21
"Bird watchers?" Waverly's voice betrayed amazement. "She didn't see you, Mr Solo?"
"No, sir. I had my back to the door. Illya ducked under the table. She couldn't have a clue about us..." He smirked at his reflection in the window...
"You'll keep watch on our bird watchers till Mr Slate and Miss Dancer join you. "Your" Angelique doesn't know them." The Old Man kept silent for awhile.
"Our three days leave, sir, I guess..."
"... come to an end right now, of course."
"Of course..."
The deafening rain lashed against the windows as Napoleon came back to the bar.
Deserted.
22
The bar was deserted. Deserted, tidy and clean.
People didn't run away in panic, leaving glasses, chairs, tables upside down...
A few minutes ago, the room bathed in delicious scents.
At the moment, it didn't smell of anything.
A few minutes ago, it resounded of chatters, laughter...
At the moment, it was silent.
A few seconds ago, storm raged outside.
At the moment...
No more rain.
No more families.
No more innkeeper.
And no more... Illya.
Napoleon clenched his jaws, on the alert.
Thrush.
It had all begun when... When? A few minutes ago...
Someone chuckled somewhere... next to him.
23
"Napoleon?"
The voice was unexpectedly familiar and... slightly ironical. It was dark all around. Napoleon realized that his eyes were closed. He realized, too, that he leaned back against a comfortable shoulder, that the boat was gently rocking.
What hell...?
"Napoleon? Tovarish... Look..."
On the alert again, he half opened his eyes and blinked at the dazzling light. An orange, red, dark pink, amethyst show set the sky and the ocean ablaze...
A dream... A nightmare?
Napoleon turned to the other man whose blond hair sparkled with sunset, whose blue eyes looked at him with ... amusement.
"The storm, Illya... What...?"
