The next chapter's on the 27th of June.
"You speak French?" Bill whispers as Missy slips into the seat beside her, sliding across one of the coffees and a pastry glazed with some kind of thin icing and crushed nuts.
The Time Lady shrugs, leaning forwards.
"Yes, a little." She admits, sipping at her coffee and finding the excessively bitter taste somewhat pleasing if only for the fact that she was able to buy it herself though she knows that she's had tens of thousands, if not millions, of better coffees in her life.
"That's useful." Bill says, looking around suspiciously at the other patrons just as they are at her.
The Mistress can tell that the woman is burning to ask more questions but says little to encourage them right here.
"Quite." She murmurs noncommittally as she sits for a moment, feeling the heat from the cup warm her hands.
Nobody else in the cafe talks aside from the odd hushed whisper to someone over the table or to ask the person behind the bar for another of this or that. Both Missy and Bill soon fall quiet too, trying to nurse their drinks and food for as long as they can.
The pastry is disappointingly soggy despite the crispness of the glaze and the Time Lady can't help but feel just a little betrayed by the promise that was offered this time though she understands that being ripped out of your time can confuse a lot of the systems of a planet and not just the ones invented by humans.
It takes about an hour for the slightest hint of colour to click the Mistress' brain back into focus as a man in a wrinkled old suit steps into the cafe, a red tie, just edging slightly out of his pocket. Bill must see it at the same time she does if the shock of alertness which pings off of her mind is anything to go by. He gets a coffee to go, just a drop of milk, and then sits at one of the many empty tables anyway after a moment of deliberation. He slips his bag onto the ground beside him and looks around briefly, gaze passing over them, just as it does everyone else in this place. His fingers drum against his thigh.
Bill's eyes slide to the Mistress, eyebrows raised in question and shock. The Time Lady just sips at her coffee, cold by now and even more unappealing than it was earlier, and lets her mind brush against the man's.
He shows no sign of having felt it but frowns a little into his drink, hand shaking just enough that the Mistress can see it. He puts the paper cup down again.
That barest touch of mental contact is enough for Missy to pick up everything she needs.
The man's mind is practically screaming worry even before she makes contact but the rush of 'WHAT IF THEY FIND OUT? WHAT IF THEY FIND OUT? THEY'RE RIGHT OVER IN THAT BUILDING- WHAT IF THEY FIND OUT? I'M GOING TO DIE IF THEY FIND OUT- WHERE ARE THEY? I JUST WANT MY KIDS BACK' is enough to both instantly repel the Time Lady and also confirm that he is the person they are waiting for unless there is something very strange going on here.
Missy gives Bill the slightest nod she can, stretching a little in her seat and sighing that the both of them should get back to work, not loud enough to be suspicious but loud enough that the people near them would hear if they're listening even slightly.
She stands, drinking the dregs of the coffee and leaving the empty plate and glass on the table, hoping that Bill will follow without her having to speak English. If the clatter behind her is any indication and the hissed swear under her breath.
Fortunately the table the man has chosen is between them and the door and it's easy enough for the Mistress to turn back to Bill, warn that they really need to get back early to prepare before their next shift, still taking care not to speak too loudly and break the immersion of them being a part of this place.
There's a blank panic on Bill's face and a confused haze as she tucks the chair back in and nods.
"Oui, oui." She replies, brain frantically clawing at memories of the few years she'd spent studying french in school, just as Missy knocks her hip into the table the man is sitting at hard enough that she knows it's bruised.
Coffee spills over the table and the man scrambles away, letting out a small cry as the lip of the table holds the drink for a moment and then is overwhelmed and the brown liquid starts pattering to the floor.
The Mistress bends down to pick up his bag and puts it in her lap, already pulling a note out of her pocket, not caring too much for the value of it as she apologises profusely to the swearing man, makes an attempt to wipe up the floor with the paper napkin which was around the coffee, the cup still not righted on the table.
Bill is behind her, panicking, looking confusedly at the person who had served their drinks who is holding a mop and bucket and a stack of disposable towels and telling them both that it's fine, that they should get on if they have somewhere to be.
Missy thanks her, trying her best to grimace as if this is precisely the opposite of what she needs right now and that they are doing her a big favour (which actually is partly true), and stands, bag in her left hand, on the other side of her and away from the man in case he tries to make a grab for it.
She tells him that she's sorry and shoves the note into his hand, telling him that they really have to go, shaking his hand as she does and then, in a move that can only be obvious to him from this angle, everyone studiously looking away or else starting to clean, dips her hand into his pocket, pulls out the tie and tucks it up her own sleeve.
And then she is gone, Bill stammering the word sorry like it's the only word she can remember anymore and chasing her out the door.
The two of them walk quickly to the car, Bill taking the bag as the Time Lady unlocks the car, opens the door and immediately starts up the engine.
The other woman scrambles in as fast as she can and clicks her seat belt in as the Mistress starts driving out of Paris, continuing the direction that they had been going in, vaguely South, at a respectable and normal speed.
"Open the bag, would you?" Missy asks the human who does so, brain still going a mile a minute and nowhere.
There are a couple of maps in there, new ones, Bill looks through them, mind trying to catch
"Maps," she says, "one for France, one for Switzerland I think? Maybe? It's been a long time since I learned any French and I'm beginning to think that might be a problem." Bill tells her.
"Anywhere marked?" The Time Lady asks, driving along the side of the river, mentally thanking the monks for the fact that it's going to be a little easier to evade them when no one is on the roads.
There's a crinkle of paper unfolding and the Mistress leans to the side so Bill can open them up.
"Not that I can see at the moment?" she tells her after a minute, scanning the panels, struggling to wrestle the paper into something convenient to look over, "it might take me a while." She offers, clearly still running on adrenaline.
The Time Lady thinks for a moment as she drives and turns right, going over a bridge and following what she thinks must be the main road.
"That's okay. That's good," she reassures the human, "I'll just get us out of Paris while you do that. I don't expect we're meant to stay here and it'll be safer away from busy areas." She says, looking at the signs briefly and continuing as she's been going.
Bill nods, glad for the distraction from the latest addition to her anxiety levels, and keeps looking.