Chapter 4

"So, what does Jack do for you," He asked Emilia at breakfast. He was feeling well enough to move around now, but his memory still had not returned after two weeks. He still thought he was the Dragoon.

"Jack," she said with a smile. "You serve as my attache, assisting me with my business. That is your cover as an American spy. In reality, you and I work together on our missions to undermine Croque and the French government on Pulau Pulau."

"I see. How do I, as the Dragoon, fit into this?" He leaned forward with expectation in his posture.

"The Dragoon comes when you, Jack, see someone in trouble. Usually it involves some of Croque's men harassing a villager." She spoke with disgust on her face. "From what the villagers say, the day you almost died, that is exactly what happened. You were fighting for the honor of a poor maiden."

"I see." Jack rubbed his index finger below his lower lip as he sat in thought. "So Jack doesn't really do, um, jack, around here unless there's a mission."

Emilia hesitated, her head bowed, then raised her head and looked into his eyes. "But that doesn't mean your services aren't valuable as Jack Stiles."

"Thanks, Em." He fell silent afterwards and ate very little. To her surprise, he picked up their plates and took them to the kitchen himself. He disappeared after that, and she searched the mansion high and low for him, but the housekeeper hadn't seen him since he delivered the breakfast dishes to the kitchen.

Since it was time to check on the shipments departing for the United States, Emilia collected her parasol and gloves and made her way to the port. She hoped that maybe she would see Jack somewhere along the way, but he was nowhere on her route.

As soon as the ship sailed, Emilia hurried through the marketplace, stopping at one stall in particular. The woman who ran it eyed Emilia, and before she could give the signal that she was seeking information, a brightly colored red and green parrot flew straight for her, screeching and whistling as he came in for a landing. His claws dug into her shoulder.

"Jean-Claude! This is not a good time!" She shooed him, but he jumped onto her head.

"I protest, Madame. It is an excellent time." He walked toward her left temple and jumped down to her shoulder, which she protected by pulling on the scooped collar of her dress. "Please, I must talk to you in private. I have an urgent matter that must be addressed."

"If it's about that barmaid..."

"Oh no! Although, she was a lovely..."

"Jean-Claude," Emilia growled and whirled away from the stand with such haste, the parrot almost fell from her shoulder.

Jean-Claude squawked. "Please, Madame, be gentle."

She didn't say anything more to him until they reached her home and she took him into the warehouse where they could talk without prying ears or disruption. Most people would think her daft to be talking to a parrot, but Jean-Claude was an intelligent bird. He was one of a kind. He often delivered messages from the President to Jack, and sometimes assisted them with missions. His mind, like Jack's, was often in the gutter, but he could rise above it when necessary. Like now.

"Alright, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"It is Monsieur Stiles, Madame."

"What about him?" She perched the parrot on a stable rail and looked him in the eye. "What do you know?"

"Are you aware of where he is at the moment?"

"No, and I've been looking everywhere for him." Pointing her finger at him, she said, "If you know, you must tell me."

"I have been trying! This morning, he was on the south end of the island, dressed as the Dragoon." Emilia gasped, but before she could say anything, Jean-Claude continued. "He was commanding a platoon of villagers. Now that the Dragoon is back in action, the revolution can begin."

"Oh dear. Why didn't Jack tell me about this before?" She suddenly remembered the crate that Jack carried off her ship several weeks earlier, and her anger rose. "I can't believe it. The United States government used my ship to deliver arms to the villagers in order to take down the oppressive French! How low! Not to mention, how dangerous." While she spoke, Emilia had been pacing, but she stopped in front of Jean-Claude's perch with wide frantic eyes. "We have to stop him! He's sending those people to their deaths, and nothing will come of it! Please, Jean-Claude, tell me where he is now."

"I believe that he is still there," Jean-Claude replied. "I will show you."

"Thank you." Emilia saddled a horse and took off, following Jean-Claude as he flew through the air. She rode along the beach until she saw a group in the distance, all young, virile men, preparing for battle. The Dragoon, however, was nowhere to be seen. "Where is he? He's not here!"

Emilia pulled her mount to a stop, and one of the men approached to hold the horse for her.

"Thank you, but I'm not staying long. I'm looking for the Dragoon."

"He was here, but he left a short while ago. He said that he needed to return to the village for more supplies. We do not have enough ammunition to take on the French!"

Emilia scanned the group of young men. They all had muskets, but some were obviously lacking the means to shoot. "Perhaps this is a good thing. You are not equipped to take on Croque's men."

"If we don't, who will?"

"There is only so much the Dragoon can do! He needs us!"

Emilia was beginning to wish that she and Jack had never taken advantage of the legend to do their work. The whole thing was spiraling out of control, and innocent lives would be wasted if the tide didn't turn.

"Let me find the Dragoon before you all do something foolish. We need a better plan if we're going to defeat the French!" She took the reins and spurred her horse away from the scene. She had no idea where Jack had gone, but perhaps Jean-Claude could find him. "Jean-Claude! Fly ahead and find Jack."

"Oui, Madame." Jack flapped his wings harder and flew into the woods. He followed the path ahead of her, disappeared now and then, but he always returned. "Madame, there is a riderless horse up ahead."

Emilia's eyebrow rose. "Is it Nutcracker?"

"Oui."

A chill ran down Emilia's spine. What happened to you, Jack? Why would you leave Nutcracker alone in the forest? She rode around a bend and saw the black stallion standing beside the road, patiently waiting, munching on some vegetation as if he expected Jack to return at any moment. She dismounted and turned around in a slow circle, peering into the woods, hoping to catch sight of the red cape. Other than the horses and Jean-Claude, she was alone.

"He was here, Madame. I would bet my life on it."

"Of course he was here. He left his horse." She rolled her eyes at Jean-Claude's stating the obvious.

"See here, footsteps. It appears that there was a struggle."

Emilia moved to where Jean-Claude flew circles over the road. Indeed, there was a sign of a struggle with many different boot prints. A dirty white object caught her eye, and she crouched to pull it from the soft earth. Her breath caught. She would know it anywhere, the manly lace from Jack's blouse. It had been torn from the wrist, possibly when he was tied up by Brogard's men. She fought the raw panic that threatened to rise up in her. She was always good about keeping her head, and she needed that now, more than ever.

"Jean-Claude, they have him. They have Jack!" She held up the piece of lace. "I must go back to town and see the Governor."

She threw herself into the saddle and tore off toward the village, and she almost took out a couple villagers on the road as she thundered in and stopped at her stables. She forced herself to take the time to care for her mount and think about how she would approach the Governor. Perhaps she could enlist the aid of Dr. Thomas and convince Croque that Jack was not well. Jack could hate her later for insinuating that he was mentally ill, but if it was the only way to save him, she would do it. She couldn't stand to lose him.

For the first time that she could remember, Emilia was denied entrance to Governor Croque's mansion. "He is in a very important... meeting... with Captain Brogard."

Emilia turned away from the soldier guarding the entrance, her hand absently worrying over the handle of her parasol. Something was afoot, she just knew it. If only she could get access to the Governor's study, she could see what this all-important meeting was about. A brilliant idea struck her, and she hurried to put her plan into place.

The knock on the door set Croque's heart racing. This was it, the moment when he would finally get to the bottom of things. He'd had his suspicions that Jacque Stiles was up to something, pulling the wool over his and Brogard's eyes, but he had no proof. It was preposterous to even think it, but too many times Jacques seemed to disappear around the time the Dragoon appeared. His actions made him an accessory to the Dragoon's insurrection, if true, and today he would get answers. Croque would miss the little monkey, but he had no choice. If the two men were in league, Jacques and the Dragoon would be executed together.

"Come in," Croque said, and Brogard and two soldiers entered the room.

The man dressed in the red cape and black tri-cornered hat with the black mask was all he was concerned about. Brogard stepped aside and Croque laid eyes on him. Despite being captured, he stood tall and proud, although Croque saw a hint of fear and uncertainty in his brown eyes behind the mask.

"Ah, we finally meet more formally, face to face," Croque said as he stood and moved around the desk. "The Daring Dragoon."

"The pleasure is all yours, I'm sure," the Dragoon replied.

Brogard grabbed him by the cape and threw him into a chair that sat in the center of the room. "I'm warning you, any more insolence and I will…."

"Uh uh, Brogard. The Dragoon is our guest."

"Oui," he grumbled. "Mon Governor, he is all yours. My men and I will stand back and assist if there is a need."

"Thank you, Brogard." Croque paced before the Dragoon going to his right, then his left, and back again. "I just received some excellent news this afternoon. My brother, Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte is coming to this island in two days. When he arrives, we will have the most splendid party, culminating with a revealing of you, the Dragoon." Croque stopped and smiled at him. "Promptly followed by an execution, of course."

"Sounds like a fun time. Too bad I won't be there."

"Oh, but you will be, as you are the guest of honor." His smile widened into an excited grin. "I feel like a little boy at Christmas, except now that I am all grown up, I don't have to wait until Christmas to open my gifts." He leaned over him and stared into his eyes. "You have hidden behind this mask for the last time, Sir." Croque turned away for a moment, staring out the window. He thought he heard something, but it must have been his imagination. He turned back to the Dragoon.

"Is this an interrogation or a tea party," the Dragoon asked.

"Neither, but I will get the answers I seek." Croque surged forward, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. He pulled at the mask, but it would not come off. He tugged, and it only seemed to tighten. He grunted in annoyance. "Brogard!"

"Oui, mon Governor." Brogard came forward, pushed the Dragoon to the edge of his seat, and pulled at the ties at the back of the captive's head. As he shoved the Dragoon back into his seat, the mask loosened.

"Thank you, Captain." With one hand, Croque reached out, grasping the man's hat, and with the other he snagged the edge of the mask that rode the man's cheekbone. He pulled the hat off his head and tugged the mask from his face with a flourish. His eyes widened, he gasped, and Croque said, "Monsieur Jacques! No, you… you are not the Dragoon!"

The Dragoon's mouth tipped up into a smile. "I am, Croquie. Believe it."

"Mon Governor, I am so sorry. I thought that perhaps after a week or two, Monsieur Stiles might have been back to his old self and not having these delusions that he is the Dragoon." Brogard sneered. "Perhaps he is only attempting to protect the Dragoon."

"The Dragoon is dead, you imbecile!" Croque thought a moment. "But if he is not, then who is? Who did the people bury," he asked. "I want the body exhumed at once! I want to be sure that the real Dragoon is indeed dead."

"Now, wait a minute!" The Dragoon jumped to his feet. "I won't stand for anyone desecrating a grave." He pointed at Croque, and the menacing look on his face made the Governor step back. "You remember what happened the last time you did that? I exposed you and the people hated you even more. Just think what will happen if you try it again!"

"You remember," Brogard said with a gasp.

"I remember everything," the Dragoon replied.

"But this charade," Croque began, confusion reigning in his features.

"You are not the Dragoon," Brogard said with a sneer. "The Dragoon is suave, a fighter, and someone the people admire. You, Monsieur Stiles, are none of those things."

The Dragoon turned to him, a look of chagrin on his face. This was the moment when he had to decide if he would give himself away. If he lied and said he was just Jack Stiles, American lackey to Emilia Rothschild, he would live to serve the people another day but his integrity would be put into question, if only in his own mind.

"Care to try me?" Swallowing, he replied, "Indeed, I am the Dragoon. I only use the name Jack Stiles to keep my true identity a secret."

"I do not believe it," Brogard exclaimed. "Jack Stiles is not intelligent enough to pull off such an elaborate ruse."

"You don't know Jack," the Dragoon said. "I think you're being awfully unfair to him."

"So you are saying that Jacques Stiles is a cover to allow you to do your devious work." Croque's eyes narrowed. "I befriended you, and this is how you repay me, undermining my authority at every turn? Enough! Brogard, take him to the prison. He will sit and wait there for the official unveiling and… execution." He smiled.

"You're making a big mistake," the Dragoon warned, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"Make sure he is masked first," Croque barked, then turned his back on the man. "No one must know of this until the last possible moment." Croque's embarrassment was complete. He could not let people know that he'd been so thoroughly hoodwinked. How he would explain this to his brother at the execution, he had no idea.

Brogard handed the Dragoon the mask. "Put this on, Monsieur."

For a moment, he considered defying the order, but he could see from Brogard's expression that his reward would be a quick slash to the throat. The Dragoon swallowed, took the mask and donned it, and he picked up his hat from the floor, set it on his head, and stood. Brogard and his men escorted him to the prison.

Emilia watched the exchange between Croque and Jack from a perch beside the Governor's office window. She heard him talk about the execution, and she almost cried aloud, but she forced herself to keep silent, and when Croque turned his attention to the window, it took all her strength not to fall into the foliage below and make a ruckus. As soon as Brogard escorted Jack to the prison, she scurried away to see if she could get an audience with the Governor. She wasn't sure yet how she would convince him to let Jack go, but she must. His life depended upon it.

Brogard himself escorted Emilia to the Governor's office. Croque sat at his desk smoking a cigar. When he saw Emilia, he slipped his feet off the desk and practically floated across the room to her.

"Madame Emilia, to what do I owe this pleasure?" He kissed her hand and bowed.

With a worried expression, she replied, "Governor, Jack is missing. I was told that he was last seen parading around dressed as the Dragoon, and that he may have been captured."

Croque's brow furrowed. "That cannot be."

"I'm afraid so. Please, I beg of you, if you or any one of your men has see him, bring him home to me. If necessary, I will have Dr. Thomas call for a... a specialist. Someone who can hopefully cure Jack of these delusions."

Croque gave Brogard a meaningful glance. "Emilia, do sit down. I'm afraid what I am about to tell you will shock you." Emilia sat, her eyes full of confusion. Croque patted her hand and held onto it as he said, "After some investigation, we have discovered a tragic truth. The Dragoon is, in fact, alive."

"What? How can that be? The Dragoon is dead, I saw him myself."

"Did you unmask him?"

She stammered on her lie. "Well, no, no one did. He was... taken care of... in traditional fashion. He was buried almost immediately after his death, and the memorial service took place later."

"We discovered that the Dragoon the villagers buried was in fact a stand-in. The real Dragoon lives, and we have him in our dungeon at the moment." Croque grinned. "Until we unmask and humiliate him in public, before his people. Then there will be no more talk about the Dragoon and his plans to undermine the peace and tranquility of our fair island."

"Governor, I beg you, please tell me who the Dragoon is," Emilia asked.

With a look of sympathy for her, he took her hand and spoke. "My dear, you did not know? The Dragoon was masquerading as your attache Jacques Stiles!"

"No!"

"Oui." He let out a heavy, sorrow-laden sigh. "I am so sorry, but we must punish the Dragoon for all of his transgressions, including impersonating an American."

She was overwhelmed, but not for the reason he thought. "Where is he being kept at the moment?"

"There is nothing to fear. He is locked away in the most secure cell in my prison. No one will be able to spring him before his date with destiny." Croque smiled and sighed.

Horrified, Emilia jumped off the settee as Brogard and the Governor laughed like maniacs. She could not allow this! She would not lose Jack, and the people would not lose their Dragoon. Somehow, she would make this work, and in the process, again embarrass Croque and Napoleon. But how? That was the question. At the moment, the only thing she could think about was Jack and how he was faring in the prison.

"I hope that you will at least allow the Dragoon to have a proper final meal," Emilia said, doing her best to hide her disgust. "The man deserves at least that, don't you think? That is, unless the French want to be known for their inhumane treatment of prisoners."

"Ah, but we already are, and we love it." Brogard replied.

"Please, Governor, if you mistreat the Dragoon leading up to his execution, you may wind up with a revolution on your hands. Would you want that?" She raised her eyebrow.

Croque's smile wiped off his face. He knew she had a good point. "Alright. We will allow Monsieur... the Dragoon to have whatever he wishes for a last supper."

"Wonderful! Please, allow me to see him and find out what he would like. Then I will arrange it." She met Croque's eyes. "Please, Governor."

The Governor's regard for Emilia was high enough that he trusted her to be alone with the Dragoon. He wrote her a pass to give to the jailer, and he honored it and led her to a cell at the end of a corridor. The walls were made of stone, and the door and a sliver of a window that was too narrow for anyone to slip through were made of iron. A slim band of light filtered through the window and hit the wall opposite where the Dragoon sat on a pallet.

The jailer unlocked the door, and the prisoner made no move. "Alright, Madame, you have five minutes."

"Make it ten, please?"

Her look of sorrow was his undoing. "Alright. Ten minutes, no more."

"Thank you, kind sir!" She impetuously surged forward and kissed his cheek.

He was smelly and unkempt, but the fact that a beauty dared to kiss a beast did something to him. He grinned. "Go on with you. Fifteen minutes. That's all you have."

"Thank you again." She slipped through the narrow gap he allowed her to enter. "Don't let anyone ever tell you that you don't have a heart of gold."

He frowned and said, "Thank you, Madame. Although, when you see the Dragoon, I don't think you will be feeling that I am quite that charitable."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You'll see. Enjoy your visit." The jailer laughed, the deep sound echoing off the stone walls until he closed the last door that stood between them and freedom.

"Oh dear, Jack. What has happened to you?"