I never did understand why they ended this series- it was the perfect
blended cheese, BC, and revolutionary parody. Anyways, this is a little
story that been rattling around my head for a long time, and it only just
coalesced. Just to warn fans of the series, this is proof I'm a sadistic
little author.
Time Changes Everything By Yokan
Emilia Rothschild stepped carefully off the gangplank onto the docks of Palau Palau for the first time in six years. The island seemed barely changed, still bright as ever, the people unconcerned with how the world around them was changing. The French still ruled, the ships still came in and out of port from the world over...In fact the only change any of them would have noticed would have been the absence of a certain urban myth, the Darin-
Emilia shook her head slightly, sighing at the pain in her breast. For six years of working together, they had parted on bad terms. Their respective countries had slowly wound themselves back to their own ways- even with Napoleon as a common enemy could they stay away from descending back into petty squabbles. Jack and she had fought often about it, but she hadn't thought of it. But by March of 1807, though, it was obvious that both were too loyal to their own (and too stubborn, she added sadly), and Jack had left for the States, both their good byes terse and poisonous. There had been a look in his eyes, though, just before he walked up the gangplank, out of her hair forever. Even now, seven year later, she awoke in the middle of night, those brown eyes boring into her soul.
She had heard rumors, of course, being a spy and all. Some say he was arrested on false charges, for working with the British; others that he had retired to the hills of Pennsylvania; even more said they had killed him defending Washington. Whatever the case, as the war worn down, the man who had been America's top spy was off the radar. Out of her reach, at least. No chance to apologize....
She straightened. The past had little importance now. Napoleon was still a threat, even as he was being hemmed in. She was tired of England, and Palau Palau was an evil she could live with. Being a female spy made it hard to defend herself against her peers and her superiors. Working with an American hadn't helped, either- several had insinuated she had been wooed over to the other side, what her fragile femininity. They had found the wrong side of an experiment, of course, but it still hurt. Palau Palau was away from all of that, where she was free from her family, her overbearing peers. Even if she had to face the ghosts of her past, it was still better than London.
She strolled down the main street, greeting old friends and contacts, admiring the wares, getting herself lost in shallow conversation and gossip. This is what she had enjoyed so much about Palau Palau. Even with the death of her husband, the people and atmosphere buffered from the pain. Before she could lose herself completely, however, a commotion caught her attention.
A garrison of French troops surrounded a small cart, hassling the vendor for taxes he obviously had already paid. A soldier drew his sword, and pressed it to the poor man's throat. Emilia tried to rush over to help, but the crowd was too thick, she'd never get there in time! There had to be another way.
Before she could change her tactics, however, a flash of red and black swooped in from the tree line and landed right behind the crowd of soldiers. Emilia gasped, redoubling her efforts to get closer. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be....!
But the French officer confirms her wild suspicions. "The Daring Dragoon! Get him!" The troop lunged at the masked man.
Emilia watched, entranced. Whoever he was, this Dragoon had been quite faithful the original's costume; in fact, it was almost identical, from what she could see at her distance. However, the mannerisms were all wrong. Jack had been witty with each sword thrust, drawing out the battle, not really harming those he fought as the victim got away. This one, however, just fought silently, delivering vicious blows to his foes. No blow was serious enough to kill, but enough for several weeks of serious medical care. Several now lay on the ground, clutching wounds.
The officer and the Dragoon were the only ones left standing, and Emilia bit her fist, still unsuccessful in getting any closer to the fight, unable to see the Dragoon carefully. The Dragoon thrust on, almost in bloodlust. Emilia saw the captain's blade find an opening and bit down hard on her hand to keep herself from crying out as the sword pierced the Dragoon's arm through the bicep. She tried to look away from the carnage, preparing for the surrender, but she was frozen on the spot, unable to turn her eyes away.
But the surrender, even the cry of pain that both she and the captain had obviously been expecting, never came. Grabbing the captain's blade to hold the officer fast, the Dragoon swung the hilt of his sword, the pommel connecting with a sick crack with the officer's temple. The other sword snapped in half under the unconscious man's weight. Finished, the Dragoon ran off as silently as he had come.
Emilia still stood in shock as the crowd dispersed. Who was that? Taking a moment to regain her composition, she turned to her one of her old contact's stall. He smiled her, obviously expecting her confusion.
"He appeared a year ago. No one knows who he is, of course. Some say it is the old Dragoon from before, having escaped French custody. Others say it is a new man, inspired by the other. A few say he is not a man at all- he fears no pain, does not bleed when he is pierced, or even cry out...as you no doubt saw." The merchant said as he made to show her various trinkets.
"Yes, I did, although he did bleed. So he's somewhat human." Emilia's rational mind kicked in.
"Yes, so it would seem. Speaking of old times, have you spoken to Mr. Stiles recently? I do miss his jokes."
Emilia's elation crashed. "I haven't spoken to Jack Stile in a very long time. For all I know, he's dead and buried." She said a bit tersely, letting the bitterness seep into her voice.
"Ah, too bad, too bad. Hah, you know, we used to think you two fancied each other, but were just professional to ever admit it to each other. But things change, I guess. I am sorry."
Emilia sighed. "Yes, yes they do. Thank you. Good day, Monsieur." With that, she turned to finish her trek home.
She was still lost in memories as she turned the lock on her front door. Funny, it turned rather easily for several years of disuse. She supposed that was the work of her associates who had kindly looked in every now and then to check in. She'd have to air out the bed linens, of course, and check up on her lab....
Emilia stopped. The false door, which she had installed before she left (to keep any would-be burglar from finding the lab while the illusion was turned off), was slightly ajar. Any other worries were dashed from her mind as she rushed down the secret stairs. If anyone had found the things in her lab, she was done for!
Peering into the darkness, Emilia grabbed a lantern and crept into the depths. Most things were as she had left them, although there was a serious lack of dust. The lab seemed cleaner than the first several years Jack had lived there, she mused. A few books were on her desk, though. Volumes of local herbal remedies, and explosives, she noted. Strange, her volumes of British intelligence were undisturbed.
A moan from behind a section made her turn. The noise came from the back corner of the lab, where Jack had once lived. She raised the lamp higher and grabbed a pistol off the display rack. She inched closer, noting that it definitely seemed to be a human making those noises.
Emilia bit back a gasp. It was the Dragoon, from earlier! That was how he had gotten the costume so right! Any worry of trouble vanished as she noticed the sword tip still embedded in his arm, the entire sleeve dyed a dark red from the wound. Grabbing her few medical supplies left in the lab, she bent down to help the poor hero.
He weakly protested, eyes still closed and head slipping down the cold wall. She cut away the bloody blouse, ignoring the dozens of scars that marred his skin, then quickly formed a tourniquet, and removed the blade. She cleaned then wound before binding tightly. A sigh of relief escaped when she was done. He would live another day to fight the good fight.
The masked man had already passed out long before she had finished. After moving him to a better position, she finally examined this stranger in her house. This wasn't the first time he felt the bite of a sword or bullet, no wonder he was used to pain, she realized sadly. He was also on the lean side, no doubt used to the pang of hunger as well. Emilia tsked softly- he had probably broken in to find food at first, finding the lab by accident. Her eyes moved up and rested on the mask. She had to know what he looked like. She had been away so long, she doubted she'd know him, but still, who had learned her secrets and made them his own? She lightly slipped off the hat, then, with hesitation, untied the mask.
And stared.
Several more scars crossed his face, including a burn over the left eye, and his temples sported white streaks, but there was no doubt in Emilia's mind.
She tried to speak, but could only manage a strangled whisper.
"Jack?" *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* To be continued....
How am I doing? Please tell me....
Time Changes Everything By Yokan
Emilia Rothschild stepped carefully off the gangplank onto the docks of Palau Palau for the first time in six years. The island seemed barely changed, still bright as ever, the people unconcerned with how the world around them was changing. The French still ruled, the ships still came in and out of port from the world over...In fact the only change any of them would have noticed would have been the absence of a certain urban myth, the Darin-
Emilia shook her head slightly, sighing at the pain in her breast. For six years of working together, they had parted on bad terms. Their respective countries had slowly wound themselves back to their own ways- even with Napoleon as a common enemy could they stay away from descending back into petty squabbles. Jack and she had fought often about it, but she hadn't thought of it. But by March of 1807, though, it was obvious that both were too loyal to their own (and too stubborn, she added sadly), and Jack had left for the States, both their good byes terse and poisonous. There had been a look in his eyes, though, just before he walked up the gangplank, out of her hair forever. Even now, seven year later, she awoke in the middle of night, those brown eyes boring into her soul.
She had heard rumors, of course, being a spy and all. Some say he was arrested on false charges, for working with the British; others that he had retired to the hills of Pennsylvania; even more said they had killed him defending Washington. Whatever the case, as the war worn down, the man who had been America's top spy was off the radar. Out of her reach, at least. No chance to apologize....
She straightened. The past had little importance now. Napoleon was still a threat, even as he was being hemmed in. She was tired of England, and Palau Palau was an evil she could live with. Being a female spy made it hard to defend herself against her peers and her superiors. Working with an American hadn't helped, either- several had insinuated she had been wooed over to the other side, what her fragile femininity. They had found the wrong side of an experiment, of course, but it still hurt. Palau Palau was away from all of that, where she was free from her family, her overbearing peers. Even if she had to face the ghosts of her past, it was still better than London.
She strolled down the main street, greeting old friends and contacts, admiring the wares, getting herself lost in shallow conversation and gossip. This is what she had enjoyed so much about Palau Palau. Even with the death of her husband, the people and atmosphere buffered from the pain. Before she could lose herself completely, however, a commotion caught her attention.
A garrison of French troops surrounded a small cart, hassling the vendor for taxes he obviously had already paid. A soldier drew his sword, and pressed it to the poor man's throat. Emilia tried to rush over to help, but the crowd was too thick, she'd never get there in time! There had to be another way.
Before she could change her tactics, however, a flash of red and black swooped in from the tree line and landed right behind the crowd of soldiers. Emilia gasped, redoubling her efforts to get closer. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be....!
But the French officer confirms her wild suspicions. "The Daring Dragoon! Get him!" The troop lunged at the masked man.
Emilia watched, entranced. Whoever he was, this Dragoon had been quite faithful the original's costume; in fact, it was almost identical, from what she could see at her distance. However, the mannerisms were all wrong. Jack had been witty with each sword thrust, drawing out the battle, not really harming those he fought as the victim got away. This one, however, just fought silently, delivering vicious blows to his foes. No blow was serious enough to kill, but enough for several weeks of serious medical care. Several now lay on the ground, clutching wounds.
The officer and the Dragoon were the only ones left standing, and Emilia bit her fist, still unsuccessful in getting any closer to the fight, unable to see the Dragoon carefully. The Dragoon thrust on, almost in bloodlust. Emilia saw the captain's blade find an opening and bit down hard on her hand to keep herself from crying out as the sword pierced the Dragoon's arm through the bicep. She tried to look away from the carnage, preparing for the surrender, but she was frozen on the spot, unable to turn her eyes away.
But the surrender, even the cry of pain that both she and the captain had obviously been expecting, never came. Grabbing the captain's blade to hold the officer fast, the Dragoon swung the hilt of his sword, the pommel connecting with a sick crack with the officer's temple. The other sword snapped in half under the unconscious man's weight. Finished, the Dragoon ran off as silently as he had come.
Emilia still stood in shock as the crowd dispersed. Who was that? Taking a moment to regain her composition, she turned to her one of her old contact's stall. He smiled her, obviously expecting her confusion.
"He appeared a year ago. No one knows who he is, of course. Some say it is the old Dragoon from before, having escaped French custody. Others say it is a new man, inspired by the other. A few say he is not a man at all- he fears no pain, does not bleed when he is pierced, or even cry out...as you no doubt saw." The merchant said as he made to show her various trinkets.
"Yes, I did, although he did bleed. So he's somewhat human." Emilia's rational mind kicked in.
"Yes, so it would seem. Speaking of old times, have you spoken to Mr. Stiles recently? I do miss his jokes."
Emilia's elation crashed. "I haven't spoken to Jack Stile in a very long time. For all I know, he's dead and buried." She said a bit tersely, letting the bitterness seep into her voice.
"Ah, too bad, too bad. Hah, you know, we used to think you two fancied each other, but were just professional to ever admit it to each other. But things change, I guess. I am sorry."
Emilia sighed. "Yes, yes they do. Thank you. Good day, Monsieur." With that, she turned to finish her trek home.
She was still lost in memories as she turned the lock on her front door. Funny, it turned rather easily for several years of disuse. She supposed that was the work of her associates who had kindly looked in every now and then to check in. She'd have to air out the bed linens, of course, and check up on her lab....
Emilia stopped. The false door, which she had installed before she left (to keep any would-be burglar from finding the lab while the illusion was turned off), was slightly ajar. Any other worries were dashed from her mind as she rushed down the secret stairs. If anyone had found the things in her lab, she was done for!
Peering into the darkness, Emilia grabbed a lantern and crept into the depths. Most things were as she had left them, although there was a serious lack of dust. The lab seemed cleaner than the first several years Jack had lived there, she mused. A few books were on her desk, though. Volumes of local herbal remedies, and explosives, she noted. Strange, her volumes of British intelligence were undisturbed.
A moan from behind a section made her turn. The noise came from the back corner of the lab, where Jack had once lived. She raised the lamp higher and grabbed a pistol off the display rack. She inched closer, noting that it definitely seemed to be a human making those noises.
Emilia bit back a gasp. It was the Dragoon, from earlier! That was how he had gotten the costume so right! Any worry of trouble vanished as she noticed the sword tip still embedded in his arm, the entire sleeve dyed a dark red from the wound. Grabbing her few medical supplies left in the lab, she bent down to help the poor hero.
He weakly protested, eyes still closed and head slipping down the cold wall. She cut away the bloody blouse, ignoring the dozens of scars that marred his skin, then quickly formed a tourniquet, and removed the blade. She cleaned then wound before binding tightly. A sigh of relief escaped when she was done. He would live another day to fight the good fight.
The masked man had already passed out long before she had finished. After moving him to a better position, she finally examined this stranger in her house. This wasn't the first time he felt the bite of a sword or bullet, no wonder he was used to pain, she realized sadly. He was also on the lean side, no doubt used to the pang of hunger as well. Emilia tsked softly- he had probably broken in to find food at first, finding the lab by accident. Her eyes moved up and rested on the mask. She had to know what he looked like. She had been away so long, she doubted she'd know him, but still, who had learned her secrets and made them his own? She lightly slipped off the hat, then, with hesitation, untied the mask.
And stared.
Several more scars crossed his face, including a burn over the left eye, and his temples sported white streaks, but there was no doubt in Emilia's mind.
She tried to speak, but could only manage a strangled whisper.
"Jack?" *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* To be continued....
How am I doing? Please tell me....