Adventures (with 8 Ball influence)

Chevenier followed Daubigny outside.

"Very likely," he said. "We could always walk down to the inn. All this talk of wine has made me rather thirsty for it."

No wine in the stable. Shame. Blanchard felt ready now to venture inside.

"The inn is a delightful place," he said.

"I don't suppose either of you have seen Jarreau in there?" asked Leveque, nodding a greeting to Daubigny.

"I'm afraid not," Chevenier answered. "I do not believe that I have seen him all day."

"I saw him some place today, I think," Daubigny answered helpfully. "Why? Do you need him for something? Or were you just going to invite him along?"

"No, nothing pressing," responded Leveque, mildly relieved that Daubigny's report had not included a complaint of some sort. Wherever Jarreau was, at least he wasn't making a nuisance of himself. "I was just wondering where he had got to."

**

Jarreau rounded the corner of the barn and halted, noticing the small group up ahead. Damn. Had they seen him? He hesitated, debating the merits of quietly retreating the way he had come.

A flash of movement near the stable caught Chevenier's eye, and he glanced up. Jarreau stood there, looking rather distinctly as though he wished to disappear and not speak to any of them. Chevenier cast the other man a wink.

"Well," he said cheerily to Leveque, "I don't think you need wonder any longer." He gestured to the edge of the barn. "There he is now."

"We're going to the tavern!" Daubigny called, waving to Jarreau. "At least, that's the plan. I think. Yes?"

Leveque looked up in surprise and his face split into a grin, "Sebastien! What are you doing over there? Come and say 'hello'!"

Dammit! Jarreau cast a glare in Chevenier's direction. "Bloody cavalry," he muttered, starting towards the others.

"Shall we go?" Daubigny asked, turning in the direction of the gate. "This way, isn't it?"

"Indeed," Chevenier agreed, moving to follow Daubigny toward the village. "Are the rest of you accompanying us?"

"I have just come from there, myself," responded Leveque, "But I have no objection to returning. It is far better to be out of doors on such a fine day. Sebastien? You will join us, won't you?"

Jarreau snorted softly. Leveque reminded him of nothing so much as a keen and amiable bird dog. He lacked only the lolling tongue and wagging tail to complete the image.

Disinclined though he was to company, the prospect of a drink was a tempting one and, after a moment's hesitation, Jarreau agreed.

Walking with long and eager strides under a blue sky and warming sun, and happy with the prospect of a drink, Daubigny began to make small talk with his companions. "Is this how you often pass the time, talking walks or going to the tavern?"

"Among other things," Chevenier said. "Today is certainly a fine day for it." He smiled up at the sky. A break from English rain was quite welcome.

"The castle does have a small library - mostly in English, of course, but a few in French or Latin - have you seen it?"

"I have," Daubigny answered. "But... I have always been a man of action rather than a man of books. Though I might not turn down a good novel. Do you gentlemen enjoy reading?"

"I confess, I do enjoy it. Though if reading is not for you, there are some in our company who give lessons in English," remarked Leveque, then with a grin added, "It might prove useful should you ever discover that English girl of yours."

Daubigny grinned, but was quick to protest. "She's not my English girl. Though I wouldn't object to an English girl."

"Oh?" Chevenier said, eyes glinting with mischief. "Then you do not wish to find out that there are, in fact, piano lessons given here to young English women?"

Daubigny gaped in amazement. "Well... of course that interests me, yes! But I myself... that is to say, I would not flatter myself as to... I would never dare to boast... How does one go about obtaining a pupil?"

"Easy enough, I would suppose," Chevenier replied with a laugh, amused by Daubigny's stumbling enthusiasm. "Advertise in the town. Do you speak English?"

"Of course," Daubigny replied, looking rather proud. "I've been told I speak excellent English. What about the rest of you? I suppose everyone is at least able to make themselves understood with the villagers?"

"I can usually muddle through," responded Leveque, "Though I fear I must butcher the unfortunate tongue rather cruelly," he added with a self-effacing grin. When Jarreau did not seem inclined to comment, he prompted, "Even Sebastien here knows a little. Is that not so?"

"Enough to buy beer," came the grudging response.

"Ah yes. Have you had occasion to sample the local brew yet, sir?" He asked, directing the question at Daubigny.

"Only once," Daubigny answered. "It was not the finest ale I've had in my life, but it was better than none at all. But I did enjoy some mutton there, even if I did not enjoy the ale or the company. I mean the English villagers there. It felt like they were staring at me. Are they ever openly hostile?"

Jarreau snorted, "You're lucky that's all they did. Not afraid of a bit of a scrap, are you?"

Daubigny blustered. "Of course not!" What lieutenant would have admitted to a thing like that? But he frowned with concern. "Why? Have they ever attacked someone? That you've seen?"