TITLE: When Adventures Begin...

CHAPTER: Three

AUTHOR: The Chronicler

UNIVERSE: M7 Aurora Adventures

RATING: PG-13 (for few harsh words thrown in and violence)

ARCHIVE: Yes

FEEDBACK: Pretty Please! I had a tough time writing this chapter.

EMAIL: chronicler_of_knuckles@yahoo.com

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When Adventures Begin...

By The Chronicler

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Chapter Three~~

Vin Tanner rolled the steering ball gently forward and the Aurora Class dirigible began its slow, barely notable decent.

Passpartout smiled proudly. "Your a very good learner, Master Tanner."

Vin glanced at him. "You can drop the master bit, Passpar... Passpar... Damn, texas toung just won't twist about for them fancy French names."

The little Frenchman's smile grew. "I knew a Texas man that has called me Frenchy. You can do that if you wish Master..." He stopped when Vin's eyes narrowed.

"Vin works... Frenchy." he answered with a friendly nod and a smile of his own. Turning his eyes back to the view before them, he added "One man callin' another master never did sit well with me."

For a moment the two stood side by side silently. But then Passpartout was, as always, curious. "I would be wondering..."

"Nothin' wrong with that." Vin filled in the hesitation.

The Frenchman grinned at that. "Texas is in the South, sir. Wouldn't you have been fighting for the use of that word?"

"Texas ain't the South, Frenchy." Vin answered a little too calmly. "It ain't the North, not mexico or America or anywhere else but Texas! And the war was about a lot of things. Sure thing slavery was one of those things and sure not a little one. But it was one of many. And not all the good points were had by the North."

"Were you in the war, Mas... Vin?"

Vin glanced at him, then away. "Yea... yea, I sure was."

"What side?"

Again a quick glance. "Well, now, frenchy, I'd like to think I was on the right side."

Passpartout waited for clarification, but when nothing more was offered he opened his mouth to ask.

"Passpartout." Lord Fogg called, a little sharp, to his man. When the valet spun about, Fogg held up his empty brandy glass. He was sitting at the dinning table with Chris Larabee.

"Oh, yes, Master." Passpartout hurried across the room to the liquor cabinet and returned to refill his glass.

When he was close, Fogg hissed at his man "Leave it be, Passpartout."

The velvet blinked, startled by the order. But, with next blink, he smile and nodded, accepting the fact that, what he didn't understand, his master surely did, and that was good enough for him.

"This is absurd!" Ezra Standish protested as he watched the valet move away.

"I agree." Chris responded, picking up his pistol and cocking it.

Ezra stiffened, but managed to resist the urge to react further. Instead he looked to the Brit. "You, sir, are an educated man of class and breeding. How can you restrain yourself under this onslaught of the brilliance of this dimwitted cowboy."

Lord Fogg rubbed his chin, then shrugged. "I take into consideration what influences such behavior." he smiled, a hard, cold expression. "Personally I would of introduced myself by shooting your kneecaps."

That made Ezra flinch.

"Again..." Chris brought attention back to himself, tapping the captured papers on the table top. "Where did you get these papers?!"

The gambler sighed. How many hours were they going to drag this on? As is, he had been standing in the same place, in the same position, without relief for more than six hours. At least they had tied his hands in front rather than behind. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and rather upset that he had allowed his mother to get him into this situation in the first place.

Rolling his eyes, he started again. "As I have informed you time and time again: I do not know this Buck Wilmington. I acquired the identification papers as a result of, as I have come to understand it now, an ill-fated game of chance."

"Cards?" Fogg asked for clarification. After all, for him anyway, games of chance came in many forms, styles, and dangers.

"Yes." Ezra answered coldly.

"Who had the papers before you?" Chris asked again, repeating the exact same questions as he had the last several times they had gone through this exact same story.

"A woman." the gambler answered with a tired sigh. "One of the casino girls." Which was true enough. He was careful not to right out lie. Truths, even if only half truths, were easier to remember, to make sound more genuine.

Fogg leaned back in his chair. He swished his brandy, watching the liquor splash up the sides of the crystal glass. It was time to disrupt the pattern of questions. "What did you wager against these papers?" he asked.

Ezra's eyes narrowed. What a worthless question. Why would he ask... He shrugged, leaving that off as his answer.

Looking over the top of his glass at the prisoner, Fogg smiled. "It is a simple enough question with an easy enough answer. What did you wager against Mr. Wilmington's papers?"

The damn Brit wasn't going to let it go. Ezra had to have an answer. "A five piece." he threw out. Not knowing what the man was looking for, he could only hope that that was good enough.

It wasn't.

"Reputation is everything to a professional gambler. Who you toss cards in with dictates who will toss in with you in the next game." Fogg explained. "You are a professional gambler and you waste your time betting a five piece against papers of a man you claim to know nothing about in a game of chance with a penny flipping casino girl?" Lord Fogg set his glass down on the table. "You are lying about one of two things: one, you knew exactly what and where those papers would get you, deciding it was worth the risking of your professionally; or, two, you received these papers in an entirely different manner than your tale tells."

Ezra said nothing. There was nothing to say. He had been caught. Damn brit just wouldn't let it go!

Chris tapped the table top with the barrel of the gun, reminding the two men of his presence.

Fogg smiled slightly, picking up his glass again.

Ezra watched him for another breath, re-evaluating his threat, before his eyes shifted to the gunman.

Chris tilted his head to one side. "So... which is it?" he wanted to know.

The gambler kept his eyes on Chris, worried about what the Brit would see in him if he glanced in that direction. "I... was informed that the papers of subject would be the card needed to sit at Lord Fogg's table. He had turned down so many offers that he had peeked my curiosity. A gambler does not often come into my casino and not play."

"Your casino?" Josiah spoke up for the first time from his spot in the corner behind the prisoner. "The River Lady?" He stepped around to face Ezra. "You run The River Lady?" he repeated.

Fogg's eyes narrowed as he straightened up in his seat. "Count Gregory runs The River Lady." he said softly, not understanding what the big man was getting at. Like Ezra, he didn't like questions he, himself, did not have the answers to.

"The Count `owns' The River Lady." Ezra glanced at the Brit. "I run The River Lady." he finished.

Chris glanced from gambler to gambler, then to his man. "Your point, Josiah?" he prodded.

Josiah was frowning. "Hermes." he said simply.

Ezra's eyes snapped to the man. They widen slightly in surprise. "Mercury." he answered

"I'll be damned." Josiah cursed.

"Of no fault of my own!" Ezra responded. He held his hands up.

Josiah pulled a knife from his belt sheath and cut the ropes that had bound the prisoner's hands.

"Excuse me?" Fogg set his glass down again, more than a little disturbed at this change of events. "An explanation please?"

" Shit, please!" Chris growled, slowly rising to his feet. "What the hell are you doin', Josiah?"

"Ever heard of Mercury?" Josiah asked.

Fogg shrugged. "Messenger of the gods. Greek mythology."

Chris ground his teeth, damning himself for not seeing it. "Mercury! During the war we were getting intelligence about outside influences from a double agent called Mercury. Everything the British, Germans, Russians, and everyone else sent to the South..."

Fogg was understanding now. "It was Count Gregory who made the connections. For someone to be able to get that information to the North, he would of needed to be on the inside of Count Gregory's operation." He stared at the gambler. "You are on the inside?"

Ezra glared at him. "Do you have any idea what jeopardy you are putting my position in?" he demanded. "If I do not return with this vessel and present it to the Count, I will no longer be on the inside!"

This Lord Fogg did not like. Rising to his feet, he let everyone know "I will not allow that evil ... damnation to lay hands on this dirigible!"

"I don't give a damn about this balloon!" Chris snapped. "I want my man back. And I want to sink the bastard who took him! Make sure he doesn't mess with us again." He shoved a finger at the gambler. "Gregory or someone has to come and get this thing, right? Who? When? Where? How?"

Ezra glared at him.

Josiah laid a hand on the gambler's shoulder. "Fact is, brother, there's no cover left to protect. Either come out now, or go down with the bad guys."

Ezra sighed. "Have you heard of the Prometheus?"

~~~~~

Maude Standish paced across her son's posh office, wringing her hands nervously. "Damn it, Ezra. Where are you?" she mumbled to herself.

What should of taken him only a few hours was now moving into its second day. second day without one little word from Ezra.

She had taught him better than this. He knew what a deadline meant. He knew what a job from the Count meant. He knew what was riding on keeping their employer pleased.

So, where was he? And where was the Aurora?

There was a frantic knock on the door.

Maude spun about. "Ezra?" she called hopefully.

But it was a little casino girl who stepped in. "Ma'am, ya've gotta come an' see." she said excitedly.

Maude sighed with frustration. With a wave of her hand, she turned away. "Go away."

"But, ma'am, ya've gotta come an' see!" she repeated more urgently.

"What is it?"

"Ah don't know, ma'am. but it's big! Like a whole big boat."

Maude glanced at her with a frown. "We are on a river, dear. What do you expect to see?"

"Yes, ma'am." the girl nodded... then shook her head. "But in the sky?"

The lady Standish stiffened. "Count Gregory." she gasped. Her hands flew to her face, almost as if to hide her. But she knew there was no place to hide. All she could do now was buy time. And hope and pray that Ezra would be back before the Count demanded his prize.

"Missy, get the girls together. I want them in their finest. And call Abigale to my rooms. And Duchess too. And hurry, Missy." She quickly ordered, ushering the girl out before her. Then she turned and raced up the back stairs to her suite.

Her ladies in waiting were already there, hurrying to lay out her gown and jewelry.

"Hurry, now, girls. We want to look our best." the casino mistress encouraged, holding out her arms so the girls could undress her.

"Be careful with that, you stupid whore!" Maude snapped when one them dropped one of her silk slippers.

The girl was too occupied with what was outside the window to give her mistress much attention.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" The lady Standish stomped over to her. "What can possibly be so important..." She stopped, her eyes going big. "That is not the Prometheus." she whispered.

~~~~~

J.D. absently tapped his pencil on the edge of the glass beaker sitting before him on the work table. He had been working on something, something he had always want to try and build. Something that had earned him nothing but ridicule back at the university.

He had almost laughed when General Coal's answer to his hesitant request to attempt the experiment was a shrug and "Give me a list of what you need. You will be supplied." J.D. had been thrilled with the realization that he could chase after any and every little idea that had ever crowded his over imangitive head.

So, here he sat, tapping the beaker, everything he had ever wanted laid about his, HIS, workshop... doing nothing.

Buck Wimlington.

J.D. could still hear his cries.

"Damn." Dropping the pencil into the beaker, he rubbed his eyes.

Buck had seemed like an old friend, talking easily to him despite his own circumstances. J.D. just couldn't imagine that man as the enemy.

But General Coal told him that he was. And the General had been nothing but generous to him, giving him everything he had ever wanted.

But was generous also honest? Right?

That woman was torturing Buck.

That woman!

J.D.'s back still ached from the bruises, the result of `that woman' slamming him against the cell bars. He could still feel her iron grip and razor sharp finger nails. And, worse, he could feel those eyes burning into him like a pair of white hot coals.

That was no woman. Hell, he doubted she was even human! She was a monster.

And, for whatever reason the General gave, `she' was wrong!

J.D. shook his head. How could `good' guys be part of such a monster? Part of such evil? Part of torturing Buck Wilmington?

They can't! It was wrong! It was just simply, absolutely wrong!

J.D. lurched to his feet with such force, he threw his chair back, crashing to the floor. Damn it, he had to do something about it. General Coal was a good man. He would listen to him. He would stop that woman. He'd have to. If he really was the good guy...

~~~~~

Buck flinched when he heard the footsteps. He should of known. It had been a whole ten minutes since someone had done something agonizing to him.

"Captain Buck Wilmington." a deep, strong voice sounded.

Buck smiled slightly. This wasn't who he had expected. He mustered what strength he had to speak, though it wasn't enough to keep his voice from shaking, "General Coal." He raised his head just enough to see the man.

Coal blinked his one good eye. "It's Larabee, isn't it?" he asked. "Larabee is heading up your team."

Buck chuckled, wincing at the movement of his body. "Larabee retired, Coal. You made sure of that."

But the General just smiled. "He retired after the passing of his family, then? But you are family."

"Passing?!" Buck spat. "You murdered a helpless woman and her child!"

Coal sighed. "War claims all sorts of victims." he answered. "You are the only resemblance of family Larabee has left. He will be coming after you. Does he know about me?"

Buck chuckled again. "Why? Afraid?"

General Coal stiffened. "It doesn't matter if he knows about me. I know about him." He nodded. "Larabee is coming. And I will be waiting for him."

Buck smiled. "Well, at least he won't have to look for you to kill you."

The General looked at the prisoner a moment longer, before turning away.

But Buck stopped him, calling out "My turn."

General Coal glanced back, then turned to eye him. His one hard, gray eye judged the danger that the prisoner might pose. But, considering that Lady Margurita's toys rarely lived, much less escaped, what threat could he be?

Dismissing his concern with a wave of his hand, the General said "Ask what you may."

"That boy... J.D.? What is he to you?" Buck wanted to know.

Coal tilted his head to one side, his single eye narrowing. "A tool." was his short, simple answer.

"A tool?" Buck repeated, shocked and disgusted that `that' child was considered nothing more than the means to an end. "Where's his family? His parents?

The General shrugged. "The boy has no one. No one wanted him. No one was smart enough to see his potential." He smiled, a genuine and excited expression. "He is brilliant, Captain Wilmington. His imagination, exploited to its greatest extent, will bring present day stupidity, so-called progress, to its knees. And then, with that he dreams up, we will bring forth the future... and hold it!" The last was said as his hand snatched at the air as if snatching that future right then and right there.

Buck's eyes narrowed. "Does he know that?"

Coal chuckled. "As most imaginations are, his is fed by his innocence."

"How long do you think that'll last when he sees one of his dreams blowing apart the United States government?"

"Who said he'll see it?" Coal challenged.

Buck chuckled. "You're a fool, Coal."

"Am I, Captain? What that boy has already drawn up will keep us in this battle a hell of a long time, if not win it right out." The General shrugged. "I am the fool? My hand is set. Whether John Dunne lives or die from this time on, my hand is set." He smirked at the prisoner. "You, on the other hand... May the Lady Margarita be merciful... though I doubt she will. Not in her nature." He turned and walked away.

"And I though that old buzzard would never leave." Margarita stepped out of the shadows. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong... did he just say it didn't matter if his little baby boy dies?" her beautiful face turned ugly with an evil grin. She, too, turned, and started for the exit.

"Hey!" Buck called after. "Don't! Leave him alone!" he yelled, but his only answer was her laughter which was cut short by the steel clang of the door being swung shut.

~~~~~