TEMPORAL AGENT by Michel Poulin - HTML preview

“I’d rather be a woman: men have weaknesses.” She replied, making Niotsaeton stare questioningly at her while still trying to overpower her.

“What weaknesses?”

“First of, they have testicles.” answered Nancy just before kneeing the warrior hard in the groin. The Iroquois grimaced with pain but didn’t fall down. Nancy then rolled backward while still holding to him, planting her right foot in his belly and projecting Niotsaeton through the air and over her. The warrior fell hard head-down against a tree and slipped to the ground, half stunned and grunting with pain. One swing of Nancy’s

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axe projected Niotsaeton’s axe out of his reach, following which he found himself on his back in the grass, a pistol pressed against his forehead. Nancy took a fraction of a second then to check visually on Ononkapis. Seeing that her Algonquin friend had killed his opponent, she looked back down at the Iroquois.

“You have a choice, Niotsaeton: you can either die right now or vow that you will never come back to Ville-Marie or attack the French. In the second case, I will allow you to leave with one of your wounded.”

Niotsaeton took a deep breath, then stared directly in her eyes with resignation.

“I am a warrior. I would rather die in combat than return to my tribe like a defeated dog.”

“As you wish, Niotsaeton. May the Great Spirit be kind to you.” said softly Nancy before pulling the trigger. Getting up, she looked down briefly at her dead opponent, then eyed Ononkapis, who was finishing off a gravely wounded Iroquois. The young teenage Amerindian girl she had seen at the start of the fight was now coming out of the teepee, dressed only in a loincloth. A burning pain then reminded Nancy that she had been wounded. Looking down at her belly, she saw that she sported a long but shallow slash that had not gone deeper than the skin. That slash could however get infected easily if she didn’t take some precautions soon. First, though, she had to do something else. Bending down and taking out her hunting knife, she scalped the dead Niotsaeton, then did the same to the four other Iroquois she had killed. She was tying the five scalps to her belt when Ononkapis joined her, two scalps of his own at his belt. His look to her was one of admiration and respect.

“You are indeed worthy of the title of ‘warrior’, Nancy. My tribe would be proud to have you in its ranks.”

“And I would be proud indeed to be an Algonquin, my friend. You should have presented your young friend to me before.”

Ononkapis smiled, then signaled the girl to join them.

“I have known Mistibis for only a few weeks now and can see her only on rare occasions, as she is employed by a Frenchman in the fort who leaves her little free time.”

Nancy eyed sharply Ononkapis at those last words.

“Is she a servant…or a slave?”

“A slave.” answered Ononkapis, lowering his head. “She was at first a Huron, then was captured and adopted by the Iroquois five years ago before being again

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captured and sold as a slave. Right now, she is supposed to be gathering wild berries for her master.”

Nancy looked carefully at the Amerindian girl now standing besides Ononkapis. She was more than pretty and could not be more than maybe fourteen years old. While not starving, she wasn’t well fed either. Caressing the girl’s hair with one hand, Nancy spoke gently to her in Huron.

“Who owns you in the fort, Mistibis?”

“Monsieur Charles D’Ailleboust, mademoiselle.” answered the girl timidly. Nancy nodded in understanding. Charles D’Ailleboust was a nobleman with the title of squire who had recently been the acting governor of Ville-Marie during a two-year absence by Monsieur de Maisonneuve.

“Then, Mistibis, you better put your clothes on: I am going to see Monsieur D’Ailleboust with you.”

Before she or Ononkapis could ask why she wanted to do that, Fernand arrived at a run with Henri and Michel, their muskets at the ready. They made a show of relaxing once they saw that Nancy and Ononkapis were safe. In reality, Hanna Reitsch had already informed them by radio of the turn of events. Fernand, seeing blood on Nancy’s belly, approached her and crouched in front of her to examine her wound.

“You were damn lucky, Nancy: a couple of centimeters deeper and that Iroquois would have disemboweled you. This will have to be cleaned and bandaged.”

“Uh, could I ask you something first, Fernand?” said Nancy before whispering into his ear. Fernand replied in the same way, conversing for a few seconds with her before nodding to something. He then took his flask of water out and rinsed Nancy’s wound. While he treated her, Michel and Henri went deep into the wood, searching for the lone, wounded Iroquois who had managed to run away from the fight.

Mistibis was back by Ononkapis’ side and Fernand had finished wrapping a piece of cloth over Nancy’s superficial wound when a single musket shot rang from a distance, coming from inside the woods. Maybe two minutes later, Lambert Closse arrived on the scene, out of breath and with ten equally winded soldiers at his back. He looked first at Nancy, with her blood-stained bandage, then at the bodies of the seven scalped Iroquois, who had been lined up in front the teepee by Ononkapis. His face paled when he finally noticed the five scalps hanging from Nancy’s belt.

“Mon Dieu, mademoiselle, you killed five Iroquois?”

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“And wounded a sixth one, while Ononkapis killed two more, Monsieur Closse. Henri and Michel went to find the wounded one but I think that they found him a moment ago. Don’t worry about my wound: it is a superficial slash and Fernand already took care of it.”

“What actually happened, mademoiselle?”

“I was coming to see Ononkapis and propose to him to go hunt together. Not far from his camp I found young Mistibis, who was searching for berries for her master. That was when eight Iroquois attacked us. We managed to run to Ononkapis’ camp and made our stand there.”

Closse nodded once, then went to examine the dead Iroquois. One of them attracted his attention and he pointed the body to Nancy.

“What did you use on that Iroquois? He looks like a sieve.” Nancy answered by showing him her blunderbuss.

“I had my tromblon with me, the perfect weapon for a short range ambush. It was loaded with twelve lead balls.”

“Ouch! That would do the job. It was a good thing that you had this miniature cannon with you today.”

“It is effectively a practical weapon to have around, monsieur. Now, if you will excuse me, I will escort back Mistibis to the fort. I will go explain at the same time to Monsieur D’Ailleboust why Mistibis couldn’t get berries for him.”

“As you wish, mademoiselle.” replied Closse, saluting her with his hat as she went to briefly speak in whispers to Ononkapis and then walked away with Mistibis. Closse next went to Fernand and spoke to him in a low voice. “That guide of yours fights like a demon, Monsieur Bonnet.”

“That’s alright with me, Monsieur Closse.” answered a smiling Fernand.

While walking with Mistibis towards Fernand’s camp, Nancy explained to her what she wanted to do and what Mistibis would say to her master. The Huron teenager looked at her with disbelief, then started crying quietly, prompting Nancy to hug her tenderly for a moment.

“Everything will be alright, Mistibis. You will see. We will stop at my tent first before going to the fort.”

Claudette, Françoise and the other girls ran to them when they approached the camp. Nancy reassured them about her wound but couldn’t stop Claudette from insisting on

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disinfecting her belly slash with alcohol and putting a proper bandage in place. Only then was Nancy able to go inside the women’s tent and search into her personal chest. She took out a large, heavy purse and a leather folio from the chest before locking it back, then put the purse and folio inside her haversack. Nancy next took ten minutes to reload all her weapons, watched by a nervous Mistibis. Nancy felt the girl’s anxiety and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, Mistibis. I have no intentions to shoot your master. I just hate going around with empty guns. How was Monsieur D’Ailleboust as a master, Mistibis? Don’t be afraid to tell me anything.”

“He was correct, I would guess.” answered timidly the Amerindian girl. “He hasn’t abused me or tried to get me into his bed, if that’s what you were afraid of.”

“That’s a good point in his favor. He should thus be a reasonable man to deal with.”

Not bothering to change or even wash her face, Nancy left for the fort with Mistibis once her weapons were reloaded, the five Iroquois scalps still attached to her belt: she was now more than ever ready to play her role of native girl to the hilt. History would be less likely to take notice of a métis girl in Ville-Marie than of a marquess.

Their entrance in the fort at close to noon hour didn’t go unnoticed, far from it. Most settlers recoiled with horror or fear at the sight of the scalps at her belt, while some looked scandalized by her revealing Amerindian clothes. Guided by Mistibis, Nancy walked with her to a two-story house which looked better built than most other buildings inside the fort. A male servant answered her knocks on the door of the house, recoiling at first at her sight.

“Uh, what can I do for you, mademoiselle?”

“I would like to speak with Monsieur D’Ailleboust concerning young Mistibis. Tell him that Lady Nancy Sommers is asking for him.”

“Lady Nancy Sommers?” said the servant in a dubious tone while eyeing her from head to toe. Nancy gave him back a cold stare.

“That is right, monsieur. Please get Monsieur D’Ailleboust for me.”

“One moment, please.” said the servant before closing the door in her face. She then heard the noise of a locking bolt being pulled in place.

“A trusting man indeed.” muttered Nancy to herself. She had to wait a couple of minutes before the door opened again, with the servant waiving her to enter.

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“Please come in, mademoiselle.”

Nancy entered a small, sparsely furnished living room where a man in his late twenties dressed like a noble was waiting, standing near a window. She waited until Mistibis was in as well, then addressed the man, who was of average built and a half head shorter than her.

“Monsieur D’Ailleboust, I presume?”

“And you are Lady Sommers?” said the nobleman caustically. “Did you need to come so heavily armed to my house, mademoiselle?”

Nancy touched the bandage around her belly as an answer while smiling.

“With all the Iroquois running around Ville-Marie, one can never be too cautious. Young Mistibis was nearly killed by eight of them but I and a friend managed to get rid of them.”

“Then I shall be grateful to you, mademoiselle.”

“Thank you! I however came here for something else. I understand that Mistibis is your slave. I wish to buy her from you.”

The noble looked surprised by that and took a moment to regain his composure.

“Buy her? Why are you interested in her? You do not strike me as someone who would need servants…or slaves.”

“I effectively do not use servants, monsieur, even though I could easily justify the use of some in France. I want to buy Mistibis so that I could then free her.” D’Ailleboust gave her a sharp look at those last words.

“Free her? That would be a costly whim indeed on your part, mademoiselle.”

“But one I can easily afford, monsieur.” replied Nancy, her expression now most serious. “I offer you 800 livres for Mistibis.”

“But, why are you interested in her?” asked the noble, his eyes having widened at the sum mentioned by her.

“Freeing an innocent girl from a condition that should not be permitted to exist in the first place should be enough reason for any good Christian, monsieur. Mistibis is as much a human being as you or me. Treating her like a mere possession is an insult to God in my eyes. What I am offering you now is certainly a lot more than what you paid for her, monsieur.”

“But do you really have that kind of money, mademoiselle?” asked sharply D’Ailleboust. “As far as I know, you are only a half-breed of low lineage who is employed by a would-be innkeeper.”

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“Monsieur,” replied firmly Nancy, her face stern, “know that you should defer to me as far as social rank goes, and by a good margin. As for whether I have the money I claim to have, here it its.”

Taking out of her haversack her heavy purse, she put it on top of a nearby chest, making the silver coins in the purse tinkle.

“I can count 800 livres right now, monsieur. Do we have a deal?” D’Ailleboust didn’t have to think long before taking a decision: what she was offering was close to double what he had paid for Mistibis. He was also a noble of only relatively low birth, with little fortune in his pocket.

“We have a deal, mademoiselle. Count your 800 livres, then we will go see the Crown Attorney, Monsieur Charles Le Moyne. He will also be able to prepare a certificate of emancipation for Mistibis.”

As Nancy started counting out the silver coins from her purse, D’Ailleboust couldn’t help admire discreetly her half-naked body.

“You know, mademoiselle, for a noblewoman you wear a rather indecent outfit.” Nancy stopped counting long enough to give him a disarming smile.

“Monsieur, even when naked the King is still the King and should be treated accordingly. Personally, I do.”

The face the squire did then at her thinly veiled revelation made Nancy giggle with amusement.

A bit less than an hour later, Nancy and Mistibis were walking out of the office of the Crown Attorney with the precious emancipation certificate in Mistibis’ hands. The overjoyed girl couldn’t stop herself from hugging Nancy in front of the office.

“Nancy, I owe you so much. What shall I do to repay my debt to you?”

“Simple, Mistibis: by being my friend and by living happily from now on. Come, we will go have a bite for lunch at our camp before bringing the good news to Ononkapis.”

11:02 (Quebec Time)

Wednesday, September 30, 1654

‘L’AUBERGE DU CHASSEUR’9

9 L’auberge du chasseur: The hunter’s inn in French

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Ville-Marie

Fernand stepped back from his just completed inn and joined his companions to admire the fruit of over six weeks of hard work.

“Well, guys, what do you think?” he asked while grinning proudly.

“It sure was worth all the work we put in it, my dear.” replied Claudette, detailing the log house-style building. Built in length, with slightly narrower wings projecting from each end in order to use as much as possible the natural length of three logs put nearly end-to-end, the inn had a very steep roof to help evacuate snow in Winter. The roof also featured dormer windows with glass panes on each side and there was a large chimney at each end of the main body of the inn, so that the chimney could also help heat the wings. A number of annexes, including a small barn with cages for chickens and hares, sat inside a courtyard, their back part of a three meter-high wood palisade with a large gate door facing south, towards the fort of Ville-Marie. Not visible was a fair-sized basement room without windows that was to be used as a cold storage room for vegetables, fruits and meats. Everybody in the group had worked on part or parts of the inn, including on the production of most of the furniture and small ancillary items, while artisans and workers from Ville-Marie had been paid by Fernand to help accelerate the construction of the inn and to build some of the more elaborate furniture. Weeks of productive hunting by Nancy and Michel, apart from providing fresh food for all of them and thousands of pounds of smoked, salted, dried or pickled meat and fish now stored in barrels, had produced dozens of large animal hides and furs. Those hides and furs, mostly from moose and bears, were in turn to be used as warm floor carpets for the rooms of the inn. The precious still had worked nearly non-stop as well, producing kegs after kegs of berry liquor that was to be the main liquid staple of the inn, along with the few barrels of wine imported from France. As for the large vegetable patch just outside the palisade, it had been carefully worked so that it would be ready for seeding during next spring, the group having arrived too late in the Summer to plant anything. That had however been compensated for by an ample harvest of wild onions, mushrooms, wild rice and herbs that, while unconventional to a European palate, provided plenty of precious vitamins and minerals. Bartering and trading with other inhabitants of Ville-Marie had also provided some fresh vegetables to the group’s diet, apart from providing excellent opportunities to interact with the settlers and document their lives.

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“Well, let’s move our things inside and get installed, folks!” said cheerfully Fernand. On his command, the two tents which had been home to twelve persons since their arrival were quickly emptied and then taken down, to be carefully stored in a small shed inside the palisade. Fernand, the five other Time Patrol agents and the four teenage girls living with them then went inside the inn to put the finishing touches to it.

They had time to have a frugal lunch and were back at work, mostly being busy varnishing or painting the internal walls of the inn, when someone knocked on the main entrance door. Claudette hurried to it and opened it to find herself facing the Governor, Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, accompanied by Lambert Closse and the town’s Crown Attorney, Charles Le Moyne. She opened the door wide for them while bowing.

“Please come in, Your Excellency!”

Everybody got up or straightened themselves up as the Governor walked in with his two followers, with Fernand then bowing politely to de Maisonneuve.

“Your Excellency, what owes us the pleasure of your visit?”

“Your inn, of course, my good Monsieur Bonnet!” said jovially the Governor, looking in a good mood. “I was dying to see it once completed. Do you have much work left to be done before it is fully ready to receive your first customers?”

“Two weeks should be enough to finish everything, Your Excellency. However, we will put a priority on finishing the main hall, so that drinking and eating customers could come in before the end of the week. With luck, I will be able to throw a celebration party on Saturday.”

“Excellent! This inn will be a precious addition to Ville-Marie. Could I have a quick tour of it?”

“I would be most pleased to guide you around my modest inn, Your Excellency.” replied Fernand with a smile, who then swept the hall with his left arm. “As you can see, the main hall is big enough to seat comfortably fifty persons for dinner, with room to spare for dancers and musicians. In a crunch, up to a hundred persons could be seated in here when lining chairs along the walls, like in the case of balls or celebrations. The large fireplaces at both ends will easily heat up both the main hall and the guest rooms situated above it, along with the wings containing the kitchen and staff rooms.”

“Those fireplaces in fact look quite unusual, Monsieur Bonnet.” remarked de Maisonneuve, who then walked to one of them. “For one thing, they are made of bricks instead of stones.”

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“That is correct, Your Excellency. You will also see that iron plates have been incorporated to their sides and top, to better radiate the heat produced by the fire. Those iron plates were imported by me from France and were set in openings left in the double layer of bricks. They are thus less likely to be touched by someone by accident and will stay hot for hours after the fire is put out. The top iron plate, apart from sending more heat towards the rooms upstairs, can also be used to put on it pots or plates of food that one would want to keep hot for hours. With this mix of bricks and iron plates, I get the benefit of better heating efficiency compared to a stone fireplace, while I avoid the need to import from France a large iron stove, which would have been extremely heavy and difficult to move. I however brought two small iron stoves to help heat secondary rooms and do some of the cooking.”

De Maisonneuve examined the top iron plate, set close to the edge of the fireplace, then one of the side plates, which was set at two bricks width from the external wall of the fireplace.

“Most clever indeed, monsieur. Apart from helping to prevent burns, this deep setting of the side plates creates a brick sill wide enough to put pots in front and close to the hot iron plate. I wish that I could have thought of that when I had my own fireplace built.”

“It is a neat solution for a large place like an inn, Your Excellency, but for private houses the most efficient heating apparatus would still be iron stoves, as they have four times the output efficiency of a stone fireplace.”

“That much? Then I shall try to encourage the importation of such iron stoves, as collecting wood in the past often provided the Iroquois opportunities to attack our people.”

Fernand nodded once at that: the use of iron stoves would indeed become quite popular in the decades to come in New France because of their sheer efficiency. In a hundred years time, nine out of ten homes in Ville-Marie were going to be equipped with at least one such iron stove, despite their high cost. Going to a nearby door opening, which still had to have its door installed, he invited the Governor to follow him inside the kitchen of the inn. De Maisonneuve looked approvingly around the large room, which fully occupied one side wing of the building. He eyed in particular the iron stove sitting at one end, opposite from the iron plate and bricks backing of the fireplace in the main hall. Iron ducts led the smoke and heat from the stove up and through the ceiling. There was also a baking oven set into one of the side walls and a small area curtained off in one

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corner that contained a bathtub. He was not a little surprised to see a hand water pump standing near the stove, its base set in the floor.

“You have a well directly under your inn, monsieur?”

“I do indeed, Your Excellency. It was a lot of work digging it deep enough and then lining it with clay but it will provide us easy access to clean water year long, without danger of seeing it freeze in Winter. Four journeymen from Ville-Marie did the digging work, while I imported the pump from France. If you will follow me down, I will show you our basement.”

That part of the visit was quite short but impressed the Governor, with dozens of barrels, kegs and jute bags lining the sides of the four by six meter basement.

“Tudieu! You already have enough provisions in here for a whole year. Where did you get all this salted and smoked meat? In France?”

“No, Your Excellency. All the meat and fish you see here was caught around Ville-Marie by my two professional hunters, Nancy Laplante and Michel Lorrain. As for the bags of wild mushrooms, onions and roots, they were picked in the nearby woods by the other women of my group. Only the beer and wine were imported from France, but I did bring over two tons of them with me across the Atlantic. Once the tour of the inn is completed, I shall be happy to make you taste my locally-produced raspberry liquor.” Those last words made de Maisonneuve beam with both interest and anticipation.

“I am certainly looking forward to that, Monsieur Bonnet.” The latter then invited him to go back up to the main level, then led him across the kitchen and the main hall to the other wing of the inn. That wing was heated by both the backing plate of one of the main hall fireplaces and by an iron stove and was divided into a number of smaller rooms, which were promptly described by Fernand to the Governor and his two aides.

“This wide first room closest to the main hall is a private banquet room that can be rented for private meetings and celebrations, Your Excellency. While not as big as the main hall, it can still sit up to thirty persons. The other half of this wing is occupied by a large storeroom with its own outside door and by a small private office.”

“And where do those two opposite doors lead, Monsieur Bonnet?” asked the Crown Attorney, Charles Le Moyne, pointing at two doors visible on opposite sides of the banquet room and set in the corners with the main building. In response, Fernand led

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his visitors through one of the doors, where they found themselves in a cramped area with two doors along the left wall and one small window providing minimal light.

“This is one of the outhouses of the inn, monsieur. This one has two pierced chairs set over clay-lined pits and is reserved for the use of ladies. The opposite outhouse is reserved for men. In all, I had a total of six outhouses, each with two pierced chairs, built for my inn.”

“Six outhouses? Isn’t that too much?” exclaimed Lambert Closse, making Fernand shake his head.

“Not when considering the number of people who could be using my inn, Monsieur Closse. Each outhouse, while set outside the main walls of the inn, is hugging it and thus is partially heated by the inn. The ground level of these outhouses are also covered with mounds of earth in order to cut on the smell and provide some extra insulation in Winter. The clay-lined sewage pits were intentionally kept rather shallow, so that no sewage could seep through to the underground water table and contaminate it. In this corner, on the counter, you can see a clay wash basin and a jar of water, plus a towel, so that users of the outhouse could wash their hands afterwards. Now, I would like to show you the upper level, Your Excellency.”

“By all means, Monsieur Bonnet.” said the Governor, already impressed by what he had seen.

Going back in the banquet room and using the staircase there, they climbed to the upper floor of the east wing and found themselves in a large hallway running down the centerline length of it. One doorway near the top of the stairs connected the hallway of the wing to another hallway running along the main building. Ten meters or so across that doorway another doorway was visible, showing yet another hallway.

“As you can see, Your Excellency, it is easy to go from one end of the inn to the other when on the upper floor, which is reserved for the guest and staff rooms. In total, this inn has twelve medium guest rooms, each able to lodge up to four persons, and two large guest rooms, each lodging up to eight persons, for a total capacity of up to 64 guests. There are also in the other wing ten private rooms for me and my associates and staff. Let me show you one of the medium guest rooms, Your Excellency.” De Maisonneuve was then invited inside a roughly four by three meter room furnished with one large double-bunk bed, a small table with two chairs, a closet, a bed stand and a large chest. One dormer window with glass panes provided plenty of light to the room.

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“We will soon add drapes to the window and a fur hide to act as a carpet in each guest room, Your Excellency. Two of my associates will soon go by boat to Quebec to go fetch more articles to finish providing for this inn and also pass the word that the inn is open for business.”

“An excellent idea, Monsieur Bonnet.” approved de Maisonneuve, seeing at once the interest in attracting more merchants and traders to Ville-Marie via this inn. “Well, this inn should definitely improve life in Ville-Marie in a significant way. Monsieur Le Moyne, the permits, if you would be so kind.”

The Crown Attorney opened a leather bag he was carrying and handed to the Governor two rolled documents. De Maisonneuve then gave both parchments to Fernand.

“Here are your permits for selling alcohol in your inn and for producing alcohol locally, Monsieur Bonnet. I sincerely wish you good luck with your business.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency. May I extend officially to you an invitation to attend the official opening of my inn? I will pass you word of the definite date as soon as I know it.”

“Your invitation is gladly accepted, monsieur.”

“Then, may we conclude your visit with a little tasting of my raspberry liquor?”

“By all means, Monsieur Bonnet.”

Fernand quickly led his visitors downstairs in the main hall, where Claudette served them small tin shot glasses of a red liquor with a strong smell of raspberry. The Governor’s eyes opened wide after he sipped a bit of his liquor.

“This is excellent indeed, Monsieur Bonnet.”

Lambert Closse, who had downed his whole glass in one shot, pounded his chest while blowing air out.

“It is also quite potent, monsieur. This certainly can warm you up from the inside.”

“With its actual alcohol content, I am not surprised, Monsieur Closse.” replied with a smile Fernand. “This liquor is meant to be savored, not to be merely downed.”

“I will remember that, Monsieur Bonnet.”

They finished their glasses before Fernand escorted his three visitors to the main door of the hall. Once they were gone, Fernand faced back his associates and four maids, looking most satisfied.

“Let’s plan for a Saturday opening party, people! Henri, Michel, you will leave by boat tomorrow for Quebec, to go buy extra barrels of wine, cider and beer, along with a

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list of other smaller items. You will also promote our new inn and our berry liquor while there. Michel, I will ask you to go to the fort this afternoon to rent the services of eight strong men who will help row our whaler boat to Quebec and back.”

“Can I go to Quebec with them, Monsieur Bonnet? Mathurin could also help row your boat.” asked at once the young Marie Renaud, hopeful. Fernand smiled tenderly to the teenager: Marie had already found a young man to her liking and had signed with him a marriage contract only two days ago. Fernand had met Mathurin Langevin, also known as Lacroix, a young farmer, and had found him to be an apparently decent young man who had arrived from France last year.

“I am sure that Henri won’t mind escorting you to Quebec, Marie.” As Marie squealed with joy, Fernand eyed cautiously Catherine Lorion. The teenager, like her friend Jeanne Rousselier, had also signed a marriage contract three days ago. Catherine would soon marry Pierre Vilain, a farmer and neighbor of the inn, while Jeanne was going to marry Pierre Gaudin, a young carpenter who had arrived in Ville-Marie last year. Fernand was trying hard not to show his sadness as he mentally reviewed Catherine’s future as dictated by history. She would end up marrying four times in her life, with her first three husbands dying from various accidents, and having a total of eleven children from them. From being at first a poor teenage girl looking for a better life in New France, Catherine Lorion was slated to become one of the true founding pioneers of Ville-Marie, later to be known as Montreal. Right now, though, Catherine was looking forward to her incoming marriage. Fernand then looked back at Marie Renaud.

“Come see me before you go, Marie: I will then give you your pay for the last two weeks, so that you have something to spend in Quebec.” The girl’s renewed squeals made Fernand swallow the hard lump that had formed in his throat. He was quickly starting to feel like a surrogate father to these teenage girls in his employ. He was also understanding more every day why Nancy ‘B’ had risked her career with the Time Patrol for the love of a man from the past. Interpersonal relationship with people from the past was a critical component of the job of a Time Patrol field agent. Accepting that all those people you talked to, laughed with or even cried with had to be left to die according to their destiny was however by far the hardest part of the job.

11:49 (Quebec Time)

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Saturday, October 3, 1654

AUBERGE DU CHASSEUR

Ville-Marie

Lambert Closse, wearing his best clothes but still carrying his sword and pistol, found out that a sort of outside vestibule had been added in front of the main entrance of the new inn. He understood at once what was its use: to cut the amount of wind and snow entering the building in Winter. Entering the vestibule and closing the door behind him, he then climbed the three wide steps of the front stairs and pushed open the main door, a solid affair made of thick wood planks reinforced with iron fittings. He found inside that a few inhabitants of Ville-Marie had already beaten him to the inn’s opening party. Claudette Bussière, dressed in a nice blue and white gown, came to him at once with a welcoming smile.

“Welcome to our inn, Monsieur Closse. Can I get you something to drink?”

“You may, madame. I am not too early, I hope?”

“Your timing was perfect, monsieur. Will you have wine, cider, beer or berry liquor?”

“I will have a shot of your marvelous berry liquor, madame.” Claudette quickly went to a service table set in one corner and returned with a small tin glass for him.

“Food will be served soon. Have a seat and enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you, madame.”

Sitting down at one of the tables, Closse started sipping his liquor with delight while looking at the decoration of the main hall and at the people around him. The settlers already present had come with their wives and children, at least those who had ones, profiting from a too rare occasion to relax and have fun, especially when someone else was paying for the food and drinks. In truth, any special occasion that allowed the chance to party or dance was precious for the settlers of Ville-Marie, who were leading hard, dangerous lives in this forward outpost of New France. Marie Lorgueil, one of the teenage girls employed by Fernand Bonnet, then came to him, a tray with a variety of small appetizers on it in her hands.

“Would you like a few bites, Monsieur Closse? I have here pieces of cheese, pickled fish, pickled moose tongue and bread. The main dishes will be served in half an hour.”

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“I will certainly sample some pickled moose tongue, mademoiselle, along with some cheese and bread.”

Marie nodded and put a small tin plate on the table besides him, then put pieces of bread, cheese and moose tongue in the plate.

“Here you go, Monsieur Closse.”

“Thank you, Marie.”

Closse watched her walk away before starting to taste his appetizers: women were still very much in the minority in Ville-Marie, with maybe five men per women in the outpost. The presence of so many young women and girls working in this inn was certainly going to attract lots of male customers to this place. Closse was curious to see what Father Pijart was going to think or say about this inn in a few weeks and months. He was already ranting quite profusely about the wild Nancy Laplante and her often very skimpy Amerindian clothes. Amused by this thought, Closse then tried a piece of pickled moose tongue and found it excellent.

He was savoring a second piece of moose tongue when the Governor, the Crown Attorney, Sire Charles D’Ailleboust, Father Pijart and Sister Marguerite Bourgeoys came in with a good dozen more of the prominent citizens of Ville-Marie, prompting Closse to get up at once to bow to the Governor. De Maisonneuve, holding gallantly the hand of the lay sister, signaled at once to everybody to sit back down.

“Please, relax! Do as if I was not here.”

Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, still handsome at 42, then led his group to Closse’s table as Claudette Bussière hurried to him. The innkeeper’s wife had her new guests seated, then called for two of her maids to bring drinks to their tables. As wine and liquor was being poured, Closse saw Nancy Laplante and Françoise Vinier come out of the kitchen, carrying large serving trays of appetizers towards him and the Governor. Closse’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he saw them: while Françoise Vinier wore a pretty dress that valorized her youthful beauty, Nancy Laplante wore a gown and set of jewels which would look at home at the court of the King himself. Even more, she wore her outfit with panache, a far cry from her popular picture as a savage half-breed girl able to kill Iroquois warriors. Near silence fell in the main hall as Nancy presented gracefully her tray to de Maisonneuve, bending forward and showing much of her fabulous chest through the wide cleavage of her fashionable dress while giving him a wide smile.

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“Would you like to bite into something, Your Excellency?” Closse, like a few of the men around the Governor’s table, strangled a laugh at those words: whether intentional or not, her choice of words had been quite suggestive. De Maisonneuve took the situation in stride, smiling while eyeing both the offered tray and Nancy’s chest.

“In truth, you have a lot to offer, mademoiselle. I will try a bit of everything.” Father Pijart gave him a dubious look that de Maisonneuve ignored while serving himself a few appetizers, proud of his retort: while a pious man, the Governor still understood that one had to have fun from time to time. He next looked back at Nancy as she was serving Sister Marguerite Bourgeoys.

“Quite a nice dress you are wearing, mademoiselle. It is the first time that I see you in it.”

“It had been languishing in my travel chest since I last wore it in Reims, Your Excellency. It was such a shame to keep it tucked away, so I was too happy to put it on for my first chance at celebrating in Ville-Marie.”

“And what occasion in Reims called for wearing such a rich dress, Mademoiselle Laplante?” asked one of the well-to-do men accompanying the Governor, prompting a mild smile from Nancy.

“But, the official crowning of King Louis the Fourteenth, of course.”

“You were at the King’s crowning, mademoiselle?” exclaimed Marguerite Bourgeoys, her eyes widening.

“I had that privilege, Sister.” simply replied Nancy, who then went to another guest to serve him. As soon as she and Françoise went away, Charles D’Ailleboust bent sideways to speak in a low voice to de Maisonneuve.

“Sire, I am now certain that she must be a mistress of the King. She nearly recognized that much when she came to my home to buy my Amerindian slave girl.” De Maisonneuve rubbed his chin, thoughtful.

“It certainly would explain the safe-conduct signed by the King that she showed me on her arrival. This would however imply that she is in fact of rather high nobility, as only the elite of France could be invited to the King’s crowning, mistress or not.”

“Could she be a spy of the King, Sire? It would fit with her uncommon fighting abilities.”

“A person with intimate knowledge of New France through birth would certainly make a perfect spy for the King if he wished to evaluate the state of our colony,

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Monsieur D’Ailleboust. It would thus be prudent at the least to treat Mademoiselle Laplante with indulgence, if not deference. Her safe-conduct was however very specific about staying discreet about her. Don’t repeat any of this to anyone else, even to Monsieur Le Moyne or to Father Pijart.”

“Understood, Sire.”

The Governor and his followers then resumed their drinking and eating as a steady stream of persons were entering the inn, to be immediately greeted by Claudette, Fernand or Françoise. The main hall was soon nearly full, with over seventy persons now sitting around, eating, drinking and talking. Unknown to them was the fact that four miniature cameras with microphone hidden in the structure of the main hall were filming them, collecting precious data about the inhabitants of Ville-Marie which would be used by the Time Patrol to produce its documentary. Once the hall was mostly full, Claudette and her girls brought to the service table a number of large pots and plates filled with a variety of hot dishes, then invited the guests to come to the table to be served. Lambert Closse was not far behind the Governor, who was of course served first, and had his bowl filled with a rich, appetizing stew of wild meats and vegetables. Going back to his table, he savored his stew, washing it down with an excellent red Bordeaux wine that was being served profusely. Seeing Françoise Vinier getting ready to go outside, the Governor gently stopped her as she was passing by him, an iron pot in one hand and a covered basket in the other.

“You are leaving the party already, Mademoiselle Vinier?” The beautiful young blonde curtsied to him before answering respectfully.

“I am going to the Hôtel-Dieu to temporarily relieve Sister Jeanne Mance, so that she could come and attend this party. God knows that she deserves a break after all the devotion she is showing to her patients. The food I have with me is for the patients and for Sister Mance’s servants.

“Are you knowledgeable about medicine, Mademoiselle Vinier?”

“As much in fact as any nursing sister, Your Excellency. If you will now excuse me.”

“By all means, mademoiselle.”

Marguerite Bourgeoys nodded her head slowly as the blonde left the inn with her food.

“Decidedly, Monsieur Bonnet and his associates may be unusual people but nobody could accuse them of not practicing Christian charity, Your Excellency. Even the

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wild Mademoiselle Laplante is known to help others around her whenever she can. Ville-Marie could use many more people like them.”

“And I could use many more soldiers as good in fighting and woodcraft as Mademoiselle Laplante.” said Lambert Closse, meaning it. One of the merchants sitting with him at the Governor’s table made a gesture of derision at those words.

“Come on, Monsieur Closse! A woman being a good soldier? You must be joking! That girl’s reputation is way overblown.”

Closse looked with contempt at the merchant, a man who had the habit of letting his employees go out of the fort and take the risks.

“Is it now, monsieur? How many Iroquois warriors have you killed in combat lately? That young woman was able with the sole help of Ononkapis to defeat eight Iroquois warriors in close quarters combat and Ononkapis himself confirmed to me that she killed five and wounded one out of those eight warriors. She has also proved to be the equal of any native hunter as far as woodcraft and hunting skills are concerned. I would use that girl as a scout any time, monsieur.”

The merchant, smarting from Closse’s retort, shut up and concentrated on his food. Barely a minute later, Nancy Laplante and Fernand Bonnet came out of the kitchen, the first holding a lute, the second a violin, and went to a corner besides the space reserved as dance floor. Taking two chairs and sitting down, the pair started playing a beautiful but also heart-wrenching tune. With everybody in the main hall now listening to them, Nancy and Fernand followed their first tune with a much livelier and upbeat one that prompted many in getting up to invite the few women present for a dance. The third tune they played was a classic minuet, leading to more dancing around the main hall. For the fourth tune, with the guests well warmed up by now, Nancy sang on top of playing her lute, walking among the tables while Fernand stayed on his chair to accompany her with his violin. De Maisonneuve was pleasantly surprised by how good she was at singing, even though he had never heard before the song she was singing now. Charles Le Moyne applauded like the others at the end of the song, then spoke in a low voice for the benefit of the Governor and of the others sitting at their table.

“A half-breed native girl of New France who hunts and fights like an Iroquois warrior but plays the lute and sings like an angel and who could also be part of the court of King Louis? Quite an interesting mix of talents and skills I would say. What could we expect next from her?”

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As the Governor and Lambert Closse were pondering that, two men dressed like coureurs de bois and carrying large backpacks and muskets entered the main hall. Claudette hurried to them and smiled to the younger man, who was stocky and in his early twenties.

“Can I do something for you, gentlemen?”

“Uh, we were told that we could find rooms in this inn, madame. My name is Jacques Leber, also known as Larose, merchant and fur trader. I just arrived from Quebec with Monsieur Jean Demers here.”

“You are in luck, monsieur.” said Claudette, grinning at the first lodging customers of the inn. She was also thanking her luck as a field agent, as Jacques Leber was due to become the richest and most famous merchant of Ville-Marie in this century. “This inn just opened officially for business and we were celebrating the event. Food, drinks and shelter will thus be on the house for you two today.” Jean Demers, a small and thin man, beamed at those words.

“That is most generous of you, madame. The hospitality of Ville-Marie is most commendable indeed.”

“Then you can repeat that later to Sire Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, the Governor. He is sitting at that table to your right.”

“The Governor is here? Excellent!” said exultantly Jacques Leber. “I will thus be able to arrange some business right away.”

“Not before I show you to your rooms and feed you.” replied Claudette good-naturedly. Leading the two men up the staircase of the main hall, she showed them one of the medium guest rooms which had been completed on a priority basis, as well as the nearest toilet.

“Do you have other luggage to bring in, monsieur?” asked Claudette as the two men dropped their packs and muskets in their assigned room. Leber was the one who answered her.

“We do, madame. We have a travel chest and a few bundles which are presently under guard at the fort.”

“Then my husband and Nancy will help you bring those things here after the celebration. If you would come down now, we still have plenty of hot stew and wine left for you.”

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11:01 (Quebec Time)

Tuesday, October 13, 1654

Chapel of l’Hôtel-Dieu

Ville-Marie

Father Pijart smiled tenderly to Pierre Vilain and Catherine Lorion, standing together in front of him in the chapel of the Hôtel-Dieu hospital.

“I now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

The crowd, including Jeanne Rousselier, who had just been married mere minutes ago to a young carpenter named Pierre Gaudin, cheered as the newlyweds enlaced and kissed each other. Father Pijart waited for the assembly to quiet down before speaking again.

“We may now move to the inn, which Monsieur Bonnet has been generous enough to loan its use for the celebration following these two marriages today.” On hearing that, Fernand got up from his bench and shouted to the other spectators.

“THE FOOD AND DRINKS ARE ON ME! TO THE INN!”

As he and Claudette got out of the chapel with the others, he patted the shoulder of young Marie Renaud, who had married Mathurin Langevin in Quebec eight days ago during her trip with Henri and Michel.

“You and Mathurin can also consider this day as a celebration for your own marriage, Marie. I wish that I could have been there.”

“You are too kind, Monsieur Bonnet.” said Marie with a wide smile, prompting Fernand to raise a warning finger.

“Please, I am Fernand for you, not Monsieur Bonnet.”

“Understood, Fernand.” replied the young girl, her smile widening to a grin.

Once at the inn, Claudette invited the guests to sit down and, letting Nancy serve them drinks, went to the kitchen to start bringing out the dishes that she had left Frida in charge of preparing while they were at the marriage ceremony. She then saw with alarm that Frida was sitting in front of the stove, crying silently. Kneeling besides her, Claudette held her face up with both hands.

“Frida, what’s wrong? This is a time to celebrate, not to cry.”

“You know what’s wrong, Claudette!” replied rather brusquely Frida. “Can’t we do anything to prevent it from happening?”

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“No, Frida.” said softly Claudette with immense sadness. “It would change history and our sworn duty is to protect it, however bitter and cruel it can be. Remember Nancy and D’Artagnan: she may love him and live with him from time to time now but she will be forced to eventually let him die the way History dictated.”

“But it is so hard to watch people who you have learned to like and even cherish die while doing nothing to prevent it.”

“Nobody said that it was easy, Frida, especially not Nancy ‘A’. She had to take some very painful decisions after she created the Time Patrol. You have to be strong and accept life as it is, Frida.”

The young German blonde swallowed hard, then wiped the tears on her face.

“I...I will try, Claudette.”

“Good! We have to serve the guests now. Put on a happy look and help me bring the dishes out to the main hall.”

Frida nodded silently, then got up and filled a serving tray with big, hot deer and moose meat sausages. Claudette was pleased to see her put on a happy smile before bringing the tray of sausages out of the kitchen.

15:06 (Quebec Time)

Tuesday, January 19, 1655

Hôtel-Dieu hospital, Ville-Marie

Sister Jeanne Mance nearly panicked when two persons entered the hospital and quickly closed the door behind them to stop the blowing snow from coming in: both wore Amerindian winter gear and had their features hidden under fur-lined hooded greatcoats, apart from holding each a pair of snowshoes and displaying large knives on their belts. She sighed with relief when the two newcomers threw back their hoods.

“Ah, Nancy, Françoise, I’m happy to see you.”

“Where is Catherine, Sister Jeanne?” asked Nancy, deep concern on her face.

“In the men’s ward, with her husband Pierre. Thank you for coming so quickly, both of you.”

“Catherine is our friend, Sister.” said Françoise in a subdued voice. “This is the least we can do for her. Could we see them now?”

“Certainly! Follow me, please.”

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They found Catherine Lorion sitting by Pierre Vilain’s bedside, holding desperately his right hand and crying shamelessly. Nancy’s face hardened the moment she saw Pierre: the young man’s skull was caved in on the left side of his face, while his wheezing breathing and pink bubbles at the corner of his mouth told her that his thorax had been crushed and one or both of his lungs punctured by the tree that had fallen on top of him. Even in a 20th Century hospital his case would be touch and go. Here, in Ville-Marie, there was no way to save him without both blowing her cover and changing history. Pierre Vilain was not only a dying man: he also had to die today. Catherine then saw them and ran to Françoise, hugging her with desperate strength. She stayed like this for a long moment, her grip expressing better than words her despair. Catherine finally let go her hug and looked back at Pierre, unconscious in his bed.

“Can…can anyone help Pierre?”

“Not in the state he is, Catherine. I’m sorry.” Replied Françoise. she had to hold up the teenager as she collapsed from grief, crying hysterically. She managed to sit Catherine on a nearby chair with the help of Nancy, then crouched in front of her.

“I will stay with you while Nancy examines Pierre. It will take only a minute.”

A quick examination was enough to Nancy to confirm her first impressions: Pierre was already in a coma, with massive brain injuries and both lungs punctured, with possibly internal bleeding of the spleen. The young man had less than one hour to live at the most. She returned slowly to Catherine, shaking her head sadly at the teenager’s silent question.

“I’m sorry, Catherine: Pierre is going to die very soon. The best you can do is to stay with him until his last moment. Me and Françoise can be at your side if you want to.”

“Please, do that!” pleaded the teenager before going to sit besides her husband’s bed and taking back hold of his right hand. Nancy and Françoise then pulled up chairs and sat on each side of her without saying a word.

Jeanne Mance was in her small kitchen, preparing a soup for another patient sick with a fever, when Nancy joined her, infinite sadness on her face.

“Pierre Vilain just died a few minutes ago. I convinced Catherine to come live at the inn for a while: she is in no state to take care of herself in the middle of Winter. If

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there are any expenses for Pierre’s stay at the hospital or for his funeral, me and Fernand Bonnet will take care of them.”

Jeanne Mance stared at the tall teenager, who had proved in the last few months that she had as much a huge heart as she had talents for hunting and fighting.

“Nancy, you and your associates seem to have infinite kindness towards others.” Nancy answered first by kissing tenderly the old sister’s forehead.

“It is nothing compared to yours, Sister Jeanne. We will escort Catherine to the inn now. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask us.” Jeanne Mance watched Nancy collect both Catherine and Françoise and then leave the hospital. The old nursing sister sighed with regret: she wanted so much to know more about those two girls and their four associates. She was however too polite and respectful of others to try anything like spying on them. The only really important thing for her though was to know that they were good, honest people, however strange they could appear to be at times.

10:25 (Quebec Time)

Monday, May 31, 1655

AUBERGE DU CHASSEUR

Ville-Marie

Fernand was in the courtyard of his inn, washing and cleaning thoroughly his still before resuming alcohol production this year, when he heard the bell of the fort start ringing insistently. Stopping his work at once, he got on his feet and ran outside of the palisade, intent on shouting a warning at Frida, who was working in their vegetable plot. The young blonde was however already reacting to the sound of the bell, retreating with her tools towards the inn’s compound. She stopped briefly near Fernand as the latter was closing the gate behind her.

“Do you know what’s happening, Fernand?”

“Most probably an Iroquois attack around Ville-Marie. Since we didn’t hear any shot, it must have been a silent ambush against some of our people. Go help Claudette prepare the inn for defense.”

“On my way!” Replied Frida, heading at a run towards the main door of the inn. Fernand followed her inside and went upstairs to equip himself for possible military action. He met on the upper floor Heinrik, Michel and Nancy, who were all rushing to get

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their weapons and field equipment. Fernand was proud of his three ground assault specialists, who had proved their worth in combat many times during their career in the Time Patrol. Even Nancy, as the rookie of the group, qualified by now as a veteran and was far from being the slouch of their team. While the four of them could not use advanced weapons or technology here, they certainly represented a combat potential that a seasoned contemporary soldier like Lambert Closse was unlikely to disregard.

The five visiting merchants from Quebec and two Jesuit priests who were lodging at the inn at the time watched with wide eyes the three men and one girl rush back down within minutes, loaded with weapons and haversacks full of ammunition and food. The Jesuits in particular made the sign of the cross at the sight of Nancy, who had changed in Amerindian hunting clothes that left her legs and belly mostly bare. Once the four of them were down in the main hall, Fernand reviewed quickly their equipment, then gave his instructions in quick, concise words.

“Alright, this could be anything from a small incursion by a handful of Iroquois to a full scale attack by a whole band. We will now go to the fort to propose ourselves as reinforcements to Sergeant-Major Closse. We could well be gone from here for a few days or more, so we will fill up our haversacks with non-perishable food before leaving. To the kitchen, go!”

They went single file in the kitchen, where they found Claudette securing the windows there by closing and locking their safety shutters, which only had one small hole in them to permit the firing of a musket through them. There, they stuffed pieces of cheese and smoked meat wrapped in waxed paper into their haversacks and filled their water flasks with pre-boiled water from a covered pot. Catherine Lorion, who was still working at the inn, came out of the east wing and into the main hall as the four agents were about to run outside, ready for action.

“Please be careful, all of you!” she shouted to them, earning a big smile from Fernand.

“You better warn the Iroquois that we are coming to kick their ass, Catherine.” The ex-French Army lieutenant colonel then became deadly serious, looking soberly at the young woman.

“Make sure that you lock the door solidly behind us and don’t open it again unless Claudette tells you it is safe to do so. See you soon, Catherine.”

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The four agents then left the inn, making the gate of the palisade lock by itself behind them before they took the trail leading to the fort, adopting a quick walking pace and with their muskets at the ready. Such alerts had happened a few times already during their time in Ville-Marie but had thankfully been due to minor raids. Those raids had however cost the life of one Frenchman and had cowered much of the population into their houses and in the fort most of the time.

They found the gate of the fort closed and with two nervous-looking militiamen on watch atop the gate. They were however recognized at once and one militiaman briefly opened the gate for them, putting back in place the two locking beams once they were inside. Fernand and his three agents then went to the house of Lambert Closse, in front of which were already assembled nine militiamen and six soldiers being briefed by Closse. While those men gave funny looks to Nancy, who looked more like an Iroquois warrior than a French woman, Lambert Closse beamed happily at the sight of the newcomers.

“Ah, Monsieur Bonnet and his intrepid associates are here. We may very well need your military skills this time.”

“What is happening, Monsieur Closse?” asked Fernand, resting the butt of his musket on the ground. Closse’s expression then reflected deep worry.

“Julien Daubigeon was killed by an Iroquois party this morning as he was gathering fire wood near his lot of land to the West of the fort. The Iroquois then crossed to the South Shore, where they may be preparing for more raids. The wife and four children of Daubigeon have been brought to the safety of the fort, along with their neighbors, until this danger has passed. For the time being we will have to stay on the alert and be ready for any more raid from the South Shore by those Iroquois. Monsieur Charles Le Moyne, who has just returned from Quebec, also brought the news of another recent attack by the Iroquois, that time against the Geese Island, near the Island of Orléans, where they killed a French couple and took away as prisoners five young children.”

“Sweet Jesus!” Said softly one of the militiamen, Nicolas Godé. Nancy was also touched deeply by that news, prompting a pat on the shoulder from Fernand.

“We may still see those children back, Nancy: the Iroquois sometimes make prisoners exchanges.”

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Closse, who was adding the names of Fernand and of his three ‘associates’ to a list in his hand, then spoke up in his strong voice.

“Alright, listen up! Until we know more or until something else happens, we will keep a strong guard on top of the walls day and night. I will thus split you into two guard shifts. The first shift will be on guard from noon to midnight and will be commanded by Monsieur Charles D’Ailleboust, who is presently conferring with the Governor and with Monsieur Charles Le Moyne. The men on the first shift will be Private Baston, Jean Sicot, Urbain Baudreau, Pierre Raguideau, Christophe Roger, Pierre Martin, Pierre Bareau, Antoine Chevasset, Nicolas Jousselin, Private Laviolette and Michel Tallemye. The second shift will stand guard from midnight to noon and will be commanded by Monsieur Charles Le Moyne. In that shift will be Private Saint-Pierre, Private Delorme, Nicolas Godé, Gilbert Barbier, Caporal René Besnard, Private Claude Robutel, Private Jean Valiquet, Fernand Bonnet, Henri Bruage, Michel Lorrain and Nancy Laplante.” While a few of the men looked dubious on hearing that a woman would stand guard with them, Fernand nodded his head in approval: Lambert Closse had reserved his most experienced and skilled people for the second shift, which covered the period when an Iroquois raid was most likely. Closse was again showing that he was a true professional soldier. Fernand then raised his hand, attracting the attention of Closse.

“Yes, Monsieur Bonnet?”

“What about Ononkapis? He is a seasoned Algonquin warrior and a dependable man and could be of use now. Also, if you are short of space for the family of Daubigeon or for others, I still have many rooms which are presently unoccupied at my inn.”

Closse only had to think for a short moment before he nodded his head, appreciative of Fernand’s suggestions.

“Ononkapis could indeed be of help, Monsieur Bonnet. Go send for him at once. I will talk to the Governor about your offer of space in your inn.”

With Closse leaving with the men of the first shift to show them their duty posts, the men of the second shift sat down on the porch of his house to wait for further instructions. Fernand however grabbed Michel Hofmann and gave him a few quick instructions.

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“Go see Ononkapis and ask him if he would accept to help in the defense of the fort. If he does, offer him a space at the inn for Mistibis during his absence. That should help him come with less concern about his young wife.”

“Understood!” simply said Michel before running away towards the main gate. Fernand then sat down with the others, doing what consumed the most time by far in war: waiting. The French men around him were understandably nervous and tense right now, not knowing what to expect next or fearing it. One of them, Private Jean Valiquet, used the idle time to look at Nancy’s numerous weapons, which also gave him an excuse to admire her bare legs. Apart from her musket and blunderbuss, she had her longbow and quiver of arrow, her war axe, a hunting knife and two pistols. The latter ones, sheeted in soft leather holsters by the sides of her belt and with their butts sticking out, attracted his attention.

“You have beautiful pistols, mademoiselle. Can I see one?”

“Sure!” Replied Nancy. “It is loaded, however, so be careful.”

“I am an armorer, mademoiselle: I know how to handle weapons.” said reassuringly Valiquet. Nancy extracted one of her pistols from its holster and handed it butt first to him. Valiquet whistled in admiration as he examined the pistol: it was inlaid with ivory and silver and was exquisitely engraved, being as much a work of art as a weapon.

“This pistol must have cost you a fortune, mademoiselle. It must be worth at least 300 livres.”

“It actually didn’t cost me anything, Monsieur Valiquet: my two pistols were gifts from a good friend.” replied Nancy calmly, not mentioning that the friend in question was the King himself. Many of the men snapped their heads towards her at her words: to have such a rich friend implied that she had contacts with persons of high standing indeed, which only jived with the rich gown and jewels she had been seen wearing at the inauguration of the inn and at a few marriage ceremonies a few months earlier. The popular belief around Ville-Marie that she was an important noble lady, albeit a most unusual and scandalous one, was thus reinforced by this last clue. Nancy ignored their stares and holstered back her pistol, making sure to secure the holster’s flap afterwards.

Lambert Closse returned twenty minutes later and led the members of the second shift to the guardhouse of the fort, where five men of the first shift were already

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installed. Closse looked around him at the men and single woman packed in the small room, a stern expression on his face.

“The safety of Ville-Marie now depends on all of us. Unless going to relieve yourselves, I want you to stay in or directly around the guardhouse, so that I could find you without delay at any time. Anyone who gets drunk until this emergency is over will be severely punished for dereliction of duty. While those of the first shift present here will stay up and will keep ready to react to anything, those from the second shift can relax and catch sleep if you want to before your shift starts at midnight. I will have some bread and beer brought in shortly. Don’t eat it all, as those presently on guard duty on the walls will have to eat too when relieved. Be frugal about your ration, since we don’t know how long this could go on. Monsieur Bonnet, when Ononkapis will arrive, tell him that he will be part of the second shift.”

“Yes, Monsieur Closse.”

“Then try to relax all as much as possible, but make sure first that your weapons are loaded and ready. I will come and see you again once I know more about what is happening. Carry on!”

Once Closse was gone, the men inside tried to make themselves as comfortable as possible for their stay in the small guardhouse. Seeing how crowded it was, Nancy looked at Fernand while getting on her feet.

“I’m going to have a nap on the porch, where I can get some fresh air.” Fernand nodded at that, understanding too well her point: with the habit of the French of this time of not washing more than their hands and faces most of the time, the body stench from the dozen plus French around them was quite overpowering.

“I may just do the same myself, Nancy.”

Heinrik actually ended up following them outside on the porch, giving up on the smelly crowd inside the guardhouse. All three were soon lying down on the porch, bathing in the noon Sun and quickly going to sleep there, their heads resting on their haversacks. When Michel returned with Ononkapis, both joined the three agents for a nap without further ado. The other occupants of the fort passing by couldn’t help look at them as they walked by, with many either staring hungrily at the long, bare legs of Nancy or eyeing them with scandalized eyes.

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“Damnée sauvagesse10!” Spat in a low voice a passing man who didn’t believe the stories of her being a noble, figuring out that her dress and conduct was incompatible with a noble woman.

The day passed without incidents or sightings of Iroquois and so did the night. Late in the next morning however, as Nancy and her shift were on guard duty on the walls, a canoe with three Iroquois in it approached the fort from the South Shore of the Saint-Laurent River. Promptly warned of this, Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve climbed on top of the ramparts with Lambert Closse and Charles Le Moyne to watch the approaching canoe. The three Iroquois however stayed out of effective musket shot, with one of them shouting at the top of his lungs in Iroquois. Nancy went at once to the side of the Governor to translate the Iroquois’ words for him.

“Your Excellency, they say that they are from one of the Iroquois bands which signed a ceasefire with us last year. They say that they would like us to send someone to discuss with us a joint effort to chase those who attacked us yesterday.”

“Don’t believe them, Your Excellency!” said at once Charles Le Moyne. “The Iroquois who attacked the Geese Island and killed the Moyen couple used the same stratagem to try attracting more French into their trap. That group of Iroquois was then seen going south towards Ville-Marie. I am certain that these Iroquois are part of the same band.”

Nancy refrained from commenting on this, not wanting to influence what was an incident that was going to be well documented in the history of Ville-Marie. Charles Le Moyne’s assumption was anyway a correct one. De Maisonneuve thought for a moment, his eyes fixed on the waiting Iroquois, before speaking up.

“Mademoiselle Laplante, tell those Iroquois that I will talk with their leaders tomorrow morning.”

Nancy obeyed him, shouting in Iroquois and getting a prompt answer, which she translated to de Maisonneuve.

“Their chiefs will come back in a canoe tomorrow morning and ask that you do the same then, alone.”

 

10 Damnée sauvagesse: ‘Damn savage girl’ in French.

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“Tell them that I accept their offer.” said de Maisonneuve, who raised a hand at once to silence Charles Le Moyne, who was about to object. “I know, Monsieur Le Moyne: this is probably a trap. We will however find a way to turn that trap around.” Nancy again translated the Governor’s words, which made the Iroquois then paddle away calmly after a friendly wave of the hand. De Maisonneuve watched them for a moment, then spoke with cold resolve.

“Monsieur Closse, Monsieur Le Moyne, we need a plan of action for tomorrow morning. Do you have suggestions for me?”

“Your Excellency,” said at once Charles Le Moyne, “let me go in your place. I can hide pistols in my canoe, take the Iroquois who will come by surprise and force them to beach their canoe near the fort.”

“A risky plan, Monsieur Le Moyne.” replied the Governor, prompting Lambert Closse to speak in turn.

“We could support that plan by hiding a number of shooters near the shoreline, close to the meeting point, Your Excellency.”

“The Iroquois have keen eyes, Monsieur Closse. Those shooters will have to be good at hiding themselves in the woods in order for that plan to succeed.” The eyes of the three men turned at once on Nancy, still standing besides them in her Amerindian clothes. De Maisonneuve eyed her critically.

“Do you believe yourself able to approach the Iroquois without being spotted, Mademoiselle Laplante?”

“Without a doubt, Your Excellency. May I say that my associates and Ononkapis, being all adept at woodcraft, would also be well suited for that task.” De Maisonneuve nodded at once: the reputation of Fernand Bonnet and of his associates about their hunting skills was well established by now in Ville-Marie. As for Ononkapis, his services as a hunter were already most appreciated.

“Very well, mademoiselle. Monsieur Closse, have Monsieur Bonnet and his people ready to hide in the woods near the shoreline before sunrise tomorrow morning. I want the Iroquois who will show up to be taken prisoners as much as possible.”

“Yes, Your Excellency!”

The three men were coming down from the ramparts when a sentry shouted to them that a Jesuit was coming from the inn of Fernand Bonnet with Françoise Vinier. Intrigued, de Maisonneuve waited for them inside the main gate, greeting the priest and

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the young blonde when they entered through a small door in the gate. Françoise, while dressed most decently and correctly for the standards of the time, also lugged a musket and a pistol and was obviously escorting the priest.

“Father Lemoyne, what prompts you to come to the fort at such a dangerous time?”

“I believe that I can be of better help to you here than at the inn of Monsieur Bonnet, Your Excellency.” answered politely the Jesuit. “I have worked with many Iroquois bands in the last few years and know many of their leaders, having even baptized a few of them. I also speak their language.”

“You can effectively be of use, Father. Some of the Iroquois are slated to come tomorrow morning but we believe that they are trying to set a trap for us. We are hoping to turn that trap around. Your knowledge may help us better assess the real intentions of the Iroquois tomorrow. Mademoiselle Vinier, while you are here, could I ask you to escort back to your inn the widow and children of Daubigeon, who was killed by the Iroquois yesterday? Monsieur Closse will provide you with two men as extra escorts.”

“I will be most please to help, Your Excellency.” said at once the beautiful blonde, bowing respectfully to de Maisonneuve.

“Good! Monsieur Closse, see to this! Father Lemoyne, follow me!” Things then followed up quickly, with Closse providing two soldiers to Françoise and fetching Perrine Meunier and her four young children, which included a toddler girl. Closse wished them goodbye as the group departed through the main gate, then went up the ramparts to follow its progress towards the inn. To his relief the group made it safely into the inn, with his two men returning at once at a near run. This done, Closse made his preparations for the action of tomorrow, which could be very well be critical for Ville-Marie.

08:26 (Quebec Time)

Wednesday, June 2, 1655

Ville-Marie

“ONE CANOE APPROACHING WITH THREE OCCUPANTS!” The warning from one of the sentries made the Governor and his aides run up to the top of the ramparts at once, where they were able to see a lone canoe approaching from the

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South Shore. Using a telescope to examine it, de Maisonneuve then passed the telescope to Lambert Closse, looking perplexed.

“Look at that canoe, Monsieur Closse, and tell me if there is indeed what appears to be a child between two Iroquois in it.”

“You are too right about that, Your Excellency.” replied Closse, surprised, after a few seconds. “What kind of game are the Iroquois playing now?”

“I guess that we will soon know. Have Father Lemoyne join us at once. With Mademoiselle Laplante hiding with her associates in the woods, we will need his knowledge of the Iroquois language. Monsieur Le Moyne, are you ready?”

“I am, Your Excellency.” replied Charles Le Moyne at once.

“Then good luck!” said de Maisonneuve, giving an accolade to Le Moyne before the latter left the ramparts and exited the fort through the main gate. De Maisonneuve and the other Frenchmen on the ramparts, soon joined by Closse and Father Lemoyne, then anxiously watched Charles Le Moyne get into a canoe and start paddling away. Le Moyne roughly followed the shoreline while paddling upstream, intent on attracting the Iroquois towards the spot where Fernand Bonnet and his four companions were hidden. The trick worked, with the two Iroquois eventually stopping their canoe only a few meters from his canoe and less than five meters from the shore. As Le Moyne was fervently hoping that Bonnet’s group was effectively there and ready, the small boy, who was obviously a European, spoke to him in French with a heavy English accent.

“Sire, I am here to translate for those Iroquois chieftains, who do not speak French. They wish to come alongside to parley.”

Charles Le Moyne could see at once that the boy, who was at most twelve years old, was terrified of the two Iroquois. The latter looked on their part supremely confident of themselves and wore the attributes of important Iroquois leaders.

“Tell them that they can approach, boy.” replied Le Moyne in an even voice to the boy, who translated his words to the Iroquois. The two chieftains resumed at once their paddling. As they were about to come alongside with his canoe and still had their hands holding their paddles, Charles Le Moyne suddenly reached for his two pistols and pointed them at the surprised Iroquois.

“DON’T MOVE OR YOU’RE DEAD!”

Another shout, this time from the shore and in Iroquois, immediately followed, making the Iroquois and the boy snap their heads in that direction, in time to see Fernand Bonnet and his four companions emerge from the woods, their muskets leveled and

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ready to fire. As the two Iroquois froze in stunned surprise, Charles Le Moyne took away the paddle from the nearest one, while Nancy Laplante went into the water, armed solely with a knife between her teeth. Swimming quickly to the Iroquois canoe, she pulled away the paddle from the second chieftain, then started dragging their canoe towards the shoreline, still covered by her companions. As soon as the canoe hit the shore, Fernand Bonnet and Henri Bruage stepped forward with pistols and brutally pulled the two Iroquois out before forcing them to go face down in the dirt. Charles Le Moyne was beaching his own canoe as Nancy went to the English boy, who looked understandably scared. With her knife back in its sheath, she caressed gently the boy’s blond hair with one hand while smiling to him and speaking in English.

“Do not be afraid, boy: we will treat you kindly. Were you a prisoner of those Iroquois?”

“Yes, miss.” answered the boy while starting to cry. “They killed the rest of my family two years ago and took me as their slave.”

“What is your name, boy?”

“James, James Walker. I am from Portsmouth. The band of Iroquois who killed my family during a trip to Fort Ann are allied to the Dutch and thus attack Englishmen as well as Frenchmen.”

“James, you are now safe. My name is Nancy Laplante and I have English as well as French blood in my veins.”

“You do, miss?” asked the boy, strangling his tears. Nancy nodded slowly once.

“My mother was English. She was herself a slave of Amerindians but was saved by my father, who was a French trapper. I can promise you that you will be well treated in Ville-Marie. Come, I will lead you to the fort.”

Gathering back her weapons and haversack while Fernand and Henri solidly tied the hands of the two Iroquois behind their back, Nancy then recuperated one paddle and sat in the Iroquois canoe with little James. Henri, one of the Iroquois and Ononkapis then joined her, while the rest went in Charles Le Moyne’s canoe. They were paddling back towards the fort when Michel Lorrain shouted a warning.

“At least eight canoes are now coming from the South Shore towards us.”

“LET’S GET TO THE FORT QUICKLY, THEN!” shouted Charles Le Moyne. They paddled harder still, thankfully arriving at the improvised wharf of the fort well in advance of the pursuing Iroquois canoes, which were still a good 500 meters away. The two Iroquois captives were quickly pushed towards the fort, each being manhandled by

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two men, while Nancy accompanied James Walker, with Charles Le Moyne covering their rear. They were greeted inside the fort by an ecstatic de Maisonneuve who patted their backs enthusiastically.

“Well done, all of you! Is anybody hurt?”

“Only their pride, Your Excellency.” replied Fernand, pointing at one of the downcast Iroquois and making the Governor laugh briefly. De Maisonneuve then eyed the boy led by Nancy.

“Is he French?”

“English, Your Excellency. His family was killed by this Iroquois band and he was made a slave. I can take care of him for the time being, if you will allow me.”

“Go ahead, mademoiselle.” said softly de Maisonneuve. “I now have to go back on top of the ramparts. We will talk later about this boy.”

While five soldiers escorted the Iroquois prisoners to a cell, Nancy led young James inside the now empty guardhouse, sitting with him on a bench before speaking softly to him in English.

“How old are you, James?”

“Nine, miss.”

“Please, call me simply Nancy. Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“I am mostly hungry.” answered timidly the boy. Nancy took out a piece of cheese and offered it to James, who grabbed it at once and bit in it. She next poured a cup of water for him and let him eat in silence for a couple of minutes before asking him another question.

“James, do you know if any member of your family is alive still?” Tears came back to the boy’s face as he shook his head.

“They were all killed: my father, my mother, my older brother and my three sisters, along with the members of another family traveling with us.”

“Do you still have family relatives alive somewhere, uncles, aunts, grand-parents?”

“My paternal grand-parents still live in England, in the Sussex.”

“Do you know exactly where?”

“In Guildford, South of London. What is going to happen to me now?”

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Nancy couldn’t answer that at first, partly because of the lump that had formed in her throat, partly because she had to study the consequences of any action involving that boy.

“Me and my associates will take care of you while we figure a way to reunite you with your grand-parents.”

“That won’t work, Nancy.” replied the boy, surprising her somewhat. “My grand-parents are very poor and sick and can’t take care of me.”

“Is anyone else alive who could?” asked Nancy, getting suddenly depressed.

“No! I should have died with my parents.”

“Please, don’t say that, James. I will find something for you, I swear!” She hugged the boy gently after that, as much to hide her own sadness as to console him. She next looked into his blue eyes.

“James, how did the Iroquois treat you in captivity? Be frank: I need to know so that you could be treated for any wound you may still have.” The boy lowered his head as deep shame showed on his face.

“They…they tortured me on capture, like they did to two of my sisters. I survived that but my sisters didn’t.”

The lump in her throat growing bigger, Nancy turned her back to James and partially pulled up her buckskin tunic, showing to him the faint marks left on her by whip lashes and red hot irons.

“I was tortured myself, James, but I not only survived that: I got over that and went on. You can do the same, James. Now, take off your shirt and show me your wounds.”

James obeyed him reluctantly, obviously embarrassed. Nancy had seen him redden when she had pulled up her tunic and and thought that he probably had been raised by a Puritan family. She had a hard time keeping a straight face at the sight of the large burn marks covering most of his torso. Undoing herself his belt buckle, she then lowered his trousers and inspected his buttocks and legs, finding more burn marks there. A quick inspection of the boy’s groin area and front legs thankfully showed no marks there. Gently dressing him back, she looked tenderly into the boy’s eyes.

“James, nobody will hurt you here, I promise. I and my friends will be there to protect you.”

“What if the Iroquois attack and take this fort?” said James in a resigned tone.

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“They won’t take this fort, that I can assure you. Now, you can either stay here for the moment and sleep a bit or come with me. I am however going to the ramparts and things could be dangerous there.”

“I am staying with you, Nancy.” said the boy without hesitation, making Nancy nod.

“As you wish, James. Then follow me.”

Nancy stepped back on the ramparts with James as a rather loud exchange was going on between an Iroquois chieftain sitting in a canoe out of musket range and the Governor, with Father Lemoyne as translator. In essence the Iroquois was promising a terrible revenge on the French of the fort if the Governor didn’t return at once the two chieftains just captured. De Maisonneuve was however refusing to let himself

intimidated by the said ‘Laplume’ and was himself asking for the return of all the French presently captive of the Iroquois in exchange for the two chieftains. Not getting what he wanted, Laplume soon left with his warriors, paddling back to the South Shore. That left the Governor conferring with his aides and Father Lemoyne as they stood together on the ramparts. From what Nancy heard from a distance, the Governor had in mind to cross to the South Shore at night and to attack the Iroquois there. While Lambert Closse showed himself reluctant to that idea, Father Lemoyne suggested that they take counsel from an Iroquois chieftain wounded and captured last autumn and who was now sympathetic to the French because of the way he had been treated while wounded. De

Maisonneuve agreed to that and had Closse fetch the said ‘Labarique’11, who was still severely handicapped and resided at the Hôtel-Dieu. It then took a good half hour before four men carried Labarique inside the fort on top of a wooden stretcher. Fernand’s group knew that Iroquois well, as it had been Michel who had severely wounded Labarique with a volley of lead pellets while the latter was leading an attack against Frenchmen working in their fields. As much as he had been at first ferocious with the French, he was now a man they could trust. It didn’t take long for Labarique to

11 th Labarique: French for ‘the barrel’. The French settlers in the New France of the 17 Century often used nicknames to designate Amerindian chieftains, instead of using the proper names of those chieftains. In turn, those nicknames were often crude and simplistic, due to a feeling of superiority felt by the French over what they considered ‘savages’. The nicknames ‘Labarique’, ‘Laplume’ and ‘Lagrandearmée’ were actually recorded historically in French annals from the 17th Century.

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oppose the Governor’s plan and to persuade him to instead send him to the South Shore next morning to go negotiate with the chieftain Laplume. That raised however an objection from de Maisonneuve.

“But Labarique can hardly move by himself, much less paddle all the way to the South Shore. He will need at least two other men to escort him across the river. Those men in turn very well risk being taken captive by the Iroquois and then being tortured and killed.”

“I volunteer to go help Labarique negotiate with that Laplume tomorrow.” replied calmly Father Lemoyne, to the shock of the Governor.

“You, Father Lemoyne? But you are too precious to us to risk yourself like this.”

“Every Christian soul in this fort is precious, Your Excellency. If it can help save the people in this fort, I will gladly risk my life.”

Before de Maisonneuve could reply to that, Nancy stepped in front of the Governor, acting on an impulse.

“I wish to volunteer as well, Your Excellency. I speak Iroquois and know their customs.”

“That’s totally out of the question, mademoiselle!” replied at once de Maisonneuve. Labarique eyed Nancy, then the Governor.

“That squaw is a daughter of the forest and has proved repeatedly to be a brave woman. Why deny her a chance to help you all? Personally, I would trust her more for that mission than any of your soldiers, save maybe for Closse.”

“Please, Your Excellency!” pleaded Nancy. “If there is a time when I can be truly of help, this is it. Forget whatever else I could be.”

Those last words nearly made the Governor blow a fuse.

“How could I forget what you are, mademoiselle? I would never pardon myself if something happens to you tomorrow.”

“I could write a letter discharging you from any responsibility if I die, Your Excellency.” said calmly Nancy, resolved to push her point through. “I could even become naughty and push rank on you.”

That last sentence, told in a near whisper audible only to de Maisonneuve, Lambert Closse, Labarique and Father Lemoyne, made de Maisonneuve and Closse pale. Nancy smiled at once to minimize the impact of her words.

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“That of course stays between us, Your Excellency. If I die tomorrow, it will officially be as the half-breed French-English daughter of a coureur de bois with Huron blood in her vein.”

That was when Labarique firmly pointed a finger at Nancy while looking at de Maisonneuve.

“I want to go with her and Father Lemoyne, and no one else.” De Maisonneuve brooded over that for a few seconds, then relented with a sigh.

“Alright, mademoiselle, you go with Labarique and Father Lemoyne. Just don’t take unnecessary risks tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

“Don’t thank me yet, mademoiselle.” said the Governor, who then signaled her to come off the ramparts and follow him. Putting first little James in the temporary care of Fernand, she then followed the Governor to his private office, where de Maisonneuve locked the door before facing Nancy, a sour expression on his face.

“No more games with me, Mademoiselle Laplante! Who are you really?”

“First, Your Excellency, I really am what I said I was up on the ramparts. I however was ennobled by King Louis the Fourteenth for services rendered to the Crown during the uprising of the Fronde. I am the Marquess of Saint-Laurent and am also a close friend of the King. Do not worry, though: I came to Ville-Marie simply to see again my country of birth, not to spy for the King.”

“Marquess of Saint-Laurent…” said de Maisonneuve, looking as if lightning had just struck him: he was himself a mere squire in terms of nobility title, a full four ranks below a marquess. Only the ranks of duchess and princess stood between those of a marquess and of a queen. Seeing an ink bottle, a pen and a reserve of paper on the Governor’s work table, Nancy pointed to them and gave de Maisonneuve her best smile.

“While we are here, may I write something down, Your Excellency?”

“Uh, of course, Marquess.”

Sitting down at the table, Nancy grabbed the pen and a sheet of virgin paper and wrote a short, two-paragraph text, then signed it. She then applied a wax seal to it, using for that a small brass seal hanging from a chain between her breasts and a red wax candle on the Governor’s table. De Maisonneuve read the paper Nancy gave him before eyeing her with deference. She however spoke before he could.

“Please don’t feel subservient to me because of my nobility title or of my closeness to the King. You are still the legitimate governor of Ville-Marie and doing a

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fine job of it, while I am here only as the associate of an innkeeper and merchant. In truth, I have come to truly admire your work here, Monsieur de Maisonneuve, and you don’t have to bow to me. You may do that only if you meet me in the company of the King, for the sake of the etiquette and not because I am superior in any way to you.” Nancy then came to attention, her face serious.

“Permission to return to guard duty, Your Excellency!”

“Uh, permission granted, mademoiselle.”

De Maisonneuve watched her leave, then sat heavily in his chair behind his work table before looking down again at the declaration signed by Nancy, having still a hard time to believe what had just happened.

07:40 (Quebec Time)

Thursday, June 3, 1655

Ville-Marie

“Please be careful, Nancy.” Implored quietly Michel Hofmann as he was about to help push her canoe into the current. Nancy grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

“Believe me, Michel: my butt is as precious to me as it is to you. I’ll be back in a few hours, I promise.”

She then grabbed her paddle as Michel and another man pushed the canoe away from the shoreline. Father Lemoyne, sitting in the rear of the canoe, did the same and started paddling in cadence with her. Labarique lay in a half-sitting position between them, his back resting on a rolled bear fur. Labarique was also holding up a white flag with his sole functioning arm. While Father Lemoyne was unarmed as per custom for a priest, Nancy had left all her weapons save for her war axe and hunting knife with Michel Hofmann, along with her precious personal seal. She had also left the little James Walker in the good hands of Claudette at the inn yesterday, where he would be able to recuperate both physically and psychologically from his long and cruel ordeal. The results of a preliminary genealogical search by the Time Patrol concerning James and his family line had confirmed that the boy had disappeared without a trace two years ago and had no surviving relatives able to care for him. Right now, Elisabeth Windsor was busy conducting an on-the-spot inquiry in England to confirm that information but there was little hope that any unknown relative would be found. With this going around her mind, Nancy paddled at a steady cadence, heading towards the spot on the South Shore

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from where the canoes of Laplume had appeared, at the future site of the city of Longueuil, itself only a few kilometers from the future city of Boucherville, the original hometown of her deceased timeline twin.

The voice of Father Lemoyne took her out of her thoughts as they were halfway across the river, which was a good 1,600 meters wide at this point, and were leaving the island of Sainte-Hélène to their left.

“Mademoiselle, while we are practically alone right now, would you mind telling me what you are really?”

Nancy glanced at him over her shoulder, then replied in Latin.

“Since we may very well die today, Father, I will tell you this in the confidence of confession: I am the Marquess de Saint-Laurent, ennobled by King Louis XIV nearly four years ago. I am also one of the mistresses of the King and work in his service for delicate and discreet missions.”

The Jesuit nodded somberly, having understood perfectly her Latin words. As this had been said in confession, he was now bound in front of God to keep this strictly confidential. He used Latin as well to reply to her.

“This explains many things, mademoiselle. With all your talents and with your beauty, you could indeed do things a male spy of the King couldn’t do and go into places he couldn’t enter.”

“I knew that you would understand, Father: the Jesuit Order itself is no stranger to power politics.”

“I will recognize that much, mademoiselle. Since you are working for the good of the King and France, I absolve you of all the sins you may have committed in the course of your duties.”

Stuff your absolution, thought Nancy, sick of the religious hypocrisy permeating this whole century. The sight of four canoes heading their way from the South Shore then returned her mind to their present situation.

“We have a welcoming committee coming at us.” she warned in French, making Labarique and Father Lemoyne focus their eyes on the still distant canoes. Lemoyne then made the sign of the cross and said a silent prayer as the Iroquois approached them. Sixteen Iroquois in four canoes soon surrounded them, muskets and bows pointed at them. Labarique shouted at their apparent leader in Iroquois.

“We came to parley! I want to talk with your chieftain, Laplume.”

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“Do you have weapons with you?” asked the leader, still clearly suspicious. In response, Nancy showed him her knife and war axe, making the Iroquois nod.

“We will accept that, but no more. Follow us!”

With her heart beating faster, Nancy started paddling again, following the lead Iroquois canoe, as the three other Iroquois canoes formed a diamond around her boat, surrounding it while they headed to the South Shore. A good forty Iroquois warriors were waiting for them on the shoreline, including the said Laplume, who eyed with contempt the handicapped Labarique sitting in Nancy’s canoe.

“Why should I talk with a traitor like you?”

Labarique, stung by this insult, stared hard at Laplume with his remaining right eye.

“You break the ceasefire signed by the Five Nations 12 and you call me a traitor?”

“I didn’t sign on that ceasefire, thus deem myself not bound by it. Say your piece, quickly!”

“The French have your two chieftains, who are being well treated. I saw them and can vouch for that. The French know that you are holding a number of French prisoners, including five children taken recently near Quebec. They want these captives back, all of them, in exchange of which they will give you back your two chieftains.”

“Why should I give back my French slaves when I could easily go get back my two comrades myself by taking the French fort?”

“Your vanity is obscuring your head!” replied Labarique in a firm tone. “You don’t have the warriors needed to take the French fort. Besides, your two chieftains would be hung by the French before you could enter their Fort.”

“Then I will burn down their houses around the fort until I get my two comrades back alive. Maybe the screams of their squaws being tortured will convince the French to give up our people. In fact, I could start with this young one here.”

“We came under a white flag of truce.” spat out Labarique, now truly angry. “Are you ready to soil the honor of all the Agniers by committing such treachery?” A rumble of whispered comments and exclamations around Laplume then told him that Labarique had just marked an important point. Not willing to risk dissension among his warriors, he relented partly after a hesitation.

12 Five Nations: Name of the Iroquois Federation until a sixth nation, the Tuscaroras, entered the federation in 1722. The Five Nations included the Cayugas, the Agniers (Mohawks), the Oneidas, the Onondagas and the Senecas and was created in 1570.

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“You may return safely to the fort with your two companions. Tell the French that I want our two chieftains back, alive, before noon or I will burn down their fort. As for the slaves I have, I will keep them. Make sure that the French understand that I set the conditions, not them. Now, go!”

Somewhat discouraged, the three emissaries turned their canoe around and paddled back towards Ville-Marie. Once a good 600 meters from the South shore, Father Lemoyne allowed himself to blow air out in relief.

“This was a close call, especially for you, mademoiselle. I would hate to think of what these barbarians could have done to you.”

Like Labarique, Nancy shot at once a black look at Lemoyne, with Nancy admonishing him in an angry voice.

“Who are we to call these people barbarians, Father? I can assure you that when it comes to torturing people, we are as cruel as anybody else! In fact, you may look at this as proof of that.”

She then pulled her buckskin tunic over her head, stripping topless in front of the shocked priest and of the delighted Labarique.

“Look at what was done to me in the basement of the Bastille in Paris, Father, and see how merciful we French could be. A so-called noble lady and a duchess no less directed my tortures there as she tried to get from me the names of the agents of Cardinal Mazarin in Paris during the Fronde.”

“I…I’m sorry, Marquess.” said weakly the priest, now pale. “I spoke rashly and chose my words poorly.”

Nancy nodded once, calming down, then put her tunic back on. The rest of the trip back to the fort was spent in silence. The Governor was one of the men who rushed to the shoreline to greet them.

“Thank God, you came back safely. What did that Laplume say to our conditions?”

“He refused all of them and in turn threatened to burn the fort if the two chieftains are not returned alive to him by noon.” answered Labarique, making de Maisonneuve grimace.

“That man is decidedly impossible to deal with. As much as this could cost us, I am however not ready to free those two chieftains without getting something in return.”

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“Then expect Laplume to come and attack us after noon is past.” replied Labarique, somber. “He however doesn’t have enough warriors to attack directly the fort. He threatened to burn the houses around the fort and then torture captives in plain sight to convince us to give up our two prisoners.”

That made the Governor’s face harden, while Lambert Closse swore quietly to himself.

“Tudieu! We don’t have enough soldiers to protect all the houses outside the fort. We will have to evacuate all our people still outside the fort to safety.”

“May I suggest something, Your Excellency?” said promptly Fernand, who was near the Governor and Closse. “If you have to evacuate houses, then bring their occupants to our inn, which is fortified. This way we will have two strong points able to provide mutual supporting fire to each other. Also, our inn will probably become the main target of that Laplume, since he will judge that it would be easier to attack than the fort itself. We could use that to mount an ambush for the Iroquois when they cross the river again.”

“Go on, Monsieur Bonnet.” said de Maisonneuve, interested at once by that idea. Fernand then spent a minute describing his plan, after which the Governor and Closse discussed with him its finer details before coming to a decision.

“We will proceed as we just discussed then, gentlemen. Let’s start evacuating at once the families still outside the fort to the inn of Monsieur Bonnet: we don’t have much time left before noon.”

A period of frantic activity followed that decision, with Fernand and his associates put in charge of assembling in the inn the settlers living around it. The first problem came when Sister Jeanne Mance refused to evacuate her hospital, insisting on staying barricaded inside it. It took the direct intervention of the Governor to finally get her to let herself be escorted to the fortified inn, which was now housing over forty persons. The nursing sister was greeted there by Claudette, who was now in charge of the defense of the inn and was helped in this by Françoise and nine other musket shooters, who were in turn supported by twenty more persons able to reload their spare muskets. Once de Maisonneuve was satisfied that the inn was well enough secured and defended, Fernand, his three agents, Ononkapis, Lambert Closse, Charles Le Moyne and five militiamen crawled from the inn to the nearby woods, intent on discreetly setting up an ambush point by the shoreline of the inn.

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It didn’t take long after noon arrived for the Iroquois to get on the move. Fifteen canoes loaded with Iroquois warriors departed the south shore of the river and headed towards the north shore, skipping the western point of the Island of Sainte-Hélène, then heading towards the fortified inn, as hoped for by the Governor. The Iroquois, Laplume in the lead, chose to land in the wooded shoreline close to the fields surrounding the inn and the nearby houses. Fernand had judged that precise point to be the probable landing spot of the Iroquois and had convinced Charles Le Moyne and Lambert Closse of this. The moment that Laplume and four warriors beached their canoe ahead of the other Iroquois canoes, Charles Le Moyne jumped out of cover and pointed his musket literally in the face of the stunned Laplume, while Fernand, Henri and Michel pointed their own muskets at the four warriors accompanying their chieftain.

“One false move and you are all dead!” warned Charles Le Moyne, his index on the trigger of his musket. At the same moment the voice of Lambert Closse came out of the woods as he gave an order to his hidden militiamen.

“AT THE CANOES STILL IN THE WATER, FIRE AT WILL!” Eight muskets fired at once, dropping seven Iroquois out of their canoes and making two of the unstable boats tip sideways and sink, throwing more Iroquois in the water. A second salvo from the hidden French militiamen, who had each a spare musket ready to fire, followed less than ten seconds later, killing or wounding more Iroquois. One canoe with one dead Iroquois in its bow tried to rush to the shore and was nearly there when Nancy ran out of cover and fired her blunderbuss in their faces from less than five meters away. The three surviving Iroquois in that canoe were swept by the volley of lead pellets and fell in the water, dead or dying. With over a third of their warriors dead or captured before they could themselves fire once, the surviving Iroquois turned their canoes around, paddling desperately to get out of musket range as quickly as possible. That didn’t save them from a third salvo or from the rain of arrows Nancy started shooting from her longbow at an infernal rate. Having suffered for years from terror attacks by Iroquois raiders, the Frenchmen were in no mood to show mercy now and kept firing steadily until their enemies were out of range. By then, less than fourteen terrorized Iroquois had survived to paddle away to safety. Apart from Laplume and the four warriors captured with him, now solidly tied up and held face down in the mud of the shoreline, no mercy was shown to the wounded Iroquois trying to either swim to the shore or to merely keep their heads above the water, with the lot of them being methodically shot dead by the French. A concert of wild cheers followed the end of the

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firing: the latest threat to Ville-Marie had been decisively defeated with no losses to the French side. Lambert Closse, elated, surveyed the battleground and the river, now full of dead Iroquois floating downstream, pushed by the current. He then knelt and made a prayer of thanks, imitated by his militiamen and by Charles Le Moyne. Only Fernand, his three associates and Ononkapis, who were guarding the five Iroquois taken prisoners, refrained from praying then.

The return of the French force to the fort with their five prisoners was greeted by cheers from the occupants, with the Governor coming out to meet them. He first shook hands with Closse and Le Moyne, speaking to the first one while grinning.

“This is truly a day to remember in the history of Ville-Marie. How many Iroquois did you kill? How many escaped?”

“Maybe thirteen or fourteen Iroquois were able to flee, Your Excellency.” Answered Closse soberly. “We captured five of them, including this loud mouth of Laplume, and killed over thirty of them. We are however still not safe, far from it. Those surviving Iroquois will bring the news of our victory to their band, which will then probably send a strong war party to avenge their warriors. We will have to stay vigilant for the next few weeks and months.”

“As we always have been.” replied de Maisonneuve, his initial enthusiasm now cooling off. “Let’s hope that some of those Iroquois will come to their senses and will try to discuss instead of continuing this endless killing spree. Were you able to capture some of the enemy weapons?”

Closse then proudly showed him five militiamen loaded down with a collection of muskets and pistols.

“The powder we collected from the dead Iroquois is wet and will have to be carefully dried and remixed, but we captured eighteen muskets and seven pistols. Most of those weapons are of Dutch manufacture.”

“That doesn’t come exactly as a surprise to me.” replied the Governor while making a face. “These weapons will however come handy indeed to reinforce our defenses. Again, good work, all of you! Monsieur Le Moyne, you go put those prisoners in irons and throw them in jail. Closse, you tell our people in the inn that they can return to their homes…until the next alert. We will talk tonight about what to do next concerning the Iroquois.”

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“Yes, Your Excellency!” both said Le Moyne and Closse before carrying out the Governor’s orders.

Fernand, his associates and Ononkapis were able to return to the inn in time for supper, having been released from duty by Lambert Closse. While Claudette and Françoise respectively hugged and kissed Fernand and Henri, Nancy got a warm hug from little James Walker. The strength of the boy’s grip told Nancy that he was still very much in emotional distress, although not as badly as yesterday. His despair finished convincing Nancy, who had anyway pretty much made her mind already after getting via radio the results of Elizabeth’s inquiry in England. Holding James gently by his shoulders, she looked straight into his big, sad eyes, and spoke softly to him.

“James, I know that you need and want someone to care for you and love you. If you want, I wish to be that person.”

“You would be ready to be my new mother?” said the boy in a shaking voice, tears coming to his eyes.

“Yes, I would. My friends here also would be ready to care for you whenever I would have to go in the woods. They are good people whom I consider like family for me. Do you accept to stay with me, James?”

“Yes!” answered the boy timidly but without hesitation. A lump in her throat, Nancy then hugged him for long seconds. Looking into his eyes again, she kissed him on both cheeks, then got up and took him by the hand.

“Come, James: we will tell Fernand about our decision.”

Nancy intercepted Fernand as he was about to go to his room to drop off his weapons and gear.

“Fernand, me and James have something to tell you. Do you have a minute?” she said in English. Fernand looked at her, then at little James and smiled, answering also in English.

“I think that I know what you want to talk about, Nancy. Come to my room with me.”

Going together up the stairs to the upper floor of the west wing, the trio soon entered the large bedroom used by Fernand and Claudette. Fernand closed the door before facing Nancy and James, looking specifically at Nancy.

“Go ahead, Nancy.”

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“Fernand, I offered to take care of James and he accepted. I will take him with me when I will leave Ville-Marie to return in France.”

Fernand nodded his head at once, smiling to her.

“You have my wholehearted support in this, Nancy. If you need any help with James, me and Claudette will be most happy to oblige. Did you tell James about Charles?”

“Not yet. That’s next.”

Fernand nodded, then went to James and crouched in front of him, smiling to him and playing with his blond hair.

“You are a lucky boy, James: Nancy is an exceptional girl in all respects. She is also very kind and caring. You will be happy with her.”

“I believe so, sir.” said timidly James, prompting Fernand to shake a finger at him.

“Call me Fernand, not sir. In this inn, we all call each other by our first names.” He then got back up and let Nancy go out with the boy. Nancy in turn brought James to her own bedroom, where she got rid of her weapons and haversack before leading James to the bed, sitting on the edge of it with him.

“If we are to care about each other, James, then we have to know each other. I will start first. Officially I am not married. I however love very much a Frenchman whom I cannot marry for a number of reasons. I can assure you though that he also loves me very much. His name is D’Artagnan and he is the most loyal and honest man you could think of. I had a baby boy from him, who is now three years old and is named Charles. He is presently being cared for by relatives of mine while I am in New France. You will be able to see him soon enough. Next, I have a secret, a big one I don’t want other people here to know: I am a marquess.”

“What is a marquess?” asked James, making Nancy smile.

“A marquess is the same thing as a countess, but people don’t use that title in England.”

James’ eyes widened at those words.

“Then, you must be rich and important!”

“Rich, not really, but I am comfortable. Important? Well, it depends where. You see, my title is well known only at the court of the King of France, who is a good friend of mine. In other places, I try to be discreet about it, like here.”

“Why?”

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“For a number of reasons, which you will understand when we will leave New France in a few months. Mostly, it has to do about avoiding enemies.”

“Do you have a lot of enemies, Nancy?”

“Let’s say that I live a dangerous life, James.” she replied, most serious. “Now, tell me about you. Did your parents make you learn something? They must have, since you speak French already.”

“My father was a merchant and wanted me to learn many languages, so that I could help him one day with his business. Since our family had money, he paid a private teacher for me and my older brother.”

“So, what did you learn, apart from French?” asked Nancy, smiling down at him.

“I was learning how to read, write and count. Our teacher also showed us maps, so that we would know how this country was made and how to go around it.”

“That is indeed very good for a boy of your age, James.” said Nancy, meaning it. “Now, I believe that it is suppertime. Did Claudette wash you while I was gone?”

“She gave me a warm bath last evening.”

“Then you will only need to wash your hands before supper. As for me, I’m afraid that I need a bath, badly.”

“Should I come with you?” said James innocently, not meaning wrong but making Nancy grin.

“That would not be considered proper, James.” she said with a smile. ‘’Come, I will show you where you can wash your hands.”

Before leaving her room, Nancy grabbed a set of fresh clothes and a large towel, then went with James to the nearest bathroom on the upper floor, where she showed him the small counter, with its wash basin, water pot and towel. Once the boy had washed his hands, Nancy went down with him to the kitchen and showed him the bathing area. She however didn’t go beyond the privacy curtain with James, as someone was evidently having a bath in there.

“Who is in there?” she asked through the curtain, getting a male voice in answer.

“It’s me, Michel! I won’t be long.”

“I’ll wait!”

Nancy then grabbed a large iron bucket and, using the hand pump in the kitchen, filled it halfway with water and, with a marked effort, put it on top of the stove so that the water could warm up. While the stove did its work, she served to James a good bowl of stew

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and a piece of bread, making him sit at the small table sitting in one corner of the kitchen, where Catherine Lorion was also eating.

“Have supper while I wash. I won’t be long.”

Michel was coming out of the bathing area, wearing a clean shirt and trousers, as she approached with her bucket of lukewarm water. He didn’t help her with it, not because he wasn’t a gentleman but rather because he knew from experience that she disliked it when someone assumed that she was too weak for a task. Filling the bathtub that Michel had just emptied, Nancy took a quick bath, toweled herself dry and put on a simple dress over a shirt, all in less than fifteen minutes. James was still eating when she joined him at the kitchen’s table. The poor boy evidently had been malnourished during his time with the Iroquois and was taking his time, his restricted stomach not allowing him to eat too fast. Thankfully, his first question to her then had nothing to do with his recent ordeal.

“Nancy, what do you do to earn money? My father always said that hard work was the mark of an honest man.”

“That is certainly an opinion typical of a Puritan, and a fairly correct one at that, James. Basically, I am paid by Fernand to hunt, fish and guide him while in New France. As an associate, I also get a part of the profit made by this inn.”

“And when you go back to France?”

“Then, I have another work at the King’s court, for which I get an annual pension from the King.”

“What kind of work, Nancy?”

Claudette, who was passing nearby at that time, grinned as she eyed the blond boy.

“Kids will always be curious. Right, Nancy?”

“I am starting to see that.”

With Catherine Lorion still at the table with them, Nancy debated for a moment how to answer James, finally finding the right words for it.

“I am a court lady, someone who goes around with the King and help him look like, well, the King. The King always must have a lot of nobles around him, both to counsel him and to boost his prestige with foreign guests and visitors. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Nancy.”

“It must be fascinating to be close to the King like this all the time.” said timidly Catherine Lorion, feeling a bit envious of Nancy. Nancy made a face at that.

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“Not always, Catherine. Some of the ministers and nobles around him could be quite arrogant at times and treat anyone under them like dirt. The higher-born noblewomen in particular could be downright mean and ignorant with others. You also wouldn’t believe the petty intrigues going around the palace.” Nancy ended up talking about palace gossip and intrigues for another good ten minutes, until Claudette put a serving tray with a pitcher of wine and four cups in front of her.

“Nancy, you can be a real chatterbox at times. Here, time to help serve the customers. It seems that the whole of Ville-Marie is here tonight to celebrate today’s victory on the Iroquois.”

“Gee! I can understand them, Claudette.”

“Oh, I do too, but they still need to be served. Go! Scram!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” replied Nancy with a smile before speaking to James. “I will be back shortly, James. If you need anything, ask Claudette: she doesn’t bite, at least not officially.”

Nancy then pulled her tongue at Claudette before leaving with her tray, making James laugh at the false expression of indignation Claudette made then.

14:10 (Quebec Time)

Friday, July 16, 1655

Ville-Marie

Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve felt a wave of exhilaration nearly overtake him when the ranks of the Iroquois who had come to conclude the exchange of prisoners broke open, letting pass a group of eleven pitiful-looking French men, women and children. Five weeks of tough, often risky negotiations between his people and the famous Iroquois war captain known as Lagrandearmée were finally paying off handsomely. Apart from the five children taken at the Geese Island, six other French settlers from various outposts and settlements had just returned from Iroquois captivity, in return for the release of the three Iroquois chieftains and four warriors held up to now in Ville-Marie. On the appearance of the French ex-captives, de Maisonneuve made a sign to Lambert Closse, who in turn ordered his soldiers to let go the seven Iroquois men they were surrounding. As per a prearranged ceremonial, all but three warriors or soldiers from each side and the French and Iroquois commanders withdrew with their respective people. Now facing Lagrandarmée from less than three paces, de

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Maisonneuve calmly took one step, imitated by the Iroquois captain, and shook hands firmly with him.

“May this peace of the brave stop the suffering on both sides.” said solemnly the Iroquois leader in his language. His words were immediately translated by Nancy, one of the three designated bodyguards for de Maisonneuve. The Governor nodded, then spoke in French, with Nancy again playing interpreter.

“And may this peace of the brave endure, so that both of our people could learn to respect and live peacefully with each other.”

Lagrandarmée nodded in approval at those words, then sat down, imitated by de Maisonneuve. Their respective bodyguards also sat down, two paces behind their leaders, and waited silently as the latter smoked together a peace pipe, then exchanged gifts. Nancy was the sole bodyguard to speak during those phases of the ceremony, translating back and forth in French and Iroquois. Without showing it, she felt excitement, for two reasons: one, because of the release of the eleven French captives and, two, because of the fact that this was allowing her to record from up close a truly historical event via the micro-camera and microphone hidden in her Amerindian headband. While proud of her role in all this, having with Labarique and Father Lemoyne conducted most of the contacts and discussions with the Iroquois, she knew that the final Time Patrol documentary on Ville-Marie was going to be carefully edited so that she and the other Time Patrol field agents appeared as little as possible in it. That was not because the Time Patrol was unappreciative of their efforts on this mission, far from it, but rather because it wanted to focus on the real heroes of this story: the settlers and founders of Ville-Marie.

After maybe forty minutes of head-to-head talks and gestures, the ceremony was concluded and the two parties prepared to go their respective way. Before he left, though, Lagrandarmée stopped briefly and turned around, saying a few words in Iroquois to Nancy, taking her by surprise. The Iroquois leader then walked away with his bodyguards. Intrigued, de Maisonneuve looked at her, waiting for the Iroquois to be out of earshot before asking her.

“What did he tell you, Mademoiselle Laplante?”

“That he and his people were going to remember me, then calling me in Iroquois ‘the French woman from the woods’. It kind of made me feel proud.”

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“As you should be, mademoiselle.” replied at once de Maisonneuve, dead serious. “We owe you, Father Lemoyne and this big Labarique a lot. Be assured that your name will figure prominently in my letter to Governor Lauson about this peace deal.”

“Please don’t, Your Excellency.” said at once Nancy, surprising de Maisonneuve. “I would prefer that my name not be mentioned anywhere. When describing what I did, simply credit it to a French coureur de bois. That would be plenty to satisfy me.”

“Decidedly, you are indeed an uncommon girl, mademoiselle. Very few people I know would miss such a chance at gaining fame.”

Nancy responded with a shrug and a smile.

“Well, you should know me by now, Your Excellency. I work better in the shadows.”

“Indeed, Mademoiselle Laplante! Indeed!”

08:19 (Quebec Time)

Monday, September 6, 1655

AUBERGE DU CHASSEUR

Ville-Marie

It took Nancy much longer than she had expected to say her goodbyes along the shoreline before leaving with her little James for Quebec to take a ship ride to France: half of the people of Ville-Marie seemingly wanted to wish her good luck, many with tears in their eyes. Last in line but not least in her eyes were Catherine Lorion, Ononkapis and Mistibis. Catherine, who had remarried in June with Jean Simon and was no longer working at the inn, was particularly emotional about her departure.

“I feel like dying right now, Nancy. Are you sure that you need to go back to France?”

“I am, Catherine.” replied softly Nancy. “The King expects me back at his court, while I have a lover and a son whom I haven’t seen for over a year now.”

“Will I ever see you again?” asked the French girl, her voice half-strangled. Herself having difficulty not to shed tears, she managed to answer back.

“I will, at least once. That I promise. Goodbye, Catherine.”

“Goodbye, Nancy.”

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Stepping next in front of Ononkapis, who was holding a crying Mistibis, Nancy looked at both tenderly, speaking to them in Algonquin.

“Ononkapis, of all the friends I had here you were by far the most loyal and honest. Words wouldn’t suffice for this occasion, so I decided to leave you something more concrete.”

Ononkapis’ eyes widened when she presented him her English longbow and the quiver of yard-long arrows that went with it.

“This bow is now yours, my friend. May you have many successful hunts with it.” Ononkapis took slowly the longbow, handling it like the most precious thing in the World, then stared with tears in his eyes at her.

“I will remember you every time I will use it. May the Great Spirit watch over you, Nancy.”

“And on you too, little James.” added Mistibis before looking up at Nancy. “I owe you my freedom and a happy life with a good husband. How can I ever repay my debt to you?”

“As I said before, Mistibis, by being happy. May you and Ononkapis prosper and live many Winters together.”

Then grabbing the part of her kit that was not already in her canoe, she shook hands one last time with her five Time Patrol colleagues, who were due to stay another year in Ville-Marie before selling their inn and disappearing deep inside the woods on the pretext that they were switching business to the fur trade.

“Good luck with your business here, guys, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“If we did that, Father Pijart would damn all of us to Hell.” replied Michel, grinning, making everybody laugh. Nancy, dressed in her Amerindian hunting clothes and with her hands full of kit and weapons, then got in her canoe with James. One push from Fernand and Michel and she was on her way, going down the current while paddling at an easy rhythm. She couldn’t help look back one last time at the people of Ville-Marie present to watch her go before they disappeared from direct sight at a bend of the river. Her heart heavy, she looked at James, who was sitting in front of her in the middle of the canoe. James too had tears in his eyes.

“We just left many good friends indeed, my dear James, but I promise you that, where we are going, you will find many more friends. You will also live with me a life you couldn’t even start to dream about right now.”

“It still hurts to lose those friends, Nancy.”

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“I know,” said Nancy in a resigned tone, “it always does.”

20:51 (Quebec Time)

Friday, April 19, 1720

Côte Saint-Martin

Montreal (formerly Ville-Marie)

On the urging of one of her grand-daughters, the few relatives still present left the old woman’s bedroom to let her rest on what was probably going to be her last night in this World. Soon alone in the dark room, the 84 year-old woman had nothing else to do but reflect on her life, her four marriages, eleven children and 56 grand-children. It had been a hard life but it had been worth it in the end: she could say proudly that she had left an enduring legacy in and around Montreal and had earned the title of pioneer of Ville-Marie. If only some of her early friends could have been here on this night to stay with her until her final moment. Gone was Jeanne Rousselier, dead over thirty years ago somewhere in the Acadie. Gone was Jacques Morin, dead for twenty years now. Gone was Marguerite Landreau, who had passed away in 1680, along with her husband Hubert, who had survived her for only seven years. Gone was also the kind Sister Marguerite Bourgeoys, dead at the age of eighty in 1700, a woman to whom she owed so much.

A movement in the dark room suddenly distracted her from her souvenirs. Her weak, tired eyes could only make out a dark from approaching her bed silently. Catherine did not feel fear then: she had nothing left to fear by now, except of dying alone. The person then knelt besides her bed and started caressing her hair, while approaching its face to only centimeters from Catherine’s face. She saw that the newcomer was a very tall teenage girl with long black hair and that there were tears in her green eyes.

“Catherine, it’s me, Nancy, your friend who came from France with you in 1654. Do you remember me?”

“Nancy? How could it be? You still look so young.”

Somehow, Catherine knew that this was really her long lost friend: the voice was the same and the face of Nancy was as beautiful as ever.

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“Catherine, the how is not important. The only important thing is that I am here with you and will stay by your side to the last moment.”

“Nancy, I want to know.” said Catherine weakly. “Who are you really?” Young hands then caressed tenderly her face.

“I am a time traveler from the far future, Catherine. So are Fernand, Henri, Michel, Claudette and Françoise. They are all alive and well.” Tears then came to Catherine Lorion’s eyes: however fantastic was her friend’s explanation, it fit well with what she had been then. She had known for a long time that Nancy and her friends were special people.

“You said that you were going to stay with me, Nancy?”

“I did and I will, Catherine.”

The teenager then took hold of Catherine’s right hand and lay her head on the pillow, right besides the old woman’s head. When Nancy raised her head and let go Catherine’s hand hours later, a happy smile was gracing her friend’s dead face.

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