st james's park

four hours after saturday - day seven

His next contact would have to be met early – very early, in fact the bells of every church rang to tell it to be four exactly when Stephen again walked down the abandoned park. It was a dark night. Clouds covered the moon and stars clouds that held the still soft rain that was soaking through Stephen Maturin. Rain that felt like sharp iodine splashing against his face.

The contact was to be met in an acquaintance of Mr. Warren's barn and this time he intended to be early. The black outlines of it against a dark blue-gray sky now were visible to him. He turned down his head and plunged on. He couldn't see an ounce of light from that barn but he supposed that that was to be expected.

He opened the doors slowly and when his eyes had adjusted to the new shade of darkness he could make out the silhouettes of eight stalls on either side of him. One of which had a horse sticking out its curious head in his direction. He quietly went on, taking in every detail of his surroundings – 1, 2, 3... when he opened the gate which took him into the 4th stall he was taken aback by the sound of straw crunching nosily under his feet.

His contact has unsurprisingly not arrived yet; he was the one who was early this time. Though Stephen still sighed impatiently, leaned on the side of the stall and convinced his dulled mind that he would listen for his contact's approached while his rested his strained eyes. He had been up most of the night with Mr. Glenn and Mr. Grey who had developed a late infection and had been mumbling deliriously for hours. He had only just gotten into a peaceful rest though still with a slight fever when Stephen was forced to leave him.

Stephen jerked himself out of his doze - to his credit he wouldn't allow himself to fall asleep completely in this uneasy silence. He stared into the darkness before him but could only see the shapes of the horses shifting in their sleep.

He later had no way of telling how long he had stood there that morning. Even with his nerves raw he kept he kept drifting in and out of the world outside of him. Presently though Stephen's eyes bolted open as he realized that he had strayed completely into a dream. The stables had begun to fill with the dim light of morning and he had still been left waiting. He started at the small noise of something touching against wood. He took a small step forward off the side of the stall to see that it had only been that same curious horse chewing at its gate. He could barely make out the blue hedges of the creatures face with his still sluggish eyes. He stepped forward again to get a better view when he felt his foot hit something – something soft.

Filled with disbelief his mind at once began to race as he knelt down beside it and blindly reached out to feel torn flesh - a deep, dry and brittle wound. He quickly jerked his now wet hand back, leaned forward and peered into what he could see now with the same blue light a face with the mouth slightly ajar and two large eyes starring blankly forward under it again was a cracked clumsily slashed neck.

Suddenly a wave of guilt hit Stephen – there wasn't time for that now something had to be done and quickly. He needed to know more about how these two men became bodies which meant that he would have to take it with him - but where? A list of places quickly passed through his mind, hospital, admiralty, none of them seemed plausible in the least. Too many questions.

His glance turned to the horse still diligently chewing at its gate across from him, when an idea suddenly struck. He dismissed it and set to work again – it would be a last resort. In the dark Stephen managed to make his way to the tack room across the barn. He should have voiced his suspicions to Mr. Warren, though his suspicions were unjustified and Mr. Warren's mind had been set. The small room was still very dark despite the rising sun forcing him to feel his way past smooth saddles, hanging bridles, followed by an oak desk. In the darkness the picture of what he saw of the body suddenly briefly swept into his mind and he thought bitterly that they were not unjustified now. He paused trying instead to picture the room around him.

When he came from the tack room it was with a blanket over his shoulder and a lead in his hand.


Stephen tried to press against the creature's uncommonly large neck as the rain was now at a hard pour with thunder trailing somewhere behind, along with a harsh wind that swept past them both. Through the streets he kept his well-behaved companion from hurrying in case his cargo should take to flapping about. The church bells echoed through the streets again – seven o'clock. His fingers were numbly clutching to the lead and his feet too desperately ached by the time his reached the mews he was after. When he pulled the animal into the nearest stall he abruptly stopped.

"Easy – easy – hold still let me get your leg out." At that moment the body finally fell from the horse and neatly into the thick bedding of straw with a strikingly loud thump.

He was caught completely off guard by her presence in the stables; the whole of the plan instantly dissolved and he dully put himself forward. "I trust you wouldn't mind-" he made himself begin. "Stephen? Stephen you are positively shaking – whatever made you go out on such a morning?" Kiara couldn't decide what worried her more Stephen's sickly state or the glimpse of Sir Ander's prize stallion.

She snatched the lead from Stephen's frail grip threw a slip knot into it well away from the adjoining stall that contained the grey mare that she had been arguing with. "Come-" she mumbled taking a firm grip on his arm and leading him into the house.

Then on entering her drawing room she sat him next to the hearth with the coals from the mornings fire still shimmering. "I'll fetch you some of my grandfathers things," she said finally releasing her grip on him.

When she had gone Stephen stared blankly at the coals trying desperately to think of more excuses for his intrusion though his mind was dull from weariness and made him unable to focus on anything but the warmth of the coals. He began to fall into a deep sleep, though he tried to jerk himself awake a couple of times on his way down to an outsider it would only appear as two violent twitches before he was out completely.

The late Lord Herrington even in his best days wore clothes yards wider than Stephen and when Kiara took a final look at the room while tying her bonnet into place she found him in them and buried back into the same chair in front of what was now a roaring fire and with a neglected coffee pot before him. The carriage was announced ready and she left.

"Stephen – Stephen wake up." Kiara gently shook his shoulder. If she hadn't been just back from returning a misplaced stallion that she happened to come across running loose – the impertinence of the groom for not latching the gate properly having no respect at all for property – she would have laughed at the sight of him in those clothes, sleeping in that old chair, completing the effect was the smell of Courvoisier which he drank adamantly until it became (in his own mind at least) unpatriotic.

"My – my – parcel in the stables-" " I believe it fell into some straw. Why is it important?" she asked simply. "Stephen? In Paris didn't something-" Stephen sat up and began to pour himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, thank God. "Do you remember Mr. Mitchell?" At that thought Stephen began instantaneously to stand. "Please Stephen," she motioned for him to sit. He sat – that entire incident in France was completely different a blind man could see that.

Fully awake Stephen took notice of Kiara her face was as white as death and her cheeks deeply flushed. " Are you acquainted with Mr. David M. Walker? Mr. Charles Walker's brother?" "Mr. Warren's secretary?" "Yes that's the one – an old acquaintance. I saw him this morning and – oh Stephen they've sent someone to collect you." Stephen groaned having to avoid arrest would complicate his finding the actual villain.

"Does anyone know that I am here?" "Not a soul I had the fire and the coffee made while you dressed though now that I think on it I wish I hadn't ordered coffee..." Kiara reminded him in case he had forgotten.

"Could I have the use of your attic for the afternoon?"