Chapter Six

Daniel Boggs stirred wearily. The sun had set and with the darkness that eclipsed the Marquis' sick room, he had fallen asleep. General Washington and the Surgeon General had come and gone. Dr. Cochran had promised to return at first light. He said to force as much wine into the sick man as he could and to keep him as calm as possible.

The latter was not particularly hard as Lafayette had not moved for hours.

The frontiersman rubbed his eyes and frowned, wondering what it was that had awakened him. A second later he had his answer as a soft knock sounded at the door. The past day had held its surprises, starting with the Frenchman's collapse and ending with his Commander-in-chief in the room. If he thought he had had his fill, Daniel was wrong. He stumbled over to the door and opened it expecting Dr. Cochran, young Phillips, Isak, or Jeremy. Anyone but the man he found standing in the passageway; his lean figure illuminated by the light of several guttering candles.

"Yes. Hello," the man known as the Doctor said. "Mind if I come in?"

It hadn't struck Boggs before just how young the stranger was. Something about the faltering light rounded out his features, revealing the smooth plains of a face nearly as shy of years as the Marquis. And yet, there was a sage wisdom about his eyes, as though he had lived several lifetimes in those short years.

Wisdom, and Boggs couldn't help but notice, pain.

"Forgive me, sir," the frontiersman said, stepping aside, "Certainly."

The brown-haired man nodded as he angled past him and walked straight to the foot of Lafayette's sick bed. "He doesn't look well at all," he remarked. "Did Dr. Cochran have a diagnosis?"

The Surgeon General had been gone some time. "How did you know he was here?" Boggs asked, suspicious in spite of his decision to trust this strange man.

"Passed him on the way out." The Doctor's green eyes scanned his face, gauging his reaction. "A little while ago? Quite a while ago?" He cleared his throat as he shifted to the side of the bed, sitting in the chair Boggs usually occupied. "Lovely man. Might have stopped at the tavern for a drink before heading back to camp. Don't you think? Now if you will let me get down to business."

Boggs moved to the man's side, catching hold of his arm as he reached for Lafayette's wrist. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Why should I trust you with Lafayette's life?"

"Daniel. May I call you Daniel?" The Doctor paused and then went on without waiting for permission to do so. "Daniel, I have seen this virus before. Dr. Cochran, skilled as he is for this century, knows nothing of it."

"For this century?"

"Did I say that? Forget I said that. I meant for his time. Er, for his time in this area. This lovely area set in rural eighteenth century New York." The Doctor paused. "Might I have my arm back?"

Daniel hesitated, and then released him. "I said it before, and I will say it again - you are mad."

"Mad? By that would you imply mad as a wet hen – and they can indeed get very mad – or mad as a hatter? Or do you mean to say that I am simply abnormal? I couldn't argue with that. Perhaps I am brainless as a March hare," he added with a daft grin. Then he stopped and his cheeks seemed to redden. "Good thing River wasn't here to hear that one. Oh. Or Amy. Dear me." The Doctor looked up at him. "I'm rambling again."

Daniel Boggs form had gone rigid as a board. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call the guard."

The Doctor rose to his feet and turned so they were eye to eye. The frontiersman made as if to step back, but the stranger held him fast. Facing those eyes was like a blow.

"Daniel. You must believe me," the madman said. "I am Lafayette's only hope."

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"Eat. You need to keep up your strength."

There she went again, sounding like a mother. River Song leaned forward and shoved a basket of freshly baked bread toward the young man sitting across the table from her. One of the advantages of time travel was the amazing variety of food, and yet for all of the places she had visited, there was little that could rival a loaf of homemade bread with honey and freshly churned butter.

Jeremy Larkin looked up at her. He shook his head, and then went back to staring at his hands.

"I know you are concerned about the Marquis," she admitted. "But I thought you would be happy that your friend Henry is on the mend." Henry had traveled with them to Fishkill. They had placed the apothecary in the same house as the Frenchman. As the Doctor insisted on going to see how Lafayette was doing, and to see for himself if the nobleman was truly infected with the Bluhdoul virus, she had offered to take Jeremy Larkin to supper. The rebel leader had accepted and then seemed to lose his appetite.

"Is it the company you find disagreeable?" she asked at last.

That struck his eighteenth century sensibilities and roused him to an apology. "Forgive me, Madame Rivierre. I have been thinking – "

"Oh, you should never do that," she cautioned with a smile as she reached for another piece of bread. "That's a dangerous occupation for a young man."

"Your friend, the Doctor, seems to do a great deal of it," he countered a little sharply, "and he is young."

"Why the Doctor is ancient. Far older than me," she corrected as she watched the firelight play on the stream of golden honey falling from her spoon. Her blue eyes flicked to his face. River hid her amusement at what she saw there. "You don't believe me? Why, do I seem so old?"

"Madame, I would never... It would be improper to..."

"To speak the truth?" River bit into the bread and savored the sweet taste. She licked her lips as she lounged in the high back chair. The establishment they were in was a fine one, finer than she had expected for a small town hosting a military depot. "How old are you?"

"Old enough," he answered.

She laughed. "Well, there you have it then. So is the Doctor. Old enough." River took another bite, followed by a sip of wine, and then asked, "So what have you been thinking about, Jeremy?"

He started to answer, but then shook his head again. It was as if he feared whatever words he spoke might work as a charm to make whatever it was he feared happen.

So River said it for him. "You fear the Marquis will die."

Jeremy paled, then nodded. "You have not seen him. Madame Rivierre, he looked at death's –"

"Call me River," she said, interrupting. All this 'madame' stuff was making her feel as old as the Doctor.

"That would be improper."

She laughed. "I am. Jeremy Larkin, I am so improper."

As he leaned back in his chair, a weary smile curled the corners of the rebel's full lips. He was really quite handsome – tall and blond and muscled as men of this period were wont to be. But, oh my, so very young. She had read the history books. The American Revolution was still known in her time. They had all been so very very young.

"Madame...River, who are you? Who is the Doctor? Why are you here?"

"The Doctor and I are alike in many ways. No real home. Just...travelers." River glanced up as the door to the inn opened to admit a woman dressed in green silks with blond hair powdered white. She was accompanied by a child and a man in uniform. As they were shown to a table in the corner, River returned her gaze to the man across from her. Yes, she knew her history. And she knew all that this young man had accomplished. The death of the Marquis de Lafayette might well mean the French would not come to America's aid. The death of this one –before his time – could spell even greater disaster. That was part of why she had asked him here. To keep an eye on him. "We do what we can to help, and then we move on."

"To where?"

"Wherever we are needed." She leaned forward and winked. "Actually, the Doctor moves on and I come along afterwards to tidy up."

"Do you think he can help the Marquis?" Jeremy asked, hopeful. "River?"

She wasn't paying attention. It had become clear that the woman in emerald green was staring directly at her. As River contemplated whether or not to call her on it, the newcomer surprised her by smiling and beckoning her over to her table.

Jeremy followed her gaze. When what he saw caused him to draw a sharp breath, she asked him, "Do you know her?"

He shook his head. "No, but I know the man at her side. That is Lieutenant Rowland Montgomery. The man suspected of poisoning General Lafayette!"

The young man started to rise, but she caught his hand and pulled him back down. "Best not to make a scene," she said, pitching her voice for his ears alone. "Let me go over and see what the woman wants. When they leave, we can trail them. Remember, Amy is still missing." When she had parted with the Doctor, she had promised to do her best to find the missing girl. Fate, it seemed, had dropped the chance to do so into her lap.

River Frowned. Too bad she didn't believe in fate – or chance.

At Jeremy's reluctant nod River rose from her seat. She laid her napkin beside her plate and then made her way through the crowded room to the woman's table, which was nestled in the corner. The man Jeremy had identified as Lieutenant Montgomery rose and bowed. Then he excused himself and, taking the child by the hand, led her through the crowded room and out the door. With a glance at Jeremy, River took his place.

"Have we met?" Her smile was sweet if insincere. "I'm sure we haven't. I would have remembered that gown. Has anyone ever told you that emerald silk doesn't really suit you?"

The woman's eyes were like two great green marbles. The threading of the iris so perfect it appeared to be blown glass. Her skin was pale peach perfection. Not a single blemish or scar. The blond hair beneath the powder was golden as the honey she had watched drip from her spoon. It glistened curiously in the light of the candle that flickered on the table before her. She returned River's smile, though on her the insincerity turned it into a viper's grin. A second later she reached for a leather pouch that lay on the table.

River placed her hand over the woman's. She was startled at how cool the perfect skin was. "I wouldn't if I were you," she warned.

"Do you fear I have a weapon?" the woman asked, her voice pitched low. "And that, if I did, I would use it in this crowded place? Do you think me a fool, Doctor Song?"

"Who are you?" River snapped to hide her startlement. Then it all fell into place. The perfect skin, flawless and slightly glowing. The eyes that looked like glass – were, in fact, something very close. "You're an Auton duplicate, aren't you? A foot soldier of the Nestene Consciousness." She leaned forward. "Where is your master?"

"Where is yours?" the Auton countered, her tone carrying a note of threat and a hint of something else. Insinuation? When River failed to take the bait, the duplicate leaned in closer and whispered, "We know he is here. You will bring the Doctor to us."

River fought the urge to panic. With the Doctor ill, he might well not be able to defeat the Nestene. They were one of his most ancient and powerful enemies, coming as they did from the Dark Times. She put on a brave front. "And why would I do that?"

"He will make you," the Auton in emerald answered.

"The Doctor?" She laughed. "Why, he can't even make me do the dishes. What makes you think I would listen to him?"

The Nestene duplicate opened the leather bag and drew out something bound tightly with a ribbon. River couldn't help it. Her breath caught when she realized what it was.

A lock of very long, very ginger hair.

"If he does not come, and come alone," she replied, "Amelia Pond will die."

River put on her best poker face. "The Doctor has sacrificed his companions before, for the greater good. If it comes down to Amy Pond or the fate of an entire world, what makes you think he will choose one over the other?"

"Two," the Auton in emerald corrected.

"Two?" River frowned, and then sickened as both her stomach and the world turned upside-down. She stood so fast that she knocked the chair over and turned back to where she had left Jeremy Larkin.

He was gone.

"No!" she shouted. Reaching out, she caught the Auton by the gold laces on her bodice and pulled her close. "Where is he? What have you done with Jeremy, you overgrown Barbie doll?"

The Nestene duplicate turned toward the door. River followed her gaze. There, in the semi-light she saw Lieutenant Rowland Montgomery. He held Jeremy Larkin's limp body in his arms. Beside him stood another duplicate in the form of a small child dressed in sapphire silks. Her plastic fingers had fallen away from her palm, revealing a laser pistol concealed in her hand. Once she knew River had seen it, the girl hid the pistol behind a fan.

"Thomasin has orders to kill Larkin if it appears we are being followed. You will wait here for one half hour, and then you will find the Doctor. You will tell him to come alone to the warehouse belonging to Charles Fitch near the waterfront by midnight. The Consciousness awaits its old enemy there." The Auton in emerald pulled free of River's grip and headed for the door. Halfway there, she stopped and turned back to add," Any tricks and the man and woman will die – painfully."

River watched her go and then dropped into the chair, horrified. She glanced back at the table where she had been seated with Jeremy Larkin and sighed.

This might just prove to be the most expensive meal she had ever ordered.

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The Doctor leaned back wearily. He had finished his examination of the young man who lay in the bed. Lafayette was infected by the Bluhdouls, and it was far worse than it had been with Abington. The Time Lord had managed to sneak River's mediscanner out while Sergeant Boggs was otherwise involved, and had taken a reading that showed the infection was rampant. It had started in the stomach and spread to the bloodstream from there. So River was right. The virus had mutated to where it could be contracted from something other than blood to blood contact. Of course, he knew that. The infection, or rather infestation in his own system could only have come from contact with the apothecary's perspiration. He remembered taking Henry's hand and then sniffing and wiping his face. Very poor hygiene.

"Must have missed class that day," he mused.

As it was winter and the hour was late, the room he sat in was dark with the single exception of the fire, which had been kindled to keep its ailing occupant warm. The Doctor ran his hands over his face and through his thick hair, and then focused his eyes on the licking flames, allowing them to take him back. Back to a year somewhere in his early hundreds, around about the time the Time Lords had exiled him to Earth and changed his face for the first time. It was then he had found the truth out about Telalleraen. The city had been an outpost of the Time Lords, set on the frontier of space. It had been placed there as an observation post, to monitor the birth of new planets and observe their rising civilizations. When the Bluhdoul plague hit, and it became apparent there was no cure, the men and women stationed there were sacrificed to Gallifrey's non-interference directive. All but one, that was. A sister of Rassilon. The Lord President of Gallifrey officially mourned her demise, but in secret had her saved. The female Time Lord survived and went on to live for many years, carrying the virus in her blood. She was quarantined, but somehow the virus managed to escape and outlive her. The Doctor understood now that during the time it had incubated within her, the Bluhdouls must have mutated, growing stronger and more aggressive. In its original form the viral strain, containing literally millions of tiny nano-robots, functioned by thickening the blood and eating up precious oxygen until the victim died. They were then reborn, for a time, as a creature seeking to retake what it had lost, feasting and feeding on its fellows. Towards the end, something else had happened, even then the virus had changed – mutated. The Doctor ran a shaking hand across his forehead, wiping away sweat brought on by fever and fear. In the end, if the victim did not become a carrier, they were eaten away from within.

This was the fate of an infected Time Lord. For other races, the plague had remained close to its nascent form, creating creatures known as Blood Ghouls or Vampires that sought the blood they had lost. Now it seemed, it had changed once more – at least in the way it was transmitted.

The Time Lord had removed his brown tweed coat and was in his shirt sleeves. He rolled one up to examine his arm. His veins were pocked with pinprick points of blood and a few open sores, lending him the appearance of an addict. As he watched, one of the miniscule nano-robots broke through, sending a rivulet of red blood trickling down his wrist. He resisted the urge to squash it, instead watching and assessing his enemy. It paused for a moment as if sensing it was under scrutiny, and then dived back in for more dinner.

The Doctor quickly rolled his sleeve down and fastened the button at the cuff. He had no idea how the Nestene Consciousness had come into contact with the living virus – or what sort of bargain they had struck between them – but the question was rather more than moot at this point. They were here. Both Henry Abington and Lafayette had been infected, and if one of them didn't die -

It was certain that he would.

On that cheery note, the Time Lord scooted his chair back and leaned his head against the wall. There would be no regeneration this time. He remembered all too well the rotting corpses of Telalleraen. It would be over. Done. Not that that would be all bad. He could rest then.

He was so tired...

A cool hand on his warm flesh roused him sometime later. He awoke to find a very worried River Song bending over him. She had opened his shirt and had again pressed her hand against his chest over one of his hearts. When she saw his eyes were open, she stopped, met them with a look that said she had every right, and then continued her examination. As she pulled back, she announced, "You're fibrillating on the right side."

"My hearts are a quiver," he answered with a cock-eyed smile. "Must be your touch."

"Shut up! This isn't funny." River leaned to the right and busied herself with something. "When I came in you were completely unconscious. It's taken several doses." When she turned back, she held a tea cup in her hand. "Here, drink this. The tannic acid will help you recover." The blond woman waited and when he failed to respond, held the cup to his lips. "Doctor! Do as I say!"

He would have saluted and given her a cheery 'Yes, Ma'am!' if he'd had the energy. After a few sips he found he could hold the cup for himself. A few more and he was able to say, "Thank you. Thank you for looking out for me."

River reacted as if he had stabbed her through the heart. "I don't deserve any thanks. I haven't saved you, only delayed the inevitable." She paused and then met his eyes, her look fierce. "You lied to me."

"Lied. Me? No." He took another sip. "Which lie was that?'

"You told me time could be rewritten. But you are going to die, just like you did...before."

She was a strong woman – probably the strongest he had met – so when a sob broke from her and River buried her face in her hands it truly shook him. Fighting a leaden fatigue, he leaned forward and placed a hand on her arm.

"River. Tell me."

She shook her head. The word came out as a whimper, "Spoilers..."

He put the tea cup down, noting how his hands shook as he did, and then reached out and took hold of her shoulders. "River, look at me and tell me."

She sniffed and then lifted her head. The sight of her dripping nose and red-rimmed eyes was particularly endearing. Whoever he was in the future - whoever River Song might be – there was bond between them stronger than anything he had ever known. The Doctor forced a close impression of his usual reckless grin. River reached out and laid her hand alongside his face.

"We weren't to have met again until the Pandorica, I told you that," she began. "When we were finished with the Byzantium and the Weeping Angels, I was returned to the Stormcage Containment Facility. Not more than one day had gone by when I was released again. One of Octavian's remaining clerics came to get me. We boarded a shuttle and flew to a nearby space station. In the middle of a large, empty hanger, was one object. One bright blue object."

"The Tardis," he said.

"Yes." River caressed his cheek and then lowered her hand to her lap where she knit it together with the other. "They couldn't get inside. They knew I could. I opened the door and...God no! Don't make me go there again."

Shifting forward, he moved his hands to her face. She flinched as she felt the beginning of the mental probe. "Show me then," he said softly.

"No." Her eyes were wild. "Not with you. Spoilers..."

The Doctor closed his eyes and reached for her memories. Show me, he spoke through the link. Only what you must.

River resisted. Then she relented and did.

A second later the tenuous thread that bound their minds together was snapped. He wasn't sure which one of them pulled away first – him, because he didn't want to see his future, or her, because she didn't want to show it to him – or if the choice had been mutual. The Doctor didn't know what River had gained from the link, but he had gained a double headache. The mind probe always left him a bit on edge, and what he saw in her mind only enhanced the effect. The image she had seen was now forever burned into his mind – a field of blood that had once been his body, laying on the Tardis floor with the sonic clenched in its hands; its veins blown open by an invading horde of nano-robots that even then were consuming what blood-stained flesh remained.

"River, I am so sorry," he began.

A finger to his lips stopped him. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She brushed the fringe of deep brown hair back from his forehead and planted a chaste kiss there. When she looked at him, her eyes were haunted, but they held the echo of a smile. "What do you know," she said, astonishment in her tone. "You are my Doctor."

He nodded. Then he held out his hand.

River sniffed and looked at it. "What?"

The Doctor wiggled his fingers. "Hand it over. What you have in your pocket."

She smacked his hand. "You are so sneaky. How much did you see while you were in there?"

"Really," the Time Lord shifted uneasily, "my blushes."

"You can't go alone, you know," she said as she reached into her pocket and handed over the lock of Amy's hair. "You're not well enough. You'll die."

"What do you suggest, River?" he demanded, suddenly growing hot. "That I let Amy die instead? And Jeremy Larkin too? You know as well as I what would be the result of that!"

"I was such a fool!" she spat. "Like an unseasoned girl. I can't believe I let that hunk of living plastic trick me."

"It doesn't matter anyway," he said, leaning back with a sniff.

"No?"

"You said it, River. Time can't be rewritten. It's fated that I die, and that I die now."

"I don't believe in fate," she growled.

A spark of life returned to the Time Lord's eyes. He grinned as he rubbed his hands together. "That's my girl! That leaves only one question."

"And what is that?" she asked.

The Doctor rose and held out a hand. "Do you believe in me?"

River allowed him to pull her to her feet. She met his intense stare with a nod. "Always."

"Good! Then dry those eyes, River! We've got work to do!"

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Jeremy Larkin opened his eyes and then just as swiftly shut them. He must be awake now because what he had just seen was the nightmare.

Where was he?

"Are you okay?" came a terse whisper from close beside his ear. So close, in fact, it stirred the blond hair framing his face. The speaker was Scottish and female.

Casting his mind back, Jeremy found a name. "Mistress Amelia?"

"Amy. Keep your voice down –and your eyes closed! It's best if they think we're still out."

Jeremy shifted. He was extremely uncomfortable. "Out?"

"Unconscious, you eighteenth century idiot!" She paused and then added a little more softly, "Sorry. My mouth has a tendency to run faster than my manners. Oh, and I'd keep still. One of them is coming."

"One of who?"

"Shh!"

He heard the footsteps then. It had been hard because there was a general background noise, like the low hum of a hive of bees, but louder – so loud in fact that he could feel it rattling his bones and buzzing through his teeth. As he waited for whoever it was to pass, Jeremy stretched out with his other senses trying to sort out the situation he found himself in. He could smell fish and the stale odor of wood soaked in salt water. The boards pressing against his cheek were damp and mildewed. The room was cold, but not freezing, indicating someone was doing something to warm it, but there was no telltale scent of burning wood. Just beyond the constant low thrumming, he could hear the cries of men readying to set sail, and the sound of multiple wheels bumping over cobblestones. Taken all together, the facts made a convincing case for a warehouse on the Fishkill River.

As the footsteps faded into the distance, Jeremy opened his eyes enough to see that he was right. He was lying on the floor of a warehouse, near the back wall and close to a stack of crates, and Amelia Pond was close beside him. Her hands were bound as were his. Their feet as well. No attempt had been made to silence them, but then he surmised that was due to the constant noise that rose and fell in pitch every few seconds. It was loud enough to drown out any cries.

He waited a moment and then whispered, "Amy. What is that noise?"

"You don't want to know," she replied tersely.

"Why not?"

"You remember when you were a little boy and your mum told you about all those things in the wood that would get you – talking wolves, dark fairies, and ravenous bears? And you grew up and found out it was all just made up stories?"

"Aye."

"Well, you were wrong. They're not stories. They're real." Amy paused, waiting a moment to make certain no one had noticed they were awake. "And one of them is in this warehouse."

"I don't understand."

As he watched, Amy Pond opened her deep brown eyes and met his puzzled stare. It was plain to see that she was terrified.

"Let's hope you never do," she answered. "Now, shush. Here he comes again."

Jeremy obeyed instantly, clamping his eyes shut and feigning unconsciousness. Once the guard had passed them, he whispered again. "Amy. Can you reach my left boot?"

Her eyes popped open. "What would I want to do that for?"

"There's a channel just inside the back. It looks and feels like the seam. See if you can work the leather down and catch hold of what's within."

Amy wrinkled her nose. "Well, I suppose your feet can't be any more stinky than this place. What am I looking for?"

Jeremy grinned. "Something no good rebel would ever be caught without – a knife."

The redhead glanced at the guard. They had a minute or two at most before he returned. She flashed a wicked smile as her fingers made contact with his boot. "I hope it's a sharp one!"

A quarter of an hour later, Jeremy's feet were free. Five minutes more and he had the use of his hands as well. It had taken effort and time, but Amy had managed to use the knife to cut through the ropes binding him. Setting her free would be more difficult as it would involve him moving, and there was the fear that their captors would notice. He considered carrying her, bound as she was, but that was far too dangerous.

As he was trying to puzzle it out, chance – or Providence – intervened. The guard that was patrolling the area they lay in was called away by the elegant woman in green, in order to assist her in unloading a wagon. Whatever the wagon held, it was as large as a gentleman's brick privy, and it seemed that every man in the warehouse had been called to help. Jeremy knew there was no time to waste. He started to shift down to where he could use the knife on the ropes binding Amy's feet, but stopped cold when he saw two of the men lift the small building off the wagon and carry it into the shadows as though it had weighed no more than a large sack of flour!

"What are you waiting for?" Amy prompted. "Someone to part the Red Sea?"

He was shaking his head. "It's impossible. No one could do that. No one could carry anything that big, that easily," he breathed.

She hadn't been turned toward it, so she hadn't seen. "What was it then? Big Ben?"

He frowned even as he set to work on the ropes. "I thought it a privy. But I have never seen one in that shape, or washed such a brilliant shade of blue."

"Blue?" Amy squeaked. "Are you telling me they were unloading a big bright blue box?"

The first rope gave. "Aye," he answered with a grimace as he started on the next one. "It will be...but...a...moment..."

"Was there, by any chance, a... Well, a sort of lantern on the top?"

Jeremy stopped. Amy's question seemed nonsensical. "What?"

"Never mind. Are you almost through?"

"Almost. There!" As Amy shoved off the rent pieces of rope, Jeremy shifted and crouched behind the wall of wooden crates. He could see the area where their captors were working. The men had placed the blue box in a far corner of the warehouse and then formed a loose circle around it. The woman in green, who was clearly in charge, took hold of the door latch. She howled in frustration as she shoved and it did not move. A moment later the woman barked another order as she pointed in their direction.

Jeremy had the distinct feeling she was sending someone to fetch them.

A touch on his arm made him jump. "We need to get out of here," Amy warned as she started to move. "We need to get out of here now! There's another door back here along the wall somewhere. It's the way they brought me in."

After one frantic minute they found it. The door was not locked, but seemed to be barred from the outside. Behind them, Jeremy heard shouts of alarm.

Their escape had been discovered!

The rebel leader pressed his hands against the door and shoved with all his might. "It...won't...budge!"

Amy shot him a look that would have downed a Redcoat as she hitched her apricot skirts up revealing her long legs, which were sheathed in a a pair of pristine pantaloons.

"My Aunt Shannon didn't pay for those Karate lessons for nothing. Move aside, Rebel boy. Let me show you what a real woman can do!"

One well-placed kick and the wood splintered.

And they were gone.