Two months after the events at Nottingham Castle

Blaxton Tanner whistled to himself as he carried the boxes of wool onto the crayer, stacking them neatly against the side of the boat. It was a slow, arduous task, and one he did alone while the crew of the small ship busied themselves around him.

They were due to sail from Portsmouth to Calais within the hour, and he was keen to get moving. There was a storm brewing; he could feel it, and while he wasn't sure how or where or why, he knew that something was amiss.

The sooner they left the shores of England, the better.

Leaving the boat for the last couple of boxes, he hurried towards the small handcart, absentmindedly noting the figure hovering around on the periphery of his vision. Humming to himself, he dragged the last of his boxes to the edge of the cart and pulled them into his arms.

"Need some help there?" said a low voice, and next moment, hands were pulling one of the boxes away from him.

Blaxton paused and looked at the newcomer, fearfully. Theft was rife on the harbour, and robbers were often armed with blades.

"Um," he said, his voice tremulous, then looked closer at his companion.

He was a short man, and old, by the looks of it. He wore a dark cloak with the hood pulled about his head, and his face was pale and tired-looking. Not much of a threat. Braxton, who was no spring chicken, could easily take him in a fight if he insisted on stealing from him. Maybe the man was just being friendly.

"Thank you. Yes," Braxton said with a smile. "Follow me."

"Where are you travelling to?" the man asked, hurrying after him.

"Calais," Braxton told him, conversationally. "We'll be leaving soon."

"Calais?" The old man looked interested. "Can I come along?" When Braxton stopped walking and looked him over dubiously, he pulled a purse from the folds of his cloak. "I can pay my way."

Braxton looked at the purse, and then looked at the man. He wasn't sure if the captain of the ship would allow any more passengers, but Braxton was sure he could pretend that the man was his assistant. That way, he could pocket the purse himself.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement, my friend. I'm looking for an, um, assistant." He stuck his hand out, and the other man clasped it.

Braxton felt a small shiver of revulsion that quickly dissipated as the first mate called for everyone to board.

"The name's Braxton," he told the man, briskly, and began to hurry the last few paces to the ship.

"Peter," the man said, following him closely.

Braxton paused at the gangplank and gestured for Peter to board first. "Well, nice to meet you, Peter. I'm not sure why you want to go to France, and I'm not going to ask. But you must be pretty desperate to board this rickety old ship."

"Desperate." The man seemed to consider this, and then laughed, his teeth white in the darkness of his hood. "A clue: no. But I am looking forward to a holiday."

He grinned at Braxton and stepped onto the gangplank, and Braxton was left with an ominous feeling of dread, along with the curious impression that one of Peter's teeth glinted ruby-red in the winter sunlight.

THE END

Thank you so much to everyone who has joined Roana and Allan on their journey. I have spent the past two years immersing myself in their world, and I have thoroughly enjoyed it. I know that the ending was pretty cheesy, with everybody finding their happiness, but why shouldn't they? The TV show treated them pretty badly, so they deserve this. And who knows - maybe they'll all be back one day. After all, a certain somebody may eventually be out for revenge... watch this space!

Jo Sexton - April 2022