Standing on the floor of the theatre, Major Andre
flipped the page on his script and watched the actors for mistakes as the
rehearsal progressed. Things had gone surprisingly well so far for a first
run-through, with the exception of Tarleton who, while remembering almost
all of his lines, was experiencing extreme difficulty in managing his billowing
skirts on the rather cramped set.
So far Ban had managed to knock over two chairs, a small table and a flower arrangement, causing numerous curses to be shouted by Mister Delancey at the state of his precious set. He'd also tripped on the hem of his skirt at one point and grabbed onto the elaborately painted backdrop to break his fall, causing it to promptly rip free of its ties and land in a heap on top of the hapless young Cornet.
Since that mishap they'd managed to get through two whole pages of script without incident, making Andre unsure of whether he should be happy for the progress or worried at what might happen next to ruin it.
A moment of quiet drew his attention from the page and back to the faces of the men grouped on stage, who all looked slightly confused.
Andre sighed, "That was your cue, Captain Prin-..." A sudden crashing noise drew the Major's eyes back to Tarleton, who was standing quietly, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously at his costar while waiting for the other man to speak his next line.
"Christ, Tarleton, what've you broken now?!"
Tarleton stuck out his lower lip in his best impression of a feminine pout, "Why, I'm sure I don't know what you mean.."
Andre examined the set and, seeing no obvious damage, adopted a puzzled expression. "If not you, then who.."
He frowned suddenly, "Must have been backstage.. That odd friend of yours didn't follow you here, did he, Tarleton?! I swear, if that's him and his beasts wreaking havoc back there, I'll have both your heads on a platter! Come to think of it, that'd make a fine prop for the banquet scene.."
Tarleton's eyes widened. "Hanger couldn't be here, he.."
"Well, if you're so sure it ISNT him, please go and check what it IS exactly!" Andre smirked challengingly.
"You would send a poor, defenseless young lady to investigate a mysterious crash backstage?" Lady Tarleton exclaimed, horrified. "Why that's not very gentlemanly of you!"
This remark produced such a look of fury on the part of Andre that Tarleton decided it was pointless to protest further.
"Yes, sir," he said, dropping his mock-female voice.
Though now thoroughly annoyed with the dress that had caused him to make an utter fool of himself more than once already that evening, Ban exercised sheer force of willpower to prevent himself from ripping the garment in half. He had promised to show the others the proper way act a female role, and he was determined to do so.
Making his way backstage, as quickly as the full skirts would allow, Tarleton halfway expected to be greeted by Hanger, with his insane grin and his blue Hessian uniform. His friend knew he was playing the role of a woman. That was precisely the sort of thing Hanger wouldn't want to miss seeing for himself. Leave it to Hanger to make a mess of things. Perhaps he halfway deserved to have his head lopped off and served on a platter. Then again, knowing Hanger, he would probably volunteer. Death would be the biggest adventure of them all. He often claimed to know that heaven was populated with beautiful barely dressed women, and that if he died first he would sneak out and tell Ban all about it. Still, Hanger shouldn't be here. He had been rather occupied lately, ever since he met a woman of poor reputation.
Tarleton and Hanger were what one might call kindred spirits. This was quite a rarity. Hanger was universally known to be suffering from a very severe form of eccentricity, and for the veritable zoo of bizarre creatures (monkeys, parrots, dogs, cats, etc.) that he kept in his rooms. Aside from this, Ban and Hanger shared a mutual love for wine, women, song, and living in general that enabled them to get along famously.
Hanger wasn't backstage. In fact, there was no one. Tarleton looked around for signs of anything out of the ordinary. He remembered the rebel army, camped not so far away at Valley Forge. The possibility of a spy was a very real one.
"Filthy dress," the young dragoon hissed. The nature of womens' clothing had prevented him from carrying a gun.
"Dammit Riley!" The harsh whisper came from the prop room. The voice had a distinct cockney accent. Whoever they were, they probably weren't rebels.
The young cornet flung open the door to the prop room to discover three privates (one in green and two in red) tangled in a massive heap along with fragments of several shelves and a healthy collection of now-broken props.
Riley, his vision still blurred and his mind still slowed from the alcohol, looked up at the very angry woman. The light flooding into the formerly dim prop room stung his eyes, obscuring his vision even further.
"Sorry, madame.. we were just.. uh.."
It was indeed an awkward situation. In some capacity he was thankful not to be confronting armed rebels, but he couldn't decided what was worse. Being unarmed and surrounded, or being dressed as a woman in the presence of those of lower rank? He was never going to hear the end of it. Why couldn't it have been Hanger? At least Hanger would have come to witness this spectacle for himself and, as such, would have kept it to himself. This was going to be all over the city by morning.
"Andre, I think you had better come back here!"
At Tarleton's call, Andre frowned and set his script down on the foot of the stage before bounding up the stage-side steps and slipping through the curtain. Christ, can't that boy do anything on his own? Must not be that friend of his...
Rounding the corner he met with the scene of a very angry Ban standing over a heap of extremely panicked young dragoons, all of whom were apparently trying to speak at once in explaining the reason for their presence in the now thoroughly trashed props-closet.
"Good God! Who are you three and what the hell have you done to my props for the garden scene?!"
The three privates immediately stopped talking and turned their heads to stare wide-eyed at Andre, as he stormed forward to hover over them malevolently.
If they thought their silence would do anything to dissuade him now that he was in interrogation mode, they were sorely mistaken. Andre stooped over and grabbed Riley by the collar, pulling him free of the tangle with Goldstein and Edwards and hoisting the terrified young man to his feet, their faces mere inches apart.
"Alright then. Are you spies? Nice uniforms.. what poor souls did you kill to get them?"
Riley paled and screwed his eyes shut under Andre's burning gaze. "We aren't spies, sir! We didn't kill anyone! We just wanted to see the performance.."
He certainly sounds British... Andre thought, his expression softening slightly. Still.. it could be an act..
"So you say.. I suppose we'll find out, wont we?" Andre pushed Riley to the side and turned his attention to the other two. "Alright, get up! Show's over and we're going for a little walk, gentlemen."
Edwards and Goldstein complied, and Andre reached past them to grab a few colored scarves from the mess of props on the floor. He handed two to Ban before closing the closet door, hoping Delancey wouldn't find the mess and go ballistic.
"Help me get our guests here blindfolded, Tarleton. I think one of my colleagues would be most interested in speaking with them..."
Andre smirked as the young dragoons' eyes widened in abject horror. He didn't really doubt they were telling the truth, but he wasn't about to simply let them walk out after so thoroughly interrupting his rehearsal. Besides, he knew that handing them over to Bordon would be the perfect double edged sword..
--------------------------
"Wonderful," Banastre Tarleton thought to himself as he trudged through the snow leading the three blindfolded privates. "Naturally Andre can't do this himself. No, he's the director. He has to stay in the nice war theatre and realize his artistic vision..."
Still, there was a bit of a benefit to taking the three 'spies' to see Captain Bordon, Andre had been forced to disclose the location of the intelligence office. This was information that could come in handy later.
As involuntarily being forced to walk through the snow often does, this particular excursion into the night brought back some of Ban's former grievances with Andre. First, there was the little matter of being cast in the female role. Secondly, there was that incident with Lady Greenwell that he preferred not to remember. Thirdly, there was this. Walking through the night, in the snow. Andre knew these three weren't spies. This had to be another one of his little jokes.
There was that tone in Andre's voice back at the theatre. Andre was clever, suave, handsome, talented... "THAT'S IT!" Ban had enough. In fact, he was so wrapped up in his own annoyance that he failed to realize he'd actually yelled that out loud, and that he'd passed up the street where the intelligence office was located.
"What's it?" mumbled Edwards, who was gagged and blindfolded.
"Miss!"
Ban looked up. Standing in front of him were what looked very much like two rebel soldiers in their blue coats with red trim. Though their uniforms were in a decidedly ragged state and had been sewn in numerous places they were easily identifiable as colonials.
Tarleton instinctively reached for his gun, only to realize (much to his own personal horror) that he had neglected to remove his costume. He was walking about the streets of Philadelphia in a dress! Had he become that used to it? Or was his anger at Andre that blinding.
"Miss, why do you have three British soldiers tied up?" one of the colonials asked.
Ban did not have time to think of an excuse. The colonial's companion nudged him.
"What?"
He whispered something in his ear.
The first colonial's eyes grew to the size of saucers. They both stood up straight and saluted smartly.
"Col. Hamilton!"
"Sir," one of the rebels exclaimed. "I see you have captured three red coats! Did you discover the location of the intelligence office?"
Hamilton..? Riley squirmed slightly, testing the strength of the tie binding his hands firmly behind his back as he tried to locate the sound of the voices. Blindfolded as he was he couldn't see the men as they approached, but by the tell-tale lilt in their accents he could easily identify them as locals.
But who was Colonel Hamilton? If they knew an officer, it stood to reason they were affiliated with the army in some way.. but how?
Ban's silence was slightly unnerving. Since joining the dragoons, Riley had been in the same unit as Tarleton, and though they weren't well acquainted, Riley knew him well enough to know that he was usually anything but quiet. Something had to be wrong. Bound as he and his comrades were, the last thing they needed was to be accosted by locals!
Riley heard Edwards stir slightly at his side, and knew he must be thinking the same. Whatever was coming, they were completely in Tarleton's hands. Riley's teeth clenched. I hope Tarleton can handle this..
Unarmed an wearing a dress, accompanied by three seemingly captured Red Coats, very few options presented themselves to Cornet Tarleton. Still, the colonials themselves had presented him with a singular opportunity. He knew enough about the rebel army to remember the name Hamilton.
"Yes, what are you two doing marching about an occupied city dressed like that!"
Ban prayed that his accent wouldn't give him away. After all, he had no idea what this Col. Hamilton should sound like. The two colonials looked like privates. He doubted they knew Hamilton well at all, most likely they were going solely on looks.
The two colonials exchanged a look of embarrassment.
"We had no trouble getting in to the city, sir. Everyone's either drunk... or asleep... or at parties."
"Parties!" the other rebel exclaimed. "Imagine, parties! While we starve and suffer in the cold."
Ban though for a moment. "What are you doing here?"
"We came to meet our contact, sir," one of them explained. "We have information. We never imagined it would be you."
Tarleton put his quick-thinking, imaginative brain to work. There had to be some way to turn this situation to his advantage.
"I'm not your contact," he explained. "He was found out. I've arranged for you to meet another man... tomorrow, at the Black Swan theatre, midnight. He will be waiting for you backstage, wearing a green scarf."
The two colonials nodded.
"Now, get out of here before someone sees you! I'll deal with these three."
"Yes, sir!" They saluted and disappeared into the snow-filled night.
A big grin spread across Ban's face. This was perfect. He had proved himself the more clever man, and the one with the better acting skills. He would deliver two clueless rebel intelligence agents right into the hands of the British army!
----------------------------
Andre had just finished dismissing his actors for the night when he heard the back door of the theater open with a loud bang. Tarleton dashed in excitedly, the three privates still in tow.
"What are you doing bringing those three back here? And why in heavens do you look so perfectly pleased with yourself? Out with it, Tarleton!" He raised an eyebrow curiously at Ban, who was panting as he turned to shut the door against the winter wind that came whipping into the warm room.
"You'll never believe the luck of it, Major!" Ban beamed. "I was taking this lot to the office like you asked, but we stumbled across a pair of Rebels on the way!"
Andre frowned in disbelief, "Rebels? How can you be so sure?"
"They were walking about town in their blue uniforms, plain as day!" Tarleton smirked. "But that's not the half of it, sir.. They mistook me for a 'Colonel Hamilton', who is aparently part of the Rebel intelligence network.."
"Christ Tarleton, do you have any idea.." Andre's eyes widened as he considered the possibilities.
"Yes sir, as a matter of fact I do, which is why I came back here as quickly as possible.. I've got a little early Christmas present for you! You see, they thought I was their contact so I played along with them and I'm pretty sure they bought it. I told them there would be a new operative waiting to meet them here tomorrow night. Their suppose to identify him by the fact that he's wearing a green scarf." Ban did indeed look extremely proud of himself, and with good reason.
"HA! Good show, Tarleton!" Andre clapped him soundly on the back. "That's perfect.. God, what an opportunity.." He stood pondering a moment.
"Yes.. I'll have Bordon wait here tomorrow to meet these men. Thank you, Ban, trust that I'll deal with this." Andre smiled broadly, then realized that Edwards, Riley and Goldstein were still standing there and knew of the entire situation.
"Now then.." Andre stepped toward the three young men and pulled their blindfolds and hand-bindings off, leaving the gags in place. "You three present me with quite the dilema.. I cant have you running off and letting it slip to someone what you've overheard here tonight. I suspect I'll have to keep a very close eye on all of you.."
Andre walked to a nearby cupboard and opened it, removing three small reams of paper before turning and handing them to the young dragoons. Riley looked down at the booklet in his hands. It appeared to be a script..
"Welcome to our little company.. maidservants #1, 2 and 3!"
To Be Continued...>>
So far Ban had managed to knock over two chairs, a small table and a flower arrangement, causing numerous curses to be shouted by Mister Delancey at the state of his precious set. He'd also tripped on the hem of his skirt at one point and grabbed onto the elaborately painted backdrop to break his fall, causing it to promptly rip free of its ties and land in a heap on top of the hapless young Cornet.
Since that mishap they'd managed to get through two whole pages of script without incident, making Andre unsure of whether he should be happy for the progress or worried at what might happen next to ruin it.
A moment of quiet drew his attention from the page and back to the faces of the men grouped on stage, who all looked slightly confused.
Andre sighed, "That was your cue, Captain Prin-..." A sudden crashing noise drew the Major's eyes back to Tarleton, who was standing quietly, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously at his costar while waiting for the other man to speak his next line.
"Christ, Tarleton, what've you broken now?!"
Tarleton stuck out his lower lip in his best impression of a feminine pout, "Why, I'm sure I don't know what you mean.."
Andre examined the set and, seeing no obvious damage, adopted a puzzled expression. "If not you, then who.."
He frowned suddenly, "Must have been backstage.. That odd friend of yours didn't follow you here, did he, Tarleton?! I swear, if that's him and his beasts wreaking havoc back there, I'll have both your heads on a platter! Come to think of it, that'd make a fine prop for the banquet scene.."
Tarleton's eyes widened. "Hanger couldn't be here, he.."
"Well, if you're so sure it ISNT him, please go and check what it IS exactly!" Andre smirked challengingly.
"You would send a poor, defenseless young lady to investigate a mysterious crash backstage?" Lady Tarleton exclaimed, horrified. "Why that's not very gentlemanly of you!"
This remark produced such a look of fury on the part of Andre that Tarleton decided it was pointless to protest further.
"Yes, sir," he said, dropping his mock-female voice.
Though now thoroughly annoyed with the dress that had caused him to make an utter fool of himself more than once already that evening, Ban exercised sheer force of willpower to prevent himself from ripping the garment in half. He had promised to show the others the proper way act a female role, and he was determined to do so.
Making his way backstage, as quickly as the full skirts would allow, Tarleton halfway expected to be greeted by Hanger, with his insane grin and his blue Hessian uniform. His friend knew he was playing the role of a woman. That was precisely the sort of thing Hanger wouldn't want to miss seeing for himself. Leave it to Hanger to make a mess of things. Perhaps he halfway deserved to have his head lopped off and served on a platter. Then again, knowing Hanger, he would probably volunteer. Death would be the biggest adventure of them all. He often claimed to know that heaven was populated with beautiful barely dressed women, and that if he died first he would sneak out and tell Ban all about it. Still, Hanger shouldn't be here. He had been rather occupied lately, ever since he met a woman of poor reputation.
Tarleton and Hanger were what one might call kindred spirits. This was quite a rarity. Hanger was universally known to be suffering from a very severe form of eccentricity, and for the veritable zoo of bizarre creatures (monkeys, parrots, dogs, cats, etc.) that he kept in his rooms. Aside from this, Ban and Hanger shared a mutual love for wine, women, song, and living in general that enabled them to get along famously.
Hanger wasn't backstage. In fact, there was no one. Tarleton looked around for signs of anything out of the ordinary. He remembered the rebel army, camped not so far away at Valley Forge. The possibility of a spy was a very real one.
"Filthy dress," the young dragoon hissed. The nature of womens' clothing had prevented him from carrying a gun.
"Dammit Riley!" The harsh whisper came from the prop room. The voice had a distinct cockney accent. Whoever they were, they probably weren't rebels.
The young cornet flung open the door to the prop room to discover three privates (one in green and two in red) tangled in a massive heap along with fragments of several shelves and a healthy collection of now-broken props.
Riley, his vision still blurred and his mind still slowed from the alcohol, looked up at the very angry woman. The light flooding into the formerly dim prop room stung his eyes, obscuring his vision even further.
"Sorry, madame.. we were just.. uh.."
It was indeed an awkward situation. In some capacity he was thankful not to be confronting armed rebels, but he couldn't decided what was worse. Being unarmed and surrounded, or being dressed as a woman in the presence of those of lower rank? He was never going to hear the end of it. Why couldn't it have been Hanger? At least Hanger would have come to witness this spectacle for himself and, as such, would have kept it to himself. This was going to be all over the city by morning.
"Andre, I think you had better come back here!"
At Tarleton's call, Andre frowned and set his script down on the foot of the stage before bounding up the stage-side steps and slipping through the curtain. Christ, can't that boy do anything on his own? Must not be that friend of his...
Rounding the corner he met with the scene of a very angry Ban standing over a heap of extremely panicked young dragoons, all of whom were apparently trying to speak at once in explaining the reason for their presence in the now thoroughly trashed props-closet.
"Good God! Who are you three and what the hell have you done to my props for the garden scene?!"
The three privates immediately stopped talking and turned their heads to stare wide-eyed at Andre, as he stormed forward to hover over them malevolently.
If they thought their silence would do anything to dissuade him now that he was in interrogation mode, they were sorely mistaken. Andre stooped over and grabbed Riley by the collar, pulling him free of the tangle with Goldstein and Edwards and hoisting the terrified young man to his feet, their faces mere inches apart.
"Alright then. Are you spies? Nice uniforms.. what poor souls did you kill to get them?"
Riley paled and screwed his eyes shut under Andre's burning gaze. "We aren't spies, sir! We didn't kill anyone! We just wanted to see the performance.."
He certainly sounds British... Andre thought, his expression softening slightly. Still.. it could be an act..
"So you say.. I suppose we'll find out, wont we?" Andre pushed Riley to the side and turned his attention to the other two. "Alright, get up! Show's over and we're going for a little walk, gentlemen."
Edwards and Goldstein complied, and Andre reached past them to grab a few colored scarves from the mess of props on the floor. He handed two to Ban before closing the closet door, hoping Delancey wouldn't find the mess and go ballistic.
"Help me get our guests here blindfolded, Tarleton. I think one of my colleagues would be most interested in speaking with them..."
Andre smirked as the young dragoons' eyes widened in abject horror. He didn't really doubt they were telling the truth, but he wasn't about to simply let them walk out after so thoroughly interrupting his rehearsal. Besides, he knew that handing them over to Bordon would be the perfect double edged sword..
--------------------------
"Wonderful," Banastre Tarleton thought to himself as he trudged through the snow leading the three blindfolded privates. "Naturally Andre can't do this himself. No, he's the director. He has to stay in the nice war theatre and realize his artistic vision..."
Still, there was a bit of a benefit to taking the three 'spies' to see Captain Bordon, Andre had been forced to disclose the location of the intelligence office. This was information that could come in handy later.
As involuntarily being forced to walk through the snow often does, this particular excursion into the night brought back some of Ban's former grievances with Andre. First, there was the little matter of being cast in the female role. Secondly, there was that incident with Lady Greenwell that he preferred not to remember. Thirdly, there was this. Walking through the night, in the snow. Andre knew these three weren't spies. This had to be another one of his little jokes.
There was that tone in Andre's voice back at the theatre. Andre was clever, suave, handsome, talented... "THAT'S IT!" Ban had enough. In fact, he was so wrapped up in his own annoyance that he failed to realize he'd actually yelled that out loud, and that he'd passed up the street where the intelligence office was located.
"What's it?" mumbled Edwards, who was gagged and blindfolded.
"Miss!"
Ban looked up. Standing in front of him were what looked very much like two rebel soldiers in their blue coats with red trim. Though their uniforms were in a decidedly ragged state and had been sewn in numerous places they were easily identifiable as colonials.
Tarleton instinctively reached for his gun, only to realize (much to his own personal horror) that he had neglected to remove his costume. He was walking about the streets of Philadelphia in a dress! Had he become that used to it? Or was his anger at Andre that blinding.
"Miss, why do you have three British soldiers tied up?" one of the colonials asked.
Ban did not have time to think of an excuse. The colonial's companion nudged him.
"What?"
He whispered something in his ear.
The first colonial's eyes grew to the size of saucers. They both stood up straight and saluted smartly.
"Col. Hamilton!"
"Sir," one of the rebels exclaimed. "I see you have captured three red coats! Did you discover the location of the intelligence office?"
Hamilton..? Riley squirmed slightly, testing the strength of the tie binding his hands firmly behind his back as he tried to locate the sound of the voices. Blindfolded as he was he couldn't see the men as they approached, but by the tell-tale lilt in their accents he could easily identify them as locals.
But who was Colonel Hamilton? If they knew an officer, it stood to reason they were affiliated with the army in some way.. but how?
Ban's silence was slightly unnerving. Since joining the dragoons, Riley had been in the same unit as Tarleton, and though they weren't well acquainted, Riley knew him well enough to know that he was usually anything but quiet. Something had to be wrong. Bound as he and his comrades were, the last thing they needed was to be accosted by locals!
Riley heard Edwards stir slightly at his side, and knew he must be thinking the same. Whatever was coming, they were completely in Tarleton's hands. Riley's teeth clenched. I hope Tarleton can handle this..
Unarmed an wearing a dress, accompanied by three seemingly captured Red Coats, very few options presented themselves to Cornet Tarleton. Still, the colonials themselves had presented him with a singular opportunity. He knew enough about the rebel army to remember the name Hamilton.
"Yes, what are you two doing marching about an occupied city dressed like that!"
Ban prayed that his accent wouldn't give him away. After all, he had no idea what this Col. Hamilton should sound like. The two colonials looked like privates. He doubted they knew Hamilton well at all, most likely they were going solely on looks.
The two colonials exchanged a look of embarrassment.
"We had no trouble getting in to the city, sir. Everyone's either drunk... or asleep... or at parties."
"Parties!" the other rebel exclaimed. "Imagine, parties! While we starve and suffer in the cold."
Ban though for a moment. "What are you doing here?"
"We came to meet our contact, sir," one of them explained. "We have information. We never imagined it would be you."
Tarleton put his quick-thinking, imaginative brain to work. There had to be some way to turn this situation to his advantage.
"I'm not your contact," he explained. "He was found out. I've arranged for you to meet another man... tomorrow, at the Black Swan theatre, midnight. He will be waiting for you backstage, wearing a green scarf."
The two colonials nodded.
"Now, get out of here before someone sees you! I'll deal with these three."
"Yes, sir!" They saluted and disappeared into the snow-filled night.
A big grin spread across Ban's face. This was perfect. He had proved himself the more clever man, and the one with the better acting skills. He would deliver two clueless rebel intelligence agents right into the hands of the British army!
----------------------------
Andre had just finished dismissing his actors for the night when he heard the back door of the theater open with a loud bang. Tarleton dashed in excitedly, the three privates still in tow.
"What are you doing bringing those three back here? And why in heavens do you look so perfectly pleased with yourself? Out with it, Tarleton!" He raised an eyebrow curiously at Ban, who was panting as he turned to shut the door against the winter wind that came whipping into the warm room.
"You'll never believe the luck of it, Major!" Ban beamed. "I was taking this lot to the office like you asked, but we stumbled across a pair of Rebels on the way!"
Andre frowned in disbelief, "Rebels? How can you be so sure?"
"They were walking about town in their blue uniforms, plain as day!" Tarleton smirked. "But that's not the half of it, sir.. They mistook me for a 'Colonel Hamilton', who is aparently part of the Rebel intelligence network.."
"Christ Tarleton, do you have any idea.." Andre's eyes widened as he considered the possibilities.
"Yes sir, as a matter of fact I do, which is why I came back here as quickly as possible.. I've got a little early Christmas present for you! You see, they thought I was their contact so I played along with them and I'm pretty sure they bought it. I told them there would be a new operative waiting to meet them here tomorrow night. Their suppose to identify him by the fact that he's wearing a green scarf." Ban did indeed look extremely proud of himself, and with good reason.
"HA! Good show, Tarleton!" Andre clapped him soundly on the back. "That's perfect.. God, what an opportunity.." He stood pondering a moment.
"Yes.. I'll have Bordon wait here tomorrow to meet these men. Thank you, Ban, trust that I'll deal with this." Andre smiled broadly, then realized that Edwards, Riley and Goldstein were still standing there and knew of the entire situation.
"Now then.." Andre stepped toward the three young men and pulled their blindfolds and hand-bindings off, leaving the gags in place. "You three present me with quite the dilema.. I cant have you running off and letting it slip to someone what you've overheard here tonight. I suspect I'll have to keep a very close eye on all of you.."
Andre walked to a nearby cupboard and opened it, removing three small reams of paper before turning and handing them to the young dragoons. Riley looked down at the booklet in his hands. It appeared to be a script..
"Welcome to our little company.. maidservants #1, 2 and 3!"
To Be Continued...>>