Brother Clary nodded silently, keeping his eyes open for any possible ambush.  He followed closely, gripping his shotgun in a 'ready' position.

Despite her fear, her eyes narrowed at McCurdy's comment. She didn't know exactly what he was talking about, but she objected to his tone.

She shook off his hand, taking issue with the way the two seemed to have taken charge between them. She fully intended to let them know all about it later, but for the moment she was putting all her energy towards trying to escape a particularly gruesome death.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:29, Fri 30 Sept 2005.

Trying their best to chivvy Marianne along to the relative safety of the church, the two men keep watch for de Vega; but the man does not appear.  Or, perhaps, there is a more irresistable target at the church already....

Sebastian Hawksmoore is now standing by the front of the church, watching the unfolding drama there; apparently something has happened, and the three people there are speaking to priest in upset tones.  From the look on his face as they draw near, the tragedy is also affecting him - and McCurdy quickly figures out that the youngest woman is carrying the same shawl the elderly lady was carrying, the one that came to the church to tell him how to save Hawksmoore's unnatural life.  It seems the excitement of the day has claimed another victim.

And just then, as Marianne and McCurdy look to the left, while Brother Clary looks to the right, they see de Vega, approaching at speed, blade drawn...heading right for the unsuspecting Hawksmoore.

"Damn!" McCurdy raised his pistol and checked for bystanders before letting go with his .45 right at de Vega's running body. Even if he didn't hit the guy, at least Hawksmoore would have his warning.

After carefully ensuring that there was no one else in the path of his pattern, Brother Clary calmly raised his shotgun to his shoulder, aimed carefully at the running figure, unloaded his chamber at de Vega; the shotgun blast certainly would have an ugly effect once it reached him, if McCurdy's pistols didn't stop him first.

She had been expecting De Vega to pop up at the stickiest spot, but she hadn't expected this! She watched in horror as the pirate advanced at full speed, his blade drawn, while Hawksmoore stood nearby, unawares.

"Hawksmoore! Behind you!" she shouted, and ran forward.

The three travellers tried their various ways to inhibit the attack, Marianne shouting first.  Then McCurdy fired, and de Vega's left shoulder seemed to splatter with blood, but it didn't even slow him down.  Brother Clary brought his shotgun to bear, knowing that at this range, the buckshot was unlikely to do much damage.  He fired, making de Vega's stride break only slightly.

But it was enough to get Hawksmoore moving.  The youth suddenly turned and leapt high into the air, graceful as an antelope, drawing his cutlass as he went.  The two blades met with a clash like thunder.  Captain Hook and the Boy Who Could Fly went at it again, slashing and parrying, fierce and fast.  McCurdy had heard of a fighting technique from the Far East where the warrior could jump and move like that; it seemed Hawksmoore had been studying fighting for a long time and in unusual places.

De Vega spoke, his words sizzling like blood on a fire.  "Lost another Wendy ?"  The words struck Hawksmoore like a blow, and then he stood still, taking a cut from de Vega without parrying, laying open a wound along his ribs.  They could see his lips moving, but could not hear.  De Vega drew back for a killing blow.

Then Hawksmoore swept up and around again, in defiance of gravity, and kicked de Vega in the side of the head.  The three heard the loud snap, and de Vega fell like a limp doll.  Hawksmoore landed on the street, ready to continue the fight, then looked back at the three.  "HURRY !"  He said, and broke into a run, heading back to the docks.

“Now there’s a kid that knows how to fight,” McCurdy mumbled as he motioned at Brother Clary. “If you’ll watch that de Vega fella while we’re pavin’ the street, I’d be obliged. I’ll keep the front clear.” He tried to take Marianne’s arm again, conscious of the fact that she shook him off before, and tried to help her back toward the docks. “We came back to get you to a safe place while this is goin’ on. It’d be best if you helped us out as well as yourself...”

At McCurdy's recommendation, Brother Clary nodded, again silently.  He levered another shell into the chamber and began a retreat, following the group, ever watchful of the fallen man in black.

"Oh, will you be quiet and just run?!" she snapped, deliberately shaking his hand off again. She couldn't really speak her mind as she would have liked, but it was impossible to miss that she was glaring daggers at both of them.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:12, Mon 03 Oct 2005.

McCurdy gave the preacher a look like he'd better take care of Marianne. It was obvious to the detective that she really didn't want him around. "I'll catch the rear," he said, even as he put his pistol back in its holster. He spied Hawksmoore and veered slightly toward him.

Bickering as they went, they could not help but see Hawksmoore look back, roll his eyes, and continue on his fleet-footed way.  Sparks were struck off the cobblestones by his hobnailed boots, and the blood soaking his shirt didn't seem to trouble him.

They ran, heading back to the docks, where a harried-looking Hornsby was loading a canvas sack of something into the seaplane, and the rangy Hun pilot was wilting under Liza Water's gaze.  There was something about her that turned a man into a little boy.  The locals, sensing trouble, scattered before the running quartet. "De Vega, not happy," Hawksmoore reported, sliding to a stop by Hornsby.
"Damme boy, you're injured !"  Hornsby said, indicating the boy should jump into the water, then winced as Hawksmoore flinched at the word boy.
"I had to pay the lwa. Can't be healed fast.  Go on, Sir !"
"Quickly, quickly, onboard, don't bother Elise, she's a little darling," Liza began bossing them onto the aircraft like a mother hen.  She stiffened as a yowling cry came from back behind them, somewhere among the buildings; the Hun, with a definite sense for trouble as well, sprang up to spin the prop and thus start the plane.

Marianne hesitated, torn between getting on the plane and finding some other way to escape. She clutched the box tightly and looked back the way they came, clearly debating something. But De Vega's yowl settled the matter. She boarded the plane immediately, desperately hoping that they would escape that madman.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:45, Wed 05 Oct 2005.

McCurdy holstered his pistol and climbed into the plane. He didn’t much like running from a fight, but in a normal fight he knew he had a chance to win. He plopped down in a seat and realized he had plopped down next to the redhead. He grimaced like someone had just punched him in the stomach. “Don’t suppose you got a gun in that box, do ya?”

Marianne shot him a look, as if she were indulging, just for a second, the thought of pointing the box at him and opening the lid sharply to show him. A slight smile appeared at the corners of her mouth.

"It does appear to be one, as it happens. Very handy for shooting all kinds of maniacs and high-handed, insufferable men, don't you think?"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:16, Sat 08 Oct 2005.

The tiny box in Marianne's hands was still warm.  Flipping open the lid revealed it to be a concealed weapon - which could fire one small bullet, at close range. It also had a polished steel mirror that one could check one's make-up with.

The Hun leapt into the cockpit and sent the seaplane out along the river, intent on getting out of Manaus.  He spat something in furious German at Hawksmoore, who smirked as he held onto the well-packed netting.  Hornsby had gone pale and was merely sitting silently, but Liza Waters was scribbling furious notes into her notebook.  "Marianne, you must tell me everything !" she cried, "This will be the greatest novel ever !"
"Oh, not another bloody author !" moaned Hawksmoore with a wince, and touched the wound on his chest, his hand coming away very red.

The plane lifted up into the air, rushing past the emerald green foliage of Brazil.

McCurdy glanced at the small pea-shooter inside and smirked. "As long as all you want to do is make them bleed a little," McCurdy said to Marianne. It seemed his good nature was returning. He looked out of the window at the land they were leaving behind for a moment, and then sat back more comfortably, removing his hat and running a hand over his cropped, graying hair.

He watched Liza scribbling, finding humor it in for some reason. She looked like a rabbit fidgeting over a steel carrot. He smiled despite the tension of the situation. He was as calm as a drip of molasses now. He looked at Marianne again and gave her his best smile. It could be charming when the conditions were right.

“I came back to get you to apologize, Ms. Trevors. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. I had no call for such. I hope we can start again.” He held out his hand as if he wanted to shake hers. “Jack McCurdy, private detective. At your service, ma’am.” He glanced at the box she now held closed in her hand.

"I hope you don't want to offer me a cigar."

Marianne regarded the private eye in skeptical silence for a second. After a long pause, she decided to take his words at face value. "Apology accepted, Mr. McCurdy, if that was really the only reason you had for coming after me," she returned wryly, taking his hand and shaking it.

"And would you blame me if I did?" she asked with a quirk of her eyebrows, though she seemed amused.

McCurdy chuckled at her, but wasn’t going to touch that one with a ten foot pole. "Well, it wasn't the only reason, no," he did say. He let go of her hand and started fiddling with the brim of his hat as he watched the world around them go by.

"There was a more practical reason, sure. Your safety as well as ours. After the first incident in the street with de Vega, when I suggested you get away from him while you could as I was hurrying off with the boy there, I wondered then how long it would be before you were being carried off. In a pine box." He looked at her frankly. "It told me you probably weren't one to think past your own fascination with what was happening. In other words, self-preservation kind of took a back seat when it shouldn't. Meaning no offense, of course, but that kind of foolhardiness could get those around you hurt as well as yourself.

"So, when we were on the boat, I was kind of rough with you, hoping you would leave so I wouldn't be put in a situation that would get me shot - or run through with a big knife - trying to keep you from getting shot - or run through with a big knife. I'm kind of fond of my life, droll as it may be at times.

"And then I got to thinkin' after you left that I couldn't let you run off knowin' you probably wouldn't make it a day with de Vega out there. If he wanted you dead. If he didn't want you dead, he - if not this Basil fella - would most likely be apt to use you against us, and there I would be; back in the same tight spot, torn between my gentlemanly upbringin’ and keepin' my own butt from gettin’ gatted.” He shrugged.

“So we came back for ya. For both of us. Not that you can’t take care of yourself, I see,” he added as he threw a crooked smile at the box, “but I think we’d all be better off if we were together in this than apart.” He finished slowly, looking at her askance, flinching slightly as he knew the slap would be coming shortly. In his experience, Redheads were unpredictable at best and it was better to err on the side of caution around them.

Brother Clary started to say something at this point, clearly uncomfortab;e with the direction this part of the conversation was going.  He considered himself a 'protector' of sorts, and wasn't quite sure if McCurdy was blaming her for her predicament or not.



"Amen," was all the preacher decided to say.

Hornsby, looked very peaked, saw fit to clear his throat, and speak.  "May I ask if either of you ladies happens to have a needle and thread upon you ?"  He edged carefully along the plane's deck, as if shifting his weight would make the plane come out of the sky, toward Hawksmoore, who'd fallen over in a dead faint.  The boy's shirt was now ruby red.

Brother Clary felt a prickling by his ear, and turned his head to see a large snake had unwound itself from the rope netting neatly tied to the walls and was surveying the preacher-man's ear as if it was a potential mouse.

"OH My," Liza Waters said, and began digging in her purse for something.  "If you don't mind, Captain Hornsby."  She passed him over a packet.  "Marianne, will you please hold that mirror up, so Captain Hornsby has some light to work with ?  I don't know if Leutnant Gruber has a torch handy."

At the sight of the snake so very close to his head, Brother Clary's self-preservation instincts took over.  He leapt to his feet, heedless of the rocking motion of the aircraft in flight.  He picked up his trusty shotgun by the barrell, preparing to swing like Casey at the Bat.

"Whoa, whoa, whOA!" McCurdy held a hand up as if he was going to stop the bat in mid-flight. "You slap that thing around in here and we'll go down like a rock when that thing goes off! What are you thinkin' man? It's just a snake."

McCurdy reached out and picked up the snake, trying to get it out of the way and back on the netting. "All it'll do is bite ya and dish out a little pain. It ain't poisonous.

Marianne's mouth tightened and her expression grew stormier as McCurdy rambled on. She did notice Brother Clary's reactions though.

"So I'm a pawn at best, and at worst - a twit," she summed up in a positively glacial manner. "You should have quit while you were ahead, Mr. McCurdy. I doubt it's a very common occurrence." She noticed him flinch and  the expression on her face darkened even more. She rose to help the Captain, turning a cold shoulder to the private eye. She carefully held the mirror so that it cast light on the wound.

"And you, Brother Clary? Do you agree with McCurdy's assessment as well? I just want to be clear on where we stand," she asked calmly, as if there wasn't a large snake loose in the cabin. As far as she was concerned, even the snake was better company.

The snake recoiled at the sudden movement, and then eased along the rope netting to look over at Marianne, since she had something shiny.  McCurdy reached out and lifted up the heavy coils and shifted it further, to the snake's disgruntled hiss, but it did not bite.  So much for Hans Gruber's guard snake.

Marianne angled the mirror to show light where Hornsby was setting up needle and thread.  To her, it looked as if the man was also speaking, his lips moving in some sort of silent chant as he painstakingly threaded the needle.  The wound in Sebastian Hawksmoore's side was still leaking blood, and was a nasty slash over his ribs.  The bared chest showed plenty of scars, too - it could not be said the boy had had an easy time of the last four centuries.  With some skill that suggested practice in such matters, Hornsby set to sewing the wound shut.  "Shouldn't talk to a lady like that, Yank," the pirate captain said, somewhat distractedly, "She wasn't to know the Mapmaker's true nature...he hides it well enough."