Emilia twiddled with the tea cup in front of her, passing her fingers around the delicate porcelain handle, trying not to worry of all the possible things that could go wrong with her plan to save her friend. If she was calmer, she would ponder where this deep attachment towards the American had occurred, but her mind was too blurred with possible things that could go wrong. What if Jack refused to forgive her? Ask the captain to take him to another island, leaving her with the guilt on her shoulders?
"Emilia? Are you alright?" She started at the question, nearly spilling the dregs of her tea on her knee. She looked up at Governor Croque, who sat opposite on the couch facing her. She smiled hesitantly and sighed slightly. The Governor was clueless as ever, even worse now that his wife Camille had been beheaded for treason several years ago. His new wife, a minor German princess, seemed to only have a little more between her ears than he did.
"I'm so sorry, Governor. I don't know what's come over me. I just seem to think something horrible has happened, and I can't seem to shake the feeling." It was the truth. Mostly.
"Non, Emilia. Nothing could possibly go wrong on such a beautiful day. I would not be surprised if the Daring Dragoon took a holiday!"
"The Daring Dragoon, Governor? Is he still around? I would have thought he would have long given up on defeating the best governor in all of the French Empire." Emilia bit the side of her cheek, remembering the image of the foil stuck in Jack's arm.
"Oui, Madame! Although I think this one is different than the one you and I knew before. He is much more, how you say, ferocious. I do not think 'e is even human!" The governor shuddered.
"Really." Emilia tasted the coppery salt of blood, as she bit down harder. Jack was more human than the Governor could ever know. She saw the final effect her touch up job burned into the back of her eyelids. Even when she knew it was just make up, she knew that at one point he actually looked like that after his comrades had tortured him.
But before she could dwell further on her poor spy, a soldier stepped into the drawing room. "Excuse me, your Governorship, but Madame Rothschild is requested at her docks. One of her ships has found something that requires her immediate attention." He bowed and nodded to Emilia.
Governor Croque clasped his hands and stood. "This is unusual! We will accompany the Madame to see what her business has found, oui?"
Emilia smiled at the Governor's not-so-subtle attempt to be included into the excitement. Most likely the governor was hoping it would be something he could tax- or steal, knowing the governor's underhanded means at grabbing wealth. But Croque was too short sighted to see the true value of this cargo.
The captain stood waiting for them at the gangplank, removing his hat as Emilia and the governor approached. "I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but it I knew you'd want to see this right away. We were attacked by pirates not yesterday, but they were outmaneuvered. Cooper, the first mate found him the hold....he's in bad shape."
Emilia, for her part, acted well. "What do you mean, 'He', Captain? Who are you talking about?"
The Captain stepped aside from the gangplank, revealing two sailors carrying a stretcher down the narrow steps. Wrapped in a gray blanket up to his mid chest, bloody, and a bandage covering half his face, lay Jack Stiles, former attaché of the Rothschild Shipping Company.
Emilia did not need to act much at the sight of her friend. She remembered how she found him, battered and crushed by his own loyalties, cowering in her lab, bleeding his life out on the concrete floor. She collapsed to the ground, next to her friend. "Jack... oh, Jack...."
Croque blinked, then stepped forward to touch the shoulder of the American monkey that had for so long had brought a smile to his governing with his bumbling antics. Even as he felt the scarred flesh under his hand, he couldn't believe it. Jack had been a good friend, saving both his life and his governorship on many occasions. But perhaps most amazingly, he had managed to make the widow Rothschild laugh and relax again, the first time since Monsieur Rothschild died. Not that Emilia had ever admitted such. Croque was not the most astute man, but he felt there were several things that Emilia had not told Jack, and he vice versa. Perhaps he was a bit of a romantic, but if they had met under circumstances....
Emilia regained her composure with a shake of her head. She stood up quickly and turned to the sailors holding the stretcher. "Please, follow me. We'll take him to my house. Captain, will you get the Doctor Wushang and meet me there?" She turned back to Croque. "Governor, I'm sorry to be so abrupt-"
"Non, Madame, I take no offense at all. Take care of him, for all of us. Fate has obviously brought him here for a purpose, no?" He patted her shoulder soothingly, and stepped back to watch the macabre parade head to the Rothschild estate.
Jack Stiles was used to nightmares. They were his only constant companion as he had moved from ship to ship, drifting through the south Indies. Demons, ripping him apart, or reliving hours of torture were common. One nasty fever dream had involved him awaking in Emilia's room, covered in blood...and his former partner ripped to shreds in front of him. The sight of her lips dyed in her own blood and her glazed eyes accusing him of the horror done to her had sent him to the rails, heaving his rum ration into the dark sea. He had taken night watch from then on, and didn't return to his hammock until he had no choice.
When he had returned to Palau Palau, re-donning the mask of the Dragoon, the nightmares were still there, matching his steps. The dragoon mask would often be the focus of these haunts, either suffocating him as he was swallowed up by French troops, or as in one vivid dream, refuse to come off, growing into his skin, transforming into a hideous black beast, his humanity swallowed whole. What was worse, he had occasionally found himself enjoying the loss, losing all cares of morality as he destroyed his enemies with claws and fangs. He became a black and red dragon, wrapped around the ruins of the Rothschild estate. Jack would awake in the lab from these nightmares, often clutching the black mask, even though he had left it in the trunk at the foot of the bed.
But this, this was no nightmare. He was clearly dreaming, but there were no horrors, no torturing. He wasn't wrapped around the house, belching fire, but simply sat on a couch in the living room of the Rothschild mansion, comfortably enjoying a roaring fire. There was no Dragoon costume in sight, just loose pants, a white dress shirt, and one of those heavy soft blankets Emilia had bought from India. Jack felt at home.
He barely registered someone else sitting down on the couch with him until he felt a soft weight on his shoulder. Part of him cringed, preparing for the start of another nightmare, but his instincts told him this was natural, and this was a friend. White golden hair drifted into view, and as he shifted, light perfume reached his nose. He couldn't see his companion's face without disturbing them both, but Jack noticed the lady was dressed in shades of cream and gold, and a feathery cape cascaded down her back, mingling with her hair. Gingerly touching the mixture, he found it no cape but wings, which gently swayed under his stroking hands.
Slowly the angel moved to stand, but he caught her hand. "Don't leave," He pleaded, cupping her hand in his as he brought it to his cheek. Jack only vaguely noticed as the scene around them melted away to Emilia's guestroom. He blinked against the light.
"It's alright, Jack. I won't leave. I didn't realize you were up." Emilia placed her hand over his as it clutched her other. Jack was still slightly feverish under her touch. As she had seen the sailors out, guttural grunts and moans like that of a dying animal had called her back upstairs to the guestrooms. Jack had been in throws of nightmare, digging grooves into the plaster walls with his fingernails. Caring more about the bloody ruins of her friends fingertips than her walls, she grabbed onto his wrists with all her might, whispering softly into his ear that it was alright. He relaxed, and lay down in the bed next to him leaning against his shoulder, letting her presence chase away the past demons. "How are you feeling? I've washed off most of the makeup already."
Jack nuzzled a bit into her hands. "Tired. But better than I have been. Thank you."
"Emilia? Are you alright?" She started at the question, nearly spilling the dregs of her tea on her knee. She looked up at Governor Croque, who sat opposite on the couch facing her. She smiled hesitantly and sighed slightly. The Governor was clueless as ever, even worse now that his wife Camille had been beheaded for treason several years ago. His new wife, a minor German princess, seemed to only have a little more between her ears than he did.
"I'm so sorry, Governor. I don't know what's come over me. I just seem to think something horrible has happened, and I can't seem to shake the feeling." It was the truth. Mostly.
"Non, Emilia. Nothing could possibly go wrong on such a beautiful day. I would not be surprised if the Daring Dragoon took a holiday!"
"The Daring Dragoon, Governor? Is he still around? I would have thought he would have long given up on defeating the best governor in all of the French Empire." Emilia bit the side of her cheek, remembering the image of the foil stuck in Jack's arm.
"Oui, Madame! Although I think this one is different than the one you and I knew before. He is much more, how you say, ferocious. I do not think 'e is even human!" The governor shuddered.
"Really." Emilia tasted the coppery salt of blood, as she bit down harder. Jack was more human than the Governor could ever know. She saw the final effect her touch up job burned into the back of her eyelids. Even when she knew it was just make up, she knew that at one point he actually looked like that after his comrades had tortured him.
But before she could dwell further on her poor spy, a soldier stepped into the drawing room. "Excuse me, your Governorship, but Madame Rothschild is requested at her docks. One of her ships has found something that requires her immediate attention." He bowed and nodded to Emilia.
Governor Croque clasped his hands and stood. "This is unusual! We will accompany the Madame to see what her business has found, oui?"
Emilia smiled at the Governor's not-so-subtle attempt to be included into the excitement. Most likely the governor was hoping it would be something he could tax- or steal, knowing the governor's underhanded means at grabbing wealth. But Croque was too short sighted to see the true value of this cargo.
The captain stood waiting for them at the gangplank, removing his hat as Emilia and the governor approached. "I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but it I knew you'd want to see this right away. We were attacked by pirates not yesterday, but they were outmaneuvered. Cooper, the first mate found him the hold....he's in bad shape."
Emilia, for her part, acted well. "What do you mean, 'He', Captain? Who are you talking about?"
The Captain stepped aside from the gangplank, revealing two sailors carrying a stretcher down the narrow steps. Wrapped in a gray blanket up to his mid chest, bloody, and a bandage covering half his face, lay Jack Stiles, former attaché of the Rothschild Shipping Company.
Emilia did not need to act much at the sight of her friend. She remembered how she found him, battered and crushed by his own loyalties, cowering in her lab, bleeding his life out on the concrete floor. She collapsed to the ground, next to her friend. "Jack... oh, Jack...."
Croque blinked, then stepped forward to touch the shoulder of the American monkey that had for so long had brought a smile to his governing with his bumbling antics. Even as he felt the scarred flesh under his hand, he couldn't believe it. Jack had been a good friend, saving both his life and his governorship on many occasions. But perhaps most amazingly, he had managed to make the widow Rothschild laugh and relax again, the first time since Monsieur Rothschild died. Not that Emilia had ever admitted such. Croque was not the most astute man, but he felt there were several things that Emilia had not told Jack, and he vice versa. Perhaps he was a bit of a romantic, but if they had met under circumstances....
Emilia regained her composure with a shake of her head. She stood up quickly and turned to the sailors holding the stretcher. "Please, follow me. We'll take him to my house. Captain, will you get the Doctor Wushang and meet me there?" She turned back to Croque. "Governor, I'm sorry to be so abrupt-"
"Non, Madame, I take no offense at all. Take care of him, for all of us. Fate has obviously brought him here for a purpose, no?" He patted her shoulder soothingly, and stepped back to watch the macabre parade head to the Rothschild estate.
Jack Stiles was used to nightmares. They were his only constant companion as he had moved from ship to ship, drifting through the south Indies. Demons, ripping him apart, or reliving hours of torture were common. One nasty fever dream had involved him awaking in Emilia's room, covered in blood...and his former partner ripped to shreds in front of him. The sight of her lips dyed in her own blood and her glazed eyes accusing him of the horror done to her had sent him to the rails, heaving his rum ration into the dark sea. He had taken night watch from then on, and didn't return to his hammock until he had no choice.
When he had returned to Palau Palau, re-donning the mask of the Dragoon, the nightmares were still there, matching his steps. The dragoon mask would often be the focus of these haunts, either suffocating him as he was swallowed up by French troops, or as in one vivid dream, refuse to come off, growing into his skin, transforming into a hideous black beast, his humanity swallowed whole. What was worse, he had occasionally found himself enjoying the loss, losing all cares of morality as he destroyed his enemies with claws and fangs. He became a black and red dragon, wrapped around the ruins of the Rothschild estate. Jack would awake in the lab from these nightmares, often clutching the black mask, even though he had left it in the trunk at the foot of the bed.
But this, this was no nightmare. He was clearly dreaming, but there were no horrors, no torturing. He wasn't wrapped around the house, belching fire, but simply sat on a couch in the living room of the Rothschild mansion, comfortably enjoying a roaring fire. There was no Dragoon costume in sight, just loose pants, a white dress shirt, and one of those heavy soft blankets Emilia had bought from India. Jack felt at home.
He barely registered someone else sitting down on the couch with him until he felt a soft weight on his shoulder. Part of him cringed, preparing for the start of another nightmare, but his instincts told him this was natural, and this was a friend. White golden hair drifted into view, and as he shifted, light perfume reached his nose. He couldn't see his companion's face without disturbing them both, but Jack noticed the lady was dressed in shades of cream and gold, and a feathery cape cascaded down her back, mingling with her hair. Gingerly touching the mixture, he found it no cape but wings, which gently swayed under his stroking hands.
Slowly the angel moved to stand, but he caught her hand. "Don't leave," He pleaded, cupping her hand in his as he brought it to his cheek. Jack only vaguely noticed as the scene around them melted away to Emilia's guestroom. He blinked against the light.
"It's alright, Jack. I won't leave. I didn't realize you were up." Emilia placed her hand over his as it clutched her other. Jack was still slightly feverish under her touch. As she had seen the sailors out, guttural grunts and moans like that of a dying animal had called her back upstairs to the guestrooms. Jack had been in throws of nightmare, digging grooves into the plaster walls with his fingernails. Caring more about the bloody ruins of her friends fingertips than her walls, she grabbed onto his wrists with all her might, whispering softly into his ear that it was alright. He relaxed, and lay down in the bed next to him leaning against his shoulder, letting her presence chase away the past demons. "How are you feeling? I've washed off most of the makeup already."
Jack nuzzled a bit into her hands. "Tired. But better than I have been. Thank you."