Among the stuffed and starchy gentlemen and ladies circulating stiffly about the well-lit room, a particularly strange gentleman had insinuated himself.  Wherever he went, he drew puzzled looks and furled brows; no one knew exactly who he was, hadn't even remembered meeting him in fact, but surely<em>someone</em>must have known him, must have known of his identity.  It was only reasonable to assume so; to imagine that he would be here otherwise would be unthinkable.<br/><br/>His outfit was not, in itself, extraordinary; he wore the typical flared breeches, the waistcoast, the lace craveat, the hose.  He had no powdered wig, but wore his long hair tied back behind his head, tied with a satin bow, as was the style of the time.  That was not unusual.<br/><br/>What<em>was</em>unusual was that, instead of wearing buckled shoes, he wore a pair of large, knee-high, Musketeer boots (http://www.medievalclothier.com/wp-content/uploads/wpsc/product_images/PorthosCloseup.JPG) that were not dressy at all, but  in fact, were rather serviceable.  They looked like the kind of boots in which one could, to pick an example at random, engage in a pitched and desperate sabre battle on a ship's bulwark.  Also, his eyes were heavily ringed with kohl, which made him look dangerous but at the same time alluring.  He smiled mysteriously, moved like a shark in a pool of flounder, and emptied glass after glass of expensive wine.<br/><br/>"There she is," he murmured, setting down what had to be his fourth or fifth empty glass.  He appeared to be speaking to a woman somewhat shorter than him.  "Right. Here's the plan--<em>and how are you, sir?  My pleasure.  So good to meet you, madam.  You look splendid, simply splendid,</em>" he added, in a much louder, friendlier tone, as a bemused and bewildered lord and lady passed by.  "<em>Ta ta.  Have the créme brulée, it's excellent.</em>"<br/><br/>"As I was saying," he began again, "you create a distraction, and I'll--<em>excuse me, one more, please.</em>"  This was to an exasperated and afflicted waiter, who found himself relinquishing yet another goblet of wine before he could protest.  The strange man tossed it back, draining it in one draught, setting the empty chalice down next to its defeated brethren.<br/><br/>"Distraction," he continued, "and I'll grab her.  We'll meet up at the docks.  Should be a full moon tonight."  He wiped his mouth with the back of his expensive sleeve.  "I'm counting on you, My."