Matters did not much improve by the next day. Determined not to let the events that had transpired belay their hunting, Jonathan Starling woke the boys early as ever. The four of them went about the same routine only to be thwarted by Wilhelm Witter who wore a most disapproving look upon his unfriendly face. In his hand rolled open a marked map at which Starling, and the rest of them, stared in disbelief.

"Not a person besides those in present company could possibly be up at this hour!"

It was so, for not even the gamesmen were up about their business. One of them lay under a heap of green coat whistling away in his sleep. Not snoring as the other two was he. The shrill sound seemed to pierce Old Tom's musings in sleep. With each whistle did the whiskers on the groundskeeper's chin shudder, his slack jaw twitching with muttering that James could not quite hear. Shaking himself from staring so rudely, James turned around in time to catch the glower upon Wilhelm Witter's face.

"Do not insult your own intelligence," he groused. "Did you not foresee the Duke's finding fault enough with the events having previously transpired to demand a change of gameplan that would set his advantage regardless of the hour he wakes?"

"A preemptive strike," Starling growled.

"Of course!"

"Let me guess," Jonathan snarled, standing tall on his heels to stare up at Lord Witter, "it was you approved it last eve?" His voice rose in volume with every spitted word. "You, who bent to that beaky bastard's will—because certainly your brother would not budge. Onry Witter would sooner bow to The Devil Himself—"

"No," groused a gruff voice, "he would not."

Icicles crept under James' skin at the harsh sound of the voice that had spoken. He turned. Trudging into the room was Onry Witter, but he was not the same gracious host they'd been welcomed by. A grumpy look he wore and James felt immediately guilty when greeted by it. Unable to meet the stony gaze, he looked to his feet.

"It was my decision to meet the Duke's demands last eve. Mine alone. Do not," he growled, "place blame upon my brother. Wilhelm has become scapegoat enough simply to keep good our name with the straightbacks. He does not deserve to be blamed for mine own actions—actions which I refuse to defend to anyone might question them!" There was an abrupt silence and then the Great Goat spoke again in a low voice that raised goosepimples on James' skin. "And do not again dare to speak the name you have. I'll not hear of that beast!"

"Beast?"

It was perhaps the worst of times for Hawk VonCoch to show up. The villain strode in, resplendent in a fur-lined hunting coat that was only to be outdone by his following son's foxfur cloak, a sneer already curling his lip. He stared down his nose at James as he passed and sniffed at Starling's snarl.

"Ah, Starling," he acknowledged with a smile. "Perhaps the beast you will not hunt this day? Pity, as we all know how much you seem to enjoy the hunt. Ironic, isn't it, that you act much less civilized than the animals you prey upon? But beastly as you are, I wouldn't expect dear Sir Witter to have referred to you as such…"

"Oh no," sniped Starling, "you're right on that account, Charles. Tell me though, knowing your own son's demeanor… are you not the least bit suspicious that he may be the very beast Captain Witter was referring to?"

"Enough," spat Onry. "Both of you must stop this for I tire of it and I will not have it in my household! Starling, you will not speak in such a manner and Charles our conversation is none your concern! As far as the hunt goes—it is only a pity that neither of you shall be hunting the grounds on this day. No, Charles," he said, seeing Hawk VonCoch's lips sputter to protest, "if none of you have the sense to act as men, none of you shall be taking part in the sport of men."

James watched, wide-eyed, as the Great Goat ripped the map from Wilhelm's hand and rent it down the middle. He tossed the halves in the air and turned his back on them all. His heavy stomping from the room interrupted the shrill whistle of the sleeping groundsman. When the door slammed shut behind Onry Witter, a sharp snort sat the startled groundsman up on his cot. Lewis blinked blearily at them, not seeming to notice that the coat that had covered him now hung upon the bridge of his long nose.

"A fine start to the day."

James wanted to laugh despite the situation they found themselves in. The stern look from Wilhelm Witter, however, held his tongue. He found himself shooed from the room with the rest of them, he and Percy stealing suspicious looks behind at the VonCochs who followed.

"Does this mean we've got to spend the entirety of the day in their company?"

"What?" Percy darkened at the prospect. "Not if I can help it. I may well sit the day in the room."

"I think not," said Starling, glancing over his shoulder. "You will take the same punishment we have all got to take, young Percival."

It was so. They had endured three silent and strained mealtimes with all of the people of the lodge present—even the groundsmen, James noticed—before Onry Witter cleared his plate and then his throat to break the silence. All looked to him, rising from his seat at the head of the table, expectantly. James looked up from his nearly untouched plate—of what he'd been told was rabbit—with some strange sense of hope to the man who had the ability to raise spirits in the bleak wake of the day.

"An announcement," he addressed the table. "On the morrow it will not be necessary for early risings. There shall be no expectations on the parts of many of you, for I have decided that this day to proceed after the eve shall be mine and mine alone to hunt Tirwitter with company of my choosing…"

Alice Witter, who'd been nothing short of a study during the mealtimes, stirred in her seat beside James. He cast his eyes toward her and was surprised to find a most pleased smile upon her usually pouting visage. Perhaps it was the pudding placed before her, the fine custard drizzled with a fair bit of syrup, but for some reason James felt that that was not so and it alarmed him to think on what the unpleasant girl could possibly be happy about. He caught Percy's narrow eye and followed it to an almost gleeful Charles VonCoch, then on to his smirking father.

"I shall send note to those of you with whom I wish to spend my day," said the Great Goat, rising from his place with his plate of pudding in hand. "Plenty of thanks for those of you who have supped with me and mine—do enjoy the custard in my absence."

James watched his abrupt departure with a bit of disappointment. He'd thought well that Onry Witter would restore some of his confidence in them after a nearly civil day, but it had perhaps not been enough to convince the man of their contrition. In truth James was not at all sorry about what had transpired, certainly not humiliating Charles VonCoch, but he was sorry it had displeased the master of the manor. As plates were cleared away he made his proper exits as he'd once been taught and followed Percy at a clip up the stairs.

"A wasted day," he opined to his friend.

"And that's the truth!"

And it was ever more disheartening when no note was sent to any of the four of them that eve. They went to sleep in silence, Starling not even so much as snoring that night. James found he could not sleep well wondering just how much they'd disappointed Onry Witter, he could not sleep well wondering how much they'd let him down, and he could not stop himself from thinking then on his brother who, despite all his mischief, would have been just as dismayed by his behavior—were he still breathing to speak such concerns.

Brian would likely have been ashamed to have such a nasty little boy for a brother, James thought sadly. He turned over onto his side and stared blankly at the wall until it turned into the scene from the previous day—grey light of winter's day and Charles VonCoch's terror stark against the dead wood of Tirwitter, a Crucifix trembling wildly in his hand…

Ghosts be gone!

I know it's you, Norrington!

James closed his eyes as if to shut out Charles' words ringing in his ears. It was not a successful attempt, however. He rolled over onto his other side but the scene was still flashing before his eyes. The screams were still slicing through him, streaming together as James felt his chest tighten in the way it would so often do.

Ghosts be gone! I know it's you, Norrington!

I know it's your ghost, Norrington, be gone!

James felt he could not breathe, not with the screams splitting his head. He jerked up off his pillow to no avail. All the corners of the scene laid before him began to fade to black…

Be gone, Norrington… it will not bring you back…

When James woke gasping for air, he found he was alone. It was to his relief, for he did not want his frailty to be of concern to them of his compatriots. It was singularly bad enough to be the one with the tragic past of family. He could not imagine the difficulty in washing their faces of pity were he also known to be the one with the tragic shortness of breath. He could not imagine how he would ever save face short of breath before their eyes…

He blinked, seeing the note that had been tacked to the bedpost. Wasting no time thinking on his weakness any longer, James reached for and ripped the parchment down. He opened it and found, to his dismay, Starling's scrawl of hand.

Jamesy, it said, stay abed.

James followed the blank space with wary eyes to the ink scribbled across the bottom.

Do not worry on it for I do believe the brothers Pickwick could sleep through a Navy blast.

Scowling for being so known by someone he knew so barely, James crumpled the note in his palm and threw it into the fireplace. It landed amongst the ashes as he fell backwards onto his pillow. He wondered just what Starling had done to ease the fit he must've had. More importantly, he wondered just what Starling had said to the Pickwicks—if not for the truth of the matter—to convince them that he, James, would be better for the day staying abed.

Likely it was something ridiculous that made him seem a worser fool than frailty would, he worried, sitting up again. Starling had the believability of a layman, but he had the sense of a loon. It was difficult to take the advice of that man, whatever his intentions were. James was beginning to fret for whatever good was left to his name when the door swung open to admit a humming Jonathan Starling into the room.

"Oh. Well then," he said, glancing at the tray he carried, "suppose I'm right on time, eh?"

"What have you told them?"

It was perhaps not the most grateful response James had ever mustered in his life, but he felt he had little other way to respond to the fears he now faced thanks to the buffoon standing before him. Still, when Starling's shoulders drooped and his cocoa-brown eyes widened as if he'd been struck across the face, James felt that familiar pang of guilt permeate his resolve. He sighed inwardly but held strong to his resentment.

"Only," Starling said, his bright mood picking up as if he'd not been sidetracked at all, "that I was waked upon your return from a late-night adventure." He nudged the door shut and crossed the space to set the tray down upon James' bed. "Apparently, you found it necessary to breach curfew and defy the convention that is 'lights out'."

James frowned, finding no fault in what story Jonathan had concocted. He eyed the lunch tray suspiciously as he'd like to eye Starling, noting its generous helping of chowder and fruit slaw. When he decided that he was acting much too unappreciative for all of this unrequested consideration, James sighed wearily.

"Thank you," he said without looking up.

"No need. I feel it's much my fault the predicament we're in, see? I owe the lot of you."

"Don't be daft," James told him, taking up his spoon. "All us had a part in it."

There was quiet for a moment and then Jonathan snorted. "Suppose you're right. But was it as worthy to the lot of you as it was worth to me, I wonder?"

"Do you jest?" James looked up at Starling, unable to keep the quirk from his mouth. "Charles VonCoch gone raving? To witness that's worth just about anything." Remembering, though, his thoughts from the previous eve, James sobered a bit. "Though perhaps it was ungentlemanly to be as mean in spirit as he."

Starling shrugged. "Eat," he said, going to the door. He paused there, raising a brow at James. "Shall I inform the others that you are yet recovering from your… exploits?"

"No," James decided, the good food giving him a burst of energy. "I will be along for company soon as I've finished."

He was, without delay. Percy seemed quite happy to see him when he made his way into the parlor he'd been told they'd taken presence in. It was somewhat strange to see Charles VonCoch sitting upon the settee, even if his lip did curl as if he'd tasted something sour upon sight of James.

"Norrington," he spat.

"VonCoch."

"That's Lord VonCoch to you!"

James stared hard at the boy who was older than him, wanting very badly to slap him soundly across the face. He did not give in to such crude desires, however, and simply gave a polite nod. "Lord VonCoch, good afternoon."

Charles nodded, apparently appeased. "Good day."

Taking this to be dismissal, James stepped quickly around him to meet Percy at the thick table between the tall bookcases. He matched his friend's look of dismay but the gameboard set upon the tabletop caught his interest.

"Chess," said Percy. "Fancy a game?"

James' fingers twitched.

Chess games had been all but tradition in his family. He remembered in detail each painted figure of his father's father's grandfather's chess set, remembered how his father had once told Brian that their great-grandfather had taught him the rules and strategies of the game—rules and strategies he'd wanted to pass on to his sons. Brian had taken to it but faltered quickly within the bounds of gameplay, his strategies running too much into the rules. James, however, had always enjoyed finding his strategy within the strictions. And he was sure, Percy being so natural a hunter, that the challenge would be worth the toil.

A few hours later found them surrounded by an audience of their friends, foes, and otherpersons unhunting at Tirwitter. Even Lewis, who had taken high offense at their antics having been the cause of his waking up in so unrefined a manner the day previous, had cast a curious eye upon their game from the confines of his wingchair by the hearth. James let his concentration wander; by his count he was three steps ahead of Percy. He was about to reach for his bishop when he realized, with a start, that it was not there.

A look at the board found that Percy had knocked aside that chess piece and two others, effectively trapping James' white Queen between two pawns and a bishop. Irritation wrinkled James' brow as he was forced to switch tack mid-strategy. It was something he was not accustomed to doing, always being a step ahead of whomever he played, and the idea that he might lose face before all those gathered to watch weighed heavy on his shoulders.

"Do you concede?"

James shot a dirty look Charles' way but spared him no response. There were many things he would do: work steps behind to appear to have not a grasp of the board, let his opponent take a pawn that would better serve him gone from play, and even sacrifice his Queen for the good of the game. But he would not, could not concede.

"What sort of man concedes?"

James imagined that Charles' response to Starling's dubious question was something of a sneer but he did not look up from the game this time. Instead, he tried to remember having watched his brother play through the move that Percy had forced on his pieces. Brian had always had a knack for getting out of the damnedest of scrapes...

...a white knight, taken...

James frowned at his knight.

...and the black castle moves forward eagerly, not thinking on its keeping the white Queen from advancement...

He looked at the board, giving no more attention to Percy's castle than he did any other piece in play. Chewing hard on his lip, he reached deftly for his knight and moved it ahead. If he'd baited Percy well enough...

Percy let out a snort and took the knight with his castle. "Just handing it to me?"

James hid a smile and took his Queen out of her garrison, much to the delight of most of the assemblage. "No."

Percy grinned and took a pawn. "Good."

The game went on for a time, Starling and Charles trading barbs here and there while Percy and James did battle. Finally, as Percy's attention was caught up in arguing with Alice Witter about his latest move, James moved in for the kill. He approached Percy's King.

"Checkmate."

"May I play winner?"

James looked up from his winning game to meet the questioning grey gaze of the girl that Percy had been telling off. He glanced down at the board and lamented the length of such a game. Strategy sometimes led into years of planning and play.

"May I appoint a worthy substitute?"

Alice pursed her lips as if she'd tasted something slightly sour. It took her a moment to take in the room's occupants and as her gaze flickered over Starling, James made his decision. He waited for her answer.

"Yes," she conceded tartly, "I do suppose that would be acceptable."

James sat back from the chessboard and raised his face to Starling. "Your turn."

"Why Jamesy, I'm honored."

"Wasn't really my choosing," James murmured as he pushed back the chair to stand up. Noting the sudden flush of the girl's pallor and remembering just how it was she displayed her displeasure, he made haste to duck behind Starling as the young gent sat himself at the table. To Percy, who had somehow fought what James guessed was a dire urge to refuse to give up his seat to the girl and who was now frowning disconcertedly at the hatred etched into the lines of Charles VonCoch's haughty face, he shrugged.

"Whoever taught a chit to play chess?"

Alice, who'd been watching the swift movement of Starling's hands as he set up the pieces, looked up at the gent with a steely glare. "My uncle, my father, your father... and the King."

"Oh," said Starling, fingers fumbling over the black bishop, "good."

Alice righted the piece and set to straightening all those that he'd given to her–she was to be white. "Yes and I have on good authority that you are quite a novel strategist Mister Starling. Perhaps I will have to remark on that to your father once it is I've called my game."

Starling sat up a bit straighter and laid his palms flat upon the table. "I think I misheard you, dove... this is to be my game, I'm sure."

"We shall see about that!"

But James, who'd caught the eye of his friend, would likely not see. Percy was nodding him towards the door and James, with a quick glance about, met him there. They slipped out into the hall, James shutting the door behind him without a sound.

"Being hemmed in is tiring," said Percy. "Let's go on and visit the stables..."

James nodded his assent and they made their way quickly through the lodge and out onto the land that was not considered the hunting grounds. Around a small pond they went, an awkward silence having settled between them, and down a pebble path that ended between two evergreens. James frowned as they found themselves approaching the wide expanse that was the pasture for the Tirwitter stablery.

"Percy..."

But though James began, he realized he did not know how he wanted to finish. He was not even sure what he wanted to ask. Something was not right, but he could not put his finger upon it...

"James?"

"What do you think that was about in the woods?"

Percy paused in stride. "What what was?"

"Charles," James said, stringing things together, "crying out my family name."

"Oh," Percy said dully. He kicked at a pebble. "Don't rightly know."

"Why would any of we Norringtons haunt him?"

"Nasty piece that rat is, any ghost would want to haunt him." Percy stopped suddenly and pointed ahead. "Look, they've got some pretty ponies!"

James laughed despite himself and followed his friend toward the fence. It was nothing to crawl through it, the slats being wide enough for small boys to crouch between them. So quickly they did this that they did not think much on it. If they had, they might have considered that at least one of the horses would take offense at their intrusion and charge wildly toward them.

One did. Hooves pounded the hard ground. James looked up and froze against the fence, staring up at the muzzle of the grey stallion headed straight for them. It was nearly upon them when a voice boomed from the stables.

"Angswetch! Halt!"

A sharp whistle pierced the air and Angswetch the grey slowed down to a trot that turned into an amble as he approached the boys. Great dark nostrils sniffed James' hair and then the horse turned, nuzzling his cheek. James smiled and reached up with Percy to pet the animal's muzzle. It huffed in appreciation and turned away with a swish of tail to munch on the sparse grass sticking up through the frost.

"Uh oh," Percy said, "it's the Great Goat."

Indeed it was Onry Witter stomping across the crunchy ground towards them. His great cloak swirled out around him in the wind, his golden hair doing much the same. There was no expression to be seen on his face and so James' stomach sank, not knowing if they were in for it or not.

"Boys," his gruff voice met them before he did, "you should not invite yourself to a stallion's stomping grounds without permission." He stopped before them, his blue eyes switching between them for a moment. "Things boring you at the lodge?"

James glanced at Percy before realizing, with a start, that he was the one Onry had posed the question to. "Y–yes sir," he stammered, cursing himself for it. "Quite so."

"We thought," said Percy, "since it's not technically hunting grounds, that the stables would prove a worthy diversion. Sir," he added.

"You did, did you?" The Great Goat's gaze again switched between them. "Like horses, the both of you?"

"Oh yes," said James.

"Enormously!"

It was a relief to James that Onry Witter brightened. His expression warmed and his mouth turned up in a smile. It seemed even his bow-tie showed his disposition, bobbing merrily in the breeze at the end of his braided beard.

"Well then," he said brightly, "let us go on to the stables to meet the horses!" He turned his head to acknowledge the horse they'd encountered already. "You've met Angswetch. A hothead of a horse–which is why you must always have his permission to enter his stomping grounds."

James and Percy said nothing, following the Great Goat across the distance to the stables. The doors were thrown wide open, one stable boy standing idly by with a mug of something hot in his hand. James recognized the smell as mead and, to his embarrassment, his stomach growled quite loudly.

"Hungry?"

"Getting to be," James admitted quietly. He had eaten a decent lunch thanks be to Starling, but it had been hours since. "Think I may eat too much."

"Nonsense," said Onry, reaching into a barrel to take out an armful of shiny red apples. "Growing boys need nourishment." He handed one each off to James and Percy and then quirked his lip at them as he shuffled the remaining apples in his arms. "Treats for our friends."

One by one he took them to all the stalls, introducing them to all of the horses. There were three other stallions, one the color of Angswetch and two of a rich chestnut brown, two grey mares, and one small pony whose name was...

"Goo int!"

"No no," said Onry with a smile. "Gwynt."

"That's what I said," Percy insisted.

Gwynt grunted and accepted the apple Onry offered with a snort in Percy's general direction. James laughed at the put out expression upon his friend's face. He watched Gwynt chew on his treat and then looked up at Onry Witter wonderingly.

"What's on your mind, young Norrington?"

"Why aren't you hunting, sir? I mean," he added hastily, "if you don't mind my asking..."

"Ah, well..." sighed Onry, petting Gwynt between the ears, "I haven't the heart for it this day." His face darkened. "Too much sodding nonsense for me liking."

James perked up. He wondered if Percy had noticed that the Great Goat had seemingly lapsed into his saltier tongue. A glance aside found the same sparkle in Percy's eye that James imagined in his own.

"That'll be Starling's doing I think," Percy offered.

The Great Goat and his cloak huffed with annoyance. Blue eyes rolled heavenward and a golden mustache twisted over a taut mouth. "Aye but leastways there's reason in his nonsense..."

"It's them ruddy VonCochs then," Percy decided.

"Bothersome buggers they are," Onry Witter agreed. He frowned. "But the cousin to the King and all that rot... think they're entitled to do whatever it takes to get whatever they want." He shook his head as if to clear it. "No, I don't blame Jonathan one ruddy bit." Percy, looking perplexed, had nothing to add this time, a matter which drew Onry's attention. The Great Goat flashed a cheeky grin. "Me niece'll be better off in his hands than that snootytoot's talons!"

"What!"

But something clicked into place for James at that moment. He understood, now, why Wilhelm had joined them in hunting and why it was he had seemed to give Starling such a difficult time. It was not that he favored the VonCochs–it was simply his stern approach to the man who was to wed his daughter!

"That's what that was about then," he murmured, feeling his face heat up under the questioning gaze of both his friend and their host. He took a bite of his apple and chewed carefully so as to fill the space of time but they did not speak and so he sighed to himself and endeavored to explain himself. "All that formality with the mapmaking and whatnot, the day Starling said you'd come up with a sneakiest plan..."

"Right you are, young Norrington," said Onry Witter, sounding impressed. "A fine guess you made. You would be correct. However I must insist the both of you boys do not make mention of this to any one person. Wilhelm does not wish to put his daughter in peril..."

"You think the VonCochs'd stoop as low?"

James looked up at Percy then, for his friend sounded truly alarmed. He, James, found he was surprised at himself–why was it that he sensed as much danger to do with the VonCochs as the Witters seemed to? He looked up to Onry for the answer. There was in the man's blue eyes a depth of concern that caught James' breath.

"I know them to."

Dark silence would have descended upon them were it not for the interruption in the form of Lewis come, coat snapping, into the stables. A message for Captain Witter from the kitchens he had and gave it to his Lord. James turned to toss his apple core in the rubbish heap, a painful gnawing in his stomach. He'd been hungry but now, for some such reason, he didn't think he could stomach much of a meal.

Nonetheless, he, with Percy, followed Onry Witter back to the lodge wherein he told them both to wash up for dinner. It would be a fancy sort this night, James gathered, and he worried that he hadn't fancy enough fare for the occasion. When Percy mentioned he'd brought double the suiting, he was not sure if he was relieved or the littlest bit insulted. Either way he looked well enough in his friend's favors. He could not help but gander at himself in the looking glass for a time. He could not help but wonder if he looked anything like his brother had when Brian had been his age...

It wasn't long that he had to dwell on the matter though. Patrick collected them both soon enough and then they sat the dinner with as many manners as they could manage. It was a dressed up affair and so called for it but James would much have preferred the hearty, half-heartedly happy meals that Onry Witter himself seemed to favor. He was therefore not at all put out by a call for an early rest and even found himself eagerly taking the steps to the bedchamber in the hopes of sleep.

Sleep was quick and on the morn James found himself being waked by someone else. This time the face hovering over his was that of a stranger. James jerked up, both he and the stranger giving yelps of surprise.

"Who are you!"

"The one sent to wake ye, lad," was the response. "And I see I done the job."

"But why," asked James, "are you waking me?"

The stranger, who was a short and stocky sort with kind eyes, shrugged. "Don't rightly know the answer to that other than to tell ye I was told to."

James frowned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. When he'd finished he noticed that the man he was looking up at had the most impressive sideburns he'd ever seen. He tried hard not to let them, in all their grizzly glory, distract him from what it was he wanted to know. "By whom?"

"Cap'n, that's who," was the gruff reply. The stranger's eyes narrowed on him for an unsettling moment and then he shrugged again. "Get yerself 'round, lad. Cap'n Witter's asked for your help in hunting here today." He stood up straight and turned to go but his muttered words carried back to James as he went. "God's glory but he's every bit his brother's brother..."

A Navyman then, James thought glumly. He rose from his bed and saw that Percy had already been waked. More than likely the young Pickwick had taken off at a clip when asked to hunt the place with their host. When James did make it to the store room, the Great Goat and Percy were being strapped with munitions. Percy was beaming.

"A bow and a rifle, James!"

"Young Mister Pickwick assures me he's instructed on their proper use," Onry Witter said to James. "But what would be your weapon of choice, young Norrington?"

James let his gaze wander along the stores of weaponry. There were things he'd never seen before–spiked, heavy iron globes attached to chains and thick grips; sharp-ended iron spikes, and two small canisters that James suspected were some small-form canon. He glanced over the bows, the arrows, and the rifles to the rack of firearms which from their barrels stuck the air with a long metal blade.

"A musket, if you please sir."

"Of course, of course," Onry said, waving at the groundsmen. "Should have known you'd favor that–a fine choice as well as that of your brother..."

James did not know what to say to that and so he said nothing as one of the groundsmen sized up the span of his arms. The other groundsman set to strapping a baldric over his shoulder. A fine musket, all glossy walnut embellished with silver, was then placed in the crook of his arm, and a pack of ammunition in the pouch the baldric set at his hip.

"Thank you," he said.

"Anything else?"

James considered Onry's question. There were so many weapons to choose from that he felt a bit overwhelmed by the prospect. He shook his head.

"I've my knife in my pack, sir. I think that should suffice."

"Very well, then let's be off lads. Gibbs, if you will?"

The stout man that had waked James staggered between them, his arms laden with munitions. He and one of the groundsmen took care to strap these all to Onry Witter's person. James and Percy watched, awed that someone would attempt to carry so much weight at once. There was a long sword, a short sword, and a blade that reminded James of the scythes used to harvest hay. Two pistols slid into the holsters on each of the Great Goat's hips. A longshot rifle was added to his left. A bow and arrows were strapped to his back and then a musket was placed firmly in his hand by Gibbs.

"That it then, sir?"

Onry Witter frowned down at himself, apparently taking stock of his stashed weaponry. He patted at each of the weapons in succession. His lip twitched with irritation.

"You've forgot the flail," he told Gibbs and shortly after he was armed with a formidable set of spiked iron globes chained together. Noticing James' shudder of revulsion, his mustache curled up at the corner. "Only for defense should we need it."

"Still blood reviled, are you?" Percy sounded as disgusted as James was at the prospect of slaughter. "It's hunting James!"

James shot him a dirty look as the two of them started after Onry Witter into the woods. It seemed that they would not be alone with the Great Goat, for a glance back found Gibbs and another similarly dressed man following after. They were both Navymen, James decided. He remembered, then, that Onry Witter was not only a wealthy landowner and Governor of Jamaica, but also a privateer.

"Sir?" He guessed by the incline of the man's head that he had been acknowledged and wondered for a moment how best to put the question. "Starling suggested there's not much difference between a privateer and a pirate..."

"Did he?" Onry's brows rose but he gave no indication of what he thought of the statement. "And what do you think, James?"

"I'm not sure exactly, sir."

"What makes the difference, then?"

"I'm not exactly sure, sir."

"I'll tell ye," offered up Gibbs. "The difference 'tween a pirate a privateer's in the papers." At the sound of disgust on the other Navyman's tongue, he shrugged. "The only thing's different to me anyway..." He leered at James and waggled his brows. "Both string men up by their ears and sink their ships."

Onry Witter chuckled at James' look of horror. "Don't let Mister Gibbs get to you. He's a way with words."

"I should say," the other Navyman sniffed. His face twisted in disgust and then he looked down at James through serious blue eyes. "The difference is in Honour. A privateer is granted that Honour and a pirate... has none."

"Now I don't know about that, Nettley," said Onry, to his Navyman's surprise. He smirked. "Bartholomew Roberts is much an honourable gentleman despite his occupation."

James frowned. "I heard he's a ruthless, cold-blooded killer."

"He is," Nettley said. "Don't listen to the Goat!"

"I did not hear a goat just now," Onry teased his comrade. "Perhaps it is Nettley one shouldn't listen to, for he is hearing things that we are not."

Percy laughed with Gibbs and the Great Goat but James was preoccupied by the strange bend the conversation had taken. Was Onry Witter suggesting that there was not a difference between pirates and privateers as Starling had? How did that make him, then, any better than the scoundrels who'd lost James his family...

"Look here, James," said Onry Witter. When satisfied he'd James' attention, he smiled kindly down at him. "It is difficult to tell between pirates and privateers and even more so to decide who has got the Honour Nettley speaks of and who has not. As for me, I am no villain–and that is all you need know."

James offered a half-hearted smile in return. "Very well, sir."

"Don't worry on it, lad," Gibbs suggested. "It'll only serve to make your head spin."

Nettley muttered something about drawing lines that James could not quite hear but he decided to take Gibbs' advice and not dwell on it–for the time being. He looked at Onry wonderingly nonetheless. "Sir?"

"Aye?"

"Whatever should we need a flail for?"

"Oh," said the Great Goat, patting his cloak fondly. "Well, Patrick Pickwick is not the only bear roaming Tirwitter..."

Several quail, two pheasants, and a few foxes later, James stopped with his hunting troupe to sit quietly by an icy stream. He was a bit tired. Onry Witter did not dawdle much as Starling did. They had covered much ground in a timespan of but a few hours.

"You ever going to shoot anything?"

James looked up at Percy, who had been the downfall of two of the foxes, and was a bit ruffled to see some sense of disgust in his friend's eyes. He shrugged helplessly. "I have yet to see a proper turkey for my family's table..."

"There's so much to prey on," Percy told him. His brow wrinkled. "Why must it be a turkey?"

"Because," James said, losing some of his patience, "that is what I was told to hunt!"

"Not today!"

"It was my aim!"

"What aim? You've not aimed at a thing!"

"I only wish to bring home what is expected of me and nothing more!"

"What sense does that make? There's much to be hunted and your family of all could use the meat!"

James opened his mouth to speak but found he hadn't the words. There was a hollow hurt in his chest. Percy had effectively wounded him. He turned away from the boy that was supposed to be his friend and blinked at the furious tears that had burned his eyelids.

At some point in time, Percy had walked away from him. He hadn't noticed until he realized he heard his voice and Onry's shouting with laughter in the distance at some story Gibbs was telling. He stood, slowly, and brushed the dirt from his behind. When he turned to make his way over to them, he walked straight into Nettley.

"He did not mean it the way that you think he meant it, mind."

James bristled. "I know."

"Do you?" Nettley raised a brow. "Well in that case I suppose I don't have to tell you not to worry on it?"

"No," agreed James, "you don't have to tell me anything."

Nettley did not look convinced but fell silently into step with James nonetheless. The two made it quickly to the others and found that they were on to planning their next jaunt. It would be, James picked up, to trap a wolf.

"And I think," said Onry, "I would like your help this time, James."

James looked at Percy when no snide remark was made and found that his friend was looking steadfastly in the other direction. A surge of anger lifted James onto the tips of his toes. He let himself fall heavily on his heels and looked determinedly up at the Great Goat.

"You'll have it, sir."

"Good! Let's track, then..."

Tracking, James discovered, was much more to his liking than any firing of arms. It took a good amount of searching to find a wolf's tracks and even more diligence to tell those made fresh in the snow from the ones made days before. It was a task he found he was good at.

"Those are old," he told Percy. "Look, these are the fresh ones..."

"No they're not," Percy argued. "Look, these are made in line with those..."

"That matters not," James explained to him. "These are deeper and the snow around them is more a powder than smooth..."

"Your friend is correct, Percy. Very good, James," Onry enthused. "What a sharp eye you have!"

"Not so much sir," he disagreed. "I can't see as well far off."

"No man can," Onry said.

James opened his mouth to argue. It had, afterall, been told to him on several occasions that his eyesight was not up to the standard of the vision of most boys. It was a common problem of the eye to not see so far, at least according to the surgeon who had been his brother's friend. But whatever James may have wanted to say was stilled on his tongue as they heard, not far off, the howl of a lone wolf.

"Alright," Onry whispered excitedly, "now we're gaining! Gather round, we must plan..."

Nettley and Percy darted in but whereas James' familiar done with a sense of excitement, the former had done so with a distinct sense of nervousness about him. Gibbs, James noticed, seemed nearly unaffected save for the slight narrowing of his eyes. For his part, James simply turned his attention to their leader. Onry Witter stood taller than the rest of them and seemed rather composed for having only just heard a wolf's cry.

"What say you as to the animal's location, James?"

James looked one way, staring hard at the tracks. He followed those fresh with his eyes until his head had turned in the opposite direction. "This way."

"Northeast," said Onry with a curt nod. "Yes, that is my guess as well. From its call I'd say two leagues off through the trees..."

"Perhaps if we converge upon it..."

Onry frowned heavily at Nettley. "This is not an ambush! It is but one wolf, not a pack of them!"

"Quite right. My apologies."

"What makes ye say, Cap'n?"

"Well Mister Gibbs it's like this," said Onry, "I heard but one howl. We are following but one set of tracks. The pack of wolves that inhabit Tirwitter travel together, yes, but on the underbelly of the mountain far from here. Therefore it is my guess that we are only on the trail of one, singular wolf."

"But," said Percy, "what if it's one wolf meeting with its pack having come from another direction? Why else would it howl if not to other wolves?"

"A good question, my boy." Onry Witter's brow wrinkled. "For safety then we should perhaps proceed as Nettley suggested..."

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank the boy."

Nettley turned stiffly towards Percy and treated him to a rather tight smile. "My thanks, young sir."

"Oh it was nothin," said Percy, nonchalant as he readied his rifle. "Don't mention it."

After some budging and bickering, the five of them set off in the ways Onry Witter had directed them. Farthest west stalked Nettley. That distinct nervousness had returned to him, his piercing gaze switching from side to side as he crunched quietly through the brush. Gibbs, on the other hand, had taken up position far to the east and without as much reserve. Though cautious, and having muttered something about luck 'fore they'd started off, he was not so nervous as his companion Navyman. With Percy to his left and James to his right, Onry made his way straight ahead.

The way was through a thicket. All branches and bramble it was. Twice the feathers of Percy's arrows were snagged by bramble. Twigs snapped and ice crunched under their boots. A bird cawed and Nettley skittered across a patch of ice. James held his breath, waiting for the nervous man to cry out and warn the wolf of their presence. But other than the squelch his boots had made, Nettley stayed silent.

James' breath of relief huffed out in a stream of steam before him.

Though the distance was not so far it seemed to take an awful long time to get where they were going. Perhaps, James thought, it was his expectation of meeting the lone wolf. Furthermore, he suspected that he was for the first time not only expecting to spot their quarry–but anticipating it...

"There," Onry breathed.

And there it was, the wolf. James saw it with wide eyes. It was not so far from them–ten, maybe fifteen paces at the most–and was pacing atop a snowcapped log. A swift look around found that there were no other wolves in the vicinity. It was just the one wolf and it was yet unaware of their spying upon it...

Percy, though, was fidgeting. There was a click from his rifle. It picked up the wolf's ears as its tail flattened. The animal's head snapped at them. Yellow eyes narrowed and a snarl twisted its muzzle.

The wolf's tail thrashed.

"No," Nettley said, cocking his own rifle at the beast. "I think not!"

The wolf's snarl turned to a leer. It looked as though it might leap when from the brush sprang a grey body that could only be another wolf. It tore after a screaming Nettley, dodging the bullet Gibbs fired at it. The stout man shouted his curses and took off after them, only to be cut off by a third beast what circled him before chasing him in the other direction.

"Boys," the Great Goat breathed, not breaking eye contact with the remaining, grinning wolf, "back the way we came!"

"No!"

James gasped. "Percy!"

But his friend was already taking aim at the wolf. It grinned. A crack of gunfire from Percy's rifle seemed to set it off. It leapt from the log and made away through the trees laid before them.

Percy swore and tore after it.

James looked up at Onry Witter with wide eyes but took off after his friend before the man could tell him not to. A wise move, he decided when the man shouted after him. He leapt over the log and squeezed between two thick tree trunks. Another crack of gunfire brought his head sharply up and he saw that Percy had stopped ahead to shoot again.

"Percy!"

The boy did not even glance back at him. James swore. He tripped over a log and went sliding across a frozen patch of stream. The rifle end of his musket slid against the ice and James saw the sharp end of the bayonet slicing right for his face.

He gasped. The rifle thumped his shoulder and James ducked his head. He felt the edge of the blade graze the hair at the back of his neck.

Another blast sounded in the distance. James shot to his feet. He threw himself forward after his friend. He could see only a hint of Percy's red hair now, weaving in and out between the trees. A shout behind him turned James around and he saw, to his misery, a furious Onry Witter storming after the both of them. The gunshot and subsequent scream before them, however, turned James right back around.

"Percy!"

James' feet pounded then flew over the hard, unforgiving ground. Pebbles and bits of ice scattered in his wake. He heard them but paid them no heed. Only Percy was his concern.

That he no longer saw him gave James pause. He stopped by a tree and struggled to catch his breath. Pain sliced his chest. Gasping, he grabbed at his throat. If only he could force the air through it...

Another scream, this one raising gooseflesh all over James, forced him to move despite his condition. He followed it through the trees to a clearing. Just as he jumped over the last log, James realized that he was on the edge of a steep embankment.

"Hell," he wheezed as his feet slid out from under him.

Having learned his lesson he hoisted his musket up high and tucked it close to him as he rolled down the hill. Powdery snow clung to him as he went. When he rolled to a stop he stood and shook it off.

James' eyes narrowed on the scene ahead. Against the base of the mountain, his friend was pressed, petrified, to a sheet of ice. The wolf was grinning, pacing back and forth in front of Percy.

James lifted his musket.

The wolf reared around, advancing on Percy.

It snarled...

James let out the last breath he had to steady himself and pulled the trigger. Gunfire rang out in his ears. The blast threw him back onto his rear and the world above collapsed in on him, fading to black.

Author's Babble: I really do have a good reason for neglecting all of this fic. No, really I do. It's my first semester of University after a five year hiatus from the realm of education.

Still, I'm sorry for taking so long to update. Thanks everyone for reading. Thank you ndmzero for dropping me a line. Your words encourage me to open up the documents and keep writing–even if it isn't for as long a time as before. Thank you, and thank you all for that, whether you review here or send off an email.