CHAPTER FOUR
In Which the Foggs Get in Over Their Heads
Big Ben was just striking seven o'clock when the back door to the museum opened
and Roland Jackleton emerged.
"Well, at least he's punctual," Marion mused aloud from her perch across the
street. She had picked the spot because it was hidden from prying eyes, yet she
could see the back door to the museum perfectly without being seen herself.
Jackelton had changed out of the clothes he had been wearing earlier which meant
he did not plan on going home. And in his hand he carried a travel bag. A
satisfied smile crossed her face. This boded well for her assumptions that
tonight was the night.
"Okay, Mr. Jackelton," She breathed nervously, "let's see what would make you
give up a promising career at the British Museum for a life of crime."
Jackelton, strode out to the main street, where he stopped for a moment, looking
about him. When he seemed satisfied that no one was watching, he turned north
and merged in with the crowd of people heading that way.
Marion waited until he was passed her before sliding down off the wall and
plopping gracefully onto the grassy mound below. She meticulously straightened
out the sleeves of her riding jacket and smoothed the wrinkles from the pants,
grinning at her own cunning. She was going to solve this mystery and restore
her father's good name - despite what Phileas Fogg had told her earlier that
day. Jackelton was the culprit and she was going to prove it. Besides, what
trouble could she get in following the man around town?
All caught up in her own self assurances, she didn't notice the shadow that
detached itself from the wall just a few feet beyond where she had been sitting.
It stayed, hidden behind the trees surrounding the wall, until she walked
passed, and then it, too, stepped out onto the streets and headed north.
This was going to be easier than she had thought.
* * * * * * * *
Of course, Marion Baeuvin would not have thought so had she seen the dark shadow
that watched her from further on down the wall. This dark shadow had been
following her for the better part of the late afternoon. Had watched as she
roamed anxiously around the house waiting for the hour to draw closer, even
watched with slight amusement as she ransacked her closet looking for the proper
attire.
"So why would she be following Jackelton?" Rebecca mused to herself as she
watched the young girl pass by. "Unless of course Phileas was right and you are
innocent." A supposition she did like very much. She hated it when Phileas was
right and she was wrong. She had been so positive that Marion Baeuvin was the
culprit. She had the perfect motive and the perfect opportunity.
But now Rebecca was not so sure.
"Thank g-d I did not reveal my theory to Phileas." She mumbled, sliding down off
the wall. "He would never let me live this one down."
She turned and flowed with the crowd as it made it's way down the street,
keeping both Marion Baeuvin and Roland Jackelton in sight.
* * * * * * * *
The sun was just beginning to settle over the horizon ushering the beginning of
dusk when Jackelton veered off the main street and headed west and away from the
civilized parts of the city. The houses began to take on a drabbier appearance,
as upper class living took the shape of middle class living took the shape of
lower class living. And soon living ceased all together as it became the slums.
For the first time, Marion actually halted as fear gripped at her heart. She
had never been this far away from the city before. Had never seen living
conditions so appalling before. Of course, she had read that such places
existed, but she had never dreamt that they could be so close to where she lived
and breathed on a daily basis. How could people live in such squalor?
The sense of adventure and intrigue that had excited her a few moments earlier
were dulled now by the coldness of the wind and the sheer silence of the
dwellings around her, the streets themselves changed by night and moonlight.
Doorways and signs that had been glamorous in the sun were dimmed, liked closed
eyes: the mouths of alleyways were maws of darkness, vaguely threatening, adding
to the mounting apprehension. Marion rushed past them, moving instinctively,
following her quarry.
The wind grew stronger and she shivered, folding her arms around herself for
what little warmth in body heat they provided. She prayed that Jackelton would
soon come to his destination.
* * * * * * * *
Rebecca caught herself quickly as Marion Baeuvin stopped short, throwing herself
into an abandoned doorway and disappearing into the shadows. She had been
following the girl a little closer than she normally would for fear the child
might be attacked by one of the drunken rail workers who lived in the tenement
houses surrounding them. The girl was very pretty and very innocent and very
much out of her element here. There had been times when Rebecca had to stop
herself from grabbing the girl by the arm and dragging her out. This was no
place for a lady....at least not for one who could not handle herself well in a
fight.
Marion started up again, this time walking at a more determined pace. Rebecca
slipped out of the doorway and followed as closely as she dared now that the
streets were almost deserted. Up ahead she could just make out Roland Jackelton
as he open the door to a building and walked inside.
Marion stopped again and glanced up at the sign posted above the doorway that
Roland had just entered. Rebecca didn't need to look at it. She already knew
what it was. She had heard the sound of drunken laughter long ago.
The sign said Joe's Pub.
This was definitely not the place for a young innocent to be going into alone.
Rebecca gave a very unlady like curse under her breath. She would have to break
her cover and take the chance that Phileas was indeed correct about the girl's
innocence. Because the men inside that place would eat her alive.
"Phil, you had better be right..." she mumbled and started at a determined pace
towards the girl when all of a sudden a hand gripped her arm and yanked her into
a darkened doorway. Before she had a chance to react, a familiar chuckle gave
her pause, and she relaxed in the man's grip.
"Aren't I always, dear cousin?"
"You can get yourself killed doing that, you know," she murmured. "How long
have you been here?"
"Just now arrived actually. I've been following the whole lot of you since the
museum."
She pulled away and turned to glance up at him. His face was half hidden in the
shadows of the doorway but she could tell he was grinning. "Since the museum?"
she repeated.
He nodded. "Don't be too upset, Rebecca. I haven't been caught yet by anyone
I've followed."
She punched him non-too gently in the arm. "That doesn't make me feel any
better, Phileas. Except to say I'm glad you're on my side."
"Are we now?" he asked lightly. "Have you decided that perhaps my experience in
these kinds of situations has been proven useful?"
She frowned. "I'm saying that perhaps you were correct about Miss Baeuvin's
innocence and Mister Jackelton guilt. At least she seems to think he's the
culprit as well."
"Good. Then you can tell Miss Baeuvin the same and take her home. I'll
continue to follow Mister Jackelton and hopefully he will lead us to whoever
bought his services."
"She's going inside," Rebecca announced suddenly as if she hadn't heard a word
he had said and started forward. Fogg reached out and grabbed her arm again and
turned her around so that she faced him once more.
"Rebecca, this is not a place for young girls. Especially innocent ones.
She'll be noticed the moment she walks in there." He bent forward so that his
face was barely an inch from hers. "And so will you..."
Rebecca jerked her arm out of his grip. "I can take care of myself, Phileas.
And the point is moot anyway." she replied as the sound of raucous laughter
filled the air, "She's already gone inside."
Without waiting for his reply, she twirled around and hurried after Marion.
Remaining incognito was not her main objective anymore, getting that girl out of
there was. She had never been to this particular tavern before, but she knew
the area. While most of the men inside would be either too drunk or too timid
to be of much harm to Marion, there were always those who could be egged on to
do just about anything to anyone to prove their manhood.
She knew this for a fact. She had been through the gauntlet a number of times
herself.
"Rebecca!" Phileas called out.
She chose to ignore him and threw open the door to the tavern and walked inside.
* * * * * * * *
Joe's Pub would not have been his first choice of a meeting place, but then
Roland Jackelton was not one accustomed to clandestine meetings. Perhaps it was
the best type of place for conducting the kind of exchange he was about to
involve himself in.
About to? Mate, don't kid yourself, he berated himself, You're in this thing
way over your head. He was out of his element and he knew it. How in the h-ll
had he gotten himself into this? Hadn't he been perfectly happy with his
little job at the Museum? It didn't involve a whole lot of physical labor -
something he totally abhorred - and he got the chance to use his intellect and
education for something he thought worthwhile.
Then why was he here?
The money. Plain and simple. They had offered him more money then he could
ever hope to make in a lifetime working in the museum. And all he had to do was
steal a single item. A bloodstone....or more correctly, the Bloodstone of
Healing. To him it was just a stone, albeit a beautiful crystalline stone, but
a stone nonetheless. He knew historically that bloodstones were generally
decorative items on much larger artifacts, but this stone had been found alone.
Or perhaps the man for whom he stole it knew more about that then he. But he
brushed that thought aside. Best stick to one thing at a time. Meet with the
contact, hand over the stone, get the money, and jump on the next ship headed
for the Americas. When he was safely away he could consider the ramifications
of what he had done.
It was just a stone after all. What harm could it be?
Just then the front door of the tavern opened and he absently glanced that way,
as did most of the patrons at the bar.
Good g-d! What is she doing here?
Jackelton couldn't believe his eyes. But there she was, Marion Baeuvin,
standing in the doorway of the tavern, pale and looking very much like a fish
out of water. Instinctively he sat back in his chair at the only unoccupied
table he had been able to find, hiding behind the group of men gathered around
the card players at the next table.
What was she doing here? Had she followed him here? But why?
Because she knows what you did, you idiot.
Catcalls started going up around the tavern as more and more of the men noticed
the pretty little girl standing in the doorway. Good sense finally seemed to
dawn on her and she at least moved into the tavern and toward the bar, ignoring
the catcalls altogether.
Part of Jackelton wanted to run over there, grab her by the arm, and drag her
out of there. The other part convinced him that she knew what she was doing and
to leave her alone. He hadn't asked her along anyway. She was a big girl and
quite capable of taking care of herself. But he did notice that several of the
men had moved down the bar to where she stood, some cutting off her path towards
the door should she decide to flee.
Then the catcalls soon turned into rude remarks and suggestions - some of which
he highly doubted were humanly possible. Valor told him to get up and at least
walk over there.
Self preservation told him to sit still and ignore the situation.
The front door opened again, allowing a soft whisper of a cool breeze into the
stuffy and smoky tavern. For a moment the young girl was forgotten - she wasn't
going anywhere anyway - as heads turned to sum up the new arrival. From
somewhere in the crowd came a highly appreciative whistle.
"So tell me," A decidedly feminine voice called out over the silence that
suddenly prevailed. "Where can a girl get a decent drink around here?!"
* * * * * * * *
Rebecca shoved the door of the tavern open and took a step inside. Cold and
damp were instantly replaced by heat and the heady reek of liquor. She blinked,
an owl caught in the flare of the hunter's torch, and peered, no less owlishly
about. Rough wooden tables were scattered across a floor spread with sawdust,
that stained with spillage. Men sat there, tankards and cups before them,
answering her examination with predatory gazes. The ceiling was low, hung with
lanterns, their light augmented by the lowering flames of the logs burning in a
wide stone hearth. To her right was a long bar that took up the entire one side
of the building, behind it a fat, bald man in a greasy apron, behind him tapped
barrels and shelved flagons, tankards and mugs hung like trophies from wooden
pegs.
Oh, well, she thought, here goes nothing.
So with hands placed delicately on her hips she exclaimed in her most feminine
voice: "So tell me. Where can a girl get a decent drink around here?!"
The tavern erupted into hearty laughter as Rebecca graced the patrons with a
charming smile and did her best saunter up to the bar. All heads turned as she
passed, watching the vision of loveliness with keen interest. It had been a
very long time since most of them had seen such a beautiful - and well groomed -
woman before. And for the moment, all thoughts of the young girl vanished.
Which was exactly the way Rebecca had wanted it.
"So what would you recommend?" Rebecca asked the first hulk of a man she saw as
she stepped up to the bar.
"All we got is ale," the bartender replied with a crooked grin on his face.
She smiled sweetly and batted her eyelids in his direction. "Then ale it is.
In fact," she turned and swept her arm in the air, "I'll buy a round for
everyone!"
Cheers went up through out the tavern and bodies pressed towards the bar, half-
empty mugs sloshing ale all over the floor. Rebecca took a deep breath, trying
to ignore the sweaty, smelly bodies that pressed up against hers. At least she
had managed to get their minds off Marion...for the moment. Now she only had to
get them good and drunk so they didn't care when she dragged the girl out...
But then so goes the best laid plans of mice and men....
Marion, unable to take the closeness of the bodies that pressed against her nor
the hands that groped her, twirled around and made a dash for the door. And all
h-ll broke lose.
Rebecca rolled her eyes and let out a very unlady-like curse as several of the
men streamed past her and grabbed for Marion as she ran towards the door.
This was going to be bad....very bad.
* * * * * * * *
Fogg waited with trepidation as Rebecca threw open the door to the tavern and
walked in. He knew she was quite capable of taking care of herself - he had
seen her do so on more than one occasion. But part of him would always fight
that knowledge. The part of him that remembered her as a small child the day
her parents had been killed and she had come to live with his family. The part
of him that remembered her tender ministrations on the day he had come home
after the death of his brother. The part of him that remembered the tears in
her eyes on the day she had killed her first man.
The part of him that remembered he loved her more than life itself.
The sound of her voice and riotous laughter brought him back to reality and he
realized that she had everything under control.
"Now, Mister Jackelton, where would you go once you realized both women had
followed you here?" he mused aloud. A smiled crossed his face. "Out the back
door of course."
Unless Jackelton knew the tavern well - which Phileas highly doubted given his
upbringing - it would take him a few moments to find the back door. But those
few moments would be all that Fogg needed to scurry around the outside of the
building and await his next move. If this was where he was supposed to meet the
man or men he had stolen the stone for, he would most certainly move the meeting
anywhere but where he had two unrefutable witnesses.
Fogg searched his memory as he slipped into the alley that ran between the
tavern and the closed merchant shop. He had been to this particular tavern a
few times to meet with some local snitches back when he was in the Service. And
as he recalled he had to slip out the back door once in pursuit of his quarry at
the time. If memory served him correctly, there was a small cemetery behind the
tavern which extended from the back of the establishment all the way up to the
Lincoln Street exchange. It was a poor man's gravesite with large handcarved
tombstones and unkempt bushes. He had taken quite a beating from those bushes
that night, but by the time they reached Lincoln, he had collared the man and
brought him down successfully.
The memory brought a small smile to Fogg's lips. Gaw, he really did miss the
Service at times.
He reached the end of the alley and took a cautious peek around the corner. The
area directly behind the tavern was empty save for several overloaded trash bins
and a few cats having their fill from them. The cemetery beyond was just as he
remembered, except perhaps a bit more run-down looking.
Fogg slipped out of the alley and made his way cautiously across the trash area.
One of the cats studied him warily across the carcass of a rat and he halted,
returning the animal's stare. The cat's tail furred and it hissed a challenge,
as though it feared he might contest it's prize. Yellow eyes glared in the
moonlight, then the feline sank long fangs in to the bloodied hide and carried
the body swiftly off into the darkness. The other cats quickly followed.
He took another quick glance around.
The building on the other side of the tavern shared an outside wall with it and
had a doorway much closer to the trash area where he could see without being
seen and hear whatever was said. It also gave him an unobstructed view of the
cemetery beyond should they move the meeting that way. He had barely settled
into the shadows of the doorway when the backdoor of the tavern flew open and
four men walked out.
Four. He smiled. Those were odds he could handle.
* * * * * * * *
Quickly Rebecca started after the younger woman - just as the first man reached
out to grab her. Rebecca extended her arm, balled her fist, and slammed it into
the man throat. The man had time for one strangled gasp, and was out cold
before he hit the floor.
The second man did not hesitate, but came straight on. Rebecca swept aside her
cape and stood poised as the man, with a wordless yell, attacked.
The man might have been a decent fighter, but in his present condition was no
match for the professional agent. Rebecca blocked his blow with one forearm,
then came in with a hard, lethal blow that partially crushed the man's larynx.
She had no time to check that he was still alive. She only had time to dodge
just as a third man struck, silent and with the expertise the other two had
lacked.
The young woman whirled away from the man, and as she did so, whipped off the
cape she had been wearing and flung it into the third man's face. With one
smooth movement, however, her opponent disentangled himself and came in again.
This fellow, Rebecca knew instantly, was not as drunk as the others - and seemed
to know what he was doing. Despite the situation, she smiled slightly, pleased
for the challenge. She had her throwing knives within reach and could use them
at any time, but she decided against it. She wanted as little blood shed as
possible. It wouldn't due to become entangled in some civilian affair while
working a case for the Queen. Besides a little exercise would be welcome.
The man was already dancing in, balanced, his eyes level. Rebecca let him come,
then dodged his fist at the last possible second, pulling herself into an arc
like a far eastern dancer, and then spinning around, out of the way. As she
moved, her hand moved out and dealt the man a stunning clip behind his right
ear.
The man managed to dodge at the last moment, though, and the blow that had been
meant to render him unconscious only dazed him. He staggered a little, shook
his head, then came back for more.
Rebecca was only too pleased to oblige. They sidestepped each other in a grim
parody of a waltz she had seen only last week in London.
The guard lunged again, and again Rebecca waited, then evaded the movement at
the last possible second. Another blow made the man gasp - this time her instep
impacted with the back of his knee. The man's leg buckled, and, for the first
time, Rebecca saw fear in his eyes. He now knew he was totally outclassed, and
yet he conquered his pain and weakness and moved in again.
For the first time, Rebecca went on the attack. Her foot lashed out in a
precise blow, and impacted with the man's wrist with stunning force. Then she
spun in for the finish. Another sweep behind the other knee, and the man
sagged, his legs unable to hold him. But that did not matter. Rebecca already
had him around the neck in a grip as hard and relentless as steel. It would
only take one, quick, sideways jerk, and she could snap his neck.
Instead, she glanced up at the other men gathered around her, a devilish grin on
her face. "Now I suggest you all take a few steps back, gentlemen, and go back
to your business of getting drunk. I am in a foul mood this evening and may
very well kill one of you." She graced each of the men in the front with a hard
gaze. "Which one of you would you like it to be? Hmmm?"
The men did indeed take one step back, but they went no further. She knew her
hard-nosed approach would last for only a moment or so. At least until the fear
wore off and the liquor spurned them on. Even in a drunken stupor they would
eventually overpower her by sheer numbers. She was good - the best the Secret
Service had to offer - but she wasn't that good.
Marion was at the door by now. At least having had enough sense to continue on
in her flight despite the altercation. She just hadn't been able to bring
herself to walk out, and leave her savior behind. She put her hand on the
doorknob now, ready to yank it open.
Rebecca sensed the movement, and saw the girl's hand on the doorknob from the
periphery of her vision. She slowly straightened, her arm sliding perceptively
from around the third man's neck. Then before anyone had the chance to take
their next breath she shoved the man into the crowd with a swift kick and
hastened toward the door. Marion had the door open by the time she got there
and she shoved the girl out before her.
Both stumbled out into the chilling night air.
* * * * * * * *
Jackelton was impressed with Rebecca's Fogg penchant for fighting like a man for
he had never seen a woman fight quite like that before. Either man or woman,
she was very good and he would have loved to stay and see the outcome of the
battle. But just as he settled down to watch, a figure detached itself from the
crowd toward the back of the pub and approached his table. He recognized the
man as the one who had approached him earlier in the week about the stone.
"You have the merchandise?" the man inquired, starting to sit down.
"Yes, I do. But I'd rather not do business here. It's a little too
obstreperous for my liking." Roland saw no need to mention the fact that he had
been followed to the pub by the two women causing the disturbance.
"Fine." The man was obviously irritated. "We can do this outside as well as in.
Follow me."
He stood up and walked back the way he had come, towards a small corridor
Jackelton had not noticed until now. He stood and followed after a distance.
The corridor led past the kitchen and water closets to another doorway at the
end. As Jackelton walked past the kitchen he was aware that two other figures
had entered the hallway as well. With a casual glance backward he noticed that
these men wore the same unusual style uniform his contact wore. He also noted
quite distressingly, that they were both also armed with long swords.
With an uneasy feeling he stepped through the door and walked outside onto a
small cobblestone street, the width of perhaps a small wagon which ran along the
backs of all the establishments for the purposes of making deliveries. Across
this street lay the local cemetery.
His contact was waiting at the entrance of the cemetery with arms crossed and
that irritated look on his face. He motioned for Jackelton to follow him
further inside. The other two men followed closely behind.
"The merchandise?" his contact inquired again.
"The money?" he queried, trying to sound just as irritated and failing
miserably. He had the unshakeable fear that this deal was about to turn sour.
He should never have left the building. At least there he had two people who
would not have wanted to see harm come to him.
The contact glanced up at the two men and nodded his head toward the alley
leading back to the front of the pub. One nodded in return and positioned
himself at the mouth to deter any unwanted visitors. The other stepped up
behind Jackelton. So close that the man could feel the breath on the back of
his neck.. He could not suppress the shudder of fear that ran down his back.
The contact moved forward, a nasty grin plastered on his face. "The
merchandise?"
You turn over that stone now, Roland, and you are dead, he thought to himself.
These guys are not fooling around.
"I don't have it on me," Jackelton replied in what he hoped was a casual,
unassuming manner.
The nasty grin grew wider and more malicious, if that was possible. "You
already told me you had it with you." He took a step closer. "Are you saying
you lied to me?"
Gaw, was there no way out of this?
Apparently the answer was no. For before he had the chance to respond, the man
behind him grabbed his arms and held on fast. He didn't bother to struggle.
There would have been no use. He was no fighter by any means - save with a
pistol, one of which he hadn't thought to bring. He was about to die and he
knew it.
"Why don't we show this scum what we do to people who lie to us." the contact
remarked. He stepped back then as the man who had been guarding the alley came
forward. Roland swallowed hard and closed his eyes. This was going to be
bad.....very bad.....
* * * * * * * *
Phileas Fogg held his breath and his temper as he watched the scene played out
before him. The League of Darkness, he seethed, recognizing immediately the
uniforms of the three men that had walked out of the tavern with Jackelton. I
should have known. The alleged powers of the Crown of Souls would be an
allurement Count Gregory could not have withstood. And if he were responsible
for the theft of this stone, he was also responsible for the theft of the other
two. And perhaps the crown itself, although Chattsworth had said nothing of it.
Even though Phileas did not believe in the mystical powers of the crown, he had
seen too many unexplainable things in his day to at least warrant the
possibility that it could be dangerous. Either way, he did not want it to end
up in the hands of the League of Darkness.
"Why don't we show this scum what we do to people who lie to us," he heard one
of the men reply.
Fogg watched as the man backed out of the way, stopping only a few feet away
from the trash bins. The third man, the one who had been watching the alley,
stepped forward, blocking Fogg's view of Jackelton. But he didn't need to see
the young man to know what was going on. He only had to hear the cry as the
first fist hit him.
With a war cry, Phileas came out from behind the trash cans fighting. He hurled
his coat at the first man, enveloping him head and shoulders, and launched
himself at the back of the second, almost overbearing the bigger man with the
fury of his onslaught.
This was no time for a chivalrous exchange of blows. The man cried out in
anguish as a knee drove into his groin, and the back of an elbow smashed into
his collarbone with shattering force. As Fogg jumped aside, the man toppled.
By the time that the first man fought free of the coat, Fogg crouched out of
sight in the bushes. Nursing a bruised elbow, he planned his next move. The
second man, he could hear moaning and retching, hopefully the victim of a broken
collarbone, and the first man didn't worry him much. Of the third man there was
no sign - and that worried him.
But then he heard him moving his way, thrashing about in the bushes. On hands
and knees, Fogg circled around him, hoping to gain the advantage of surprise and
finish him off before the other two recovered.
They met in a dark alley between two hedges, where Fogg hoped for the element of
surprise. But a twig snapped underfoot, betraying his approach, and his attack
came a fraction of an instant too slow. The man drew his sword and parried the
blow easily, and a fierce struggle ensued.
A sound behind Fogg warned him of another's approach. As the first man darted
into the fray, Fogg side-stepped and swung his sword up to block - almost too
slow again.
And after that it was circle and retreat, retreat and circle, in a desperate
attempt to keep one opponent or the other from getting at his back and taking
him from behind. The clatter of steel rang in his ears. It seemed to Phileas
that all his movements were slower than normal, or that theirs were much
quicker. They almost seemed to be fighting in tandem. Like they knew each
other's moves.
Circle and retreat, block and parry. Fogg's breath came painfully now, but his
opponents hadn't even broken a sweat. It made no sense. From the looks of
them, he was in far better shape physically, but yet they didn't even appear
tired. Compared to them his movements seemed slow and clumsy and it would only
be a matter of time before one of them got past his guard.
Circle and retreat, strike high and swing low to block the next blow. Then one
of the swords took him in the side, just below the ribs, and the impact sent him
to his hands and knees. There was a searing pain and a warm gush of blood as
the sword was pulled free, and Fogg heard an exultant cry: "That will finish
you, you English b-stard!"
With every last once of strength he had left, he pushed himself up onto his
knees and rocked back painfully onto his heels, waiting for the blow that would
finish him off. Taking a deep, painful breath he glanced up.
Two swords leveled themselves off at his shoulders as the two men stood staring
at him.
"Who are you?" the first man asked.
Fogg gave a small chuckle before answering. "Phileas Fogg."
And that was the last thing he knew or heard, because the ground suddenly hurled
itself at his head, and everything went dark.
* * * * * * * *
"Phileas?" Rebecca called out.
She dragged Marion with her over to the doorway and peered inside. It was
empty. She shoved the younger woman gently up against the wall. "You!" she
exclaimed, wriggling a finger not more than a centimeter in front her face,
"stay right there. Don't move unless I say."
Marion, too exhausted and frightened to move even if she wanted to, just nodded.
Rebecca released her grip on the girl's arm and turned around to survey the
area. There were several ways he could have gone. One was back up the way they
had all come. Two was down the street to the right. Three was down the street
to the left. And four was down the alley between the pub and the merchant
store.....which would have taken him to the back door of the pub.
"Gaw, Phileas. When you're right, you're right." she mumbled.
The front door to the tavern was opening. Marion let out a frightened gasp and
grabbed Rebecca by the arm, pulling her into the safety of the darkened doorway.
Rebecca didn't protest. They had barely made it out of the tavern with their
limbs intact and clothes on. She was not so sure they would fair as well the
second time around.
Several men came pouring out of the doorway into the empty street. There were
angry shouts and even angrier words. These men meant business and they were out
for blood. The mob split into three groups, each one taking a different
direction.
Rebecca pressed Marion further into the shadows, protecting the young girl as
best she could should their hiding place be discoverred. She had no reason to
fear, however, as the group passing by was too far bent on revenge and mayhem to
pay much attention to their surroundings.
"What do we do now?" Marion whispered, realizing that their only way back to the
main street had just been cut off.
"Follow me. And do exactly what I say."
Rebecca slipped out of the doorway and hugged the wall until she was able to get
a good view of the street on either side of the pub. The other two groups were
also well on their way at a determined pace. A feeling of guilt welled up inside
her for any poor unfortunates that were to meet up with them in their present
drunken and p-ssed off conditions.
She motioned for Marion to follow.
The two young women scurried across the cobblestone street, mindful of the noise
their shoes caused as they ran, and disappeared into the alley between the pub
and mercantile. It wasn't until they were well down the alley that Rebecca
finally slowed down and the two were able to catch their breaths. She motioned
for Marion to stay put while she continued the rest of the way to the back of
the building. Marion was more than happy to comply. She'd had enough of
surprises and adventures for one night thank you.
Rebecca quietly stole the remainder of the way to the end of the alley and poked
her head carefully out for a quick peek. She was not prepared for what she
found.
Roland Jackelton. And he didn't look too good.
She gave a very unladylike curse and scanned the area. As far as she could see,
the way was clear. There was no movement behind the pub save for a group of
cats that were gathered around the dead body of Roland Jackelton. She said dead
because she highly doubted that anyone with a sword shoved in his gut that way
could still be alive. At least she hoped not.
"Is everything all right...." Marion asked coming up behind her.
Rebecca threw out her arm to stop her, but she was too late. She could tell by
the strangled gasp that escaped the younger girl's lips that she had seen the
body. "I told you to stay put." Rebecca hissed angrily.
"Is he dead.....?"
"Oh, I should think so." She was in no mood for niceties now. If the girl kept
insisting on disregarding her orders, she would just simply stop trying to
protect her.
"But who would do such a thing?"
Rebecca turned her head to regard the girl in the pale light of the moon. Could
anyone still be so innocent? Gaw, some times she still wished she could be that
innocent to the ways of the world. Try as he had, God bless his soul, Phileas
hadn't succeeded in protecting her from the villainy, just as she could not now
protect Marion.
"Whoever he came here to meet I should assume." Rebecca finally answered as she
cautiously moved out of the alley. The cats protested loudly as she approached
the body and scampered as far back as the trash cans, but went no further. With
quizzical gazes, they watched her as she dropped to her knees and reached out to
feel for a pulse. As she had expected, she found none. With a frustrated sigh,
she glanced up and around the area. "Phileas, where are you?" she mused softly.
Marion came out the alley, but went no further then the mouth. "You don't think
he might have done this, do you?"
Rebecca was only half listening. "Who?"
"Your husband....Phileas."
Despite the situation, Rebecca couldn't help but burst out with laughter. She
had to throw a hand down just to steady herself as her body shook with
uncontrollable giggles. When she glanced up at the younger girl, she actually
had tears in her eyes. "Phileas is not my husband." she replied with a gasp for
air. "He is my cousin."
Rebecca could not help but note the change in Marion's face at her answer. Was
that a sigh of relief that escaped her throat? An excited smile that played at
the corner of her mouth? Phileas's unrefutable charm strikes again, she thought
with amusement.
"No, Phileas would not have done something this heinous and then run off. Most
probable, he is in pursuit of whoever did."
She gained her feet and glanced about again. Her eyes swept across the entrance
to the cemetery, the iron gate surrounding it, then the cobblestone street
leading in either direction from the pub. The moon played softly across
something lying in the street, just the other side of the trash cans. Taking
care to keep a prudent distance from the cans themselves, she walked over to
find out what it was.
"Oh, gaw..." A hand flew up to her mouth, cutting short the rest of her
sentence. She didn't have to move any closer to recognize what lay in the
street. It was a coat. A rust colored long coat. It was Phileas's coat. She
dropped to her knees and reached out and snatched it and pulled it into her
arms. It was dry, no evidence of blood. No rips or tears. Almost as if he had
taken it off himself. But why? It was certainly not like Phileas to take his
coat off - even in the heat of a duel. And he most certainly would never have
discarded it so recklessly.
She checked the ground beneath where it had been lying as well as to either
side. There were no puddles of blood either. She slowly gained her feet again
and turned around to sweep the area once more. And that's when she saw
something else lying on the ground the other side of the alley. Something that
shined dully in the soft light afforded by the waxing moon. With the coat
tucked protectively against her side, Rebecca walked over to it.
She stopped just short of it, a sharp pang in her stomach confirming what her
eyes already had. It was Phileas's walking stick. The one Passepartout had
converted into a short sword shortly after the last time his master had been
caught in battle without a weapon. It had been a simple matter for the valet,
and Phileas had agreed to it because it was the only way to appease the man.
Secretly Rebecca knew her cousin had been touched by the gesture and that deep
down inside he knew that it had made perfect sense given his penchant for
getting involved in fights at the drop of a hat. Chivalry was alive and well in
the form of one Phileas Fogg.
The walking stick had been unsheathed which meant Phileas had used it as a
sword. There was no blood on the blade, but there was a puddle beside it,
shining ruby in the moonlight.
Rebecca twirled around, clutching the jacket to her chest, suddenly feeling very
frightened. Not for herself, but for her cousin. Because she knew, without a
doubt, that the blood was his. And that this time there was a very good
possibility she may never see him again.
"Phileas!"
(
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