Visitors

Any thought Jérémie might have had of obeying the other Frenchman's direction was driven straight from his head upon the arrival of two other Englishmen, one of them carrying pistols. He was in no hurry at all to oppose such well-armed men, especially as he was not armed himself.

"Dammit," he muttered and stayed where he was, hands at his sides.

Daubigny reached out a warning hand to his compatriot. "Don't - don't move. Good man."

This situation was swiftly dissolving into madness. Armed Americans, as the two musket-brandishing men apparently were, bewildered Frenchmen, a vengeful redcoat, a bloody-shirted Marine, and a newly-arriving sailor with pistols. Blackwood curled his fingers around the pistol the sailor had thrust into his hand but he did not lift it past his side.

"Everyone here," the Guards captain said levelly, making a determined effort to keep his voice calm, "will stop what he is doing. Right. Now."

Bloody officers, Starling thought. He glared at the two colonists but kept his axe lowered. He had been only a heartbeat away from grabbing at the nearest musket, with the ultimate goal of putting his axe to lethal use.

"What to do, sir?" The question was completely forced. What Starling wanted to do was turn out these two colonists and the Frogs with them.

Billy obediently froze. Perry, less accustomed to unquestioning obedience, looked doubtfully at the officer without lowering his pistol.

Aside from that one sailor with the pistol, Strout and Leech were the only ones who did not lower their weapons. Both of them felt that their survival depended upon continued defiance. And perhaps it did.

"Bloody rebels," Tom Mayden spat, recognising the pair from the previous encounter with them. "They needs shootin', sir."

"What are they saying?" Jérémie asked, glancing warily at his countryman. He had no idea what was being said, but the angry tone of the words did not escape him. Neither did the continuing presence of weapons.

"I don't know," Daubigny admitted, the conversation and varied accents being more than he could follow. "The redcoat told everyone to stop. I think they don't want to listen." He looked at the man who was spattered in blood and wondered what other action this house had seen. "What is this place?" he asked once again. He could hear yelling upstairs and running feet.

"Gaaaahhh!" Deverel yelled somewhere above them. His surgery had been interrupted when the lights had gone out.

Somebody belowdeck had called loudly for Terpsichores, yelling about boarders. Tide Evans and Cob Chase, who had been exploring one of the unused officer's rooms upstairs, now came down the stairs at a run. Or at least Tide did. Chase himself used the banister to slide down. Both reached the galley at nearly the same time.

"Boarders?" Tide cried, staring at the scene before him in bafflement.

"Rebels," Starling snarled, not bothering to look at the man who'd spoken. "An' Frogs."

Blackwood resisted the temptation to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "There will be no shooting of anyone," he said firmly. "You men, sailors, take charge of our French visitors. Conduct them safely to the parlour."

He paused a beat before looking at the poor Frenchmen. "These fellows will take you to a safer room," he told them in their language. "Give them no trouble and they shall not trouble you in return."

That still left these two armed Americans, but he would deal with them once the room had cleared a little.

Daubigny nodded and spoke quietly to his compatriot. "I think we'd better do as he says."

Compliance. This was an idea that Jérémie agreed wholeheartedly with. He kept his hands down at his sides and moved to follow the beckoning seamen. Hopefully this redcoat officer's authority was respected enough to ensure that Jérémie and his countryman were safely conducted to wherever it was they were bound.

Billy edged away from the Yanks with their muskets and began waving his hands to the Frenchmen, herding them toward the parlour. "Come on, you Frenchies. This-a way-a."

The Frenchmen were being escorted out. It was a damned clever tactic. Strout sneered. Bloody English.

"Best if we was let to go on our way," he said. "Like we wanted to from the start!"

Maggie now pushed into the kitchen, wiping bloody hands on her apron. "Mayden! Where's them... candles." She stopped and stared at the strange men armed with muskets before making a quick retreat again.

Argh! Candles! Mayden grunted a rough word or two and, determinedly ignoring the two rebels, hurried to find the desired items. Within a minute, he too was gone, following close behind Maggie.

"What's going on in there?" she asked him in the safety of the parlour. She glanced at the Frenchmen who were looking understandably uneasy. "Never mind, just gimme those." She snatched the candles from his hands and turned to rush up the stairs.

"I don't... know." Mayden sighed in exasperation when she grabbed the candles away and hurried off.

"Bloody Frogs," he added, eying the Frenchmen with disgust.

"No." Blackwood had no idea what had been going on in here before his arrival, but he was not about to let these two simply swan out of here freely. Not until he'd gotten to the bottom of it all. "Shoulder your arms," he said. "No one here intends you any harm. Not anymore."

To emphasise his point, he turned and laid the pistol down on the nearest countertop, then gave the firelock a push, sending it skittering away across the tile.

Perry, who had remained when the other seamen left the kitchen, frowned as the officer laid down his pistol. Very reluctantly, he did the same.

"C'mon then," Starling growled. "You heared the officer!"

He kept a close, suspicious eye on the pair, even when the bigger colonist wavered and began to lower his musket butt away from his shoulder.

"Whatta we do now, sir?" Perry asked without taking his wary eyes off of the strangers.

"Take their muskets," Blackwood directed, relieved that at least one of the Americans was able to see reason.