A/N: As I shall in all probability not have the time to get to my computer over the holidays, I have managed to turn out two chapters this time. Enjoy!

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Chapter 4: Late 18th Century Chase Scene

No time was wasted before the plan was put into full implementation and it was in little over an hour's time before all was prepared. A group of soldiers was assembled and the majority of them attired themselves in common clothing, ready to embark on their mission. The four escort soldiers surrounded Jen, and led her forth from the building, back out to the streets of Paris.

"So," Jen said, attempting conversation with her escort, "what does the Pimpernel look like? I mean, how will we know when he attacks us?"

The two soldiers ahead of her made no reply, so Jen turned to look at the two behind her and found, to her disconcertment, that both of them had been staring fixedly at her as though they had never seen anyone who looked like her before in their life.

"Oka-ay…" Jen looked past the soldiers and saw that the fake mob was assembling, making as though they were starting to gain interest in her as she was led down the street. Four uniformed soldiers made their pretense of holding them back. As Jen let her gaze wander about elsewhere, she noticed that the ordinary Parisian citizens were beginning to take notice of her as well. A man carrying a pitchfork stared at her as he passed by on the street. He muttered under his breath and spat at her, probably assuming that, as she was under guard, she must be an enemy of the glorious republic.

"Gross," Jen muttered.

The soldiers turned a corner down a new street, Jen following between them. She looked about for any sign of a cunning serial killer charging forth to whisk her away, but saw nothing beyond the general milling of late afternoon passerby. Reputable and disreputable citizens either going to market, going home to their families, or going out to get drunk – some probably intoxicated already – nothing suspicious. It seemed that the entire trip between the two prisons would be spent in this manner and all their well-laid plans would be for naught. The soldiers accompanying her began to realize the direction the situation was going and decided to liven things up a little. Some of the undercover soldiers in the mob began to hoot and shake their fists. Passerby began to take even more notice of Jen now. Some even added their own shouts to the mob's ruckus. The soldiers turned Jen down another corner. The street they entered was all but filled with a crowd of out-at-the-elbows or, – as Mr. Gordon or Amber Morris might have properly referred to them – sans cullotte. They were gathered about a man in their midst who appeared to be in the middle of some arousing speech, for after every sentence he spoke, the crowd shouted in agreement. He was not impressive looking, his black coat was moth-eaten and his tri-corner hat was wilted, pulled loosely over his wiry brown hair which came out wildly from the string it had been tied back with. As Jen was led past, he turned and suddenly pointed at her, raising his voice as he continued to speak. It was all in French, so Jen couldn't understand it, but the crowd understood, and as they turned to look at her she could see hate glowering in their eyes. She shrank within herself as she faced their stares and tried to fight the fear rising in her as she looked into the eyes of the speaker. He shook his fist at her, arousing the crowd to do the same. The soldiers leading Jen began to walk faster now, if they dallied any longer, they might have a real mob to face. It was too late. As the crowd saw the soldiers attempting to make a getaway they charged forward and fell upon them in their eagerness to break through to seize Jen. The pseudo mob fell upon the insurgents in an attempt to stop them, causing utter chaos and mayhem in the narrow street.

Chairs from the nearby Café were thrown. Glass bottles were cracked over people's heads. One fellow was tossed bodily into a window. The soldiers around Jen were punched and battered, so that they were hard-pressed to keep Jen between them. As the mob surged tighter about, Jen was squeezed from between her protectors and into the mob. One mobster pulled the scrunchie off her ponytail, another seized her by the shirt collar. Suddenly, both of these men were laid out flat under the trampling feet of the mob as the man in the moth-eaten coat knocked each down with a blow. He took Jen by the arm and with surprising skill and strength, pulled her straight out of the mob and into the café.

"What the heck are you doing?" Jen hollered as the man sped her past tables and surprised diners.

"I'm getting you out of Paris," the man replied in perfect English.

Jen realized she hadn't expected an answer and so was speechless for a few moments as the man spun her around a narrow corner in the back of the building and half-carried, half-urged her up a cramped stairway. "Oh my gosh," she exclaimed, feeling a sudden wash of new terror, "you're the Pimpernel dude!"

"At your service, milady!" he replied cheerfully. "Turn right at the top."

Jen followed the directions as the stairway ended in a low-roofed attic space. She remembered the instructions regarding her behavior if she should be captured – of how she should feign compliance – and so made no resistance as the man led her to a window at the end of the attic. Shouts from the mob below grew in volume, and the tramp of footsteps could be heard close behind, leaving it safe to assume that their pursuers were hard on their heels. The Pimpernel thrust open the rickety attic window and within moments had climbed through it. He turned directly and helped Jen to slide through as well. They were now standing on a narrow roof ledge and below Jen could see the soldiers and the portion of the mob unable to fit into the cafe. Suddenly, several of them looked up and began pointing and shouting at them.

"Uh, Mr. Pimpernel," Jen started, "I think we've been trap-," she looked beside her and found to her surprise that her captor was no longer there.

"Give me your hand!" A voice called from above her head. Jen looked up and saw that while she had been watching the crowd, the Pimpernel had hoisted himself up on the attic roof and was now leaning over to pull her up behind him. Jen falteringly raised her hand to be taken and was suddenly lifted like a feather, with one quick pull she was standing beside him on the roof. Jen took a step and nearly slipped on the tractionless tin.

"Yipes!" she squealed, trying to regain her balance. The man didn't give her any time to do this however, but tucked her under his arm with a determined gentleness and dashed along the ridge of the roof. A half-eaten apple and a few rotten tomatoes sailed through the air in their general direction from the mob below but – much to Jen's relief – failed to reach their target. The Pimpernel was quicker than a cat whisking along the top of the roof. Jen clung to his moth-eaten coat for balance as he slid down one side of the roof to a place where a neighboring roof met this one. He leapt deftly across the few feet of space above the alley below and ran along the next rooftop.

Jen felt like she was flying. Shingles and tiles whizzed under her in a blur, her hair whipped across her face in the wind, the strength of her captor supported her easily as he bounded in great strides up and down the next rooftop. This rooftop ended at the wall of a much taller neighboring house that it was joined to. Jen was set back on her feet as the Pimpernel stopped. She felt a little dizzy from her adventure and turned to lean her back on the wall of the house. As she looked back across the roofs they had traversed, Jen could see that two of the soldiers were now attempting to pursue them, scrambling across the rooftops toward them in great haste. Before Jen could decide whether or not to pretend she didn't see them, the Pimpernel was beginning his next escape maneuver.

"Get a good grip m'dear," he said, "we're going up."

"Wha-?" Jen had not even considered that option as a possibility, but as he took her over his shoulder and found footholds in the craggy rocks of the chimney jutting out next to them, and handholds on the drainpipe just within reach, Jen realized that there was virtually no situation that this man couldn't find his way out of. She wasn't sure if she should be scared or feel wonderfully safe as he nimbly scaled the wall of the house and placed her safely once more on her feet. If he was her enemy, then how was he ever to be stopped? But then what enemy would treat her with such consideration as this man was? Jen felt a little confused as she thought of this and tried to remind herself that it was her duty to turn him in.

The Pimpernel pulled his wilted hat more securely down onto his head and straightened up to his full height. Jen was startled to realize that her captor had been hunched over this entire time, disguising the now obvious fact that he was taller than her dad who was an impressive 6' 1".

"Well, we shall see if that stops those fellows for the time being," he said casting a look back down at the roof below them, ignoring the fact that Jen was staring at him with her mouth open. "Come, it is still a little ways to our destination." He held his hand out graciously – what else could Jen do but take it? Soon she was bounding alongside him, her treaded Nikes springing along next to his worn buckled shoes. Her painted fingernails peeped out of his strong, guiding hand as they leapt up and down different levels of roofing and spun in and out of clusters of chimneypots. Jen was swung gently through a window into a room as the Pimpernel followed close behind.

"Wait in this room," he said, "I will be back momentarily."

"What for?" Jen asked.

"We will be beginning the next part of our journey," he said, "I must prepare to get you through the gates of Paris."

The words hit Jen's exhilarated mind like a bucket of cold water and brought her back to the mission she had nearly forgotten all about. Yeah, the Paris gates, she needed to make sure that he was stopped at those. "Um, so are we just going to, like, walk right through?" she asked.

"Look out that window," he nodded in the direction of a window at the opposite end of the room. Jen complied and her eyes fell upon a rickety little cart, filled with some vegetable sacks, hitched to a dirty pony down in the street below. She hadn't wasted much attention on this before her eyes wandered to a covered coach standing just across the street from it. It looked like something she had seen in Pride and Prejudice and was hitched to a handsome team of horses. What a getaway vehicle!

"So we're taking that thing down there?" Jen asked.

The Pimpernel nodded as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. Jen wandered to the window again and looked out. Mr. Chaunvella was right, she decided, this guy could really convince you that he was the hero. Suddenly, down in the street below, Jen espied one of her former escort soldiers walking past, looking about, apparently, for his lost quarry. Jen opened her window and called down as loudly as she dared, "Hey! Soldier!" The soldier looked up and appeared quite relieved to see Jen's face looking down at him. "We are going to be going out the gates soon," Jen said, annunciating hard in hopes the soldier would understand her, "we are taking that coach." She pointed to the covered coach.

The soldier pointed to it. "Celui-ci?"

Jen nodded vigorously and then pulled her head back inside abruptly as the door into her little room opened once more. In stepped a weatherbeaten old farmer in well darned clothes with a broad-brimmed hat pulled down to hide his eyes. Little pieces of caked mud fell off his shoes as he stepped forward and motioned for Jen to come to him. Jen took a step back. Who was this?

"Come along, quickly!" he said suddenly. Jen was startled to recognize the voice as being that of the Pimpernel and so stood dumbfounded. He held a large burlap sack forward. "Here, get into this."

"I don't think so," Jen said, taking another step back. Getting stuck in a burlap sack was definitely not on her agenda, anything might happen once she got trapped inside.

"It is imperative for your safety that you do this," he remonstrated.

Jen froze. Was that a threat? Not wanting to find out, she quickly complied and allowed herself to be put into the sack. It was itchy and dusty inside, but she could breath well and Jen had never been one to be afraid of small, dark places, so she didn't feel altogether uncomfortable. She was hoisted up and swung gently with the stride of her captor as he made his way out of the building.