Cycle One | A Noble Heist

“When others perceive mere blackness and silence, a good Nightwatchman can see and hear in the dark. ”

I have never thought of myself as a paranoid person. I grew up around conspiracy theorists and apocalyptic preppers, but I trusted people. I believed the people in my life would generally do whatever was right. That was naive. The most dangerous people are those who believe they are doing the noble thing. Today is the first time I have looked over my shoulder, preparing for the worst from people who are doing what they are convinced is right. In the words of Captain Barbosa, "You best start believin' in [conspiracy theories, Mr. Narrator], you're in one." 

There are few in our society who believe this history should be inscribed and copied, so it is preserved for the ages. There are many who would sooner kill me than risk exposure. However, I could not live with myself knowing that this story, and the memories of these brave men and women could die with me, if I did not at least attempt to put it on paper. If you are reading this, you are already part of the revolution. 

As I write, the coffee shop is abuzz with town gossip, espresso shots, and steamed milk. The town is returning from its snow day. The roadways are clear, but the hills and ridges remain blanketed in white. Snow comforts me and helps me forget why I am writing from here. I am hiding in plain sight. There is safety in numbers. The same fear of exposure that threatens my life, preserves it.  

The people here have no idea I am in danger. They smile and nod. I nod in kind. It seems surreal, but if my father taught me anything about conspiracies, it's that the best ones are taking place right under your nose, and you have no idea. 

This is The Anchor: The Definitive History of the B.C.S: 

*** 

When others perceive mere blackness and silence, a good Nightwatchman can see and hear in the dark. The Nightwatchman of the Servorum ad Libertatem was long aware of the ship's secret third watch council meetings between the Admiral, the Captain, and the Seafarer. Ordinarily, he paid little attention to their hushed whispers, but under that night’s full moon, an unusual parchment caught his eye. Even from the crow’s nest, the Nightwatchman recognized the scroll the Admiral unrolled was a map of the Casa Robusta Company’s fortress. Whether the plans they made were noble or sinister, very few people on earth had access to the layout of those facilities.  

Without making a sound, the Nightwatchman slipped down the ladder and positioned himself to better hear the conversation.  

"It is imperative you are not discovered," said the Admiral to the Seafarer.  

"They will never know I was there," said the Seafarer, the infiltrating moonlight revealed a sly, confident grin. 

"They cannot know you were there," The grizzled naval general was not amused. 

"It will work," said the Captain flatly, "We should get some rest." 

The men stood to retire to their respective quarters. The Nightwatchman returned to his post, unseen.  

*** 

The sun slipped behind the cliffs as the Servorum ad Libertatem made port. Even in the quickening twilight, the crewman stood in awe, many having never seen the Casa Robusta Company's headquarters. 

On top of the rocky shoreline, there stood a magnificent castle. A long walkway led from the docks, through the castle walls to the massive stone structure he saw inside. Tall, narrow windows peppered the sides of the building. The Nightwatchman could see deep corridors through the great arched doorways. The height of the fortress was impressive, towers touching the sky. From atop the towers, the C.R.C flags were waving in the sea breeze.  

"Ready for port!" shouted the Captain, snapping the sailors out of their trances. The crew tossed ropes below to the C.R.C. laborers. Once the ship was secured, they began unloading cargo consisting of spices, livestock, and gold from the Americas. The Americans loved coffee and paid a premium for it. They knew the price was too high, but what could they do? C.R.C. was their exclusive coffee supplier, as it was for the rest of the known world.  

The Nightwatchman climbed into the crow's nest for his shift. Amidst the shuffling and shouting, he listened intently as Duke Amadeo greeted the Admiral and Captain on the docks.  

"Mi amigos, it is so good to see you," he said, "I do not normally greet guests here, but I told my men to alert me to your arrival."  

"It is good to see you as well," said the Admiral. The Nightwatchman could see anger flare in his usually steady eyes.  

"This is my Captain." 

"You have built a fine company here," said the Captain. 

"God has blessed us," said the Duke, "Come, won't you eat with us?" The Duke motioned to his private quarters.  

"We would be honored," said the Captain. The Admiral politely nodded. 

This must be part of the plan, the Nightwatchman thought to himself. While the crew unloaded the shipment, and joined the C.R.C. laborers to retrieve several hundred crates of coffee, the Nightwatchman crept into the control room to examine the map. If he was going to help, or be caught up in someone else's risky thievery, he wanted to know from where fire would fall.  

It was after midnight when the Captain and Admiral finally departed from the Duke’s home. Escorted by two guards, they started down the tall steps toward the long walkway leading to the docks, but the unmistakable clang of swords drew their attention to the action below. Before the guards could react, the Admiral threw an unblocked heavy right hook to the man on his right. He tumbled down four or five steps, unconscious. The Captain disposed of the second guard in the same manner, and the two sprinted down the steps toward the disturbance. 

The seafarer brilliantly held off three C.R.C. guards. He ducked and dodged their swords as he flashed his own. He swept the legs of one, ducked and swung his sword at the stomach of the next. The man's armor absorbed the blow, though the wind was knocked from him. As he stumbled backward, the third man kicked the Seafarer in the back. He fell on his face, but rolled to the side, narrowly dodging the man's sword. Sparks scattered as the guard's blade struck the stone. The Seafarer sprung to his feet, but the cocking of a pistol left him frozen in place. The guard pressed the barrel to his temple. Before he could decide whether to pretend to surrender or just swing his sword for the guard’s foot, a shot rang out and the guard screamed in pain.  

The Admiral and Captain emerged from the dark corridor, pistols drawn. The wounded guard clutched his shoulder. The Seafarer spun around and socked him in the cheek. He crumpled to the ground unconscious. The Captain dropped his empty weapon and unsheathed his sword. The Admiral fired his pistol, wounding a second guard. Before the man could reach for his weapon, the Admiral was on him, bashing his head with the stock of his gun. Suddenly outnumbered, the third man retreated down the hall, blowing the warning horn.  

"Run!" shouted the Admiral.  

"Take this and go!" shouted the Seafarer. As he tried to hand the prize to the Admiral, it was clear to the group he was injured and bleeding from his leg. "Leave me. I'll be alright," he grimaced and forced a reassuring smile. 

"Keep it. Come on," said the Captain, helping the Seafarer. 

There was no more time to protest. The men ran as fast as they could, but the C.R.C. soldiers flooded from open gates, spilling into the corridor in full sprint. Five men led the rest by twenty paces, threatening to overtake the three well before they reached the ship. If they had turned to fight, they would have been sitting ducks.  

"You have to go!" shouted the Seafarer again, but before the Captain and Admiral could protest, two arrows flew over their heads in quick succession. They ducked after the fact. The Admiral thought it strange that the arrows came from between their position and the ship. Assuming the arrows were meant for them, he wondered if they had forgotten to account for other guards. He spun around to see the arrows had indeed found their targets. Two of the five closest pursuers screamed in pain, clutching wounded legs. The other three stopped in their tracks, frantically searching the cliffs with their eyes. Another arrow struck the arm of a third man.  

"Go!" shouted a voice from above, presumably the shooter. The three men started again, but the crowd drew closer. Meanwhile, gates above were flung open, archers and cannons filling the voids. The friendly archer continued to fire arrows toward the pursuers, but a single shooter could not have stopped the company.  

"Break your lamps!" shouted the mysterious archer. Without hesitation, the Admiral and Captain broke their lamps on the stone walkway, spilling the oil. A large tree from the cliff above crashed onto the path just behind the men. The front line of soldiers reeled. A second tree fell behind it, completely blocking the path.  

"Move!" shouted the archer. The men started toward the ship again. The archer sent flaming arrows toward the felled trees. The lamp oil ignited, quickly spreading to the dry leaves and bark. Like waves crashing on the shore, the pursuing soldiers stopped and fell back into one another, trying to avoid the flames and smoke. Coughing rang out through the man-made canyon as the front lines pushed the men behind them back to the fortress.  

The three men boarded the ship. The captain shouted, "Go! Prepare to sail!" Crewmen jumped to the docks to untie the ropes. 

"Cut them! Now!" The ropes were cut. The Admiral raised the gates even as the crew scurried back on board. A cloaked figure, clutching a bow, hopped over the growing chasm to board the ship. Despite the chaos, he was met with pistols pointed at his skull. He dropped his bow and casually drew back his cloak.  

"Nightwatchman?" said the Captain, puzzled. A smile crept over the hero's face.  

"You can thank me later," he said, "We've work to do." The Nightwatchman grabbed his bow and made his way to his post. The crew below took their oars. The deck crew raised and unfurled the sails. The ship gained momentum, but a loud horn rang throughout the cove.  

"Get down!" shouted the Captain.  

Crewmen hit the deck just in time as cannons rained down, battering the ship. The vessel groaned in pain. Wood splintered and debris exploded in every direction. The rowers below cried out as fire from shore sent cannonballs through the side of the ship. While the fortress reloaded, the brief silence was broken by fiery arrows falling cliffs above. The crewmen took cover wherever they could find it. Flaming arrows peppered the ship, igniting several small fires.  

"Shall we take arms, Captain?" asked a crewman, either from a place of courage or desperate self-preservation. 

"No, we need to make speed. Lose the coffee!" 

The crew hesitated. "Now!" he ordered. 

The crew below tossed numerous crates of Casa Robusta coffee into the cargo net, hoisting it to the deck.  

"Toss these overboard," demanded the Admiral. Turning to two men, he said, "Douse these fires."  

The two men grabbed barrels of drinking water and began putting out the flames. The remaining deck crew threw boxes into the bay. The horn blew again, and the Nightwatchman could see the cannon fuses being lit.  

"Take cover!" he called below.  

Some crewmen jumped down through the cargo hole. Others hit the deck and covered their heads. Cannon balls pierced the sides and rails of the ship. One lodged into the main mast. Another struck the crow’s nest. The Nightwatchman leapt over the side, hanging by one hand from the rail. He scrambled back into position and sent an arrow in the general direction of the attackers. By the time the horn rang out the third time, the damaged ship had picked up speed and distance so that the cannon balls fell harmlessly into the bay. The sound of cannon blasts faded, replaced by the groans of the injured crewmen.  

*** 

Somehow, no men lost their lives. Most of the injuries were cuts and abrasions. One man's arm was broken when a cannon ball struck his oar. Another man's face was pierced with wooden splinters and glass when he pushed his fellow crewman out of the way from an exploding oil lamp. He joked that his wife would be grateful for his improved appearance. The Nightwatchman waited till the cabin was clear to tend to the Seafarer's injured leg. 

"Here, drink up," he said, handing a bottle of rum to the Seafarer. 

"Ah, I'm alright, but any excuse to drink at sunrise, right?" The sun’s rays heralded its arrival as the blueberry sky faded to rosé wine. As every sailor learns, dawn knows no war or strife. Even in battle, the sun rises and falls just the same. She was a welcome sight to the weary sailors. 

"Seems you're hitting the hard stuff," said the Seafarer nodding to the bottle of whiskey in the Nightwatchman's hand. 

"Oh, that's not for me," he smirked as he poured it over the other man's open blade wound. 

"Yow! No warning?" 

"Ha!"  

He began to stitch the wound. It was not too deep. The Seafarer winced, but tried to hide it. 

"So, you're quite the marksman," said the Seafarer.  

"You're quite the swordsman" 

"How did you...well...know...?" 

"It's hard to hide secret plans from the man who gets paid to see in the dark,"  

"What do you know?” 

"I know you all need a good marksman," said the Nightwatchman, glancing curiously at the Seafarer's chest, where he knew the prized object was hidden. 

"I suppose you want to know what all this is about," said the Admiral, approaching from behind the men. 

"I think he's earned it," said the Captain, joining the group, "But Nightwatchman, if we tell you, your life will henceforth be at constant risk of death." 

"Even death at our hands should you breathe a word of this to anyone," said the Admiral.  

The Nightwatchman took a deep breath. The Admiral nodded to the Seafarer. The Seafarer opened his cloak to reveal the object.  

"Of course, this probably raises more questions than answers," said the Admiral, a sly smile crept across his grizzled face.