Somewhere in France, Jasper walked around the front of the Flying Malone, his customised model Lancaster flying machine.
"If you keep doing them circles, mate, we'll end up with a ditch," said Bruce. Jasper had long since given up trying to tell the two Bruces apart. "Or a moat."
"Shouldn't you be working out where we are?" said Jasper.
Bruce waved a map. "Done it, mate, done it. We're some place around here." He pointed, and frowned in concentration before turning the map the other way around. Jasper rolled his eyes.
"Never mind. Where's your friend? He should be back by now."
Bruce shrugged, pulled his jacket around him and looked up, where a large glowing BP sign cast a green and white light across the scene. To Jasper's irritation, the Flying Malone had come down somewhere near Le Havre with its fuel tanks running dry. Despite long hours of work, the best efforts had failed to improve the Lancaster's fuel efficiency which was marginally worse than that of its real-life counterpart. It had been sheer luck that he had been able to land the dying plane on the flat roof of a service station, so at least petrol was close to hand even if actually getting it was proving a problem. Bruce One had volunteered to go and get some, and a length of twine hung over the edge of the roof to the tarmac below. Humans were coming and going at a leisurely pace and Jasper could hear the sound of their vehicle engines. He sat on one of the new floats they had attached to the Flying Malone. Turning the aircraft into a seaplane had been one of his better ideas although it was a matter of necessity since one of the Lancaster's tyres had exploded after a Bruce had attempted an emergency landing and come down harder than expected.
"We'll never make it to Burhou at this rate," said Jasper. "Sofia and Rhys are counting on us to be there on time."
Bruce jumped down from the wing and patted the old rat on the shoulder.
"Between you, me and the plane, mate, I don't reckon they're expecting punctuality. Besides, it's their honeymoon. We wouldn't want to interrupt them prematurely, would we?" He leered suggestively.
"That's not the point. How can we build an airline with a reputation for reliable service if we can't even pick up our only two customers on time?" Jasper waggled a severe finger at his offsider.
"If we've only got two customers, don't you reckon the name 'airline' is a bit much?" observed Bruce.
Far below, the other Bruce was rolling an empty Coca-Cola can along the tarmac and singing a version of On the Road to Gundagai.
"There's a rat with a plane,
A pity he's got no brain
Along the road to Gundagai…"
He spotted a likely-looking Renault and steered the can towards it, whistling tunelessly. A human opened the car door and nearly stood on him. He ducked around frantically and darted under the human's car. He stood the empty can on end and looked around the chassis speculatively. He spotted what looked like a fuel tank, and drew a nail from his belt. He punched it hard, and grinned when a small jet of petrol came shooting out of the punctured tank. Whistling his song, he moved the can under the stream and leaned against it, waiting for it to fill up. A few minutes passed, and then the car started up with a deafening roar. He threw himself to the ground and covered his ears. It drove off, and Bruce regained his feet and began pushing the full can over to the string. He tied it on, sat on top of it, and pulled the string twice. There was an answering tug, and both rat and can began ascending haphazardly.
"There've got to be easier ways of doing this, mate," said Bruce, when he got to the top. The other end of the string was tied around one of the Lancaster's propellers, which the other Bruce was using as a winch. Jasper had a funnel ready and was opening up the plane's tanks. Bruce stepped onto the roof as the lip of the can drew level before turning around and hauling the heavy vessel the rest of the way.
"Blasted thing won't fit," muttered Jasper, who was trying to wedge the funnel into the tank.
"No need for that, mate," said Bruce Two. He produced a length of rubber tube. "Siphoning is the way to go."
They fuelled up the Flying Malone. Bruce Two clambered back into his seat behind Jasper, while Bruce One gave the can a swift kick, and watched with satisfaction as it rolled to the edge of the roof and fell. There was a clatter from below and a human's voice was briefly raised in shock.
"Can we go now please?" said Jasper in a strained tone.
Bruce One nodded and took his seat.
"Contact!" Jasper punched the ignition and all four engines spluttered into life. He took the brakes off and pointed the plane northwards.
"Runway clear!" shouted Number One Bruce above the thunder of engines.
Jasper nodded and opened the throttle. The plane leapt joyously into the sky. He adjusted his goggles and turned northwards towards the English Channel. Maybe they'd be on time after all!
"It's been too long," said Roddy agitatedly. He was pacing up and down by their little camp. It was symptomatic of his feelings that he had neglected his fire which would have burned out some time ago had Sofia not taken stewardship of it. She dropped another bundle of twigs onto the coals.
"Stop worrying, Roddy. She can take care of 'erself, remember?"
Roddy paused for a moment. That was true, but along with the survival instincts of a leopard, Rita also possessed a lemming's capacity to require every bit of it. And she was acting strangely as well. Maybe her usual sense of judgement wasn't as sharp as it usually was.
"Yes, yes you're right Sofia. And Valentine seemed like he could look after both of them." He stopped and realised what he had just said. "By which I mean," he added hurriedly, "If they get into trouble." No, that isn't what I meant. Pull yourself together, St. James. We're talking about Rita here. Rita! Loyalty would be her middle name, if she had one.
"Don't worry about them, old man," said Rhys calmly. "I'm sorry about what I said before. I don't want to put ideas into your head that don't belong."
Roddy glanced up. It was true that it had been Rhys who had drawn his attention to Rita and Valentine, but he'd seen enough to support his own doubts independently.
"I still don't like it," said Roddy. "We should go looking for them."
"But how? Someone has to tend the fire. In the darkness it'll be the only way to find our way back here." Rhys waved at it.
"I can do that," said Sofia.
"You want to be left on your own? You heard what Valentine said!" Rhys was surprised.
"Well, I know you weren't going to volunteer to stay 'ere and I know Mr St. James isn't going to rest if 'e thinks Rita is in danger. Who did you 'ave in mind?" Sofia raised a defiant eyebrow. Rhys opened his mouth to object and then reconsidered.
"Yes. Yes. All right, that's a good point. But be careful. Don't start any fights."
Sofia smiled innocently. Rhys sighed.
"Lead on, Roddy! I daresay you've still got some cold steel in that boat somewhere?"
Roddy frowned. "Well, probably, but the hull's mainly tin…"
"I meant your sword, my dear chap," said Rhys patiently. "You never know when you might have to use it on someone."
Roddy nodded. He hadn't drawn August St. James' old sabre since the fight against the Genoese Mafia. The weapon was still hanging up in the cupboard below decks. He collected it and dropped back onto the beach. Rhys was helping Sofia pile up a stack of firewood and he looked around at Roddy's approach.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," said Roddy, firmly.
Rhys nodded. "Then we shall depart! Take care, Sofia." He waved goodbye to his wife and set off after Roddy.
Rita opened her eyes and almost immediately wished she hadn't. The simple movement attracted a lot of attention from the crowd of seagulls that towered above her on all sides. Squawking noisily, they clustered in closer, yellow beaks clacking menacingly. She was tied to a stake which had been driven into the ground. The bonds were narrow but firm- probably wire of some kind- and she struggled against them painfully.
"I wouldn't bother," said Valentine. He was nearby, attached to another stake.
"What the blazes happened to us?" demanded Rita.
"Search me," said Valentine. "All of a sudden the lights went out. Don't bother trying to break those bonds, by the way, they're copper. You can't even stretch them, let alone snap them."
A seagull screeched at Rita so loud it actually hurt. She glared at it until it went away. A second screech but off all the noise, and another gull came into view. It was larger and older than the others, and in bearing and manner was presumably the chief of the flock. Riding on its back, however, was the real problem.
The Toad dropped to the ground and smiled patronisingly at Rita.
"I thought we would never meet again, my dear," he said sarcastically.
"Hello, handsome," shot back Rita. "For once I wish you were right."
The Toad ignored the insult. He jerked a thumb at Valentine.
"I can't say your taste has improved, Rita. Wasn't your last boyfriend a waiter? And now a policeman, dear oh dear." He chuckled nastily.
"That 'waiter' handed you your cashews on a plate last time," snapped Rita, reminding the Toad of the World Cup plan. "And the policeman is not my boyfriend."
"Of course he isn't. But who is he, I'm wondering?" The Toad turned on Valentine and loomed over him. "What business does he have here on my island?"
"Your business," said Valentine. "With the authority vested in me by InterPol, I am arresting you-"
The Toad burst out laughing. "Here you are, tied to a stake, at the mercy of a pack of ravenous gulls who answer to me alone and you're saying I'm under arrest! You overstate your chances, my arrogant little flatfoot."
Valentine glared.
"You've been hanging out here too long, Kermit," said Rita. "You've gone…bird-brained." She grinned. The Toad was not amused.
"Like Napoleon on St. Helena, I was sent here to waste away. But I shall return and show them all that they were wrong!"
"Napoleon died on St. Helena," interjected Valentine. The Toad hesitated.
"Like Napoleon on Elba, then!" he declared. Rita rolled her eyes.
"So you're still hanging out for your own little Hundred Days?" she said.
"You know what happened in those Hundred Days, don't you?" said Valentine nastily. "Does the word 'Waterloo' mean anything to you?"
The Toad narrowed his eyes. The seagulls closed in again.
"You're not in a position to mock anybody right now. I assure you, Rita, although the ice machine is no longer mine to command, there are other ways to dispose of rodents."
The chief gull lowered his head and looked at Rita with an expression somewhere between pity and contempt- the expression of a predator. She looked into its disturbingly yellow eye and knew that whatever absurdities the Toad was tossing about, here was an opponent not to be trifled with. The chief gull was neither Spike or Whitey, and Rita almost found herself longing for the days when a vengeful mob of hench-rats was her only concern.
Not your only concern, though. That was always the family, remember? And remember why that isn't the case any longer?
The Toad wandered over to the Verey pistol which he had wedged into a cleft rock and patted the stained brass fondly. He reached behind it and pulled out a red cartridge, which he slotted into the breech.
"I wonder if your companions are looking for you by now?" he said patronisingly. "I think they would be. You vermin are so drearily predictable like that." He snapped it shut and jumped down, disengaging the safety catch as he did so, and kicked the trigger hard. The pistol tipped over, fell to the ground, and fired the red flare horizontally. There was a flurry of panicked squawks as a group of gulls scrambled to get out of the way. The flare hit a rock and ricocheted into the sky, leaving nothing but thick coloured smoke and the smell of burning feathers behind.
"Good shot," said Rita cheerfully. "A couple more like that and we can go home, right Valentine?"
Valentine cast her an amused look. "I really was impressed that you and Roddy beat him before. Now I'm beginning to think that Inspector Clouseau could have done the job!"
The Toad stopped coughing and glared at him.
"You won't be laughing in a minute. Your companions will have seen that and they are surely on their way! I'm afraid I will have to…disappoint them." He turned to the assembled gulls, some of which were eyeing the Verey pistol suspiciously.
"Bring them!" He snapped his fingers and jumped back onto the chief gull, who relayed the order to his flock. Rita and Valentine found their stakes jerked violently out of the ground by strong beaks, and they were carried precariously along by the bizarre procession, which headed inland.
Roddy looked up at the flare as it rose and burst in a halo of scarlet.
"That one was close," said Rhys from behind. "You heard the shot as soon as you saw the flare so the sound didn't have to travel very far." He paused and untangled his sabre from a tuft of grass. "You really think it's this Toad person?"
Roddy watched the descending flare carefully. "I don't know. I didn't even know he was here until Valentine told us. But I can't risk the chance that he is. He won't have very pleasant memories from the last time we met."
Rhys caught up with him. "I never really found out what happened with all that business. Of course, I was in Monaco at the time so I missed all the fun."
"There wasn't much fun to be had," said Roddy, remembering the World Cup. It was still difficult for him to believe that it had been him who had done that, confronting the Toad and Le Frog as the wave bore down on them. Of course, he hadn't been alone. Rita was there as well, and if the truth had to be told Roddy wasn't entirely sure what he would have done had she not been. Between them, though, they had defeated the amphibian's plans. Roddy hoped that they could do it again, if it came to it. But what good was he without her?
Rhys noticed the look on Roddy's face and patted him on the back.
"Cheer up, sir! It might not be him. Anybody could be sending up those flares."
"That…wasn't what I was thinking about…" said Roddy quietly. Rhys looked at him sympathetically.
"I know. And you shouldn't worry about that either. I've been around a bit, I know how to read people. Rita is yours as much as you are hers." The Commander nodded seriously. Roddy looked up.
"You think so?"
"I know so, old sock."
"Then what's with…" Roddy waved a hand. "Oh, I know it's stupid and that I shouldn't even think about it but really, what's she playing at with Valentine?"
"That's nothing. He's a decent-looking chap and that's all there is to it. If I was that way inclined, I'd probably make Sofia nervous around him!" Rhys grinned in an entirely unsuccessful attempt to inject some humour into the conversation. He sobered up.
"Look Roddy, you have to trust me on this. And you need to trust her as well. She wouldn't do that to you."
Roddy shrugged. "I know! I know, that's what makes it hard. I know she wouldn't and I still can't get rid of these thoughts, which makes me feel guilty on top of everything else! And I don't know what to do about it!"
He turned away, waving his arms as he spoke. Rhys touched him on the shoulder again.
"I said that she was yours as much you are hers, didn't I?" he said quietly.
Roddy nodded.
"Well…does she know how much that is?"
Roddy paused and stared at Rhys.
"Well…of course she does. I…wrote her a note." Even as he said it, he realised it sounded more than a trifle inadequate. Rhys nodded sadly and smiled.
"It takes more than a note, Roddy. Take it from a chap who just left his job to marry the one he loves. You can't leave these things on autopilot and just assume that they know as much as you do."
Roddy looked down. Rhys had a point, because while he played the toffy British officer most of the time, he was also an astute reader of people. But surely Rita knew? Okay, so the Paris note was getting old now, but after everything they'd been through together since then, how could she doubt his feelings for her? Had he expressed them right? A new feeling of shame reared in his mind. Maybe it was all his fault…
"It isn't" said Rhys. Roddy looked up suddenly, wondering just how good the officer was at reading his mind.
"No, I can't read your mind," Rhys went on. "But only a blind man in the dark wouldn't be able to read your face right now. We've got a job to do if we're to find them."