Post by Lorpius Prime on Apr 14, 2009 1:01:32 GMT -5
"Merci."
Jay slipped a few more francs out of his pocket to place in the old man's wrinkled hand. The man simply tugged on his floppy cap and nodded before turning and walking away.
Jay took a cautious step off the stairs of the dock and onto the top deck of the little boat. His care proved unnecessary, the boat didn't sway at all under Jay's weight. Still, Jay preferred to be sure.
He turned left and walked in the opposite direction as the boat's old captain, taking some steps down to the lower deck where he'd be out of the crew's way. None of them seemed very interested in conversation, which was just fine, because Jay wasn't either. Jay wondered if he was ever going to get used to talking to people again.
Hiring the ferry at this hour of night just for himself had been expensive, but Jay didn't mind. He would be out of France in a few hours, and he would probably give the crew the rest of his money when they had reached the other side, anyway. He wouldn't need the francs anymore.
Jay found a seat on a little bench near the bow of the ship. He pushed the sword in his belt out of the way with one foot as he sat down; it was a motion that he had practiced long enough that he hardly thought about it anymore. Jay leaned back to rest his back and elbows against the walls of the ship and looked out over the choppy waters of the Channel.
It was a relatively clear night, which was nice after several days of rain and fog. Jay wrinkled his nose at the smell, though. Every time he travelled, Jay was always surprised at how different the center of the continent smelled from coast. He only noticed it on the continent, though, for some reason it never bothered him in England. Perhaps because so much of England was so near the coast itself. Or perhaps just because it was home.
Jay took a deep breath of the salty, smelly air. He was going home.
Not for the first time, Jay wondered if he shouldn't have gone on to Cherbourg and tried to get passage from there directly to Exeter, but Jay shook his head. That would have meant another day or two of travel, and there were things he could take care of in London, too.
The ferry rocked gently, and started to move away from the dock. Jay twisted around to take a last look at the city of Calais behind him. The town wasn't nearly so colorful as Paris at this time of night, but it was still a pleasant place, and the orange public lights twinkled like stars on the ground. Jay turned back around. Ahead of him it was too dark to see the cliffs of Dover across the Channel, even though it was a clear night. Jay wondered if he would be able to see them at all on this little trip. He had been tempted to let the ferrymen take him straight into Dover, but he was much more likely to be discovered there. Folkestone was only a few miles away, and would not have such a heavy guard.
Then again, Jay might not even have to worry about guards anymore. In the last week that he had spent hiking across the continent, Jay had been accosted not once. He wasn't sure if that meant the government had given up the search for him, or if they simply thought he was dead. Nor could he dismiss the possibility that he had just been terribly lucky during his escape. The public, at least, still seemed to think that Jay was dead. When he'd stumbled into the Havas office in Strasbourg, his old colleague Gerard Segal had certainly been surprised to see him. Gerard had been nice enough to lend him some money and agree to keep quiet until Jay made it home. Whatever the public thought, Jay wasn't taking chances. Not anymore.
It was why he had hired this ferry all to himself. It was why he hadn't told any of the crew his name. It was why he was leaving in the middle of the night. Jay was going home. He would not be stopped.
The boat slipped out of the harbor and into open waters.
Edward Adolphus Ferdinand Blake, Baron of Upton Pyne and lifetime member of the Peerage, was drinking. He knew that he should not be drinking, but that knowledge only encouraged him to drink more. He held the bottle of Irish whiskey by the neck and poured another slug down his throat, and shivered as it went down.
Baron Blake leaned against the wall of his flat and looked out the window, from where he could see the Tower of London. When he had first travelled to London after receiving his Title, Edward had been disappointed to discover that he couldn't actually afford a second house in the city to serve as his residence. He'd had to settle for the flat, spacious and nicely sited as it was. The view had grown on him; however, it was one of the small things that helped him tolerate life when he had to come here to sit in Parliament.
Not that that was why he was here now. The Blair government had finally fallen, and the Tories no longer really needed to keep all of their foot soldiers at the ready in the Lords. Edward could have gone home at any time. And even if he'd wanted to stay, he could have brought Lily up to stay with him, now.
Edward took another drink from the whiskey bottle. The real reason that Baron Blake was sitting here, alone and drinking, was to avoid his wife. She had been sending telegrams every day since Margaret took off for the continent along with that Security Service officer, Colonel Holland. The Blakes had heard nothing from their daughter since. Nor would the Security Service itself tell Edward anything. With Jay Thomson already gone, Edward and Lily had no children left; there was no one to take care of. Edward might as well have sold the manor in Exeter and moved into a townhouse here. He didn't think he ever wanted to go back to that place.
Edward knew that he was hiding, from his wife and from his responsibilities, but he had trouble caring. He was 54 years old and already felt like his life was over. He knew that Lily was probably feeling just as distraught, if not more, but there wasn't anything Edward could for her anymore. She was probably better off without him, now. Baron Blake had already tried to do his part for this world, and he had failed.
He turned and leaned his head and shoulders against his window sill. London sprawled before him. Strong winds today had left the city unusually clear of haze and coal smoke. There was only one tiny black cloud looming in the distance.
Edward's eyes lifted. It was not actually a cloud that he could see. There was some sort of dark mass hanging in the air over the White Tower. The shape was moving, swirling slowly around one of the turrets.
It was a flock of birds, Edward realized. They were flying up from various points within the city and joining the others as they circled the Tower complex. Edward had never seen such behavior in a mass of birds that large, and he tilted his head to one side as he watched them.
All at once, in response to some sound or signal Edward did not notice, the formation broke. The birds stopped their circling and flew from the Tower in a great spiraled line. They flew south, passing over Edward's building, and making remarkably little sound as they went. Once they had passed out of sight, Edward shrugged. Strange things sometimes happened in this city, perhaps someone else had noticed and would tell him what had happened, or perhaps not. For now, Edward returned to his bottle.
When the first raven landed on the prow of the boat, Jay froze. The black bird settled onto the railing of the ferry and stared at Jay. Jay stared back from his little bench. Very slowly, he slid one hand under his coat to let his fingers curl around the hilt of his sword. He was 500 miles from Herrenchiemsee palace, but he could have been followed, especially if his pursuer could fly. Jay sat very still, hand on his sword, ready to draw it and strike if the bird started talking.
He relaxed a little as a couple more ravens flew in and landed next to the first one. The new birds also stared at Jay, while the first one started pecking at the feathers under one wing. More ravens started to on the ferry's railing, and Jay frowned. He looked up to see an entire flock of the birds circling overhead; they were dropping down in handfuls to find perches on the boat around Jay. Within a minute, there were several dozen crowding around the rails, and the numbers in the flock above did not appear to have thinned much. The ravens started to land on the ferry's deck and the unused benches around Jay. On the top deck, Jay could hear the crew talking excitedly about the strange phenomenon.
The ravens were no longer keeping quiet, themselves. Occasionally one of the ones perched near Jay would bob its head at him and emit a high-pitched squawk. If these ravens could speak English, they were doing a poor job of it. After several minutes, Jay took his hand off his sword and leaned back. He was still unnerved by the birds, but at least they no longer struck him as an immediate threat.
Beyond the mass of ravens cluttering up the front of the ship, England was visible in the distance. The ferry was now making a slow turn to port that would take it into Folkestone harbor. The beaches here were gray and low, although if Jay looked over his shoulder he could see the start of the chalky cliffs that led off to Dover. Above the beach there were only a few scattered lights, the brightest coming from the lighthouse on the harbor wall.
Folkestone was a moderately successful town, but it was hardly a major commercial center. Most of the residents were either poor fisherman or wealthy aristocrats who liked the peaceful atmosphere of a sleepy sea-side village. The harbor was small and well-maintained, but there was little else noteworthy about the place. Its peak had probably been in the nineteenth century, when it had been a smugglers' haven and a military outpost. But the smugglers had gone with the opening of trade, and the forts were long since abandoned following the defeat of Britain's major continental enemies.
All in all, Jay expected to have no trouble sneaking in without notice.
The ferry slid past the harbor wall and slowed to a crawl as it came up alongside a small pier. The vibrations from the boat's paddles died as the crew disengaged the engine. Jay heard boots drop onto wood as someone hopped down to the pier to tie up the ferry. Jay stood up.
All the ravens around him followed his motion with their tiny heads. The ones closest to him fluttered backwards out of his way. Jay walked forward carefully, making certain not to step on any of the birds. The ravens seemed to divine his intentions, however, and they cleared a small path between Jay and stairs leading to the ferry's top deck. Even so, Jay watched where he planted his feet.
The ferry captain was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. Jay fished the rest of the francs Gerard had given him out of his pocket and handed them over to the old man before thanking him again. The Frenchman smiled and pocketed the money.
"Au revoir," he said. Jay nodded back. The captain turned away to mutter at the ravens which were clogging the ferry's top deck as well. He made a shooing gesture with his arms, but the birds stayed where they were, unimpressed.
Jay chuckled slightly and grabbed onto the ferry's handrail before stepping off the boat and onto the wooden pier. The platform was empty except for a single crewman who had hopped down holding a heavy rope. The crewman tipped his hat to Jay, who returned the gesture. The pier was a foot or two below the level of the ferry deck, and Jay eased himself down.
His right foot touched down first, and as soon as it did, Jay and the ferry were rocked back by a burst of wind that came rushing down over the docks from the town. As Jay staggered to keep his balance, he could hear a low rumble behind him, like several hundred maids beating rugs. In front of him, the ferry crewman dropped his rope and ducked, putting his hands over his head. Jay got both his feet planted firmly on the dock and looked up.
Above him, all the ravens which had landed on the ferry had taken flight. They were flying skyward in a black cyclone, like a pillar to heaven that swirled and disappeared into the dark of night. Jay's shoulders tensed as a shudder ran down his back and out through his feet. The crewman on the dock straightened up and spat. Jay shrugged sympathetically as the man walked past him to climb back onto his boat. The crewman just rolled his eyes.
Jay gave one last parting wave to the ferry and her crew—which went unreturned—before walking down the pier.
The pier ran into a road at the end which led along the beach for a while before turning up into town. From here, Folkestone still looked very dark, but most of the town was obscured behind the crest of the sloping beach. Jay couldn't tell what the center of town looked like, or how many people might still be awake or even walking about. For now, he decided it was better to stay off the main roads.
At the end of the docks, Jay stepped off the path and onto the grassy hillside. The soil was sandy and Jay had to adjust his walk to make sure he could get enough traction to climb up the slope. He did so slowly, keeping a constant eye out to his right and left for any sign of other people. There were none.
The ground firmed up as Jay reached the top of the hill. At the crest, he paused for a moment to look around. Jay had been in county of Kent many times in his life. He felt a little ashamed of that fact, since the area contained one of his country's great national symbols. Compared to Jay's own Exeter, the air here smelled a little less like the sea, and a little more like coal smoke from the factories of England and France. Still, it was pleasant enough. To the west, the town of Folkestone appeared as sleepy as it had from the beach. One or two lights were on in house windows, and the lighthouse beacon still burned brightly in the harbor, but that was all.
Jay let out a deep breath that he hadn't realized that he'd been holding in. He'd made it. He wasn't home yet, but he was in England, by God, which was close enough. It was a long walk from here to London, but Jay had no doubts that he could beg and borrow his way there. And his legs were strong, now; if all else failed he could simply walk. A smile was just beginning to form on his face when Jay was sent scrambling for cover by a woman's shout.
"Fiend!" came the shout. "You shall go no further!"
It was a deep voice, but clearly female; and Jay spun around looking for the source. There was only short grass where he stood, nowhere to hide unless he wanted to roll down the hill. Jay completed his turn and found a dark figure standing before him.
It took a moment for Jay to make out her features in the darkness, but his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when he did. Jay was not a short man by any means, and so he was unnerved by the way this woman towered over him. She looked as if she was nearly seven feet tall. Jay's mind wanted to dismiss it as an illusion, but couldn't find a way.
Even without the woman's height, however, she would still have been a terrifying image to behold. In her left hand she held a sword, a monstrous weapon that was nearly as tall as she was and looked like it belonged in a Scottish museum. But Jay's gaze hardly stopped to take it in before moving on to the gruesome contents of the woman's right hand.
She was holding a human head. It hung from a long mane of black hair clenched in her fingers. It was a man's head, severed just below the jaw, and though no blood poured from the wound, it appeared to have been cut from its body only very recently. The color had not yet drained from the flesh of its face. The mouth was shut in a stern expression, but the eyes were open. They seemed to be staring directly at Jay.
Jay could not control his shiver, and he took a step back. But as he did the woman lifted her sword. There was no way Jay could have held something that large in one hand, but it seemed to give her no trouble. She leveled the point in the direction of Jay's chin.
Jay was frozen. The tip of the sword was only a foot from Jay's neck, and now commanded his full attention. His eyes travelled down the length of the blade, up its wielder's arm, until Jay got a good look at her face.
His paralysis was complete, now. The skin of the woman's face was wrinkled and loose, she had to be seventy or eighty years old. Her grimaced expression made it seem as if she was glaring at Jay, but her eyes did not. The old woman's eyes had glazed over and rolled back to stare up into her eyelids. She was not looking at Jay at all.
Jay could not stop staring at her, however. He knew this woman. He had seen her nearly every day of his life, every day that he had gone to school or work or even passed through his family's library at home. Her image had stared down at him from countless portraits in every public institution Jay had ever encountered, from rail stations to post offices. She was the face on his money and at the top of every issue of the newspaper for which Jay wrote.
She was Victoria II, Empress of Britain.
Some small corner of Jay's mind, the place where he kept all of his deeply ingrained social conventions, was telling him that he ought to be kneeling. This was his monarch, his Empress. But she was pointing a deadly weapon at him, and Jay remained standing.
"Did you really think I would tolerate your return?" She growled, "This is my island."
"I'm sor—" Jay started to say. But he shut his mouth when the Empress twitched her sword. She still wasn't looking at Jay.
"This country has prospered under my protection," the Empress went on. Jay felt his stomach twist into knots as he noticed that the head in her right hand was moving as she spoke. Its lips mouthed every word. Jay's eyes turned quickly back to his Empress as she waved her sword again. "You are neither needed nor wanted here, and I will not have you."
Quicker than Jay would have thought the old woman could move, she advanced on him, bringing her sword perilously close to his neck. Jay shuffled backwards and sputtered in protest.
"Your maj—"
"Go back from where you came!"
She lunged forward, swinging her sword high above her head in preparation to bring it down against the side of Jay's skull. Jay felt his whole body seize up with fear as he saw the blow coming, but he couldn't move his legs fast enough to dodge out of the way.
But though his legs seemed frozen, Jay's arms moved with a speed that he hadn't realized he possessed. He hardly knew what he was doing as he threw back his coat and reached inside.
Jay caught Empress Victoria's sword on the flat of his own. Even though she was swinging her weapon with only one hand, Jay had to keep both of his on the grip to absorb the impact. He grunted and bent his knees, but managed to deflect the attack. Metal scraped on metal as the Empress' blade slid harmlessly off to one side.
Jay panted, still shocked at his sudden and nearly automatic reaction. Fortunately, for him, the Empress appeared to be just as surprised. Her eyes had finally rolled back forward, and she was scowling at Jay's sword. She didn't immediately launch into another attack, and Jay let himself relax a little.
"You can try to hide behind the sword," she said with a voice that had grown even deeper. "But you were never a true warrior. I will defeat you."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Jay gasped. This time it seemed she would allow him to speak. "I just want to go home!"
She laughed, and the noise rolled out of her lungs like thunder. Again she raised her sword, and this time pointed the tip at Jay's chest. He braced himself for another attack.
"I'm afraid that if you ever want to go home, you'll need to give me that sword."
She smirked horribly.
Jay blinked, and then looked at his weapon. He was holding it with the blade raised defensively across his midsection. This was the first time he'd drawn the sword since the Herrenchiemsee and he'd forgotten just how bright the pearly metal of the blade was. His eyes turned from the weapon and back to the Empress.
"This?" he asked.
She threw back her head and laughed again. The head she was holding seemed to be grinning, its lips peeled back to show yellowed teeth.
"There is no other way for you." The smirk had not left her lips.
Jay furrowed his brow and took one last look at the sword. He still didn't know why it had been given to him. Nor did he really know why he had kept it after his fight with Colonel Holland. It had done nothing for him but cause terrible pain.
"Here, take it," Jay said.
It was the Empress' turn to be surprised. Her smirk dissolved and her mouth opened slightly at Jay's words.
Jay flipped the sword around in its hands so that the end pointed downward. Then he drove it straight into the earth at his feet. The blade sank easily into the ground and stopped once half its length was buried. Starlight twinkled on the steel, bringing out the inscription. "MITTITE" Jay read on the side facing him. He still couldn't make sense of it.
He took his hand off of the pommel, and turned his head up to face his Empress. She stayed silent, lips drawn tightly as she looked at the sword rising up out of the ground. But she made no move to touch it. Jay watched her for a while.
He had never dreamed that he would ever meet his monarch in person. He had been raised from childhood to love her almost as a second mother, as had every British child. But this creature—for she hardly seemed human—was not something that his heart could accept. She continued to stand there, and her figure was diminished, no longer seeming to tower over Jay. A few moments passed, and Jay realized that it was over.
"I'm going home," he said.
Jay turned into the night. He did not look back.
Jay slipped a few more francs out of his pocket to place in the old man's wrinkled hand. The man simply tugged on his floppy cap and nodded before turning and walking away.
Jay took a cautious step off the stairs of the dock and onto the top deck of the little boat. His care proved unnecessary, the boat didn't sway at all under Jay's weight. Still, Jay preferred to be sure.
He turned left and walked in the opposite direction as the boat's old captain, taking some steps down to the lower deck where he'd be out of the crew's way. None of them seemed very interested in conversation, which was just fine, because Jay wasn't either. Jay wondered if he was ever going to get used to talking to people again.
Hiring the ferry at this hour of night just for himself had been expensive, but Jay didn't mind. He would be out of France in a few hours, and he would probably give the crew the rest of his money when they had reached the other side, anyway. He wouldn't need the francs anymore.
Jay found a seat on a little bench near the bow of the ship. He pushed the sword in his belt out of the way with one foot as he sat down; it was a motion that he had practiced long enough that he hardly thought about it anymore. Jay leaned back to rest his back and elbows against the walls of the ship and looked out over the choppy waters of the Channel.
It was a relatively clear night, which was nice after several days of rain and fog. Jay wrinkled his nose at the smell, though. Every time he travelled, Jay was always surprised at how different the center of the continent smelled from coast. He only noticed it on the continent, though, for some reason it never bothered him in England. Perhaps because so much of England was so near the coast itself. Or perhaps just because it was home.
Jay took a deep breath of the salty, smelly air. He was going home.
Not for the first time, Jay wondered if he shouldn't have gone on to Cherbourg and tried to get passage from there directly to Exeter, but Jay shook his head. That would have meant another day or two of travel, and there were things he could take care of in London, too.
The ferry rocked gently, and started to move away from the dock. Jay twisted around to take a last look at the city of Calais behind him. The town wasn't nearly so colorful as Paris at this time of night, but it was still a pleasant place, and the orange public lights twinkled like stars on the ground. Jay turned back around. Ahead of him it was too dark to see the cliffs of Dover across the Channel, even though it was a clear night. Jay wondered if he would be able to see them at all on this little trip. He had been tempted to let the ferrymen take him straight into Dover, but he was much more likely to be discovered there. Folkestone was only a few miles away, and would not have such a heavy guard.
Then again, Jay might not even have to worry about guards anymore. In the last week that he had spent hiking across the continent, Jay had been accosted not once. He wasn't sure if that meant the government had given up the search for him, or if they simply thought he was dead. Nor could he dismiss the possibility that he had just been terribly lucky during his escape. The public, at least, still seemed to think that Jay was dead. When he'd stumbled into the Havas office in Strasbourg, his old colleague Gerard Segal had certainly been surprised to see him. Gerard had been nice enough to lend him some money and agree to keep quiet until Jay made it home. Whatever the public thought, Jay wasn't taking chances. Not anymore.
It was why he had hired this ferry all to himself. It was why he hadn't told any of the crew his name. It was why he was leaving in the middle of the night. Jay was going home. He would not be stopped.
The boat slipped out of the harbor and into open waters.
* * *
Edward Adolphus Ferdinand Blake, Baron of Upton Pyne and lifetime member of the Peerage, was drinking. He knew that he should not be drinking, but that knowledge only encouraged him to drink more. He held the bottle of Irish whiskey by the neck and poured another slug down his throat, and shivered as it went down.
Baron Blake leaned against the wall of his flat and looked out the window, from where he could see the Tower of London. When he had first travelled to London after receiving his Title, Edward had been disappointed to discover that he couldn't actually afford a second house in the city to serve as his residence. He'd had to settle for the flat, spacious and nicely sited as it was. The view had grown on him; however, it was one of the small things that helped him tolerate life when he had to come here to sit in Parliament.
Not that that was why he was here now. The Blair government had finally fallen, and the Tories no longer really needed to keep all of their foot soldiers at the ready in the Lords. Edward could have gone home at any time. And even if he'd wanted to stay, he could have brought Lily up to stay with him, now.
Edward took another drink from the whiskey bottle. The real reason that Baron Blake was sitting here, alone and drinking, was to avoid his wife. She had been sending telegrams every day since Margaret took off for the continent along with that Security Service officer, Colonel Holland. The Blakes had heard nothing from their daughter since. Nor would the Security Service itself tell Edward anything. With Jay Thomson already gone, Edward and Lily had no children left; there was no one to take care of. Edward might as well have sold the manor in Exeter and moved into a townhouse here. He didn't think he ever wanted to go back to that place.
Edward knew that he was hiding, from his wife and from his responsibilities, but he had trouble caring. He was 54 years old and already felt like his life was over. He knew that Lily was probably feeling just as distraught, if not more, but there wasn't anything Edward could for her anymore. She was probably better off without him, now. Baron Blake had already tried to do his part for this world, and he had failed.
He turned and leaned his head and shoulders against his window sill. London sprawled before him. Strong winds today had left the city unusually clear of haze and coal smoke. There was only one tiny black cloud looming in the distance.
Edward's eyes lifted. It was not actually a cloud that he could see. There was some sort of dark mass hanging in the air over the White Tower. The shape was moving, swirling slowly around one of the turrets.
It was a flock of birds, Edward realized. They were flying up from various points within the city and joining the others as they circled the Tower complex. Edward had never seen such behavior in a mass of birds that large, and he tilted his head to one side as he watched them.
All at once, in response to some sound or signal Edward did not notice, the formation broke. The birds stopped their circling and flew from the Tower in a great spiraled line. They flew south, passing over Edward's building, and making remarkably little sound as they went. Once they had passed out of sight, Edward shrugged. Strange things sometimes happened in this city, perhaps someone else had noticed and would tell him what had happened, or perhaps not. For now, Edward returned to his bottle.
* * *
When the first raven landed on the prow of the boat, Jay froze. The black bird settled onto the railing of the ferry and stared at Jay. Jay stared back from his little bench. Very slowly, he slid one hand under his coat to let his fingers curl around the hilt of his sword. He was 500 miles from Herrenchiemsee palace, but he could have been followed, especially if his pursuer could fly. Jay sat very still, hand on his sword, ready to draw it and strike if the bird started talking.
He relaxed a little as a couple more ravens flew in and landed next to the first one. The new birds also stared at Jay, while the first one started pecking at the feathers under one wing. More ravens started to on the ferry's railing, and Jay frowned. He looked up to see an entire flock of the birds circling overhead; they were dropping down in handfuls to find perches on the boat around Jay. Within a minute, there were several dozen crowding around the rails, and the numbers in the flock above did not appear to have thinned much. The ravens started to land on the ferry's deck and the unused benches around Jay. On the top deck, Jay could hear the crew talking excitedly about the strange phenomenon.
The ravens were no longer keeping quiet, themselves. Occasionally one of the ones perched near Jay would bob its head at him and emit a high-pitched squawk. If these ravens could speak English, they were doing a poor job of it. After several minutes, Jay took his hand off his sword and leaned back. He was still unnerved by the birds, but at least they no longer struck him as an immediate threat.
Beyond the mass of ravens cluttering up the front of the ship, England was visible in the distance. The ferry was now making a slow turn to port that would take it into Folkestone harbor. The beaches here were gray and low, although if Jay looked over his shoulder he could see the start of the chalky cliffs that led off to Dover. Above the beach there were only a few scattered lights, the brightest coming from the lighthouse on the harbor wall.
Folkestone was a moderately successful town, but it was hardly a major commercial center. Most of the residents were either poor fisherman or wealthy aristocrats who liked the peaceful atmosphere of a sleepy sea-side village. The harbor was small and well-maintained, but there was little else noteworthy about the place. Its peak had probably been in the nineteenth century, when it had been a smugglers' haven and a military outpost. But the smugglers had gone with the opening of trade, and the forts were long since abandoned following the defeat of Britain's major continental enemies.
All in all, Jay expected to have no trouble sneaking in without notice.
The ferry slid past the harbor wall and slowed to a crawl as it came up alongside a small pier. The vibrations from the boat's paddles died as the crew disengaged the engine. Jay heard boots drop onto wood as someone hopped down to the pier to tie up the ferry. Jay stood up.
All the ravens around him followed his motion with their tiny heads. The ones closest to him fluttered backwards out of his way. Jay walked forward carefully, making certain not to step on any of the birds. The ravens seemed to divine his intentions, however, and they cleared a small path between Jay and stairs leading to the ferry's top deck. Even so, Jay watched where he planted his feet.
The ferry captain was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. Jay fished the rest of the francs Gerard had given him out of his pocket and handed them over to the old man before thanking him again. The Frenchman smiled and pocketed the money.
"Au revoir," he said. Jay nodded back. The captain turned away to mutter at the ravens which were clogging the ferry's top deck as well. He made a shooing gesture with his arms, but the birds stayed where they were, unimpressed.
Jay chuckled slightly and grabbed onto the ferry's handrail before stepping off the boat and onto the wooden pier. The platform was empty except for a single crewman who had hopped down holding a heavy rope. The crewman tipped his hat to Jay, who returned the gesture. The pier was a foot or two below the level of the ferry deck, and Jay eased himself down.
His right foot touched down first, and as soon as it did, Jay and the ferry were rocked back by a burst of wind that came rushing down over the docks from the town. As Jay staggered to keep his balance, he could hear a low rumble behind him, like several hundred maids beating rugs. In front of him, the ferry crewman dropped his rope and ducked, putting his hands over his head. Jay got both his feet planted firmly on the dock and looked up.
Above him, all the ravens which had landed on the ferry had taken flight. They were flying skyward in a black cyclone, like a pillar to heaven that swirled and disappeared into the dark of night. Jay's shoulders tensed as a shudder ran down his back and out through his feet. The crewman on the dock straightened up and spat. Jay shrugged sympathetically as the man walked past him to climb back onto his boat. The crewman just rolled his eyes.
Jay gave one last parting wave to the ferry and her crew—which went unreturned—before walking down the pier.
The pier ran into a road at the end which led along the beach for a while before turning up into town. From here, Folkestone still looked very dark, but most of the town was obscured behind the crest of the sloping beach. Jay couldn't tell what the center of town looked like, or how many people might still be awake or even walking about. For now, he decided it was better to stay off the main roads.
At the end of the docks, Jay stepped off the path and onto the grassy hillside. The soil was sandy and Jay had to adjust his walk to make sure he could get enough traction to climb up the slope. He did so slowly, keeping a constant eye out to his right and left for any sign of other people. There were none.
The ground firmed up as Jay reached the top of the hill. At the crest, he paused for a moment to look around. Jay had been in county of Kent many times in his life. He felt a little ashamed of that fact, since the area contained one of his country's great national symbols. Compared to Jay's own Exeter, the air here smelled a little less like the sea, and a little more like coal smoke from the factories of England and France. Still, it was pleasant enough. To the west, the town of Folkestone appeared as sleepy as it had from the beach. One or two lights were on in house windows, and the lighthouse beacon still burned brightly in the harbor, but that was all.
Jay let out a deep breath that he hadn't realized that he'd been holding in. He'd made it. He wasn't home yet, but he was in England, by God, which was close enough. It was a long walk from here to London, but Jay had no doubts that he could beg and borrow his way there. And his legs were strong, now; if all else failed he could simply walk. A smile was just beginning to form on his face when Jay was sent scrambling for cover by a woman's shout.
"Fiend!" came the shout. "You shall go no further!"
It was a deep voice, but clearly female; and Jay spun around looking for the source. There was only short grass where he stood, nowhere to hide unless he wanted to roll down the hill. Jay completed his turn and found a dark figure standing before him.
It took a moment for Jay to make out her features in the darkness, but his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when he did. Jay was not a short man by any means, and so he was unnerved by the way this woman towered over him. She looked as if she was nearly seven feet tall. Jay's mind wanted to dismiss it as an illusion, but couldn't find a way.
Even without the woman's height, however, she would still have been a terrifying image to behold. In her left hand she held a sword, a monstrous weapon that was nearly as tall as she was and looked like it belonged in a Scottish museum. But Jay's gaze hardly stopped to take it in before moving on to the gruesome contents of the woman's right hand.
She was holding a human head. It hung from a long mane of black hair clenched in her fingers. It was a man's head, severed just below the jaw, and though no blood poured from the wound, it appeared to have been cut from its body only very recently. The color had not yet drained from the flesh of its face. The mouth was shut in a stern expression, but the eyes were open. They seemed to be staring directly at Jay.
Jay could not control his shiver, and he took a step back. But as he did the woman lifted her sword. There was no way Jay could have held something that large in one hand, but it seemed to give her no trouble. She leveled the point in the direction of Jay's chin.
Jay was frozen. The tip of the sword was only a foot from Jay's neck, and now commanded his full attention. His eyes travelled down the length of the blade, up its wielder's arm, until Jay got a good look at her face.
His paralysis was complete, now. The skin of the woman's face was wrinkled and loose, she had to be seventy or eighty years old. Her grimaced expression made it seem as if she was glaring at Jay, but her eyes did not. The old woman's eyes had glazed over and rolled back to stare up into her eyelids. She was not looking at Jay at all.
Jay could not stop staring at her, however. He knew this woman. He had seen her nearly every day of his life, every day that he had gone to school or work or even passed through his family's library at home. Her image had stared down at him from countless portraits in every public institution Jay had ever encountered, from rail stations to post offices. She was the face on his money and at the top of every issue of the newspaper for which Jay wrote.
She was Victoria II, Empress of Britain.
Some small corner of Jay's mind, the place where he kept all of his deeply ingrained social conventions, was telling him that he ought to be kneeling. This was his monarch, his Empress. But she was pointing a deadly weapon at him, and Jay remained standing.
"Did you really think I would tolerate your return?" She growled, "This is my island."
"I'm sor—" Jay started to say. But he shut his mouth when the Empress twitched her sword. She still wasn't looking at Jay.
"This country has prospered under my protection," the Empress went on. Jay felt his stomach twist into knots as he noticed that the head in her right hand was moving as she spoke. Its lips mouthed every word. Jay's eyes turned quickly back to his Empress as she waved her sword again. "You are neither needed nor wanted here, and I will not have you."
Quicker than Jay would have thought the old woman could move, she advanced on him, bringing her sword perilously close to his neck. Jay shuffled backwards and sputtered in protest.
"Your maj—"
"Go back from where you came!"
She lunged forward, swinging her sword high above her head in preparation to bring it down against the side of Jay's skull. Jay felt his whole body seize up with fear as he saw the blow coming, but he couldn't move his legs fast enough to dodge out of the way.
But though his legs seemed frozen, Jay's arms moved with a speed that he hadn't realized he possessed. He hardly knew what he was doing as he threw back his coat and reached inside.
Jay caught Empress Victoria's sword on the flat of his own. Even though she was swinging her weapon with only one hand, Jay had to keep both of his on the grip to absorb the impact. He grunted and bent his knees, but managed to deflect the attack. Metal scraped on metal as the Empress' blade slid harmlessly off to one side.
Jay panted, still shocked at his sudden and nearly automatic reaction. Fortunately, for him, the Empress appeared to be just as surprised. Her eyes had finally rolled back forward, and she was scowling at Jay's sword. She didn't immediately launch into another attack, and Jay let himself relax a little.
"You can try to hide behind the sword," she said with a voice that had grown even deeper. "But you were never a true warrior. I will defeat you."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Jay gasped. This time it seemed she would allow him to speak. "I just want to go home!"
She laughed, and the noise rolled out of her lungs like thunder. Again she raised her sword, and this time pointed the tip at Jay's chest. He braced himself for another attack.
"I'm afraid that if you ever want to go home, you'll need to give me that sword."
She smirked horribly.
Jay blinked, and then looked at his weapon. He was holding it with the blade raised defensively across his midsection. This was the first time he'd drawn the sword since the Herrenchiemsee and he'd forgotten just how bright the pearly metal of the blade was. His eyes turned from the weapon and back to the Empress.
"This?" he asked.
She threw back her head and laughed again. The head she was holding seemed to be grinning, its lips peeled back to show yellowed teeth.
"There is no other way for you." The smirk had not left her lips.
Jay furrowed his brow and took one last look at the sword. He still didn't know why it had been given to him. Nor did he really know why he had kept it after his fight with Colonel Holland. It had done nothing for him but cause terrible pain.
"Here, take it," Jay said.
It was the Empress' turn to be surprised. Her smirk dissolved and her mouth opened slightly at Jay's words.
Jay flipped the sword around in its hands so that the end pointed downward. Then he drove it straight into the earth at his feet. The blade sank easily into the ground and stopped once half its length was buried. Starlight twinkled on the steel, bringing out the inscription. "MITTITE" Jay read on the side facing him. He still couldn't make sense of it.
He took his hand off of the pommel, and turned his head up to face his Empress. She stayed silent, lips drawn tightly as she looked at the sword rising up out of the ground. But she made no move to touch it. Jay watched her for a while.
He had never dreamed that he would ever meet his monarch in person. He had been raised from childhood to love her almost as a second mother, as had every British child. But this creature—for she hardly seemed human—was not something that his heart could accept. She continued to stand there, and her figure was diminished, no longer seeming to tower over Jay. A few moments passed, and Jay realized that it was over.
"I'm going home," he said.
Jay turned into the night. He did not look back.