Chapter 6

The muted light inside the prison didn't prepare Jack for the glare of the morning sun. With his wrists chained, he found it difficult to raise his arm to ward off the brightness, so he squinted and resigned himself to seeing the world through limited vision behind his mask. The courtyard was full of people, the majority of them horrified by the sight of their hero being led to the guillotine in chains. Napoleon and Croque sat in ornate chairs on the mansion steps, getting a bird's eye view of the proceedings, matching grins cracking their faces.

Jack looked around and took stock of the expressions of horror and sadness on the peoples' faces, searching for Emilia. He didn't see her. He couldn't imagine her not being there to see him off, because it wasn't as if he were going on a temporary trip. This was permanent. As much as he hated the idea of dying at his age, he wished that it would be over soon. He'd suffered enough. A soft rumble increased in volume, and he realized that it was the crowd booing. He would have taken it personally, but Jack knew it wasn't the people condemning him. They were throwing things far out of reach of the Governor and Emperor Napoleon, but the message was clear. Rotten vegetables and headless effigies of the dignitaries littered the steps, symbols of the peoples' displeasure.

Knowing how the natives loved the Dragoon made Jack feel better, but someone getting up the nerve to stage a surprise raid and springing him would have given a much clearer message. He stumbled on the bottom step of the makeshift platform on which the executioner waited with his tool of death, and he pitched forward and gashed his chin on another. People gasped, and the crowd fell silent. Jack saw Emilia standing near the makeshift reviewing stand. Her eyes telegraphed her agitation, and her lips set in a pouty frown. She swiped her fingers over her chin, and he knew from her gesture that he was bleeding. It didn't matter, since in a few minutes he would hemorrhage from a slightly lower part of his anatomy and he wouldn't be in a position to care.

Emilia nodded to him, and he nodded in return, not sure what she meant by the gesture. Before he had time to ponder it, the guard pushed him up the stairs.

"Come along, Dragoon. You have a destiny to fulfill," the guard said and laughed. He shoved Jack between the shoulder blades hard enough to send him flying forward. Holding up his shackled hands, Jack was able to keep himself from tripping past the guillotine's frame and off the stage. Croque, Napoleon, and the other Frenchmen laughed. The people shrieked and gasped in shock.

When Jack stood on his own two feet on the stage, Napoleon stood on his throne. "Dragoon, you have been charged and convicted of insurrection against the people of France. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Plenty. Like, when was the trial, and why wasn't I invited?" Jack cracked.

"There was no need for a trial. The evidence was overwhelming against you," Napoleon replied, annoyance in his features. "Enough insolence! Let the execution begin!"

"Hey, wait a second, Nappy. Aren't you going to at least let me have a chance to address my people?"

"Your people," Napoleon shrieked. "These are my subjects, every one of them. They didn't make you Emperor of this island."

"They didn't make you Emperor of this island, either," Jack countered with a slight smirk. "I spent my life protecting these people from your ruthless dictatorship, and I pray that when I'm gone, another will rise up in my place to take up the cause."

"Dream on, Dragoon," Napoleon spat. He pointed toward the guard. "Prepare for the execution. But first, we must have the unveiling. I want to see who has been practicing this reign of terror on the people of this fair island all this time."

"You're gonna need a mirror for that," Jack remarked and laughed, and the people joined him, which only infuriated Napoleon more.

"Enough!" Napoleon stomped his foot. "Kneel, you knave, and take that mask off now!"

The guard positioned Jack before the guillotine and forced him to his knees. Jack stretched out his neck, egging on his enemies without a word. He felt his hat slip off his head and saw it drop to the wood planks like a discarded piece of trash. Fingers worked at the knot at the back of his head, loosening the material that served as a barrier between hero and villain. People sucked in their breaths, half in horror and half in curiosity. Underneath the mask, Jack felt a layer of sweat breaking out over his cheeks.

"Ho, ho! I hope I'm not too late for the party!"

Everyone's eyes rose to the mansion walls where a figure stood apart from the troops. He wore a red velvety cape, a black, tri-cornered hat, and a black mask. In his black gloved hand, he held a sword prepared to do battle. He didn't have long to wait.

"Get him!" Napoleon cried, and the soldiers rushed at the Dragoon on the wall.

The man was older, as evidenced by his stiffer movements, but he still had the agility when it counted. He was a master swordsman, better than Jack, and one by one his attackers fell off the wall and landed in the crowd or outside the property. They came at him from both directions and he took them all on with a second sword he retrieved from the top of the wall.

While the fight on the wall distracted the crowd, a wagon came barreling into the courtyard. Several young men jumped out of the wagon bed and aimed guns at the soldiers who attempted to reach the Dragoon on the wall. Several more ran to the guillotine stage.

Jack found himself being picked up and set on his feet, and one of his freedom fighters wrested the keys from the shocked guard. The shackles clunked as they hit the wood planks, and Jack rubbed his store wrists.

"Quickly, Sir, we must go," the man said to Jack.

"Really? And it was such a swell party, too," Jack quipped as he swept up his hat and held it over his head. "Sorry to run before refreshments were even served, Leon, but I've gotta run." Jack turned on his heel and followed the fighters. He found Nutcracker tied up behind the wagon, and he smiled.

"Your mount, Sir."

"Thanks," Jack said as he stuck his foot in the stirrup and climbed into the saddle. Grabbing the freed reins, he touched his hat and turned Nutcracker toward the exit. All around him, the people cheered and whistled, happy that their hero had been freed, but puzzled that there were now two Dragoons instead of one.

Jack was just as bewildered. He would have to track down his rescuer and thank him, not to mention find out who he was and what were his origins. Things could get complicated if there was a new Dragoon in town, because Jack wasn't ready to give up his alter-ego just yet.

After settling Nutcracker into the stables, Jack took the secret passageway to the laboratory where he shucked the soiled Dragoon costume. He slipped the suspenders off his shoulders and was about to remove his cravat when the light tap of feet on the stairs made him pause and poke his head around the dressing curtain.

"Emilia," he whispered.

"Jack," Emilia cried as she hurried to him. "Are you alright?" She met him on the other side of the curtain and grabbed his forearms with her hands.

"I'm fine, Em. Thanks for getting me out of that mess." His smile conveyed his appreciation. "Where'd you get the old Dragoon guy?"

Her eyes were wide when she replied, "He wasn't part of the plan. The villagers were supposed to just storm through the gates and steal you. The appearance of the Dragoon was just… a happy accident." She smiled, her eyes glistening. "Jack, I was so afraid they wouldn't make it in time." Her hand caressed his still sore cheek and jaw. "If I would have lost you…." She couldn't finish the thought. Emilia threw herself into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, not caring that his clothes were dirty and bloodied.

Blindsided by her move, Jack wrapped her into an embrace and rested his injured cheek on the top of her head. His chin had stopped bleeding, thankfully, or he might have resisted. She felt good, and she smelled even better. If they didn't have the obstacles of employer and employee, and co-workers in espionage, he would have tried to kiss her. Instead, he restrained himself and let her take control of the situation, and every second she wanted to embrace him he savored it in case it might be his last. Not that he was worried about being executed. He was more concerned that she would let her strange sense of decorum rule again and he would never be able to touch her again.

Jack braved a kiss on the top of her head before releasing her. "Jack... will you please get cleaned up and changed and meet me upstairs?"

His eyebrow quirked up and a leer formed on his lips. "What did you have in mind?"

"A celebratory lunch. Don't worry, Jack, I think our surprise Dragoon has thrown him Croque off the scent, and now he has no idea who the Dragoon really is. He just knows that he isn't you, and in that, you are safe to operate as the peoples' hero."

"Until he gets suspicious again, or the old geezer decides to take over," Jack countered. "I like being the Dragoon, and I really don't take kindly to having to share the task."

"Jack, please, just clean up and meet me in the parlor." Emilia let out a sigh and grasped her skirt in her hands before turning away and heading for the stairs.

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered. He hated when she was so bossy, but she was his employer, so he had no choice but to obey.

Jack removed his clothing and took a quick shower. He scraped the heavy whiskers from his face and liked looking in the mirror again. The stranger who stared at him before with his unkempt hair and face made Jack feel like he'd lost his memory again. It was back, though, and it included some things from the early days that he spent in Emilia's care. Bits and pieces of her sweetness and soft touches, the way she spoke to him made him feel loved. He knew it deep down that she did, she truly loved him. Hopefully in time she would see the value in telling him outright, rather than hold it in for the rest of their lives. What a waste that would be.

He arrived in the parlor completely dressed in his everyday clothing. Emilia sat on the sofa facing the entrance, a graying man sat with his back to the door. Jack arrived almost silent, but the man sensed his presence. With his teacup held in midair, the old Dragoon turned and smiled at Jack.

"Ah, my dear boy, how are you feeling? Much better after being out of Croque's clutches, I'll bet!" He set down his cup on its saucer and set the china on the coffee table before rising.

"Thank you for your assistance today, Sir," Jack said as he approached and held out a hand to shake the Dragoon's hand. "Like the costume. Where'd you get it?" Jack laughed with discomfort in the sound. "Looks like you raided my closet."

"I did."

Jack frowned and pulled out of the man's grip. "What? How'd you..."

The Old Dragoon smiled and explained. "Before you and Miz Rothschild came to this island, I served the people as the Dragoon. I had a different costume, but not too unlike what you wear."

"I don't understand. You're an American like me," Jack said, his brow furrowed. "How long have you been here?"

"Since after the Revolution. I was on a ship that wrecked not far from the south end of the island. The natives found me, and at the time I wore the cape and hat." The Old Dragoon took his seat again and Jack and Emilia settled into chairs across from him. "They thought that I had lost my mask and that I was the incarnation of their legend. Pirates raided the island constantly, and I spent most of my time fighting them. Then the French came, and I was getting older. I fell ill, and I retired the Dragoon."

"We didn't know you were here," Emilia declared.

"I keep a low profile," the older man replied. "My real name is Silas Merriman. Now that Mr. Stiles is well enough to take up the Dragoon again, I will simply fade into the background like I did before."

"Are you sure you don't want to help," Jack asked. He couldn't believe he was offering, but part of him understood the benefit more than one Dragoon could render the people. It would also keep Croque and Bogard from revisiting ideas that Jack was the Dragoon. Keep them guessing, and maybe drive them a little crazy.

The old man smiled and set down his cup. "I'm very grateful for the offer, Mister Stiles. However, I think that you are more than able to handle the job yourself." He stood and placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Jack. You're a terrific Dragoon." He squeezed and released Jack's shoulder. "Keep up the good work, young man!"

While Jack and Emilia watched, the Old Dragoon set his hat on his head, saluted, and jumped out the open window. They cringed, knowing he had a twelve foot fall to the ground. They heard a sound that was half cry and half groan, and Jack and Emilia shot out of their seats and approached the window. The old man sat in a saddle on a dark chestnut stallion, and he set the beast in motion as he nursed his rough landing. Jack could attest to the effects of such actions.

"Wonder if that horse is named Nutcracker, too," he muttered.

"Jack!" Emilia swatted him.

"Hey, I'm just asking. Jeez!"

Emilia grasped his upper arm and pulled him back into the parlor. "You need to stay away from sight for a few days until you've properly healed from your abuse at the hands of Croque's men."

"Oh? What do you suggest I do?" His mouth tipped up into a smile.

"Here," Emilia replied as she slapped a book into his chest. "This came in a new shipment. Enjoy! I need to get back to work. With all of the shenanigans around here lately, my books are out of order."

"I know a few other things that are out of order," Jack muttered, but he kept it to himself. Maybe some day they could straighten things out between them, and then he wouldn't be just Jack, the guy who worked with Emilia and played the Dragoon. Perhaps, in time, she wouldn't mind being Mrs. Jack Stiles. Hopefully he wouldn't have to hand off the Dragoon duties to someone else before that happened. He wasn't planning on waiting until he was an old man to win her hand.