Saint Pierre and Miquelon
“Come in.”
Mother smiled, yet her eyes stayed sharp as they flicked quickly up and down Hazel’s figure.
“Hazel Green. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“My, has Kieran been talking about me as well?”
I didn’t think I ever had. Sure enough, Hazel’s pupils flicked toward the ceiling for a fraction of a second before she nodded, the courtesy reply already on her lips.
“Yes. Now and then… he mentioned you.”
“Come inside first. But it looks as though you’re off on some trip?”
I gave Mother a rough explanation: while I was away on business, Hazel would be staying for a while.
“What kind of business trip lasts that long?”
“It’s rather far.”
“By ship?”
“Yes.”
Mother blinked, and worry slowly settled across her face.
“You’re not going all the way to Korea—”
“No, nothing like that. An island near Canada.”
“Whew. You had me worried. I’m just finishing dinner—go rest in the living room.”
Mother returned to the kitchen. Roa declared she would carry Hazel’s bags and immediately seized a handle.
“I can manage.”
“You’re a guest who came all the way to our house. Of course Roa has to help!”
“My. You’re nothing like your big brother.”
“Would that be a disaster if I were? Roa likes herself just the way she is.”
“Yeah. I think so too.”
Hazel trailed after Roa in a little procession. While I watched their backs, Liam poked only his head out from behind a bedroom door and beckoned me over.
“Hey. Watch that attitude.”
“Damn it, this is urgent.”
I stepped closer. Liam whispered.
“Hyung, bring me some clothes.”
“You stripped for another workout? What are you, some fairy who sheds her robes?”
“What the hell does that even mean? Anyway, that little maniac Roa hid my clothes. Hurry up and get them.”
Listen to that tone. I looked at him with open mockery.
“No, you little shit.”
“Come on!”
“Oh? That attitude of yours?”
“…Hyungnim. I know it’s a burden, but please.”
He bowed his head with enough servility that I decided to be generous for once. I fetched the clothes, and a short while later Liam emerged into the living room.
“But Hyung—she’s not your girlfriend, right? Right?”
“Not my girlfriend. Is that really so shocking?”
“Of course it is. Where’d you meet her? How old is she?”
While Liam fired questions, Hazel hovered around Mother in the kitchen asking if there was anything she could do. Roa, in turn, hovered around Hazel.
“Want Roa to show you the knives?”
“K-knives? All of a sudden?”
“Uh-huh. Big brother sharpens them like a genius.”
Roa proudly displayed the kitchen blades, declaring it her eldest brother’s one and only skill.
At dinner Mother casually peppered Hazel with questions. Once she learned they were both Irish, her voice softened; when she heard that Hazel had no family and worked in the basement of my twin buildings, her eyes even misted over.
“I’m used to it now. It’s fine.”
“Mother, if you ever watched Hazel work you wouldn’t say that. And she’s the building owner.”
“Building owner?”
The news that Hazel owned a three-story building in Hell’s Kitchen lifted the corners of Mother’s mouth. And right then—
“I’ll call you Unni. Hazel Unni.”
Roa placed a piece of meat on Hazel’s plate. It was an extraordinary gesture.
That night Hazel unpacked in my room while I packed for the long trip.
“I finally understand why you’re so strange.”
“What’s that supposed to mean all of a sudden?”
“You’re cold and ruthless, yet at the same time you look completely ordinary. Meeting your family, I get why.”
A gentle mother, a younger brother who looked up to him, a cute and charming little sister.
“Leave Liam out of it. The only reason he behaved is because I brought him clothes.”
“Even that just now sounded pretty human. I’m really glad you have a family. It means you’ll never completely lose control.”
Hazel was right. Home was my sanctuary. No matter what I did outside, the moment I stepped through the door every worry and torment vanished. A second life. A family I had never possessed even in my previous existence quietly pointed me toward the direction I must never lose.
I stretched out on the living-room sofa and tried to sleep. Roa, still in her nightclothes and clutching Teddy, slipped out of her room.
“Going to sleep with Mom?”
“No. With the building-owner unni.”
“…”
Roa knocked on the door.
“Unni, it’s Roa.”
Hazel opened it with a bright smile and welcomed her in.
“Falling asleep while talking sounds fun.”
“Yeah. Roa has so many stories.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Hazel glanced once at me lying on the sofa, then closed the door.
Second-floor office of the twin buildings.
I gathered weapons from the secret space and stepped out. Leo and three men were waiting: Phillis, Declan, and Hubert—trained by both Anthony and me.
“This is going to be a fairly long journey.”
I sketched a simple schedule and plan on the blackboard while I explained.
“According to Armand, a murder will turn the whole island upside down. Running afterward is easy enough, but the aftermath is the problem.”
Eliminating Leonard was only the first objective. The ultimate goal was to turn Saint Pierre and Miquelon into the Union’s smuggling hub and distribution waypoint. Handling everything without raising any sense of unease among the islanders was the key.
“If you’ve all got it, I’ll erase the board.”
We loaded baggage and weapons into the carriage Leo had borrowed. Phillis brought Armand down from the third floor and put him in the carriage. Only after we left Allen Street did we untie his hands and pull off the mask that had covered his eyes.
“Whew, finally feels like living again. But a full mask instead of a blindfold? Unbelievable.”
Armand scanned the men riding with him, searching for the person he had spoken with all this time. In the silence he could not single anyone out. Even if he heard my voice now, it would sound different enough that he would never recognize it.
That was how thorough I was.
East River Pier 35.
Our party mixed with the dockworkers and moved toward the landing. When we reached the moored fishing boat, Armand let out a long sigh.
“What era is this? At the very least you should have chartered a steamer. A sailboat…”
“You looking down on a schooner right now? Shut up and get aboard.”
River Grey stood on deck and crooked a finger. Crewman Carly Dustin took the luggage; everyone climbed on.
Armand stared in blank disbelief at the half-Navajo captain and the Black crewman. His lips twitched at the unusual combination before he finally shook his head in resignation.
“First let’s confirm the route.”
They spread a chart and put their heads together—River the captain and Armand. Carly watched them both, quietly accumulating a navigator’s experience.
The course to Saint Pierre and Miquelon was simple: follow the eastern seaboard of the United States northward and that was it.
By nightfall we were already passing Nantucket Island off Massachusetts. Carly and the men played cards and drank; I lay on deck and looked up at a sky thick with stars. The hull rose and fell gently on the swelling waves, and the sound of water brushing the stern was as soft as a whisper against the ear.
River finished speaking with Armand and settled beside me.
“The world can be this peaceful.”
“Only on the first day. Enjoy the romance while you can.”
“Skip the wet-blanket talk and tell me about the future.”
“Future sounds good. We’re going to need a bigger boat soon. You all right with that?”
What River was really asking about was money. The present fishing boat was barely ten tons. Handling larger volumes would require something over a hundred tons, plus concealment spaces and camouflage modifications—none of it cheap.
“At least thirty thousand dollars.”
“That’s more than enough. Aren’t reliable crewmen the more urgent problem?”
To escape the trauma of a near-fatal mutiny, River needed men he could trust. Yet a full year later only Carly Dustin still stood at his side.
“Don’t worry about crew. I can bring you about ten solid ones.”
“That’s a relief.”
In the long view Armand was also a vital axis of the smuggling transport. But Leonard had taken far too much from him—not only the crew they had worked with, but the ships themselves, handed over entire. That was why Armand, leaning against the stern rail and staring at the sky, could not sleep: rage and humiliation kept him awake.
On the fifth day we left American waters and entered Canada.
By then Armand had learned that I was of mixed Eastern blood and that, young as I was, I led the party. Annoying questions followed; I brushed them off with vague answers. Now he struck up conversation with me readily enough.
“That land far ahead is Nova Scotia, Canada. We’re about two-thirds of the way there.”
“Have you been to Canada often?”
“Of course. New Brunswick goes without saying—I’ve even been as far as Ontario.”
“Because of contraband?”
“Well… you could put it that way.”
“Are there enough warehouses on the island?”
Armand counted on his fingers before answering.
“There are about six warehouses on the harbor for storing fish. The island’s so small that’s all there is.”
“We’ll need more warehouses, then.”
Late evening, November 5, 1918.
The farther north we sailed, the colder the air became. We had to pull on heavy winter coats. I stood on deck with the others, masks and scarves wrapped tight, watching the land approach.
Armand, who had seen the view countless times, seemed to find it new tonight. In a moist voice he played guide, feeding us information about the islands.
“The large island on the left is Miquelon-Langlade; the one on the right is Saint Pierre.”
Both were French territory. Miquelon-Langlade consisted of three islands—Miquelon, Langlade, and Le Cap—while Saint Pierre was a single independent island.
“Why ignore the big island and use the little harbor of Saint Pierre?”
“Miquelon-Langlade’s coastline is too complicated for large vessels. There’s no proper harbor to put in.”
Saint Pierre, though smaller, possessed a bigger, deeper natural harbor. That was why the population clustered on the little island rather than the large one.
Hours later, only after full night had fallen, the boat finally neared Saint Pierre harbor. In the moonlight the small fishing village showed white-brick houses with red roofs packed tightly around the port.
“From here we swim.”
Absurd, but there was no choice. Armand insisted the harbor was controlled by Leonard’s people. To keep word from reaching Leonard’s ears we could not be spotted by dockworkers or customs men.
Splash!
Armand went first; the rest of us followed boldly into the water. I had deliberately brought men who could swim, so reaching shore should have been no problem—
“Declan!”
“Gah—gah—can’t touch bottom—urk!”
“Of course you can’t touch bottom, you idiot!”
Armand and I seized Declan by the scruff at the same time. Phillis and Hubert were not strong enough swimmers to take responsibility for anyone else.
Back in Manhattan I was going to teach them proper swimming if it killed me.
We finally set foot on land. Water streamed from our clothes and soaked the ground; our sodden bodies shivered hard in the freezing wind.
“Move. Quickly.”
Armand’s teeth chattered as he took the lead; even he could barely endure it.
A short distance outside the village he knocked on the door of a lonely house.
“Sofia! C’est Armand! Allez, ouvre-moi vite!”
No response. Steam rose in thick white plumes from Armand’s entire body as we watched from behind. The same from the men. Fists clenched, bodies trembling—if the door stayed shut they looked ready to smash it down at once.
I felt the same. After all that misery I was ready to die. I would break the damned door if I had to—
Creak.
“Armand? C’est bien toi?”
A pair of eyes peered through the crack. They took in the rest of us standing behind Armand and the door slammed shut again. Armand hammered urgently and explained; the door swung wide open once more.
A woman in her thirties, Sofia, stood on the threshold and jerked her chin for us to come inside. A shotgun rested in her hands while she muttered something.
“She says if you try any funny business she’ll blow your heads off.”
Armand’s helpful translation kept us silent as we filed in. Sofia’s sharp gaze tracked every movement. She leaned out, checked the darkness, then shut the door.
Inside, Declan needed no order—he immediately stuffed wood into the fireplace.
“You’ll get your head blown off that way.”
He flinched and glanced at Sofia for permission.
“I’ll allow that much.”
Speaking English, Sofia disappeared into a room and returned with blankets, surprisingly considerate.
“The children are asleep. I’d appreciate it if you kept quiet.”
So she had children.
Once we were wrapped in blankets we even received warm water to drink. While we recovered, Armand and Sofia spoke in the kitchen with grave faces.