Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

"Why are we here?" O'Hara swung a leg over the fence rail and stared morosely at the sea of swaying stalks.

"That's a philosophical question. You mean apart from resupplying?" Sinclair feeling the conversation would progress better on a more equal footing, negotated the wooden rail and looked down over the lake.

They surveyed the panorama in silence. Not the companionable serenity between friends shared at the campfire side in previous weeks, but a pause of such stillness, Sinclair felt he stood underneath a huge dam just waiting to burst.

"Did you know Waiilatpu means the place of rye grass.?" Sinclair ventured. At PL's blank expression he continued. "The name of the Mission here .... Waiilatpu...." trailing away lamely.

"Actually I think it should be called The Potato Mission " Sinclair tried again, responding to the brief glimmer of interest. "It's about the only abundant supply item here. Whitman must grow fields of the stuff."

O'Hara faced Sinclair squarely."I was raised on a diet of praties and religion." The laugh was hollow, incredulous at the circle of events. "There's an Irish saying - Only two things in this world are too serious to be jested on, potatoes and matrimony."

"In which case, do I deduce that your current diet is deficient in the religious aspect or the matrimonial?" Sinclair aimed the thrust, and the glint in O'Hara's eye told he had hit true.

"There isn't a lot of call for confessional amongst the Methodists here is there?"

Claire
Good to be back!, - Sunday, December 31, 2000 at 12:17:02 (PST)

MA -- Elementary, my dear Rickman -- too good!
Cindie
Grinning from ear to ear., - Sunday, December 31, 2000 at 11:57:17 (PST)

Mary Anne’s cubicle:

Reluctantly, Cindie moves toward the door. "Speaking of full speed ahead, I’d better go now. There’s some work The Director wanted finished by this afternoon, and if I don’t actually get something accomplished, he’ll have me out of here faster than you can say pink slip."

"Pink slip," retorts Mary Anne, grinning. "See, you’re still here. You’ll find that his bark’s worse than his bite."

"Yes, well, I don’t want him barking at me-to say nothing of biting."

"I don’t know about that." Mary Anne’s grin is now even wider. "I can think of some people who wouldn’t mind . . ."

"Mary Anne, you are so bad!"

"You’re just now finding that out? The Director should’ve warned you; he’s been derelict in his duties. How do you like this job, by the way?"

Cindie thinks it over. "I’m really enjoying working with him. He’s very . . ." How to describe it? "Very demanding, but when you see the results he gets-"

"Exactly. And he’s very fair, to balance that out." Mary Anne is still smiling. "Keeps me honest, at any rate. He likes to think he doesn’t let me get away with very much."

Cindie laughs. "He likes to think that, does he?"

Mary Anne rises from the chaise and stretches lazily. "Oh, sure. We have our little arrangement: I cause some mischief, he acts very stern about it, and I put on the contrite face-" The long, dark lashes sweep down over the blue eyes, and Cindie cannot help giggling; this is Mary Anne’s "innocent look," notorious throughout the set. "Then, see, everyone gets to see how stern he is, and so his authority is reinforced . . . and everybody gets some entertainment from it, too." A most unrepentant smirk. "Including The Director-and me. But if you asked him he’d deny every bit of it."

"I won’t tell a soul," whispers Cindie dramatically, putting a finger to her lips. Then, in her normal voice: "But doesn’t anybody else ever-well, stir things up a bit?"

"Stir things up? That’s putting it mildly. Look, you’ve been going on about ‘facing The Interrogator,’ but let me tell you, our Mister I can break up the whole crew quicker than anybody I’ve ever seen. There was the time in that scene with Therese, and everybody was really on edge. It had been brutal, what those two had to perform, and I guess he thought it was time to ease the tension a bit-"

Cindie listens, fascinated as she always is by anything to do with Mistral, and privately a little embarrassed by how obvious that interest might be to those around her. These concerns, however, are soon dissolved in hilarity.

"A rubber duck?! Mary Anne, he never--!"

"Oh, yes, he did! Listen, if The Director tells you that I’m THE mischief-maker on the set, don’t you believe it. Some of the wild imaginations around here, I have to take a number!"

And now Cindie really must go, and Mary Anne sees her out of the cubicle. "Stop in anytime, okay? At least, anytime the schedule permits-" Mary Anne glances at her watch. "And speaking of the schedule, I’d better get moving myself. I’m due to work on some scenes this afternoon."

"Some with Colonel Brandon, I hope," teases Cindie.

"Maybe. I’d written an outline for one, but The Director and I are still going back and forth about it. He likes for everything to advance the plotline, but the fans like a few gratuitous love bits here and there, whether or not it does anything for the story."

Cindie raises an eyebrow. "Oh, it does something for the story, all right. What did you have in mind for this one?"

A shrug. "Just some pillow talk, more or less."

"Oh, more. Definitely more."

"You think so?" Mary Anne’s smile is wry, there-and-gone, and Cindie is struck by how a face can be so altered by one change of expression. She really does have an ‘innocent’ face . . . until she looks like that.

"Well," pronounces Mary Anne, "vox populi, vox Dei. The people have spoken. Glad to have you on my side-now, you hit The Director from the left, and I’ll hit him from the right, and voila, another love scene is born. Read the outline if you like; I left a copy in The Director’s office."

"I will, if I can find it," promises Cindie. "There’s so much STUFF in there! I’ll see you later."

"Later," agrees Mary Anne as Cindie hurries away. She turns to go back into her cubicle, pauses, and then moves a few steps down the corridor.

"You can come out now," she calls . . . and, a moment later, The Director steps around the corner.

Mary Anne crosses her arms and fixes him with a look, shaking her head and making tsk-ing noises.

"What gave me away?"

Mary Anne points at the floor. "You cast a long shadow, sir."

The Director raises his hands in protest. "I truly did not intend to eavesdrop. I just happened to be heading this way-"

"And when you hear someone talking about you, it’s hard not to listen. Don’t worry; I believe you."

"I was going to give you the go-ahead on that scene, and . . ."

"And you got to check up on Cindie at the same time, and make sure she was all right." At The Director’s astonished look, Mary Anne is hard-pressed to keep from bursting out laughing.

"Is it as obvious as all that?"

"Only to someone who knows you. You try to take good care of us all."

"Well," admits The Director, "after that business at the party, it looks as if Miss Cindie knows how to take care of herself. She’ll keep Mistral on his toes, I shouldn’t wonder."

"And all the better for him, if she does," chuckles Mary Anne. All the better for both of them. Methinks life is about to get very interesting around here. "But I think we should just give them their space and respect their privacy. Don’t hover so, sir. Let them work out their own arrangements-they’re both adults."

"I know," returns The Director, morosely. "That’s what worries me! But . . . I suppose you’re right."

"Of course I am," teases Mary Anne.

"Very well, then-I shall try not to ‘hover,’ at least not so obviously." He moves off, then turns back toward Mary Anne. "My shadow, was it? Very observant. Perhaps you should consider another thread with Sherlock Holmes."

And with that, The Director strides away down the corridor, leaving Mary Anne to smile after him and murmur, "Elementary, my dear Rickman," before disappearing into her cubicle once more.

MA--and Dana's back, too!! Riches upon riches!
Cindie--tell "Cindie" not to reveal any of the stuff in that outline. *wink* (If she can find it, in THAT office . . .), - Saturday, December 30, 2000 at 19:54:26 (PST)

Magda, Should I be ashamed to say that, yes, I did think George was reverting to old habits. But, however, did not think that Joya would allow things to progress... I guess she did after all though. Can't wait to see what they will be up to next.

Claire & Dana, Here I thought I was just too computer illiterate to find the current Goldrush Story. You guys are wonderful! More please!
Cindie
- Saturday, December 30, 2000 at 17:00:19 (PST)

Many thanks for the kind comments. I'm glad you enjoyed the story. It is possible that George and Joya will do something else in a few months so I will retain the character if no one minds. Happy New Year.
Magda
Did you really think he was back to his old tricks?, - Saturday, December 30, 2000 at 16:33:00 (PST)

Tears ran, unchecked, down Dana's face as she silently mouthed the Psalmist's timeless words. Where had her sense of security and comfort gone? This wasn't a matter of fear; she had survived abuse, miscarriage, rape, illness and every manner of threat to her safety. This was something that ran deep, a schism in the bedrock of faith and values.

Seeming to forget his surroundings, PL crossed himself and murmured a response. He felt each teardrop as a dagger in his heart but seemed unable to reach out to her. Every mile they covered on this latest leg of the journey had served to push him deeper within.

The weight of violence, guilt, and dishonesty lay heavy on his soul.
Dana
we're back in the saddle again...., - Friday, December 29, 2000 at 22:24:00 (PST)

YES!!!!!!

Yippee!!

The Gold Rush RETURNS!!!

MA
Hopping around my monitor, dancing with glee! 8-D, - Friday, December 29, 2000 at 16:27:06 (PST)

"The Lord is my shepherd, I'll not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters…"

Sinclair could not but run a finger loosening the stiff collar grasping at his throat. It was always the same. Those words raised spectres of the dead from the Three Rivers Island massacre and he was powerless as ever to stop the lump gathering in his gullet.

He drew a deep breath and coughed. Feeling the touch on his arm, Sinclair turned to his companion and smiled. Acknowledging and deflating the concern he understood the brush on his sleeve to imply.

Sun streamed through the windows of the whitewashed building, a particle halo rested but a yard from his feet. They were all blessed, every man woman and child to be standing on this spot after so many months of hardship on the Wagon Train.

Sinclair beamed again, not the half smile that usually played at the corner of his lips as he surveyed the world through lazy lidded eyes, but the rarer facial explosion. This was not a time for morbid thoughts, they were here for celebration.

Claire watched the change come over Sinclair, and fervently hoped he wasn't about to sing.

Claire
Gold Rush, following on from 23.5.00 on 29.12.00, - Friday, December 29, 2000 at 16:15:26 (PST)

That was supposed to be welcome back Chris from Cindie. Blah!!!!
Cindie
But I still hope you post more of your storyline soon., - Friday, December 29, 2000 at 09:24:08 (PST)

Welcome back.
Chris
I hope this means we'll be hearing more from Chris and Hamlet and their friends real soon., - Friday, December 29, 2000 at 09:23:03 (PST)

Ooooh, Magda, may I add my congratulations to the pile? What a fantastic ending! That marriage should be...interesting for a long time to come! Thank you for sharing it

:o)
Chris
Back from deepest winter in Sweden-to deepest winter in London! Who decided snow in England was a good idea???, - Friday, December 29, 2000 at 07:13:49 (PST)

Let me add my congrats as well, Magda. It's been a fascinating story--and I think "Gentleman George" is in excellent hands. ;-) Brava!

MA
Cindie--"have to see a man about a part." *chuckle*, - Friday, December 29, 2000 at 05:46:46 (PST)

Brilliant!!!!!!!
a Rickman admirer
- Thursday, December 28, 2000 at 16:11:56 (PST)

Oh Magda, What a ride. Thanks.
Cindie
I just meant that as brehr rabbit said "Please don't throw me in the briar patch." Which is exactly where he wanted to be., - Thursday, December 28, 2000 at 15:44:24 (PST)

Paragraph added.
Absolutely incredible, Magda!
D.o.C.

DoC, please put a paragraph break after the italicized "habits". Thank you.
Magda
- Thursday, December 28, 2000 at 12:46:28 (PST)

"Day the Tenth of my return home, in the month of March - In which I luxuriate in my restored state - and indulge in some old habits."

I leaned over the tower wall and looked down into the street. Despite the cold temperature and the lowering skies that threatened heavy snow before dusk, the townspeople of Nottingham bustled about their usual mid-afternoon business. After ten days of wedding celebrations, the streets were again free of armed soldiers and visiting dignitaries.

The royal visitors had pulled out the day before. A great line of baggage carts, loaded down with the necessities of a monarch's visit, had begun trundling out the gates well before dawn and still hadn't ended when the king and queen mounted their horses after breaking the fast. They were the last to leave, the Locksleys having departed immediately after the marriage ceremony and Adam and Melisant waiting not much longer before starting out for their new holding. It had been a relief to wake up in my own bed this morning, once more master of my own lands.

Some of the townspeople cast a wary eye at me on the castle walkway. The news that I was back and completely in charge had probably gone through the town like wildfire. Everyone would be walking carefully now. I smiled grimly. As well they should. I intended to ride through the streets and take stock of what changes had occurred while I was away, whose trades were thriving and who looked as though they could pay more taxes. I had big plans for the additional revenue.

And yet I could not summon the energy to move.

I kicked moodily at a stone. There was a reason. Ten days married and I was bored already. Not that I missed much of the excitement of the previous months. I'd willingly forego that as well as the accompanying hardships and tribulations. But this wedded bliss stuff didn't seem to have much in the way of variety built into it. I certainly hadn't expected that Joya and I would slide into a daily routine notable only for its dullness. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I hadn't expected Joya to change once we were married.

Even when the king and queen were still here she had developed the habit of retreating to her room in the afternoon for a nap, surrounded by a flock of women servants. Though she emerged in time for dinner, it did not mean that we were together. We sat at opposite ends of the table as maids fluttered about making sure her food wasn't too heavily spiced or that her wine wasn't too robust. When we went to bed, the hovering maids bundled her into nightgowns to keep her warm in the chilly nights. I rather thought that was my job but apparently not: it might upset the baby. We mustn't do anything that might upset the baby.

I didn't know how I was going to survive seven more months of this.

A shout of laughter from below caught my attention. The women were clustering around the town well with pitchers to get water for the evening meal. I cast a cursory eye over them. The usual wives and servants, some of them little more than children, others only slightly less than crones. Nothing to rouse my interest.

Until I saw the new one.

She'd never been at the well before. I was sure of that. She stood with the others, jug in hand, shifting from foot to foot as she waited her turn at the pump. With careful steps, I crept along the walk, keeping my eye on her all the way. I did not want to startle her - yet.

Three more strides and then I was racing down the stairs to the gates below. My heart pounded. My blood was liquid fire. This was what I needed so much and missed so badly: the selection of prey, the chase, the evasion, the capture.

And then - the possession. Had I not needed all my breath for running I could have laughed in exultation.

I ducked around the guards. Passers-by in the street scattered as I charged into their midst. I was running hard now. The women at the well looked around. Some retreated, others clutched their vessels tightly to their chests. I ignored them and focussed on my quarry. She hadn't noticed me yet. Then she turned her head, gasped at the sight of me bearing down on her and dropped her jug. It smashed on the cobblestones. She looked around for escape, then dashed for the safety of the lane behind her. I pushed through the women and was right on her heels.

The street was not a good one for her purpose: narrow and winding, it lay under several days' accumulation of snow. Wagons and carts were parked at random in front of shops, forcing her to slow her speed to navigate around them. Soon she was just far enough ahead of me that I couldn't grab her. I slowed my pace to a steady lope, content to keep her in sight. The tactic worked. Encouraged to believe that she might get away she ran faster - straight into a trap.

For I knew - as she obviously did not - that the street would soon end in a warren of small hovels surrounding the stables where the tradesmen kept their carthorses. Once she reached it, she would be helpless, cut off from any escape. And then she was mine.

A bucket of slops thrown from an upper window splashed down in front of me. Although I escaped the residue, it threw me off my stride. By the time I recovered, she had reached the open doors of the stables and darted inside. There she stopped in her tracks, looking around for some place to hide. The sound of my approach caused her to turn and face me, eyes wary but not panicked.

I slowed to a walk, getting my breathing under control. The smell of horses and old straw assailed my nostrils as I entered. I blinked to adjust my eyes to the dimmer light. She backed away from me slowly, then ran for a ladder leading to the single loft. I grinned; lofts held good memories for me.

The grooms and carters stopped working to stare at both of us. With a jerk of my head, I indicated the entrance. "Get out. Don't come back - no matter what you hear. And shut the doors when you go." I advanced into the gloom as men dropped their tools and ran past. Behind me the doors slammed shut.

We were alone now. She'd reached the ladder and climbed with surprising speed to what she fondly assumed was sanctuary. The horses nickered in their stalls as I walked to the ladder. Above my head the wind wailed as it blew through chinks in the wood. I put my hand on a rung and started climbing. Soon louder wails would be heard.

She'd withdrawn to the corner farthest away from the top of the ladder. Back pressed against the wall, she watched me carefully. I climbed onto the loft and paused, hands on hips. She had to understand that she wasn't going anywhere, that retreat was blocked. Satisfied that she got the message, I pulled off my cloak and spread it on the straw to make a bed. Something looked familiar; I couldn't place it for a moment, then I smiled. "You're very sentimental. I didn't realize until just now that it's the same cloak."

"Actually it's a coincidence." Joya smiled and came out of the corner. "I just wanted to get you all to myself for a while."

"Was this the best way to do it?" I scooped her up in my arms and laid her on the cloak. "We have many rooms in the castle."

She pouted as she lifted her arms to me. "But I thought you'd like this instead. Don't you?"

I make it a point never to lie except when it's inconvenient not to. It was definitely not inconvenient at that moment - and for a long time after. Truth is indeed its own reward.

Eventually we lay sated on our makeshift bedding and murmured drowsily about whatever occurred to us. Dust motes and bits of straw wafted through the air. The horses stamped in their stalls below. The workers - intelligent men that they were - had not reappeared. We could have been alone in the world. But of course we weren't and we had to get going. If for no other reason than that Joya's women servants would be in a mad flutter to find that their mistress had vanished from her bedchamber. It must be close to dusk. I sat up and watched while Joya smoothed down her gown.

I suddenly wanted to tell her something that would indicate to her what she really meant to me. I struggled with the thought, considering and discarding possible declarations. Joya sat up and brushed straw from her skirts. She looked at me with a smile. "Ready to go?"

"Joya." I seized her hand. "I want you to know something. You will always be the most important woman to me. No matter how many other women I have in the years ahead, you will always be my favourite. No one else will ever take your place. Do you understand?"

She stopped fussing with the garment and stared at me. For a minute I thought she hadn't heard me, then she smiled lovingly. "Of course I understand, George. And I think it's sweet of you to tell me. I know that most men would never tell a woman such an intimate thing. I am very touched."

A wave of relief swept over me. She did understand. What a woman she was!

Joya stood up and shook out her gown. "I know that you've had many women in your past. It wouldn't be realistic or fair to expect you to stay monogamous. In fact, I think I should make sure that you have a variety to chose from. Tomorrow I will find a dozen young girls who will officially serve me but who will have - shall we say? - other duties." She turned and walked over to the ladder. "They will be beautiful," she called over her shoulder. "And come from large families who live in town."

For a moment I was overcome by a feeling of love. To think that Joya cared so much for me! More than ever I realized what a treasure I'd found. The warm glow suffused me as I got up and tried to remove the straw from my cloak. I ran over her words in my mind, pausing at the last sentence. It seemed a strange one. I looked over at her. "Why must they be beautiful and come from large families who live in town?"

Joya had swung one leg over the ladder to feel for the first rung but she paused. "They must be beautiful to please you, of course. If they come from large families, they will have handsome brothers. And if they live in town, I can send for a brother when you are occupied with one of the girls. It really will be most convenient for everyone, George."

I dropped the cloak. "Now wait -"

"Don't thank me. Whatever makes you happy." She gestured modestly. "I should have thought of on my own."

"- just a minute! If you think I'm going to allow you to dally with some -"

Joya smiled at me lovingly. "But George! No other man will ever supplant you in my affections. You will always be my favourite. Now come on, dinner will be ready soon and I am very hungry." She disappeared down the ladder.

"Joya! Come back here! NOW!" I stalked over and clambered down the rungs after her. But she was already out the door.

I walked home through the evening gloom. My course of action was clear. However long it takes I will make Joya understand who is in charge in this castle. I will be master in my own household.

And if any beautiful young girl with no real responsibilities pops up in the castle, she had damn well better be an orphan with no family.

"Of the events of these days, I swear I have described them true and whole. On my oath, as I am indeed Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."

Magda
- Thursday, December 28, 2000 at 12:44:54 (PST)

Huh? What briar patch?
Magda
- Wednesday, December 27, 2000 at 18:34:47 (PST)

Paragraphs added.
Tis the season...
D.o.C.

D.O.C., I have e-mailed you where the paragraphs should be. Please help.
Cindie
Hoping for mercy in the spirit of the season., - Wednesday, December 27, 2000 at 17:35:32 (PST)

“Not really Mary Anne.” Cindie’s smile held a touch of chagrin, “I just needed to talk out loud with somebody.” Or I might burst with the tension

“Yes, it does help to talk sometimes. We don’t want you exploding.” Mary Anne seemed to understand the situation all too well.

How does she do that? “I appreciate our input but,” Cindie shifted gears, “I hope I didn’t put you on the spot. I mean, I know you and Mistral are friends and of course I don’t expect you to go telling tales out of school….”

“Not to worry. I don’t really have any out of school tales to tell, and if I did I wouldn’t tell them.” She held up her hand. “I know there’s a bad Interrogator joke there somewhere.”

She had Cindie laughing again, “No, I guess you wouldn’t, still, you’ve helped me decide what I need to do.”

“Nothing too drastic I hope.”

“Not at all. I just need to go see a man about a part.”

“Damn the torpedoes…..”

“and full speed ahead.”

Cindie
Magda -- please don't throw George in the briar patch!, - Wednesday, December 27, 2000 at 17:27:52 (PST)

MA, I'd like to join my glass to that toast. Clink.
Cindie
- Wednesday, December 27, 2000 at 11:26:34 (PST)

"Day the Hundred and third, in the month of February - In which I receive my just desserts from the king."

Peter endured Marion's embraces and Locksley's back thumping for as long as he could. Finally he pulled away and the three of them stood there grinning idiotically at each other. The king beamed fondly while his entourage (less emotionally involved) simply gawked. Adam and Melisant might have been in another castle for all the attention they could spare from gazing into each other's eyes. Queen Berengaria and Joya were whispering together. It seemed like an opportune time to remove myself. I took a small step backward, then another.

"And where do you think you're going, Lord Nottingham?" King Richard called out. He was still wearing a smile but now there was an unmistakably carnivorous quality to it.

Peter looked around. "Bunkie! You can't go now. The party's just starting."

The soldiers now having time on their hands, one of them came up beside me and prodded me in the ribs with his sword. My hesitation vanished. "Yes, of course. Very kind of you. Wouldn't think of leaving."

"No, indeed, Lord Nottingham isn't going anywhere just yet." King Richard beckoned. The soldier nudged me with that sword again until I was in front of the king's chair. He bared his teeth in a broader smile. "I am delighted that you have returned to us, Peter, and I look forward to hearing of your adventures. But I have some unfinished business to transact with Lord Nottingham here, so if you'll excuse me..."

"With George?" Peter frowned. "What kind of 'unfinished business'?"

Locksley had his hands full with a whimpering Marion but at this question he glanced up. "That fiend in human shape tried to marry your sister by force and seize the throne when the king was out of the country." He flashed me a condemnatory glare that would have scorched a more sensitive man.

The king shrugged. "He wasn't the only one who tried to take advantage of my absence to enrich himself. I've been quite busy the past few months stamping out this kind of thing. You might even say I've got it down to a pattern: a quick trial, a death sentence, an execution. Shouldn't take long at all."

I said nothing, not wanting to heighten the emotional atmosphere. The thought did cross my mind, however, that there was such a thing as too much government efficiency.

"But Cousin," Peter's frown deepened. "Is George to have no one to argue in his defence?"

"Defence!" Will Scarlet popped up again, evading his brother's hand. "What kind of defence could this villain possibly have?"

The king looked at him with dislike. "It seems to me, young man, that you should be grateful for my mercy this day and not push your luck. Sit down. Now!"

Scarlet sat hastily on the nearest bench. Locksley and Marion stepped in front of him to hide him from view. At the back of the hall, the king's entourage began to murmur and whisper as they found seats for themselves to watch the show.

Peter cleared his throat. "I will have to take a hand in this. Accepting that the charges against George are true, they are not the whole story. And you need to hear the whole story." He put his hands behind his back and began to pace the floor. "First, I should tell you that George's accusations against the late Sir Walter are true; I was a witness to the atrocity and I am willing to swear on any relic available that they are true. When I came back to England, I was determined that Krone would pay for his crime. I was careless, however, and he had me arrested by a spineless official who was planning to have me murdered at the first opportunity."

Peter paused and looked around at the king. "That's where I met George: in a filthy jail, when I was loaded down with chains. He listened to my tale and promised to help me escape. I gave him gold to bribe the guards but he was too wise to try that silly ploy. He arranged for my release and got me out of Barnesdale in such a way that there was no chance we'd be pursued. We came straight here and arranged to confront Krone, as you all saw the other night.

"But it didn't go quite the way it was supposed to." He resumed his pacing. The court was listening with bated breath. "And that was entirely my fault. As I sat here waiting for George to make the accusation we'd agreed on, I saw my sister and my best friend sitting at the king's table. I was amazed, to say the least. I questioned the person sitting beside me and he told me they were married and that Robin was one of the king's closest advisors. It was as if a great weight had fallen from my shoulders. I had friends in the castle! I left my seat and hurried away to find some familiar Locksley retainer who would remember me and help get into some better clothes. Unfortunately, in my excitement, I completely forgot about George. You can imagine my chagrin when I returned to the hall some hours later and realized what had happened."

Chagrin didn't come close to describing my feelings on the matter but retaliation was impossible under the circumstances. All I could do was smile politely when Peter tossed an apologetic grin over his shoulder at me. First things first, I told myself. Time enough to worry about a suitable revenge.

"The rest of the story you know. George defeated Krone in fair combat despite that villain's efforts to cheat." Peter stopped in front of the king and raised a hand in appeal. "Surely anything George has done in the past has been at least mitigated by his recent actions? After all, if it weren't for him, I would be dead by now and my body dumped in an unmarked grave."

The king rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So he made amends for his earlier crime by assisting the heir to the throne? Well, there is a sort of balance there -"

Locksley jumped in. "But sire, rest assured that if he helped Peter it was only to extract some favour from him at a later date. Nottingham has never performed a selfless act in his life."

"No, Robin, that's not true." Peter shook his head. "I never told him, or anyone else for that matter, who I was. Since I didn't even have a weapon to call my own at the time, no one would have believed me. I am convinced that it was my story alone that convinced him to undertake this hazardous mission - or perhaps I should say, inspired him."

"Sire." Adam stepped forward. "Sire, for what my word is worth, I must confess that Lord Nottingham displayed a determination to get here and to confront Sir Walter that was nothing less than heroic. I did not understand it at the time because I was caught up in my own private thoughts. But if he is the former sheriff of Nottingham, then surely this was the last place in the kingdom he should have come to without protection."

"Hmm. Very true." The king propped his chin on his hand and eyed me dispassionately. Not quite sure what image I should project, I gazed back. We examined each other for some time with neither of us apparently reaching a conclusion when the queen crept to the king's side and began whispering to him. I glanced at Joya, now alone, and she winked at me.

"Interesting. Yes, it just might work." The king waved the queen aside. "Well, Nottingham, the queen has just made a very good suggestion. There's no way I can execute you after your actions on behalf of my heir. On the other hand, there's also no way I can let you run around the Midlands getting up to God-knows-what when my back is turned. So I'm going to bring you into the family."

King Richard stood up and descended the dais. The entourage fell back as he advanced, watching his every move. He stopped in front of me, a big smile spreading across his face. "One of my half-sisters on my father's side is currently not married. You will take her to wife and I will confirm you as Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again. We've got the bishop all ready for some marrying today and the foods all ready for the wedding feast. Find yourself some decent clothes and we'll get right to it. How about that, eh?" He punched me in the arm in what was no doubt meant to be an affectionate manner.

The offer was incredible but attractive. Being a royal brother-in-law, even as the husband of an illegitimate half-sister, would have its advantages. I would be a major force in the land, especially on the many occasions when the king would be in France. And I would outrank Locksley, who was a mere cousin-in-law. The future opened up before me: wealth, rank, power would be mine. It was an exhilarating sight. Already some members of the king's entourage were casting friendly smiles in my direction.

But something would be missing. And the thought of that particular something brought me back to earth with a thump. My eyes searched for her in the background. Joya smiled at me. I took a deep breath. No one turned down a gift from the king and this was an honour extended to few men but there was no hope for it. I would have to talk the king into retracting his sister's hand.

"The thought of this privilege makes me almost dizzy," I said truthfully. "But I cannot accept, sire."

The king's smile vanished. "You what?"

Time for some serious manoeuvring. I ducked my head modestly. "I am not worthy of such beneficence, sire. I have learned my lesson. You need not fear any more questionable activities from me." Not for a while, anyway.

"I will decide whether you are worthy or not." The king's eyes bored into me. "Your opinion on the matter is not relevant. Now get out of that armour and into your wedding clothes. That is a royal command."

The king turned abruptly and made a stately progress back to his chair. His attitude was a surprise. Well, he wasn't the only one who could be intransigent. As much as I hated to be rude, there didn't seem to be any help for it.

"Sire, I have not explained myself well. Like Adam here, I too have something that I desire more than anything on earth." I crossed to the dais and took Joya's hand. She held back but I gently tugged her to my side as I faced the king. "This is the lady - the only lady - I could marry. I hope that we would benefit from your blessing on our match."

The king stared at us for a long moment. Queen Berengaria hid a smile in her sleeve. Finally he spoke. "You are either the most cunning knave in Christendom or the biggest fool. I have not yet decided which. Tell me, Nottingham, have you ever heard of Rosamund Clifford?"

I blinked. Rosamund Clifford? "Fair Rosamund"? The most beloved of Henry II's mistresses who'd been murdered by the order of Queen Eleanor? Of course I'd heard of her. It had been the talk of the kingdom. Everyone knew about Rosamund Clifford. But what she had to do with Joya de Clifford was more than...I...could...understand...

Oh.

My.

God.

The room spun for a moment. It righted itself when Joya squeezed my hand. I looked down at her, then at the king, then back at her. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she nodded, hesitantly at first, then with more vigour. I turned to the king again.

"Well, well, well. So you really didn't know." A wide grin spread slowly across his face. "Still adverse to marrying into the royal family? Or have you developed a different perspective on the matter?"

I took a deep breath, then another. It was going to be all right. That briefly-glimpsed future came back to me with a rush but with a vital difference: this time Joya walked through it at my side. I turned to her and took a firmer grip on her hand. "My Lady Joya, what can I say except that I look forward to having you at Nottingham Castle as my wife in the very near future."

"Thank you, my lord." Joya smiled up at me as I lifted her hand to my lips. "I'm looking forward to being had."

I missed and kissed my own thumb.

"Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."

Magda
Cringing at the length but denouements take so long; one more to go, - Tuesday, December 26, 2000 at 07:43:32 (PST)

Many thanks. You people are the absolute best--and that means you, too, all you "lurkers." 8-) There would be no point to this if it weren't fun, and you keep it that way!

My good wishes to you readers, and to all my fellow writers. To our "Empress," without whom none of this could be possible. And to Mr. Rickman for providing the inspiration with his excellent work. Cheers!

*Clink* of champagne glasses,

MA
"Happy Fancies to all, and to all a good Flight!" , - Monday, December 25, 2000 at 08:24:01 (PST)

Merry Christmas to the Empress and all of the citizens of the realm, and to the FOF writers. Your talent is much appreciated.
a Rickman admirer
- Monday, December 25, 2000 at 01:35:00 (PST)

The Empress’ study-in which The Empress and The Doctor sit deep in conference together.

As The Empress briefly explains her "idea," The Doctor sits in uncharacteristic silence and remains so for several minutes after she finishes, before finally raising his eyes to hers and responding in measured tones: "Your Majesty . . . reconsider."

If The Empress is surprised, she does not show it-at least, not in her facial expression. She covers her brief reaction by reaching for a biscuit on the plate between them and looking at it for a moment before murmuring, "These would be so much better with cappuccino," before dipping the biscuit into her tea and taking a bite of it. This delaying tactic completed, she returns her attention to the Timelord. "Something troubles you, Doctor?"

"Everything about this plan of yours troubles me, not least because it involves my friends. Friends who have already suffered QUITE enough-" Now he is sounding more like himself. "-because of that man, if man you can call him." With an ironical quirk of his mouth that shows he, too, can indulge in distractions, The Doctor helps himself to his own tea before proceeding further. "And quite unnecessary. You are Empress of The Realm, after all; what is the need for all of this procedure? At any time, you can do as you like with HIM and none would dare to stop you. You wish to imprison The Interrogator? Order it. It’s done. You would inflict upon HIM what he has done to others? Go, and enjoy it; your guards will look the other way. You wish to take his life? It’s gone. HE is in an unmarked grave and never troubles you again. Why not?"

It is doubtful whether even Rupert could get away with such a frank dissertation on the Imperial powers, but The Empress hears him out with patience-even with amusement. She is, indeed, grinning openly by the time he finishes, with a lift of his eyebrow that invites-nay, demands a reply.

"Doctor, it’s a treat to have you here," she finally manages, thinking to herself that there are disadvantages to being surrounded by polite protocol; you seldom know what your subjects are truly thinking. But The Doctor, though a guest in The Realm, is not her subject. "Let’s not waste time in word games. If I thought you meant one word of what you just said, I’d be very disappointed in you."

"Hmmmppph," retorts The Doctor, fiddling about with the sugar tongs.

"To answer your question . . . well, I’m sure you know the answer already, but if you insist, I’ll play. Yes, I can order HIS death, and HE would be dead within the hour. Perhaps not as messily as some people would wish, but still . . ."

Now that she has voiced the possibility, it takes the form of temptation. It would be so easy . . .

She swallows, and continues. "Perhaps you’ll have noticed that when a man, no matter how terrible his crimes nor how strong the proof of them, meets with death at the hands of authority . . . there are always those who take his side. Even such a man as this-if I were to simply order his death, The Interrogator could be made a martyr within days. Hours, perhaps. I have no intention of being haunted by his ghost, not in any form."

"Then don’t execute him. Mercy, too, is in your power."

The Empress sets down her cup. "Mercy, indeed. Do you think HE would consider life in prison an act of mercy? I doubt it. And besides . . . people have been known to escape from prisons."

The Doctor clears his throat. "I know what you’re thinking. It wasn’t her fault, and you know it."

"I do, indeed. Now is the chance, however, for some good to come from that evil. I have need of her knowledge." A pause. " I must at all times be prepared to do what is best for my people, without regard to the opinion of any one person. Your opinion is important to me, but I will do as I think best, even so. Doctor, I am not a cruel woman. I don’t like the idea of doing this, any more than you do."

The Doctor has spent enough time among humans to know that certain statements are not to be taken at face value. In his experience, a human who insists upon his kindness is almost certain to be unkind. The human who boasts of his courage can generally be counted upon to flee at the first sign of danger.

And, of course, "flattery will get you nowhere" is a baldfaced lie.

Here, however, is that rarity: a truthful human. She means exactly what she says, and is not a cruel woman. Still, what she has in mind . . .

"Think of it, Doctor," she is saying. "The threat of HIM, removed from The Realm. In HIS death is our best safety, but unless that is brought about by fair means, it’s useless. Worse than useless. I’ll not have such a stain upon my history, not for anything. As it happens, however, we do have a capital charge we can pursue: the murder of Dieter Schiller at Nakatomi. We’ve never been able to prove The Interrogator’s hand in that, nor even connect it strongly enough through circumstantial evidence to show that HE has earned the penalty of death. But think of this: with the testimony of someone who knows, with certainty-"

"Not so fast," cautions The Doctor. "There’s no certainty that the memories she carries would be complete. Madam, you don’t even retain all of your own memories, not consciously. What makes you so sure that she can serve you upon this point? And even if she can, it would only be her word against HIS-and a most outlandish word some would find it! What then?"

Again, The Empress hears him out patiently; all of his doubts have occurred to her as well. "I’m still thinking this out, but I can assure you, it wouldn’t be simply her word; I’m investigating another avenue as well, to support the testimony she could give. I’ll not put her through this, Doctor, unless I’m convinced there is a good chance of success. On that, you have my word."

"I hear that it’s good." The Doctor shakes his head. "It will be difficult for her. And not only for her."

"I know." A long silence. "I’m sorry for it, Doctor, but to do this, I need someone who knows The Interrogator, thoroughly. And for now, that someone is Mary Anne."

"Brandon won’t like this at all. When it comes to Mary Anne, he’s the most protective human I’ve ever seen! What if he refuses you?"

The Empress folds her hands and looks directly into The Doctor’s eyes. "Colonel Brandon is a loyal and obedient subject. And so is Mary Anne."

"Brandon is also a husband. A faithful, devoted, and absolutely besotted husband."

"True. And I have no quarrel with that. Nevertheless . . ." A wry smile, as The Empress seems to look inward. "Doctor, the Colonel and I have a history, of sorts. And I can assure you: he will obey me. If I summon them-they shall come."

MA--an early Christmas present, as I throw myself into a new thread. As Sandy would say, "Geronimo!!"
And remembering another great event of The Realm, this Christmas Eve: Happy Anniversary to Renie and Hans . . . *grin*, - Sunday, December 24, 2000 at 18:39:21 (PST)

"Day the Hundred and third, in the month of February - In which the king begins to sort things out."

"He's coming around, sire."

The voice penetrated the blackness. It worked; I was definitely awake again. A hand gripped my shoulder and shook me roughly. That worked, too; I was definitely in pain. Lightning crashed through my head and I had to wait until it ended before opening my eyes.

The first thing I saw was a wooden ceiling. Obviously I wasn't in the courtyard anymore. I looked to my left. Locksley and Marion, Joya and Melisant, Queen Berengaria and the king were all looking down at me. I turned my head the other way. Four grim soldiers with drawn swords surrounded Adam and Will Scarlet. At the far end of the room, assorted members of the king's entourage craned their necks to see what was going on.

"Get him on his feet."

Two hands grabbed my arms and hauled me to a standing position. The room spun crazily. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. After a moment I opened them again to find that everything had settled down. We were in the hall but this time the benches were empty and the doors were shut against outsiders. This was apparently a private audience.

"Welcome back, Lord Nottingham." It was the king again. "I had begun to think we had lost you too."

For a moment the words seemed meaningless. Then the memory of the battle came back to me. I looked around instinctively but of course Krone's body would have been left in the courtyard.

"Now that everyone is awake, I want to get to the bottom of that disgraceful episode during the combat. It is obvious to me that this young man tried to prevent a fair fight. Since it was my express wish that the fight should take place, it can be argued that what he attempted was nothing less than treason. I trust that I hardly need to explain that the penalty for treason is death." King Richard walked to the dais and took his seat. He flexed his fingers and set his fists on the arms of the chair. "Now what have you to say for yourself?"

"If you please, sire." I jumped in. The gods only knew what kind of an explanation Adam had prepared but it probably wouldn't come close to satisfying the king. It took a sophisticated man who knew his way around the royal court to handle this. Or an experienced liar. Fortunately, I was both. "Before we go any further, I would respectfully beg you to consider the culprit's youth. He no doubt meant well but when you are aware of the extreme provocation he was under regarding the outcome of the fight, I believe you will see that he is guilty of little more than being too impulsive."

"Sire, no! Listen to -" Adam started forward but was cuffed into line again by one of his guards.

The king ignored him, keeping his stare directed at me. "I am amazed that you, of all people, would stand there and argue for him. Surely his action deserves the harshest punishment that I can inflict."

I smiled tightly. A monarch's sarcasm has to be tolerated where a lesser man's would be offensive. I rushed into speech before Adam could intervene again. "Sire, I do not endorse what he did, but truly, there are extenuating circumstances. All the land knows that you are a man of mercy and I humbly beseech you to listen to his story with that quality uppermost in your thoughts."

A buzz of conversation from the back of the room broke out upon my closing words. The king frowned and turned his gaze to Adam and Scarlet. The silence stretched out until it seemed it must snap with tension. Finally he shook his head. "No, I do not accept your plea. No extenuating circumstances could mitigate such a brazen act. But I have taken note of your effort on behalf of this young man, Lord Nottingham, and rest assured that I will not forget it."

I'll just bet you won't, I thought resignedly. Closing my eyes, I waited for the whole story to come out.

"You have heard an appeal for mercy on your behalf from a man who has no reason to make it." King Richard leaned forward in his chair, his chin resting on his fist. "Now, Will Scarlet, come forward and tell me why you tried to murder Lord Nottingham during his battle with Sir Walter."

My eyes popped open. For a moment I wondered if I was hearing things.

But no, there was Scarlet being shoved to his knees by his guard, his pale face rigid with defiance. He swallowed once, then again, but managed to speak humbly to the king. "Lord Nottingham has done great wrongs to my family, sire. When I saw him again, fighting with a noble lord like Sir Walter, I just couldn't help myself. My anger overpowered me."

Locksley stepped forward. He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I beg you to be lenient with my brother, sire. He did it for me. It was a rash, spontaneous deed that -"

"No, it wasn't. He was bribed to do it." The quiet voice was Adam's.

The background noise from the waiting courtiers broke out again. Scarlet flushed as red as his name. Everyone was staring at Adam now, none with more intensity than the king. He signalled to the guards to bring Adam closer. "How's that? Explain."

Adam took a deep breath. "This morning, Sir Walter came to my room and offered me gold if I would agree to distract Lord Nottingham during the fight. Sir Walter said that Lord Nottingham was evil and deserved to die. He said too that there would be more gold after the fight was over and that he would intervene with Lord Locksley to make sure that -" His voice broke. He licked his lips and continued with an effort. "To make sure that I got what I wanted most in the world."

King Richard's brow rose inquiringly. "And that is?"

"The hand of the Lady Melisant in marriage." Adam straightened his shoulders. "But I refused him. He was very angry with me and made several threats. He said that he would find someone else to do it and that I would live to regret my decision."

The royal curiosity was piqued. "What reason did you give for turning Sir Walter down?"

"My honour as a knight would not allow me to contemplate such an act." Adam's gaze flickered in my direction, then returned to the king.

"I see." The king tapped his finger on the arm of the chair. "A very worthy attitude, young man. Adam de Fulville, are you not? I could wish that certain other young men," he cast a withering look at Will Scarlet. "Shared your point of view. But did you not serve Sir Walter? What are you going to do now?"

Adam stood up even straighter, if that were possible. "I...I don't know, sire."

"Well, I do. Come here." The king stood up and pulled his sword from its scabbard. Adam advanced to the edge of the dais and knelt on the floor in front of the king. "I hereby grant you the fiefdom of Barnesdale so lately vacated by Sir Walter of Krone as well as the hand of Lady Melisant in marriage. Put your hand on the blade and swear your oath of fealty, Sir Adam of Barnesdale. We'll have the clerks draw up the papers right away so they'll be ready by dinner time."

Adam's head snapped up as he gaped at the king. The back of the hall exploded in cheers. Melisant gave a sob and threw herself down by Adam's side. The king held up his hand for silence and waited for the tumult to subside.

Will Scarlet was on his feet before the guards realized it. His shrill outrage rose above the rest of the noise. "But what about me!? Lady Melisant is supposed to marry me!"

The king frowned in distaste. "Robin, I would ask that you take your brother in hand and explain to him the manner and the attitude becoming to a knight. It seems to me he could learn something from both Sir Adam and Lord Nottingham."

I thought the entire Locksley clan was going to explode on the spot. Scarlet danced from foot to foot. "But he's a rat bastard!"

I cleared my throat modestly. "Actually, that's Lord Rat Bastard, if you don't mind."

Locksley clenched his fists so tight he was shaking. The pressure to scream at the king must have been almost overwhelming but he mastered it. "Sire," he ground out. "Surely the action of my brother - as reprehensible as it was - is not the only one that you must pass judgement on today. After all, even though he defeated Sir Walter in battle, that only pertained to a particular claim made against Sir Walter. Surely Lord Nottingham owes you an account of his activities while you were away from England. Should he not explain himself to you?"

"A good point, Robin." The king looked around for me as if he'd just remembered my existence. "Well, how about it? We have a few hours until we dine. Make it good, varlet."

I could have wished for more time to think of something really good. Like everyone else, I'd been riveted by the Adam's story. A feeling of grievance came over me. A really good lie takes a lot of effort to create. I hated to settle for shoddy work.

But apparently I wouldn't have to. A scuffle at the back of the room broke out and a young man wearing expensive garments stepped out of the crowd. He was quite handsome, clean-shaven and well scrubbed. He also looked vaguely familiar.

He came right up to the king with an air of easy friendship. "If you please, sire -"

A muffled scream rent the air. Marion of Locksley clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes round and her shoulders heaving. Beside her, Locksley stared in slack-jawed shock. Marion took a faltering step. "It can't be! Oh God, it is! Peter! Peter, you're home!" She ran the rest of the way and hurled herself into the stranger's arms.

He threw back his head and laughed. "Now, lass, control yourself. Is this any way to behave in front of Cousin Richard?" He set her aside and bowed low to the king. "Yes, sire, it's me. Peter DuBois, alive and well, and proud and happy to be back in England."

"Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."

Magda
A really long one tonight...Two more...., - Saturday, December 23, 2000 at 16:08:41 (PST)

Having dated an actor for a bit, I can relate to the age old question "who is the person and who is the role". Of course, with a bad actor, there is no question, but with a good actor.....
a Rickman admirer
- Friday, December 22, 2000 at 22:10:23 (PST)

Cindie’s attempt to halt the submarine metaphor is a valiant one, but Mary Anne’s sense of humour being what it is, the attempt is doomed to failure.

"Depth charges?" she teases Cindie. "Torpedoes? The Hunt for Red Interrogator?"

Once the laughter dies down, Mary Anne’s expression grows uncharacteristically grave. "Tell me . . . just what did you mean about ‘facing The Interrogator’ yourself? You know that I was only kidding, but now you’re talking like . . ." Her voice trails off uncomfortably. "But then, it’s none of my business."

"No, no," protests Cindie. "Don’t talk like that. I did come to ask your advice about all this. Do you think it’s a bad idea, or what?"

"Depends on what you’re going to do."

"Well, it’s like I just told you; I thought I was okay with that side of him, since it’s just a role. But I haven’t been honest with myself. It isn’t just the character that scares me; it’s that he can become that character so easily. That night at the Stag and . . . but you weren’t there, were you?"

Mary Anne smiles. "If you mean, Therese and the man who wouldn’t keep his hands to himself . . . ?"

"Yes! You saw that? I didn’t see you!"

"Christopher and I stopped in for a few minutes after we saw Les Mis that night. We thought that if we mixed into that, we’d just make it worse, so we stayed near the back and had our nightcap and left."

"Well, then you know what I mean." Unconsciously, Cindie rubs at her arms, though the cubicle is warm. She can see it, in memory: Mistral, rising from their table in the Stag and Thistle-and even before he was fully out of the chair, the change was apparent; it was The Interrogator who stood and moved toward Therese and her harassing fan. Cindie allows it to play in her mind, like a film running frame by frame. She can remember thinking at the time, even as her heart beat fast over what was happening, that she was watching a man of exceptional physical control, an actor who regards posture and movement as essentials of his craft-and so could convince an observer that he had grown taller, somehow. Just that small adjustment to his stance could make that much difference. And the walk. Firm, unswerving. Cindie remembers reading how various people, when walking, "lead" from a different area of their bodies, the most obvious being the exaggerated hip-swivel of a runway model. Right. For a sexy walk, "lead" from the pelvic area. Mistral’s lead, as The Interrogator, is from his entire upper body, chest to forehead, so that he seems to loom in the observer’s field of vision.

And then that evening, there had been the aggressive pose he had struck before Therese’s fan-feet shoulder-width apart, the classic fighting stance. And the precision of that VOICE . . .

All this passes through Cindie’s mind in a matter of seconds before she mutters, "That poor idiot."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The guy who tried to hit on Therese, that night. He was out of his league."

"No kidding." Mary Anne laughs a little. "I wouldn’t have been in his shoes for anything."

"But see, Mary Anne, that’s what I mean!" Cindie leaves her chair to stalk back and forth, only there is not much stalking room in the small cubicle, and after only a few steps of restless pacing, she returns to her chair. "It’s like-he can turn it on and off, just as it pleases him. A little too easily."

"Well, part of that is practice, you know. He’s worked on the character for a long time. And keeps working on it. Just when you think you’ve seen everything . . ." Mary Anne slides down toward the foot of the couch, to lean forward and give Cindie a reassuring pat on the arm. "But I think you’re worrying too much, about this having anything to do with you. I mean, when he did ‘go Interrogator’ like that, why did he do it? To help Therese. He could have had a worse reason, couldn’t he?"

"I suppose so," admits Cindie.

But there is another memory claiming her attention-Mistral, at the party. His flash of anger when she had strolled up to him in the "evil Mary Anne" costume . . .

Will she ever be able to forget it? More importantly, does she wish to forget it? The way he was so close to her in seconds--talk about invading someone’s "personal space.". She had not known anyone could move so quickly. And once he was so close to her-a most unfair advantage for him, that dominating height, his overpowering physical presence . . . the way his fingers had found her throat, and buried themselves in her hair, gripping her head, turning her face upward to his kiss . . .

"Hello? Hello!" Mary Anne’s voice, as she waves her hand in front of Cindie’s eyes. "Earth to Cindie! You’re twelve million miles away!"

Cindie startles, then laughs as she recovers her composure. "Sorry. I was just . . . thinking about what you said."

"Right. Any more thinking like that and you’re going to set off the smoke alarms!" Mary Anne leans back on the chaise and crosses her arms. "This leave us right where we were. If the idea of The Interrogator lurking in the background of this relationship . . ."

Cindie crosses her eyes in mock-terror, and Mary Anne giggles.

" . . . if that scares you, I’d tell him so. I think he appreciates honesty, and he'd probably rather know than wonder. But what he’ll do about it . . ." Mary Anne lifts her hands in the age-old gesture of bewilderment. "I have no idea."

Cindie shakes her head. "Neither do I."

"So . . ." As much as the situation interests her, and as honoured as she feels to be sought as a confidante, Mary Anne watches her guest with a strange sense of pity; the situation is complicated. No doubt, some people would scoff and call it a lot of worry over nothing . . . but those people don’t know Mistral. Or Cindie, thinks Mary Anne, who is beginning to realize that there is more to this woman than first meets the eye. If she’s caught his attention, she’s something out of the ordinary. I can’t wait to see how this all turns out.

Aloud, however, she only asks: "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

MA
Mistral had just better appreciate what Cindie is going through for him! , - Friday, December 22, 2000 at 19:41:20 (PST)

A flash of fear. There and gone. And in its place, resolve. “Yes, Mary Anne, I think you’re right,” Cindie said resolutely. “I must face the Interrogator myself.”

“I didn’t mean that literally!” Mary Anne replied with dismay.

“No, no, of course not.” Cindie looked like she was inhabiting another world at that particular moment. She refocused and smiled at her new confidant, “You just brought home the fact that I’ve managed to pretend I was at ease with something that in fact I’d been skirting around for some time.”

Mary Anne nodded. “Mistral is probably still finding his way too.”

Cindie smiled. That was essentially what Christopher Brandon had said to her during their dance at the party. Those two are very much in synch aren’t they? “Yes, and that thought makes me feel better somehow. I hope that doesn’t sound mean spirited. He just seems so self possessed, like nothing ever rattles him.”

“He doesn’t reveal much. But I think his feelings run deep.”

“Run Silent, Run Deep?”

“Something like that.” Mary Anne chuckled. “I was just picturing the imagery for that one.”

“You’d better stop, or we’ll be headed straight into material for one of those books.” Cindie said inclining her head toward the book still laying on the chaise longue

Cindie
- Thursday, December 21, 2000 at 19:37:02 (PST)

Correction made.
Perhaps "real life" intrudes a bit more, this time of year.
D.o.C.

DoC, please change to "pile of slush." Thank you.

It seems that there are not many people around anymore and most of the writing since November has been done by the same small group. Where is everyone?
Magda
- Thursday, December 21, 2000 at 16:16:57 (PST)

"Day the Hundred and third, in the month of February - In which the fight continues - and I try to make up for lost ground."

The silence stretched out for impossibly long seconds; then, with one motion, the crowd turned to look at the king.

For my part, I simply couldn't believe it. First Adam refuses to help me at all. Then he changes his mind and does something so incredibly stupid that it couldn't possibly work - that I even cited as an example of something not to do. And to absolutely top the whole thing off - he doesn't even manage to hit the man he's supposed to be aiming at. If Adam was in any way representative of his age group, it was enough to make me despair of the young manhood of England.

At any rate, the thing was done and it was now simply a matter of making sure I escaped even the appearance of responsibility for it. My mind was racing as I considered and discarded possible "spontaneous" exclamations of surprise and wonder. It was very unfortunate that he'd been seen speaking to me as I drank from his water flask: something else to be explained away.

I still hadn't settled on any particular line of defence by the time the king spoke. He rose from his chair with ponderous effort and glared across the yard at Adam and Scarlet. "Hold those two in custody. I will reserve my judgement until the victor has been determined. But I do say this," and his scowl took in all of us. "The instigator of this heinous act shall know what it means to wish he had never been born. Now get on with the battle!" And he resumed his seat with grim finality.

The soldiers hustled the two brawlers out of the courtyard while a third picked up the axe and tucked it under his arm. My captors released me to join Krone in the middle of the grounds. The crowd cheered lustily at the prospect of renewed violence. I had the dizzying feeling that time had moved backwards and I was starting the combat fresh. But as I looked at my opponent it was immediately obvious that something had changed.

As he lifted his sword and turned to me, Krone's face was white. Clearly he was in the grip of strong emotion, but not rage. No, it was fear that blanched his cheeks. His eyes were round and it seemed to me that his hands shook slightly. For my part I was amazed at such a reaction. Of course he understood what had happened or, rather, not happened. Yet the failure of Adam's effort should have filled him with confidence. Instead he seemed almost to shrink into himself. I could not understand it.

But that wasn't going to stop me from taking advantage of it. I moved aggressively to meet him before he could get his sword above his waist and slashed at his right arm to draw more blood. The sudden attack seemed to revive him and he parried with at least some of his former energy. We exchanged blows that advanced neither of us. Our breaths misted the air.

A momentary lapse marred a defensive move and my sword locked with Krone's. Metal screeched against metal as we met face to face. Grappling to free myself, I wasn't prepared when Krone grabbed a handful of my sleeve and hissed, "You weren't the first man to bed her, you know."

I doubted that I was the fifth but that was none of his affair. Despite the situation I managed a grim smile to show him that his attempt to unsettle me hadn't worked. Really, it was quite pathetic that this was the best he could come up with. Well, two could play at that game. "Do you think I care for that? A woman more beautiful than all the maidens of Geyetha?" I placed one hand on his chest and shoved hard, tearing free of his grip.

He staggered back, sliding a little on the slick stones. His sword remained by his side as he swayed on his feet. I felt the same way. We had been skirmishing for what seemed like hours and my sword felt like it was made of iron rather than steel. And neither of us was any closer to killing the other than when we had started. Blinking away the sweat that had been dripping from my hair into my eyes, I managed to heft my weapon but I needed both hands to do it.

Krone thrust his sword directly at my ribs; I lowered mine into position to deflect the blow. At the last moment he changed direction and slapped my elbow with the flat edge of his blade. It wasn't much of a blow but I was startled into dropping my own sword. It hit the cobblestones with a loud clang. A bloodthirsty segment of the onlookers shouted approval of the tactic.

I stooped to pick it up again but my fingers seemed to be numb and all I could do was scramble for the hilt. A looming shadow indicated that Krone was coming fast. Since my hand wouldn't do my bidding, I made a fist and slammed it into the first part of Krone's anatomy that I could reach: his groin. His scream of pain was echoed sympathetically by a long, drawn-out moan from the male portion of the crowd.

He dropped his own weapon before falling in a writhing heap to the ground. I finally managed to pick up my sword and get on my feet again but I was swaying. I could not go on much longer and I doubted that, even before my last assault, Krone felt at any better. He rolled over and got up on his hands and knees, groping for his weapon. After several gulps of air he clambered up to a standing position, both hands wrapped around the handle.

We circled each other warily, both of us looking for the place to land the one punishing blow that would end this. Krone lurched at me, I stepped aside and we grappled blade to blade again. He leaned closer. "You have no proof. None. It's my word against yours."

I shook my hair out of my eyes, spraying sweat on both of us. "There is proof. A witness."

He pushed against my chest. Our swords trembled under the pressure. "He's dead."

"Are you sure?" Despite the situation, I smiled. "After all, I was supposed to be dead too."

He pushed away suddenly, chest heaving. His gaze roamed over my face, looking for some sign that I was lying or bluffing. Then he looked over my shoulder. Whatever he saw there seemed to be terrifying. The colour drained from his cheeks, leaving them parchment white under his helmet. I was grateful to whatever it was that distracted his attention. Both hands gripping the hilt, I hefted my sword over my head and stepped forward to bring it down on him.

But I had forgotten the snow. Just as my sword began its descent, I set my foot on a pile of slush and lost my balance. Too late to pull back, I hoped I would at least manage to nick his fighting arm. At that moment Krone wrenched his attention away from whatever was behind me and saw the blow coming. He wavered, then closed his eyes and leaned forward. My blade slashed into his shoulder and ripped diagonally through his chest. Blood spurted like a fountain to drench the both of us. The crowd gasped with one voice.

For a moment we were frozen in place, then Krone fell to his knees and opened his eyes. The fear that had been there only moments before was gone. In its place was a look of peace and serenity, then his lids closed again and he slumped forward to impale himself further on my blade.

I was shocked. He had walked right into the blow. It was nothing short of suicide. Then a molten rage flowed over me. Krone had cheated me! He should have died fighting like a warrior, not like a farm animal being slaughtered. He deserved to be punished for what he had put Joya through. I didn't want him to die that fast.

"Coward!" I spat the word, then shouted it. "Coward! Coward!" I dropped my sword and struck him. His helmet flew off and bounced on the ground. I hit him again, trying to break his jaw, wanting to feel his bones break under my fists. "Coward!"

He was on the ground now as I knelt on his chest, raining blows down on him, not knowing or caring if he could feel them. Someone behind me was shouting. Hands pulled at me but I struggled free. Then a heavy object slammed into the back of my head and I fell forward into a black pit, empty except for sparkling stars that rushed up to greet me.

"Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."

Magda
Three more..., - Thursday, December 21, 2000 at 16:10:51 (PST)

Mary Anne’s cubicle:

Mary Anne settles herself on the couch Cindie had vacated, and picks up the book. "Dreadful, isn’t it?" she laughs. "I wonder what it is about highwaymen, that romance writers always use them for a hero."

"Well, you should know," quips Cindie, thinking back on certain early FOF episodes she had viewed in her free time.

"Ah, yes," sighs Mary Anne with exaggerated dreaminess. "Egdon Heath, and The Highwayman. Mmmmmmm. Though I’m sure the real life versions were not so . . ."

"Exactly."

Mary Anne’s smile turns sharp and ironic. "As terrifying then as an assault would be to us, now. It’s the same thing, really. I mean, what will romance novelists be writing two hundred years from now? Bride of the Burglar?"

"Well, but look at what we do right here at FOF," protests Cindie. "Look at the fan mail-look at how much there is for-"

Once again, she stops herself in time. Not "Patrick," to anyone else. Not yet.

"For Mistral?" supplies Mary Anne. "We do seem to keep coming back to that, don’t we?"

Cindie nods, managing to blush only a little as the two exchange conspiratorial smiles. Yes, Mary Anne, each of us knows what the other’s thinking; he’s a fascinating topic of conversation, isn’t he?

Mary Anne rearranges herself on the couch to get comfortable. "Right. When we’ve talked, sometimes he’s mentioned his fan mail. It seems that people are terrified by him and that he makes them just burn with desire . . ." A raised eyebrow. " . . . to see him get his just deserts, of course!"

"Of course," deadpans Cindie.

"Anyway, HE is awful and despicable and horrible-and they write him absolute reams to tell him so."

"And what does he think about this?" queries Cindie.

Mary Anne shrugs. "That people are hard to explain," she replies at last.

Cindie waits for a minute, but when no more is forthcoming, she takes a deep breath and asks, "Mary Anne, I’m curious-what is it like, dealing with that part of things?"

A puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

Cindie can feel her face turning red, but she won’t be stopped by a little thing like that. "I mean, I’ve watched him play The Interrogator. I’ve been present when he goes into character, but what I mean is, what’s it like to be in that situation? Where he turns THAT on, and you’re the target?"

Mary Anne thinks that over. This isn’t one of those fan questions that can be so annoying-"What’s The Interrogator really like?" Finally, she smiles a little. "Well, I’m not the one who’s the target. ‘Mary Anne’ is, so that’s a kind of buffer. Like putting on a glove, even though the glove can be a tight fit. Hmmmmm, let me see." A long pause. "It’s exciting, yes, and there are times when it’s petrifying, because when Mistral is in character, he is in character, and he does a very professional job of it. It makes your heart race, he’s so convincing. But even then-" Mary Anne leans closer. "-you feel secure. When The Director says, ‘Cut,’ that’s it. HE goes away."

"Always? Just like that?"

"Pretty much. I mean, Mistral plays around with the character, sometimes. Walking the edge. He’s done that to me lots of times, and other people, too. We kid him about ‘going Interrogator’ on us when he gets this particular look-"

Cindie nods, though in memory she is back in the Stag and Thistle, watching Mistral ‘go Interrogator’ with Therese’s pushy fan.

She represses a little shiver-fear?--as Mary Anne continues. "-reminds me of how lovers will get up to some little game and they’ll have a code word that means, ‘stop.’ But there’s no point in having that code if you can’t trust the other person to honour it. From what I’ve seen of Mistral, he’s a man who would. Who does."

Cindie is silent, thinking that over-and reflecting ironically on Mary Anne’s word choices in the conversation. "Burn with desire . . . makes your heart race . . . how lovers will get up to some little game . . ." What IS it about this man, that without even being in the room he can raise the temperature twenty degrees?! I wonder if Mary Anne even realizes it . . . and didn’t she say he makes his own code?

Something of all this must show in her face, because Mary Anne stops and looks at her with concern. "Sorry. I get an idea, I tend to natter on for a while."

"No, no problem," Cindie hurries to reassure her. "As long as you don’t have anywhere you need to be, right away. Please, go on."

"Well, that’s about all there is!" Helplessly. "You asked me what it’s like to play opposite HIM, but I just can’t explain it. I’ve never felt like the role was taking over the man, though." A sly twinkle. "I guess if you want to know what it’s like . . ." A deeeep breath, as Mary Anne intones dramatically: "You must face The Interrogator yourself!"

MA--"Face The Interrogator yourself . . ." Calls for a musical sting, doesn't it? *grin*
Mistral, dear, hope I haven't revealed too much about you . . ., - Tuesday, December 19, 2000 at 19:38:53 (PST)

"Day the Hundred and third, in the month of February - In which the fight begins - and is unexpectedly interrupted."

The servants had done a good job sweeping. What little snow was left on the cobblestones was drying up in the warmth of the rising sun. Two ornate chairs had been set up for the royal couple at the far end of the yard and wooden benches for the nobility lined the walls. The multitude would have to throng around the far end to take their chances for a good view. Helmets in hand, Krone and I marched into the centre of the courtyard to wait. I glimpsed Joya standing beside the Lady Marion and Queen Berengaria before the surging crowd hid them from view . There was controlled mayhem for a while before everyone was finally seated and looking expectantly in the direction of the king.

After helping his wife to her seat, King Richard took his and looked around. He nodded once. A soldier stepped out of the crowd and came to where Krone and I stood, now helmeted and ready. We removed our swords, handed the scabbards over and took our positions. The soldier examined our blades carefully, then turned and nodded.

The king rose, his arm lifted to the sky. "Very well. Begin." He dropped his arm suddenly, the soldier retreated hastily to the far wall and Krone stepped forward to take his first swing.

I had decided to spend the first minutes on the defensive for two reasons. I wanted to see what sort of fighter he was, whether he rushed his attacks or was disciplined enough to wait for the right moment. At the same time I wanted to make sure he didn't get an accurate idea of my ability; if he thought I was timid, he might get careless in a bid for a quick victory. And so I met his first thrust to my left shoulder with a modest parry that seemed to succeed more by luck than skill. The sound of steel scraping against steel caused the crowd to moan in ecstatic anticipation.

Krone pulled his sword away and fell back a step, clearly anticipating a counter-thrust from me. I responded with a weak jab at his sword arm that he repelled easily, then retreated almost to the edge of the crowd to get away from him. He advanced quickly, frowning terribly as I bobbed out of his way. His blade struck mine once, twice, then a third time as onlookers squealed and trampled each other to get away from us. Two soldiers came forward to pull us apart and shove us back to the centre of the courtyard. I was pleased to hear Krone swearing in frustration.

Back in the same place where we'd started, we assumed our positions again. He swung his sword at my right leg and I parried it neatly. But this time I decided to give Krone a surprise and followed it with a thrust first at his left arm, then his right, and finally landed a slicing blow on his shoulder before leaping back out of reach. He stumbled back, blood seeping through the sleeve of his chain mail. He stared at his arm stupidly, then at me and back to his arm again. Behind me someone in the crowd jeered. From the other side of the yard, the king called. "Do you need bandaging, Krone?"

The question seemed to catch him on the raw. Under his helmet he flushed a deep red. "No, sire, I thank you. This scratch means nothing." He took a firmer grip on his weapon and advanced again.

This time I came forward too fast for him to take aim. I lunged at his chest, throwing my full weight behind the blow. He halted abruptly, then scuttled to one side. I kept going, then changed direction to strike first at his shoulder, then his head, back to his chest again before carving another wound into his arm. The rapid succession of blows left him no opportunity for finesse as he staggered back almost to the royal presence to escape me.

The sun had cleared the parapets by now and the courtyard was fully lit. I turned slowly until the sun was behind me, forcing Krone to face the light full as he advanced. But I wasn't as cautious as I should have been. Krone swung at my head and I ducked, skidding on the wet cobblestones and falling to one knee. He followed me, raining blow after blow down on me that I twisted and turned desperately to avoid as I tried to stand. Just as I almost made it, my foot slipped again and brought me almost to the ground. Krone raised his sword high over his head and aimed it straight at my head. I gave up attempting to rise and instead fell completely, rolling out of the way to avoid the blow. His sword struck sparks from the stone where I had been lying only seconds before. Krone's bellow of rage sent the crows on the tower cawing into the sky.

I was up on my feet again and backing away, trying to see if his temper was getting the better of him. Blood ran freely down his arm now and dripped onto the ground. Even as the king shouted "Hold!" two soldiers stepped between us and an old woman scuttled onto the field to look at Krone's wounds.

As I stood waiting, sucking in great gulps of air and shivering in the chill, I saw a familiar face in the crowd beside me. It was Adam, looking nervous and unhappy; even more so when he realized I had seen him. With a start he shied away but I pointed at the flask on his belt and called. "Young master, a drink of water if you please. Fighting is hard work."

He didn't like it but there was nothing for it but to come over to me. He tried to hand me the flask and retreat but I held his arm while I lifted it to my lips. There was no time to waste on pleasantries. "Well?" I hissed before I took a drink.

At least he didn't pretend not to understand. "No. I can't." He managed to look me in the eye, flinching at what he saw there.

"Adam." I dropped one hand on his shoulder and squeezed tight. "When this is over, I promise you one thing: you are arrow-fodder."

He drew himself up and tried to shake off my grip. "I wish you all the best of luck -"

I threw the now-empty flask aside. "Save it for yourself. You'll need it more." Releasing his shoulder, I placed my hand on his chest and shoved him back forcefully. Then I turned to face Krone again.

He didn't seem any the worse for being wounded, apart from holding his arm a little stiffly at his side. His face was still flushed but his temper was under control again and it would probably stay there. We'd got each other's measure by now. He was an aggressive attacker but not a reckless one. I'd have to come up with something new to catch him off guard. I tried to think what kind of impression he'd got of me so I could upend it with something unexpected.

Krone hefted his sword and came forward. I matched his advance step by step; he might think I was mimicking his moves and become flustered. But if he noticed, he didn't show it. He accelerated to try a slashing blow to my head. I ducked instinctively but in trying to stay balanced I lost any opportunity to strike back. With an oath I would have given much not to have uttered I retreated several steps to safety.

He came at me immediately, striking hard and fast from both sides. I parried again and again, all my strength devoted to standing my ground. The air resounded with the clash of metal striking, scraping, rasping against metal. The force of the blows send shivers racing up my arms.

I was still in defensive stance, not even standing upright and fully concentrated on my opponent when a shout from the crowd caught my attention and I saw a flash of colour out of the corner of my eye. Only my reflexes saved me. I jumped back at least three feet, trying to get away and at the same time determine what I had seen. A loud metal sound clanged loud in my ears, followed by a shout somewhere off to my right. In the confusion, I lost track of Krone's whereabouts and fleetingly hoped that he hadn't somehow got behind me.

A rising babble of noise was coming from the crowd. Suddenly soldiers were around me, holding my arms and forcing me to a stand. I looked around in a daze. In the middle of the courtyard, where Krone and I had been standing just seconds before, two bodies rolled and struggled on the ground. Other soldiers pulled them up and apart. I recognized Adam and Will Scarlet, panting with exertion, their finery completely ruined by slush and dirt.

I stared in amazement that only grew as I realized that I was the only one paying attention to the combatants. Everyone else was staring at something on the ground. Confused, I lowered my gaze to look too.

It was an axe, such as servants use to cut firewood or chop thick ice. It lay there, vibrating slightly from the force of its fall and slowly spinning until it finally came to a complete halt.

"Of the events of these days, I swear to describe them true and whole. On my oath, as I hope to become Lord Nottingham and High Sheriff again."

Magda
Loong enough? Four more..., - Tuesday, December 19, 2000 at 18:41:55 (PST)

Mary Anne’s cubicle:

Cindie leaned over and idly picked up the book which was laying face down on the couch. Her initial motive in doing so was to occupy her mind, to quiet the torrent of thoughts and questions coursing through her head. Yes, intense, to say the least. His own code… that made sense. No wonder my armour was seemingly useless-he cut through metal like a laser! She looked at the cover, surprised. Somehow she had not imagined Mary Anne’s tastes being so …tacky. Her thoughts resumed their chaotic course, Private…, the right person to tell *everything* to… As she flipped through the pages the book fell open to an apparently oft read passage. Cindie began to read. She looked up, checking to make sure she was quite alone. She began to read in earnest, becoming completely engrossed in the novel. Unconsciously she moved from the chair and sat on the chaise longue and, not taking her eyes off the page, settled back.

She continued to read, her immediate surroundings forgotten. Suddenly she became aware that someone was standing in the doorway. Mary Anne had returned. Cindie suddenly felt guilty, as if she’d been caught doing something naughty. She quickly closed the book and set it down, getting up from the couch, her pulse racing. “So how did it go with the director?” Feigning an indifference to her circumstances that she did not feel.

“Oh, fine. He just wanted to go over some things for this afternoon.” Mary Anne’s eyes everywhere but on the book, now face up, revealing a man and a woman of most amazing proportions.

“I, um, was trying to get my mind off things.” Cindie smiled sheepishly.

“Did it work?”

Mary Anne asked with just a hint of colour to her cheeks that the makeup deparment had not placed there.

“Maybe a little.” Cindie’s smile deepened as a grin began to form on Mary Anne’s lips.

Cindie
It was just laying there begging to be read....., - Monday, December 18, 2000 at 17:39:58 (PST)

Oh no...I'm going to Sweden for 10 days! I'm going to be completely internetless! How'm I going to cope??
Chris
Despairing at the need for holidays-or at least the price of laptops!, - Monday, December 18, 2000 at 13:11:13 (PST)

I hope they're five very loong ones.
Cindie
Can't wait to see what happens next but can't bear the thought of the story endng either., - Sunday, December 17, 2000 at 19:25:37 (PST)

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