If you were walking the streets of Calais that night, you would have overwhelmed by the stygian darkness. The darkness swirled, tumbling through the empty streets. You would have seen the sudden brief flashes of lightning in the stormy sky. The thunder permeated every building, rumbling with unrestrained power. The blackness was absolute, consuming each flickering light until only one small trembling light gasped for breath. This emanated from a small ground floor window in a massive manor on the outskirts of the sprawling coastal city. If you had been there you would have seen the black carriage rolling down an unlit road, swift and silent . . .

Rain pattered on a brightly lit, tinted window. This solitary, twinkling light was alone the darkest, stormiest night anyone could remember. Indoors, it shone down on an ancient oak desk. The desk was so full of papers it almost hid the small, blue eyed man behind it.
To the left of the desk was a small brass shelf hanging from the roof on thin chains. It was from this that the light emanated. There was a thick golden candle letting its strong light in every direction. On the other side of the desk there was a tall bookshelf. Each layer sagging with the weight of the thick nautical volumes that were stacked high everywhere in the room.

The room had a warm comfortable feeling. Anyone who walked in, as many did, immediately felt welcome. Right behind the gargantuan desk was the small window. The door, a mere five feet in front of the main furniture was the only exit. To the right and left of this almost unnoticeable door were two large, red velvet armchairs. The walls reflected the rustic feel of the hardwood roof and a thick grey carpet coated the floor of the tiny room.

A short while later as Jonathan Smith was preparing to put out the light and go to bed, (he hoped his visiting sister had already done this) he heard a loud pounding on the Manors giant front door. There were three wet men dripping on the spacious porch by the huge oak entrance. The man in front was heavily armed and his bald head displayed many strange symbols. A huge scarred giant, missing one ear, stood behind the leader. The third man was tiny but was very hairy and appeared to have a tail. Step a little closer and you might find that he really did have a tail, even further and your eyes would display the truth, although the third creature looked very like a small man, he was really a monkey. (The other two didn’t seem to notice that he was there, we seem to be the only ones who have seen him so far) The leader pounded on the door once again. (He had been pounding quite a bit while I was describing his companions to you, the butler was very sleepy and slept through it all, you see) As before there was no answer. He lazily jerked a revolver from his belt and shot out the lock. The big man responded quickly and charged the door. The door was smashed like matchwood and both the leader and the giant stepped inside. When the two men stepped into the monstrous entrance hall, they did not stand in awe, as most would (Considering the luscious interior) but continued on down a dark quiet hallway. (The monkey had not followed because he had skimmed up to a second floor window and disappeared only a few moments earlier) Now we must go back and see how Jonathan was handling the strange commotion. Jonathan had been standing quietly tidying up his desk when the first knock came. He thought nothing of it, people often visited late in the evening. Then the knock came again and he wondered what his doorman was doing. At this point he was standing very still, wondering what would happen. By the time the shot was heard, Jonathan had reached under his desk to grab the hidden revolver. A moment later, footsteps rang out in the hallway. He anxiously aimed his small gun toward the unlocked door, just as it burst open. Before Jonathan could move, he was pinned to the wall with a knife against his throat. Jonathan was probably the most frightened man in all of Europe at that moment. He was a rather fainthearted fellow and this really was too much. He tried as hard as he could to appear impassive and slowly asked what they wanted. The response was immediately barked out with a strange accent and many rude words. They wanted the rights to all of his twelve trading and fighting ships. These men were not very merciful; they would kill him if he didn’t comply. Jonathan gulped, carefully lifting the revolver up. “Well now . . . that is to say . . . I suppose,” Jonathan stumbled for words. Just then, a slim figure burst through the door and pinned the tattooed man to the desk. Carefully she jabbed the knife into the table pinning the man’s sleeve down. In the same motion she whipped a long, thin saber out and held it to the big fellows’ throat. Once she stopped moving you could catch what she looked like. She was Jonathan’s younger sister, Rosetta. She had shoulder length red hair and a scar ran down the side of her face. A monkey sat on her shoulder and screeched. The tattooed man stuttered as he begged to know what she wanted. Jonathan couldn’t help but laugh, only moments before he had been begging for mercy and now his opponents had taken his place. Rosetta laughed too, “I should think its obvious, what I want you to do, leave and leave fast.” They couldn’t have been happier, before they ran off, the big man threatened her harshly, but it wasn’t long before they ran out the door. Jonathan thanked her profusely but told her that he had had it under control. Rosetta laughed again. She knew, just as we do, that he had been as helpless as a puppy. As the two siblings cleaned up Jonathan’s manor, Rosetta explained to him that the two men were Spanish assassins hired by a band of pirates that were ravaging the Portuguese shore. A short while later Jonathan went to bed as Rosetta finished repairing the front door. The house was once more calm.