Whumpay Day 11: 'Don't Touch Me'/'Don't Leave Me'
With thanks to Gumnut and TsarinaTorment for proofreading this.
'Don't you dare touch me!' the prisoner spat, yanking his arm out of the grip of the guard. The chains on his wrists and ankles jangled. It didn't matter what he said, the arm was grabbed again and this time squeezed hard enough until it was uncomfortable and he was half dragged, half marched through hallways until they came to the entrance, where he was loaded onto a waiting cart. There were crowds of people lining the streets, jeering and booing and throwing stuff at him. Alan held his head high.
How had it come to this?
Alan had been perfectly happy in his life until about 5 years ago. That was when he discovered what his brothers were doing. His fantastic, idiotic brothers. Father too.
Father was one of the richest men in the country, some said in the world, but unlike many others in their position, Father had always made sure they understood where they had come from. Their wealth had come from shipbuilding, sure, but they had not always been so fortunate. And Jefferson Tracy was a great man who was benevolent to his fellow man.
He had moved his family from the colonies to England, where he had decided his help was most needed. That memorable day they had been presented to court, in their finest clothes, only to be told that they were in a state of 'undress' had been an eyeopener, and Alan admitted that he very much enjoyed the finery they now wore. He still wasn't sure about the wigs, though.
All that meant that Alan was not really that surprised when he found out what the family's other business was. And he wanted in, to which his Father refused until he turned 18. Of course, by the time he was 18 years old, he was cock-sure and fiery of spirit, but he was as brave as his brothers. Scott led the way on their missions, and after almost a year of training in the type of horse riding and swordsmanship no-one of their class would ever consider, it was agreed that Alan could come on one, providing he did as he was told by Scott, or he could jeopardise the mission.
The clothes he had to wear were a far cry from the foppish clothes he had recently sported, and he had to get rid of his wig. He had balked at that, not having been seen in public with his own hair in…well, he couldn't remember. It was amusing to see his brothers in their 'natural state' too. He'd forgotten quite how almost-black Virgil's hair was, or that John's bright ginger mop was so vibrant. The velvets, silks and lace were replaced with linen; breeches, a slightly frilled shirt and a short waistcoat with a jacket their main uniform, all in shades of blue and cream, with individual trims to match their favoured colours. Royal blue for Scott, a rifleman green for Virgil, an almost bronze colour for John, yellow for Gordon and a nice burgundy red for himself.
Horses were brought out, not their fine Arabian steeds, but these were good sturdy stock nonetheless. And the five of them rode for Ramsgate. Once they had arrived Alan was surprised to see a familiar face. Doctor Hiram Hackenbacker used to be a frequent visitor to the country estate of their Father, but he had not been around for some time. It seemed that the man was as much a part of this secret life as his brothers were, although he was not going to come with them, citing seasickness as a result.
If Dr Hackenbacker had been a surprise, imagine Alan's shock when the first person he saw on coming aboard the doc's boat was a girl! Not just any girl, though. Her exotic skin tones, black hair and unusual greenish-yellow eyes showed her to be from somewhere in the Orient, but it was her outfit that shocked him.
She was wearing men's attire! Dressed as a cabin boy, he assumed, her thick hair only partly hidden by the cap she had on, he couldn't help but stare at her, until Scott cuffed him and growled at him to mind his manners. The girl had gone and in her place was another person. This person, definitely the father of the girl, was so obviously the captain of the vessel they were now on board. Scott introduced them as Kyrano and his daughter Tanusha. Kyrano inclined his head, but other than that said nothing to any of them.
One of the first things that happened once they had set sail was that John, Virgil and Gordon changed clothes. Scott explained that the colours yellow and green were considered 'Royalist' in France, and as they needed to be unseen, they changed, John as well just in case his colour was misinterpreted. The journey itself was uneventful, and they eventually landed in Calais. Fresh horses were ready for them, and they set off for Paris. That is where all the action was. Alan was excited to reach the city.
And then he got bored. Because once they had arrived there was days of waiting. Contacts. They were waiting for their two contacts. Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward and her loyal manservant Parker were moving within the circles of the English Court, and were currently ambassadors to the French government, expressing concern for the ongoing treatment of the people of France.
Three days they waited, but eventually a smart rose-gold carriage pulled up to the place they were staying, and Scott and John climbed in. They were gone for three hours, by which time Alan was venting his frustration by stabbing the furnishings with his sabre while Gordon looked on indulgently and Virgil ignored them both and played the virginal present.
When the eldest two returned plans were begun in earnest. They were set to rescue the idiot Marquis Lemaire. How that man had managed to get caught – again – was beyond all reason. So yet again the shadowy group known as International Rescue had pledged to save him and his longsuffering wife.
John set up the plan, running through all the difference stages, the different roles they would be taking. Every detail set. They spent the night going over and over and over it until they could recite it back without error, and attending to their outfits, fixing the cockade securely to their lapels. Then they all turned in. It was going to be a long day tomorrow.
Setting off in the early dawn mist, Alan could barely keep himself under control. He was fairly bouncing in his saddle, so much so that both Scott and John hissed at him to calm down and stop drawing attention to them. That stopped him, he didn't want to be accused of blowing the mission.
When they reached the square they each split to complete their specialist roles, John heading up so that he had a good view of the square to make sure everything went smoothly.
Everything did not go smoothly.
The Marquis decided that it was beneath his dignity to have such, such roturier rescue him. Scott may have a commander's head on his shoulders, but his temper began to show as Lemaire began to make a scene. There was only one option if they wanted to get away with this, and with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever, Scott clocked the man and he went down. His wife was very apologetic but carrying an unconscious man between them did not make them inconspicuous.
The alarm was raised, and without further ado the brothers broke cover for the special carriage, where the idiot Marquis and his charming wife were deposited. It was Gordon's job to get them away, while Scott, Virgil and Alan created a diversion. John was already in the carriage, and Gordon wasted no time setting off, riding the horses hard and taking a corner almost on two wheels.
La Capuche watched them go. He had a good vantage point on the wall, and he knew his enemy well. Long had he wished to bring Sauvetage International down and crush them under the heel of his (very expensive) boot. His spies were in place, hunting down conspirators and looking into the identity of the men. They were not French; he was sure of it. Now, they had a new member of the team, and he was certain they would be the key.
It came as no surprise to La Capuche when his men returned empty handed. These men were good at what they did, possibly the best, and he needed a key. And then he was handed one. For one of his men passed him an embroidered mouchoir. An English gentleman's pocket-handkerchief, no less, with the initials AT in red. He had them!
The journey home across the water was exhilarating. Alan had yet to come down off his high, that rush of speed he loved so much as he described for his brothers how he dodged one officer after another. His brothers smiled indulgently at him, his youth and enthusiasm amusing them greatly.
Tanusha served them a rustic meal of bread and cheese, of which the Marquis volubly complained about and which earned him a death stare, the likes of which Alan had never seen, from all his brothers and Kyrano. He quickly shut up and ate.
That night they stayed with Dr Hackenbacker, and the next morning they set off home. The Marquis had vanished in the night, as was the plan, and the five brothers rode home in high spirits. Their Father greeted them warmly, a hand on each shoulder the only outward showing of his love and his approval. Then it was all hands on deck. There was a ball to attend tonight, and it would not do for such eligible bachelors as themselves to be missing. No-one missed an event thrown by the Prince of Wales. No-one.
They arrived in two carriages, the eldest three Tracy men in the first and the youngest in the second. None of the brothers enjoyed this kind of event, for two reasons. They hated being fawned over by young women who desired a good marriage or by their parents for the same reason, sometimes it was even for patronage. But mostly, it was because of the false front they put on.
For the world knew that the Tracy sons were ne'er-do-wells, gadding about frittering away their Father's fortune. And while this may be farthest from the truth, to continue being able to save lives meant they needed to live this lie.
Scott and Virgil, the closest of brothers, stuck together throughout. Being the eldest meant that he was the target of the majority of ladies present. That pleased Virgil no end, and he was always impressed at how Scott dealt with it, his brother never failed to show the most impeccable manners, coupled with a dimpled smile that had literally caused women to swoon.
By means of being the youngest, Gordon and Alan had very little attention, but that didn't mean that they were left alone entirely. Unlike the older three, they revelled in the attention, causing their Father to keep a close eye on them. Of course, Gordon was a troublemaker anyway (at the last ball he had spiked the punch, which had caused no end of issues), but they behaved themselves.
John was the one most uncomfortable. He hated large gatherings, and he flatly refused to participate in any of the dancing. Let his brothers have their fun, this was torture to him. But he understood the need to be here, to maintain the outward appearance. Lady Penny had informed him that rumours were circulating France as to the identity of the five brave souls who were saving lives from Madam Guillotine, and they had decided they had to be English.
As John sat at a side table, watching with good humour how Gordon and Alan entertained a couple of younger ladies present, he became aware of someone standing at his shoulder. He plastered on a smile he hoped would look sincere as he stood and took the hand of the lady. Madam O'Bannon was a frequent annoyance of his, a widow who was determined to make him hers. Fortunately, John was wise to her designs. Unfortunately, that did not deter her.
She accepted the slight bow and the pressing of her hand, and the ever-gallant John Tracy held her chair out for her as she gathered her skirts and sat at his table. The talk was pleasant and light, but frustrating. She wanted so much more from him, more than he was willing to give, and she was beginning to get desperate. She had a mission that she could not fail.
After much dancing and merrymaking, Sir Jefferson Tracy found himself seated for the supper with the Prince of Wales on his right and the French Ambassador on his left. He had not met this new ambassador, and he felt uncomfortable in the man's presence. He had been introduced as Monsieur Ghat, from Malaysia, born of a native woman and a French father. There was something familiar about the eyes, the face, but the patriarch couldn't place it.
The conversation turned eventually to the current events across the water. M. Ghat immediately bristled, and it became quite uncomfortable until someone had the presence of mind to change the topic. After the meal the Ambassador disappeared, and Jeff met with his sons to warn them. M. Ghat was not who he seemed and they needed to tread lightly.
While they kept on the lookout for him but trying hard to carry on as if nothing had happened, the man they knew as M. Ghat was holed up in one of the drawing rooms with one Madam O'Bannon to find out how she was progressing in her task. She was frustrated, getting nowhere, and La Capuche was getting frustrated. He wanted answers to the identity on Sauvetage International, and he knew somehow that the Tracy family were involved but he had no proof. The threat to her brother's head hanging over her, but she still had no idea how to get information.
Then he pressed a pocket-handkerchief into her hands, and her eyes widened in recognition. His eyes flashed yellow, and with a trembling voice she told him where she had seen this before. The most feral grin came across his face. He had his proof. And he had a plan.
There was a quiet few weeks before news came. The news came in the form of a very distraught Madam O'Bannon. Having been shown into one of the many receiving rooms, she had hoped to see John, but was disappointed when Scott was the brother in attendance. Apologising for John's absence, he enquired after her health. Madam O'Bannon, being so upset, completely passing over the social conventions, dissolved into tears. Scott handed her one of his pocket-handkerchiefs, and he waited.
Haltingly she explained that she had received news that her brother had been arrested in France. Captain Wayne Rigby had been arrested and charged with helping the illusive International Rescue and was sentenced to die in three days. Scott's face hardened. He may not like the lady and her relentless pursuit of his brother, but this was something he would not ignore. Telling her to take heart and hope, and that he would talk to John as soon as possible, Scott excused himself on the premise of discussing this with the French ambassador before he left.
Madam O'Bannon kept the pocket-handkerchief and passed to La Capuche. It matched the one he already possessed, albeit with different initials.
That night there was much planning. It would take all three days to get there and save Captain Rigby, who indeed was working with them. The plans were hurried, but both Scott and John were good at planning on the fly.
The following morning they set off before the sun rose, their Father worriedly watching them leave. He had grave misgivings for some reason, but they couldn't fail one of their own.
As was their habit, they were in their Paris quarters just before midnight on the last day. They were tired and had ridden hard to get there with little time to rest before they would be on their way again. The plan itself was the same as the one used to rescue the Marqus that first time, but they were all aware that they tried hard not to repeat rescues and they had a new member of the team which would change the dynamics. Scott was cursing the lack of planning time. Three hours rest was all they had before they were off again. This time they had donned disguises in an effort to thwart recognition.
The rescue went off without a hitch, and soon the six men were casually walking the streets of Paris towards the stable where they had left the horses. Collecting them, they gently rode through the city to the gates.
It was as they neared the gates it happened. There was what looked like a garrison of soldiers waiting for them. Scott gave the signal and they scattered; each had a prearranged escape route. Except for Alan, who had orders to stick with his eldest brother no matter what.
The pursuit was quick, but as they reached one of the other city gates disaster struck. One of the soldiers shot Alan's horse and he fell, just as Scott cleared the gate. The portcullis rope was cut and it fell with a clang, and Alan found himself held back by two soldiers while Scott was trying desperately to get to him. His brother had no hope of lifting the heavy gate, though, and Alan knew that he had no hope. He watched another soldier take aim and shoot Scott in the shoulder, and he knew Scott would have to leave him.
He didn't want Scott to go, and in his head he was screaming 'don't leave me!', but the words that came out were, 'run, Scott, run!' There was great satisfaction in watching as his brother jumped back on his horse and rode off. Alan sighed. This was going to be a long night.
By the time Scott reached the rendezvous he was so weak from blood loss that he fell from the saddle right in front of Virgil, who's quick reactions saved his brother from caving his skull in on the cobbled floor. He and Captain Rigby carried Scott into the house, where Virgil set about cleaning and bandaging the wound while they waited for John and Gordon to arrive.
It took over an hour for Scott to come round and share what had happened, and they cursed their luck. How had it gone so wrong? The Captain was visibly upset, and the brothers reassured him that this was not of his making. Still, they had a brother now to rescue, and plans began in earnest.
Getting into Paris, despite all gates being locked down and only the main gate in use would not be a problem. They knew that La Capuche would not wait to kill Alan, but he would want to make a spectacle of the event, and that actually worked in their favour. Their only problem was now Scott. Being injured meant he couldn't play a large role in rescuing their brother, but there was no way he was going to be left behind.
The journey from the gaol to the execution stand was short. People spat at him and threw rotten fruit and vegetables, but Alan stood tall. He had the utmost belief in his brothers, although privately he thought that they might be cutting it a bit fine. Dragged the last bit of the way through the crowd and up the stairs, he was greeted with his first ever close-up of the instrument of his demise. Madam Guillotine was taller than he imagined, but the blade looked just as sharp as his dreams last night. As if to emphasise the point, the executioner let the rope go and the large watermelon was cleanly sliced into two. Alan gulped.
On the platform with him were the executioner, a large built man hidden under a mask to protect his identity. Next to him was a priest of some sort, and the only thought that entered Alan's mind was how like his brother John this priest's hair was. Also on the platform were three guards and that man. The French Ambassador.
As Alan was brought to stand before the guillotine the ambassador joined him. His eyes flared yellow as he bent to look into the young man's eyes. 'You're hoping your brothers will save you. They will not. I have every gateway covered and every exit is covered by soldiers with orders to shoot on sight.' He placed a hand on Alan's shoulder and squeezed until his knees started to buckle.
'I will have my revenge on you all.' And with that he pushed Alan forward to the scaffold and the executioner pushed him to his knees. Up stepped the priest, murmuring soothing words in his ear. Alan wasn't listening. He was scanning the crowds for his brothers, just knowing they had to be there.
But the only thing familiar was the rose-gold carriage parked a little distance away.
Suddenly, he was nudged in the ribs by the priest, and Alan glanced up, but before he could take anything in he was being forced into the scaffold and pushed forward into the correct position, head hanging over a basket.
'This is it,' he thought. 'I am never going to see my brothers again.' He squeezed his eyes closed as the executioner stepped forward. The crown fell silent. And the rope was released. Alan heard the blade swish down.
For a heartbeat nothing happened.
And the blade stuck half way.
And all hell broke loose. Before Alan could comprehend that his head was still on his neck he had been pushed off the scaffold, pitched forward and onto what should have been the ground but turned out to be a pile of sacking, whereby he was grabbed and ushered into the crowd.
On the scaffold the executioner, the priest and one of the soldiers were fighting the other two soldiers and the ambassador. Suddenly there was an explosion, and everyone took cover. As the dust cleared all that was left were two unconscious men and La Capuche on the scaffold. The priest had gone. The executioner had gone. The rose-gold carriage had set off.
And Alan was nowhere to be seen.
La Capuche screamed in fury. He shouted orders and soldiers filled the square. 'Find them!' was the only order given, and his soldiers ran through the crowd, pulling people out and searching them. The crowd was screaming and running every which way.
Eventually the soldiers reached the carriage, which had been halted by the crowd. Demanding entrance earned the first soldier a kick to the chest, for which Parker was duly reprimanded. Opening the door, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward sat back. Her voluminous pink gown filling the side of the carriage where she was sitting.
'I must apologise for my manservant, Captain. I'm afraid he quite forgot his manners. What may I do for you?' She held out her hand, and the man took it and bowed over it. 'Madam, I am afraid that we are looking for an escaped prisoner and have been ordered to search the area.' Lady Penelope fanned herself. 'An escaped prisoner? Oh, how distressing. I'll have Parker be extra careful,' she said, making to move on.
The hand on the carriage stopped her. 'I'm sorry, my lady, but I have orders to search.' The man did look apologetic. And from the other side of her ladyship a man lent forward. He was sporting the red robe and cap of the papacy, and the solder swallowed and backed down immediately. 'Your humble forgiveness, your excellency.' And the man shut the door, ordering an escort to the city gate for the carriage.
Once out of the gate, Alan climbed out from under the ridiculous frills of Lady P's skirt hoops, with a promise never to discuss this ever again, while 'his excellency' removed a kerchief and wiped the make-up off his face and pulled the cape off his shoulders. Alan threw himself into Scott's arms as the carriage sped along the way to Calais, where the rest of their brothers were waiting.
Once they had set sail, they took turns in explaining how they had rigged the square, Virgil being the engineer had placed barrels of gunpower at certain points, and he had been the executioner, able to jigger the scaffold so that it failed the second time. John was indeed the priest, while Gordon was the soldier and Captain Rigby waited below, hidden among the sandbags placed there to catch the blood. They had put quite a few on a flat cart to cushion Alan's fall.
Night fell while they were still afloat, and the brothers slept soundly, having performed the most important rescue of all. Rescuing one of their own.