Arcadia Lost

Summary: As Arthur is sent on a new mission with Micah and Albert Mason prepares to move on with his life, they both reminisce on the carefree Arcadian life. But Arcadian dreams turn into American nightmares and this time it may be Mr. Morgan who needs rescuing.

Entomology: Arcadia is a mountainous, landlocked region of Greece. The Roman poet Virgil recognized that Arcadia's isolation and bucolic character make it a perfect setting for pastoral poetry, and over the centuries many other writers have agreed. In the poems of Arcadia, naive and ideal innocence is often unaffected by the passions of the larger world. Now English speakers often use "Arcadia" to designate a place of rustic innocence and simple, quiet pleasure. Arcadian can mean "idyllically pastoral" or "idyllically innocent, simple, or untroubled."

Chapter One – Faith

None of them believed. Not one had a god-damned clue what was really going on.

Dutch's meaty fist thudded the desk in frustration, but the only response was the sputter of yellow candlelight, flickering in the muggy night air and the creak of the dilapidated house. All around him rose the smell of mildew and rot. The candle was almost spent, and mosquitos buzzed about, their high-pitched whine zipping past Dutch's ears, seeking the ample sweat dripping down his neck. His shirt was soaked and not the slightest breeze came through the open window, only the sounds of drunken gafahs, crude singing and petty bickering rising up from the camp outside. Here he was running his mind and body ragged trying to find a way to save them all, trying to make a PLAN – and they did nothing but lie about camp playing fools.

Dutch wanted to get up and scream at them. Wanted to damn them to hell, but right now it wasn't worth the effort. Besides… he was their leader… their savior. The stupidity, ingratitude and, yes, even the doubts and disloyalty were all his cross to bear. And he would. He just needed to find the way. Somehow, he would discover the door to freedom, to wealth and prosperity for ALL of them. He was Dutch van der Linde, a blazing fire of hope and freedom in a dull world of ever-growing darkness.

In the dying candlelight, Dutch smoothed out various papers, most stained and crinkled. They were tips and leads he or the others had gathered over the last couple of weeks. Angelo Bronte had advised him that the trolley station in Saint Denis kept a fortune in its safe and that seemed like a good route to take. It'd be much simpler than the city bank, though the idea of pulling off a big city bank job was appealing. These fools thought the days of outlaws and the wild west were at an end, that their money was safe locked behind the fancy polished floors and big vaults. Dutch was eager to teach them otherwise, but Hosea was taking his time on reconnaissance, bringing up doubts and pointing out obstacle after obstacle. It was trying beyond all measure and Arthur wasn't much better. He didn't argue like Hosea, didn't openly criticize, but the younger man's face was an open book and all Dutch ever read there these days was doubt, disappointment and misgivings. After all these years! All the years in which he had taught them, protected them, led them to glory, freedom and prosperity, how could they do this to him now?

"In the end, the true traitor will be the one you never would have suspected."

The blind beggar's fortune echoed in Dutch's mind, as it had many times these past months. Like a worm chewing through a rotten apple, it niggled through his thoughts, day and night. He knew now it couldn't be true, because he'd come to suspect everyone, Molly, Bill, John even the friends - the family - he'd loved the longest. In fact, it was the idea of Hosea or Arthur betraying him that made him sometimes pull his pistol from its holster and contemplate how cold and smooth it would feel pressed against his own temple, made him contemplate the infinity of the END. He told himself every day that it was impossible, but then every day he would notice more signs. That tone in Hosea's voice. The ease with which the man spun a lie, played a part, deceived everyone around him. Could Hosea be deceiving him too? - That sad look in Arthur's eyes, the constant doubting, the disappointment, the shrouded cunning Arthur hid behind his mask of simplicity, the practical brutality and cynicism, which had overtaken the once youthful idealism and trust he'd had as a boy. Arthur was the type. He'd gradually become incapable of seeing the bigger picture, the dream, the blessed truth Dutch fought for every day. And what was left then, but the dull brutality of facts and the survival of the fittest? If Arthur didn't believe in him, how could he believe in Arthur?

Round and round, Dutch's thoughts circled. Paranoia, suspicion and depression; three buzzards descending upon his sanity.

Mosquitoes whined and Dutch slammed a hot hand against his own neck, pulling it away slick with sweat, blood and the broken guts of the insect.

"Dutch?" the pining, whining tone of Molly's accent came from the bedroom doorway and Dutch's temper finally snapped at the sound.

"GOD DAMN you WOMAN! Can't you leave me in peace for one god damned second!"

"I just… All I wanted was to-"

"GET OUT!" He screamed lunging up from his table and flailing an arm at her. "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

She was well out of reach but ducked nonetheless and then shot him a look full of hurt, rage and disgust, "You're a PIG Dutch Van der Linde!"

Dutch wished he had a thousand voices in order to scream his frustration at her. Then she swept away, her hurried footsteps, making the warped uneven floorboards of the old house groan and creak all the louder.

Dutch collapsed back into his chair, panting, his face red with pent up anger. He had neither the time nor the desire to deal with the petty insecurities of Molly O'Shae. He had much bigger problems to solve. Digging a fresh candle out of the crate by the table, Dutch lit it from the sputtering remnants of the last one and then shifted all the papers around, hoping a fresh idea could be sparked by reading them in a new order. A small slip of paper spilled from the edge of the pile and Dutch caught it, before it could fall off the table to the floor.

It was a note from Lenny. The young man had helped an escaped convict break free from shackles and the man had shared some information that Leviticus Cornwall's personal yacht was docked in Annesberg and supposedly had a vault with bonds, cash and business deeds there. Apparently, Cornwall had been operating from his boat for several months now and rumors were that a fortune was locked under the decks.

It was rumors and speculation from an unreliable source, but it sparked in Dutch's mind, cueing the exhilaration of a beautiful idea, a plan that wasn't just a plan but had the potential to be a work of art, ironic, justified, rich and daring beyond all belief. It also reminded him of another note he had somewhere and he dug through the papers, until he found a page where he'd written several of the tidbits of gossip, leads and information he'd gotten at the party a few nights ago. Someone had said Leviticus Cornwall and many of his men were riding down from Annesberg to Saint Denis this week to conduct business with wealthy landowners coming in from the Caribbean, something about buying shares in sugar plantations. If this was true, and Cornwall really had a boat docked in Annesberg, then it meant the boat was currently unoccupied, or at least less occupied and guarded than usual… if it existed at all… This could be… This could be A PLAN.

The sound of footsteps on the wooden floors groaned loudly again and Dutch turned ready to yell his voice ragged if that woman had come back to bother him again, but it wasn't Molly.

Micah Bell stopped short and raised his hands in surrender at the look on Dutch's face. "Whoa! Sorry boss. Wasn't trying to intrude, just need to put funds in the box there and turn in the gang's share of a score," he smirked under his yellow mustache and held up several bills waving them alluringly. "Robbed a coach coming out of Saint Denis. Had some kind of charity collection or veterans' building project box in it. Full of cash."

Micah pulled a thick stack of bills, mostly tens and twenties from one of the pockets in his coat and handed it to Dutch. "Gang's share, Boss."

Dutch's eyes widened as he took the money and flipped through it. There was at least five hundred dollars here. "You did this by yourself?"

"Sure!" Micah scoffed, stepping over to the supply box and ledger and putting in a few smaller bills. "For all those hungry MOUTHS out there," he drawled, nodding toward the window. "I can carry my weight and more, Dutch. I 'aint no parasite nor greenhorn who needs his hand held by the big boys."

"No, you most certainly are not," Dutch chuckled, tucking the stack of cash into his vest and making a mental note to send Hosea to ride it out to the hidden cash box later on.

"I have vision, Boss," Micah said, waving a hand before him, as if seeing a grand view stretched out before him, "It may not be clear to all of them," he jerked a thumb toward the window, "But step by step, little by little, we're going to make it to a better place. We all just need to do our share and have some faith."

The words moved Dutch. He hadn't realized how much he'd been aching to hear them, to receive even just a little validation from his men and get assurance that at least some still believed. Leaning forward, he slapped Micah warmly on the arm. "Son, you have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that. I am going to get us through this. I just need all of you with me."

Micah nodded and leaned back against the crates with the supply funds box on it. "I'm with you, Boss." He waved a hand at the many papers scattered across the table. "You work'n on something, or are you getting ready to repaper these walls with old letters and junk?"

"This?" Dutch turned his attention to the table and tried to straighten the chaotic mess into a couple neat stacks, "Just reviewing leads Son, making plans."

"Yeh don't say, then? What plans?"

Dutch pursed his lips, considering. The Cornwall boat was just on its first whispers of beginnings, but nonetheless the tug of glory was compelling. Usually, he would share plans with Hosea before ever bringing them up with the men, but even the idea of talking about it with Hosea was frustrating and a damper on his inspiration. He could already hear the protests and the doubts. "It's far too dangerous." "Look at what happened the last time you went after a boat!" "We need to stay low. The last thing we need is to get more involved with Leviticus Cornwall." "Do you even know a single thing about this boat, or is it just dreams and conjecture again?" Dutch did NOT need that right now. He needed some faith, just for once, a little faith.

He looked back up at Micah, who was watching him with keen and respectful interest, one hand in a pocket. Clearing his throat, Dutch took a leap of faith himself. "I'm thinking about attacking Cornwall more directly. He's been funding these government agents, these Pinkertons. It's his money that's behind all this trouble and I recently learned he keeps it all in a boat docked at a town northeast of here called, Annesberg. He's been operating all his business out of this boat for months. Furthermore, he and most of his men won't be at said boat for the next week, as they're meeting some fellows from the Caribbean in Sant Denis this week."

"A shame," Micah said.

"How's that?" Dutch asked, frowning.

"If we knew Cornwall was going to be on this boat of his, we could go and finish him for good. Cut off the HEAD of the snake, as they say. Get rid of him once and for all, before he can try destroying us again."

Murder as a primary intention wasn't something Dutch ever liked to consider. Yes, he'd killed to achieve his goals, many people many times over the years, but except in the case of Colm O'Driscoll (who had it coming) murder had never been his goal. Nonetheless, he found himself hesitating before dismissing Micah's words. The man had a point; Leviticus Cornwall was a very powerful man who had made it clear that he was going to do whatever it took to destroy them. Killing Cornwall first might be the only way… but no. There was always a better way. There HAD to be a better way.

"We don't set out to murder folks, Mister Bell," Dutch lectured, "Killing may be part of the job, but it's never the POINT of the job. We aren't like other gangs."

Micah nodded and lowered his head, seemingly considering Dutch's words. He took out his knife and a lump of wood and slowly began to shave a curl off the edge. "You're right, but… eventually we may need to just be practical Dutch. There will be blood - better theirs than ours. If we're going to get out of this - get everyone out of this - sacrifices will need to be made. When it comes down to it, would you rather sacrifice your people, or just your morals a little?"

Dutch didn't have an answer right away, which disturbed him. Usually, he always had answers; Dutch Van der Linde had a code and he always knew where he stood, which was on the CODE. He didn't sacrifice that code, but the code also said he needed to do whatever it took to protect his people. "Practical," he spat, speaking the word like it was poison, "The world is full of dull practical folks, who trumpet "practicality" before throwing everyone around them to the wolves and selling their souls to the devil!"

Micah just shrugged and carved off another curl from his block. "This boat though," he said after a moment, "What else do you know 'bout it?"

"Not much," Dutch said, his temper descending down from the heights of moral philosophy and back to the problems at hand. "I'll need to send some of you boys to scope it out, see what's what and if these rumors have merit."

Micah nodded again, encouragingly, "You can't be too careful. Get the lay of things; find a grasp on the situation before making any solid strategies."

"Right, but there's not much time to spare. Who knows how long Cornwall will stay docked in Annesberg."

"And it's only this week that you know he and most of his men will be away."

"I need to send people I can trust to know what to look for and keep the end goals in mind."

"I can go, Boss. You know I can handle myself and get things done."

Dutch nodded, but added, "And take Arthur."

"Ol' Sourpuss? He won't see the vision, Dutch. He dismisses any idea that's not his own and he never has nothing but doubts and criticisms to say these days."

"Arthur's my most trusted man. He might bellyache all day long, but he always comes through and gets it done. He's never let me down."

Micah scowled "If he's so reliable then where is he? Morgan hardly steps foot in camp 'fore he's riding off again, spending days going who knows where, doing who knows what. What exactly is it he's always getting up to out on them roads anyway?"

"He's working," Dutch snapped, his voice more defensive than he'd meant it to be, "Arthur handles himself better than anyone. He's got an adventuring spirit and I've learned long ago to let him have free rein. He's always here when I need him."

"Is that so?" Micah said darkly and his knife slipped some as he dug hard into his carving block. "I guess we'll see then. We're on a timeline. Soon as he's back and it's convenient for his "adventuring spirit" I'll be ready to ride out."

"You better be," Dutch said, "Now you clear out. I'm going to attempt to get some sleep, assuming these insects don't eat me alive first." He swatted another mosquito and gathered the stacks of papers, tucking them into a leather satchel.

Author's Note

It's been a long time since I've done much writing or any posting on this site. Most of my previous works here are from around 10 years ago. But I got obsessed with this game after my first play-through last year and I found myself inspired to write stories again.

Coming back to this website sort of feels like looking through a window back on a younger me. There used to be nothing more exciting than reading kind reviews left on a new story or chapter I'd posted. Not sure how many readers and activity still goes on here, but if you read this and have any thoughts, either encouragement or critique, please take a moment to write a review. It would mean a lot to me. Sometimes, just knowing you've been heard and noticed by other people speaks volumes in the soul.

Thanks a lot,

~MMM

PS: This intro chapter was short and Arthur isn't in it, but don't worry, I'll soon be putting up more chapters with plenty of screen time for Arthur Morgan. He's just the very best!