Part 3

Part 3

Gingerly holding his candle out at arm's length, Hornblower followed Franny, marvelling that Smith's small hut should have such a huge warren underneath. Due to the darkness, he couldn't see very much, only that the floor underfoot was flagstones and dirty and wet in parts, and that there sometimes seemed to be large objects close by, old barrels or pieces of furniture, he couldn't tell for sure. It was cold and damp, and the thought that he might expire in such gloomy surroundings--Hornblower forced himself not to think this.

A step or depression in the floor tripped him--he saved his candle, but not his stockings--he fell on his knees in a puddle. He heard Franny yip and waved (carefully!) his candle about, trying to catch a glimpse of her. Off to his left, he thought he saw her, but then he realized that there were several small animals, rats, which quickly scurried away. Franny barked, and Hornblower traced the sound with his pitifully small light, and there she was, standing in front on him. He was not fond of animals generally, but the sight of Blakeney's scrawny pet made him smile.

Casting his light beyond the dog, Hornblower saw that the floor tipped downward. Franny started off again, and he followed her. She veered off to the left, through a doorway, and he followed her--almost taking his head off in the process, for the top of the passage was a few inches shorter than the top of his head. Hornblower crouched, and entered the passage. It was scarcely a metre wide, furthered narrowed by deposits or growths on the walls (he didn't want to look closer). His stomach flipped, and his breath caught, but he pushed on, downwards, following the little dog.

The passage steadily grew more damp, the old air more moist. Finally, Franny yipped, and Hornblower could see and hear that she was trotting in a thin layer of water. She yipped again, and stopped, wagging her tail. After a moment's thought, Hornblower picked her up with his free hand, and continued down the passage, still stooped over, the water rising with each step. It began to seep into his shoes, and then it rose above them, to his ankles, to his knees--he felt his coattails catch in the water behind him, and it was so cold. He wondered why the dog wasn't wet, and concluded that she must have come down a different way, one perhaps that was too small for him. Or, maybe, she (and him) had another job to do before they got out.

The water was at mid-thigh when Franny barked. Hornblower stopped, and saw that there was a narrow steep staircase off to his right. Gratefully, he set Franny down on the lowest dry step; she dashed up a few more, but Hornblower lingered, casting his light down the rest of the passage, which continued to descend. He fancied he could see the water meet its ceiling, but he wasn't sure. Shuddering with damp and claustrophobia, he waded up the first few steps.

Carling paced the floor of the hut, sneering slightly everytime Smith or Kennedy emitted a particularly loud snore. Smith was a decent old chap who had the idea that something was owing to him, and he was prepared to fight for compensation, and Carling was most willing to help him. As for the lieutenant--such an angelic looking boy, Carling snickered--he had plans for him...

Carling had first met Smith when he was young and working as an errand-boy in a London law firm. His employer had among his clients a country stewart who managed the agricultural affairs of a prominent aristocratic estate. The farmer had inherited the post from his father, and he was adept at gauging the health of livestock and fields, of estimating yields and so forth, but he privately struggled with letters and, to a certain extent, numbers. Too proud to admit this to his master, Lord Blakeney, he snuck away to London, wandered about a bit (dazed, no doubt) and finally wound up in Carling,s office. Carling,s employer gracefully accepted the task, to balance Smith,s correspondence and books (though what Smith really wanted was an accountant) and he generously accepted small compensation. After many years, however, this lawyer (already advanced in years) divided up his clients among his associates and this particular case, which nobody wanted, fell to Carling, who had graduated up to clerk.

And so, Carling, unaccountable and unsupervised and long-burdened with the restraints of his limited and precarious situation in life, gradually began to tweak the figures a bit, pocketing a few pound here, a few pound there, be it in currency or oats. Really, it was the old Lord Blakeney,s fault; the man could not be bothered to hire a competent servant, and so he deserved to be cheated. And as for Smith, why, he should have owed up to his failings and either improved himself or declined the post. Carling thought up a thousand justifications (as he did for every one of his schemes), practically convincing himself that he was doing nothing more than exacting justice.

When the old Lord died, his son, by all accounts a ridiculous fop, miraculously found a set of brains. He seized upon the estate with a magnifying glass, and quickly dug up the indiscrepancies in Smith,s accounts. These were too numerous to be ignored, and so Smith was sacked--gently, but decidedly.

Smith, unaware of what was really going on, was outraged. He considered Blakeney, s action disgusting--why, if Blakeney wished to run the estate by himself, he might have done so without discrediting an honest man such as Smith, who had served the family faithfully for years and years.

Carling panicked--briefly. He had other things going on; he could do without his gains from the Blakeney estate. But, Smith visited him in London, and waxed about the injustice of the affair, and while Carling nodded and sympathized, he heard not a word of the tirade. He did, however, see a bigger fish to fry than a few sacks of potatoes.

In his various other-than-legitimate dealings, he had picked up a few skills and a few acquaintances. He cracked the offices of the late Blakeney,s lawyer, and discovered the vacillating will---the old man had numerous last testaments inscribed, some crediting his some, others not, and, in this mess, given identical papers and inks and seals and a knack at forgery, Carling found that the matter was simple enough. However, the young Blakeney was a smart one, and so he took his time, and started to dig about.

And he discovered, to his surprise and enlightenment, that the young fop was spiriting French aristos out of France! and that he had involved a number of England,s young heirs in this activity. Of course, this was hardly a crime, not when England was at war with France, but Blakeney,s association with these Frenchmen, and his connections abroad, could be viewed as suspicious. Carling was still tinkering with his plot, but, basically, he had proof that Blakeney was a spy. At least, Blakeney thought so. Given this threat and that of the discrediting will, Blakeney was cornered. Of course, given his aristocratic blood, he might not be hanged; likely, he would be exiled, and the estate would pass to Smith, who would naturally (unless he suddenly became a whizz at letters and numbers) retain the services of his trusted servant Carling.

And, as for Blakeney,s friends, the two young lieutenants...Carling had thought a bit about how to dispose of them. The tall one was now wandering about the remains of what used to be the cellars and dungeons of the old Blakeney castle, long since crumbled. Carling knew his way about some of the subterraneous maze, but not enough to assure himself that the lieutenant was trapped. But this did not worry him. In fact, he hoped that the lieutenant would eventually emerge, beaten, waterlogged, utterly exausted, only to find out that he should have stayed below ground, and better yet, taken his blond fellow officer down with him, sparing both of them the shame.

For their names were about to be tarnished. Stealing naval dispatches and selling these to the French, was a serious crime. And they did not have the cushion of Blakeney,s station, not even Kennedy, who was only a fourth son of a minor estate.

A knock on the door brought Carling out of his thoughts. He sighed in relief," Finally, re-enforcements."

But when he opened the door, to his shock and horror, Blakeney stood in the doorway.
"Well, what are you doing here at this hour, sir?" Percy asked not hiding the suspicion in his voice.

Carling blocked his view and tried to squeeze his body into the small doorframe. "I was just checking up on my client," he growled. "What are you doing here? This isn't exactly your part of town."

Percy laughed out loud, making Carling more nervous. He was up to something.
"Actually my friends have gone missing and Lady Blakeney sent me after them. We don't want them to get into any trouble. You haven't seen them have you?"

Percy strained his neck trying to see around Carling's fat little body. "No," he responded too eagerly. "But if I see them I will send them home."

A loud snore escaped from the dark cottage, raising Percy's eyebrow. "And who pray tell is that?" Percy pushed past the little man and immediately spotted Archie asleep in the corner.

"Well if I didn't know better I would say that is one of my friends."

Carling only half smiled. "Oh is he?" he said, playing dumb. "I didn't know who he was. Just thought old Samuel was taking in homeless boys."

Percy was through playing games. He whirled around and grabbed the fat man violently by his collar. "Tell me were the other one is and I won't rip your head off."

Carling was shaking with fear. "I-I-I haven't seen him!"

Percy shoved him back, sending him crashing to the floor. Quickly he scanned the small house but no sign of Horatio. His anger was growing as he turned once more on Carling. Pulling him to his feet Percy snarled," This is your last chance man! Tell me were he is or I swear to hell, I'll break your scrawny little neck!"

"Not bloody likely!" a rough voice called out behind him. Percy turned just in time to see two very large men entering the tiny cottage.

Horatio had to stop and catch his breath. He had been walking non-stop for over an hour. But it wasn't easy walking. Up and down broken stairs, stumbling about in the dark was hard on his feet. Franny climbed into his lap. Silently he petted her, giving him some comfort. He had underestimated the dog. To think that he would someday have his life depend on an animal seemed unbelievable to him. "Enough dawdling," he sighed and chuckled to himself thinking about Captain Pellew. How he wished he was back on the Indy and not lost in some bizarre underground maze. Checking his candle he worried about how much light the little wick had left. "Better hurry up or I'll be doing this in the dark," he said to himself. Once again Franny took the lead and Horatio followed close behind her. Somehow he trusted this dog. She seemed to know exactly where she was going. This gave him a bit of comfort as he stepped around some broken stones. "If I ever get out of here, you are getting the biggest piece of English beef I can find!" Franny yipped excitedly as if she understood, making Horatio laugh. The laugh made an eerie noise as it echoed into the darkness.

Blackeney fell to his knees, his temple ringing from the blow dealt by one of Carling's henchmen. The other stepped forward and grabbed Blackeney's arms, wrenching them behind his back.

"What was that about my neck, you say?" Carling crowed.

"You heard me, you slithery thief," Blakeney retorted. The thug holding his arms twisted them up higher, causing him to gasp, "I'd sooner burn my estate than have you pollute it."

"Well, that would be a shame. I'm rather fond of the tapestry in Lady Blakeney's bedroom."

BLakeney lunged forward, but the pressure on his arms quickly checked him. "Odious wretch--"

"That's enough," Carling clipped, motioning at his other thug.

---------


Lady BLakeney waited in her carriage, scanning the forest around her. She was on a lane, about a half mile from BLakeney HAll, and there was nobody nearby but Lady Redpath, sitting (dozing) on the seat opposite her, and the coachman on his box outside. It was morning, full-lit, with the mist and dew quickly evaporating.


Lady Redpath had confided to her that the two young lieutenants had gone to question Smith at the tavern. This did not give either lady great cause for concern at first, but, at three o'clock in the morning, Lady BLakeney arose from a nightmare--she couldn't remember exactly what she had dreamt, only that she was in a dark underground maze. She had yelled in her sleep, and her maid VIolaine, roused by the noise, went to her side, and then, suddenly, LAdy Blakeney thought of the two lieutenants. Had they returned? No, madame.

Lady Blakeney considered at that point that perhaps she was too concerned. Life as an actress in PAris had certainly shown her dawn from the other end; two young men like Kennedy and Hornblower, however serious they appeared to be, were fit to carouse until the rooster crowed. BUt her apprehensions did not quit her.

Wrapping a dressing coat over her chemise, Lady BLakeney walked down the hall to her husband's suite. Peering at his door, she saw light peeping around the edges, and thus summoned the courage to knock. She hardly knew him! he had changed so much since he had left her on his diplomatic mission, and she ferverently wished that this business about the estate could be resolved.

BLakeney answered the door, greeting her with a genuine smile, sweeping her into his chambers with only a hint of his foppish facade. He studied her countenance quickly but intently.

"Marguerite--what's wrong?"

And she told him everything, she knew about the estate and about Smith and Carling, that the two lieutenants were at the tavern, and that she was extremely worried, though it wasn't really late yet, and could she send Franny to fetch them?

Blakeney kissed her and whistled for Franny. The little dog trotted up and sat gravely before him, cocking her head at every inflection of his voice.

"Franny, sweetie, we have to rescue the officers." BLakeney hurriedly threw on an overcoat, gave MArguerite directions to pack the lieutenants, things, wait with the carriage at a certain secluded spot in the estate's forest, and ordered Franny to track the lieutenants. He kissed her again and was gone.

So, now she was here, in the carriage, with the lieutenants' two trunks lashed behind. Lady Redpath had helped her pack them.

Lady REdpath stirred and yawned. "Any sign of them yet?"

Marguerite glanced out of each of the carriage's windows. "No. I know that Franny will track them, but I am so worried! It's that lawyer--I'm sorry that those young officers became involved--you know, in London, that man was accused of poisoning someone, a young man, too. He is absolutely ruthless."

"And what sort of proof does he have against BLakeney?"

"Oh, a will, some papers--BLakeney wouldn't say much about that. He's more concerned with getting the officers back on their ship and out of harm's way. So," Marguerite laughed ruefully, "Carling won't stab them in the back, but they'll have their heads blown off or something in the meantime. THey are brave men."

"And your husband is every bit as courageous. He'll find them."

"But he's been gone for hours now. WHat time is it?"

Lady REdpath fished a man's pocket watch out of her riding coat pocket. "Half-past eight."

Lady BLakeney fidgetted in her seat and glanced anxiously out of the window.

Samuel Smith stirred and eased open his bleary eyes, yawning as the interior of his hut slowly came into focus. He was on his cot, as usual, with a hankering for the hair of the dog that bit him, as usual, and for the first few minutes, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was a young man asleep in his battered wing-back chair, but that was normal too. Often, one of the lads, fearing that he was too late to be let back into his house, would come back and sleep off his excess in Smith's house. Smith liked the company, anyway, even when he was hung-over. Nothing took the sting out as much as seeing someone else a few shades greener.

Smith yawned again and sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. "Blest me," he murmured, staring at the sleeping youth, "that's a uniform he's decked out in."

Smith glanced around his cottage, trying to piece together the events from the previous night. He remembered the officer from the pub, but there had been two of them there. How it happened that one of them wound up in his house and not the other was a mystery. SMith peered at his hut some more, and started to frown.

Now, good Missus Smith had spent the last ten years fertilizin' (Samuel Smith missed her dearly, but he was of a practical agricultural bent) and, consequently, his abode had reverted to bachelor. He didn't have much in the way of decor or furniture, anyway, and so his main failings were merely an indulgent acceptance of dust, soot, dirt, and a penchant for spitting on the floor.

But something had decidedly happened last night. The floor was scuffed up, and one of his rickety chairs was broken, and there were shards from the earthenware jug that had been on his table, which, in turn, had been pushed from its usual spot.

Smith got to his feet and shuffled over to the sleeping lieutenant, wracking his brains for the lad's name. He finally came up with "Curthold's Ghost", and he did recall that the other man was called "Formal", and that one of them had two last names...as far as he could remember.

The lieutenant was sleeping, but his breathing was shallow and quick. Smith bent closer and saw that he was pale. His forehead felt clammy, as did his hands. Smith, with a hesitant callused forefinger, peeled back the youth's eyelid, exposing an enlarged pupil nearly obscuring the iris, which seemed to ocillate, twitching back and forth rapidly.

Smith stepped back, his own headache evaporated. The young man was taken in some way; he was more than merely hung-over.

Where could he go for help? There was an old midwife in the village who doubled as nurse; Smith did not trust doctors. But the man came from the great house, and so Smith steeled himself to step into enemy territory. But he was prevented from stepping outside his own house.

"Mister Smith," Carling smiled, "I have matters under control, don't you fear."

"I suppose, Gov', but the boy's taken rather odd--"

"He'll come about, have no fear. Have I ever given you cause to mistrust me? I have already attended to him," Carling purred, sliding his way into the hut. "Why don't you sit down and relax?"

The two big men dragged the semi-conscious form of Blakeney deeper into the woods. He was no match for the thugs but fought with all he was worth. Unfortunately it wasn't enough to escape. His mind spun with pain as he tried to push the darkness away. Slowly the light engulfed him and he realized it was now morning. But where were these brutes taking him? He didn't recognize any of the landmarks even if he could barely see riding slung over one of the thug's backs. His thoughts quickly went to Lady Blakeney and Lady Redpath. "Dear God, let them be all right."

"Think this is far enough?" the ugly one asked.

"I reckin' so. No one will find him anytime soon," the dumb one stated.

With one quick jerk Blakeney was dumped onto the wet ground. Still he faked being unconscious. The ugly one reached down and grabbed him by the collar. "Wake up frog!"

With the speed of lightening Blakeney whirled on his enemy, knocking the unexpecting man backward with a well-placed blow to his face. The dumb one was stunned a second giving Blakeney his chance to attack. He flung himself on top of the dumb one. He was now engaged in the fight of his life.

Horatio cried out in pain as he slammed his knee into a small pile of stones. "For heaven's sake!"
Franny returned to his side, wagging her tail. As Horatio rubbed his sore knee he thought he saw light ahead. "No, I am seeing things," he said to himself. He closed his eyes tight then reopened them. Sure enough there was light ahead. Jumping to his feet he followed Franny and prayed that his nightmare was almost over. Her tail was going a mile a minute. Walking carefully around one last wall Horatio emerged into bright sunlight. Slowly a smile spread across his face. He was finally free of the eerie maze. Suddenly Franny darted past him, running into the woods.
"Franny! Come back!" Horatio called out. Dropping the now extinguished candle he trotted off in the direction of the frantic little dogs yips.

As he pushed through the underbrush he thought he heard the sounds of a struggle. Coming to a clearing he was surprised to see Blakeney. But he was in a bit of trouble, fighting two rather mean looking men. Horatio didn't hesitate as he leaped onto the ugly one's back. Percy gave him a quick smile and turned his full attention on the dumb one. Within minutes it was all over. Carling's brutes lay unconscious at Percy and Horatio's feet.

"Well Mr. Hornblower," Percy began between gasps of breath," very nice of you to join me. Thank you."

Horatio was breathing hard too. "I didn't want you to have all the fun."

"Franny!" Percy said relieved as he noticed his dog at his feet. "I knew you would find him old girl." He held open his arms as she sprang into his waiting embrace. Horatio couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of man and beast.

"I guess I owe your dog the biggest piece of English beef I can find."

"Yes, but first we must get back to Smith's cottage. I fear Carling has Mr. Kennedy and there's no telling what he has done to him."

Quickly both men set off, following Franny once again.

The two unconscious thugs were trussed back to back against a slim tree with Blakeney and Hornblower's cravats and stockings; their own ragged complements of these artices reinforced the bonds. Horatio and Blakeney had turned their pockets inside out, but had discovered nothing besides a few pence and a collection of knives.

Blakeney pressed his handkerchief to his mouth to stop his split lip from bleeding. Despite himself, he couldn't help grinning at Hornblower, and it was a gruesome sight. Hornblower preferred this smile, however bloodsmeared Blakeney's teeth, to the strained foppish smirks that Blakeney used to serve him.

Horatio picked a few twigs out of his hair. Franny yipped and trotted away, and the two men followed her.

"Who was at the cottage, BLakeney--Percy--besides those two brutes?"

"Carling, and perhaps Smith too. I wasn't sure if the farmer was there. But I saw your friend, there. He was unconcious."

Horatio broke into a jog. "Quickly, we must save him--"

Blakeney grapped his arm and stopped in his tracks. "Horatio--wait--I've an idea--"

Quickly, Blakeney dashed back to the thugs, and, seizing a thick branch off the ground, gave them each a couple of clouts on the head.

"Blakeney!" Horatio cried, aghast, imaging Kennedy tortured in a thousand ways. Blakeney whacked one of the thugs a few more times.

"He won't hurt Archie...much--in a permanent way, that is, sort of like what I'm doing now," Blakeney called back, loosening the thugs' bonds.

"What are you doing--" Then and there, Hornblower saw BLakeney's scheme and dashed back to him. Dropping on his knees, he untied the closer thug's ankles.

"I think I know what Carling has planned for Archie, and for you, too--"

"What?"

"Oh, yes," Blackeney worked the cravat free and his thug, freed from his pinions, slumped forward. "Carling hasn't confined his efforts to me--and I'm beginning to think that Smith hasn't a clue there--there's so much to discover. But, this, is a start."

He withdrew from his pocket a crumpled piece of paper. Horatio glanced at it and paled slightly. It bore the crest and seal of the Admiralty (and the seal was broken). He could not bring himself to read the contents.

"I doubt that it's real," Blakeney told him, stuffing the paper back into his pocket. "That's not to say that it isn't dangerous." Franny found it for me, in Smith's cottage. Carling has many talents. Help me strip this leviathan."

Together, the two men eased the clothes off the thugs, a task made unpleasant by the bulk of the unconscious men and the stink and greasiness of their clothing. Finally, they had the thugs down to their disreputably ragged smalls, a covering second to that of their hair and filth.

"I say," Blakeney piped in echo of his vanished swank, "Sink me if these blokes are acquainted with soap and water."

Steadfastly, but inwardly cringing, Horatio helped BLakeney replace the bonds. They scooped up the clothes and strode away.

"We'll tell my wife first--don't worry, she's nearby. You know, Horatio," Blakeney smiled ruefully, "I've thought myself clever, and that has blinded me to a few things."


"Mr. Carling, the lad's taken awful!" Smith cried, as Kennedy's body wrenched out of the chair onto the floor. The young lieutenant's eyes remained eerily blank as his face twitched and his limbs sawed back and forth violently.

"This is a trifle!" Carling shrieked, stealing a glance out of the window. His two minions were overdue, long overdue to arrive, and the vial in his pocket was empty. He had poured all of it into the lieutenant's gullet; initially, it had calmed the young man, but now it was wearing off. Worse still, there was none left to deal with Smith. Carling felt the sweat on his fat neck rise.

Kennedy jerked himself halfway across the floor, hitting a table leg. In his next spasm, he hooked it with his leg, pulling the entire heavy oak table over. It narrowly missed him at it crashed to the floor.

Carling and Smith gazed at him, stupified. Both men had seen their share of thrashing about, but there was something alien and omnipotent in the lieutenant's convulsions.

Smith sprang to Kennedy's side and tried to subdue him by pinning his flailing arms to his side. The lieutenant, thus prisoned for a fleeting second, lurched violently and broke free, throwing Smith off a few yards. Smith's head struck the wall and the old farmer crumbled to his side.

Carling, aghast, scurried as far away as possible to the back of the hut, squeezing his fleshy rump into a corner. A whimper escaped his lips as the full catalogue of his crimes flashed before his eyes.

And then his panicked gaze fell upon the trapdoor, a few paces away.

-------------------------


"Mon Dieu!" "Lor!"

Marguerite and Lady Redpath cried out simultatiously as the two ragged figures approached the carriage. Marguerite rapped on the side to rouse the sleeping coachman--but, at that instant, a piercing yip rang out from outside. Lady Redpath exhaled in relief as a tiny dervish of white and brown fur bounded through the scrub into view.

"Mais pourquoi, Percy?!" Marguerite laughed as Blakeney, clad in the thug's odiferous ragged costume with his face smeared in mud, strode over and tapped on the coach window, and she slid it open. The lieutenant, Hornblower, similarly attired, stepped to Blakeney's side and bowed crisply.

Blakeney had taken to the disgusting costume with great ease, and was now indulging even in his old foppish mannerisms, as though he was garbed once more in his silks and powder. The filth, however, disgusted Hornblower, who was accustomed to bathing himself on deck every day. How far away the trim and tidy Indy seemed now!

"Stack me, Joyeux Noel and Happy New Year, you lot!" Blakeney trilled, grinning to the widest of his faculties. The tension caused his injured lip to bleed anew. "Champagne, anyone?"

"Oh, your lip!" Marguerite grapped her handkerchief and, reaching through the open window, pressed it to Blakeney's mouth. "Please, be still, Percy!" she chided him as he shook in laughter.

"Heh, it's the Gov'!" the coachman cried, awakening at last.

His anxiety worsening, Hornblower tapped Blakeney on the shoulder, curtailing his antics. Blakeney, his mouth still mobilized, motioned at Marguerite and then at Hornblower, and stepped slightly aside, so that Hornblower could face the window.

"My ladies," Hornblower nodded, "we have to go and rescue my friend Archie. He's being held captive by the lawyer."

The two women nodded in return.

"I presume that you are in disguise?" Lady Redpath inquired. Hornblower nodded. "Tell us what we must do."

"Ma'am, if the carriage could be driven to the lane just out of sight of the hut...my friend is unconscious."

"We'll bring him to you, and then you must take him to London, to the offices of the Admiralty. Horatio here will go with you, as will this item--" Blakeney fished out the crumbled forged document and passed it to Marguerite, "--and other such things that we may find. It is a fine forgery, one which would normally pass, but, I hope, it will not withstand close scrutiny." Blakeney pointed inside the carriage. "Under the forward seat, in an iron box, which you will find unlocked, is a statement that I wrote early this morning, attesting to the lieutenants' innocence and briefly outlining Carling's own career. I've included the names of numerous witnesses to his past crimes. I'm sure that, with my affirmation and their evidence, Horatio and Archie's names will be cleared, if they have yet been besmirched. We still don't know how much Carling has done."

"And Carling?" Hornblower asked.

Blakeney, reaching into another pocket, withdrew a sample of the thug's daggers. "If it comes to this...Marguerite, you still have my pistols?--"

Marguerite nodded and handed them to him. Horatio cleared his throat.

"Percy, I'm going with you, to deal with Carling. After we rescue Kennedy."

Blakeney shook his head. "I think--"

"I insist. Archie and I swore to get you out of this mess."

"You didn't know what was at stake."

"A promise is a promise."

"Very well," Blakeney grinned, clapping Hornblower on the shoulder. "I feared that you would insist, but more so that you wouldn't. It'll take both of us to flush out that flabby little devil."

Hornblower shook his proferred hand and felt himself smile. And heard a sharp yip of protest from Franny.

"Oh, I stand corrected," Blakeney exclaimed, picking up the small dog and holding her to his face. Franny barked and wriggled excitably. "The THREE of us! We'll never know when we'll need your nose, my sweet!"

Carling quickly whipped open the trapdoor and escaped down into the dark. He was in too much of a hurry to light a candle. But it was no matter to him. He had used this route many times before to elude Smith from catching him going through the man's personal things. His heart was still pounding with fear as the image of Kennedy convulsing and Smith unconscious crept into his mind. "If one of them dies, that's murder!" he thought. His plan was falling apart. Quickly he rounded a corner in the dark. He only hoped he didn't run into Hornblower. He figured the young man was still stumbling about down here somewhere.

Horatio and Percy stood ready at Smith's door. Percy signaled with his fingers, one, two, three! They burst through the door at the same time. But Carling was gone and only silence greeted them. That and two unconscious forms. Horatio knelt by the deathly still Archie while Percy attended to Smith. "Is he alive?" Percy asked making sure the old man was breathing. "Yes," Horatio said with concern," but he is not well." Archie was as white as a sheet. "Archie, can you hear me?" Horatio said and patted his cold cheek.
After what seemed like hours Archie moved. A sigh of relief escaped Horatio's lips. "Percy, help me get him on the cot."

As the men gently set him on the bed, they had not noticed little Franny. She was digging frantically at the trapdoor.

Blakeney rifled through Smith's papers, flipping through piles of bills and receipts and business letters. "No naval dispatches, Horatio! If he still has them, they're somewhere else."

Kneeling, Horatio shook Smith by the shoulder. The old man murmured but didn't wake up.

"He's fairly out, Percy, but I think none the worse for wear. If we just prop him up in his chair--"

They hoisted Smith up and brought him to his chair. A muffled snore escaped the old man.

"That's the spirit, chap." Blakeney glanced about the appartment. "Now, where would Carling keep papers?"

Franny barked, pawing at the trapdoor. Hornblower and Blakeney glanced at her simultaniously, and Hornblower, despite himself, sighed. Cringing from his involuntary reaction, he cleared his throat.

"Ha-hmm...we must go down and get him, Percy."

They glanced back at Archie.

"Let's carry Archie back to the carriage, as planned. We'll pick up a lantern--"

"Leave the lad to me," Smith rasped. "Flint and lantern's on the mantle."

The old farmer, slumped in his chair, stared at them with bleary eyes, pressing a hand to his head. With the other, he motioned to the trapdoor.

"Smith-" Blakeney started. The old farmer cut him off with a wave of his hand and pointed at the trapdoor with more emphasis. Blakeney nodded and opened the trapdoor. Hornblower dashed to the mantle and lit the lantern.

"Candle--" Smith waved to his upended table. There was a candle lying on the floor nearby. Hornblower thanked him and picked it up. He joined Blakeney, who had Franny tucked under his arm--they waved at Smith, and descended.


--------------

Carling trotted down a derelict passage, wheezing twice to every step. The dirt and loose stones underfoot cracked and slid about treacherously. A particular stone rolled under Carling's foot, nearly sending him flying. He stopped and clasped his hands to his thudding heart.

Come to think of it, he hadn't ever dared to go down here without a light before. He panicked for an instant, dashing towards the wall. It was closer than he'd thought--his hands met it suddenly, and he gasped. The wall was covered with a cold moist cloth or moss which fell apart through his fingers. Carling wrenched his hands away in disgust.

The repulsive contact cooled his fright. Carling surveyed his surroundings calmly. All he saw was pitch-black, but he'd had been down here with a lamp or candle enough times to know what was there.

Who knows what had happened to his thugs? They weren't geniuses, and since he didn't command them to come back--as he thought about it, he recalled that he had forgotten to give them this order--they had probably gone to the tavern. Or maybe they were waiting beside their victim. He had found them thus before, cowering beside a man they'd recently stabbed while the sounds of dogs and horses and yelling men, of their victim's family, grew louder and louder. They would have run away, but they were so afraid of him, they daren't move a step without his command. It simply never occurred to them that the pair of them could easily pulverize him, or, even more simply, run away. Likely, they were still patiently waiting beside whatever remained of that silly, frog-saving, dandy noble.

Coolly, Carling decided that he had time enough to retrieve his hidden papers. There was the question of the lieutenant too, but his candle had surely gone out by this time, and he was probably reduced to a gibbering madman by the dark and the damp. Indeed, the surroundings were repulsive enough to even scare someone who knew his way about quite well, someone like him. Reassured, Carling wiped his hands on his coat and trudged on.

Horatio and Percy slowly descended into the maze. Horatio shuddered but felt some relief at not having to go through this again by himself. Percy set Franny down and like a bolt of lightening she was off. "This won't take long!" Percy smiled as he quickly darted after the little dog. Horatio followed close behind, making sure to watch every step he took.

Carling lean against something in the dark. He was out of breath and wheezing uncontrollably. "You have to calm down," he thought. But panic was setting in as he realized he was lost. He should have never come down here without a candle! He took a step forward only to trip on a broken stone in the dark. As he fell he twisted his leg, screaming out in agony.

His cries echoed in dark but Horatio and Percy both heard them. "Must be him," Horatio commented.

"Yes, I would say he is in a bit of trouble," Percy said. Suddenly he stopped.

"What is it? Percy?"

"What if we don't find him? What if no one finds him?"

Horatio didn't like the sound of this nor the look in his friend's eye.
"Percy we can't just leave him down here to die!"

"Yes we can Horatio. Look what he did to your friend. For all we know he was trying to kill him."

"No," Horatio stated firmly," I won't let him die down here. No man deserves that. Not even him."

Horatio took the lead and followed Franny. After a moment Percy reluctantly joined him.

The lawyer's high-pitched shrieks grew louder and less distorted by the reverberation of the underground chambers and tunnels. As he walked towards the noise, Hornblower wracked his mind about the forged naval dispatch that Blakeney had showed him--who knew how many more Carling had made, and where he had sent them--these uncertainies, coupled with the damp maze of the dungeon, made Hornblower uneasy. Blakeney seemed to think that his (Hornblower's) and Kennedy's names could be cleared, but, still...to have his fate so much in other people's hands did not sit well with Hornblower at all.

"Horatio--stop--"

Hornblower glanced back at Blakeney. "Percy, we must rescue him. I'm sorry if this displeases you, but after having been down here alone, I really can't, in my conscience, leave him likewise."

Blakeney smirked. "That doesn't surprise me. But, can you, in your conscience (sterling as it is), scare him a little?"

Hornblower felt his mouth waver into a smile. Then he thought of Archie, and his countenance fell. "Percy--"

"After all he's done, he hardly deserves to be handled with kid gloves. Your career was almost ruined, and my estate almost lost, and now my ribs hurt frightfully thanks to his thugs--"

'Percy..."

"Not to mention that we went to the trouble of disguising ourselves in these foul rags to surprise him, and he even thwarted that design--sink me if I've taken these pains for nothing!" Blakeney outstretched his arms and pivoted, displaying a tattered and splattered garment that was once a great-coat.

"Very well," Hornblower nodded, as a particularly piercing cry rang out, "but our efforts will be redundant. He's scaring himself pretty well without us."

Blakeney laughed. "I admire you for your insight, Horatio." Stooping, he whistled Franny over, and put her in his pocket. His hands freed, he arranged some of his rags over his face, and Horatio followed suit, though the odour, so close to his nose, nearly gagged him. He covered his lantern, leaving only the barest sliver of light to guide them, and they resumed their approach of the screams.



--------------------


Carling, lying on his back, fought for breath as panic squeezed his lungs and heart and head. The damp blackness of his surroundings pressed closer towards him and he began to hear horrible dripping and slimy noises, and his agile mind, which had so successfully seized upon and improved his oportunities, turned its works to more distressing possibilities. Were those footsteps? Carling shrieked, but his wind was short, cutting him off quickly. The sound echoed for five long seconds, and his fancy, fired up, populated the blackness about him with all manner of loathsome crawling slithery creatures, small dark things with sharp pincers, moist white things that pulsated and left trails of goo. The echoes died out, and Carling began to hear new sounds between the erratic drips, tiny scurrying sounds. Panting, he tried to get up on his feet, but his lamed leg buckled beneath him, burning up in pain from ankle to hip. He tried to collect himself, and dug his fingers into the moist cracks beneath him, and dragged himself a few feet. Uncertain of the direction, however, he stopped, and held his breath. Something skittered across his hand--he wrenched it away with another scream. His injured leg was pierced by a thousand tiny points of pain combined with a larger one that was so huge and encompasing that he could hardly tell where it emanated from--were insects nibbling away on his leg? Were they devouring him slowly? Carling imagined losing, at painful increments, his smallest most extreme parts, his fingers and his toes, working up to his hands and feet, and onward, the insects multiplying by chewing holes in his torso in which to lay their eggs, feasting on his tasty warm organs in the meantime, riddling his body from the neck down with countless passages to rival those of the maze he now lay in, leaving him only his head and his pain in perfect working order. Carling began to weep. He could last for days, weeks. Screwing his eyes shut, he flailed his arms and legs about, dislodging the insects, but the exercise tired and pained him and he stopped, and felt faint movements creep over him again. Shuddering with disgust and despair, he closed his eyes tighter, forgetting that the blackness prevented him from seeing them.

And, suddenly, a huge claw latched itself around his neck, hauling him up until his feet dangled. The Grandfather High Emperor of Insects! Carling realized that his eyes were probably a delicacy--at the same time, he felt a new, warmer wetness flow down his legs--and then he felt nothing more.


Captain Pellew thumbed through the stack of documents on his desk. On top was a report by Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower, followed by one from Lieutenant Archibald Kennedy, and below these, convincingly similar to true Admiralty documents, was the fictional and sensational oeuvre, two inches thick, of the recently deceased London lawyer Mr. Carling. Hornblower and Kennedy stood before Pellew's desk, eyeing the documents with faint trepidation. Their names were clear of any and all mud smeared by Carling, and they had seen Carling's corpse stone cold, and they were once again aboard on the Indy, safe and sound...but the events of the past several days were too disturbing to vanish at once. Hornblower was the least stricken of the two, afflicted only by scattered memories of his vacation in the crypt; Kennedy, drugged into a stupor, was still pale and weak, swaying slightly on his feet.

Pellew glanced up at this point and motioned towards a bench nearby. Kennedy sat down with some relief and Hornblower followed suit. Pellew cleared his throat.

"I regret, lads, that you have had such a trial. I was expecting, and hoping for, a nice vacation in the country for the two of you. As it happens, you have had scarce time to draw breath. Out of the frying pan into the fire, as it were."

"Nevertheless, Sir," Hornblower spoke, "we would not have shirked our duty even if we'd known what we were getting into." Kennedy nodded in agreement.

"And much good came out of our efforts, Sir. That lawyer had many victims."

"He was a horrid man," Archie added.

"And he died a horrid death. Most fittingly. Heart attack from extreme fright. Well, it's not wise to go down into a dark crypt with a heavy conscience." Pellew thumped the stack of paper on his desk. "There is much to commend you boys for, and your friend Blakeney has been quite active on your behalf, and I don't doubt that some sort of official congratulation will eventually come your way. Meanwhile, on my own behalf...I am proud of you both. Given such irregular and trying circumstances, you conducted yourselves well, and His Majesty's Navy hasn't seen the last of either of you." Pellew stepped out from behind his desk and shook their hands in turn, giving each a hearty tap on the shoulder with his free hand.

"Thank-you, Sir!" Archie beamed.

"Thank-you, Sir!" Horatio echoed, a shade less enthusiastically. Pellew noticed this and cocked an eyebrow.

"Not pleased enough, Hornblower?"

"Oh, no Sir, I value your good opinion. It's just that--" Hornblower let his eyes stray to Carling's forgeries on Pellew's desk. "I fear that it's not over, that I and Lieutenant Kennedy aren't out of this business yet. We don't know exactly what or how much the lawyer did, we never had a chance to question him, he died rather suddenly, right after Lord Blakeney grabbed him."

"Not before he forgot himself, overflowed with an excess of emotion, perhaps..." Pellew chuckled. The two lieutenants stared at him. "Oh, come on lads, you may smile a little. It's rather funny in a pathetic sort of vein--now, that's more like it!"

His grin reflected by Archie and Hornblower, he pumped their hands once more.

"I believe that there are four guests on the quarterdeck--they wish to give you their regards. Shall we?" Smiling, Pellew led them up to the deck where two men and two women waited. Then and there ensued a delightful confusion as everyone tried to cram several greetings at once.

"Percy!" Archie cried. Hornblower took Blakeney's hand while bowing to the Ladies Blakeney and Redpath; Archie dashed to the second man, and offered his hand--"Mister Smith!" The farmer grabbed Archie and embraced him tightly. "Just call me Samuel, you young monkey!" Meanwhile, his hand clasped in Lady Redpath's (formerly known as Kitty Cobham, actress), Hornblower tried to thank Percy Blakeney. Seeing the two young lieutenants thus pinioned, Lady Blakeney thanked them and kissed them lightly on their cheeks in turn. Farmer Smith relinguished Archie to her, and strode over to hug Hornblower. Captain Pellew laughed.

"You'll need several hours to sort this out; I invite you all to dine with me tonight."

Lady Redpath smiled demurely, her cheeks dimpling. "That would be such an honour!"

Blakeney nodded, "much obliged," while his wife and the two lieutenants smiled their assent. Farmer Smith glanced aside momentarily, unsure of whether or not he was included in the invitation. Pellew strode over and offered him his hand.

"I believe that I have to thank you for tending to one of my lieutenants, Mister Smith. You will dine with us, will you not?"

Smith shook Pellew's hand enthusiastically, "Yes, sir, as sure as I've got two eyes in my head!"

"As sure as Carling's dead!" Archie giggled.

Pellew glanced about the smiling company, the two ladies, the two (his two) young lieutenants, the old blond farmer and the tall dapper aristocrat. Looking at Blakeney brought to mind his first poor impressions of him, when Blakeney had come aboard off the French ship a caricature of the most shallow, most trivial type of fop. In his subsequent actions, the man had improved immensely in his estimations. Blakeney had spared no effeort in clearing Hornblower and Kennedy from every suspision--thanks to this, Pellew forgave him everything, the frog-snatching, the possible espionage, the incident with the little dog--who then and there, as if summoned telepathically, poked her head out of Blakeney's pocket and yipped.

"Franny!" Hornblower cried, and quickly flushed. The little dog yipped again happily.

"Sink me," Pellew smirked, "if this don't warrant my best port!"