Misha did not resist being escorted to his room when the siren sounded, he knew now what he had been guessing earlier... this was no mere "luxury toy" airship used for the pleasure of a gentleman flyer who missed the days of his youth.  This was a pirate vessel and he was among thieves and cutthroats.  Indeed, Misha would no have been surprised to learn that a "jolly rodger" was now flying on top of the airship... nor would he have been any more disgusted nor ashamed of his current plight.

Damn you Silvain!  How dare you get me entangled with the likes of these men... how dare you!  You are most fortunate that you are dead my friend... or I would be forced to kill you otherwise upon my return!  Hmm... assuming I actually DO return from this voyage of raiding and plunder.

How can I go back to the hospital after this fiasco?  To fight and die as a soldier for one's country during a time of war... that is truly noble sacrifice and to be honored.  But to risk death or capture as a member of some greedy, bloodthirsty pirate crew... there is nothing but shame, dishonor and disgrace.... and perhaps disgust!

IF I survive to reach my destination... will finding a potential miracle cure make up for the depraved transgressions it will have taken for me to arrive?  I wonder?

Misha dropped down onto his bed and slumped against the pillows as he considered the cruel twist fate that had landed him in such dire and distressful circumstances.

The sun set, and the airship moved steadily onward, westward.  All was peaceful, though the recent events were enough to trouble Misha's thoughts.  It seemed that Harry Smith ran a peaceful and orderly vessel.   The bed was soft, and the pillow even softer. At least the accommodations were good.

Eventually Hercule was tapping at the door, pleading with Misha to get dressed
for dinner.  "Monsieur le Doctor, please permit me to dress you for dinner.  It
would upset le Capitan if you did not attend dinner."

Misha rose from his bed and took out his formal evening wear and dinner jacket in preparation for dressing for dinner.  He waved Hercule away and said in a resigned tone, "There is no need for you to dress me, I can take care of it myself.  I do thank you for the timely reminder about dinner... somehow I lost track of time.  I certainly don't want to anger the Captain... given today's revelations, I think that would be both unwise and potentially hazardous to my continued health."

As Misha dressed for dinner, he asked in a curious tone, "So then Hercule, I assume we won?  Was it a good haul then and did we get away clean?  I noticed that the Captain had a young lady in his arms on the way back, will she be joining us for dinner as well?  Do the Captain and crew often take on... "passengers & guests" in addition to cargo and goods?"

When Misha was dressed, he gestured to Hercule to lead the way to the dining room.

Well here goes nothing... at least the dinner conversation shouldn't be dull.  But what a price to pay for leading an "interesting" life!?

Hercule simply had to fuss over Misha's tie and brush down his suit, in more of a nervous habit than actual need.  He also affixed a rose to Misha's lapel, a dark red one, just beginning to open, with a gold pin set with what had to be a diamond, it sparkled too much to be a cheap stone.  "Oh, but you are Silvain's friend, so that makes you most able to upset le Capitan, but then if he is upset, he is awful to deal with,"  the man muttered, in a low tone.  "It is bad enough he is jealous now, and sad to have lost le Happy Doctor.  The girl, she is to be ransomed, I think, it is common enough.  She is worth a lot of money to someone.  The rest of the goods, they were all right.  No one will come after le Capitan, no one dares.  Rollo and Tussaine, they are going to be at dinner, and Swanson, and Le Chat.  Rollo does not like you, he hates all Russians, so be careful."

With that, the prissy manservant put away his brush and led Misha to the dining room, which was set for 6, that being about the limit of possible seatings.  Fine crystal glistened under the chandelier, the silverware gleamed, the plates were fine porcelain.  Two men were already seated; one of the men from the bridge, and another man with a wave of red hair and many freckles, and a fresh cut on his cheek that had scabbed over.   Both were in suits.

"You must be the sawbones," said the redhead, standing and offering a hand to shake.  He had an American accent.  "Swanson, Michael Swanson.  This is Rollo Sauber."  He introduced the grim-faced man from the bridge.  Hercule had vanished, in the manner of a good servant.

Before arriving for dinner, Misha took the opportunity to question Hecule about a couple of things as they walked towards the dining room, "You say the Captain is... "jealous"... do you mean of me?  I have noticed a few things and, while I generally try not to impose on other's personal lives, I feel I need to clarify something.  Just how "close" were Silvain and the Captain and do you know how they met originally?  On a different note, do you know why Rollo does not like Russians and, in particular, do you know if his bias is towards Russians or the more recent "Soviets"... the common communists who overthrew the Czar?  As for the other three you mentioned, is there anything I should be aware of and/or wary of?"

When Swanson offers his hand, Misha takes it and gives a firm handshake as he responds in a guarded but polite tone, "Good evening Mr. Swanson, I am Dr. Fyodor Grigorevich.  While I'm not familiar with the term, if by "sawbones" you mean that I am a medical doctor then you would be quite correct.  In fact I notice that you seem to have acquired a minor abrasion to your face... no doubt a small souvenior from this afternoon's excursion.  If you would like me to take a look at it after dinner, I will... perhaps with some fine stiches there will be a reduced risk of scarring."

Misha turned towards Rollo and nodded in acknowledgement of the introduction as he said in the same tone, "Good evening Mr. Sauber, I do believe we met but were not formally introduced earlier today upon the bridge."

Misha remained standing as he waited for the Captain to arrive.

Hercule's large dark eyes looked sad.  "He is jealous of you," the
manservant said, in a quiet tone, pausing in the nervous whisking of the
lint brush. "They were...very close, and they met during the war.  Every
time we are near Paris...well, we are all sorry to have lost le Happy
Doctor."  It seemed that at least two people on the Hexe were convinced
Silvain and Misha were an 'item'.

He paused to think, and Misha got the impression that if it did not include
relationships, dress, or dining, Hercule just wasn't that interested.  "He
hates Russians."  the man said, with a shrug.  "I don't talk to him.  He
doesn't like me either."

At the dining room, Swanson grinned. "That's mighty nice of ya, Doctor. Yep,
picked it up this afternoon."

Rollo Sauber gave Misha a sour look and did not respond.  Swanson shrugged
and sat back down.  Scarcely a minute later, the door opened again, showing
the black woman from the bridge, now wearing a black silk gown, low cut with
bare arms; she had muscles a man would envy.  Behind her was a thin man in a
black suit, polishing a pair of spectacles.  "May I introduce Le Chat, and
Mr. Tussaine,"  Swanson said.  "This is Doctor Grigorevich."  He only paused
slightly on Misha's name, and pronounced it correctly.  Le Chat only nodded.

"Good evening, pleased to meet you," Tussaine replied, offering to shake
Misha's hand.  He had a slow, slangy French that minded Misha of Creole, and
appeared scholarly.  They all moved along, leaving the foot of the table for
Misha; then the Captain arrived.

Harry Smith was attired perfectly in black, a white silk scarf tied at his
throat, the remaining eye glittering.  "Please be seated,"  he said to the
crew and Misha, and took his place at the head of the table, and rang a
small bell by his plate.  Hercule instantly arrived with a tray and
delivered the first course, a small salad, and began to pour wine.

The pirates had good table manners.  "To a successful foray,"  Harry Smith
proposed a toast.

Misha took Tussaine's hand and responded in a polite tone, "Bon Soir Monsieur Tussaine, I am pleased to meet you as well."



Misha decided that if he couldn't beat them, he had best join them... in a manner of speaking.  This meant that he would follow through with the toast minicing the manner of the other crew, thus he would raise his glass to the "successful foray" if need be.  It also meant that he would be wary of casting doubt upon the possibility that Silvain had been his... well... paramour.

While the idea of "alternative lifestyles" didn't truly bother Misha in a general sense as he had seen many things both during the War and afterwards in Paris night life... the idea that anyone thought Misha swung that was a bit of a personal shock.  Still... it occured to Misha that his continued good health and perhaps even existence was directly linked to the "relationship" everyone supposed he and Silvain had had... and were it known that such a connection did not exist, Misha's welcome upon the Hexe might become very UNwelcoming.

Damn you Silvain... what else am I going to find out "the hard way"... or dare I even ask?  First South American miracle cures, then possible ghost stories, then Germanic pirates of the sky and now I find out that I'm supposedly a true "Gay Parisian".  I shudder to think what could possible turn up next... I will only say that were you not dead already, I would give serious consideration to unsheathing my family's dueling blades once again!  Oh Silvain... what have you gotten me into... and why?

Tussaine and Swanson seemed friendly enough, though Sauber was as sour as possible.  Le Chat seemed self-absorbed, and the Captain being The Reserved German Nobleman. They seemed to accept the short toast as the sum total of dinner speech, and settled down to eat.

 The first course following the salad was a lightly seasoned poached fish, with new peas; the next course, a beef slice with some sort of stuffing and gravy, with brussels sprouts.  No restaurant in Paris would be ashamed to serve it, that was for certain.  Only when the plates were cleared and the desserts were brought around did talk start, with Swanson.

"Captain,"  he said, "I can't help noticing the westerly turn in our course."
"Yes,"  replied Harry Smith. "We are going west, and south.  Emeralds and gold."
And that was it for dinner conversation. After dessert - creme-raspberry tarts that could not be beat, and brandy of superior quality - the crew rose, murmured various pleasantries such as 'duty calls' and whatnot, and left the room, leaving Misha alone with Harry Smith.

The Captain did not waste any time.  A moment after the door was closed, he spoke.  "I expect you have some questions for me,"  he said, the German accent and raspy voice only slightly slurred by brandy - and Smith had had three snifters.  "I will extend to you the same freedom I offered Silvain - that he could say anything he liked to me, behind closed doors."

Misha nodded his head in acknowledgement and replied in a polite tone, "I thank you for the understanding and courtesy Captain.  First, Let me assure you that I will not publicly question your authority or decisions as I understand the need for a Captain to maintain his command through order and discipline.  I will reserve any questions I have until I can ask them privately so as not to risk undermining your authority.

Now then, I suppose the first question is: how did you turn to "air piracy" in the first place... Pfalzgraf Heinrich Manfred von Schlacht?  It seems to me that such activity seems... unbecoming for a Prussian nobleman, or is that why you go by the name "Harry Smith"?

The second question would be: how did Silvain meet you, was it before the War?  Also did he know your chosen profession before he first boarded this vessel for a voyage?

The third question is: Why are you heading towards South America?  Was the course chosen by you originally or did Silvain influence the decision and do you know why he intended for me to go there?

The last question for now would be this: What exactly did Silvain tell you about me and when did he first tell you about me?  I must admit that I do not remember him mentioning your name before... though perhaps he was being discreet so as to preserve your anonymity for your protection given your... profession.

Please understand Captain that I do not intend to be offensive by asking these question but I feel I have been dropped into a situation with a distinct "sink or swim" feel and no one has provided a life preserver."

Harry Smith gave out his raspy laugh.

"I find that my Germany, it is no more,"  he said. "I am a fighter, Herr Doctor, and so here I am.  Silvain was right - you do snoop a lot."

The second question gave Harry Smith pause.  He picked up his snifter, the Prussian face impassive, and sipped slowly.  "He found me in hospital, after I was shot down."  Smith said at last.  "He helped me escape.  He knew me better than anyone, Doctor Grigorevich.  I...envy your being able to stay in Paris with him."

The third and fourth questions got Misha a long look with the sharp sappharine eye. "I am going to South America because Silvain asked me to take you there." he said.  "It was the last request he made of me, made the night he died and he never asked for much - well, not much that I could give him.  I would not give up piracy. I am ashamed to have enjoyed fighting with him over it and that was probably why he had the accident - he was very angry with me.  So in his memory, I take you to South America.  He said you were determined, you were nosy, you had a quest that your spirit must fulfill.  Do not fear being an inconvenience, Doctor - I was able to take a commission that carries the Hexe in the same direction.  So do not worry, Doctor - you need no life preserver.  You are an honoured guest. If you can give some medical services to the men, I am doubly pleased to have you aboard the Hexe."

"And I do appreciate your discretion," the nobleman added. "It is difficult enough to have lost...someone, without added difficulties."  There was only the slightest crack in the expression, that said that under all the Reserved German Nobleman, was a broken heart.  It was quickly suppressed. "I will also tell you that there will be some activity this evening, over the ocean, though I expect a simple exchange, nothing violent.  Someone must pay the mercenaries."

Misha sighed slightly as he was reminded of the loss of Silvain and he could empathize with Harry's pain.  In an understanding tone, Misha replied, "It is true that I am naturally curious, all the more so when I feel that things are being kept from me.  However, I tend to think that it is what a man does with the knowledge he has rather than how he acquired the knowledge in the first place that determines what sort of man he is.  But I do apologize if my prying went too far, I merely felt there was more to "Harry Smith" than the name implied.

As for losing one's country, I certainly understand that pain.  While Germany may be different, at least it is still Germany in many ways.  However the Russia I knew and fought for is gone for good, much like the Czar whom I served.  It is now the communist state of the Soviet Union and I doubt MY Russia will ever return... there is no one left to lead it anymore.

I am glad to hear that my personal quest is not an added burden upon you or your crew and that I am not preventing you from conducting... "normal operations".  I must admit that I do share Silvain's feelings regarding this lifestyle but I'll not openly disparage it nor preach a better way... besides, I doubt I could say anything more effective than Silvain had said before.

As for this "activity" later tonight, I realize I should probably not inquire but it is in my nature.  It sounds as if this action will not be a repeat of this morning's adventure.  Are you actually being paid by a third party for these raids and thus are actully in the employ of another, for some reason I had assumed you worked for yourself?  Tell me Captain, are you truely a pirate... or could it be that you are more of a privateer?"

Misha paused for a moment and then added with a weak smile, "Also Captain, as I am your guest and we both knew Silvain well... if perhaps in different ways, I feel it would only be right that you call me "Misha" when we are in private.  It seems somehow inappropriate for you to formally address me as Dr. Grigorevich in private seeing as you've taken me into your confidence and placed me under your protection."

"I do not think that Silvain wished to be associated with a pirate,"  Harry Smith said drily.  "Considering the very out-of-the-way places he insisted on meeting for dinner.  As for the job tonight, it is a simple transfer of goods for funds.  I am being well paid.  And I cannot claim to be a privateer - I am a pirate, I own allegiance to no country, only to my crew and my ship."

He had nodded, only once, at Misha's talk of Russia.

"I appreciate that, Misha,"  Smith replied, to Misha's offer of the use of his given name.  To Misha's mind, the man also relaxed slightly, apparently letting go of the jealousy.

A bell rang, three times; Harry Smith turned to look out the porthole, and down.  "It seems we have found our contact.  I must go and tend to matters.  Please excuse me," and with that, he swept out of the room, the brandy snifter abandoned.

Outside, below the airship in the darkness of the evening, was what had to be a ship down on a calm sea; there were torches outlining it brightly.

Misha rose from the table as the Captain did and nodded his head in acknowledgement as he said, "I believe I shall return to my quarters Captain... at least until your meeting is finished."

As the Captain left, Misha said softly, "For whom do the bells toll I wonder... someday Captain... someday, they may well toll for thee."

Misha sighed slightly and gently shook his head as he made his way out of the empty dining room and headed back towards his room.  Just on the off chance that the American had taken him up on his earlier offer of stiches, Misha decided to first check-in on the infirmary before returning to his sleeping quarters.

Misha found Swanson on the way along the deck, armed with a harness full of pistols and a shotgun over his shoulder.  "Heya, Doc," the American said, cheerfully, "Just let me make sure ol' Harry don't get his butt shot up and I'll come by for those stitches."

The Hexe seemed to be off-loading something to a cruise ship.  It was an odd transaction, but with pirates, who could say.  Presently Swanson returned, whistling happily.  "I love it when a plan comes together,"  he drawled to Misha. "You settle up with Harry ?  He wasn't glooming and dooming so bad.  Misses his French pretty boy something fierce. Glad to be shut of that girl, though.  She bit me just now."  He pushed up his shirt sleeve to show the marks of teeth in his arm.

Misha shook his head sadly at the sight of the teeth marks and gestured for Swanson to lay down on the table in the infirmary.  As he gathered his instruments and materials to cleanse the wounds and then to stitch both the earlier injury and the new one, Misha sighed and said in a weary tone, "I suppose such injuries are merely the cost of doing this kind of business then?  Do you often find yourselves taking captives or is it usually just cargo and trade goods?

As for my dealings with the Captain, I'm regret to say that I cannot go into much detail for it might be considered a breech of the confidence granted me.  I will merely state that I believe the Captain and I have come to a better understanding of one another and I do hope that his grief will lessen with time.

So then Mr. Swanson, if you do not consider the topic too indiscrete, might I inquire how it is that you took up this way of life and ended up joining the Captain's crew?"

As he chatted, Misha finished up the cleaning of the wounds and began to sew them up with a fine thread so as to minimize scarring.

Swanson proved affable and talkative, as well as being a good patient.  "Not so much people, only when there's a good ransom to be had,"  he said with a grin. "Mostly stuff, and sometimes strange stuff.  Some funny-looking animals the one time, they were a sight !"

He shrugged at Misha not wanting to discuss what the Captain had to say.   "Some of 'em ain't none too happy with the Captain liking boys, but hey, life's short and love's fun, I say. I got into some trouble in Egypt, and Harry bailed me out of it, he was busting some of the crew out of a jail that night and said, hey, Yankee, you want a job ?  I been a Merc since the war was over, only thing I was ever any good at was fightin'.  Wanted for killin' two men back home, so no point in going there !  Now I got my own cabin, a heap of gold in a fancy bank in Switzerland, and I'm happier than a pig in mud."

Misha continued to work on the stiches as he said in a friendly tone, "Well I suppose for soldiers who can't or won't put the War behind them, this lifestyle would seem a perfect fit.  Still... I wonder how many have died during these raids and how long it will be before someone decides to track Captain and the Hexe down.  I'm surprised that I have not heard more about this group, I would have thought such exploits would make for good copy.

Now I understand that this last job was taken under contract, is that how you usually work or is it more random freelance?  Do you tend to work for the same people or does the clientel vary?

On a different note, I am pleased that you are in possession of a fairly friendly disposition but it seems that perhaps the same could not be said for every member of the crew.  I was wondering if perhaps you could give me a better idea of what sort of people Mr. Tussaine, Mr. Sauber and Miss Le Chat are like.  Mr. Tussaine seems friendly enough but I am curious as to Mr. Sauber's seemingly sour attitude... something about not liking Russians I understand?"

Swanson was happy to carry on talking.  "Captain's special," he said. "Ain't seen a man take five bullets and keep fighting.  That day we had the Happy Doctor along, taking him to Belgium for something or other, so we weren't much worried."

He reflected on Misha's question.  "Sometimes we're hired, sometimes it's Harry saying, 'let's go get this'. He knows a lot of folks that like things, like fancy art and all, and he knows a lot of folks that like smuggling this or that.  Hell, we even took a load of brandy to New York City last year.  That was a time !"  he grinned.

He shrugged.  "Le Chat, well, she's crazier than a coot, but she's the nastiest fighter I ever seen, and I seen plenty.  She don't say much and when she does, it might make no sense at all or it sounds perfect.  Mr. Tussaine, he's a smart one, he knows everything about everything, and he does the research.  He's also a damn fine shootist. Rollo, well, he's a sour old bastard.  He don't much like me neither, and I saved his backside oncet or twicet. He don't like Russians, he was a prisoner during the war there, till he got out.  He gets out of trouble, I'll give you that."

Misha finishes up his stitching and looks over his work with a satisfied nod as he says, "Hmm..yes, that will do nicely.  I've managed to close the wounds in such a way that the scarring should be considerably reduced and, with any luck, the wound will hardly be noticeable.  I have to say that despite flying through the air, the stability of this airship is most impressive... I doubt I could have done a steadier job had we been firmly on the ground."

Misha pulled away and began to wash his instruments before putting them away.  He looked back over at Swanson and said in a friendly tone, "So then Mr. Swanson, what do you think of having me along?  I gather that Mr. Sauber wouldn't mind my not surviving the trip and Le Chat could probably care less either way.  I would think there might be some apprehension about opening yourselves up this way to a.. well.. stranger.  I realize that the Captain feels honor bound to aid me and that, as long as I mind my place, he will see no harm come to me... but I wonder how the rest of the crew feels?

Along those lines, are you not worrried about eventual reprisals?  Have none of your previous victims.. or should I say targets.. tried to either track you down or placed prices on your heads?  I would assume the authorities of several nations at least know of your group and perhaps are even actively pursuing you?"

Swanson, the gossip of the Hexe, grinned as he looked at Misha's handiwork in the mirror.  "Can't ruin my handsome looks, ya know !"  he said.  "Thank ya, Doc."

He paused to consider the question of Misha being on the airship.  "I reckon it's not my business what Harry likes to do behind closed doors," he said, finally, with a shrug and a smile. "Rollo, he ain't smiled but oncet since I known him, Le Chat's just crazy, but you got one thing going for ya - I like ya.  No one will go agin Harry over you, neither, and if they talks bad to ya, just tell me."

He laughed at Misha's talk of revenge. "Ah reckon if that's my fate, that's my fate.  Most of us are wanted men, Doc, so there's somebody somewheres looking for us.  Meantimes though, I'm gonna live the good life and do what I like.  You'll get to your destination, Doc, don't you worry."

Misha tried to put on a brave face as he smiled weakly at Swanson and responded with a slight sigh, "Well I suppose I'll just have to get used to the idea of my fate being in other people's hands.  I think that being a medical doctor, I am prone towards always wanting to be in control.  Even during the War, it was often just myself, my flying skills and my plane against whatever hand Fate had in store for me.

Now I find that my future is uncertain and my next breath may depend on the goodwill of those who have chosen to walk a very different path than my own.  Still I am pleased to be on friendly terms with you Mr. Swanson.

Perhaps if we're going to be friends on this voyage, we should be on a first name basis?  While my Chirstian name is Fyodor, among friends I have always gone by the name Misha.  Might I know your first name Mr. Swanson?"

As he talked, Misha finished cleaning his surgical tools and putting them away in his black leather medical bag.

Swanson nodded, with an amiable grin.  "This here's Harry's world, and he is the king,"  he said. "Stay on his right side, and you're better off than if you had a squad of angels backin' ya.  Mah Christian names are James Robert, but at home they call me Jim-Bob.  Pleased to call you friend, Misha."  Once the doctor was done packing, Swanson held out a big, scarred hand to shake. The American was certainly the most outgoing person on the Hexe, that Misha had met.

The evening passed quietly; the prissy servant Hercule showed up with a selection of snacks and a glass of warm milk for Misha, should he wish it, and then the soft down comfort of the bed beckoned.  Misha dreamed old dreams, of his time in the air, during the war, and wondered which of the German planes shooting at him was Harry's....

PM

Misha awoke to the dawn, the eastern sky a brilliant array of rose and purple, the Hexe travelling toward these jewel-like colours.  Someone was tapping at the door; it was Hercule, bearing a breakfast tray laden with eggs, bacon, sausages, toast and a pot of rich dark coffee, with cream and sugar.

Misha sat up in bed to give Hercule room to put down the trap as he said in a friendly tone, "Bonjour Hercule, it seems we have been blessed with sunny skies today.  So then, is breakfast in bed a regular thing for the crew?  Are only evening meals taken in the dining room?  Do you happen to know if the Captain has "something" planned for today by any chance?"