Chapter 2
Disclaimer: See Chapter one
Author's note: Now the search begins for Horatio. And okay, I made a gross error in the fact that I said that Bush and Wellard were on the Indy. Oops, sorry. Like I said, Chase is mine, but you may use her if you ask.
Archive: Sure, but tell me first.
~*~
"Put your back into it Mr. Wellard!" The two sailors grunted as they dragged the heavy skiff onto the beach. Both men were red faced and breathing hard by the time they had gotten the skiff past the beach and into the woods. They piled leaves and fallen branches across it, camouflaging their means of transport off American ground.
Archie pulled his knapsack from the Indy's skiff and handed Wellard's to the younger man. "We have a little more than two weeks here Mr. Wellard and a lot of ground to cover. There are two small towns not far from the port where the frigate would have docked, Portsmouth and Richardson. My recommendation is that we split up and search the two towns separately. I will go to Portsmouth and you to Richardson."
"Yes sir. And if one of us finds the lieutenant before the other?"
"There is a crossroads where the roads to the two towns diverge. Meet me back there in three days to exchange information. Meet me there before noon. Keep your eyes and ears open Mr. Wellard, but keep your mouth shut. AS of right now you look like, act like and, if you must speak, talk like an American. It is imperative that no one knows us to be Englishmen. Understood?"
"Absolutely sir."
"Good lad. We had best be on our way. Good luck."
"Best of luck to you as well sir."
The two men then parted company. Wellard found the path to Richardson and started along it. Archie, having a slightly better sense of direction than his cohort, traveled through the brush in order to save time. In his sack he had food enough to last for a week or so, as long as he used it sparingly. He also had his knife and pistol, wrapped carefully in oil cloth, should he need to hunt or protect himself. It was odd really, walking around out of uniform. The tan breeches, white shirt and tan vest felt foreign and unnatural.
The town of Portsmouth was a wind blown village of no more than two hundred people. Most were farmers, living out in cleared spaces in the wood that they farmed as best they could. The farms were a far cry from some of the large, prosperous plantations run to the South. Others lived within the town's borders, running small shops and providing services to the local population.
The main hearth of buildings surrounded a single, dusty street. There housed a boarding house, dry goods store and small pub, to name a few. Kennedy could take the entire town in with one sweep of his eyes and he did just that. He decided forthwith that the best place to start looking for his lost friend would be the establishment where people talked the most freely. And since liquor often loosened tongues, he decided to first visit the pub with a crooked sign and batwing doors. He just hoped that he would be able to hear something of a French ship, or a British prisoner on board it.
--
Another day passed for Horatio in the dank penitentiary chamber. Boredom began to seep into his mind as he exhausted his ideas on ways to escape. He recited every piece of nautical rule he could remember, sang every sea chantey in his mind. Anything to keep his mind off the solitude, the smell, and his ever increasing hunger.
So Horatio resorted to pacing, a habit he only employed when terribly agitated. And a habit he had no doubt picked up from Archie somewhere along the way. He paced in circles, along the wall, and haphazardly about the tiny room. Sometimes he would stop to observe the comings and goings of Stephen from his office, but for the most part he just walked. Nearing the end of the day he knew, within a few centimeters, the dimensions of his cell.
And as the sun passed over the one tiny window on the block she came again, like clockwork, clutching her bundle to her chest. She stopped briefly by Stephen's door. The large man glared at her from behind red rimmed eyes. After an elongated pause he drew his feet off his desk and escorted her to Horatio's cell. He staggered along behind her, obviously more than a little drunk.
She waited impatiently at the door, tapping her foot on the cobblestone. Stephen had to reach around her to unlock the door. He paused after inserting the key, leaning closer to her and burying his nose in her hair. She turned toward him, not looking so much afraid as agitated. "Do you think," she informed the jailer sternly, "that my rules do not apply to you as they do every other man on these premises? If you do than you are sadly mistaken."
"Oh no darlin' I definitely ain't mistaken."
The jailer's hands wandered aimlessly over the woman's body. She felt like her skin might just crawl right off her body. They finally found her waist and drew her neared to him. Horatio stopped his incessant pacing. "You are about to lose that hand Stephen," she growled.
"I've no need of it," he replied flippantly. "I can accomplish all that I need with just the one. One coarse palm found her throat, his fingers enclosing about her jugular and he pressed her roughly into one of the nearby walls. She clawed vainly at his hands and a set of desperate eyes found Horatio's over the slope of the man's shoulder. Horatio bristled. His present state of incarceration had not bled him of his sense of chivalry, and the key was in the lock. He mused for fewer than three seconds before making his decision.
His hands fairly flew at the key. The heavy, wrought iron door swung open with a loud crash. Stephen seemed not to notice, his attention fixated on the struggling woman in front of him, until Horatio launched himself upon Stephen's back at least.
Stephen roared and relinquished his grip on the healer's throat. She slid to the ground, gasping and red faced. He flung Horatio from his back and the two men squared off to face one another. Horatio's blows hit solid and true but Stephen, being so thoroughly intoxicated seemed not to notice. He swung a meaty fist and it caught Horatio in the head.
The English officer faltered. Days of malnourishment had sapped him of his strength. Stephen once again hit him in the face, this time forcing Horatio to the ground. Then he kicked at Horatio's side mercilessly with the toe of his boot. The Lieutenant drew his arms closer to his chest, shielding himself as best he could.
"Stephen!" the woman cried out. "He's finished. Stop before you kill him." Eyes drugged by alcohol and blood lust didn't comprehend at first. Finally he nodded. He grabbed the smaller man's collar and threw him bodily back into the cell.
The healer flinched when Stephen turned to her, but stood her ground just the same. He swiped at the small string of saliva that hung from the corner of his mouth. "He gets no dinner tonight, you understand?" She nodded quietly. "In fact, stay away from him till morning." Casting a last, hateful glare at Horatio, he stumbled back to his office and to his bottle. The woman too, scurried away, scooping up her bottles as she passed by them.
Horatio rolled over onto his back, either not noticing or not caring as the dampness from the floor seeped through his shirt and breeches. He shut his eyes and tried to will away the pain. When he heard quiet footsteps approaching the cell he was surprised. When he heard the key twist in the lock his eyes shot open. She had come back.
He drew himself into a sitting position. "What are you doing back here?"
"Coming to check on you."
"And Stephen simply let you have his keys after expressly ordering you to stay away from me?"
"Stephen," she dropped to her knees beside him, "is passed out in his office and will most likely stay there the rest of the night. And as for the keys, he doesn't know that I have them. Now hush." Experienced fingers probed at his swollen face.
"How bad is it?" He winced as she neared the patch of flesh surrounding his left eye.
She smiled softly. "Let's put it this way. Now you a matching set of blackened eyes. Makes you look like something of a raccoon actually. I have a salve for your face, but I am afraid there is not much I can do for your ribs."
"Tis no matter. Another pain in my stomach makes no difference at this point as I shall not be having dinner. And the scant hours of reprieve from my hunger are actually more detrimental than beneficial, tortuous really. It seems that I may as well get used to the idea of going without and learn to just grin and bear it, so that I may become used to the constant gnawing hunger in my abdomen."
"You could do that," she admitted with a slight incline of her head. "And as I mentioned before, there is little I can do for you side, but I can do something for your stomach. I snatched these from the galley." All thoughts of abstaining from meals fled his mind as soon as he saw the veritable feast in front of him. The half loaf of bread and wedge of cheese was by far the most substantial meal he had had in days.
"Why?" he asked between mouthfuls.
She shrugged and began to gather her things. "You are not so bad for an Englishman. You had no reason to help me today, but you did just the same, and at great risk to your own personel well being. Mistake this not for kindness Mr. Hornblower, but I believe in paying my debts."
"Kindness? Never. But will you do me another favor dear lady?"
"That depends sir, on what it is you ask me to do."
Horatio placed the remnants of his meal on the cleanest portion of his cot and took off one boot. He inverted the piece of footwear and a small, leather bound ledger fell from its depths. "This is my journal. In it are some of my more personal thoughts and some rather delicate plans of the British Navy. I cannot see it fall to the French."
He held the tiny book out to her. She eyed it for a long moment, her lips pursed before finally taking it from his grasp. "As of right now, we are even."
"Absolutely."
She paused by the cell door. "It's Chase by the way."
"Excuse me?"
"My name Mr. Hornblower, Chase."
"That's quite unusual."
"Winifred Eudora Chase, which is precisely the reason I use my surname. And as a matter of note, I find it no more unusual than Horatio. I'll be by again in the morning. G'night Mr. Hornblower."
"Same to you Ms. Chase."
--
Archie Kennedy left the pub feeling more despondent than when he had entered, which usually seemed to be the way of pubs, although he himself had drank only a single drink. In the hours he had spent at and around the bar he had learned much, but nothing that might be used to lead him to Horatio.
He had heard not a single word of French or broken English, not even the barest mention of a French frigate arriving in port. He had learned however, that Mr. Clarke was in the middle of a particularly fine crop of corn and that Ms. Howard's prize heifer was due to birth any day. Had the situation not been so dire he might have laughed.
He strode quickly down the street, his gaze cast on the dirt and pebbles rather than where he was walking. He didn't even see the woman until he plowed into her, knocking both her and her bundle onto the street. He mumbled an apology and bent to help gather her things. Her hand reached the small journal a moment before his did. Archie's hand froze. He would recognize that book anywhere, the letters HH scrawled on the front cover.
Wide blue eyes rose to meet suspicious green ones. The young woman snatched the journal from the ground, said the briefest of thank you's and trotted away. She entered the livery across the street. Archie faded back into the shadows in a nearby ally. A few minutes later she appeared again, this time riding a heavy, short striding chestnut draught. They plodded down the path out of town, his plate sized hooves kicking up huge clouds of dust.
Making sure no one noticed him, Archie followed at a safe distance. The horse moved slowly and he kept up with ease, trotting along the tree line at the edge of the trail. They traveled like that for a few miles until the trees began to thin and finally opened up in a small area of cleared land.
A small log cabin rested at the edge of the clearing. Beside it was a 4-stall barn and a little corral for the horses to run and play in. A wagon was parked on one side of the building. Rows of crops rose behind the shed. The woman tossed her mount into his stall, untacking him and running a brush over his body with deft hands. Then she tossed him and the other three horses some hay.
Archie crouched down in the leaves and tossed his rucksack on the ground. He would stay for the night and then tail her the next morning to find out where she went, in hopes of her leading him to his friend. Archie sighed. His eyes drifted shut. And in the oncoming hours of the night he slept, his head cradled in the leaves, and his jacket tossed over his shoulders.
The morning dawned crisp and clear, the early spring chill leaving one to watch as their breath floated by in a cloud. Archie wakened as dawn gave way to early morning. He had a cramp in his neck and leaves stuck every which way out of his collar and hair. The dreariness he always felt when first waking was jolted from him when he noticed the woman was about to leave. If he wasn't ready in a matter of moments, he would miss her altogether.
She and her rather ungainly mount trotted quietly back down the trail the way they had come. It seemed a familiar route to both her and the horse, and she let the reins go slack against the chestnut's neck. Again she left him at the local livery.
Archie followed her down the narrow, twisting footpath into a clump of trees. He stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing the building, a solid structure fortified by a high, solid wall. It's a prison, he realized, hidden away from the town. The woman passed by two guards and inside without pause. Archie watched the guards circulate a while longer before turning back toward the town. He would be ready for her in the evening.
--
Horatio smiled when he saw her. The smile wasn't exactly open and warm, but it offered the possibility of friendliness. After all, Chase knew the prison, the countryside and seemed reasonable enough. She could prove to be a valuable ally when the time came for him to make his escape. Not to mention that seeing a face not completely consumed by hostility was a bright spot in his day.
"Breakfast," Chase glanced down the hall at Stephen's closed door. Fishing keys from her pocket she opened the cell door and ventured inside. Horatio took the tray of food from her gratefully, setting it down next to him. "And an extra." She wriggled her brows teasingly and tossed a bright red apple from hand to hand.
"I thought we were even."
"Very true Mr. Hornblower, but now it is I that asks a favor from you. The apple is way of payment."
"Well then, spit it out."
"Ever since I was a child I wished I knew what it was to travel, but I never got the chance. Will you tell me of Europe, and the seas?"
Horatio couldn't hide his surprise. "You didn't read the ledger?"
"No sir I did not," she replied indignantly. "So this is how you perceive Americans, as uncouth ruffians with no regard to privacy. Am I right?"
"Then is it that you don't know how to read? There is no shame in that you realize."
Chase threw her hands into the air and laughed. "I can't win! So now the assumption is that if I am not uncouth than I must be uneducated. No Mr. Hornblower. I am perfectly able to read. But need I remind you that you gave me that journal in confidence and that is where it shall remain, hidden under the floorboards of my humble home."
"I apologize. I should not have let preconceived notions of Americans influence my perception of you. Do you still wish to talk, rude bugger that I am?"
Chase felt her indignation fade quickly. "If you feel so inclined."
Horatio thought for a long moment, pondering where he should begin. He decided to simply start at the beginning. "My career began not so many years ago. I was stationed aboard a ship christened the Justinian. It was upon that stalwart vessel that I first met one of my closest friends, a good humored man by the name of Archie Kennedy..."
--
She pressed the aging gelding into a slightly more lively trot. He lay back his ears and swished his tail with the irritation of being forced out of his comfortable shuffle. Chase scanned the trail in every direction. She felt someone watching her, eyes boring deep into her back. She hadn't been able to shed herself of the feeling since the moment she left the prison grounds. Riding alone through the forest did little to assuage her fears.
Archie first burst onto the trail a yard or so ahead of the horse on the trail. He half-ran, half fell down the rocky, sandy incline. He rushed at the horse, only causing the animal to spook and rear. One massive hoof sliced the air inches from Kennedy's face. Chase reined the horse in, no longer looking at some unseen aggressor, but as a madman with a death wish.
"If you are looking for money I have none. Robbing me of the few pennies I posses is truly a futile endeavor."
"I'm not looking to rob you," he responded, puzzled.
"You're not?"
"No. I'm looking for information."
"Then may I tell you that perhaps you should have planned this better. Attacking lone women on the road does not create an environment conducive to talking. Now I demand that you let me pass."
"I don't think you're in the position to demand anything." He told her in all seriousness.
Chase had to force herself not to laugh. In moments the situation had gone from mildly disconcerting to downright amusing. The situation bordered on the ridiculous. Nothing about the man before her was in any way frightening. He was young, with a handsome face and wide blue eyes. Despite his best efforts to appear serious, he could not hide the faint lines etched about his mouth and eyes. The lines spoke of a man who smiled more than he frowned, and laughed more than he lectured.
"And how did you arrive at this conclusion? You are on the ground. I am riding this great brute of a horse that has taken a dislike to you and would presumably have no qualms as to walking directly over you." The chestnut aided her point, glaring at Archie through his thick forelock and shaking his head aggressively.
Kennedy was at a loss for words. He was unused to the idea of hijacking a woman, and had had little idea of how to proceed. He had never expected her to be so frank and unafraid. Leaving his pistol in his satchel had seemed like a good idea in the morning, but now he could have kicked himself. Without thinking to hide his accent he shouted, "Oh bloody hell!"
Chase rolled her eyes. "Oh for the love of...not another Brit!" She clucked to her horse and moved to circle around Kennedy.
"What do you mean another Brit?" He launched himself at the bridle of the steed, trying to not take notice of the flashing teeth aimed at him. "Is there another Englishman in these parts? You know Hornblower don't you? Tell me."
"And who are you to know of Horatio Hornblower?"
"Mr. Hornblower is my superior officer on board the British ship Indefatigable. My name is Archie Kennedy."
Chase drew the horse to a halt. "Kennedy you say?"
"Yes."
"Well then Mr. Kennedy, I think we need to speak."
End Chapter two.
Chapter three is coming along slower than I would like, but it is coming. I thought it would be mildly amusing to have Kennedy meet the OC in an odd situation. And now I beg for information. IS Mariette or Marienette (I'm not even sure to her name) dead? I hoped you like this section too. Thanks for reading.
Disclaimer: See Chapter one
Author's note: Now the search begins for Horatio. And okay, I made a gross error in the fact that I said that Bush and Wellard were on the Indy. Oops, sorry. Like I said, Chase is mine, but you may use her if you ask.
Archive: Sure, but tell me first.
~*~
"Put your back into it Mr. Wellard!" The two sailors grunted as they dragged the heavy skiff onto the beach. Both men were red faced and breathing hard by the time they had gotten the skiff past the beach and into the woods. They piled leaves and fallen branches across it, camouflaging their means of transport off American ground.
Archie pulled his knapsack from the Indy's skiff and handed Wellard's to the younger man. "We have a little more than two weeks here Mr. Wellard and a lot of ground to cover. There are two small towns not far from the port where the frigate would have docked, Portsmouth and Richardson. My recommendation is that we split up and search the two towns separately. I will go to Portsmouth and you to Richardson."
"Yes sir. And if one of us finds the lieutenant before the other?"
"There is a crossroads where the roads to the two towns diverge. Meet me back there in three days to exchange information. Meet me there before noon. Keep your eyes and ears open Mr. Wellard, but keep your mouth shut. AS of right now you look like, act like and, if you must speak, talk like an American. It is imperative that no one knows us to be Englishmen. Understood?"
"Absolutely sir."
"Good lad. We had best be on our way. Good luck."
"Best of luck to you as well sir."
The two men then parted company. Wellard found the path to Richardson and started along it. Archie, having a slightly better sense of direction than his cohort, traveled through the brush in order to save time. In his sack he had food enough to last for a week or so, as long as he used it sparingly. He also had his knife and pistol, wrapped carefully in oil cloth, should he need to hunt or protect himself. It was odd really, walking around out of uniform. The tan breeches, white shirt and tan vest felt foreign and unnatural.
The town of Portsmouth was a wind blown village of no more than two hundred people. Most were farmers, living out in cleared spaces in the wood that they farmed as best they could. The farms were a far cry from some of the large, prosperous plantations run to the South. Others lived within the town's borders, running small shops and providing services to the local population.
The main hearth of buildings surrounded a single, dusty street. There housed a boarding house, dry goods store and small pub, to name a few. Kennedy could take the entire town in with one sweep of his eyes and he did just that. He decided forthwith that the best place to start looking for his lost friend would be the establishment where people talked the most freely. And since liquor often loosened tongues, he decided to first visit the pub with a crooked sign and batwing doors. He just hoped that he would be able to hear something of a French ship, or a British prisoner on board it.
--
Another day passed for Horatio in the dank penitentiary chamber. Boredom began to seep into his mind as he exhausted his ideas on ways to escape. He recited every piece of nautical rule he could remember, sang every sea chantey in his mind. Anything to keep his mind off the solitude, the smell, and his ever increasing hunger.
So Horatio resorted to pacing, a habit he only employed when terribly agitated. And a habit he had no doubt picked up from Archie somewhere along the way. He paced in circles, along the wall, and haphazardly about the tiny room. Sometimes he would stop to observe the comings and goings of Stephen from his office, but for the most part he just walked. Nearing the end of the day he knew, within a few centimeters, the dimensions of his cell.
And as the sun passed over the one tiny window on the block she came again, like clockwork, clutching her bundle to her chest. She stopped briefly by Stephen's door. The large man glared at her from behind red rimmed eyes. After an elongated pause he drew his feet off his desk and escorted her to Horatio's cell. He staggered along behind her, obviously more than a little drunk.
She waited impatiently at the door, tapping her foot on the cobblestone. Stephen had to reach around her to unlock the door. He paused after inserting the key, leaning closer to her and burying his nose in her hair. She turned toward him, not looking so much afraid as agitated. "Do you think," she informed the jailer sternly, "that my rules do not apply to you as they do every other man on these premises? If you do than you are sadly mistaken."
"Oh no darlin' I definitely ain't mistaken."
The jailer's hands wandered aimlessly over the woman's body. She felt like her skin might just crawl right off her body. They finally found her waist and drew her neared to him. Horatio stopped his incessant pacing. "You are about to lose that hand Stephen," she growled.
"I've no need of it," he replied flippantly. "I can accomplish all that I need with just the one. One coarse palm found her throat, his fingers enclosing about her jugular and he pressed her roughly into one of the nearby walls. She clawed vainly at his hands and a set of desperate eyes found Horatio's over the slope of the man's shoulder. Horatio bristled. His present state of incarceration had not bled him of his sense of chivalry, and the key was in the lock. He mused for fewer than three seconds before making his decision.
His hands fairly flew at the key. The heavy, wrought iron door swung open with a loud crash. Stephen seemed not to notice, his attention fixated on the struggling woman in front of him, until Horatio launched himself upon Stephen's back at least.
Stephen roared and relinquished his grip on the healer's throat. She slid to the ground, gasping and red faced. He flung Horatio from his back and the two men squared off to face one another. Horatio's blows hit solid and true but Stephen, being so thoroughly intoxicated seemed not to notice. He swung a meaty fist and it caught Horatio in the head.
The English officer faltered. Days of malnourishment had sapped him of his strength. Stephen once again hit him in the face, this time forcing Horatio to the ground. Then he kicked at Horatio's side mercilessly with the toe of his boot. The Lieutenant drew his arms closer to his chest, shielding himself as best he could.
"Stephen!" the woman cried out. "He's finished. Stop before you kill him." Eyes drugged by alcohol and blood lust didn't comprehend at first. Finally he nodded. He grabbed the smaller man's collar and threw him bodily back into the cell.
The healer flinched when Stephen turned to her, but stood her ground just the same. He swiped at the small string of saliva that hung from the corner of his mouth. "He gets no dinner tonight, you understand?" She nodded quietly. "In fact, stay away from him till morning." Casting a last, hateful glare at Horatio, he stumbled back to his office and to his bottle. The woman too, scurried away, scooping up her bottles as she passed by them.
Horatio rolled over onto his back, either not noticing or not caring as the dampness from the floor seeped through his shirt and breeches. He shut his eyes and tried to will away the pain. When he heard quiet footsteps approaching the cell he was surprised. When he heard the key twist in the lock his eyes shot open. She had come back.
He drew himself into a sitting position. "What are you doing back here?"
"Coming to check on you."
"And Stephen simply let you have his keys after expressly ordering you to stay away from me?"
"Stephen," she dropped to her knees beside him, "is passed out in his office and will most likely stay there the rest of the night. And as for the keys, he doesn't know that I have them. Now hush." Experienced fingers probed at his swollen face.
"How bad is it?" He winced as she neared the patch of flesh surrounding his left eye.
She smiled softly. "Let's put it this way. Now you a matching set of blackened eyes. Makes you look like something of a raccoon actually. I have a salve for your face, but I am afraid there is not much I can do for your ribs."
"Tis no matter. Another pain in my stomach makes no difference at this point as I shall not be having dinner. And the scant hours of reprieve from my hunger are actually more detrimental than beneficial, tortuous really. It seems that I may as well get used to the idea of going without and learn to just grin and bear it, so that I may become used to the constant gnawing hunger in my abdomen."
"You could do that," she admitted with a slight incline of her head. "And as I mentioned before, there is little I can do for you side, but I can do something for your stomach. I snatched these from the galley." All thoughts of abstaining from meals fled his mind as soon as he saw the veritable feast in front of him. The half loaf of bread and wedge of cheese was by far the most substantial meal he had had in days.
"Why?" he asked between mouthfuls.
She shrugged and began to gather her things. "You are not so bad for an Englishman. You had no reason to help me today, but you did just the same, and at great risk to your own personel well being. Mistake this not for kindness Mr. Hornblower, but I believe in paying my debts."
"Kindness? Never. But will you do me another favor dear lady?"
"That depends sir, on what it is you ask me to do."
Horatio placed the remnants of his meal on the cleanest portion of his cot and took off one boot. He inverted the piece of footwear and a small, leather bound ledger fell from its depths. "This is my journal. In it are some of my more personal thoughts and some rather delicate plans of the British Navy. I cannot see it fall to the French."
He held the tiny book out to her. She eyed it for a long moment, her lips pursed before finally taking it from his grasp. "As of right now, we are even."
"Absolutely."
She paused by the cell door. "It's Chase by the way."
"Excuse me?"
"My name Mr. Hornblower, Chase."
"That's quite unusual."
"Winifred Eudora Chase, which is precisely the reason I use my surname. And as a matter of note, I find it no more unusual than Horatio. I'll be by again in the morning. G'night Mr. Hornblower."
"Same to you Ms. Chase."
--
Archie Kennedy left the pub feeling more despondent than when he had entered, which usually seemed to be the way of pubs, although he himself had drank only a single drink. In the hours he had spent at and around the bar he had learned much, but nothing that might be used to lead him to Horatio.
He had heard not a single word of French or broken English, not even the barest mention of a French frigate arriving in port. He had learned however, that Mr. Clarke was in the middle of a particularly fine crop of corn and that Ms. Howard's prize heifer was due to birth any day. Had the situation not been so dire he might have laughed.
He strode quickly down the street, his gaze cast on the dirt and pebbles rather than where he was walking. He didn't even see the woman until he plowed into her, knocking both her and her bundle onto the street. He mumbled an apology and bent to help gather her things. Her hand reached the small journal a moment before his did. Archie's hand froze. He would recognize that book anywhere, the letters HH scrawled on the front cover.
Wide blue eyes rose to meet suspicious green ones. The young woman snatched the journal from the ground, said the briefest of thank you's and trotted away. She entered the livery across the street. Archie faded back into the shadows in a nearby ally. A few minutes later she appeared again, this time riding a heavy, short striding chestnut draught. They plodded down the path out of town, his plate sized hooves kicking up huge clouds of dust.
Making sure no one noticed him, Archie followed at a safe distance. The horse moved slowly and he kept up with ease, trotting along the tree line at the edge of the trail. They traveled like that for a few miles until the trees began to thin and finally opened up in a small area of cleared land.
A small log cabin rested at the edge of the clearing. Beside it was a 4-stall barn and a little corral for the horses to run and play in. A wagon was parked on one side of the building. Rows of crops rose behind the shed. The woman tossed her mount into his stall, untacking him and running a brush over his body with deft hands. Then she tossed him and the other three horses some hay.
Archie crouched down in the leaves and tossed his rucksack on the ground. He would stay for the night and then tail her the next morning to find out where she went, in hopes of her leading him to his friend. Archie sighed. His eyes drifted shut. And in the oncoming hours of the night he slept, his head cradled in the leaves, and his jacket tossed over his shoulders.
The morning dawned crisp and clear, the early spring chill leaving one to watch as their breath floated by in a cloud. Archie wakened as dawn gave way to early morning. He had a cramp in his neck and leaves stuck every which way out of his collar and hair. The dreariness he always felt when first waking was jolted from him when he noticed the woman was about to leave. If he wasn't ready in a matter of moments, he would miss her altogether.
She and her rather ungainly mount trotted quietly back down the trail the way they had come. It seemed a familiar route to both her and the horse, and she let the reins go slack against the chestnut's neck. Again she left him at the local livery.
Archie followed her down the narrow, twisting footpath into a clump of trees. He stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing the building, a solid structure fortified by a high, solid wall. It's a prison, he realized, hidden away from the town. The woman passed by two guards and inside without pause. Archie watched the guards circulate a while longer before turning back toward the town. He would be ready for her in the evening.
--
Horatio smiled when he saw her. The smile wasn't exactly open and warm, but it offered the possibility of friendliness. After all, Chase knew the prison, the countryside and seemed reasonable enough. She could prove to be a valuable ally when the time came for him to make his escape. Not to mention that seeing a face not completely consumed by hostility was a bright spot in his day.
"Breakfast," Chase glanced down the hall at Stephen's closed door. Fishing keys from her pocket she opened the cell door and ventured inside. Horatio took the tray of food from her gratefully, setting it down next to him. "And an extra." She wriggled her brows teasingly and tossed a bright red apple from hand to hand.
"I thought we were even."
"Very true Mr. Hornblower, but now it is I that asks a favor from you. The apple is way of payment."
"Well then, spit it out."
"Ever since I was a child I wished I knew what it was to travel, but I never got the chance. Will you tell me of Europe, and the seas?"
Horatio couldn't hide his surprise. "You didn't read the ledger?"
"No sir I did not," she replied indignantly. "So this is how you perceive Americans, as uncouth ruffians with no regard to privacy. Am I right?"
"Then is it that you don't know how to read? There is no shame in that you realize."
Chase threw her hands into the air and laughed. "I can't win! So now the assumption is that if I am not uncouth than I must be uneducated. No Mr. Hornblower. I am perfectly able to read. But need I remind you that you gave me that journal in confidence and that is where it shall remain, hidden under the floorboards of my humble home."
"I apologize. I should not have let preconceived notions of Americans influence my perception of you. Do you still wish to talk, rude bugger that I am?"
Chase felt her indignation fade quickly. "If you feel so inclined."
Horatio thought for a long moment, pondering where he should begin. He decided to simply start at the beginning. "My career began not so many years ago. I was stationed aboard a ship christened the Justinian. It was upon that stalwart vessel that I first met one of my closest friends, a good humored man by the name of Archie Kennedy..."
--
She pressed the aging gelding into a slightly more lively trot. He lay back his ears and swished his tail with the irritation of being forced out of his comfortable shuffle. Chase scanned the trail in every direction. She felt someone watching her, eyes boring deep into her back. She hadn't been able to shed herself of the feeling since the moment she left the prison grounds. Riding alone through the forest did little to assuage her fears.
Archie first burst onto the trail a yard or so ahead of the horse on the trail. He half-ran, half fell down the rocky, sandy incline. He rushed at the horse, only causing the animal to spook and rear. One massive hoof sliced the air inches from Kennedy's face. Chase reined the horse in, no longer looking at some unseen aggressor, but as a madman with a death wish.
"If you are looking for money I have none. Robbing me of the few pennies I posses is truly a futile endeavor."
"I'm not looking to rob you," he responded, puzzled.
"You're not?"
"No. I'm looking for information."
"Then may I tell you that perhaps you should have planned this better. Attacking lone women on the road does not create an environment conducive to talking. Now I demand that you let me pass."
"I don't think you're in the position to demand anything." He told her in all seriousness.
Chase had to force herself not to laugh. In moments the situation had gone from mildly disconcerting to downright amusing. The situation bordered on the ridiculous. Nothing about the man before her was in any way frightening. He was young, with a handsome face and wide blue eyes. Despite his best efforts to appear serious, he could not hide the faint lines etched about his mouth and eyes. The lines spoke of a man who smiled more than he frowned, and laughed more than he lectured.
"And how did you arrive at this conclusion? You are on the ground. I am riding this great brute of a horse that has taken a dislike to you and would presumably have no qualms as to walking directly over you." The chestnut aided her point, glaring at Archie through his thick forelock and shaking his head aggressively.
Kennedy was at a loss for words. He was unused to the idea of hijacking a woman, and had had little idea of how to proceed. He had never expected her to be so frank and unafraid. Leaving his pistol in his satchel had seemed like a good idea in the morning, but now he could have kicked himself. Without thinking to hide his accent he shouted, "Oh bloody hell!"
Chase rolled her eyes. "Oh for the love of...not another Brit!" She clucked to her horse and moved to circle around Kennedy.
"What do you mean another Brit?" He launched himself at the bridle of the steed, trying to not take notice of the flashing teeth aimed at him. "Is there another Englishman in these parts? You know Hornblower don't you? Tell me."
"And who are you to know of Horatio Hornblower?"
"Mr. Hornblower is my superior officer on board the British ship Indefatigable. My name is Archie Kennedy."
Chase drew the horse to a halt. "Kennedy you say?"
"Yes."
"Well then Mr. Kennedy, I think we need to speak."
End Chapter two.
Chapter three is coming along slower than I would like, but it is coming. I thought it would be mildly amusing to have Kennedy meet the OC in an odd situation. And now I beg for information. IS Mariette or Marienette (I'm not even sure to her name) dead? I hoped you like this section too. Thanks for reading.