Disclaimer: I don't own Pride and Prejudice, All credit to Jane Austen

Summary: See Previous Chapters

Chapter Eleven

Port harbours were the same all over, allowing for some variation in preferred colours and the language written on shop and tavern signs. Colonel Fitzwilliam had been to several, across four different countries, and they never changed very much.

Certainly some parts of the language never did, and it was almost a pity that Miss Lydia spoke French, because she was doubtless getting an education in the kind of words that never made it into language primers.

The crew finished their tasks with unbecoming haste, all of them ready to head straight to the nearest tavern and drink until they forgot the ordeal with the Sea Serpent. Feigning a put-upon sigh, Jasper offered Lydia his arm as they prepared to disembark. One of Wickham's contacts clapped him on the shoulder, not quite hard enough to stagger him. "Stuck with her now, eh? The Emperor is a romantic, he won't make you marry her if you don't want to."

Ugh, even imitating Wickham felt slimy, like the time his older brother had shoved him into the pond at their family estate and he had came up covered in duckweed. Jasper affected a casual shrug. "Her brother is wealthy, she may be worth it."

Miss Lydia affected a high-pitched giggle. Wickham's contact looked doubtful. "Well, bring her with us for now, at least until we hand you off to your escort. The Emperor is returning from the Russian Front, to speak to you in person."

Colonel Fitzwilliam nearly tripped over his own feet.

The Russian Front had been a very costly blunder driven mostly by Napoleon's ego - the desire to succeed where past conquerors had catastrophically failed - and partly by strategy. For Napoleon to abandon it after so many lives poured into each inch of advancement... was this the beginning of the Corsican's end? Was their mere presence enough to turn the tide and hasten Boney's defeat?

Wickham's contacts waved to a small squad of soldiers in expensive-looking uniforms approaching from the next wharf, clearly an honour guard of some kind, and tried to slip down an alleyway. A shadow moved, and all three dropped like split logs. Orpheus loaded the groaning forms onto a hand cart, and kissed Pandora on the cheek. "I'll see what more I can get out of them, and follow at a distance."

They had only minutes before the guard arrived. Best to get as much information as possible. "Boney is abandoning the Eastern front to meet with us?"

Pandora's eyes were narrowed in a very similar way to Miss Mary's, when she was thinking through something. "Well, he did have to go all the way to England to find Gifted who would bend their knee to him. The Russian campaign was costly, both in lives and goodwill, and Egypt did not go as well as he hoped, either. The Tyrant may be getting desperate."

Jasper had expected that Wickham had seen an opportunity and taken it, but Pandora implied that Napoleon had been seeking him, rather than they usual recruitment of foreign spies. "What do you mean?"

Tiresias's voice was softer than her sisters, as if she were distracted by events far away. "Those Gifted who fight against the Darkness do not support un-necessary conflict. Mass death, suffering, grief over senseless death... it breeds the kind of supernatural trouble that is not easily dispelled. Napoleon wanted the Gifted at the head of his armies, using our magic to devastate his enemies. He wanted to turn us into paid killers, rather than protectors."

Netherfield had been just such a place, ancient bitterness and grief allowed to fester until it manifested as malevolence, and it had taken the combined efforts of seven Warriors, plus Bingley, to break the Darkness's stranglehold there. No wonder Pandora spent so much time directing her network hither and thither, doing what they could to mitigate the damage before it could take hold, borrowing English soldiers to do the drudge-work of intelligence gathering!

Pandora took up where her sister left off. "Obviously, those who fight because it is our sacred duty refused him. Most of the undecided went into hiding once he started killing those who defied his commands. Some, like your Mr Wickham, are lacking enough in good principles not to care, but they are also the kind of person with egos equal to Napoleon's, and the alliance does not last long before they, too, meet Madam Guillotine."

The honour guard were almost on top of them, and the sisters vanished back into the shadows. "We'll make contact once you're inside the palace. Be careful."

From Calais to Paris took another two days of travel, thankfully in a luxuriously-appointed carriage. Jasper wasn't trusted quite so far as being allowed to ride by himself, as he had become used to on long marches, and the inactivity was grating. A badly-sprung carriage would have been far worse.

Fortunately, Lydia could keep up both ends of a conversation herself, peppering their escort with questions about this or that landmark or passing village in strongly-accented French. Barring a wince or two at her accent, the honour guard answered her easily enough, which allowed Jasper to take note of things that might become important later.

Upon reaching Paris, they were ushered away - still under guard, of course - to refresh themselves and change into borrowed clothing suitable for being presented to the Emperor.

That caused some awkwardness, because everyone presumed that, having "eloped", there would be no need for separate rooms, or even a presumption of body shyness. Wickham certainly would not have protested such an arrangement, whether his captive was willing or not, but Jasper was not such a cad as all that!

Miss Lydia's quick thinking saved the day again. "Might I have a screen? My dear Mr Wickham has never seen me in such finery as this, and I should dearly love to surprise him. You are French, you understand anticipation, do you not?"

Suspicion melted into indulgent chuckles, and a screen was fetched, sparing Jasper a beating once they returned home.

If he were to ever see Miss Lydia in such a state of undress, it would be when she was older, and after appropriate vows had been exchanged! Certainly not in a room full of strangers and without her consent! Those same strangers were now looking at him, and it was a good thing that Company Baths had rid him of any lingering self-consciousness years ago.

The clothing was the finest he'd worn in his life, all fine muslin and silk. He'd dressed as befitted an Earl's son at University, of course, but Father had an approximate idea of the kind of activities a young man got up to, and opted for sturdy materials over fashionable ones. Army Dress Uniforms might attract the eye, but they, too, were made for wear and tear.

He doubted that anyone would have recognised him in it, which was certainly to be hoped would be the case, just as anyone outside her immediate family would struggle to recognise the graceful, elegant lady that emerged from the screen as the wild flirt Miss Lydia represented herself as.

He offered her his arm, "You look lovely, my dear."

Time to brave the Tyrant in his throne room.

Napoleon did not look much like the caricatures circulated in the British papers, nor yet was he as impressive as the many, many portraits of him that lined the hallways.

He was, in contrast to his towering reputation, remarkably average by any measure one cared to use. Swarthy, but not enough to be truly considered dark, of middling height and looks, though his eyes were of a lighter shade than might be expected. It was a good thing Jasper had replaced Wickham; the charming, handsome reprobate would have been hated on sight.

It galled Jasper to bend his knee to the man whose orders had ended the lives of so many of his friends and comrades, but there was no choice. Napoleon left them kneeling for a long moment, before gesturing for them to rise. "I am told you are Gifted, but much may be accomplished by sleight of hand. Prove it and transform."

Lydia looked up, her eyes wide and girlish, "Will we not be executed, Your Majesty? The sailors had such dreadful stories, even after we saved them from the sea monster!"

The Corsican laughed. "No, my dear, I only execute those traitors who refuse to swear their loyalty to me."

Lydia curtsied deeply, so deeply that her knee touched the floor, murmuring her transformation phrase too softly for Napoleon to hear, though Jasper had to stifle a laugh when he heard it. Colourful light burst from her slippers, to the soft trill of woodwinds, swirling around her in bright sparkles, almost like fireworks, as her back foot swept around, allowing her to spin into an upright twirl, while the light transformed the glamorous jewel-toned court gown into a ballgown of soft pink, shimmering with magical power. Some of the light gathered at her waist, forming a long dagger, hanging off a golden belt.

Jasper gratefully used the distraction to trigger his own transformation, which finished a few seconds behind Lydia's. A soft ripple of applause came from the watching crowd, the Tyrant's most trusted courtiers. Napoleon glanced around, noting the lack of musicians. "Was that music part of the change?"

Lydia nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty, though it is different for each person. I was lucky, my sister Isabelle has trumpets, and poor Maria has a church organ. It makes being discreet ever so much trouble!"

Hm, Darcy had always complained about how obvious trumpets were, as well. Georgiana's harps and his own woodwinds were nothing by comparison, though he had always thought a drum would have been more appropriate for a soldier. That Mrs Darcy also had trumpets was interesting. Was it a commentary on the position of leadership each held within their teams, or an indication of compatibility? No doubt Miss Mary and Mr Crawley would appreciate the research opportunity, once they were advised of it.

Napoleon laughed. "You are welcome in my court, Mr and Mrs Wickham. Tomorrow, we shall discuss your role in my upcoming victories."

They were escorted back to the rooms they had been given, all the conceivable exits heavily guarded. A team of seamstresses appeared to take their measurements. Dinner was brought to them on trays.

Jasper hoped that Pandora made contact soon, as he braced himself for the awkward discussion of sleeping arrangements. There was a couch that looked to be as comfortable as the bed, but if anyone came to check on them in the night, there would be questions asked. Lydia seemed to have come to the same conclusion. "I think I could fit all five of my sisters in this bed, and still have room left over. We should be able to avoid each other easily enough, and I trust you to be honourable."

Somehow, as the sun rose and Jasper opened his eyes - years of army habits were difficult to break - Lydia had wound up in his arms, despite the frankly enormous bed. Georgiana had said that the youngest Bennet sister was comparable to a nocturnal octopus, who snuggled up to the nearest warm body.

Deliberately pushing away any contemplation of how nice it felt, Jasper carefully extracted himself, preparing to dress for the day. Thankfully, the screen from yesterday was still there, as was half a jug of water. Cold water, by now, but that at least finished the process of waking him up enough to think and plan.

Boney seemed willing to admit to what he did not know, at least so far, so if their tactic was one of delay, then distracting him with new knowledge of the Gifted was one possibility. If he chose to speak of tactics, those could be manipulated with diplomatic hints at what feats required larger numbers of Gifted to successfully achieve. The Bennet sisters were powerful in their own right, but the last thing Colonel Fitzwilliam wanted was for Napoleon to get the impression that the two of them could replace his depleted army by themselves!

A maid slipped in, carrying a fresh ewer of water and some linens, and a sleepy grumble came from the bed. The maid's soft laugh was blessedly familiar, and Jasper relaxed, "I was beginning to worry that something had happened to you."

The maid's deferential posture vanished, and Pandora's regal lounge replaced it. "There was very nearly a fight below stairs over who would be allowed to tend to you yesterday. Then rumours of the transformation made their way down, along with suggestions that you wouldn't be here long, and most of the servants decided to curry favour with the more permanent residents."

Those whose status and favour was more assured, and who might be more likely to gift an attentive servant a coin or two, in other words. Jasper raised an eyebrow. "How lucky for you."

Pandora preened, just a little, confirming his suspicion that she had done something to skew those odds. "Wasn't it?"

She shooed him out from behind the screen as he finished tying his shirt, and roused Lydia. "Wake up, dear girl, there is little time."

It was a little odd, to hold conversation with a screen, however richly embroidered. "What news to you bring?"

He was forced to duck as a shift was draped over the top of the screen, narrowly missing his head, and Pandora's voice replied. "The mixed kind. Your stay here will not be a long one, but it will be several more days before we can arrange your departure. Fear not, the end approaches."

War had raged most of Jasper's life, a steady background to the eternal struggle against the Darkness. He wondered if he would ever be able to stop fighting, and what he would do with himself if he did. "I know better than to doubt your sister's visions, but I dearly hope so."

Pandora emerged briefly from behind the screen to pat him on the shoulder, before retreating again with an armful of brightly coloured fabric. "France tires of war as much as you do, my friend. Napoleon has pushed them too hard, for too long. When the invasion comes, the city will not resist them."

Almost two weeks passed in similar fashion.

Their days were spent wandering the palace under close guard, "advising" the Emperor, and occasionally being permitted to socialise with the court if a party was being held and Napoleon wanted his prizes to be seen.

It was in the early hours of the morning after one such party that they received the good news, returning to their room to find Orpheus and Pandora waiting. "The Sixth Coalition approaches. We will have our people on the ground to protect the civilians, but you two must be gone before the army arrives, or you will be arrested as Spies in truth."

That was the danger of undercover work. Fitzwilliam had approval from the War Office for this mission, but the accusation would follow him for the rest of his life, and Miss Lydia would be as thoroughly ruined as it was possible to be. Pandora was right, better for them to leave before the invasion and any awkward questions.

Jasper immediately reached for the travel bag he had brought with him, retrieving clothing more suitable for travel. Would it be gauche to take the clothing that had been made for them, too? "Napoleon will pursue us, of course. Calais offers the swiftest journey back to England, but a diversion might be better."

Pandora and Lydia vanished behind the screen to change. "Tiresias is currently laying a false trail south-east, as a traitor can hardly return to his home country. We will go to Caen, and follow the l'Orne river to the Baie de la Seine, where Orpheus can summon help to make your crossing as swift as possible."

Lydia emerged, transformed into a plain travelling dress and holding the jewelled diadem she had been gifted to wear in her guise as a married woman. "I know it's silly of me, but I do so enjoy the French styles, and Mama would never allow me to order such a dress, even if we could afford it."

Jasper was not poor, but neither was he so flush with money that he'd turn down a gift. "If there is room in your valise, you might as well pack the gifts we were given. Try to leave the heavier items behind, though."

Napoleon would already be furious when he discovered them gone, a few sets of clothing were unlikely to make a difference.

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A/N: Just the epilogue to go! There are another 6000-ish words of bonus scenes and extra chapters that will not be posted online. You can find it on Kindle under the same title, and the pen-name Natasja Rose