8 Ball - Into the Woods

There it was again. He hadn't been imagining it. Jarreau hurried forward, but with his attention focused far ahead, he missed his footing and pitched headlong down the side of the embankment. He hit the ground hard, rolled several times, finally landing at the bottom in a flurry of wet leaves and curses.

"Jarreau!" Daubigny cried, alarmed at the man's tumble down the slope. "Are you all right? I'm coming down!" And he rushed down the embankment, half slipping and half climbing, until he reached the man's side. "Are you hurt?"

"No," groaned Jarreau as the whirling silhouette of the overhanging canopy slowed to a halt, "I'm alright." Then, after a pause, he added grudgingly, "Thank you."

Getting to his feet, he made a half-hearted attempt to brush off the mud and debris which now clung amorously to his clothes. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. He must have been nearby to have arrived so quickly, but Jarreau was positive he had neither seen nor heard him.

"I was just walking to town," Daubigny answered vaguely. Then, feeling a little defensive, he countered, "Why, what are you doing here?"

"Town? You're a bit far from the road, aren't you?" asked Jarreau, suddenly suspicious. "I was just out walking," he replied. It wasn't exactly a lie. It just fell short of the truth.

Daubigny opened his mouth to answer, but loud croaking hiccup came out. When he had revorered, he said, "I only have had a few cups of wine in the house, and I am now looking for the way to the tavern. Perhaps you could show me the way, my dear fellow. Join me and have some of their ale." Another explosive hiccup cut off further speech.

"The tavern? It's...er..." Jarreau tilted his head back to check their position against the sun. "That way. I'd recommend getting back on the road though. You ought to have passed a trail a short ways back, it'll take you there. And thank you for the kind offer, but I, ah, must be...going." Spoken, as it was, in the middle of the woods, even Jarreau had to admit the excuse sounded absurd, not to mention weak. "You think you can find your way out?" he asked grudgingly, after a moment's pause.

"Oh..." Daubigny answered vaguely, looking around at the woods. "I'm sure I can find... wait, what?" He frowned and looked confused as he stared back at Jarreau. "Sorry, do you mind showing me?"

Jarreau swallowed a sigh. He ought, he supposed, to have expected as much from a navy man. But the fellow had come to his aid, needed or no; he owed him at least this much.

With a regretful glance over his shoulder, Jarreau started forward. "This way."

"Did someone tell you this was a shortcut?" he asked after a moment. The more he thought about it the more odd the other man's presence in the woods seemed.

"Yes," Daubigny said slowly, trying to remember. "Yes, I believe it was Leveque. I believe he said... At least I think he said this was the way. Or perhaps he was talking about you. Do you walk here often?"

Leveque? Jarreau felt his earlier suspicions return. The woods were a poor shortcut even for one who knew them relatively well and he could not believe his friend would be so deliberately misleading. Or foolish. If, on the other hand, Leveque had been referring to him....He supposed that could explain it. "Yes, when the weather is tolerable," he replied.

Quite suddenly there was a loud crashing as of something large moving through the brush nearby. Jarreau stopped short, turning just in time to see a streak of color hurtling through the trees some yards distant. "Did you see that?"

Daubigny gasped and ducked down behind a bush. He had indeed seen it, whatever it was. "What's that? Some animal?" he gasped, wide-eyed with fear.

Jarreau stared after the creature, his heart thudding in his chest. It was a moment before Daubigny's question registered. "I--yes," he stammered, embarrassed at his own obvious alarm. In point of fact, the brief glimpse had conjured up no recollection of any animal he had ever seen; still, he could not imagine what else it could be. "A deer, no doubt."

There was a serviceable branch lying on the ground not far away, and it was only with an effort that he resisted the impulse to retrieve it. He had distinctly less compunction, however, about needling his companion. "Not afraid of the local wildlife, are you?"

Daubigny did not know how to answer that question. "Well..." he began.

"Daubigny?" Chevenier called, moving further into the woods. He had heard some shuffling and shouting from the road. "Is that you?"

It seemed like a strange place to find his fellow prisoners, but he soon came across Daubigny and Jarreau standing in the woods. Both looked a little shaken and equally sheepish.

Raising an eyebrow, and eying the branch in Jarreau's hand, Chevenier asked, "Problems, gentlemen?"

"Well," Daubigny began awkwardly. "I was - that's to say we were..." A hiccup interrupted his speech and he started over. "I say, fellows, what do you say to escaping?"

"Trouble?" Jarreau spluttered when he had recovered sufficiently to speak. He'd give him trouble. He was beginning to wish he'd picked up that stick after all. "So that was you crashing ar—wait what?" He finished, staring at Daubigny in disbelief. "Just how much wine did you have?"

Chevenier shrugged at Jarreau. "I do not believe I was crashing, as you put it, sir."

Then, Daubigny's question registered with him.

"Escape?" he asked. He stared at the other man for a moment, slightly surprised at the rather blatant question. Still... it was not entirely a terrible the idea. Thinking of the men he was meant to be leading, and of his wife and children back home, Chevenier gave a thoughtful nod.

"I say that might be worth a try," he said. He offered a wry smile. "At least it will be something to do."

Daubigny sniffed indignantly at Jarreau. "I only had a few. Perhaps four or five. Or perhaps six. Probably not more than six, I assure you," he answered slowly and carefully.

"So," he said, turning to Chevenier. "Which way should we go? I propose that way," he said, pointing in the direction that actually led back to the castle.

"That would simply return us to Beckwith," Chevenier replied dryly. "I somehow doubt that would be the most effective route of escape."

He paused before choosing a direction, contemplating the best course of action. "We will need supplies," he said slowly. "if we intend to make it far enough. Nothing large to start, though - it will get too much attention - but some food and water until we can make it to another town."

"Oh yes yes yes, and we should stop for a drink while we're there," Daubigny said, nodding his head vigorously. "Has anyone got any money? I've only got about 8 guineas."

"I'm afraid I don't have any on me," Chevenier said. "My intention had been to simply take a walk."

"What, no money? That's ridiculous. Didn't we win marvelously at cards just last night?" Daubigny reminded him, realizing belatedly that much of the loss had been Jarreau's.

Oh, brilliant. It appeared he was to fund this insanity. "What difference does the money make?" he snapped at Daubigny, "Or do you plan on conducting business as a pair of mutes? As if no one will suspect that when the hue and cry goes out that there are French prisoners on the loose! You don't know the countryside beyond this area, the location of the major roads, cities, towns, the best route to the coast, not to mention how you'll get passage once you get there. Or have you forgotten we're on an island? Chevenier, " he appealed to the other man, "You have no supplies, no contacts, no plan, he's drunk... You must see how mad this is?"

Daubigny blustered, offended by the accusation that he was drunk and the
insinuation that he was mad. "What! What!" he countered. "Do you like sitting in this miserable... damp... forest? Or do you want to go home?"