Disclaimer: I don't own Horatio, the characters, the books, or the TV programme.

First of all - La Sombra means "The Shadow". It is not a racist term.

Second of all. My writing style may change as I get into further chapters - this isn't particularly Hornblower-esque! Bear with me. And this was very much inspired by the Scarlet Pimpernel and"La Aguja Sangrienta" (which is amazing and also not owned by me).

Enjoy


La Sombra

One: Escape

The sea lay silent and blue in the bay beneath the whitewashed cliffs. The breakers rolled themselves onto the wet sand, leaving driftwood and other strange prizes. Woods covered most of the steep climb from the beach, thick green leaves muffling all movement along the peat path with dappled shadow. Near the peak of the cliff was a wide, flat building of white rock. A battery, its canons facing over the bay, but stilled and quiet as if baffled by the daybreak. The path led to a large wooden door, guarded by a single uniformed man, who looked sleepy in the mid-morning sun. Silent footballs noted his presence, and shadows dipped and swelled. The guard yawned hugely, leaning on his musket. A shadow stepped behind him nearby, and the bushes to the left of the pathway shivered in anticipation. The guard noticed the movement and stood alert again, tilting his rifle. The bushes made no more motion, and he decided it must have just been a small creature burrowing in the leafy undergrowth. Besides, his brain was far too addled with the Southern French sun. There was a step to his right shoulder and the muddling sun flashed on metal.

"Bonjour monsieur." Quipped a voice. The guarded turned to see a dagger plunge at his heart, silencing his cry. The body tumbled to the floor, the musket rolling away in hopelessness. The killer lifted the keys from the guard's belt and unlocked the door, tipping a pistol in readiness. No retaliation came, and the killer beckoned to the others, who emerged silently from the bushes. A small smile crept over the leader's lips as he whispered instructions. Two of the followers stood guard with pistols and cutlasses as the killer dipped a finger into one of two pouches attached to his belt and placed a black cross of soot on the dead guard's forehead. After that, he rose and led the other two companions inside.

Horatio Hornblower rested his head sadly against the cold iron bars. The others sat in the cell dejectedly, pondering on their misfortune. Every now and then, one would glance to the tall silhouette of their captain, but the dark, curly-haired head faced away from them, offering no consolation. He sighed heavily, rapping his knuckles on a bar, the blank wall ahead of him offering no comfort from the visions of the gallows that filled him. He heard footsteps the other side of the door at the end of the hallway and looked up sharply. Horatio hurried away from the bars, his men standing. They were not the footsteps of the guards – they were quick and light. Keys rattled in the lock and the door swung open. There were three men, who approached the cell quickly. All of them were dressing in black – head to foot. Black boots, black breeches, black shirts and coats, even the ribbons tying their hair were black. Two of them had ebony black hair, and their faces were painted with soot – the only colour from their eyes and mouths. But the third, who seemed to be the leader, covered his hair completely. His whole face, apart from his lips and chin, was covered by a black mask and shaded by a wide-brimmed hat – also black. He wasn't particularly tall and significantly slighter in frame than his companions. Horatio presumed he was young. The leader unlocked the cell door and Horatio prayed for his sword.

"Come." The leader beckoned. Horatio hesitated.

"Mr Hornblower, sir?" Matthews, behind him, asked.

"Quick!" The man-in-black snapped. His voice was husky and rapid. After another second of indecision, Horatio nodded shortly and followed the rescuers outside. The escaped prisoners blinked in the sunlight, startled at the appearance of two more men clad in black. Holding his finger to his lips, the leader beckoned them down the slope. The other soot-covered men spread themselves down the hill, scouting for any more guards. The leader took tem to the bay and pointed to a jagged slump of rocks. "There is a boat behind there. One of your fleet waits in the next bay, east of here. The tide is smooth – you can row." His accent was implacable. His hands were gloved, but they seemed small, and for that Horatio wouldn't place him older than seventeen

"Thank you." He said gratefully. The man's eyes fixed on his, and Horatio was taken aback. Behind the silk mask was a pair of almond-shaped eyes, with long smoky lashes. They were wide and bright and so very blue – like cornflowers or forget-me-nots. Purer than the turquoise of a tropical sea, and deeper than the light splash of sky blue. A shrill whistle blew twice from the path they had just left.

"Go." The man snapped, looking away and breaking the spell. He drew his pistol from his belt, knelt and dug an X into the sand with his fingers. Horatio made no move, whilst his men ran for the rocks. The man took a pouch from his belt and began to pour gunpowder into the cross-shaped trough. "Go!" He cried angrily, using his pistol hammer to light the powder before rising to his feet. He started towards the slope.

"Wait!" Horatio called, holding out a hand. The man paused, the gunpowder hissing and flaming at the Englishman's feet. "Who are you?" The masked man twitched a smile over his shoulder.

"They call me La Sombra." He answered, and ran. Horatio only waited a moment more. The simultaneous eruption of gunfire and Matthews shouting to him spurred him into action. He leapt into the boat and snatched an oar.

"HEAVE!" He roared.