I really didn't see my father much after that. We returned home when he was in a condition to travel. Annesly sent word to Constance, but she never arrived. Paulet remained confined to his chamber for the next three months, finally giving up his earthly shell in early February, during a raging blizzard.

Cary and Annesly had listened to my tale of what had taken place in Westminster Palace several times since I'd arrived home. They never seemed to believe that I'd shouted at the King of England. It didn't matter, really, what had happened had happened. I'd gone from a happy French pauper to a miserable English lord in a matter of five months. I continued to wallow in self pity all through the rest of the winter and the spring. I turned fifteen in June and somehow, a plan accompanied my birthday.

The evening of my birthday, the staff and Annesly had thrown me a small celebration. They had English pastries brought in as well as an array of fresh fruits, cheeses, and meats. After the meal, Cary and I adjourned to the stable. It had become my favorite place on the grounds after the garden. In the months since I'd first arrived, Cary had taught me to ride, I was excellent atop my favorite stallion, Gunpowder. He was a grey Andalusian and he stood more than fifteen hands high. He only had one eye, however, but I think his slight disability made him all the more ready to work hard and play harder.

As I groomed Gunpowder, I told Cary my plan.

He was a little leery, "What do you mean run away!"

Okay, more than a little. "I just mean that there is nothing here for me. I do not want to be the Duke of Bolton. Hell, I don't even want to be an Englishman! I miss my mother, and Lord only knows what's become of her."

"And of me, Jaques? What of my life? Of my father?"

"I did not say you had to come with me," I said, feeling indignant. I had believed he'd jump at the chance to accompany me to Paris. Rather than sulk, I went to him and put my arm around his shoulders and began again, "I am going, I am only offering you the chance to come with me! Come on, Cary! Paris! You'll love it!"

Cay looked at me and shrugged my arm off, "And if I agree? What shall we do in Paris? How shall we survive?"

"I told you," I said, with an annoyed sigh, "I will work at the Opera house as I have in the past until such a time as I can take the stage. All of the actors predicted great things for me, you know."

Cary remained silent and I began to saddle Gunpowder. I knew I would have to leave him behind when we arrived in the port at Morcambe. I just hope I could find an buyer who wouldn't sell him for meat.

Cary put his arm on mine, "Jaques!" he began. I smiled to myself. I knew he was serious if he was calling me by my given name rather than by Jack, "Please. I'll go with you. Only give me time to say goodbye to my father."

I shook my head, "If you try to say goodbye, he will only beg you to stay. I will miss him, too, Cary. He was very kind to me during my stay. But, I know with me gone, he stands to inherit all of my lands, the manor, and the ridiculous title. I will be doing him a favor," Cary stood in the doorway and I continued, "If you go to him now, I will be gone by the time you come back to the stable."

I can't be sure, but I think his eyes filled with tears. I knew I was being unfair, but I was leaving, with or without him. He turned roughly and began saddling his bay Arabian, Don Juan, I smiled and slid onto my mount and led him out of the stable. I knew the journey would only take about two hours on horseback, so I didn't bother to bring anything excessive. I left all of my fine clothes, except those on my back in my suite. I felt a small pang about leaving Annesly, but it was overcome when I saw my friend ride up next to me.

Cary sat high on his mount, as tall as I was, even though he was two years my senior. His reddish blond hair blew in the night air and his sober appearance vanished once his impish smile spread across his face. I grinned in response and turned Gunpowder towards the horizon. Towards freedom.

Morcambe was relatively quiet when we rode in. We found a stable and turned our horses over to a groom, tossing a fourpence on his books as we passed.

At the docks, Cary inquired about of of my father's smallest sloop, the Feronia. I knew she was only forty two feet from bowsprit to transom and thirty two feet to her masthead. Most importantly, I knew she could be crewed by two men. I went about seeing to the sale of our horses.

After a few failed attempts and one narrow escape (one man thought I was selling myself!), I found a man I felt I could trust not to butcher the horses. He paid me a little less than they were worth, but I took the money and set off to find Cary. When I caught up to him, he had just caught up to the sloop.

She was a beautiful ship and obviously well cared for. Her oaken hull was polished and looked freshly cleaned. Her furled sails looked like they'd never been patched. I leapt aboard and found myself behind the wheel. I knew I'd never sailed before, but being aboard a ship made my blood sing. I knew we'd make to Paris.

Just as Cary began to unfurl the mainsail, a voice came from the dock, "And just what do ya think ye be doin' on that there boat, gents?"

I stood, the words issuing forth from my lips unbidden, "Jack Paulet, Second Duke of Bolton. And who are you to question me, sir?"

It was a short man, perhaps five years my senior. At first I thought he was rather rotund, but on closer inspection, he looked powerful. He had a growth of beard on his large jaw and a handkerchief tied around his ample neck. "I be the man who takes care of this here boat. And I ain't never heard o' no man named Jack Paulet."

"I am the only heir of Charles Paulet, who is dead. I have come to claim my property."

"And might ye have proof o' that, Mister Paulet?" the shorter man asked. I saw his fingers tense near the sword at his side. I was regretting my lack of foresight to bring a weapon.

I reached inside of my coat and withdrew my official seal, a piece of parchment that bore the king's ensign.

The man looked at the paper. I don't think he read it, as I don't think he was able, but he seemed satisfied and handed it back, "All right, gents. I s'pose this means I ain't got to look after yer boat no more." The man turned and headed back down the dock, whisting a stilted tune.

Cary and I exchanged a look. His gaze answered mine and reluctantly, I call after the man. He turned with a smile.

"Sir, I was wondering if you might be obliged to help us out of the port?" I said. My dignity was taking a hit, for I really thought I'd be able to sail with no prior experience.

The gentleman laughed an walked back to us. He came aboard with a hearty yell and said, "Thought ye'd never ask! O' course, there is the matter o' payment," he went on, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together. I exchanged a look with Cary who nodded.

"When we get to France, you can have the Feronia," I said. It hurt me to part with the pretty little sloop, but I wanted to make haste to open sea. I knew Annesly would be on our trail before long. He was probably cursing the day he'd told me about my father's ships docked at Morcambe.

The man's face positively lit up at my offer. He reached forward and pumped my hand and then Cary's, "Sound's good to me, gents, very good!"

That settled, the man began to guide us to the proper way of preparing the cutter and soon, we were piloting her out of the bay and toward the sea. I'd never felt more alive.

Over the next few days, I learned that the man was named Joshamee Gibbs. He had been engaged to a young woman who's father didn't like him and had enlisted him in the Royal Navy. In his own words, Gibbs' had said, "It ain't Navyin' that bothers me, lads, it spendin' all that time alone with all them men an' no women in sight! It ain't natural, it ain't!" Cary and I also told him our stories.

Within the week, Gibbs had navigated us around the southern tip of England and into a port just north of Brest, France.

Gibbs pumped my hand on the dock, "Jack Sperrit, I'll never forget ye, never. Good luck yas both! Say 'ello to yer mother fer me!"

With what little money we had left, Cary and I found ourselves some real food and a stage to Paris. The trip was going to take the whole day and would not leave until the morning. So, we wandered the streets of the village, arm in arm, drunk on freedom and cheap wine. We wound up under a tree, trading our dreams for the future.

"I think I'd like to sail the world, Jaques. Be a trader so I can see it all. After our little voyage, I don't think I can live on dry land again," Cary's speech was slurred, but his eyes were vibrant with truth. I nodded somberly.

"I know, Cary. I think after I see my mother, we should try our hands at the sea. I mean, Gibbs taught us a lot. We could be useful to someone. Maybe one day I'll be a great admiral. You can be my first mate."

He swatted my arm, "No, Jack, I shall be Admiral."

"Don't call me Jack, mate, or I'll have yer guts fer garters" I replied imitating Gibbs. We went on like that until morning.

The journey to Paris was horrid. The road was uneven to say the least and this carriage wasn't as fine as the one I'd traveled to Calais in. We didn't have the fare to travel inside the carriage, so we rode on the back. Each time the coach hit a rut (which was often) we nearly tumbled out. There was no sleeping, and our hangovers were a hell all their own.

When we finally arrived in Paris, it was raining. "This is your beautiful Paris?" Cary quipped and we slid through the muck and mire to the rue Saint-Honoré.

The door leading to my mother's garret swung open as I raised my first to knock, but this wasn't unusual. As we ascended the steps, I noticed an eerie calm that one didn't normally encounter in the busy boardinghouse. I was beginning to worry, but the thought of seeing my mother overshadowed that. I rapped on the door, but to no avail. No one answered. It was too late for her to be at the Opera House, so I pushed on the door. It gave easily under my weight.

The sight I encountered made my legs give out. Cary let out a cry behind me. My cheerful little garret was a shambles. The little curtains my mother had sewn from scraps of dress fabric were torn and hanging by threads. Every other stick of furniture was gone save my mother's standing mirror. There, before the mirror sat my mother. She was dead.

The putrid stench of her rotting flesh pervaded my whole body. The combination of the stink and the liquids still roiling in my stomach made me gag and retch on the floor. Cary dropped to his knees and tried to gather me in his arms. I heard him crying. I pushed him away and he fell into a corner and slid down the wall, blubbering and sniffling.

I crawled to my mother. She was wearing the same burgundy gown I had seen her in last. It was was torn and stained. Her hair was streaked grey. She had only recently passed on, because her skin still clung to her bones. I could see her body had been ravaged before her death, however. She was leaner than I remembered and her once-beautiful cheekbones stuck out at alarming angles. It made me think of the day I had traveled to London with Charles Paulet.

I reached out and hugged the corpse to me. Her limbs were stiff. There was a small knife still clutched in her hand. Once I'd moved her,I saw the dark spot where her blood had pooled and the odor of her bodily excrement stank anew. I gagged and choked on all that was left in my belly. I screamed and wailed. I cannot recall what I said, exactly, but it was most likely gibberish. Cary tried to pull me away from her.

Once he managed to pull me away, I saw the open wound on her left wrist. The sight sent me into another round of hysterics. Cary just wrapped his arms around me and let me scream.

It felt like hours later that I had wrapped my dead mother in my jacket and left her in the garret. I could not afford a proper burial, but I could say a prayer.

Cary walked with me to the Notre Dame Cathedral. It was late, but I knew there would be a service just about to start. When we got to the cathedral, several of the parishioners wrinkled their nose at me. Indeed, I looked a fright. My hair had long since come free of the ribbon binding it. My clothes were filthy from days at sea, traveling by coach, and of course, holding my mother's rotten remains. I walked up the wide main aisle between the pews. The priest was sitting, watching me. I sank down on my knees before the likeness of Mary.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and a the hour of our death. Amen. Please, Mary, take care of my mother Julie. She was the bright beacon in my life and I shall do all I can to be true to her."

I lit one candle and Cary followed suit. The whole congregation watched as we walked back down the aisle and out the door. I never entered another church for as long as I have lived.

We crossed Paris and I headed for the Opera house. I knew that someone would be there, most likely Roget. I was right.

I entered Roget's office quietly and Cary followed suit. It was as plush as ever. Apparently, the Opera had been doing well in the past year. Roget spoke, "Too late for inquiries. Come back in the morning," he began. He wrinkled his nose, "And for love of God, take a bath in the meantime."

I strode forward and picked a candlestick up from Roget's desk. He looked up, incensed, "Put it back-" he stopped talking when he saw my face. I was probably the image of the devil at that moment, with my long black hair running loose about my shoulders and my dark eyes blazing fury. I thrust candle at him and he stumbled backwards, knocking over his chair with a thump. I laughed. "Jaques! What are you doing here?"

"You let her die, Roget," I said.

Cary blocked the only door, so Roget just stood dumbly in the middle of the room, "She never came back to the Opera House, Jaques."

"And you never thought to check on her?"

"The last I heard, she was selling herself in Montemarte for morphine and wine," he spat.

"That is not the answer I was looking for," I said, my voice level. I thrust the candle at him again. He gave a small scream and jumped backwards.

"Okay, Jaques, let's go now," Cary said from behind me. I just laughed. "Jaques?" he tried again.

"Give me a minute, Cary. We'll be on our way soon," my voice carried daggers with it, the elixir or death dripped from each syllable. I had learned well from my father.

"So, you're going to kill me because your mother turned into a tramp, eh Jaques?" Roget began. He was edging back toward a low window. I wasn't going to let him escape alive. I stepped forward. He jumped back. His back was now at the window. It was open. We were two stories above ground.

"She worked hard for you and for Lully. I can't forgive you that you never went to find her."

"Come on, Jaques. You know chorus girls are as rare as drops in the Seine," Roget continued. "And Lully only promised her a real role so that she'd spread her legs to him."

I dropped the candle and the flames licked the curtain. I lunged at Roget, but he did the work for me, tumbling backwards through the window. I stuck my head out to see him bent and broken in the courtyard below. Cary pulled my back as the curtain burst into flames. The flames ate up the fine velvet and spread onto the expensive wallpaper.

I went to Roget's desk and opened all of the drawers. In the false bottom of the top drawer was the evenings take. I pocketed it and pulled an antique cutlass from the wall. Cary pulled me through the door as the flames licked at my heels.

I don't really know whether or not the Opera House sustained any real damage from that night. I've never been back to France since then. Cary and I overpaid for a pair of nags at a stable in the Latin Quarter and made our way overland as far west as Versailles before stopping to rest the horses. In Versailles, we overpaid once more for a transport north to Le Havre.

In Le Havre, I began my search for passage out of Europe. I scoured the docks for anything that was headed far South to Africa or even West to America. I was finally directed to the Belle Soleil.She was an French brigantine merchant ship. When we came to the large ship, her quartermaster was pacing in front of the gangplank, chewing on his knuckles.

I stepped directly in front of him and he stopped pacing to give me an angry eye. "State yer business," he barked. His cheeks were of a high color and he seemed ready for a fight.

"Sir, my mate and I were informed that you were in need of some crew," Cary began.

"And yer experience aboard ship?"

I was in a hurry, so I blurted out a lie, "He was a coxswain and I an apprenticed gunner on a merchant ship that sailed between France and Italy, sir."

The quartermaster laughed, "And did ye have much cause to use them guns, lad?"

I shook my head, "No sir. But I was always at the ready."

"Well, lads, we're bound for the Caribbean, if that be amenable. And we can't pay you until we've sold our wares there."

Cary and I nodded. I am sure the quartermaster saw through my lie, but he was as desperate to shove off as we were to leave. "Welcome to the crew, then. Get yerselves aboard," he commanded.

Cary and I exchanged a look. We would celebrate later. For now we headed us the gangplank. The quartermaster yelled to us over his shoulder, "Do you lads know much about cows?"

Cary and I shook our heads to indicate the negative. The quartermaster laughed and told us to find the boatswain so we could begin our education. We exchanged another look and set about finding the boatswain. Once we did, he gave us each a quick once over before laughing heartily. "Ye lads be the ones what the quartermaster was lookin' for?" he asked.

I nodded and he laughed again. "Okay, then, get yerselves below deck and see to the stock." With that, he went back to securing the rigging and we went below decks.

The "stock" in question was cattle. There were probably fifty of the nasty beasts below decks, munching and groaning. There was a man below decks, walking among the cattle, muttering to himself. I approached him.

"Sir, we're here to, uh, help," I began. One of the nearby cows mooed at me.

"Oh, wonderful," the man replied though the tone of his voice indicated that he did not find our presence particularly wonderful. "Well, here's what ya got to know. These is Alderney's. They're highly prized cattle for dairy farmin'. We're gonna land ourselves a big score in the Caribbean 'cause them folks ain't never seen one o' these cows before," he paused rather dramatically. Cary and I nodded dumbly, waiting patiently for the man to tell us our duties.

He patted the cow that had mooed at me, "Yes, love, I won't let them hurt you," he said. The man actually talked to the cow! Finally, he turned his attention back to us, "I'm Alphonse and I own these beauties. I see to their care. All I need for the two o' you to do is to make sure they've all got enough feed and water available. They ain't never had to journey like this before, isn't that right, dear girl?" Alphonse, of course, had turned his attention to another cow. She mooed. I guess that meant "yes" because Alphonse smiled.

He led us around the hold and showed us where to put the feed and where to get potable water. He then led us to a small, reeking corner, "This is yer new home for the next two months. Enjoy it, boys!" Alphonse laughed and retreated back among the cattle. I realized that he had not been muttering to himself when we'd first seen him. He'd been talking with the cows.

"What did we get ourselves into, Jack?" Cary asked while trying to get some of the muck out of our little corner.

"Adventure, my good man," I replied. When he looked at me skeptically, I waggled my eyebrows at him, "Adventure with cows."

Almost as soon as we'd boarded the ship, we set sail. It took us nearly fifty six days to cross the Atlantic. In those days, Cary and I grew even closer as we spent all of our waking hours with one another. The rest of the crew accepted us, teaching us slowly about the everyday workings of the ship. What I learned aboard the Belle Soleil is what I've carried with me through all my years at sea. Other than that, the months were unremarkable.

However, once the admiral had sighted Barbados, things took a turn for the worse. Terrible winds pushed us so far north, we could have made berth in the Colonies. The rain lashed at the Belle Soleil for days on end and it seemed that the fair weather we'd had during our crossing had been a dream. And then, the Atropos found us.