat the corporal, along with Rosalinde, the miller's daughter. Maaike, Maartje and I all had concerns about Rosalinde, who threw propriety to the winds and went on moonlit walks without a chaperon. Now the man she loved and might marry was wounded very badly indeed. I held the girl, rubbing her shoulders and telling her it would be alright, while Maaike and Johanna the chirurgeon/barber cared for the corporal, pulling long wooden splinters from his chest with a pair of pliers.
I left Rosalinde at Maaike's house and went in search of Nina. "I doubt monsieur Stuyvesant will care about the fleur-de-lis now." I said.
"I'll consult IJzerman about it. Let me handle it." Nina said. "I have good connections to the officers of the watch."
She reported back to me, saying that indeed the gunpowder was so valuable now, even the WIC could not object to the French stamp -- after all, the English were around, and Lord Howard, English diplomat, had been thrown from the city gates earlier that day. He was bound to be after revenge.
Nina and I wrapped the gunpowder in individual packages and she had delivered them to captain IJzerman of the watch. She still needed to be paid, and I had promised her a fee for helping her. She thought a quarter mat per package was enough, totalling to 3 mat. I would receive the rest of the sum: 12 mat, or 3 gold coins (dubloenen).
I had taken a bottle of French red wine (Bordeaux) as a gift to Peter Stuyvesant, apologizing for the delay and assuring him that things were taken care of with IJzerman.
If Van Helvoort was a troublesome man before, he was truly on a crusade after the explosion. As puritan he was a very scary person, taking care to tell everybody to button their doublets to the top, cover their heads like proper protestants and be virtuous. He was interrogating Gijs, servant to the comtesse, who might have set the fire. I found the comtesse in the tavern, indignant over the way her servant was treated. I just sat down with Henri to discuss what was going on when a Dutch tradesman came up to me. "Madame Antoinette? Mr. Van Helvoort is ordering you to meet him at your house."
I blanched. "Please excuse me, Henri;" I said, knowing full well that I was one of the people that could profit from the gunpowder explosion; "It seems I must be tortued by Van Helvoort right now."
I was very afraid of what Van Helvoort wanted, because he was such a violent and dominant man and there was nobody that would stand up for me. When I came to my house, Van Helvoort ordered me to open the door. "I need to use your house to interrogate a prisoner!" he said brusquely.
"I shall cover up my wares first." I replied shyly. "I do not want bloodspatter on the clothes."
I covered up the things on my desk, and took my smallest chest along, knowing full well that what was in it would incriminate me to no end. I did not want Van Helvoort to see what was in it.
When I ducked outside, I avoided looking at the prisoner. It was dark, and I didn't want to know who it was. I just told Van Helvoort that I would appreciate it if he could send someone to tell me when he was done, so I could lock my door. I took the small chest along to the bar, and gulped down my wine to settle my nerves. To this day, I have no idea who the poor soul was that was interrogated, and the room was still quite clean when I returned, but of course I can tell you that I started quite a few rumours about it.
Sunday
The first thing I did on Sunday, after having a cup of coffee, was visit the mass. It is the only time I can visit the shady pub at the end of the street for a legitimate reason, because Stuyvesant does not allow the catholics to build their own church. Still, the protestant service is usually held in a field, so at least we had a roof over our head.
After the service, I spoke to our the pastor. He always has the time on Sundays to hear our confessions, and I was feeling troubled about what had happened the night previous. I spoke to him about how Van Helvoort had ordered me to open my house, and how I had dared not deny him acces.
"I feared he would become violent, but I am also in doubt, that I should have protested more." I said. But Johannes (the pastor) told me there was nothing I could have done differently. "Mister Van Helvoort is a violent man, and he could have made your life a lot more difficult. If you had had a husband that could have stood up for you, it would be a different matter, but you are unmarried, and as such alone."
"I admit I do miss my husband terribly in these cases." I replied. "But there is no suitable man in New Amsterdam I could marry! Maartje and Maaike said I should marry monsieur Robert, but he is penniless and I doubt his father would agree on such a poor match. I would have to provide for him for at least another year, but if his father refuses to help his son..."
"It would be an imprudent match." said the pastor. "Mr O'Connor, the Irishman, is also looking for a wife. He is a fisherman by trade, and a devout catholic."
I told the pastor I would prefer a French husband, and that I didn't know mr. O'Connor. Our conversation ended there. Of course Maaike and Maartje were convinced I should marry the chevalier, but Rosalinde was quite right. When someone said it wasn't an even match, the girl replied that the dandy couldn't help it that he had only just arrived while I already ran a successful business for several years.
And so I sat down with mr. Robert to play a game of chess, Nina's debt momentarily forgotten, to see if we could talk. Maartje joined us, and watched the game as the chevalier slaughtered my pieces one by one, a brilliant tactician except for the fact that it might have been more prudent to let me win. But there was no more time to talk of services to the crown, or marriage for that matter, and the game was played.
I had a great time at Puerto. Not too busy, lovely historical roleplay, brilliant costume and set parts. We helped break everything down and Bianca gave my stuff a ride home.
I didn't have time to write about the corporal's miraculous recovery, nor of Moos the jew's crushed hand that was healed overnight. I did request a suitable French catholic husband with the GM's, so who knows what next year's Puerto will bring!
It is New Amsterdam, the year is 1666, and Peter Stuyvesant is the director-general (governor) of this lovely town...
Dramatis Personae
Antoinette Fermier - a French businesswoman (widowed), played by me;
Peter Stuyvesant - Dutch Governor of New Amsterdam, appointed by the WIC, played by Johan A.;
Robert Philippe de Toulouse - a French chevalier, played by
cabaray;Henri D'Aramitz - a French ex-musketeer, played by The Admiral;
Jerome - a Frenchman, played by Renz;
Nina - a French courtisane, played by Sonja;
Maartje van der Plas - a Dutch woman, rakker van de schout, played by Willemijn;
Van Helvoort - a puritan from Zeeland, played by Aike;
Friday
In my briefing were two additional pieces of information that would provide me with (a lot of) play. The second spoke of an old friend of mine from Paris who might drop in from Tortuga. But first and foremost was the shipment of gunpowder that had arrived from France. These all bore the fleur-de-lis - a french signature that would prohibit me from selling the gunpowder at market, since the WIC controls all trading. So I needed some help -- but where to find someone who could help me forge the stamp.
In the end, I asked Nina, the French courtisane, for help. She could probaly find someone, since she frequents the shady pub at the end of the street where I can't show my face. I'm a reputable businesswoman, so I can't go there, it would be bad for business.
Mr. Stuyvesant approached me after night had fallen. He limped over to me and I walked up to him since he spoke my name. "Antoinette," he rumbled, "is there any news concerning the trade?"
"Yes monsieur!" I squeaked, trying to stall. "I'm working on it, but it's not coming along very quickly. I'll keep you posted."
"Time is of the essence, Antoinette." Stuyvesant chided me.
"Yes monsieur!" I fled. Stuyvesant, assigned by the WIC, was taking a risk in talking to me so publicly, but the street was nearly empty and hardly anyone noticed. He was also a very troubled man, grumpy and very rigid in his way of thinking. A true Dutchman.
Not long after my encounter with Stuyvesant did I ask Nina for her help. She promised to look around for me. I went back to my home and was surprised when suddenly one of the indians stepped into my house. I had seen them in the harbour, trading their furs and trinkets, but I wouldn't approach the red man if I could avoid it. Now this woman entered my home unasked.
"You are a very tough woman to get a hold of." she said. Her black braids swayed as she closed the door behind her. I sank down behind my desk; the house was tiny and nearly completely full with the two of us.
She introduced herself, Chinook was her name, and spoke of having similar interests to mine, and I realised that she wasn't talking about us both being traders. Apparantly, someone had been speaking to the local population about serving my beloved mother France. But she did not utter the words I needed to hear to be sure of myself.
"Is there any way you can assure me that you are who you say you are?" I asked. Only then did she reply with the code phrase I wanted to hear. I was no longer afraid of her, though my trust would only go so far.
When Chinook left again, I turned the lantern down so her face would be clouded in shadows, but nothing escapes Peter Stuyvesant's eagle eyes. As I locked my door, he called out to me, limping over on his stick. "Why was that indian in your house?" he asked, frowning at me with a stern look of disapproval.
"I don't know!" I squeaked. "She startled me when she just stepped inside like that!"
"What did she want?" he hummed.
"She wanted to trade furs, but I was so afraid, I didn't know what to say. Luckily she left when I asked her to."
I doubted Stuyvesant believed my story, and he still looked chagrined, but then I could excuse myself and walked towards the tavern "Het wapen van Amsterdam". Chinook would not be my last visitor for the evening though, because I ran into Henri D'Aramitz, an old friend of mine from Paris as well as a most trusted colleague. He was a striking appearance in the tavern, although he hardly stood out in his black attire. His one good brown eye flashed around the room, the eyepatch over his left eye of a rough tan leather. He wore a large cross around his neck over his frilled blouse. One of the sherriff's helpers (de rakker van de schout) noticed this and walked over to our table. "Sir, please put away that catholic extravagancy. It is not allowed here." His gaze travelled to my (considerably French) cleavage and a similar necklace. "In your case, madam, you can hardly cover it with your doublet, but please try."
I smiled, and though Henri pretended to put away the cross, he left it dangling over his blouse. After a glass of red wine, he joined me at my house, where we could talk in privacy. He ordered me to find a new agent, loyal to the king of France. Money would not be an issue. And Henri handed me a considerable sum of money for Jean-Patrique, for services rendered to the crown.
I slept poorly, because it was such an exciting evening and mr. Stuyvesant really was quite strict with me. But I slept at home and could shower in the morning before going back to the terrain.
Saturday
Hardly anyone was up yet, but there were some people walking around the harbour and having breakfast, so I ducked into the bathrooms and donned my headwear, doffing my coat and purse. I had dressed at home, my corset working well enough so I could ride my bicycle if I didn't go too fast.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and started building my stall for the market that day. We'd brought two large boxes of goods, patterns and silly hats, as well as a large foldable table and a clothes rack. I also had a craft project: my weaving, but I hardly got around to it.
My neighbour from across the street, Maaike Eigenzorg, who helps out wounded and injured people, came to see me in the morning, expressing her interest in the wooden heddle that makes weaving easy (her interest was part out character, because she knew tablet weaving and is a re-enactor). I had several visitors, including Lisse, Jean-Patrique's new wife, and a French chevalier, Robert Philippe de Toulouse, who bought a share in the city's theatre that still needed to be built. I watched the street until lunch, noticing the visitors to Levi the jew's pawn shop across the street even though it was the Sabbat.
There was a problem with rats, though. Several people had blue-black spots on their arms that itched like mad, and people thought it was the plague. Luckily this could be contained before a larger break-out and all rats were burned.
Lunch was wonderful, bread with herring or salmon, cheese or Italian sausage. Fresh fruit was available too, and Joris Voetlicht, the theatre producer, would perform his latest play "The Dutchman" in the market square during lunch. The play was promising, with several people performing while Joris read the text of the play to us. Before the play was finished, there was a shocking event: Joris was shot dead from behind by a bystander, who ran towards the city gates to get away. Luckily Maartje van der Plas, one of the sherriff's helpers, literally threw herself in front of him to stop him from getting away, and the man was beaten to death and then hung from the neck at the gallows. In that order.
Chevalier de Toulouse introduced me to Comtesse Madelaine, another Frenchwoman who had recently lost her husband while making the crossing to the New World, but I was appalled at her servants who spoke up and used her first name, and that the Comtesse allowed this. She seemed to be fond of one of her servants especially, and I suspected that her husband had not drowned during the sea voyage accidentally, although I never voiced these suspicions.
The English arrived, by land, later that day. Dressed in yellow tunics and using phrases like "I say!" they were apprehended by the city watch. They greeted everyone, though we must have looked shocked indeed. Stuyvesant invited them -- after speaking sternly of how the Dutch and English were friends and they should have just arrived in the harbor, instead of sneaking through the jungle -- to have some tea with him on his patio. I caught the name of one of them - Lord Timothy, who later spoke with Maaike and me. He was polite, for an Englishman, but I did not trust their presence one bit.
I sewed a small heart-shaped pouch in bright red for a gift for Hein de Groot, secretary of the WIC, and bought some herbs and herbal drinks from a indian man. I also repaired the sleeve of a frock coat and sold a doublet to Admiral van Bergen.
I quickly stuffed all the items back into their boxes when it was time for dinner. I had originally written us down at the back table in the first time slot, but one of the large group of jews that had arrived the day previous had requested to switch seats since he would like to share dinner with his family, and they needed the extra chairs. That is why suddenly Maartje, Maaike and Antoinette were seated with the city council. I had hoped to be able to listen in on their conversations about governing the city, but especially monsieur Van Helvoort and monsieur Tell were adamant about not speaking about work. Instead we discussed the weather, the lovely blue skies, the clear waters of the river Hudson and the virtues of parsnip. Especially the virtues of parsnip. To such an extent that I was reminded of the French and their asparagus.
I did compliment madame Ter Borgh, the sheriff, on the excellent job of her helpers. Although Maartje was sitting next to me, this is the kind of diplomacy I once learnt from the Yoshida. Compliment the boss, to get the employee the credit. Maartje later received one gold piece (dubloen) for her work.
And I picked up a piece of gossip, but when I spoke to Henri about it, he said that the French already knew that the Dutch were trying to colonise an island not far from New Amsterdam. The question was: which island...
After dinner I carefully folded all clothing and took the time to wrap up the stock. There was not too much to do, and though I had played a game of checkers with Robert Philippe de Toulouse, he was nowhere to be seen after dinner. During our game we had spoken of his financial situation and I had revealed that if he was willing to perform some simple services for the crown, I could compensate him for his troubles, but the man did not bite. Because he had fallen ill after dinner, I couldn't introduce him to Henri D'Aramitz, but I did say I thought Robert would be a good enough candidate. The other French people there, all women, were too busy with their own affairs to qualify.
I also had a chat with the vicar of the protestant church about Maartje. Maartje and I had gossiped before and she told me the vicar had pressed his knee up to her during dinner, so now she asked me to speak on her behalf. I asked if I could buy the vicar a drink, and I dare say he didn't expect me to talk to him about marriage.
Of course, a young man of his age and station should provide the proper example, and I told him that I was asked by a young lady in her childbearing years and of good station to speak on her behalf. I asked him to think about marriage, and he promised me he would.
Jerome came by and spoke to me later. He had heard about the English coming to town and wanted to assure me that should they attack New Amsterdam, he would help me escape. He would help all the French escape - for the English have as little love for the French as the other way around. I thought it was very thoughtful that he spoke to me personally about this.
I asked Nina how things were progressing, before Stuyvesant would harass me again about the gunpowder, and she said she had to ask Levi for someone who could forge the official seals. Levi wanted money, of course, and I said that should not be too much of a problem. But before Nina could talk to Levi, people were shouting about a fire! There was a fire in the soldier's baracks, and I stayed well away. The city's reserves of gunpowder were stored there, and soon there was a large explosion. One corporal of the watch was injured badly, and the people formed a bucket chain to extinguish the fire. Maaike Eigenzorg took care to treat the corporal, along with Rosalinde, the miller's daughter. Maaike, Maartje and I all had concerns about Rosalinde, who threw propriety to the winds and went on moonlit walks without a chaperon. Now the man she loved and might marry was wounded very badly indeed. I held the girl, rubbing her shoulders and telling her it would be alright, while Maaike and Johanna the chirurgeon/barber cared for the corporal, pulling long wooden splinters from his chest with a pair of pliers.
I left Rosalinde at Maaike's house and went in search of Nina. "I doubt monsieur Stuyvesant will care about the fleur-de-lis now." I said.
"I'll consult IJzerman about it. Let me handle it." Nina said. "I have good connections to the officers of the watch."
She reported back to me, saying that indeed the gunpowder was so valuable now, even the WIC could not object to the French stamp -- after all, the English were around, and Lord Howard, English diplomat, had been thrown from the city gates earlier that day. He was bound to be after revenge.
Nina and I wrapped the gunpowder in individual packages and she had delivered them to captain IJzerman of the watch. She still needed to be paid, and I had promised her a fee for helping her. She thought a quarter mat per package was enough, totalling to 3 mat. I would receive the rest of the sum: 12 mat, or 3 gold coins (dubloenen).
I had taken a bottle of French red wine (Bordeaux) as a gift to Peter Stuyvesant, apologizing for the delay and assuring him that things were taken care of with IJzerman.
If Van Helvoort was a troublesome man before, he was truly on a crusade after the explosion. As puritan he was a very scary person, taking care to tell everybody to button their doublets to the top, cover their heads like proper protestants and be virtuous. He was interrogating Gijs, servant to the comtesse, who might have set the fire. I found the comtesse in the tavern, indignant over the way her servant was treated. I just sat down with Henri to discuss what was going on when a Dutch tradesman came up to me. "Madame Antoinette? Mr. Van Helvoort is ordering you to meet him at your house."
I blanched. "Please excuse me, Henri;" I said, knowing full well that I was one of the people that could profit from the gunpowder explosion; "It seems I must be tortued by Van Helvoort right now."
I was very afraid of what Van Helvoort wanted, because he was such a violent and dominant man and there was nobody that would stand up for me. When I came to my house, Van Helvoort ordered me to open the door. "I need to use your house to interrogate a prisoner!" he said brusquely.
"I shall cover up my wares first." I replied shyly. "I do not want bloodspatter on the clothes."
I covered up the things on my desk, and took my smallest chest along, knowing full well that what was in it would incriminate me to no end. I did not want Van Helvoort to see what was in it.
When I ducked outside, I avoided looking at the prisoner. It was dark, and I didn't want to know who it was. I just told Van Helvoort that I would appreciate it if he could send someone to tell me when he was done, so I could lock my door. I took the small chest along to the bar, and gulped down my wine to settle my nerves. To this day, I have no idea who the poor soul was that was interrogated, and the room was still quite clean when I returned, but of course I can tell you that I started quite a few rumours about it.
Sunday
The first thing I did on Sunday, after having a cup of coffee, was visit the mass. It is the only time I can visit the shady pub at the end of the street for a legitimate reason, because Stuyvesant does not allow the catholics to build their own church. Still, the protestant service is usually held in a field, so at least we had a roof over our head.
After the service, I spoke to our the pastor. He always has the time on Sundays to hear our confessions, and I was feeling troubled about what had happened the night previous. I spoke to him about how Van Helvoort had ordered me to open my house, and how I had dared not deny him acces.
"I feared he would become violent, but I am also in doubt, that I should have protested more." I said. But Johannes (the pastor) told me there was nothing I could have done differently. "Mister Van Helvoort is a violent man, and he could have made your life a lot more difficult. If you had had a husband that could have stood up for you, it would be a different matter, but you are unmarried, and as such alone."
"I admit I do miss my husband terribly in these cases." I replied. "But there is no suitable man in New Amsterdam I could marry! Maartje and Maaike said I should marry monsieur Robert, but he is penniless and I doubt his father would agree on such a poor match. I would have to provide for him for at least another year, but if his father refuses to help his son..."
"It would be an imprudent match." said the pastor. "Mr O'Connor, the Irishman, is also looking for a wife. He is a fisherman by trade, and a devout catholic."
I told the pastor I would prefer a French husband, and that I didn't know mr. O'Connor. Our conversation ended there. Of course Maaike and Maartje were convinced I should marry the chevalier, but Rosalinde was quite right. When someone said it wasn't an even match, the girl replied that the dandy couldn't help it that he had only just arrived while I already ran a successful business for several years.
And so I sat down with mr. Robert to play a game of chess, Nina's debt momentarily forgotten, to see if we could talk. Maartje joined us, and watched the game as the chevalier slaughtered my pieces one by one, a brilliant tactician except for the fact that it might have been more prudent to let me win. But there was no more time to talk of services to the crown, or marriage for that matter, and the game was played.
I had a great time at Puerto. Not too busy, lovely historical roleplay, brilliant costume and set parts. We helped break everything down and Bianca gave my stuff a ride home.
I didn't have time to write about the corporal's miraculous recovery, nor of Moos the jew's crushed hand that was healed overnight. I did request a suitable French catholic husband with the GM's, so who knows what next year's Puerto will bring!
