Jules Le Beau took the intoxicated Victoire into his arms, a not unwelcome sensation. She gave little sign of recognizing him, which was perhaps a mercy. She was thus in little danger of calling him Cecil, for instance. Her tendency to shriek an ecstatic "wheeeee!" as they turned about the floor was attracting attention, however. With an eye on the rear f the room, he began to steer her backstage and out into the garden. She had time to note that it was dark, to wonder where the music was, and to laugh once more as they stumbled on the grass and went down in a heap. She looked down at him through a drugged haze.
"Why you beautiful, beautiful man! Why ever have you brought me out here?"
Jules wondered for a moment whether what was happening was quite ethical or proper, then feeling her mouth hot on his neck, wondered why he was weighing these questions. The moon hid its face from them, as it does from lovers the world over.
Inside, Andrea made her way determinedly for the alcalde, cutting off her enraged rival. Teasing him into several dances, she saw Thomas and Denis prepare a private room with the wine they'd themselves drugged earlier. Whirling about in his arms, the actress pressed her partner closer, murmuring that he had so overpowered her that she felt positively faint. She begged him to take her to a side room where she might catch her breath, so that she might not embarrass herself by collapsing in front of his guests. As he considered, she wet her lips and whispered that she knew she'd be safe with so powerful a man to watch over her. With a moment's calculation, the alcalde bore her to the room she indicated congratulating himself on such a lovely and easy conquest.
Dancing together, Captain Martin and Lieutenant Audra had eyes only for each other. He had absently noted his Vodacciana companion being helped from the room, and the alcalde leaving with Andrea, and decided that his companions could handle this evening quite well. If Theus had granted him this gift, he would not insult divine generosity with hesitation. They discussed the Wall and agreed not to discuss wars in detail when there were so many other pleasant subjects, as she tried in vain to place the voice of her ardent suitor. She knew the voice, to be sure, but when had a man ever spoken to her in such tones? She decided to enjoy the moment for itself, rather than press too hard and burst the soap-bubble dream that was this evening.
Resting for a moment, she began to relate tales of her duties on Casa Blanca. She was serving the governor there, and had overseen the rebuilding of the Gate there. At the word "rebuilding," she added that there had been sabotage, with several blocks dropped overboard, and the occasional destruction of one or another. Finally, there had been nothing for it but to round the inhabitants up and take care of them. The Captain asked where they'd been sent to work, and she continued that they'd "been put down." He closed his eyes remembering a soldier at the Wall. I thought we'd gotten all of you, he'd said. Inside, he felt as if he'd picked up a handful of molten iron and drunk it down. He looked at her, and saw a murderess on a scale he could not comprehend. He remembered all those who had made it to San Cristobal-- Sanchez, the parents of so many children, and others. He remembered too that Francisco had given his life to enable them to escape.
His eyes ran up her scar, and he looked deeper. He saw a young woman going to war in Eisen, fighting to keep her country safe from the spreading wars of religious idiots. He saw a patriot who loved her land, saw a hopeful maiden whose dream of love had died when some hulking Eisen bastard had brought his blade crashing down into her face. Somewhere, deep in that scarred and callused heart, was something worth saving. If Theus could care about a lying, sorcerous traitor like him, he thought, then surely he had mercy to spare for her. He prayed for a way to show her that she was merely misled.
"You have the strangest look on your face, mon cher Capitain. Where are your thoughts?"
"I was thinking, ma chere Lieutenante. You have brought me so much pleasure this evening, and I have to believe that you love this more than bringing so much misery into the world. I dare to hope that you will find your true calling, and that I will be fortunate enough to share that calling with you."
She blushed, and stammered for a moment, then asked him to join her privately.
Captain Martin bowed, accepting with pleasure, and asked if she would excuse him for long enough to bring a bottle of wine.
She winced, knowing that here was were the rejection was coming. He would leave, of course. He had gotten what he wanted, namely her declaration of desire. No need to force himself to kiss that scarred face.
"I'll wait fifteen minutes. No longer. Bring wine if you must."
Assuring her that he would return far sooner, he swept off in search of a bottle, glasses, and a break in the music.
In a room not far from theirs, an odd scene had just concluded. Andrea had been lowered, gasping for breath, to a chaise longue. Denis was opening wine, while Thomas guarded the door impassively. The alcalde began to wish for Denis departure as Thomas entered the room. Andrea brightened when she saw the wine, asking the alcalde for a glass as she loosened her gown. Delighted with this turn of events, and in hopes of completing his conquest, the alcalde drained his glass. Andrea took the wine into her mouth, letting it fall back into the glass. The alcalde began to feel warm himself. Thomas noted ruefully that the poison was working on his brother as rapidly as it had worked on him the previous night, when the conspirators had insisted on his trying it to be sure of the dosage. Soon the alcalde had fallen forward in his seat, and Andrea pushed him back and off her. She looked up at her associates, who set quickly to work.
Deprived of her quarry, Consuela fumed. Bad enough that Captain Martin had refused to show her affection or attention-- though rumor had it the Captain was in other ways inclined-- and bad enough that her maid had botched the job with Andrea's wine. The disgrace of her rival would have gone far to securing her a place in Don Cristian's affection. But to have Andrea steal the alcalde right from under her nose, and nip him off to a private room, under the most transparent excuse imaginable? Why, it was simply not to be borne! She pressed an ear to the door as clothes began to be changed, thinking she had heard men's voices within.
Denis noted the shadow of feet just outside the door, and hushed his comrades. In silence, they continued the exchange of clothes as Andrea sighed the alcalde's name passionately. He then shaved the alcalde's mustaches as he was helped into Thomas' costume and mask. In minutes, Andrea and the new alcalde were ready, and left the room glowing and obviously in the afterglow of a brief liaison. A few minutes later, Denis helped frog-march his clearly inebriated fellow servant to the coach in which they'd arrived. Wine spilled down the man's front told the whole story to any who observed, and who closely observes an ill-mannered lackey? Once in the coach, he was placed in the underseat, opposite a blissfully snoring and oddly contented Victoire La Belle.
As the music paused, the alcalde and his new conquest finished their dance, and Captain Martin took the opportunity to present his compliments. He recognized his associate in his new clothing and station, and turned his compliments to Andrea. Assuring her that if ever he should miss a performance, she should not fear, for he was keen to attend, he assured her in veiled tones that he would catch up in good time, and he was not to be waited for. Stepping back to the Lieutenant's room, he caught her look of surprise, held up the glasses and bottle and joined her within.
One by one, Jules, Denis, and Andrea made their way to the coach. Andrea assured her comrades that they should depart, and that the Captain had promised to catch up with them. They returned to the Caballo Negro, and withdrew their baggage, preparing a story of needing to return to the front, hoping they'd learnt enough about lying gracefully from their absent friend to carry them through. One patrol had looked them over, then relented upon being shown papers. They wondered to themselves how they'd make it past the gate, however.
Finally, the Lieutenant leaned back, enjoying the tang of tobacco and wondering if she had ever felt this good. Suddenly, recognition bloomed.
"Henri Praisse de la Rachetisse! That's why you sounded so familiar! My God, what happened to you? Where have you been? Ivan said you had been kidnapped! Why on earth didn't you tell me who you were?"
Henri confessed his identity, told a mostly true tale of kidnapping, the horrors of sea travel, the terrors of the Wall (if inaccurate in key places, such as which side he had supported there), and his current secret work "for the Crown" which he could not discuss, but which he hoped to tell her all about someday, when the war was over, and they had all the time they could want to spend together. She relented, mollified, asked that he write her on Casa Blanca, or visit when he could.
"Believe that I will write you, for I will. I cannot let you go now that I have won you, dear Lieutenant. As for Casa Blanca... yes. I will return there someday. If you are still there, I shall see you. If you have moved on, I shall have no trouble finding you. I need only close my eyes, and follow my heart-- and there you will be."
They had dressed stealing small kisses and laughing like schoolchildren, and the time had come, He kissed her fingertips, and her mouth, and as suddenly as he had appeared before her this evening, was gone. Outside, he looked for a horse left unguarded, mounted, and rode into the night.
He'd decided to check on his gear, if only to know whether his comrades had taken it along, and was surprise dot see the coach still in front of El Caballo Negro. They were surprised to see the Captain, and ready to leave. He took only the time to check his rooms, now empty, see Garcia trotting up the stairs and assure the darling man that no matter how it pained him to leave the dear creature, he must away on l'Empereur's orders. He pressed a roll of bills into the lad's hand and urged Garcia to remember him kindly, then swept down the stairs as the Castillian counted the hundred rolled Guilder notes and whooped with delight.
The coach rattled over the streets of Barcino, stopped by guards at the gates. Papers were demanded for all, and produced for all, excepted the sleeping Victoire, who was introduced as Denis' mistress, about to be dumped at her parents' farm and put to work by Montaigne. The guards remarked that it was unusual for a mere private to have so fine a woman, and despite Captain Martin's objections, summoned their own superior.
Chatting back and forth, Martin and the Captain of the guards went over the papers. The seals were misplaced on Jules', which brought suspicion. Railing against the incompetence of the clerks, Martin let fall the comment that it would go ill for those clerks if their mistake cost General D'Etoile the information that he was transporting, and if that delay hampered the progress of the war itself. Balancing the misaligned seal against the chances of a firing squad, the Captain relented and passed the coach on its way. Martin held his breath for several minutes, until Henri let it out, groaning with relief. They'd made it. Now, all that remained was the trek south.
In the morning, just before dawn, they could hear the alcalde kicking beneath their seats. Luis turned the coach aside toward the trees, and Quinn drew his pistol. Henri raised the seat to find the alcalde biting through his gag.
"Calm yourself, my friend. I must tell you that if you cry out, we will certainly shoot you dead. Now, I imagine that you need to answer nature's call."
Having attended to his business, he turned back to Henri in a rage, asking if the Heroes had any idea who he was.
"Why yes, Thomas. You are a traitor, being taken south for questioning."
"Thomas? You insolent thug, I'm the alcalde of Barcino!"
"The alcalde? Oh, heavens no, Thomas. Don Andres Octavio de Ochoa is still alcalde in Barcino, and has that city well in hand, I assure you."
" 'Thomas'? You idiot, my brother is dead, I was promised it!"
"Perhaps you've heard the words of the first Prophet, Thomas: 'he that diggeth a pit oft falleth into it himself'?"
The former alcalde of Barcino ignited the air around him, but merely with vicious oaths and railings against his brother. He angrily gulped down the wine offered him, and was soon back in his place as the carriage raced south. In Caballos Nuevos de Torres, Henri noticed the crimson robes still in their luggage and urged the party to adopt clerical garb once again. After all, as agents of the church, no one would find it odd that they had a prisoner bound and gagged with them-- and far from being willing to help, any Castillian that saw them would be only to happy to help them on their way, and far too terrified even to speak to their prisoner. Tarago was a short week away, and their journey behind them.
So it was that Don Otavio of Tarago welcomed the coach at the livery stables, handed over the Inquisition's prisoner to Los Vagos, and congratulated Los Casablanqueños on a job well done. Quinn even produced a fine bottle sent to him by Master Aristide Baveux himself, pouring Henri a taste of home in celebration of their victory. All raised a glass, breathed a sigh of relief, and wondered what the morrow would bring them.
It wouldn't be boredom; of that they were sure.