The Black Knight of Ashfern

Chapter 1

Who was this chit that she could look upon his face without fear or disgust? As quickly as the question surfaced, he pushed it aside. Why should he care who some penniless girl was? He was no charity for beggars. He scorned and despised the lot. Nothing more than lazy drunkards who leeched off those who would work for their supper. She was likely no different. Seeking to wake a fool and be rewarded for a task the next of high tide would have done, though he would be a great deal less dry than he presently was. Mayhap, she did fear him, which was why she had not leered at him upon his waking or broached the subject of a reward for her deed.

Bah! What did he care if some girl did or did not fear him? He was Sir William Horton, the Black Knight of Ashfern. Better to have them fear his wrath than come to him begging. With that, William nodded curtly and left the beach. It was late in the afternoon, and he had business in town to tend to.

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William reached his office in little time, his already sour mood spurring his rapid pace as he flung open the door to his clerk's office. A single room filled with cabinets filled with papers, upon which were written the various contracts, cargo manifests, and other such documents that made up his shipping business. Entering William's gaze, he easily found the plump, dark-haired man who maintained William's business affairs with the same level of competence with which William ran his ships.

"There had better be a damned good reason for calling me, Geralds." William barked as he glared down at his clerk. Watching with silent satisfaction as the man jumped from his seat at the sight of his incensed employer. "As I recall, I left you exact instructions that I was not to be bothered unless the matter had to do with one of my ships. Now, has one of them sunk?" William queried, waiting but a moment for his clerk's silent reply as he shook his head from side to side. "Been lost at sea?" he asked, his glare intensifying as again Geralds shook his head. "Stolen by pirates?" Yet another fearful shake. "Then why in God's name am I here!" William snarled, taking a threatening step forward, causing his poor clerk to jump back and fall to the floor in fright.

"Mr. Billings is refusing to pay his bill. He claims Captain Penns changed the manifest and sold over half his cargo. He demands we refund his losses and not charge him for the goods we've already brought," Geralds stammered quickly, staring up at William, only just able to speak to the man who now stared murderously at the wall before him.

"Where is Billings now?" William growled, his eyes remaining on the wall as he spoke, his mind working its dark musing into a straight, vengeful plan of swift and unforgettable action.

"The docks, Sir. He's called in some local ruffians and is refusing to let anyone board the ship until this matter has been settled," Geralds answered without hesitation.

"Has he now," William smirked, his mind running through who Mr. Billings could have summoned to his aid and finding there was not a name on his list he could not buy over. "Find Billing's contract and the cargo list he submitted before the Clara Bella left port. And take the usual amount from the vault," William ordered, then stormed out as suddenly as he'd stormed in.

With a tired sigh, Geralds shook himself from his terror long enough to get to his feet, grab his coat and hat, and a folder that already contained the information and money he knew his employer would demand. This was not the first time a customer had made such accusations of those under Sir William's employ. Nor was it the first time such actions had been taken against him in such an underhanded manner.

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Captain Penns, a sailor of some thirty years, stood tall and bored, leaning against the cold stone of a nearby building. A pipe-puffing languidly in his hand as he waited, along with a great many of his crew, for the swift and furious appearance of their patron. A number of his crew had already begun to place bets on how Sir William would deal with the less-than-impressive Mr. Billings. A gangly gentleman of fifty or so years, who stood pompously grinning like a pampered cat in his gaudy yellow and green damask silk coat and hat.