Three long days later and the HMS Godspeed had taken them home. The ship sailed swiftly up the ghostly Thames. In all his life in London, James hadn't been witness to such fog. He stood at the rail looking out over the side of the Godspeed at all of the wet white that seemed to pour up off the water. It swirled in the air around them. Phantom wisps licked his cheeks and he shivered.

Despite the weather, His Majesty's Ship's return appearance had seemingly attracted all London's townsfolk, for James saw scores of shadows, some waving white kerchiefs, through the fog that rolled up over the riverbanks. It was a good sort of welcoming home, but he could not bring himself to enjoy it. As the Godspeed finally pulled into the harbor, he frowned down at the Seal of Honour winking up at him despite the absence of sunlight.

"You take care of that, now."

James jumped at the unexpected sound of Captain Jensen's voice so closeby. Had he been paying attention he may have heard the man's slow, steady approach. Had he not been so distracted, he may have greeted the man as he knew he should and not with the unsatisfactory gasp he heard himself take.

Jensen did not seem to notice. Eyes the colour of ice gazed out o'er the rail at the ghostly dockyards. "It truly is the mark of your brother's Honour that you wear." A ghost of a smile flickered in the man's eyes and then his gaze switched sideways to pierce James. "You should honour it well."

"I—I will sir."

Whether or not Jensen was convinced, he gave a quick nod and turned back out to watch the docksmen scramble to ready a berth for the Godspeed. "It is unusual for me to remark upon one of my fallen men, young James, but I feel it is a diservice to your brother if I do not tell you that he was very and truly one of my best. I am sorry to have failed him."

"Jensen!"

It was the Admiral's bark and both James and the captain flinched and turned to watch the towering, glowering man stride through the crowded deck to meet them. His sharp eyes picked between them and then stuck on Jensen. Though James was glad he was not on the receiving end of such a glare, he gulped hard.

"You know better than that, Jensen," said Admiral Sutton. "When a man falls, it is only he that fails himself—and his superiors."

The Captain's pale eyes went cold as they met the Admiral's dark stare. Jensen's chin jerked aside but his gaze did not falter. His jaw twitched as if he meant to speak, but he did not.

"I shan't hear such blasphemy from your mouth again, Captain." The Admiral's mouth pulled down in a line, his mustache with it. "Perhaps it would be prudent," he said, "to see to your ship and your men." A pointing finger indicated a group of redcoats making a game of crossing muskets whilst another lazed about watching the midshipmen secure lines. "It seems when they are left to their own devices, they have nothing better to do than disgrace you. James." His glare switched. "Come along."

If James thought he had a choice in the matter, he might have not followed the man's order. As it was, however, James did not have much a choice. Admiral Sutton was his way home and so, with a rueful glance at the retreating figure of Captain Jensen, James followed.

"Susan!" The Admiral had bellowed his daughter's name at the top of his lungs. Several sailors leapt to attention, and Patrick Pickwick was so startled that he nearly upended a frowning Missus Witter's traveling trunk. Percy and Jonathan Starling looked much amused by all of the fuss, but both paled considerably when they came under Sutton's imperious glare. James imagined that it was fortunate for the both of them that the man's daughter chose that moment to bound into view—atop Hollings' shoulders. "There you are. And in fine form, I see. Tell me, what have I told you of nonsense?"

Susan, who stepped easily off of an apologetic Hollings, looked up at her father with the sweetest of smiles but her dark eyes were spitting fire at the man. "You have told me," she said, "that it will not be tolerated."

"And so you shall keep that in mind this week when you are polishing the chamberpots," Sutton told her. He motioned to his uniformed attendant and the straight-faced man stepped forward to lift both traveling trunks from the deck. With a curt nod at the Pilot Major Starling, whose lips had drawn together in a tight smile, he grabbed Susan's hand and jerked her into a trot beside him. "Come along."

James risked a wary glance at a sorry Percy before he hoisted his pack o'er his shoulder and followed the Suttons down over the gangplank. There was some ceremony involved in the Admiral's disembarking of the ship but James paid it no mind. In truth he was wondering if Sutton would truly force such a foul punishment on his only daughter, and he was wishing he'd had the chance to utter a proper goodbye to Captain Jensen when he was yanked without ceremony into the carriage by a cruel hand.

Startled, James suddenly found himself shoved beside the Admiral and staring across the carriage into the haughty face of Charles VonCoch II. Any hope he may have had for an easy ride home left him. He watched, dismayed, as Hawk VonCoch stepped up into the cab and sat beside his sneering son with an equivocal look upon his face.

"Quite the lax command on that Godspeed, Sutton."

"Captain Jensen is not usually so…"

"Incompetent?"

Admiral Sutton's mustache twitched. "I assure you, Charles, that Captain Jensen is one of the King's finest. What's suffering him to be so out of step is his morale, or lack thereof." His dark eyes gleamed as he drew a thin, folded parchment from his coat and held it out to Hawk VonCoch. "Norrington's death put him at a bad place, I presume."

"Well." VonCoch snatched the offering and raised a bushy brow. "As you and I both know, and surely Jensen should, that Norrington lout was not exactly the pride of the Royal Navy. More a thorn in the side, by my ear."

Anger flared hot in James chest. Wanting nothing more than to leap across the carriage and lay punches to Hawk VonCoch's beak but unable to do so, he gripped his knees. A golden glint drew his gaze down to the Seal of Honour so heavy on his chest.

"And yet," sneered Charles the younger, "they've given him such tribute."

James needn't look to know the boy was staring at the medal on his chest. He bit his lip and turned to gaze out the window. Not for the first time, he wished to be somewhere other than where he was. Though Susan shot forward to tell Charles all she knew about how good a seaman his brother was, James could not bring himself to listen. For a time he stared steadfastly out the window, but as they bumped along the cobblestone he began to feel slightly ill and so closed his eyes tight against the familiar, shaking scenery…

"Brian Douglas, you wretch, get in here!"

The tall, uniformed Navyman let loose a laugh and ducked his head back in the carriage door. A wolfish grin lit his face as he settled into his seat across from his horrified mother. James looked between them, unable to supress the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Is it not enough going off to sea on those deathtrap ships? Must you also worry me for your safety in this carriage?"

Their mother was chastising playfully, but there was a plaintive tone of genuine concern in her voice that bade James bite his lip and turned Brian Norrington's grin sheepish. Though there was repentance upon his face, his bright blue eyes sparkled as merrily as ever.

"Sorry, Mother," he said. "But I shall point out that this I've learned from Father."

Their Father, sitting beside James and similarly uniformed, snapped to attention at this and his blue eyes, like the boys', narrowed upon his eldest son. It was a glare that had always meant the worst sort of terrible for the either of them. There was a moment in which James thought surely Brian was in for it, but then their father's narrow eyes crinkled at the corners and a light laugh spilled through his broad smile.

"That he did," the man agreed. "My apologies, Mum."

"Whatever did I do to deserve a family of mischief-making men?"

James laughed with his brother and father, each of the three of them earning a shake of her coppery curls. It seemed in the next instant they were bumping up the long, winding drive that led home. Bright sunlight filtered down through the boughs of needled trees to dapple the cobblestone, and the green lawn, in gold. James watched, transfixed, as they rounded the bend and the great Norrington manor rose into view. Though he'd never known another home, the sight of it upon returns from town always impressed him. Whether it was the great grey manor itself, or that it was its familial history—the sweat and tears of his great-great grandfather having gone into the building of it—he did not know. Either way, there was no feeling comparable to that which filled his chest when home greeted him so dearly.

It was a mark of his mother's touch that a trellis rose climbed a corner of the house's tower. Her flowerboxes dressed every first story window. Pink geraniums and yellow tulips brightened the grey house to make it a home, as well did the white smoke curling out of the chimney that never failed to remind James, Brian, and their father of the fireplace they had built alongside their grandfather.

For some reason feeling quite overwhelmed, James climbed out of the carriage and as he waited for his chattering family to follow suit gazed about the grounds. There were lovely gardens that were the pride of his mother, but the gardeners had paid particular attention to the bed around the base of the great white Oak. James smiled at that tree and followed its trunk up to the wooden structure his grandfather had once built for he and Brian's father. They had since taken the fort over, and their father, who was not so much a woodworker, had struggled to string up a wooden swing under it. The swing itself was swaying in the breeze as James' instinct led him up the stone risers to the flung-open door and the staff waiting to dote upon he and his—

"Norrington!"

James blinked.

Happiness faded before his eyes as two shoes planted firmly on the riser level with his gaze came sharp into focus. Gulping back a gasp of fear, James followed both impressively long legs up to find the severe face of Admiral Sutton scowling down at him. Even the man's mustache was twisted with irritation as he bent to glare into James' face.

"Tell me, Norrington," he said harshly, "have I invited you into my house this day?"

James turned three shades of scarlet. He swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat. A fast patter of fleeing feet meant Susan had taken flight, and James heard the distinct chuckle and cackle that meant Charles and Charles were standing watch over what might be the most mortifying moment of his young life. To his abject horror, he found that his mouth had gone so dry it seemed pasted shut; he could not speak.

"I said," growled Admiral Sutton, his mustache as angry as he, "have I invited you into my house this day?"

"N—no," James managed to stammer. Only as the Admiral's eyes narrowed further did he realize he'd forgotten to proper address the man. "No sir."

"No." Sutton nodded, seemingly satisfied and stood to his full height. "I did not think so generous a deed would slip my mind so easily," he said, much to the merriment of the VonCochs behind him. His mustache lifted as he smiled mirthlessly down upon James. "Good day."

With that, the Admiral turned on his heel and marched up the steps to the waiting VonCochs. Charles the younger wore a sneer and his father looked down over the curve of his nose at James as if he, James, was but an insect to prey upon until the both of them were ushered into the manor before its master. Admiral Sutton paused in the doorway and passed a dark glance o'er his shoulder that sent James backing down the steps.

"Good day sir," he squeaked and fled as the door jerked shut. Around the manor he ran the familiar path through the tall trees, ankles trembling all the way. It was when he felt his chest tighten painfully that the ramshackle cottage came into view. Wheezing, he stumbled up the weedy path to the crooked planks of the porch and collapsed there. From inside the house rushed a quick tap of heels. A creak of the door later and James heard a horrified gasp.

"James! Allan, come quickly!"

There was a heavier set of fast paces to the porch and the sound of a clucking tongue. James, whose vision swam, saw a blur of auburn just before a set of strong arms swooped him up against a broad chest. They were moving through the house then, heavy steps followed quickly by tapping heels, and James choked a bit on the words he wanted to say. As he was set upon the sitting chair he realized that he hadn't the breath to speak.

"Don't you try talking!"

Such admonishment was met with the soft, cool hand of sympathy upon his brow. There was another cluck of a tongue and a soft sigh. James opened his eyes and blinked, relieved to see that the world had returned to its previous sharpness. He smiled weakly at the kind-faced people so worriedly set upon him.

"Ye alright there James?" Allan's deep blue eyes were wide. If he did not appear so genuinely concerned, the burly man with the auburn locks and bushy beard might have been a funny sight on bended knee. "Leastways yer breathin."

"Run, didn't you?" Eileen, perched on the arm of the chair, took James' chin in her palm and lifted it. Big hazel eyes met his. "You know you mustn't, James!"

"I know," he wheezed.

"Don't you talk!"

"Leen—"

"—Allan Douglas, don't you—"

"—he's naet gon' expire—"

"—You'll expire if you keep it up!"

All of the bickering allowed James proper time to catch his breath. He watched, somewhat amused, as Eileen huffed out of the room and presumably toward the kitchen. Allan, sighing with resolve, rose slowly to his feet and after a shake of his head followed in his wife's stead. James listened. A moment later there came to his ears the sound of more bickering and then a small scuffle and then a dull thud that was followed sharply by Allan's voice.

"That was my head!"

"Aye it was," came the scathing reply. "Where better than to knock some sense into you?"

James bit back a grin as Allan reappeared. Sore-faced, the man clomped through the room. One hand was rubbing at the back of his head as the other offered James a cup. Tendrils of steam rose from it and James lifted the cup to breathe in the sharp sting of mint as Eileen bustled into the room. It was a remedy she had concocted after several times James had had trouble catching his breath, a remedy she said had once been his mother's mother's. James was not so certain that that was true, but it had not mattered much as that the remedy helped him breathe.

"That's right, you breathe it in James," said Eileen, sitting herself on the arm of the chair again. She laid her hand lightly upon his brow and brushed a loose lock of dark hair back over his head. "Wanted to come home fast as you could, aye?" Her gaze fell upon the glint of metal upon his coat. Hazel eyes grew bright and she blinked. "Can't blame you, lad, but you know you mustn't run."

"I know."

"Was it a respectable burial they gave your brother?"

James supposed it was. He nodded, but could not bring himself to speak of it. For a number of moments they sat there in silence, he whiffing the mint fumes from the cup and Eileen watching intently. When the pain in his chest subsided, James handed her the cup and squirmed under her gaze.

"Have you any work for me?"

"Aye." Though he'd asked Eileen, it was Allan who'd answered. James' cousin stepped forward, ignoring the piercing gaze of his wife, and smiled down at James. "There's something."

Scarce moments later found James standing, tray of tea in hand, at the bottom of the rickety stairs to the attic. He trembled. The chipped china's clinking forced him to steady himself. Gulping, James put a foot forward to make his way carefully up the steps. That at the top creaked under his weight and a flash of silver zinged past his head. He gasped, nearly dropping the tray. Steadying it, he turned and gaped at the shuddering dagger that had just impaled the wooden beam behind him.

"Oh…"

The whisper shivered through James like as would a chill, but this time the tea tray did not tremble. He turned, slowly, in a circle and squinted into the shadowy recesses of the attic until a waif of a silhouette appeared. As he stepped forward, the shape of his mother, seated prim and proper upon the threadbare settee, took.

"It's only you." In the darkness even eyes dull as hers gleamed, though there was no real recognition in them. She stared blankly up at him, but her lip quirked just a bit. "Thought you were a pirate."

"No, mother," James murmured. He sat the tray upon the table before her. "Were I a pirate, I would lash my own skin."

That was not the only work Allan had in mind for James in the week that fast passed, but it was certainly the most difficult task he'd had to contend with on those seven days. Chopping wood upon the morn was rather an easy chore—he'd become accustomed to it in fact. Drawing water and peeling potatoes were two of his favorite duties, and he was happy to tackle both daily. Even was he chipper taking the long walk into the butcher, despite his lack of breath upon return. Those errands passed his days quickly and without struggle, but all of the tea times with his mother in the attic she rarely left dragged weary upon his person.

It was on a breakfast, an odd one as his mother had at the crack of dawn descended the steps from the attic and joined the rest of them at the table, after that week that a knock at the door took Allan from the table. James looked up from his half-eaten bowl of porridge in time to see the man peck a kiss to Eileen's cheek in passing. As always he felt a prickle of irritation that they had shared so sweet a sentiment in front of his lovelorn mother. A glance in her direction found her unworried, however. Of the exchange she seemed blissfully unaware and all the more delighted for the shape that the clumpy contents of her bowl had taken. She'd made a sailless ship. With as soft a sigh as possible, he turned away from her fondness for newest foodstuff sculpture. A pleasant aroma of sour sweet and spice drew his attention to the mug being pressed into his hand. Up to Eileen he looked. Above her small smile he found her kind hazel eyes.

"Come to find on the morn a bushel o' apples on the stoop," she said. "Miss Mooney left 'em. Could be she knows much as I how a press of cider does to warm a lad."

James found his fingers wrapped around the warm mug. To it he looked. A pale wisp of steam rose up to tickle his nose with the promise of mulled cider. "Thank you," he murmured. That, he found, he meant more than he had when he made to say it. Not wishing to dwell on the matter, he took a hurried sip of the stuff and was rewarded by the tart, warm taste of the Mooney's orchard's bounty bursting in his mouth.

"Welcome to it," Eileen said.

James tensed at the weight her small hand laid upon his shoulder but when she lifted it and bustled away he wished suddenly that he had the temerity to call her back. Lacking the bravery necessary for such gall, he set down the mug and took up his spoon, reasoning silently that his porridge would go cold if he did not eat it with more haste. He therefore took a sizeable bite of it.

"Sails," said his mother decisively. She flicked her spoon at the ship in her bowl. "Yes, you're right," she told it. "You shall have your sails!"

"Now Lizzie," said Allan's gentle voice, "you know what we say about playing with our food."

James swallowed hard. The sting of his eyes, he told himself, had been due to the large lump of food that he'd forced down his smarting throat. But, he thought wildly, if he did not eat his porridge quickly, it would lose its warmth and its taste. That would not do and so he shoveled another spoonful in.

"Yes," she muttered, going back to her usual demure tone, "I know, I know, I know. I know, yes I know."

The second swallow hurt worse. James winced. The third stuck and, gagging, he looked up and reached for his mug. Taking a mouthful of the cider, he saw, over the rim of the mug, that there were three others standing behind Allan in the doorway. Percy, in front of Patrick and Jonathan, looked near as pale as he himself felt. James' throat tightened and he was vaguely aware of the strangled sound it made as the cider that had been supposed to remedy the situation choked him.

"See?" Elizabeth Norrington glared daggers at Allan as she reached behind James to clap him firmly on the back. "James knows that the ship needs it sails!"

Her hard smack sent more cider splashing down his throat. James spluttered. As he hacked into his hands, he felt warmth rise into his face that had gone cold. When it was that he felt he could breathe, he took a sharp breath and closed his eyes against their stinging.

"Don't worry James," his mother said, patting his hand gently, "she shall have her sails." With that, she went to whispers. "Sails… yes, I know, I know… sails and sails and sails and…"

James wheezed.

Eileen, having missed the commotion, chose that moment to emerge from the pantry. At the sight of the boys behind her husband she brightened. "Why…" A brilliant smile lit her usually plain face. "Percy, Patrick… Jonathan! More lads to our table is it? Come, sit down," she suggested, patting the bench beside James. "I've plenty of cider to pour."

Jonathan and Patrick exchanged a look that James did not miss, but Percy had not noticed. To his friend's credit, Percy smiled just as brightly back at Eileen. "Thank you Missus Douglas. We'd fancy that."

As Allan ushered the boys in, Eileen set the mugs in their places. Two she put to James' left and one across from him—beside his mother. When Percy took that seat, James felt more than slightly relieved.

"So," said Eileen, ladling steaming cider from the kettle to Percy's mug, "what brings you, lads? Tis early on the morn to see even a one of you."

Both of the Pickwicks looked to each other to answer. Percy had already a mouthful of cider. Patrick's cheeks, too, were puffed out with the stuff.

"We're off on a hunt as it were," offered Jonathan. He tilted his head toward Percy but his gaze fell on Allan beside him. "Young Percival, here, had a mind to extend invitation to Jamesy."

Hearing this, Allan raised his brows at James.

But James did not look at him. He could not look at anyone just then. The last time that Percy had persuaded Patrick into a hunting expedition had been when Brian had been off duty and eager to teach James the mechanics of man's sport the way that their father had once taught him.

"It's a worthy trip, James," Percy blurted, sounding very much like he knew he would have to persuade him. "Old England's full of turkeys this time of year."

"Yes," mused Jonathan, "the politicians are in a sad state on this cusp of winter."

Percy ignored him, and Allan's snort of laughter, his green eyes set on James' blue. "Wouldn't you like to bring home a turkey?"

"I…" A turkey? He frowned. "I hadn't thought about that."

"Oooh," cooed Eileen, "it would be very nice to have on the table a plump pheasant."

"Turkey," Jonathan ammended.

James looked to Patrick Pickwick. His friend's older brother had been the only one who had not taken part in the strange discussion of fowl. To James' relief, he appeared just as disenchanted with it.

"Spot of sport would do any man well at weary times such as these," Patrick said.

"Right he is," Allan decided. He slapped the table with more gusto than should be allowed so early on the morn. "Ye," he said, pointing a finger at James, "are goin. So get on with your packs."

"But—"

"Please, James?"

In the end, it was the desperation in Percy's voice that convinced him not to argue with Allan's decree. With a worried glance at his mother—who'd not had one say in the entire matter—he'd scurried up the creaking stairs to gather his things. There weren't many to gather. It was not long before he was being crushed in hugs, covered with kisses—and sod it if he didn't hear Starling snickering all the while—and then confronted by his quiet mother. James realized, as his heart thumped so loudly in his ears, that he was afraid she would not even so much as acknowledge his departure. Vast relief swept him when she set down her spoon to look at him.

"Don't you go getting yourself eaten by a goose, now."

James did not answer—for he had none for such a demand—but hugged her nonetheless. It was an odd gesture in that she did not return it. Perhaps, he thought as he followed Percy out through the hall, the hunting trip would be a rather welcome departure from the task he had come to dread.

They were only just out the creaky door when James stopped in his tracks.

Waiting, tethered to trees and shivering quietly against the crisp grey morning, were two saddled horses. Both were black and, by the look of them, thoroughbreds straight from the Starlings' stables. Indeed, James noted the Starling emblem—a compass rose with a north 'starling'—toiled dark upon the fine saddles.

"We're riding?"

"Cross town," said Jonathan. He made quick work of untethering the beasts despite the escalating argument behind him as regards to which Pickwick would mount their horse first. Only one brow quirked in the brothers' direction as he tossed the reins to Patrick. "Carriage is waiting. Which means," he shouted, finally turning on his heel to glare at the Pickwicks, "we haven't all day to dilly dally!"

Both brothers pointed accusingly at the other. Upon realizing this, they blushed brightly and dropped their hands. Patrick grabbed hold of Percy and hoisted him, kicking and shouting, up onto the horse and followed quickly with the reins in hand.

Jonathan and James managed the feat without as much fuss, James accepting a hand up first and Jonathan swinging a leg over behind him. With a sharp glance at their company, Jonathan pushed his heels ever so slightly into the flanks of his horse. It set off at a trot through the weeds.

As they emerged from the trees, there was a squeal of glee and it was not long before a rosy-cheeked Susan Sutton skipped alongside the horses. It seemed, James thought, that she was trying to pet the beasts' rumps. He heard Jonathan's tsk behind him but felt the cartographer give a tug of the reins nonetheless. The Pickwicks' horse ambled to a stop ahead of them and both brothers seemed to think that the reason for their stopping was cause enough for the both of them to squabble a bit more.

"Come around the side," Jonathan said. "Lest you'd like a swift kick to the—"

"Oh, they are so lovely!"

This happy exclamation was accompanied by a soft sigh. Susan pet the horse's flank and when the beast gave a delighted whinny she turned shining eyes up at the both of them. James exchanged glances with Jonathan then raised his brows at the girl fawning over the horse.

"Has this one a name?"

"This one," said Jonathan, pointing down at the horse he and James were astride, "is Altair. And that one," he said, flicking a finger at the horse the Pickwicks sat upon, "is Delano."

Susan smiled wistfully. "I do wish my father would allow me a chance at riding lessons."

"Did he really have you polish the chamberpots?"

James wished he'd bit his own tongue in half before he'd had the chance to ask such a question. He felt his face flare up. It must, he thought, be red as Susan's cheeks.

"Yes," she said with a defiant gleam in her eye. "Of course he did. Father thinks me wicked and so—"

As if on cue, there came to them a great shout followed by the loud crack of gunfire that made James jump and set Delano, ahead, into a fright. The horse reared on its hind legs and took off, both Pickwicks shouting an asundrious variety of obscenities. Altair snorted but did not make a move to follow. Jonathan sounded as lessly intimidated as his horse, but James paled upon seeing Admiral Sutton striding in their direction.

"Susan Sutton, you bedeviled child—"

"Is he always so genial upon the morn?"

"You've no idea," Susan answered Jonathan. She smiled at he and James. "Thanks much for stopping!"

As her father neared, Susan's eyes widened. The Admiral reached for her but grasped thin air, for she was too quick. Squealing, she dashed around the horse. Jonathan snickered as her father gave chase. Admiral Sutton was nearing the beast's backside when Starling's lip curled in a way that meant he was up to no good. Dread excitement coursed through James as he saw two nimble fingers reach for the horse's hide.

Starling pinched.

Altair kicked and the Admiral's howl of pain sent the horse after a disappearing Delano. Jonathan, laughing outright, struck his ankles in the horse's flanks as James' wide eyes watched the Admiral hop about on one foot. A whip of the reins startled James forward and he grabbed onto the saddle's grip before him.

"Ya!"

"Starling," ventured James with a glance back at the yowling man, "do you think he will have broken something?"

Jonathan flashed his pearly whites. "Do you much care?"

"Only…" James felt his ears turn pinker than the cold made them and turned forward again. "I don't wish his anger to come upon Miss Susan."

"Lad," said Jonathan, whipping the reins again, "I wouldn't worry about that..." As they neared Delano he tugged the reins a bit and chuckled. "Don't think the Admiral's going to be catching hold of Miss Susan anytime soon, what with his new… handicap… and all."

Then they were racing beside the Pickwicks, who'd both settled their score in favor of enjoying the breakneck race down the bumpy drive. Percy caught James' eye and the both of them grinned. It was not long before they were streaking down the waking streets through the town and it took less time than James could have thought to cross it. The ride almost seemed too short as Jonathan tugged the reins to put Altair at a gallop. Both horses circled around the waiting carriage at a trot and before he knew it, James was stepping down onto the street.

Pilot Major Starling drew back the carriage drapes with an exasperated sigh. There was little resemblence between them—Jonathan's fancy face reflected more his mother—but matched they were, father and son, at exuberant hand gestures. The Pilot Major shook a fist at Jonathan.

"Late again!"

Jonathan winced, his own hands flying up in defense. "Sorry!"

Jonathan's father shook his head, snapped the drape back, and stepped out of the carriage to take both horses by the reins. He was not a tall man, but he made up for stature by his stern expression. "You're to be on your best behaviour, as you know. Exemplary, in fact." He handed off Delano's reins to his attendant, but his dark eyes were fixed steady upon his smirking son. "Tirwitter deserves the utmost respect, as does its keeper."

He gave them no choice to refute as he nodded all four of them—Percy, Patrick, Jonathan, and James—into the carriage. They piled in, James and Percy to the front seat and their older counterparts to the back. Soon as they and their things were settled about Starling's too many trunks and satchels, the carriage took off and sent the lot of them into a heap of limbs. Jonathan detangled himself first, scrambled upon the seat, and wrenched the drapes apart to grin out the back window at the Pilot Major and his attendant.

"Au revoir," he crowed, cupping his hands around his mouth so that his shout carried. "Next time you see us, we shall be toting turkeys!"

"Aye," Patrick panted, hauling himself up beside Starling. "With any luck."

James accepted a hand up from a helpful Percy and lifted his pack gingerly from the gaggle of luggage that was mostly Starling's. He frowned down at the mess at their feet, wondering what contraptions the cartographer had toted along and if any would be at all useful to their hunt. Of the last he'd heard tell, Starling's many instruments had not helped he and the Pickwicks catch tail of the slightest rabbit, but they had, after several days, got the three of them out of the woods. Not wanting to dwell upon the prospect of spending more than a day lost in the woods with Starling, James sat back and set to fix himself in high spirits. He was, afterall, on his way to the Great Goat's hunting grounds at Tirwitter.

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Author's Babble: Don't you hate when you upload the wrong document, and do not realize that you have done so even after you have put the author's notes on the end?! I do. I apologize. There's a good chunk here that wasn't when it was posted and I am sorry to have done this to any of you! Thanks, the lot of you. Mssparrington, I hope that where I take this pleases you. Eledhwen, you will most definitely not be eating your hat. Alteng, yes he did turn out to be a nice fellow didn't he? Lykosdracos, I too tell James not to pledge his soul despite knowing what it is we know about his future.