A/N-Thanks readers and HD-I keep getting the comment about reviewers. Maybe I started off too slow, or my summary sucks, don't know. Just disappointing, it puts me in my Dark Place. You don't want to know! There are three more chaps till the end of Sorcerer.

Coming soon will be Sorcerer Part 2- tentatively titled "The Shell Game". A handsome Pinketan detective, a gang of American crooks, and Erik trying to tell Emily of his past. Also working on two short fics, one about how Javier joins Erik- "The Golden Lotus", and one from Agnes, "Lightning in a Jar". Please drop me a comment if you have suggestions!

For those of you who have not been to Europe, a 'WC' or Water Closet is a bathroom.

Chapter Eighteen: Brandy and a Hat Pin

Emily heard the church bells start to chime six o'clock. She wondered how long it would be before anyone started to worry about her. Livy and Perrine both worked at one of the mills, they would be home now. Sitting here with Trahan staring at her like a dog with a treed squirrel was going to drive her to distraction. "So," she said, "how do you like Rouen?"

He seemed momentarily confused, but began talking. The longer he rambled on the more she regretted asking the question. He seemed to never run out of things to add to his tale. Another picture flitted through her mind, using to hat pin to kill herself in despair of being bored to death. Or maybe tearing strips of the sheet below her and dangling them out the window like Rupenzel's hair to climb down, or maybe just choking him till he stopped talking.

He finally came to a subject that she had interest in, photography. "Have you taken photographs?" she asked.

"No, but when a man came to the school to take our picture…" he started in again. Her plan changed to getting drunk on the Brandy then killing herself with the hat pin. She had been stupid enough to ask.

She heard a clock chime seven o'clock. She interrupted him, "Sorry, but is there a place lady could use a water closet?" It had been hours, and she needed to find a place to relieve herself.

He looked momentarily panicked, as if she would burst. "Ah, no Madame, that is why we wanted to move you from the boat." He turned on the stool and half got up, "We could go to the tavern, but you must promise not to try to get away." He warned.

"Oh, I'd never do that," she assured him. She'd never promise anything as stupid as that, she thought, hoping he couldn't tell that she was lying.

He got up and looked out the window. "There aren't many people to see us, but you must promise to do as I tell you." He instructed. "If Madame promises to take my hand, and not cause any trouble, I will get you there." He turned to cast a glance at her, "Please, Madame. Don't try anything. They would kill me if anything happened to you."

"They?" she asked. Well, it could be Giles and Blaise. Maybe Blaise found out and wasn't happy with her promise to Giles. Then again, it could be anyone that they might have paid.

He bobbed his head, and offered his hand. She slid her hand into his and waited until he turned back towards the door, and came even with the bag on the cupboard. She had transferred the hat pin to her left hand, primed; she stabbed down into the soft part of his hand between the thumb and fingers. He yelped and let her hand go to withdraw the pin. As he focused on the pin, she grabbed the top of the brandy bottle from the bag and swung it in a vicious arc towards his head.

Time seemed to slow; he looked toward the approaching bottle and yanked his head back only to have it collide with the door. Emily felt her hand jar to a stop. In the doorway stood De La Shaumette in the disguise he wore when she had seen him at night, one hand holding open the door, the other had stopped the bottle in mid air.

Emily did not recognize the man before her. His mouth set in a grim line, his one uncovered eye was as dark as a storm tossed sea. There was no trace of recognition, no emotion in that visage. No humanity in that face.

Instead of relief, she felt dread. The tension in his body made her take a step backward, slowly, allowing the bottle to slip out of her fingers. With a motion to quick for her eye to follow he flung it onto the bunk. He took one slow step forward, slamming the door behind him. The sudden explosive force of his strength sending the door backwards should have ripped it off its hinges. Thunderation, she thought, she had now poked the dragon, and was in dire peril of seeing its teeth.

"Trahan," he growled, "what were you doing?" Erik held Emily's eyes with his, willing her to not speak and reveal she knew who he really was.

"We were going to go to the tavern," he started. "She said she had to…to go."

She felt entranced by his eyes, he started walking forward. Emily felt unsure of what to do. Was he kidnapping her himself? Or was he doing it for someone else. She stepped back again until she felt her legs touch the bunk. Trahan had scrambled to his feet and was backing up as well.

Erik took another step towards her and grasped her arm. He dragged her inexorably toward him, "I'll take care of it," he said.

"Martin," Trahan warned, stepping forward to intercede, "she is not to be harmed."

Erik was satisfied that although Alain Trahan might be a bumbling dolt, he was doing his best to try to protect Emily. That might be the one thing that would be to his credit in this whole affair. He looked from Emily to the boy. "I'll take her to the other boat. Be at the warehouse tomorrow, Trahan." He tugged on Emily's arm and maneuvered her towards the door.

"Do as he says," Trahan warned Emily. She glimpsed the fear on the young man's face and felt her unease go up a notch. Obviously Monsieur 'Martin' had quite the reputation.

He dragged her out the cabin door and to the edge of the dock; stepping over to it he lifted her off of the boat and onto the dock dropping her unceremoniously. His hand wrapped around her arm, Emily had to take two steps to his every one as he strode purposefully towards the waiting carriage. He brought her to a stop as he jerked open the carriage's door, "Don't try anything," he bent to growl in her ear, his warm breath moving on her neck.

"You're safe, I don't have any more hat pins," she spat back. Why had she said that? Surely he would only get angrier. Everyone had warned her of De La Shaumette's temper. Maybe the elegantly dressed gentleman was an act, and this coarse man was how he really was.

She felt the carriage rock as her climbed up to the driver's seat. As the carriage moved along the waterfront Emily watched to see if there were any streets she could recognize. They turned, going to the North side of the river.

It finally stopped and a moment later he opened the door. He offered her a hand down. Emily saw what looked to be two boats nestled in an inlet along the river. Along the street she glimpsed the warehouses with larger doors for access to load cargo on wagons, and occasional smaller doors for men. Their endless expanse of brick walls relieved at the top by a small row of windows under the roof that allowed light into the buildings.

Erik led her to the cabin of the Erebus. "We moved the boat here today," he told her, "you will be here for the night." He unlocked the door and entered, striking a light to one of the lanterns inside.

Emily looked about the cabin. This boat was a little larger and had been arranged differently. It was similar at the entrance with the line of cupboards to the left side, but also had a table attached to the opposite side with a pair of stools. A machine sat on a stand beyond the table, and farther back was a small bench and a corner stove for heat. A door opened in a partition to the back of the boat.

Erik turned to her, "There on the table is some food. I have wine aboard and water to make coffee with." He gestured towards to partition, "Beyond that is the bunk room. The water closet is there as well."

His voice was back to its normal tone, maybe he had cooled off a little during the trip over.

Emily walked back to the partition. On one of the single bunks, she dropped her handbag. Someone had stacked a pair of towels on the bunk, and inside a small door were a wash stand and a toilet. She took the time to use the facility and give her face and hands a rinse. It was nearly July, with the days warmer, it felt good to wash her face and neck. As the cabin was warm, she took off her stockings.

Erik opened the windows over the cupboards and uncorked the bottle of wine. Emily came back, she had taken her hair down partially, it trailed onto her shoulder. He offered her wine in a tin cup.

"Is every boat different inside?" she asked. She took the wine and went to sit at the table.

"Yes," he replied joining her at the table, he pulled the stool out and sat with his back against the wall. "They all have two decks. Most of the space is for cargo, but some like this one have living accommodations." He sat with the dark patch away from her. She had only seen him like this in the dark. She would be capable of seeing the discolored skin, the uneven surface of the material and the bare patches in his scalp that the material didn't cover. Another one of her 'cats out of the bag' he thought. It was inevitable now that circumstances had stepped in to change their relationship.

"Does anyone live here now?" she asked.

"No. I use the boat for travel sometimes. It still hauls cargo when I am not using it." He indicated the plates on the table, "Choose what you like."

Emily started removing the cloth covers from the plates. There was some bread with a small crock of butter on one, another held cold slices of meat, the third held a block of cheese and some vegetables sliced up. She started to butter a piece of the bread, holding the knife up with the butter, "Aren't you afraid I'll do some damage with the butter knife?"

He looked momentarily like he had taken a bite of something distasteful. "I do not understand your propensity towards violence, is America still so savage?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "No, it's just that I don't usually get abducted as a daily routine."

"Madame, I have told you before, it is for me to take care of things of this nature not you."

"Why?" she asked around a bite of cheese.

"Why?" Momentarily bewildered he responded, "Because the man is to take care of the woman. Do they not do it this way in America?"

"Yes, they do."

"Then it is my position to make sure that nothing will happen to you." She started to speak but he interrupted, "And I expect that if something were to happen, there will be no more incidence of attacking men with bottles and hat pins!"

She took a sip of wine, "Listen, I appreciate the efforts you are making, but a woman has to defend herself."

"I absolutely forbid it," his voice grew louder, "you will only anger a man and the situation will be worse for you."

She thought for a moment, "So, I should do nothing at all."

"Correct." He was satisfied that she was going to obey his instructions.

In a quiet voice she added, "Even if someone were to try to force me.."

Emily watched the emotion drain from his face. His eye pierced her, his hand resting near his wine flexed into a fist. He took a breath as if to speak but stopped.

At his worst moments, the hell of despair and the endless emptiness of loneliness, when he could be an animal more than a man, he would never resort to forcing a woman. He could not understand how any man would do such a thing. God had fashioned them petite and weaker for a reason. To use the superior strength of his body to take a woman against her desires would be an act that made him feel sick to even contemplate.

"Emily," his voice was strangely broken, "I would kill anyone who did that to you." He sat looking at her, wishing he could make her understand she was something precious. A woman who treated him like any other man, not the ugly creature other people saw.

For a moment Emily felt he would do as he had said. Her gut feeling was that what he was telling her was more than just an impassioned response. That he would be able to kill someone. She remembered his words in the study, about the man he was when she saw him thus, 'accustomed to the violence,' he had said. Had he left that behind to elevate himself to Monsieur De La Shaumette? She wanted to change the subject, this was almost painful. "Alain called you 'Martin', was that your name?"

"That is the name I was called." He had other names, but none he would tell her.

She smiled briefly. "Are you going to tell me what today's little adventure has been about?"

"When I originally sent Javier back to Jumieges to raise the boat, we hoped to be able to find out why it started to sink. Going over the cargo he found two crates that were not on the manifest. It appeared that they had been pushed to the back of the hold, near to the damaged spot. As Phillipe traced who had had access to the boat that day, Trahan's name came up." He stopped to refill their wine. "You must understand that most of the men will add to their income by doing a little transporting on the side."

"What about the customs between the other countries and France?"

"Some of the officers will take bribes. It is their way of adding to their pockets a part of what will be paid for the contraband. And, at times they are just too busy to check every area of the boats. As long as things are kept low key, people will turn a blind eye to it."

He took a piece of cheese and continued, "When the attack happened in Paris, we had two additional clues; the doctor bill with the initials and the crew members that were all in that area that night. Phillipe traced the crew, finding Trahan again, and Javier brought me the bill that had been initialed for payment by Giles Charbonneau. Giles, as you know, works for Denis Chalin who Dugast and I use as our lawyer. It followed that Giles would know the boat schedule, and he was our note writer."

Emily sat resting her chin in one hand, listening to the entire story unfolded. "This is better than the plots in one of those Penney Dreadful novels," she said.

He looked at her curiously, "What is a 'dred-fel'?"

"Um, it's like the story in the paper that Phillipe and I are reading. They are usually mysteries and are printed every week. They print them in a small book, so the cost is cheap so that everyone will buy them."

"Like the story with your Sir Henry?" he asked in a sardonic voice.

She giggled. "Yes, my Sir Henry." She reached down to take off her shoes. It was funny how he would remember something like that. But listening to him recount all of the clues he had found only exemplified how he wove the little strings he had followed into this elaborate tapestry. "So how does Trahan connect to Giles Charbonneau?"

"I found information that Trahan was moving contraband at that point. He must have been hired by Charbonneau before he was fully employed by De La Shaumette. Now, the connection that I had to wait to find was who had been to Paris to see him, and have the power to promise the bill would be paid, bringing it to Charbonneau."

"And that would be Blaise Gaultier? Because of his father's name they would allow him to make good on the doctor's bill?"

"Exactly. It was only after you had challenged Giles Charbonneau about the note, and he confessed that it was for the sister's benefit that we were sure that Blaise Gaultier was involved." Outside the church bells struck, echoing across the river. Erik got up and put the cork back into the bottle. "It is late, Madame. You should go to sleep. There will be time to finish the tale tomorrow."

Emily got up from the table, retrieving her shoes. "Are you going to come back tomorrow?"

He shook his head, "I am staying." He gestured towards the deck floor, "I've slept in worse places."

She looked askance at him, "Are you sure?"

His only reply was to stand looking at her. Emily shook her head, "You are one stubborn man."

"Thank you, Madame," he said gravely.

"That isn't necessarily a compliment, Monsieur Martin."

"Erik." He wanted to hear her say his name. It seemed absurdly important after the kiss on the stair. He wanted to be able to close his eyes and hear her voice saying his name.

"Erik?" He was looking at her again, the way he had not long ago the night she had gone out for the cat. The intense almost fierce look a man has when he is about to approach a woman. She smiled shyly, "Monsieur, you make me blush." And she did.

It was all that he needed. His hands reached to frame her face gently; he closed the distance between them slowly gauging her acceptance of his touch, and brought his lips down to hers.