A Moonacre Fanfiction Peace on Earth

"Where are we going?" Ambrose's footfalls echoed Jackie's as he plunged after her into the dark staircase.

"Somewhere beautiful," she said resolutely, taking quick, even steps. Then she paused, and he nearly ran into her. "We're going to need coats." She glanced back at him. "We're going to take a slight detour."

"Anything's better than the cell." She looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to say something. She decided not to, and turned back round to continue. They came out into the open village, and Jackie led the way over the trampled snow, both shivering. She dodged in and out of small hovels, finally coming to one of the fine stone house. Outside the door, she paused to catch her breath, puffing out clouds into the frigid air.

"My uncle's house," she explained, staring at the door. "I'm going to sneak in and get coats. I imagine he's drunk by now, so I should be able to get in and out without notice." She put a hand on the doorknob, and without lifting her gaze, said, "If I don't come out, just go. I'll be fine." Then she swiftly opened the door and slipped inside, leaving Ambrose to wonder at her words.

He waited nearly a minute, getting more and more agitated. What had she meant? Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good. He jogged in place to stay warm. When she didn't reappear after another minute, Ambrose became worried. Which, come to think of it, was odd, since he'd only really known her a short while. Nevertheless, he did not want to abandon her now. He'd already left her once. So, against her warning, Ambrose opened the door.

The front room, a sort of sitting room, was very well furnished. Deep mahogany wood, a sturdy mantle decorated with various expensive trinkets, and a set of elegant chairs graced the room. However, a layer of broken glass on the floor (was that a liquor bottle label?) and a thick haze of smoke left no doubt that this was not a gentleman's home. Despite this, Ambrose did not dwell on it long. Shouts came from a room further back, and one of the voices was definitely Jackie's.

Ambrose darted back down a short hallway to what appeared to be the kitchen. The door was half open, and a male voice barked,

"—supposed to be working today, but what do I find the ungrateful wench—"

"I'm not ungrateful, I've nothing to be grateful for! I'm the one earning the money, and I'm not the one who spends it! I'm only—"

"—barely earning money at all, seems as if you could do more, if you have enough time to be gallivanting all over—"

"I'm not gallivanting, and I just needed coats—"

"Oh, coats, is it, eh? Who else you got, hm? Best not be a gentleman unless he's intending to marry you and has lots of money—"

"It's none of your business who, and if you don't let me through—"

"Ah, right, how could I be so foolish? Thinking someone'd want to marry you, what a notion."

"You have no right to insult me—"

"Those're my coats, and you're not taking them anywhere—"

"They're my coats, I paid for them—"

"I'm the one giving you a home here darling, so you'd best watch your manners—"

"Just let me through—oh! Let me—let me go—" her voice rose in desperation. Ambrose bounded through the door. Jackie's uncle, a burly man, held her fists tight, but he dropped them in alarm when he saw Ambrose. Jackie tensed.

"Sir, I don't think it's very gentlemanly to hold a lady captive," Ambrose said, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. Jackie's uncle blinked and squinted. Then his face broadened in recognition.

"Ah, you would know all about gentlemanly things, wouldn't you there? I know you, you're the sly fox out for a good catch." He leaned forward and burped. "Well, let me tell you a thing: it don't work if she dies. All down the drain. Gotta rely on a wench for the coins." He rolled his eyes and gestured back at Jackie. "But I've some faith in you yet, you're a handsome thing, can do what you like. You've ambition, you have." He nodded sagely. "Gets you far in life. You and me, we're on the same team. 'Course, you'll do better than I did. Get one that won't die. That's the trick."

Ambrose had been rather paralyzed with shock until now, not quite understanding. Now it clicked, and a wave of anger and shame crashed down on him. This man married for money. His wife died. He now relied on Jackie for income. And he thought Ambrose had the same ambitions. Well, he wasn't wrong. Until recently, Ambrose had considered marrying for money to be the wisest option. Now…now he felt almost ashamed to have considered it. He squared his jaw.

"We are not on the same team, sir. Now you will let Jackie pass without any trouble."

"Oh, I will? And who's you to decide that? I'm her guardian, legal and all. You've no say in how I handle her." He crossed his beefy arms. Ambrose knew he could not win in a fight. But he couldn't back down.

"She is a lady, and ladies deserve respect," he said firmly.

"Oh ho, this coming from you? Don't think so, no, you're not the Ambrose I've heard about."

"Let her pass."

"Uh, no."

"Very well." Ambrose shrugged. "Jackie, come on through. Bring the coats." She looked at him like he was crazy, but she gathered up the coats and began to pass by her uncle. Just as the man reached to grab her, Ambrose jumped on his back and hauled his large arms backward, momentarily stunning him. Jackie stared in disbelief.

"Go, quickly," Ambrose sputtered. She ran. Her uncle turned and slammed his back against a cabinet, sending Ambrose's head solidly into the glass.

Something cracked. For better or for worse, it was the glass that had cracked, and not Ambrose's head. The man could not reach around to get Ambrose off his back, so he thrust his back into another cabinet. Ambrose's head crashed through the glass, sending shards flying through the air.

Blast the man, Ambrose's head hurt. But he had to do something. Looking frantically around, he saw that one of the cabinets he'd broken held shelves of glass beer bottles. The man staggered madly around the kitchen, banging his opponent into first a solid wooden wall, and then a stone wall.

Ambrose gathered his wits, though his head ached immensely. He reached out, and as they neared the beer cabinet, he grabbed a beer, slicing his arm on an evil bit of glass.

Mustering whatever strength he had, Ambrose brought the bottle down upon the man's head with a crash.

Like a felled tree, the man stood motionless for a moment, then collapsed cleanly on the floor. Ambrose fell with him, for he did not have the reflexes at the moment to leap off. Ambrose stayed on the floor a bit, wondering if he would perhaps die right there. His head was surely no longer the shape it had been. Blood ran glistening down his arms. Just the sight of it made him sick. But there was Jackie to consider. Ambrose closed his eyes. He had to get up. He had to get out of there, and he had to find Jackie. Then, a terrible thought: what if he'd killed her uncle?

Ambrose knew he should check for a pulse. He didn't have the energy. But he needed to. Trying to ignore the pain radiating from his head, Ambrose lifted himself to a sitting position, took a few deep breaths, then searched for a pulse on the man's wrist. Well, he was alive. Ambrose was not a murderer. He hung his head in relief.

A few hesitant footsteps sounded in the hallway.

"Jackie?" He managed to say. The footsteps sounded like hers. More followed, very quickly. She stood in the doorway, wide eyed.

Then she became very blurry.

Then everything was black.

A/N: My dear reader,

Poor Ambrose. Two fights in three days. But very different fights, wouldn't you say? Or what would you say? Please let me know in your reviews; I await them with bated breath!

Love,

Ponygirl7