When Adventures Begin...

By The Chronicler

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter One

continues...

~~~~~~~~~~

Ezra Standish, gambler extrodinar, stood at the railing of the balcony over looking the riverboat's casino. His sharp green eyes cased those below like a hawk hunting its next meal.

There was a fat, rich woman swinging her purse about and handing out cash like candy to a couple of pretty boys, probably her sons, both of which attacked the craps table as if there was no tomorrow. A couple of the casino girls attempted to get close, but, though she was generous with her money, the mother was not so generous with her sons. Like a bulldog, she'd chase the girls away, whimpering and cowering. In addition, she kept her boys away from the card tables. Apparently the rich mamma was a bit protective.

Ezra shrugged. So, they'd lose their money at the craps rather than at cards. A little less would end up in his pocket, but some would, none-the-less, come to him.

A Yankee Colonel and his staff... but the commander stayed away from all games and heavy drink, and the staffers... well, not even Yankee staff was paid worth a damn.

Not worth the gambler's attention.

A few field hands just come in from payday... But, sure as Southern bells ring, they'd already been worked over and not have more then a pinch in their pockets.

Again, not worth Ezra's attention.

"There." was whispered in his ear.

He didn't need to look to know that it was his mother as she leaned up against his back, her chin resting on the back of his shoulder. He didn't need any further direction, either, to spot what his mother had. "The Brit in the corner." he observed, noting the elegantly dressed man.

For the past hour, he had sat, sipping at scotch, playing solitaire; Alone, for the exception of his valet that stood behind him. Several times he had been approached and invited to a game, but, each and every time, his man servant had stepped forward and declined the offer.

It had been the same every night for a week.

"He is our mark." Maude Standish whispered excitedly in her son's ear.

Ezra looked at her then. "You have decided this?" he asked, weary of her motives.

Obviously the man had money, but, just as obvious, he was not going to part from it easily. If at all. And his mother was not one to `work' for anything THAT hard.

Maude looked at her son with a very serious expression. "Our employer wants what he has and will pay generously for it."

"YOUR employer." Ezra corrected, looking back at the Brit. Not that it matter who's employer. Fact was, the Count held his mother under his thumb... and she thanked him for the privilege. And as long as he had Maude, he had her son. Despite his self belief that he was unattached to the woman, she was his mother. By that fact, Ezra Standish was trapped.

"Have some respect, Ezra Standish. The man has set you up in this fine establishment, protected you when them damn Yankees came a lookin' for Johnny Rebs to hang..."

"Which I will be repaying to the end of time for." Ezra sighed. "And just how do you suggest I get a sit down with that man? He isn't exactly the welcoming type."

Maude leaned up against his back again, reaching around to hold something for him to see. "Be some one he will want to welcome." was her suggestion.

Frowning Ezra took the documents and quickly glanced them over. Again he sighed. "And just what am I supposed to be getting from him?" he wanted to know.

This time Maude frowned. "It's called the Aurora."

Ezra glanced at her. "And that is?"

Maude matched his look. "Does it matter?"

His eyes narrowed. After a moment, he concluded that she didn't know the answer either. Thus... "No, it doesn't." Tucking the papers into the pocket of his vest, he turned away from his mother and headed for the steps that would take him to the floor below.

With precise movements that told the workers of the casino that the game was afoot and that they should all keep their eyes open, Ezra Standish crossed the large deck until he was standing in front of the Brit's table.

Instantly, the valet stepped forward. He spoke with a thick french accent and far too quickly for a the manner of calm he was supposed to be portraying. "My apologies, sir, but my master is not accepting..."

Ezra drew the documents and handed them to the valet.

The Frenchmen glanced at them, then handed them back to his master.

A quick glance, and the Brit waved his hand. "That will be quite alright, Passpartout. Allow him a seat at my table." he spoke with cold, even tones.

His valet quickly stepped aside and held out a seat for the gambler.

With every bit of elegance and grace that his host was offering, Ezra glided to the seat and floated down. With a slight smile, he tilted his head in greeting.

The Brit eyed him. "Well, we were beginning to wonder just how grateful your President Grant really was to be receiving this gift from our queen." he noted. Then, in quite contrary tone, he snapped off in a hushed manner "Just what the bloody hell took you so long, Mr. Wilmington?!"

~~~~~

J.D. Dunne slaunched his way down the trail, kicking at rocks here and there as he went. Another fine day in the reign of higher education. And, worse, that damn professor took another one of his drawings. Held him up in front of nearly the entire school as the joke of America.

Like any of them had a clue!

Sighing, J.D. turned his eyes skyward, watching for stars through the branches of the maple trees. His mother always told him to look up at the stars. Even when she was sick and dying, she told him to watch the stars...

Oh yea, and go to college.

Anne Dunne had worked hard all her life, putting away pennies, even when she, herself, went hungry, saving for her son's education. She had been the only one who had never made fun of his dreams and the little gadgets he would design. She once told him that he could see what others couldn't, that he could see the possibilities.

Possibilities that were laughed at as the musing of the wild imagination of a daydreamin', going-no-where student. The joke of the University of Massachusetts.

Funny, J.D. thought to himself, that the one place he had trouble seeing the stars is the one place his mother had told him to go.

"John Daniel Dunne." It wasn't a greeting, nor an attention getter. It was simply a statement of fact.

J.D. spun about to see a figure standing behind him on the trail. "Hello?" he called.

It was a large figure, tall with broad shoulders. Powerful. Intimidating. His strong voice seemed to vibrate through the world until it hammered into the young man. "My Lord has heard of you. He is impressed."

J.D.'s eyes narrowed. "Yea? Well... thanks." he answered, weary of anyone who wanted to meet him on a dark path between classroom and dorm in the middle of the night.

The man slowly approached. "You have a wondrous mind. Full of insight." he explained in an almost friendly tone. "My Lord enjoys giving aid to brilliant, young upstarts like yourself. Giving them the backing, financially and whatnot, helping them create and achieve, make a new world for all."

Despite his unease, the young student couldn't help but be tempted by an opportunity not to be laughed at. Shucks, forget being laughed at. This guy was offering to help him!

But, still, he picked an odd and suspicious time to approach him. And there was the question... what was in it for his Lord?

The figure approached another step. "You have questions." he observed. "That is good. Curiose minds are what we are looking for. But time is short and you must answer me now. Come with me and you will be given every opportunity to follow every dream and project your imagination can come up with."

"And if I decide to walk away?" J.D. tested.

The man spread his hands. "Then you walk away. And continue your studies in law, allowing your imagination to be stomped out by the laughter of ingrades who have neither the desire nor the intention for the world to be anything more than it is." With a tilt of his head, he added "The choice is yours." What he didn't add was that he had orders to take the boy whatever his choice.

J.D. glanced back up the trail. He could just barely see the lights of his dorm. A ten by twelve room with one window that took up most of one wall, a little desk, a bed and a clothing trunk. The halls were filled with men, all older, all wiser, all arrogant, and all who wanted nothing to do with the kid... unless of course they wanted a good laugh. That was all that he had to call home.

That... or this unknown?

Sighing, J.D. looked back at figure. With a shrug, he asked "When do we go?"

~~~~~

Buck's world had become one of burning fog. Eyes open, eyes closed, it made no difference. Even the air on his skin felt as if it was fire. The cuffs and chains that suspended him from the ceiling long ago turned from pain to numbness.

"Interesting sensation, isn't it?" observed his interrogator, the same woman who had lured him into the trap.

Through the red haze, Buck could make out her outline standing a few feet in front of him.

Something flickered in her hands. It was becoming a farmilar flicker.

Despite his pain, Buck chuckled. "Hell, ain't nothin' new here. Just like hangin' around ol' Arizona and gettin' myself a tad sunburn." His voice was raspy and strained.

The woman jabbed the flickering stick at him, striking the tense muscles of his abdomen. The hot coal end sizzled, burning flesh.

Buck's teeth gritted as he tried not to cry out. But a grunt still escaped.

Pressing close to him, the woman hissed "You live at my Lord's pleasure. If you wish to continue to live, you will continue to please him!" She pressed the coal into his flesh harder as if making her point.

The Agent's eyes squeezed closed, tears escaping from the corners. The stinch of burnt skin filled his nostrils and he choked.

The woman stepped away again, taking the hot coal with her.

Buck collapsed with relief, breathing in great gasps.

"We know that your tyrant Grant has formed some secret army... a police force of sorts." she told him. "We know that some of your fellow agents have been gather with the specific duty to get in our way." She paused and Buck could almost feel her smirk. "Pity for them." Then her voice turned hard again and she glared at her prisoner. "I ask again: Who leads this group? Who are the members assembled under him? What do they know of my Lord? Of Count Gregory?"

Agent Buck Wilmington smiled. His smile grew to a chuckle. And his chuckle grew into a laugh.

The woman stared at him for a moment. Then, with a snarl, she whipped her weapon about, slapping the hot coal across his face.

Buck gasped as his face was sliced open with the hot coal.

Breathing hard, she struggled to keep her temper under control. Finally she snarled. "Perhaps I have been promising the wrong existence." she snarled. Leaning close, she hissed "Answer me and I will kill you. End your suffering."

The Agent tried to shrug, but the chains held him still and taunt. "Suffering? Shucks, I been hurt worse fallin' over a log."

Her hot breath was agony as it blew across his abused skin: "Suffering? That wasn't suffering, ol' Bucky." her light fingers ran up his rib cage. "You have yet to feel suffering." she promised.

Buck couldn't help but gulp.

~~~~~