Waiting for the Next Tide

Mackensie found Hastings cornered by a couple of local bully boys while the stable they had visited a few days before went up in flames. Hastings fluency did more to anger the men than pacify them � one of the reasons Hastings was not often asked to perform missions that required him to butcher the French language. The owner attempted futilely to combat the blaze, but he and his son were not sufficiently capable on their own, whilst those who were there were more interested in watching Hastings�s predicament than in aiding in combating the fire. Why couldn�t Hastings keep out of trouble? Mackensie sighed. No wonder Bathurst was so willing to leave him. Fortunately for them Mackensie�s mastery over the language was much better and if that didn�t work he had money and a mean right hook. �Why are we standing around when there is a fire to be put out?�

�I don�t like the look of this little Anglais,� one particularly nasty-looking individual replied. �And I�ve heard that English spies have been around. Perhaps he is one of them and set this fire to cover his tracks. But we�ve got him hadn�t we?�

�Him?� Mackensie questioned trying frantically to think of a way of pulling Hastings out of the situation without a fight. Too many people there. �He no spy. I�m met him before. He�s here because his own country won�t let him take the sort of lover he prefers.� The men who surrounded Hastings began to regard him in a new light � hopefully Hastings hadn�t understood too much of the conversation. �Look at him does he look like he could foil our government?�

My lord Hastings was relieved beyond words when Mackensie appeared to calm the locals. Apparently they were convinced that they set the fire and seemed willing to listen to any argument to the contrary. Whatever Mackensie was telling them seem to bring them to their senses � they seemed to regard him differently when Mackensie finished. He understood some of what Mackensie said, something about them knowing each other, That he wasn�t whatever it was they thought him. He would have to ask Mackensie about it later � they were probably told that Hastings was insane or incompetent. The men did seem to smile more, seemed more friendly. Were they being more indulgent to an idiot. Whatever argument Mackensie used seemed to have done the trick, and those present began to aid the poor ostler and his son in putting out the fire, pity they couldn�t have helped earlier before any of the horses perished.

<Percy>

No incident marred the departure of the family; the dark swallowed them until only the bob of Tony's torch showed in the distance. That, too disappeared and Percy was alone in the night. Alone. The greatest danger in all France was his unwatched, vulnerable back. He crouched against the side of Le Chat Gris, resting his shoulder against the weathered brick and felt a coldness that had nothing to do with the weather.

I mustn't stay here. I won't stay long. Perhaps a quick reconnaissance of the town would reveal Hastings -- could they run and make the tide? Percy got to his feet and stepped into the street. Far below he heard shouts and splashes. The tide. The shouts were warnings of anchors being raised and of sails being set. Daydream was invisible.

He imaged Jason Wheeler, Daydream�s mate, and Bathurst rowing toward the waiting yacht. Tony joking. Andrew would be relieved to be returning to England. Marguerite would be pleased to have her brother back � and Armand? What would he do in England? Percy slipped back to his waiting place, crouching low and hunkering against the wall, watching the road that led to Le Chat Gris. Waiting for Hastings.

Hastings struck his forehead with his palm, as Mackensie explained the events that transpired after they parted company. �Damnation!� he swore, thinking how much easier it would have been if he had stayed at the Chat Gris. �I pray that they�ve all gone on to England.� He was certain that Blakeney would see the du Tournais to safety, but would he choose to stay or go with them? Hopefully the latter.

�Then we ride to the Chat Gris to see if they�ve gone from there we�ll see if it�s too late to make the tide,� Hastings stated. �If we miss the tide we wait for next. Perhaps Brogard will be willing to put us up for the night.�

<Percy>

His thoughts had internalised; the skirl of the rising wind against stone walls sounded even colder than it felt as he leaned against the wall and dozed. He heard them coming � mis-matched footsteps, one pair heavier, as if one was more fatigued than the other. The occasional riffle of speech punctured the cold air and, although it was not distinct enough for Percy to recognise the speaker, he got up wearily and stretched. At this hour a man strode with purpose, on an errand, or home to bed. That the steps were less defined told him that these were his companions, seeking an uncertain way back to an unfamiliar address. He moved to the front of the inn where he could make out the two figures toiling up the hill, the bulky shape of Hastings and the shorter MacKensie.

When they were level with the street Percy separated himself from the wall and said, �A pretty kettle of fish it is to have missed the tide, gentlemen. Fully twelve more hours to endure of French hospitality.�

A cold wind rose off the black waves in the last moments of the witching hour. As false dawn colored the sky, Kulmsted stood at the prow of the private yacht looking out into nothingness. It was not the ice in the air that made Kulmsted draw closed his cloak, but the frost that seemed to grow in side of him. He had been betrayed by those he had called his friends. Left to rot in a cell, left to be tortured by bloody french men. Then as if he were nothing more than a pawn in another mans game, another bloody pompous french man with delusions of grandeur tries to use him, fails, and then tries to kill him. All of that had been insulting and had only flared his anger, it was what had happened after that put the chill in him. When his life was saved by a man from his past, a man Kulmsted had believed....had hoped was dead. A very dangerous man, a man who now went by the name of William Le Blanc. William had saved him, and William had offered to help Kulmsted get revenge on all those who who had betrayed him. Kulmsted was was no fool,he knew William had his own reasons for helping him, had his own price. The first payment was informant ion. Kulmsted had told William all he knew about Percy and the others,he had told everything he knew about how each operated and of all their hideouts. Kulmsted had been surprised when William had told him that the Pimpernel was heading back to England, and that he was to follow and rejoin his former friends as if nothing had happened. William had sent with Kulmsted two men who William said would make sure that Kulmsted reached England before the Pimpernel. The two french men were scum, and Kulmsted had been happy to leave them behind when he sailed. Kulmsted did not know why William had sent a man skilled with poisons and a man skilled at setting fires with him, or how they were to slow Percy down, but nor did he care. What Kulmsted did care about was what he would do when he got to England.

Percy�s sudden appearance startled them both, so at odds with the quiet stillness that they had grown accustomed to. �You should have gone ahead with them,� Hastings muttered, returning the glare Mackensie shot at him with a raised eyebrow. �Mackensie and I have already had our fair share of French hospitality for the evening. Evidently, word is spreading that the Scarlet Pimpernel is here or likely to be here soon enough. A group of thick brained locals thought he was responsible for a fire at the Rue Dominque. Could word of du Tournai�s escape have arrived this soon?�

<Percy>

"Not likely. It�s Revolutionary gossip is all. But, I�m glad to know what�s spoken. It may be that we might turn this wish to capture the Pimpernel to our advantage, what?"

Percy gazed at his two young lieutenants. Lieutenants? � they were subalterns and in need of discipline. "Come you, we must ask Brogard to put us up for the night. My least favourite thing is sleeping under Brogard�s roof. His food is adequate, but the lodging is damned foul!"

He tapped imperiously on the door with a sharp knuckle. He couldn�t say, could scarcely think in fact, of how much he�d been thinking on his lady wife, picturing her sitting demurely on the settle, warming her feet on the fender and knitting little whatsis. How he hoped! He sent a short prayer to heaven that she would not be too sick with these early months of her pregnancy. God, how he yearned to be home with her, to see her lovely face. He would get on his knees before her and confess his love, his feelings � even his doings with the league to set things right with her. Then she would confess what he suspected � that there was a tiny Blakeney a-brewing within her. It was right that he return to her quickly, for she would have need of him.

�Foul it may be, but it�s better than sleeping out in the open,� Hastings replied a moment or two before Brogard�s face through a cracked door, the door was opened wider to allow them entrance. A woman, Brogard�s wife presumably, apprehensively watched them, pulling her shawl more tightly around her. Hasting nodded to the woman in acknowledgement but avoided smiling for fear that Brogard might think he intended to stoop his wife � not that that was even a consideration. Looking around he could help but wonder what the du Tournais, who were accustomed to luxury, thought of being held in such a place. Mackensie dropped into a chair nearby, �Lovely. Another night��

�Just twelve more hours, if you�re lucky you�ll sleep through most of it,� Hastings told him. If he was lucky � if he was a sound sleeper! He wondered if Mackensie ever had the misfortune to sleep near Blakeney. The chief�s snores could wake the dead on a good day. �After that Dover then home.�

<Percy>

"I say, Brogard. Ask your lady wife if them demmed aristos left any of the supper for us." Percy watched Brogard run an insolent eye up and down his frame before motioning to his wife to serve the three late arrivals. "If nothin� else," Percy said, "you�ll have a decent bottle of wine about the place." He sat down on the one good chair and raised his feet, one to hit the table, the second to drape over the ankle of the first. Insolent. His action brought the ghost of a smile to Brogard, who disappeared for a moment, then returned with a bottle liberally coated in dust.

"Tossed it through the cobwebs, did you?" Percy demanded contemptuously. "Pull the cork and share a glass with me. I shall tell you about the tremendous fire that took Le Roux�s stable. I fear a republican plot, Brogard. Foreign infiltrators, or worse yet � goddamn, interfering Parisian bastards."

Brogard laughed aloud and took a seat, carefully moving his chair closer to the table so that its one rickety leg didn�t fall off. "Parisian bastards, yes. We�ve seen a few," Brogard commented as he relit his pipe. A steaming bowl of soup was set before Percy, who chose to ignore it, even though his stomach contracted with hunger. Brogard was in a mood to talk which was all to the good. Percy knew he must take Brogard in his own time and at his own manner. With seeming casualness, he removed his boots from the table.

"Sante, mon ami," he said, clinking his glass against Brogard�s, then drinking deeply and sighing aloud. "Ahh, vintage stuff. You weren�t out to fool me with the cobwebby bottle. I am impressed, sir. I shall give you a golden guinea for your astuteness." Automatically his hand slid into his pocket to retrieve the coin. An outrageous price for a bottle of burgundy � they both knew it. Percy was paying for something else.

Hastings listened, while eating the soup Mdm. Brogard set before him. Sounded as though Brogard had an idea who set the fire. Maybe if they knew who they might piece together why.

<Percy>

Brogard, native of Calais that he was, was used to foreigners. Traded with foreigners. Put them up in his sleazy inn. But, that didn�t mean the man wouldn�t side with the revolution against foreign English aristos � even those of long acquaintance � in a cold minute. Percy measured the tone of his words as he spoke with the inn-keeper. ". . . and thus, I suspect there will be grave trouble and soon," Percy told Brogard. The inn-keeper nodded. "Trouble," he agreed. "Bloody Austrians! We shall give them a taste of their own, by god!"

"Aye!" Percy agreed and clinked his glass against Brogard�s. "Filthy Austrians to be sure." As the conversation flagged, Percy eyed the cooling bowl of soup hungrily. Finally, he set his glass aside and fell upon the soup. Brogard�s wife knew her way around a kitchen garden and that was a fact. Thick with lentils, there were carrot slices and chunks of celery. A wonderful potage � legumes such as French peasants were raised on. Before his hunger was satisfied the bowl was empty.

Percy glanced around the squalid room, meeting Hastings� glance � keeping his eyes low � and MacKensie, eyes heavy-lidded as if he was about to nod off. "I wonder . . ." Percy began, then halted as Mme Brogard returned from her kitchen with a pie. "Oh my!" It didn�t matter what filled the pie � Percy was grateful for the interruption.

Hastings watched Mackensie, all but asleep, slowly drift off. The eyes remained open a crack, but all that could be seen of them were the whites, his head lolled back against the wall, which was all that kept it upright. He breathed noisily and in a few minutes the breathing would transform itself into a soft snore. Even Mdm Brogard's return did little to rouse Mackensie from his slow descent into the realm of Morpheus. If only he could be so lucky to rest when danger loomed ever near.

The lady began to serve the pie which Blakeney appeared delighted with, but Hastings eyed with some suspicion. It could be rat for all he knew... for want of any other fruit, vegetable or animal... it might be rat. And regardless of Mdm. Brogard's skills in the kitchen, he'd sooner go hungry than eat rat. He watched Blakeney daintily cut off a portion and stick it in his mouth, if it was rat likely Blakeney would spit it out. He held his breath waiting for the verdict.

<Percy>

�Mme. Brogard, you read my thoughts!� Percy cried, watching the large knife slice through the crust. Steam rose from the cut. A savory scent, onions, garlic, something vegetable . . . eggplant? The good wife quirked a grin in Blakeney�s direction and sliced a large portion for him, passing the plate over her husband�s head.

�There have been a few wagons in the area recently,� Brogard said. �Weapons. Many of muskets. Fewer of powder and shot.�

Percy shook his head sadly. �Can�t win a war without powder. What is Danton thinking?� Eagerly, he broke into the pastry. As he�d suspected, lentils (again) and eggplant mixed with a little meat swimming in a savory gravy. He scooped up a mouthful with his fork and popped it into his mouth. His eyes shot open. Lord! Spicy! In one movement he dropped the fork onto the plate and grabbed his glass. A mouthful of wine cooled the burn. �Most interesting combination, madame,� he said. Cautiously, he tried a second forkful. �Quite unique.�

Hastings blanched as Percy dropped the fork and snatched up his glass. The wench was serving rats! Dear lord, what was the world coming to?! He remembered sumptuous spreads he�d had while in France , and now rats were on the menu! Mdm. Brogard offered Hastings a slice of the infamous pie with a smile and Hastings declined the portion with the excuse that the stew had been more than filling. He was further horrified when Percy made another go at the pie � was he truly that famished or he really needed the information that Brogard possessed and didn�t want to set the man off by rejecting the pie? What if the stew had been composed of the same stuff? He�d eaten the stew. His stomach lurched, he felt that he was going to be sick.

<Percy>

Mme. Brogard beamed under Percy�s approval, especially since the rest of the pie sat untouched in its dish. Her husband�s rumbling laugh filled the room. "The French can win a war against Austria with wet powder and one hand tied behind zee back," he muttered, holding his own hand behind his back in demonstration. "A real man has initiative," he said, tapping his skull. "Austrians are very much for the rules, non? Follow the lines in a list like reading zee shopping list. I think their generals are ruled by their women; sacre, you were taught the disasters of the Seven Years War."

Percy nodded agreement, scraping the last of the pie from his plate. Brogard motioned to his wife to refill the plate. "And more wine, eh?" he told her. She was quick to move. Percy grinned. "Aye, I know how nobly the French routed the damned Austrians. Beat the Prussians. Blasted our English forces, too..." How Brogard grinned at that remark. Percy tapped his glass against Brogard�s in salute. " Cumberland was a fool."

There was silence in which the snapping of a green twig catching fire filled the room. Finally, Brogard sighed and said, "I will tell you � in strictest confidence � that I have been approached." He rubbed his nose. "Can�t say that I care for the superior attitude of those Parisian sanscoulottes. I lose a lot with the outbreak of war. Friends on the water...(Percy nodded at the euphemism � smugglers) we are too closely watched to be safe."

"I understand your meaning Brogard. I have a safe ship for all intents. A safe vessel. And you�d like consideration of a cargo coming in to France that�s to your taste in payment for your silence around the people I smuggle back over the channel."

Brogard�s nod was minimal � Percy could have missed it had he not been watching.

Hastings averted his eyes as Percy was served another portion of "the pie". Perhaps Brogard was testing Blakeney, and Blakeney was suppress his good taste in favor of continuing his business with the inn-keeper. These French did practice some barbaric practices. Hastings's French was good enough to gather that Brogard wanted something in exchange for his silence, but was distracted from learning what the favor was when his stomach growled loudly, alerting Mdm. Brogard that he had been a little less that honest about his appetite. His face colored as she eyed him. "I think I should retire for the night." He added a yawn for emphasis.

<Percy>

MacKensie was slumped in his chair and Hastings making moves for bed. Percy yearned to do the same, but held his chair, determined to listen as long as Brogard wished to talk. Who better than a local willing to talk to give him the information he needed? Still, there was something about the sparking fire and the heavy way the goodwife�s pie settled in his stomach that weighed his eyelids and muddled his brain. He could nearly see Chauvelin�s face � did see Chauvelin � before he jerked abruptly awake. McKenzie was snoring with his head on his arms at the table and Brogard... had left. Percy yawned and took the flickering lantern up the rickety steps to his bed. It was only when he opened the door he realised that Hastings was sprawled across the width of the bed.

Hastings was roused by a pair of hands rolling him across the bed, when he moved to look up he found himself sliding off the bed. He looked around with bleary eyes, and saw a large form settle onto the bed, muttering something his brain refused to register. Automatically, he crawled back up on the bed and curled up on the opposite side of the bed from his companion, preparing to re-enter that dream where he played the part of Bacchus with his bevy of nymphs to entertain him.

Within moments he had returned to that dark, lush glen painted in hues of emerald emerald and lime as the light filtered through the leaves and branches, an occasional shaft of lightpiercing the through to illuminate a passing nymph in a halo of gold before she danced out of sight. And they were all around him, females of such extraordinary beauty as could not be found amongst mortal women, their eyes upon him, waiting. At a slight gesture a feast was brought himself, ladies appearing with silver trays, lifting the lids as they passed before him so that he might partake of their offerings. And after he stomach was filled they would see to his other needs...

A rumbling was heard in the distance, growing louder and threatening, was Zeus raging? No doubt his wife had worked him up into a state, the noise of which seemed to frighten the ladies around him as it raised in volume. No need for worry he assure them, as he drew one of the serving nymphs closer to sit in his lap. Her bare flesh pressed against his exposed thighs and chest - perhaps he dismiss the growlings of his stomach to administer to a more urge need. But she was insistent that he eat, nibbling his earlobe as she removed the lid of her tray. He asked her it's contents but the rumbling overhead drowned out his question and her response. On the tray was an expertly baked pie with a rat's head decorating the top.

Hastings sat bolt upright, welcomed back to the waking world by Blakeney's deafening snores (well Zeus was explained). He laid back down, covered his ears as best he could, closed his eyes, and hoped that he would not have the Bacchus dream.

<Percy>

By long habit, Blakeney awoke before sunrise, as the first light of dawn streaked the sky. He tried to stretch and was prevented by the presence of an inert bundle to his left that pinned the blankets. Hastings slept like the very dead, not registering Percy�s movements. Swinging his legs over the side, Percy grinned at his sleeping friend. He could walk around the room, open and close drawers, whistle if he liked and Hastings wouldn�t move. Fascinating it was that the lad could sleep so soundly; he often rose looking as if he�d slept scarcely three hours of the long night. Truth be told, Percy preferred sharing a bed with Hastings � Ffoulkes elbowed and shoved and was not above using a knobbed knee in the small of the back to protect his portion of the mattress from encroachment, while Tony spent the night shaking Percy and exhorting him to �roll over for the love of God!�

Percy examined his tousled hair and rumpled shirt in the mirror. He�d been wearing the same clothes for three days and smelled like it. Not that anyone else smelled better, but it annoyed him when he thought about the wardrobe filling his closets and he not there to enjoy it. When he got home, he was tossing this suit and never wearing it again! His boots were white rimed from salt � ruined. His hat was limp from the mist � ruined. When he got back to London, he deserved a shopping spree of royal proportions � provided Marguerite hadn�t spent all his money yet.

He began to hum a popular song as he pulled on his limp breeches, dreaming of nankeen (in royal blue), or brushed velvet (in midnight black) and somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear Frank crying, "Where am I to put it all, that�s what I want to know!"

It was scarcely an hour or two before sunrise that Blakeney�s snores tapered off enough so that Hastings could finally drift off to sleep. As he did so he wondered how he might get Lady Blakeney to divulge her means to dealing with her noisy husband without having to explain why it was necessary. That would be awkward.

It seemed he�d only just closed his eyes, when he felt someone shake him to consciousness. �Wake up, Hastings, you lazy lump,� Mackensie prodded. �We need to go now before we miss the tide! I swear, man! I have more reason to be exhausted, sleeping in that chair gave me a right pain in the back. At least you got a decent night�s sleep in a bed.� Hastings slowly forced himself to rise. Next time he�d let Mackensie share a bed with the chief.

<Percy>

Percy waved to his two lieutenants as they thundered down the stairs, Hastings still fidgeting with his cravat and snarling as if he�d slept on a raw board. "Madame Brogard has provided the most wonderful eggs this morning. Come, join me!"

MacKensie was as bleary-eyed as Hastings. Percy had to wonder if they weren�t taking advantage of Brogard�s rather plain girl-of-all-work. Where was the chit, anyway? Well, there was no time to wonder, the captain had already filled the doorway with his presence to advise �If yer a-sailin�, tide is just comin� in. Best be a-boardin� right quick!�

"You probably have time to grab a plate to eat on the way," Percy said. "But we must be off!" Then, he whispered as an aside to Hastings, "Lord, man, I hope she was worth it; you look bloody awful!"

Hastings stared at the back of Percy�s head in perplexity. Hope she was worthy it�? Who? Mackensie gratefully took the food Mdm. Brogard offered and rushed after Percy, �Better hurry, Hastings!� Mackensie said as he followed Percy out the door. �I�m not missing another boat on your behalf!� �She�? Hastings wondered again. What on earth was Percy talking about?

Mdm. Brogard took his delay as a sign that he wanted a plate, she kindly brought one to him, holding it inches under his nose, smiling. Hastings looked at the food with not a small amount of apprehension, remembering the previous night, remembering the dream... He waved the plate aside with some excuse of an upset belly, then dodged around her and out the door. He could wait till they arrived in Dover.

<Percy>

The boat bobbed on the rough waves as they rowed out to the schooner; Percy eyed the craft warily. What was there to be critical of? Schooners were all much the same � but this wasn�t *his* ship and that set his teeth on edge. The captain was a ragged mariner with a burly chest and scrawny beard. He smelled more like fish than the cargo hold did; Percy blinked away a sudden rush of tears. Lord the stench! The mate, unfurling the sails was all bones and sinew. Silent. Sober. They all appeared a serious lot aboard the Madame Malheureuse.

"I trust the vessel wasn�t named for skipper�s wife," Percy muttered to Hastings . "Although if she is, it would explain why the man has been so long at sea. Phew � did you ever stand next to a man and smell his feet through his boots before?"

Hastings shook his head expressively, wrinkling his nose. �And having done so now, I hope never to have the opportunity again,� Hastings confided. �Before this revolution, I never imaged anything living could give off such an aroma.� Hastings watching Mackensie stretch, yawning, and wondering how likely it would be they would get any rest on that boat.

<Percy>

Percy nudged MacKensie in the ribs and muttered over the skipper�s wheezing, "What impertinence! We�ve been too long on the road, I think, for you to say such things to me." What impertinence indeed! Percy looked at his friend with slow surprise, wondering if perhaps he hadn�t heard correctly. Perhaps MacKensie hadn�t asked him if it was Lady Blakeney�s habit lie down next to her husband smelling like any French whore from rue Saint-Antoine. While it was true that many of the Parisians didn�t bathe much, it was to be understood that the price of water was out of the reach of many.

MacKensie gazed at Percy with an expressionless, flat face. Percy cocked his head, blinking slowly, then gazed across to Hastings who merely shrugged. What did it mean? He knew that Hastings had spent the night boffing some French chit and was dizzy with fatigue. Did they talk against his French wife? Had MacKensie mis-spoken in the dreariness of this endless journey home, saying something that should have been shared only between himself and Hastings? Or was there something more, some anti-French feeling, beneath the tasteless, tactless comment?

No, no! It couldn�t be. He�d been witness to each of the lads risking his neck to drag du Tournai and his womenfolk away from the blade of the guillotine; surely he�d mis-heard the comment. "Lady Blakeney is a fine one for French soap and all manner of exotic perfumes," Percy said cautiously, pretending a light retort. He had no intention of confiding how the distinctive fragrance of vanilla pomade in Marguerite�s hair made him weak in the knees. Her vanilla-scented hair cascading over his shoulder and chest � how he missed it!

Hastings was slightly surprised that MacKensie would be bold enough to make such a comment about Percy�s wife, especially to the man himself so that when Percy turned questioning eyes on him he could do naught but shrug in confusion. Had MacKensie any sense he would apologize and had he ever met Lady Blakeney he would never have made the comment in the first place. Percy seem to take the comment in stride, but when he turned away Hastings elbowed MacKensie sharply in the ribs, causing the man to squeak in pain. �The weather looks good,� Hastings attempted to change the topic. �I daresay we�ll be arriving at Dover in a few hours time. But then I�m not much of a seaman.�

<Percy>

Leaning against the bowsprit, he crossed his arms and stared at the waves lapping the bow. Somewhere in his mind the skipper�s actions played out like the directions in a manual. Home. He longed to be home; to see Marguerite once more. He began to wonder about the reputation of Madame Blakeney; what he saw and heard was that she was not well liked � not even among the members of his league. What might he do to change all this?

Hastings squirmed in the long, uncomfortable silence that followed Mackensie�s departure, it was clear that Percy wanted to be alone. Mumbling an excuse, Hastings took his leave of Percy to search out Mackensie. It wasn�t a long or difficult search. Mackensie was attempting to crack a smile out of a peculiarly surly sailor, with a string of increasing course jokes. However the only person laughing was Mackensie himself. �Desist torturing the man,� Hastings said as he approached. �It�s likely he doesn�t know a word of English and some of your punch lines don�t translate well.� The sailor departed as Hastings came face to face with Mackensie. �Now I hope you have a good cause for insulting Percy�s wife, or I�ll be obliged to knock you over the side. I�ve met and spoken with the lady and have found her to be most gracious and witty and undeserving of such cruel commentaries. Now explain yourself.�

<Percy>

It was the usual thing when at sea...the lad had rolled in, presenting a bowl of stewed grigs, then not ten minutes later, returned. "We expect bad weather, so the captain says," he informed Percy, his breaking voice fluting with excitement.

"Really?" Percy could hardly reckon this change. Hadn�t there been sun in Calais?

"The wind has so increased that skipper has called for the topsails to be close reefed," reported the self-important urchin. Percy nodded.

"We�re facing a considerable tempest, then?" Percy demanded of the lad. The boy didn�t reply, turning and running up the steps onto the deck. Percy eyed the bowl containing his dinner with a jaundiced eye. Perhaps he�d be better off on deck, aware of what was taking place.

�Another storm?� Hastings asked as Percy departed. �Good lord, not another storm!� Hastings dropped his forehead onto his folded hands. Mackensie gave him a questioning look as Hastings met his eyes. �We hit a storm on the last trip back into Dover . We were tossed about for ages� I swear the I thought we�d never get off Daydream. Dewhurst was ill and irritable, Percy seemed depressed and irritable, and Bathurst ... well you�ve seen him.� Hastings sighed. The League certainly seemed in a sorry state - discord amongst its members, Percy�s melocholia, Tony�s recent illness, and Ffoulkes�s injury which hit them all very hard. He could only image what Lady Blakeney�s brother felt like entering this turmoil.

<Percy>

A quick scout along the deck, and Percy returned to his mates below. "This crossing will be a bit rocky, but nothing like the last time. I saw several craft plying the Channel along with us and no one seemed of a mind to turn back."

He picked up the dinner bowl and devoured most of the contents before abandoning it for other pursuits. "Anyone interested in hazard?" he asked, dropping a deck of cards onto the table.

Hastings rested his forehead on his folded hands. �You picked me clean except my waistcoat the last time around, Blakeney,� Hastings said, dully. Perhaps Mackensie can provide you with some sport.�

<Percy>

"Good sport, old man!" Without a moment�s hesitation he slid an impressive sapphire ring off his pinky. "I�ll wager this to start."

The morning passed in a rhythm that matched the rocking of the boat with coffee served and removed, with Hastings winning the sapphire ring and then losing it to MacKensie. Of Percy wagering the year�s income on his ship Waverly�s Win, co-owned with Glynde, and seeing himself with the winning hand. When the steward appeared with a platter of salmon roasted to perfection, the gaming ended and it was only once land was spotted that the dishes were cleared away.

"Well Hastings, what say you?" Percy demanded. "Not all stormy weather is bad news, hmm?"

Hastings crooked a smile, �Well, at least I get to keep my clothes. I suppose it�s about time luck went with us.�

�Is that Dover?� he heard MacKensie shout. �I would swear we over shot our mark.� Hastings groaned and followed Blakeney above deck. Hastings vision at distances was slightly questionable. �Were we thrown off course?�

<Percy>

"It might not be Dover, precisely. I for one would take landfall wherever it lies." No point in tempting the channel to toss them around.

"Beggin� yer pardon, it�s Folkestone, so says the cap�n, sir," the steward informed.

Percy grinned. "Not so bad. A couple of hours by coach is all." He motioned to MacKensie, "I�m sure Armand will enjoy a few extra hours at the Fisherman�s Rest." Who knew, perhaps the charming naivety of Marguerite�s young brother would intrigue Sally enough to keep Bathurst and Dewhurst from bickering over her.

"When we get ashore, I�ll find a suitable conveyance and we�ll be on our way to Dover." Percy rubbed his palms together, eager to get underway.

Percy�s mention of Armand made MacKensie consider exactly who the boy was pent up with, Tony � a notorious womanizer, Andrew � who had a knack for gets into his share of scuffles, Bathurst � who was the suspicious and jealous sort, and the du Tournais who were quite at odds with Armand�s republican beliefs. MacKensie cringed at the thought of how Armand would fair. It would explain Percy�s hurry.

It was far to long for MacKensie�s taste before Madame Malheureuse pulled into port, he was sore tempted to get down on his hands and knees to kiss the good solid soil, then thought better of soiling his stockings and breeches with such a silly action. Percy was the first off the ship and off like a shot to make arrangements for their transport, leaving MacKensie to follow with Hastings . �Why are you looking so down Hastings ? We�ll be home in no time, where you�ll have a fine selection of doxies to fill a bed.�

Hastings gave MacKensie a withering look and pushed passed him. As if women were the only thing he thought of. At the moment sleep was his more pressing concern and a change of attire � once he had a new suit he�d see this one burned. �Did anyone tell Blakeney that the nephew wasn�t with the ladies?�

<Percy>

How much do I love England ? Percy sighed as he paid the ostler the rent on coach and four. It conveyance was well-sprung and recently polished. The horses had glossy coats and were well-fed. He gave directions to the driver and they drove to the dock. Madame Malheureuse was bobbing sluggishly as the crew stacked the cases in the hold.

He was going home at last. It was a late start, and having to stop in Dover would add to the time. If he got home today it would be toward midnight � more likely he�d stay at Fisherman�s Rest till dawn and start tomorrow. It wouldn�t do to be caught on the road in the dark � highwaymen stalked all the roads leading to London.

"Ho, Bathurst! Hastings! Come now!" Percy was all impatience to get underway.

Hastings jogged the remainder of the way to the carriage, Mackensie trailing behind him. Percy had the door flung open and waiting for them as they arrived, tapping a finger in impatience. The moment the door was closed behind them, the carriage jolted forward at a quick pace. Blakeney had probably instructed the man to make all haste.

Shooting a quick glance at MacKensie, Hastings asked, "I suppose Bathurst informed you that the nephew was not with ladies..." Percy's expression told him that such was not the case. Hastings looked at MacKensie again, hoping that the other man would explain, since it was MacKensie and Bathurst who were inside the carriage with the ladies and were witness to the explanation.

MacKensie rolled his eyes. "The Marquise told us, that is Bathurst and I, that she sent her nephew to a friend for fear that those Revolutionary jackanapes might swoop down and make off with him as well. She seemed to think this acquaintance in a safer position than their own. By the time she told us this Hastings had us at the gates and then the thought of looking for him was out of the question." MaKensie went on to relate the details of the rescue, before he had quite finished the carriage was pulling into Dover. He nudged Hastings in the ribcage to wake the lad up, how dare he fall asleep during his story.

"What's with you, Hastings? Exactly how much sleep do you need? I have more reason for exhaustion than you," MacKensie said.

Hastings ignored MacKensie's jab and leaned forward to survey the street they travelled on. They certainly were in Dover and once the carriage turned the Fisherman's Rest would be in sight. And none to soon. Poor Armand had probably received the full force of Bathurst 's resentment for attracting the eye of Sally or some other pretty little wench.

As the establishment came into view, Hastings calculated how long it might take him to reach London where he could exchange these garments for something more presentable before a member of the ton spotted him and circulated rumours of what a reprobate he was... as if the rumours weren't out there already. The carriage came to a halt and Hastings was the first to leap out. "D'you think they're still here?"

<Percy>

"By all that�s holy, I trust they will be." Percy leaped from the coach and sniffed the air like a dog taking a scent. Du Tournai�s nephew was still in Paris � still in danger. Lord, lord, did nothing go right without him to oversee? He gazed over Hastings �s head squarely at the Fisherman�s Rest, cursing Sir Andrew who had had explicit instructions. Dewhurst had surely given details of what was required � or had there been some mis-communication?