The Magnificent Pimpernel

By Sue

The Magnificent Seven/The Scarlet Pimpernel Alternate Universe

---

"Having a private council, gentlemen?"

Four heads turned to the bed in the shadows, where a slender form was seen sitting up and trying to peer through the dim light.

Chris stood. "Rest easy, Standish, everything's all right."

"So I see," was the drawled reply as the gambler slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. One arm was gingerly rubbing his bandaged shoulder. "Where am I?"

"We brought you to a healer," Vin replied, standing and joining Chris as they walked to the man's bedside. "How are you feelin'?"

"Well," Ezra slurred, shaking his head sharply, "a bit dizzy, but nothing a dram of ale and a good rest in my own featherbed wouldn't remedy." He looked up, his eyes scanning the room until they lit on Josiah. "Ah! I trust I have you to thank for my treatment, sir," he said as he got carefully to his feet. "Fine work. May I offer you some form of compensation?"

Chris saw Josiah's mouth tug into a smile. "Not me, but you might try offering it to him." He indicated Nathan, who stood nearby.

Ezra glanced at the former slave, his eyes narrowing a bit in confusion. One muscle in his right cheek twitched. "And why would that be?"

"Because he's the one that saved your life," Chris stated flatly.

The gambler blinked, frowned, then chuckled a little, clearly disbelieving. "Is that some sort of jest?"

"Nobody was laughin' when he dug that pistol ball out of your shoulder," Vin observed.

Nathan stepped forward, proudly meeting the Southerner's gaze. "I'm a healer," he explained. "Been takin' care of wounds like that since I was twelve years old. You're lucky it didn't go in too deep, your arm'll just be sore for a little while."

Ezra said nothing as he stared at him.

"I'll show you the bullet if you want," Nathan offered, bending to retrieve a wooden bowl nearby which held the smashed pistol ball.

"No, no," Ezra said quickly, holding up his hand. "It's just, ah-I've heard of you slaves having remarkable healing skills-"

"Nathan's not a slave," Josiah declared hotly. "He's as free as you are."

"Free-?" Ezra turned his astounded gaze to Josiah, then back to Nathan, as if he could not quite grasp the idea. He stopped for a moment, pursed his lips, then took a step back, looking around quickly.

"Well," he coughed, sounding more than a bit rattled, "most remarkable. Are my clothes anywhere about? I really must be on my way."

Nathan looked over at Josiah and gave a slight 'I might have known' shrug and walked away without another word.

"They're over on that chair, what's left of them," Vin said, pointing with his pipe. "Afraid there's not much you can about the shirt."

"Hell," Ezra muttered, disappointed, as he took a step towards the chair where his garments lay neatly folded. Chris followed him, glancing back for a moment at Josiah, uncertain; asking Standish to join their group might be risky if he couldn't get along with Nathan. During his time in America, he'd seen the way Southerners treated their slaves, and was hardly surprised that Ezra seemed to regard Nathan as less than human. But they needed every man they could find.

Ezra had arrived at the chair, and was surveying his bloodstained shirt with dismay. Chris walked up beside him, watching him with sharp green eyes.

"I'm putting together a group of men to join the Scarlet Pimpernel in his efforts to help the condemned in France," he said, his voice low and serious.

"Is that a fact," Ezra replied casually, frowning at the ruined shirt.

"We thought you might like to join us, as you've worked with him before," Chris continued, his voice growing slightly louder in mild annoyance as Ezra seemed to ignore him. "I spoke with him, and he recommended you to me."

Ezra laughed a bit as he pulled on the torn shirt. "That was highly flattering of him, I'm sure," he responded with a slight shake of his head, "but I believe I shall remain on this side of the channel for the time being. Further forays into that den of insanity are no longer of interest to me."

"But you've helped him before," Vin pointed out.

Ezra carefully buttoned his vest, mindful of his hurt shoulder. "So I did," he confessed, looking over at the long-haired huntsman. "But in doing so I'm afraid I have exhausted my supply of altruism." He picked up his coat and shrugged it on slowly, easing in over his sore arm. "It is my hope to live long and die rich, not get myself entangled in someone else's affairs."

"If the Pimpernel felt that way, you'd be dead right now," Josiah pointed out, folding his arms.

Ezra glanced at the tall older man, his green eyes fixed as he nodded. "The Pimpernel has his noble calling, my friend, and I have mine," was the pragmatic response as Ezra picked up his walking stick. He then frowned and cast his gaze about the room. "Did anyone perchance find my hat?"

"Must be back where we found you," Vin muttered, sitting back down before the fire and putting his pipe back into his mouth. "Your horse is outside, though."

"Ah! Excellent. Well, best of luck, gentlemen," he said cheerfully, grasping the walking stick and lifting it in a salute. "Give my best to the Pimpernel. I'm sure he'll understand."

He was halfway to the door when Chris's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You know," Chris said idly, sitting down next to Vin, "if you changed your mind, you might have yourself enough of a fortune to buy a hundred hats when it's all over."

Ezra turned back, his brow wrinkled in confusion. "A fortune?" he repeated in a skeptical voice.

"Sure," Chris nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Just think of all those rich aristocrats in Paris, just waiting to bestow their gratitude on whoever's brave enough to save their lives."

Ezra laughed. "You're mad," he said, shaking his head. "Those people in the prisons have nothing. If you'll recall, I was one of them, once."

"Many of them have lost it all," said Chris with a shrug. "But you know how some of those rich people are. They don't keep all their gold in one place. I'll wager some of them have money hidden away in Germany, or Italy, or hell, even here in England. It's not the sort of thing they'd share with anyone, except maybe someone they were *very* grateful to."

Ezra stood still for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied Chris. "You know," he muttered in a very low voice, "I have heard, on one or two occasions, the grateful rescued offering a cash gift to the Pimpernel for his services. But he never accepted it."

"Of course not," Chris exclaimed, putting one elbow up on the table. "He's not that kind of man. But," he smiled, "you are. One or two such rescues and you could give up the gaming tables forever."

Vin nodded, a smile lighting his blue eyes. "Some of those aristocrats got an *awful* lot of money," he observed.

Silence fell in the small cabin as Ezra stared at him, mentally wavering. As he considered the dangerous yet tempting offer, Nathan approached him, carrying something in a small burlap bag.

"Here," the healer said, handing the befuddled gambler the bag.

"What's this?" Ezra opened the top and peeped inside.

"Just somethin' for your wound, if it starts hurtin'," Nathan replied, looking Ezra full in the face. "Put it on an' wrap it up, and it should be fine."

"Oh," Ezra murmured uneasily. He looked up at the former slave, swallowed, and managed to choke out a somewhat awkward, "Thank you."

Nathan nodded and stepped back, his eyes never leaving the Southerner.

After a moment's thought, Ezra clutched the bag and looked up. "Well, now, I really must be going. Sir Christopher, I promise to...consider what you have said. If you need to reach me, I have a room at the Red Horse Inn. Good day, gentlemen."

With that, Ezra turned and hastened out the door. A few minutes later, the hoofbeats of his horse sounded his departure through the woods.

Nathan snorted. "We probably won't be seein' *him* again," he commented with a shake of his head.

"You never know, Nate," Josiah said as he sat back down at the table. "I think he was feeling pretty tempted. The money was a good idea, Chris."

Chris shrugged. "If that's what it takes to get him to help us, that's fine with me. He doesn't have to have pure motives."

"As long as he doesn't sell us out to the French," Vin sighed, sitting up.

"He would've done that before, if that was his way," was Chris's reply. "The Pimpernel wouldn't have suggested Standish if he didn't trust him, and I'll go by his judgment."

"So what happens now?" Nathan inquired.

Chris sat back, puffing slowly on his pipe.

"I've got one more man I want to talk to," he said thoughtfully. "And I'm pretty sure I know what he's going to say."


"Go back to France? Chris, are you MAD?"

Buck's incredulous voice echoed through the deserted stable, empty except for himself, Chris, and a few horses who were content to ignore them and much hay instead. It was almost dusk; most of the household was inside or away, leaving the two friends to converse in privacy. Nevertheless, they stood in the furthest corner of the building, and spoke in hushed tones.

"Probably," was Chris's dry response as he leaned on a post and gazed at his friend. "But it's a madness I'm not going to fight, if it'll help things."

"That's very noble-sounding," Buck agreed in a somewhat sarcastic tone as he continued his activity of sweeping out the corner stall, "but maybe you've forgotten that the last time we were there, we came damn close to having our heads chopped off!"

Chris sighed, a tense, almost angry glow in his eyes. "I'll never forget that, Buck, and that memory is part of why I'm doing this. If we just sit on our asses over here, those people condemned to die haven't got a chance."

The other man's lip pressed together in frustration as he sighed. "I'm not saying it's not a horrible situation, Chris," he said in a tight voice as he raked the floor with the broom. "But it was hard enough for Vin and I to get you out of there the last time. Things are worse there now, and getting bloodier all the time. Do you really think we'd stand a chance of getting in and out of that charnel house alive?"

"Possibly not, but it's a risk I'd be willing to take," Chris admitted. He drew a deep breath and ran one hand over his hair, looking seriously at Buck. "I know it sounds like insanity, Buck, but I'm determined to see this through, with or without you. But we'll stand a better chance with you."

Buck winced a little and looked at Chris sideways, hesitation in his deep blue eyes.

"Are you doing this in the name of righteousness," he asked Chris quietly, "or revenge?"

Chris's expression was grim, and it was a few moments before he found an answer. "I'm not quite sure myself, yet," he confessed, looking away across the bright green lawns of the Wilmington estate. "But I don't suppose that will matter much to the people who need our help."

"I suppose not," Buck agreed, dropping his eyes. After thinking in silence for some time, he went back to sweeping. "Well...I don't suppose Father or my brothers would care much if I went off now and then."

Chris looked back at Buck, hopeful.

"And," Buck went on, his voice becoming bit stronger, "last time we were in Paris, I barely had any time to meet any of those pretty mademoiselles. At least, the ones that weren't trying to kill us."

Chris grinned slightly. "I don't think they'd forgive us if we came over without you."

Buck laughed a little, then paused as a thought struck him. "Chris, what about JD?"

There was a pause as Chris looked sharply at Buck, thinking. Finally he sighed, his face somber. "Buck, I'd rather he not know about this," he said in a quiet voice. "He'll want to come along, and he's too young to have to endure the sort of things we'll be facing. He'll be safer here."

"Now, Chris, you know I've got to at least tell him about this," Buck said firmly, turning to face his friend. "I can't go off and perhaps get killed without him knowing what's going on."

"Who's getting killed?"

Both men turned to see JD standing by the stable's trough, holding a dripping bucket full of water and eyeing them both with a puzzled look on his boyish face.

"Damn," Chris muttered below his breath, looking away. He hadn't wanted this.

Buck gave him a quick glance. "Sorry, Chris. He's got to know," he whispered, and stepped forward towards the young man. Chris followed warily, fairly certain of what was about to happen.

"I thought you were over helping Sir Hodsford's stableman birth their new colt," Buck said aloud as he approached the younger man.

JD shrugged and poured the water into the trough. "By the time I got there, she'd already had the colt. They didn't need me, so I came back." He glanced between Buck and Chris and shrugged a little. "Sorry, I couldn't help hearin' you say you're going off somewhere. Up to Ireland again?"

Buck cleared his throat. "A little farther than that, JD," he said, glancing around to make sure noone was near. "Now, I've got some things to tell you, but you have to swear you won't tell anyone else a word of it."

The stableboy's face contorted in puzzlement for a moment as he set down the bucket, wiping his hands on his roughly woven breeches as he stepped closer. "You know I won't say anything, Buck. It sounds serious-are you in trouble or something?"

"Probably, son," Buck said with a nod. "JD, Chris met the Scarlet Pimpernel the other night."

The young man's hazel eyes flew open. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed in a loud, awestruck whisper as he stared at Chris.

"Shh!" Buck hissed, looking towards the house.

JD nodded contritely and turned back to Chris, his voice dropping sharply. "What was he like? Who is he-do we know him?"

"I can't tell you that, JD," Chris said quietly. "The less you know, the better and safer it is."

The young man grunted with frustration and looked at Buck. "Damn, Buck, why tell me this if I can't hear any of the details?"

Buck took a deep, preparatory breath, his expression betraying the fact that he knew this would not be easy. "Because, son, the fact is, Chris and I are joining up with the Pimpernel, and I wanted you to know about it in case we go out one day and don't come back."

JD blinked, his jaw dropping. After a few minutes, he stepped back, looking at the two men in disbelief.

"You're serious," he prodded.

"Deadly serious, JD," Chris replied. "The situation in France is worsening every day; even the Pimpernel and his men can't handle all of it any more. He's asked for our help."

JD's eyes studied Chris for a moment, weighing his older friend's words, his face slack with surprise.

A few moments passed, then JD began to shake his head. "You've got to let me come with you," he insisted.

Both Chris and Buck had fully been expecting this.

"No, JD," Buck said firmly.

JD took a few more steps closer to them, his eyes pleading as he turned to each man. "Please, Buck!" he urged. "You'll need all the help you can get, the way France is now. You know I can handle a sword, and my French is better than yours!"

"JD, you've never even been to France," Buck explained patiently.

"Exactly! Don't you see?" JD shot back enthusiastically. "They don't know me there, the way they know you. I can go into places you can't, they'd never suspect me. Please, you know I'll go mad knowing you're over there!"

"JD," Chris's voice was very quiet, its somber tone catching the young man's attention, and as he spoke he regarded JD with intense green eyes, "this won't be like some exciting newspaper account of the Pimpernel's latest adventure. There are things happening in France today that those writers don't tell you about. The last thing Buck and I want is to get you involved in that hell."

Silence fell in the stable, and JD looked away, sighing a little as he pursed his lips in thought. Finally he looked back, more calm, the brilliant energy of enthusiasm replaced by quiet determination.

"I know it'll be dangerous," JD said softly, "and I know it won't be anything like the stories they've been telling. But I think...I *know* I'm strong enough to face it. I want to help, to feel I'm doing something important. Something Mama would be proud of."

"I'm not so sure she'd approve of you going off to France, JD," Buck noted. "And what if you got killed? Damn, I'd never forgive myself."

JD frowned at him. "How do you think I'd feel, Buck, if you got in trouble over there and I couldn't help?" He sighed. "Most of the noblemen around here treat me like dirt, except for the two of you. I can't repay you by letting you go off into danger without me."

Buck was plainly wavering. He glanced over at Chris, who had dropped his eyes as he mulled over the question. At length Chris lifted them, looking straight into JD's face.

"We won't be able to protect you, JD," he said in a soft but sharp voice. "You've got to understand what this decision means. If you're caught by the French, you'll likely face the guillotine, and they'll probably torture you first to find out what you know. They'll do anything to find the Pimpernel, but you'd have to be strong and not say anything, no matter what they did to you."

Chris's voice fell to a cold, serious whisper. "You're right, I need someone with your skills," he went on, barely moving, "but I've got to know that I can trust you in this. I want you to think about it for a while, and remember there's no shame in deciding you'd rather stay here. At least then, you'd be able to have a family and grow old, a chance we may not have. But if you come with us, there won't be any turning back. All right?"

The distant sound of several approaching horses caught their ears. JD jumped a little, startled out of his reverie, and he looked over his shoulder towards the east lawn.

"Sir Wilmington's coming back from his afternoon hunt," the young man explained, turning back to the two older men. "They'll want their horses tended to. I'll...think about what you said, Chris."

With that, JD hurried off, his expression still deeply pensive.

"I think you frightened him, Chris," Buck noted as they watched JD run across the lawn.

"Good," was the satisfied reply. "Better he be frightened now, where he's still safe." He paused, then glanced at his old friend with a slight smile. "Did I frighten *you*?"

Buck laughed. "Damn, Chris, I've been frightened all along! But that never kept me out of a good fight."

The other man nodded with a grin. In the distance, a small group of horsemen appeared, heading for the stable.

"I'd better go," Chris announced. "See you tomorrow night at the reception?"

"Still planning on it," Buck said, smiling. "It's been too long since the pretty ladies of the county were treated to the Wilmington charm!"

Chris shook his head, amused. "Now *I'm* frightened," he muttered, and with a farewell nod left the stable. As he mounted Valor and prepared to ride off, he glanced back at JD, who was carefully walking Sir Wilmington's horse back to the stable. Chris sat still for a moment, his face reflecting an attitude of anxious thought. Then, hoping the young man would make the right decision, Chris turned his horse and headed for home.



"Sounds like a very dangerous endeavor, to me."

Josiah's quiet, thoughtful voice barely disturbed the warm air of Nathan's cottage. He and his three companions sat at the rough table before the fire, lit only by the flickering glow of the hearth as they softly conversed over the remains of their supper. In the shadows, Ezra slept undisturbed on Nathan's bed, oblivious to the crucial conversation taking place nearby.

Chris took a puff on his long pipe, the aromatic smoke rising and mingling with the clouds wafting from the shorter pipes held in the hands of Josiah and Vin. "It *is* very dangerous," Chris replied softly. "And it's entirely up to you if you want to join us. But the way I see it, it's the very dangerous endeavors that need doing the most."

Josiah puffed his pipe and glanced at Nathan. Unlike the other men, Nathan had foregone the pipe for a small cigar. Chris waited, hopeful; he'd decided to include Nathan for several reasons, not the least of which was the fact that they'd likely need someone with healing skills in the risky venture which lay ahead of them. The former slave had already proven his worthiness by saving Ezra's life; the question now was whether he would risk his freedom by involving himself in such a lethal enterprise.

"Dangerous don't tell it by half, from what I hear," Nathan offered, the pungent smoke from his cigar floating around his head. "It sounds like they've lost their minds, over there."

"And it's likely going to get worse," Chris said with a sigh, shifting in his seat on the rough wooden bench. "Now that Robespierre's in power, Paris will most likely be drenched with blood."

"I saw enough in France to know this won't be easy," Vin said in a grim whisper, his blue eyes staring into the hypnotic fire. "Everyone's ruled by the fear of bein' denounced and condemned. All you got to do is look at someone sideways to be arrested."

"And if we're caught," Josiah added in a low, pensive voice, "it'll likely mean facing the guillotine again."

Chris drew a deep breath and leaned forward, folding his hands on the table, the pipe cradled in one palm. "At least they probably wouldn't kill us right away," he said in a deceptively light tone. "I imagine they'd have a few questions to ask before putting our necks under the blade."

"And I'm guessing they wouldn't ask politely," Vin coughed quietly.

Chris shook his head, lifting his eyes to meet the gaze of every man at the table. "I know it's asking a lot," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, his green eyes burning in the firelight, "and there's no guarantee of anything, not even returning to England alive. But I know I can't sit easy here, knowing what's happening to my dead wife's countrymen, and not try to help. Those poor bastards have no one to look to, but men like the Pimpernel. And us."

Josiah's face was somber, his blue eyes cast down to the table as the smoke from his pipe slithered into the air. "The Lord's led me down a lot of paths in my life," he finally said softly, not looking up. "Some of them I felt certain were roads to hell, like the one that led me into the prison in Paris. I've been thanking God every day for my survival, even if I wasn't sure why He granted it to me." He paused, then looked up at Chris. "Maybe this is why. I suppose I won't find out unless I come along."

Chris smiled, relieved and not terribly surprised. He glanced over to the healer. "Nathan?"

The former slave took a draw on his cigar, his expression thoughtful. For several minutes, he said nothing.

"I wouldn't blame you if you'd rather stay safe, and enjoy your freedom," Chris said, eyeing the healer earnestly. "God knows you've suffered enough, from the sounds of it. But we certainly could use you."

Nathan glanced up at him, paused, then nodded. "It ain't been easy, that's for sure," he agreed softly. "An' if it was just those rich aristocrats in those jails, I'd say go on without me. But they're lockin' up and killin' rich and poor alike, people who don't deserve it." His lip twitched, and his eyes fell. "I know what that's like, an' I can't sit by and be selfish with my freedom. It'd shame my mama and papa to know I could have helped, and didn't." He took a deep breath and met Chris's eyes, a smile spreading over his face. "S'pose I'm in."

A second grateful smile crossed Chris's face. "Good!" he said in a quiet, emphatic voice. Percy would be pleased to know so many men were willing to join him.

"Having a private council, gentlemen?"

Four heads turned to the bed in the shadows, where a slender form was seen sitting up and trying to peer through the dim light.

Chris stood. "Rest easy, Standish, everything's all right."

"So I see," was the drawled reply as the gambler slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. One arm was gingerly rubbing his bandaged shoulder. "Where am I?"

"We brought you to a healer," Vin replied, standing and joining Chris as they walked to the man's bedside. "How are you feelin'?"

"Well," Ezra slurred, shaking his head sharply, "a bit dizzy, but nothing a dram of ale and a good rest in my own featherbed wouldn't remedy." He looked up, his eyes scanning the room until they lit on Josiah. "Ah! I trust I have you to thank for my treatment, sir," he said as he got carefully to his feet. "Fine work. May I offer you some form of compensation?"

Chris saw Josiah's mouth tug into a smile. "Not me, but you might try offering it to him." He indicated Nathan, who stood nearby.

Ezra glanced at the former slave, his eyes narrowing a bit in confusion. One muscle in his right cheek twitched. "And why would that be?"

"Because he's the one that saved your life," Chris stated flatly.

The gambler blinked, frowned, then chuckled a little, clearly disbelieving. "Is that some sort of jest?"

"Nobody was laughin' when he dug that pistol ball out of your shoulder," Vin observed.

Nathan stepped forward, proudly meeting the Southerner's gaze. "I'm a healer," he explained. "Been takin' care of wounds like that since I was twelve years old. You're lucky it didn't go in too deep, your arm'll just be sore for a little while."

Ezra said nothing as he stared at him.

"I'll show you the bullet if you want," Nathan offered, bending to retrieve a wooden bowl nearby which held the smashed pistol ball.

"No, no," Ezra said quickly, holding up his hand. "It's just, ah-I've heard of you slaves having remarkable healing skills-"

"Nathan's not a slave," Josiah declared hotly. "He's as free as you are."

"Free-?" Ezra turned his astounded gaze to Josiah, then back to Nathan, as if he could not quite grasp the idea. He stopped for a moment, pursed his lips, then took a step back, looking around quickly.

"Well," he coughed, sounding more than a bit rattled, "most remarkable. Are my clothes anywhere about? I really must be on my way."

Nathan looked over at Josiah and gave a slight 'I might have known' shrug and walked away without another word.

"They're over on that chair, what's left of them," Vin said, pointing with his pipe. "Afraid there's not much you can about the shirt."

"Hell," Ezra muttered, disappointed, as he took a step towards the chair where his garments lay neatly folded. Chris followed him, glancing back for a moment at Josiah, uncertain; asking Standish to join their group might be risky if he couldn't get along with Nathan. During his time in America, he'd seen the way Southerners treated their slaves, and was hardly surprised that Ezra seemed to regard Nathan as less than human. But they needed every man they could find.

Ezra had arrived at the chair, and was surveying his bloodstained shirt with dismay. Chris walked up beside him, watching him with sharp green eyes.

"I'm putting together a group of men to join the Scarlet Pimpernel in his efforts to help the condemned in France," he said, his voice low and serious.

"Is that a fact," Ezra replied casually, frowning at the ruined shirt.

"We thought you might like to join us, as you've worked with him before," Chris continued, his voice growing slightly louder in mild annoyance as Ezra seemed to ignore him. "I spoke with him, and he recommended you to me."

Ezra laughed a bit as he pulled on the torn shirt. "That was highly flattering of him, I'm sure," he responded with a slight shake of his head, "but I believe I shall remain on this side of the channel for the time being. Further forays into that den of insanity are no longer of interest to me."

"But you've helped him before," Vin pointed out.

Ezra carefully buttoned his vest, mindful of his hurt shoulder. "So I did," he confessed, looking over at the long-haired huntsman. "But in doing so I'm afraid I have exhausted my supply of altruism." He picked up his coat and shrugged it on slowly, easing in over his sore arm. "It is my hope to live long and die rich, not get myself entangled in someone else's affairs."

"If the Pimpernel felt that way, you'd be dead right now," Josiah pointed out, folding his arms.

Ezra glanced at the tall older man, his green eyes fixed as he nodded. "The Pimpernel has his noble calling, my friend, and I have mine," was the pragmatic response as Ezra picked up his walking stick. He then frowned and cast his gaze about the room. "Did anyone perchance find my hat?"

"Must be back where we found you," Vin muttered, sitting back down before the fire and putting his pipe back into his mouth. "Your horse is outside, though."

"Ah! Excellent. Well, best of luck, gentlemen," he said cheerfully, grasping the walking stick and lifting it in a salute. "Give my best to the Pimpernel. I'm sure he'll understand."

He was halfway to the door when Chris's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You know," Chris said idly, sitting down next to Vin, "if you changed your mind, you might have yourself enough of a fortune to buy a hundred hats when it's all over."

Ezra turned back, his brow wrinkled in confusion. "A fortune?" he repeated in a skeptical voice.

"Sure," Chris nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Just think of all those rich aristocrats in Paris, just waiting to bestow their gratitude on whoever's brave enough to save their lives."

Ezra laughed. "You're mad," he said, shaking his head. "Those people in the prisons have nothing. If you'll recall, I was one of them, once."

"Many of them have lost it all," said Chris with a shrug. "But you know how some of those rich people are. They don't keep all their gold in one place. I'll wager some of them have money hidden away in Germany, or Italy, or hell, even here in England. It's not the sort of thing they'd share with anyone, except maybe someone they were *very* grateful to."

Ezra stood still for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied Chris. "You know," he muttered in a very low voice, "I have heard, on one or two occasions, the grateful rescued offering a cash gift to the Pimpernel for his services. But he never accepted it."

"Of course not," Chris exclaimed, putting one elbow up on the table. "He's not that kind of man. But," he smiled, "you are. One or two such rescues and you could give up the gaming tables forever."

Vin nodded, a smile lighting his blue eyes. "Some of those aristocrats got an *awful* lot of money," he observed.

Silence fell in the small cabin as Ezra stared at him, mentally wavering. As he considered the dangerous yet tempting offer, Nathan approached him, carrying something in a small burlap bag.

"Here," the healer said, handing the befuddled gambler the bag.

"What's this?" Ezra opened the top and peeped inside.

"Just somethin' for your wound, if it starts hurtin'," Nathan replied, looking Ezra full in the face. "Put it on an' wrap it up, and it should be fine."

"Oh," Ezra murmured uneasily. He looked up at the former slave, swallowed, and managed to choke out a somewhat awkward, "Thank you."

Nathan nodded and stepped back, his eyes never leaving the Southerner.

After a moment's thought, Ezra clutched the bag and looked up. "Well, now, I really must be going. Sir Christopher, I promise to...consider what you have said. If you need to reach me, I have a room at the Red Horse Inn. Good day, gentlemen."

With that, Ezra turned and hastened out the door. A few minutes later, the hoofbeats of his horse sounded his departure through the woods.

Nathan snorted. "We probably won't be seein' *him* again," he commented with a shake of his head.

"You never know, Nate," Josiah said as he sat back down at the table. "I think he was feeling pretty tempted. The money was a good idea, Chris."

Chris shrugged. "If that's what it takes to get him to help us, that's fine with me. He doesn't have to have pure motives."

"As long as he doesn't sell us out to the French," Vin sighed, sitting up.

"He would've done that before, if that was his way," was Chris's reply. "The Pimpernel wouldn't have suggested Standish if he didn't trust him, and I'll go by his judgment."

"So what happens now?" Nathan inquired.

Chris sat back, puffing slowly on his pipe.

"I've got one more man I want to talk to," he said thoughtfully. "And I'm pretty sure I know what he's going to say."


"Go back to France? Chris, are you MAD?"

Buck's incredulous voice echoed through the deserted stable, empty except for himself, Chris, and a few horses who were content to ignore them and much hay instead. It was almost dusk; most of the household was inside or away, leaving the two friends to converse in privacy. Nevertheless, they stood in the furthest corner of the building, and spoke in hushed tones.

"Probably," was Chris's dry response as he leaned on a post and gazed at his friend. "But it's a madness I'm not going to fight, if it'll help things."

"That's very noble-sounding," Buck agreed in a somewhat sarcastic tone as he continued his activity of sweeping out the corner stall, "but maybe you've forgotten that the last time we were there, we came damn close to having our heads chopped off!"

Chris sighed, a tense, almost angry glow in his eyes. "I'll never forget that, Buck, and that memory is part of why I'm doing this. If we just sit on our asses over here, those people condemned to die haven't got a chance."

The other man's lip pressed together in frustration as he sighed. "I'm not saying it's not a horrible situation, Chris," he said in a tight voice as he raked the floor with the broom. "But it was hard enough for Vin and I to get you out of there the last time. Things are worse there now, and getting bloodier all the time. Do you really think we'd stand a chance of getting in and out of that charnel house alive?"

"Possibly not, but it's a risk I'd be willing to take," Chris admitted. He drew a deep breath and ran one hand over his hair, looking seriously at Buck. "I know it sounds like insanity, Buck, but I'm determined to see this through, with or without you. But we'll stand a better chance with you."

Buck winced a little and looked at Chris sideways, hesitation in his deep blue eyes.

"Are you doing this in the name of righteousness," he asked Chris quietly, "or revenge?"

Chris's expression was grim, and it was a few moments before he found an answer. "I'm not quite sure myself, yet," he confessed, looking away across the bright green lawns of the Wilmington estate. "But I don't suppose that will matter much to the people who need our help."

"I suppose not," Buck agreed, dropping his eyes. After thinking in silence for some time, he went back to sweeping. "Well...I don't suppose Father or my brothers would care much if I went off now and then."

Chris looked back at Buck, hopeful.

"And," Buck went on, his voice becoming bit stronger, "last time we were in Paris, I barely had any time to meet any of those pretty mademoiselles. At least, the ones that weren't trying to kill us."

Chris grinned slightly. "I don't think they'd forgive us if we came over without you."

Buck laughed a little, then paused as a thought struck him. "Chris, what about JD?"

There was a pause as Chris looked sharply at Buck, thinking. Finally he sighed, his face somber. "Buck, I'd rather he not know about this," he said in a quiet voice. "He'll want to come along, and he's too young to have to endure the sort of things we'll be facing. He'll be safer here."

"Now, Chris, you know I've got to at least tell him about this," Buck said firmly, turning to face his friend. "I can't go off and perhaps get killed without him knowing what's going on."

"Who's getting killed?"

Both men turned to see JD standing by the stable's trough, holding a dripping bucket full of water and eyeing them both with a puzzled look on his boyish face.

"Damn," Chris muttered below his breath, looking away. He hadn't wanted this.

Buck gave him a quick glance. "Sorry, Chris. He's got to know," he whispered, and stepped forward towards the young man. Chris followed warily, fairly certain of what was about to happen.

"I thought you were over helping Sir Hodsford's stableman birth their new colt," Buck said aloud as he approached the younger man.

JD shrugged and poured the water into the trough. "By the time I got there, she'd already had the colt. They didn't need me, so I came back." He glanced between Buck and Chris and shrugged a little. "Sorry, I couldn't help hearin' you say you're going off somewhere. Up to Ireland again?"

Buck cleared his throat. "A little farther than that, JD," he said, glancing around to make sure noone was near. "Now, I've got some things to tell you, but you have to swear you won't tell anyone else a word of it."

The stableboy's face contorted in puzzlement for a moment as he set down the bucket, wiping his hands on his roughly woven breeches as he stepped closer. "You know I won't say anything, Buck. It sounds serious-are you in trouble or something?"

"Probably, son," Buck said with a nod. "JD, Chris met the Scarlet Pimpernel the other night."

The young man's hazel eyes flew open. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed in a loud, awestruck whisper as he stared at Chris.

"Shh!" Buck hissed, looking towards the house.

JD nodded contritely and turned back to Chris, his voice dropping sharply. "What was he like? Who is he-do we know him?"

"I can't tell you that, JD," Chris said quietly. "The less you know, the better and safer it is."

The young man grunted with frustration and looked at Buck. "Damn, Buck, why tell me this if I can't hear any of the details?"

Buck took a deep, preparatory breath, his expression betraying the fact that he knew this would not be easy. "Because, son, the fact is, Chris and I are joining up with the Pimpernel, and I wanted you to know about it in case we go out one day and don't come back."

JD blinked, his jaw dropping. After a few minutes, he stepped back, looking at the two men in disbelief.

"You're serious," he prodded.

"Deadly serious, JD," Chris replied. "The situation in France is worsening every day; even the Pimpernel and his men can't handle all of it any more. He's asked for our help."

JD's eyes studied Chris for a moment, weighing his older friend's words, his face slack with surprise.

A few moments passed, then JD began to shake his head. "You've got to let me come with you," he insisted.

Both Chris and Buck had fully been expecting this.

"No, JD," Buck said firmly.

JD took a few more steps closer to them, his eyes pleading as he turned to each man. "Please, Buck!" he urged. "You'll need all the help you can get, the way France is now. You know I can handle a sword, and my French is better than yours!"

"JD, you've never even been to France," Buck explained patiently.

"Exactly! Don't you see?" JD shot back enthusiastically. "They don't know me there, the way they know you. I can go into places you can't, they'd never suspect me. Please, you know I'll go mad knowing you're over there!"

"JD," Chris's voice was very quiet, its somber tone catching the young man's attention, and as he spoke he regarded JD with intense green eyes, "this won't be like some exciting newspaper account of the Pimpernel's latest adventure. There are things happening in France today that those writers don't tell you about. The last thing Buck and I want is to get you involved in that hell."

Silence fell in the stable, and JD looked away, sighing a little as he pursed his lips in thought. Finally he looked back, more calm, the brilliant energy of enthusiasm replaced by quiet determination.

"I know it'll be dangerous," JD said softly, "and I know it won't be anything like the stories they've been telling. But I think...I *know* I'm strong enough to face it. I want to help, to feel I'm doing something important. Something Mama would be proud of."

"I'm not so sure she'd approve of you going off to France, JD," Buck noted. "And what if you got killed? Damn, I'd never forgive myself."

JD frowned at him. "How do you think I'd feel, Buck, if you got in trouble over there and I couldn't help?" He sighed. "Most of the noblemen around here treat me like dirt, except for the two of you. I can't repay you by letting you go off into danger without me."

Buck was plainly wavering. He glanced over at Chris, who had dropped his eyes as he mulled over the question. At length Chris lifted them, looking straight into JD's face.

"We won't be able to protect you, JD," he said in a soft but sharp voice. "You've got to understand what this decision means. If you're caught by the French, you'll likely face the guillotine, and they'll probably torture you first to find out what you know. They'll do anything to find the Pimpernel, but you'd have to be strong and not say anything, no matter what they did to you."

Chris's voice fell to a cold, serious whisper. "You're right, I need someone with your skills," he went on, barely moving, "but I've got to know that I can trust you in this. I want you to think about it for a while, and remember there's no shame in deciding you'd rather stay here. At least then, you'd be able to have a family and grow old, a chance we may not have. But if you come with us, there won't be any turning back. All right?"

The distant sound of several approaching horses caught their ears. JD jumped a little, startled out of his reverie, and he looked over his shoulder towards the east lawn.

"Sir Wilmington's coming back from his afternoon hunt," the young man explained, turning back to the two older men. "They'll want their horses tended to. I'll...think about what you said, Chris."

With that, JD hurried off, his expression still deeply pensive.

"I think you frightened him, Chris," Buck noted as they watched JD run across the lawn.

"Good," was the satisfied reply. "Better he be frightened now, where he's still safe." He paused, then glanced at his old friend with a slight smile. "Did I frighten *you*?"

Buck laughed. "Damn, Chris, I've been frightened all along! But that never kept me out of a good fight."

The other man nodded with a grin. In the distance, a small group of horsemen appeared, heading for the stable.

"I'd better go," Chris announced. "See you tomorrow night at the reception?"

"Still planning on it," Buck said, smiling. "It's been too long since the pretty ladies of the county were treated to the Wilmington charm!"

Chris shook his head, amused. "Now *I'm* frightened," he muttered, and with a farewell nod left the stable. As he mounted Valor and prepared to ride off, he glanced back at JD, who was carefully walking Sir Wilmington's horse back to the stable. Chris sat still for a moment, his face reflecting an attitude of anxious thought. Then, hoping the young man would make the right decision, Chris turned his horse and headed for home.

CONTINUE