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Tales of the Meridian Society! (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

Anne Marie smiled. "Yes, I am aware. But we must be very careful about how it is pulled off, lest anyone realize who the father of my child is. I'll likely be a pariah anyway, at least for a while; pregnant out of wedlock and all that." She rolls her eyes. "I simply cannot wait, however, to see Douairière LaMonte's face when I tell her." Her smile widened into a grin when she imagined that dried up old bitch's face at the news. "I hope, Captain Drake," she added over Sam's shoulder to Colin, "that my reasons for reacting the way I have have become more clear to you. I know that confidentiality goes without saying, particularly among the Society. But I needed to press home the seriousness of the situation. If anyone were to target our child, or leave him without one or both parents..." She trailed off, giving him a significant look.

Colin's amused expression faded as Erik chimed in with agreement. "I would expect no less," he remarked. "And...well, I believe I understand your hesitation. I only wish you had seen fit to trust us enough to take us into your confidence, without, ah, being compelled to by circumstance."

A ribbon of irritation raised Anne Marie's hackles but she smoothed them down quickly enough. "Yes, well I apologize," she lied. "I have many faults, and difficulty in trusting even my closest of confidantes is one of them. Additionally, we did not wish to be a distraction to the team. I hope in time you can find it in your heart to forgive us this trespass upon our friendship." There was a glint of steel in her eye and a finality of tone in her voice which indicated that it was a point she did not wish to argue further.

That tone always set Kieran on edge. He'd always had a feeling that Madame LaMonte was more dangerous than she let on, and never moreso than when she used that tone. He cleared his throat and rocked up onto his toes then back down nervously. "Yeah, well, we all know now and we'll protect the little bugger with our lives. Just as much as we would Rick Junior, right?" He looked around to Colin pointedly, then to the Heinz-Schmidts for agreement.

"Gideon," Erik corrected irritably. He had long given up on getting Kieran to stop calling him "Rick," and no longer getting a rise out of him seemed to have made the pirate stop for the most part. He had allowed this "Rick Junior" nonsense when Sam was pregnant, before they knew the sex of the baby and had decided on the name, but this was getting out of hand.

"Right," Kieran said, waving his hand dismissively and taking the wine.

Anne Marie smiled and thanked them as the others echoed their toast, but couldn't help but quietly agree with Algie. "Indeed," she agreed sotto voce into her glass. Colin seemed to be the only one taking it personally that they had kept things a secret; had he and Kieran not attempted the same? Additionally, it was their secret and her pregnancy; he didn't have a right to it! And why wasn't Algernon getting any of Captain Drake's irritation? Typical man!

She interrupted this line of thinking before it turned into irritated stewing, something more common these days. Instead she cleared her throat and rose. "And now I believe we've another excellent supper ahead of us," she said, indicating the doors. "Four courses this time, and we can make further plans for this party. I admit, I have been using you as guinea pigs; my taste isn't what it ought to be, all things considered, and so I have relied upon your reactions to indicate what is and is not suitable. With everything out in the open, however, I hope to elicit your opinions on the topic rather more openly."
 
“Y’know What Ah find funny ‘bout fancy French cookin’?” Sam laughed before spooning up another mouthfull if soup.

“Enlighten us, Samantha,” the Professor requested.

“Well, when Ah was a li’l girl,” Sam said, resting the spoon next to her bowl, “if’n Ah thought ‘bout it at all, Ah reckoned it would use fancy ingredients. Didn’t quite know what those were, mind, so Ah filled in from fairy tales an’ stuff. Lark’s tongues, an’ zebra steaks, an’ special sheep what tasted like... Ah, dunno. Candy, maybe.” She gestured at her bowl. “Instead, Ah’m eatin’ turtle, same as Ah mighta done back home.”

“Turtle soup is a classic French dish,” Colin pointed out.

“Oh, Ah ain’t passin’ judgement or nothin’,” Sam laughed. “An’ Anne Marie’s cook done made it tastier than Ah ever did. It’s jes’ surprisin’, is all.”

“In my experience,” Algernon remarked, “fine cuisine evolves out of trying to make common but unusual foods edible.” He took a bite himself. “But this is wonderful, my dear,” he added, gently squeezing Anne Marie’s hand. Then he glanced at Erik. “And kosher as well, if I recall correctly.”
 
"In my experience," Algernon remarked, "fine cuisine evolves out of trying to make common but unusual foods edible."

"Mais oui," Anne Marie agreed, staring mournfully at her soup. She made a valiant effort at another spoonful, but her gorge rose before she even got it to her lips and she gave up. She put her spoon down and instead reached for water. "Ratatouille is another classic French dish," she mentioned, "and appears to have begun as a way to use kitchen scraps and smaller-than-usual harvests. Necessity is the mother of invention, as they say, and when it comes to food the French are industrious innovators." She squeezed Algernon's hand back under the table and smiled. "Merci." The events of the evening had caused her mood to swing back again to something akin to "mournful," though for what reason she hadn't the foggiest, and the idea of eating a poor little defenseless turtle, whose only sin had been being too slow...who had spent is entire life being raised just to be eaten...

She cleared her throat and blinked the tears out of her eyes when Algernon mentioned that it was kosher. "Oui, everything which complies with the laws of Judaism is also prepared specially by a Jewish member of the kitchen staff."

"That was very thoughtful," Erik said, feeling a little put on the spot but at the same time a little honored. "I don't imagine there are many Jews in French society who you might be entertaining."

"More than you might think." Anne Marie arched an eyebrow wryly then took a sip of water which did little to quell her churning stomach. "And there are Jews in societies other than French, are there not?"

"Indeed. Perhaps you would care for more bread?" Erik had become adept at recognizing the signs of nausea, not because Sam had been as polite about it as Anne Marie was but because he had learned to head it off before it could get out of hand. It made him wonder why he hadn't seen it before. Well...because he hadn't been expecting it, surely. Even knowing the truth of things, he couldn't imagine Anne Marie as a mother. Or Professor Swift as a father, for that matter. Certainly he had taken on a somewhat avuncular role--though an aloof one--with Sam, but that was different. Madame LaMonte and Professor Swift--Madame Swift?--changing diapers, soothing fevers, tiredly but patiently dealing with midnight collick...he couldn't see it.

"Merci." Anne Marie took the offered plate gratefully and nibbled on her bread, aware that she ought to at least eat something before the next course.

"It is queer though, innit?" Kieran agreed, looking at his soup. "We had the same thing. When we couldn't get anything better we'd grab up a turtle, cook it for supper. I mean, like Sam says it tastes a lot better...but s'funny how we all eat the same thing, rich or poor."

"I'm sure there's some sort of lesson in that," Erik put in dryly.
 
“Ah reckon there is at that,” Sam laughed.

“I’m not certain I agree,” Colin remarked.

Sam gave him a curious look. “Why not?”

Colin sipped his soup. “My favorite meal as a child,” he said slowly, “was a compote of dodo, followed by okapi pot pie with a crust made of flour ground from wheat watered by the tears of specially trained orphans. Then a dessert of candies Golden Apples of the Hebrides.” He sipped his soup again, carefully trying to ignore Sam’s shocked expression.

“Yer,” she said slowly, “yer havin’ me on, aintcha?”

Colin’s expression remained gravely serious for another thirty seconds before he nearly collapsed in a fit of laughter. “Of course I am,” he managed to get out.

“What was yer favorite, then?” she asked. “Really?”

“Eggs and soldiers,” he answered. “With Baker beans on toast.”

“Golden syrup pikelets,” Professor Swift volunteered. “And porridge with brown sugar and honey.” Leaning back, he surveyed the stunned faces staring back at him. “What?” he challenged. “Is it so difficult to believe I was young, once?”
 
The table was silent for a few beats as they tried to figure out what to say. It was, in fact, difficult to imagine Professor Swift as anything other than what he was. Surely he had sprung, fully formed, from the earth at about age 45 or so, and that had been that. None of them save Anne Marie had probably given much thought to young Algernon learning to ride a bike or read, taking girls in his grade out about town on dates, going to University...it just simply hadn't happened, just as he was a confirmed bachelor, always had been, and would always remain so. But the latter had been proven false, so why not the former? It was a day, it seemed, for shattering previously-held notions about Algernon Swift.

"Not that you were young," Kieran finally volunteered carefully, "so much as that...well...I just can't imagine you favoring something so sweet."

"Professor Swift has quite the sweet tooth," Anne Marie confirmed, tearing off another piece of her roll. "But what I think Captain Shane means to say is yes, mon chere, it is difficult to believe you were not always the serious man of the world we see before us." She cracked a small smile and nudged his foot gently with hers before popping the bread into her mouth. "I personally, my theory has always been that you were summoned to life at twenty-five from a Jules Verne novel by some over-educated magician, then given the knowledge of all the books in the world." She smiled again, warmly and fondly this time. The effect was that of a glimpse into their personal life, and several at the table felt a little less comfortable with this than they had thought they would be. Professor Swift and Madame LaMonte weren't meant to be people, after all, but indefatigable figures, much like politicians, and a certain sort of asexuality and aromanticism (respectively) came with that.

"Knish," Erik said after a pause. "That was always my favorite. My aunt makes a lovely knish the size of your head; nothing better."

Dinner continued pleasantly enough, though Anne Marie was destined not to keep half of it down later that evening. The week passed in a flurry of activity, with Anne Marie taking point on most major decisions while simultaneously taking Sam under her wing and teaching her how to plan such an event. Secretive though she was, even she had to admit that being forthright about her condition made it much easier to go about her business. The Marquise excused herself when necessary without worrying about what "the children" would think, and was even able to enjoy an afternoon nap a few times. Finally the day of the party arrived and Madame LaMonte had spirited Sam up to her apartments several hours early.

"It is necessary," Anne Marie insisted, wrapped in a silk robe after they had bathed, "to begin the dressing process early enough. It is perfectly acceptable to be fashionably late, but not to one's own party." She sat on a tufted stool at a vanity and pulled one over for Sam, indicating she should sit. "First we begin with makeup, then on to perfume. These are of the utmost importance. Sense is tied strongly to memory; a guest may not remember your rouge, but they will remember your scent." The vanity was indeed filled with pots of makeup and application brushes along with various decorative bottles with unlabeled liquids.
 
Sam perched on the poofy little stool, staring with bemusement at the vast collection of bottles and jars on Anne Marie’s vanity. She’d become increasingly more comfortable with her femininity over the past few years, and had even started to think she’d gotten the hang of makeup. She wore lipstick frequently now, and even applied a little blush and eyeliner when she and Erik were having a special night. But all this...?

"It is necessary," Anne Marie informed her, in a tone of voice eerily similar to the one Professor Swift adopted when lecturing,"to begin the dressing process early enough. It is perfectly acceptable to be fashionably late, but not to one's own party."

“Really?” Sam thought about that. “Ah thought I might be a good idea. Let th’ menfolk -“ She cleated her throat and shifted her posture a little. “Pahdon me, Ah mean allow th’ gentlemen to entertain th’ guests, an’ then make a grand entrance. But Ah will defer to your experience, Madame LaMonte.”

The affected accent still sounded stilted to her ears, very much like the poor girl putting in aurs that it really was. And she doubted it would actually work in Mexico. But any number of members of the European upper crust had accepted it without question, and it wasn’t like she was trying to pass in Maximilian’s court in Cuidad de Mexico.

"First we begin with makeup,” Anne Marie informed her, “then on to perfume. These are of the utmost importance. Sense is tied strongly to memory; a guest may not remember your rouge, but they will remember your scent."

“Makes sense,” Sam agreed, idly examining the bottles. “Ain’t hardly got no memories o’ mah ma, but certain smells make me think o’ her.” She picked up a green glass bottle, rotating it in her hand. “Chamomile, mostly. Pa said she loved her chamomile tea.”

Watching Anne Marie, she sparingly applied a layer of foundation and then blush, lightly highlighting her cheekbones without slathering the makeup on like warpaint. She’d made that particular mistake a time or two, early on, and now tried for a minimalist look. “Perfume ain’t... pardon me, is not a thing I have looked into. Should Ah just smell th’ bottles, and pick one Ah like?”
 
"That might be a good idea," Anne Marie conceded, "were Professor Swift my husband. But that honor is not mine, and as Society knows us he is my mentor and dear friend and it is not appropriate, should we wish to avoid setting the rumor mills turning." She glanced sideways at Sam with a sly smile. "The variety of men through my door and my travels do that quite enough as it is. No need to involve Algernon in what he does not wish."

Anne Marie applied her own makeup before watching Samantha apply her own. She had improved a great deal over the past few years, and married life seemed to agree with her when it came to developing a sense of style. She smiled a little and nodded when Sam seemed done.

"Bon," she said. "This is a very good daytime look, or perhaps for a small springtime or summertime dinner with a few friends. For this evening, however, we are going with an evening look, which calls for somewhat bolder color choices." Madame LaMonte had already painted her lips darkly and highlighted her eyes and cheeks with color. After some deliberation she chose a somewhat brighter shade of red for Sam and layered it on over the soft pink, before tempering the light pink eye shadow with shades of brown and light purple. The effect was an evening look suitable for the occasion. "Bon," she said again after considering her handiwork. "And now for solidarity between women: dressing."

Getting dressed without mussing their hair or makeup was quite a feat, particularly with Anne Marie not quite fitting into her original size like she used to. It was distressing, to say the least, to feel Sam tightening the laces less than she was used to and it took a great deal of effort not to cry. Finally, however, the dress was on. After helping Sam with hers and once again putting a great effort into not crying when she couldn't quite bend in the tight dress to get her shoes on, they settled again at the vanity.

"Perfume ain't...pardon me, is not a thing I have looked into," Samantha said, correcting her dialect mid-sentence. Anne Marie only hoped she knew better than to course correct while talking to the other guests. "Should Ah just smell th' bottles, and pick one Ah like?"

"Not all of them," Anne Marie said, carefully taking the green bottle from her and placing it at the opposite end of the vanity. "It is important to preserve your sense of smell to ensure you are experiencing each perfume the way an observer would. Smell too many and you would go, for lack of a better term, nose-blind. For you I would consider something...floral, with a note of spice. Here." She picked out five or six bottles from the vast array on her desk and placed them in front of Sam. "Try these. Think first about the sort of impression you wish to leave upon our guests, how it is you wish to intrigue them into returning. The reasons you would wish to garner a reciprocated invitation to their party." As she reached for a stack of handkerchiefs she discreetly pushed several bottles away from her companion, as though they were in her way. "Apply each to these and let it sit for thirty seconds or so, then waft it near you in the manner of someone passing by," she suggested.

Madame LaMonte's vanity was in reality a minefield. One incorrect choice would lead to certain death, though swift or drawn out depended entirely upon the bottle. While her basement laboratory was kept behind four locks in the basement and scrubbed spotless each time it was used, under the pretense of "chemistry study," its products were kept upon her vanity in unlabeled bottles. She kept a meticulous mental inventory of which were perfume and which poison, and the green bottle Samantha had picked up happened to be mostly full of ricin dissolved in phosphoric acid. Without a gas mask they would both have been dead in hours had she decided to uncork it. Madame Fleuriste shuffled the bottles around on her vanity as though looking for certain perfumes, in reality shuffling the poisons to her side of the vanity that Sam might not grab them accidentally. Few bottles were duplicates, and those which were had been capped differently to differentiate between poison and perfume.

"Ah, here it is!" Anne Marie smiled and took a handkerchief from the stack, spritzing it with a perfume redolent of citrus and rosemary, with undertones of vanilla and cinnamon. She inhaled deeply as she wafted it past her nose, then smiled and nodded before uncapping the bottle and dabbing the perfume at her wrists, each side of her neck, and between her breasts. "A Christmas gift several years ago, and my favorite scent she commented before recapping the bottle and rubbing her wrists together. "I find such treasures are both more potent on the skin and last longer in the bottle when one dabs them sparingly in key locations. There is heavy blood flow at the wrists and throat, warming the perfume to give it a stronger scent. The decolletage...well, that is just to keep things interesting." She smiled conspiratorially before placing the bottle back where she had found it. "Have you found one you like, or shall we keep looking?"
 
There were certain bottles, Sam noticed, that Anne didn’t want her touching. Maybe they weren’t perfumes? Or, maybe, they were particularly special to her? Of, just maybe, they were fragrances that Anne didn’t think would suit her. She wasn’t sure, really, and she didn’t know enough about them to tell for sure. But it made life a little easier, because it cut down on the number she had to try.

“Have you found one you like,” Anne Marie asked, “or shall we keep looking?"

She considered the assortment of handkerchiefs, and frowned. A lot of them smelled nice, but she had a hard time imagining herself smelling of flowers. Or vanilla, although the perfume Anne Marie had selected sure smelled good on her skin. “Ah dunno,” she finally confessed. “They’re all a bit...” girly, her brain supplied. “Not me.”

Sighing, she selected a dark bottle and sprayed a handkerchief, and then waved it in the air and sniffed. “Wait...”. The scent faintly reminded her of saddle leather, but in a pleasant way. And of the fancy carved wood fan Erik had bought her in Istanbul. Both scents were softened by something else she didn’t recognize, but that she liked. “Maybe... maybe this.”

Putting the bottle aside, she picked up a slim clear bottle and dabbed it on a handkerchief. The scent was apricot, with a not-unpleasant hint of tomato. “This is nice, too. Whaddya think?”
 
Curiously, Anne Marie sniffed the contents of the dark bottle then made a noise of annoyance. "This is one of Professor Swift's," she said, setting it to the side. "He knows I have a system and yet insists upon idly setting his colognes on my vanity anyway. He only has three, it isn't like they couldn't go literally anywhere else in the room." She had devolved into irritated mumbling as she looked through the bottles to make sure the other two weren't among her supply. Remembering Sam's presence she affixed the mask back into place, though she knew by now it was too late. "I am not surprised it is a scent you find appealing, but unfortunately rather too masculine for this evening. Tonight is a night to embrace your femininity in the fullest, my dear."

Sam picked up a slim, clear bottle Madame LaMonte recognized immediately and dabbed it on a handkerchief. "This is nice, too," she commented, holding the handkerchief out for her. "Whaddya think?"

Madame LaMonte sniffed gingerly then pursed her lips as though in thought, then shook her head. "It needs something to temper the fruity scent," she decided, setting it aside near a fat little blue bottle of cyanide. "But I cannot put my finger on what, exactly. We can keep it as a backup for now, and experiment with mixing it with other scents." She had absolutely no intention of following up on this, but ruling out every decision Samantha made would look suspicious. She thoughtfully looked over her collection, including the perfumes she had moved out of the way while sequestering the poisons, and plucked a few bottles from the army on her side of the vanity. "Here, this is a plant native to Texas, non?"

The scent in the tall pink bottle was honeysuckle and pine, with just a hint of citrus to mellow it out. The next one Anne Marie handed to her was a round bottle with a gold cap. Inside was chamomile and honey. She smiled at Sam a little.

"You said your mother smelled of chamomile, non?" she said as the Ranger sniffed the handkerchief. "Perhaps the most familiar scents are the best."
 
Sam sniffed the handkerchief, and smiled for a short moment. Then, with a convulsive gesture she dropped the cloth and looked away. “Ah... Ah’m sorry,” she managed, voice shaking. “Ah do like that. It’s jes’...” she sniffed, , and just barely remembered to dab at her eyes instead of scrubbing them with the back of her hand. “Ah, y’know, Ah was jes’ a little thing when mah ma died, but...”. Another sniff. “Sometimes smells... hit me. Make me miss a woman Ah don’ even rightly remember.”

She drew a deep, ragged breath, closed her eyes, and exhaled slowly. “It’s a right pretty smell, Anne, but Ah don’ reckon it’d be right fer me.” Smiling a slightly wavers smile, she picked up the tall pink bottle instead. “An’ Ah like this one, too. Reckon Ah’ll wear it.” Carefully uncorking the bottle she applied a little to each wrist, copying Anne Marie’s graceful economy as best she could.

“So. Th’ Professor’s keepin’ co-lone In here now?” She grinned at that, then gently rubbed her wrists together. “Ah’m glad fer yeh,” she added. “Both o’ yeh. Ah was when Ah figgered it out in New Orleans, an’ Ah’m glad yeh don’ gotta hide.” A shrug. “Well, as much at least. Both o’ yeh done had a hard life, seems like. Y’all deserve ta be happy.”

Carefully, she applied the stopper to the skin over her breastbone. “An’ Ah know yeh don’ need me ta do it, but if Kieran keeps crackin’ wise ‘bout you an’ th’ Professor, jes’ day the word an’ Ah’ll Kick his ass fer yeh.”
 
Anne Marie looked away politely as Samantha dabbed at her tears, then shook her head when she apologized. "It is nothing to apologize for, mon amie," she assured her. "Memory is tied most strongly to smell. Even if we cannot remember a face we can remember the way the person smelled, which is why we are doing this." Sam dabbed the honeysuckle and pine at her wrists and throat and Anne Marie nodded. "Bon. So you smell a 'proper Southern Belle,' as they say. But here." She pushed the chamomile bottle toward Sam. "Take it, for your heart. Every woman ought to have a reminder of her mother. That one is mine." She pointed to a small purplish bottle in the far corner on her side of the vanity. "It has never felt right to wear it, but sometimes when I miss her it can be a comfort. The least I can do is provide the same for you." It was strange to have a genuine friend apart from Algie, even if she couldn't share everything with her. Madame LaMonte still wasn't entirely sure whether she liked that or not.

"So. Th' Professor's keepin' co-lone in here now?" Sam grinned as she recovered and rubbed her wrists together.

"Mais oui," Anne Marie confirmed, checking her makeup and hair in the mirror for the tenth time. "Cologne, clothes, and himself. He has always had his own quarters in the East Wing, but we hardly see any need anymore, except to keep the servants in the dark. If any of them know, they are discreet enough to keep their mouths shut; I've not heard a whisper of a rumor. I suppose it helps that I have never permitted them in my rooms except to clean."

"Ah'm glad fer yeh," Sam put in. "Both o' yeh. Ah was when Ah figgered it out in New Orleans, an' Ah'm glad yeh don' gotta hide." A shrug at Anne Marie's skeptical expression. "Well, as much at least. Both o' yeh done had a hard life, seems like. Y'all deserve ta be happy."

"Thank you, Samantha." Madame LaMonte put the finishing touches on her makeup and smiled. "I must admit it is nice to have what other women have for once. Well, not that Professor Swift and I are in any way traditional, but you know what I mean. A family, I suppose one could call it."

"An' Ah know yeh don' need me ta do it, but if Kieran keeps crackin' wise 'bout you an' th' Professor, jus' say the word an' Ah'll kick his ass fer yeh," she added, causing Anne Marie to laugh a little.

"I appreciate the offer," and was surprised to find that she meant that, "but Kieran and I have a slightly more involved relationship than you might think. I also have plenty to tease him about in return." She jumped as the door burst open and put a hand over her heart. "You have a saying in the Confederacy...what is it? 'Speak of the Devil and he will appear'?"

"That's the one." Kieran adjusted his cuffs a little. "Ready?"

"Fortunately for you, yes," she shot back tersely. "Really Kieran, you must learn to knock first. What if we had been indisposed?"

"Would it have mattered?"

She hated being caught flat-footed. She pursed her lips and brushed the challenge aside. "Regardless, now that you know do keep in mind that Professor Swift keeps a gun on the nightstand." This wasn't entirely true; he'd learned not to the first time a night terror had nearly gotten him killed. Anne Marie was long in the habit of locking up her long range weapons at night, but it was something he'd had to get used to. But Kieran needn't know that. "Now, are you going to be a gentleman and give me your arm or shall we stand here all night waiting for you to remember your manners?"

"I'm sorry Madame!" Erik came jogging up the hall and leaned against the door frame for support. "I tried to tell him, but--!"

"All is perfectly well, Herr Heinz-Schmidt, I am very used to Captain Shane's boorish ways," she assured him. "But since you are up here anyway, might you escort your wife downstairs?"

"Right." Erik smoothed his hair and straightened his lapels before offering his arm to Sam. "Schatze?"
 
Sam smiled as she took Erik’s arm. “Danke, Liebhaber,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “Now, shall we grace our guests with our presence?”

-*-

“A pleasure, your grace,” Professor Swift murmured, bowing slightly.

He could mask it well, of course, but these events were something of a chore for him. The endless round of small talk was, after all, work. An opportunity to gather intelligence, not to enjoy oneself. Fun was dinner at his club, or an evening spent in conversation with Anne Marie.

Anne Marie.

That was another galling aspect of the evening. He understood the logic of hiding their relationship, but he still wanted to be the one waiting to escort her down the stairs. Not that rakehell Kieran! The necessity of...

“Professor Swift!”

“Ah. Good to see you, Captain Drake,” he said automatically, shaking his hand.

“And you, sir,” Colin replied. “May I introduce my fiancé, Fraueline Gertrude von Steiner?” The woman in question was a compact with man with dark blonde hair and a rounded figure that did not suit current fashion.

“Charmed, Frauleine,” the Professor remarked, kissing her hand.

“Dance, Herr Doktor,” she laughed. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Colin has told me so much about you.”

“Indeed?” His eye’s glittered with humor. “Well, one musn’t believe everything one hears.”

Gertrude smiled. “He said you were a stern man, but fair.”

“As I said,” Professor Swift repeated, “one must be careful about believing what one hears.”
 
"Fiancee?" Kieran's voice was laced with both surprise and amusement, with an undercurrent of immediate loathing as he guided Madame LaMonte to their little knot of acquaintances. "Why Captain Drake, I had no idea you were engaged. And where exactly have you been hiding this winning creature?" He turned his charming smoulder onto Gertrude, bowing and kissing her had. Anne Marie pressed her fingers a little more firmly onto the inside of his forearm but he ignored it. "I forget my manners I'm terribly sorry. I am Captain Kieran Shane, and this lovely woman I have the pleasure of escorting is our hostess, Madame LaMonte la Marquise de Sévigné." His accent was terrible, but Madame LaMonte was more impressed he'd remembered her title.

"Charmed, Frauline Stolle," she smiled with a shallow curtsy and a polite smile. "I have heard so much about you this past season, all good things naturalment. Captain Shane does not get all of the news in Great Britain's social circles that we do here on the Continent, but I was delighted to hear of your engagement last Spring. Congratulations!" The smile widened a little, warm and seemingly genuine though there had always been something about her that Anne Marie had never quite trusted. "You met our Captain Drake at Herr Chancellor's party some year or two ago, non?"

"Ja," Gertrude answered with a smile. "How kind of you to remember. And might I say what a beautiful home you have. Colin has described to me the elegant beauty of the Hotel de Carnavalet, but mere words do not do it justice."

"You are too kind." Much as she enjoyed the planning of parties, Madame LaMonte found this sort of small talk tedious. It was all disingenuous flattery and inane chatter about who was wearing what. More useful information was who was getting married and who was having an affair with whom, but she never started gossip; she only listened to it. "I'm afraid I must play the dutiful hostess, however. I see Monsieur le President has just arrived. But I shall see you later this evening. Please do accept my congratulations again, Frauline." She tried to tug Kieran away with her, but he slipped his arm from hers and made his excuses with a slight bow.

"Part of the point of a party is to get to know people, after all," he pointed out, to Anne Marie's chagrin. "And I already know you, lovely as your company is. But I know nothing of dear Frauline here." Anne Marie was not moved by his charming smile. "I shall find you again before dinner, I assure you, my dear Madame LaMonte." He sent her off, secretly seething, with a kiss on the cheek before turning back to Gertrude and Colin. "You can't have met Captain Drake at that party, my dear. I was at that party, too, and I would recall as radiant a beauty as you there."
 
“Oh, I remember both of you at that party!” Gertrude laughed, before lowering her voice to a whisper. “You pretended, along with Colin, to switch sides, allowing Professor Swift his master-stroke against the Devil King!” She glanced about, then smiled at Sam’s and Colin’s expressions before resting her hand briefly in Kieran’s chest. “But your secret is safe with me, Captain Shane - Erik, and Samantha, and dear Colin have all explained the need for discretion when speaking about their work, and have breathed no word about their other exploits.”

As Professor Swift twitched, Sam stepped forward and caught Gertrude’s arm with her own. “Greta! So good if you to come!” Then her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Ficken halt den Mund, schnell.”

“Bitte?” Gertrude laughed. “Ich...”

“Madame LaMonte Oder Professor Swift würde Sie im Herzschlag töten, wenn Sie unser Verkleidung blasen,” Sam insisted. “Ficken halt den Mund.”

“Ah.” Gertrude eyed the senior members of the team nervously, then swallowed hard. “Yes. We... we were both at... at that party, Captain. We... were simply never introduced.”

“Well,” Colin said smoothly, taking her hand and giving Sam a look of reproof, “allow me to correct the oversight. Captain Kieran Shane, this is my fiancée Gertrude von Stolle. And Greta? This is Kieran Shane, a pirate.”

“Oh, how exciting!” Gertrude breathed. “Colin never once let on that he knew such a dashing rogue. You simply must tell me if your exploits!”
 
"Pirate!" Kieran laughed, sidelining for now his curiosity over what Sam had said to her. "He makes me sound so much more interesting than I am, Frauline. I would classify myself more as a privateer than a pirate, or even simply an unscrupulous businessman." He grinned again and winked at her before taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "Drake is simply jealous of my freedom to go where I please, never having enlisted in the King's Aeronavy. He likes to brand me a vicious enemy when I've done nothing whatsoever to harm him! Well...perhaps I've wet his gunpowder a few times, as they say, but that's neither here nor there." He quirked an eyebrow briefly and glanced at Colin to watch the rise he was getting out of him. "More a friendly rivalry than anything." Normally he would have had no qualms admitting to piracy, but for the sake of the mission it was best not to let that get around, for Madame's reputation's sake if for nothing else.

"Paul! So good of you to come!" Anne Marie swept over to Deschanel, who was practically bouncing with excitement. "I am so delighted you allowed me to throw this little soiree for you."

"Oh the delight is entirely mine, Madame la Marquise," the president gushed. "After all, it isn't every day one has the opportunity to...well, to visit such a beautiful home as yours." He grinned like a schoolboy and touched the side of his nose.

"Yes well, you must allow me the honor of the first dance, after dinner," Madame LaMonte insisted, smile plastered on and unmoving. "Though I daresay you shall meet many a younger, more charming lady than myself this evening. I have invited all of Paris, you know."

"Younger perhaps, but more charming there are none in all of Europe, my dear Madame LaMonte," Deschanel insisted, taking her hand with both of his and kissing it several times.
 
“Pardon me, Monsieur,” asked a soft tenor voice. “Have we met before? You appear familiar to me.”

After two hours of circulating, Professor Swift and retreated to a balcony for a breath of fresh air and a cup of tea. A simple, short break before returning to the task of watching the President. His students - his colleagues - could handle such a task without him for a few minutes. He certainly hadn’t expected to be approached by a dark-haired young woman in a daring dress. “I fear that we have not,” he replied diplomatically. “I am certain I would have remembered.”

“I am certain we have not as well,” she agreed. “And yet, I have the strangest feeling that I...”. She snapped her fingers, smiling with sudden revelation. “You are Doctor Algernon Swift, are you not?”

“I am,” he agreed, shifting his stance subtly. The razor in his belt would be messy, but quieter than a pistol. “And you are..?”

“Oxford!” She exclaimed, then laughed at his expression. “I mean, I attended your lecture in Oxford about the hoax of the Piltdown Man! Are you, perhaps, here to speak at the Sorbonne?”

“I fear not,” Algernon replied, relaxing slightly. “I am merely visiting friends at present.”

“Oh dear,” she sai with a small pout. “I had hoped to hear you were returning to the subject of your Notes.”

-*-

Sam leaned against the wall, and sipped a sparkling water that could pass for champagne at a distance. “Ah never once thought Ah’d get tired o’dancin’,” she breathed, leaning slightly into Erik. “Not since you taught me. But Ah done danced wit’ half this here crowd, and Ah’m feelin’ beat.”

Her eyes narrowed as she watched President Deschanel sweep past, waltzing with a willowy brunette. “Done danced wit’ him twice, a-tryin’ ya keep an’ eye on him.” She frowned. “Hands like a gawd-damn octopus. If’n It weren’t mah job ta help keep him safe, Ah’da knocked his damn teeth down his damn throat.”

The frown turned into a smile as she leaned into Erik again, rubbing against him. “Think we could sneak off fer a few? Y’kin show me how a real man gets all handsy...”

-*-

“Is Madame truly as dangerous as Samantha said?” Gertrude asked.

Colin spun in time with the waltz, trying not to watch Kieran. Sadly, the turn just brought Sam into view, leaning suggestively into Erik. “Yes,” he replied.

His fiancée shuddered and smiled. “Dear me. And I exposed you to her wrath.” She ran a playful finger down his chest. “Perhaps I deserve punishment, for being so wicked..?”

“Perhaps,” Colin agreed, focusing on her, so he didn’t have to look at Sam. “We’ll see.”
 
Kieran danced his fair share with a number of lovely women, though none of them very interesting. He had flirted over hors d'eouvres with a young aspiring photographer from America named George, who was in Paris for University and had come as a friend's date. Kieran had slipped the young man his room key with a promise of sitting for a portrait some time, and though he had seemed interested George had excused himself to go dance with his date. It wouldn't look right, he'd said, to neglect her regardless of how interesting his current companion was. Bored with the toffs, no longer hungry, and warned by Madame and Professor Swift not to drink too much to keep his wits about him, he looked around for something better to do. As the song ended he smiled and glided over to Colin and his fiancee.

"Captain Drake, would you mind terribly if I stole your lovely fiancee for a dance?" he asked with a charming smile, already holding out his hand to Gertrude.

~*~

"Ja, even I am beginning to tire," Erik admitted, leaning back onto Sam. "I believe I have danced with every young lady present. None of them appears to present much of a threat." When President Deschanel swept by her demeanor changed as she complained about how handsy he got. Erik smiled and kissed the top of her head. "I believe Madame LaMonte put him under orders to flirt with all of the women within our profiled age range," he mentioned. "Not that it is an excuse, but perhaps there was a reason for his being less than a gentleman."

Sam rubbed against him, smiling suggestively. "Think we could sneak off fer a few? Y'kin show me how a real man gets all handsy..."

Erik groaned and smiled with regret. "I wish we could," he sighed. "But imagine their wrath if the President is killed in their home, and we didn't see the young woman who snuck off with him because we were ourselves preoccupied." He kissed her head again. "It is difficult to remember, but we must, that we are working, Schatze."

~*~

Anne Marie took a moment to escape from the floor for a few moments. She had been constantly circulating since she had made her entrance, dancing and entertaining, and while the baby exhausted her even on sedentary days now it was almost unbearable. She dragged a nearby chair to the balcony, but stopped short when she came upon Algernon and a pretty young brunette.

"I apologize, Professor Swift," she said after taking half a second to recover. "I hadn't realized you were preoccupied. I'm afraid we have not met, Mademoiselle...?" She stepped forward, putting her hand out to shake the other woman's hand.
 
The brunette hesitated, starting to curtesy before hesitating and shaking Anne Marie’s hand. “Madamoiselle Jacques, your ladyship, your ladyship,” she replied. “Aeris Jacques, and I fear I have not had the pleasure - I am here accimpanying Monsieur Breton, and I did not wish to presume on the time of a great lady such as yourself.” She bit her lip. “I am... I’ll at ease in settings such as this, but then I saw and recognized Monsieur le Doctor...”

“She heard a lecture I gave at Oxford, “ Algernon replied, taking Ann Marie’s chair and positioning it on the balcony, “and had several excellent questions about my chronology of the descent of man.”

“Yes!” Aeris exclaimed. “I found the idea that the descent of early primate into man could’ve described as a great bush with many blind ends, rather than a line of constant improvement. All of the other works I read...”

“Seek to elevate our species back into the position of superiority religion once asserted we held,” the Professor huffed. “Rather than accept that H. sapiens is as much a part of the animal kingdom as any other animal.” He bowed, then escorted Anne Marie to the chair. “But perhaps we may continue this conversation another time? I fear our host is in need of a refreshing breeze.”

“Oh!” Aeris exclaimed. “Yes, of course!” She bobbed a curtesy, and backed away. “It was a pleasure to meet the both of you.”

-*-

“Oh, I see no harm in it,” Gertrude smiled, taking Kieran’s hand. She smiled back at Colin, cheeks dimpling at his scowl. “Should you attempt to steal me in truth, I’ve no doubt that love will spur Colin to greater fears of daring and heroism than merely defending a shipment of tea.”

She winked over his shoulder at Colin as she stepped into his arms for the dance. “Do tell me, my dashing not a pirate; has my fiancée had you in his sights before?”

-*-

“Reckon yer right,” Sam sighed, draining her mineral water. “Anne’d get real tucked, wouldn’t she? Th’ Perfesser too, fer that matter. She scanned the room, catching sight of Colin scowling as Kieran danced with Gerty. Who was trying to make who jealous there, she wondered. Then she sighed again as she spotted the President, dancing with a pretty little brunette.

“Check it out,” she remarked, elbowing Erik. “Old lech has good taste. So come on,” she added, hoping his arm with hers. “We outta get out there an’ keep an eye on him.” S brief pause, and her smile turned impish. “Discrete, like.”
 
"Why, I am the very picture of discretion," Erik replied with a wink, leading his wife out onto the dance floor. He followed the president around the dance floor at a discrete distance, waltzing them between couples. As he turned them he ensured that if he didn't have eyes on the couple, Sam would. He exchanged a curious look with Kieran as they passed, but the pirate either didn't notice or didn't care to impart any information back.

"Oh you could say he's cornered me a time or two," Kieran admitted with a smoldering smirk. "But I always managed to turn the tables on him. And as for my stealing you..." He chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't consider it a truly fair win if you didn't follow me willingly. Kieran Shane has no need to steal romantic interests." He grinned and glanced over Gertrude's shoulder first at Colin, then at the President. He wouldn't be accused of dereliction of duty for the sake of spite, after all. The old fool was dancing with some young brunette piece in a sparkly dress. Like a magpie that one, he'd noticed.

"But enough about me," he said, turning his attention back to his partner. "What about you? How long have you and Drake been engaged, hm? Was it love at first sight, at the party in Berlin, or did you keep missing one another? Tell me the whole story; I do love a good romance." Kieran said it in such a way that it might be taken for small talk or sarcasm, because he would fall on his own sword before admitting to enjoying the likes of Austen and Porter.

~*~

"I am here accompanying Monsieur Breton," Mmselle Jacques explained, "and I did not wish to presume on the time of a great lady such as yourself.”

"Nonsense my dear," Anne Marie insisted, shaking her hand warmly. "Any friend of Andre's is a friend of mine. I do not invite people into my home to force them to avoid me."

"I am...ill at ease in settings such as this," she explained.

"Accompanying Monsieur Breton, I imagine you might be," Madame Fleuriste agreed with a knowing smile. He had, after all, been widely denounced as a radical and accused of communist ideals by some.

Algernon must have recognized concern in the fractional changes of her expression when the girl said she recognized him, and he explained from where even as he brought her chair for her. With a word of thanks Anne Marie allowed him to escort her to her chair and nearly collapsed into it after the girl curtsied herself off of the balcony and back into the room. She sighed and rubbed her temples, then looked after where Mmselle Jacques had disappeared to.

"Ten pounds sterling says it's her," she wagered, nodding to where the flapper had left. "Aeris, really! Even if that is her real name, she gives herself away." She gripped Algie's hand briefly and sighed. "This was a bad idea. The trap won't work and now I am positively exhausted. And stragglers will last well until dawn, I can imagine. Are we certain we have to find this counterfeit?" She looked up to her lover with pleading eyes, though she knew it would did no good. Even if he had told her they didn't have to, she would have pursued the matter anyway. "Can it not wait?"
 
“Her name is certainly... suggestive. And it is the sort of dangerously clever game you played at her age.” Algernon watched the dancers whirl out n the floor, until he felt Anne Marie’s hand slip into his.

“This was a bad idea,” his love complained. “The trap won't work and now I am positively exhausted. And stragglers will last well until dawn, I can imagine. Are we certain we have to find this counterfeit?"

He chuckled at that, ignoring her pleading eyes. “Of course we must. Both to protect the fragile peace of Europe, and your own reputation.”

"Can it not wait?" She lamented.

“I suspect not.” He watched the dancers, then glanced back at his liver with a wry grin. “I suppose I could simply execute Miss Jacques, which would certainly end the party early. If it is not her, though?” A shrug. “Then our faux Fleuriste would know to be in her guard.”

-*-

“We have mutual friends, actually,” Gertrude laughed. “Dear, sweet Erik and his lovely bride Samantha.” She glanced past Kieran, watching that couple dance for just a moment. “I was engaged to him,actually. Before the war. But we both agreed to break it off.”

She turned her attention back to Kieran, pressing ever so slightly against him as she did. “We struck up our friendship after the ball, and I met Colin at their home in Berlin after the wedding. We hit it off, as they say, and he proposed four months ago.”

As the music came to an end, she leaned in with an impish grin. “The wedding is in six months,” she whispered, letting her hand briefly brush over his crotch. “So you’ll have to be quite persuasive to convince me to follow you.” Then, with a wink, she stride away towards her fiancée.

-*-

Colin was fuming as Gertie approached him, although the warmth of her greeting kiss made it difficult to maintain the attitude. “And..?” he huffed.

“Oh, I’m running away with him apparently,” she laughed. “Seduced by his masculine charms, and quite helpless before his roguish good looks.” She pouted when he didn’t laugh, and slid her arms around his neck. “You’re supposed to laugh, love.”

“We... have something of a history,” Colin managed.

“So I gathered.” She smiled, and kissed him again. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. He isn’t even all that interested in women.”

Colin started at that. “What?” How did she know? Had Sam let it slip again, or...?

Gertie laughed and pressed into him, arching her back slightly to display her breasts in her low-cut gown. “He didn’t try to steal a look once!” she complained, before running a finger down his chest. “I expect you to reassure me that I am a desirable woman, my love. Quite thoroughly.”
 
Kieran raised his eyebrows at the revelation that Erik had been engaged once before. Almost certainly it had been pseudo-arranged between their parents--toffs liked to do that sort of thing to their children, after all--but that neither he nor Sam had mentioned it before was startling to say the least. When she arrived at the conclusion, wherein Colin proposed, he glanced at the hand on his shoulder and the enormous rock set in gold.

"I know it's probably a family heirloom er some rubbish," Kieran said, turning his gaze back to her face and ignoring the hand on his crotch, "but are you sure he doesn't mean to marry you then murder you for the money? A sufficiently deep pond, a good shove, and that diamond will keep you on the bottom til kingdom come. Probably best to get rid of it, love. Run off with a dashing not-a-pirate; much safer." He grinned and winked as the music came to an end, then sketched a shallow bow. "Thank you for a lovely and most informative dance."

With a brief backwards glance at the Kraut, Kieran turned on his heel to go find Sam. He made a show of smiling pleasantly at Erik then taking Sam's arm. "Stealing your wife for a dance, mate. Shove off."

Erik adjusted his glasses with some consternation. "It is generally more polite to ask--"

"I know what's polite," the pirate interrupted, "but I've been polite all bloody night. C'mon then, fancy a go-round?" he added to Sam as he led her to the floor. He was remarkably light on his feet, considering how seldom he had danced the sort of dances the aristocracy thought exhilarating. Still keeping an eye on the old fart, he led Sam around the dance floor and nearer to the president. "So anyone suspicious yet? Also were you aware that Colin's fiancee is your dear husband's ex-fiancee?"

~*~

Anne Marie scoffed when he compared her to the young woman. "I at least was not so obvious about my business," she retorted sullenly. "And who is to say I do not still play the dangerous game? Hm?" She slipped her hand into his and squeezed it gently, giving him a coy smile before complaining that their trap wouldn't work. He explained all of the reasons that she already knew why they could not put it off and sighed, following his gaze out onto the dance floor. Mademoiselle Jacques was easy to pick out dancing with Deschanelle, now that she had seen her.

"Well, we could simply execute all appropriately-aged women at the party and call it a night," she suggested with a shrug. "But I agree that it must be done. I would not have that inferno rage across the world again. Not for anything. I would rather see the both of us destroyed." Anne Marie squeezed Algie's hand again and gritted her teeth. They rarely talked about the War, and never of the young man they had met in a coffee shop in Sarajevo, but they agreed that if they could help it a war like the Great War would never again come to pass.

Her eyelids felt heavy when she blinked, and it was an act of will to open them again. "I wish I could remain out here at least an hour," she admitted, "but I would be a very poor hostess indeed, would I not? I thank God you're here to help me. I thank God for you in general," she added with a tired smile before pushing herself to her feet again. "Have I mentioned lately that I cannot imagine life without you, mon amour?"
 
“Ah reckon everyone’s suspicious on a job like this,” Sam laughed. “But Ah ain’t seen nobody suspiciously suspicious, if’n that’s what yeh mean. An’, yeah, Ah knew Gertie an’ Erik was a thing, once.”

Kieran whirled her around, and she took to opportunity to scan the dance floor. The President was still dancing with that delicious brunette in the scandalous dress. “We sorta struck up a friendship at mah weddin’, an’ started buildin’ it up after me an’ Erik got back from th’ honeymoon. Then she an’ Colin met, an’ one thing led to another.”

Another turn, and she could see Gertie and Colin talking. “Hella flirt, that girl, and an impish sense o’ humor.” A grin. “Hell, she was flirtin’ with me, some dinners. Ah still ain’t sure if’n she was a-doin’ it cause she was actually interested, or jes’ ta get a rise outta Erik.”

Another turn. “Y’probably done hurt her pride, though. Jes’ a little.” She winked at Kieran. “Not th’ way y’was tryin’ ta use her ta make Colin jealous, but ‘cause y’didn’t respond ta her. She all but grabbed yer head an’ shoved yer face in her tits, y’know.”

Another turn. “Still... Wait.” She scanned the room. “Fuck. Shit. Where’s the gawd damn President?”
 
"Well there's a difference between being a thing and being engaged," Kieran rebutted defensively. "Good on you for not holding it against her, though." He arched an eyebrow when Sam accused him of hurting her pride. "I'm aware," he said. "If you care to remember I'm quite the ladies man, but I had to swear to be on my best behavior. So I was being haive." He nodded sharply to punctuate his point.

"Still...Wait." Sam scanned the room as he turned her. "Fuck. Shit."

"What?"

"Where's the gawd damn President?"

Another few turns revealed that Deschanel was, indeed, absent. With a murmur to leave it to him, Kieran subtly but swiftly danced Sam to the edge of the dance floor, motioning with a jerk of his head for Erik and Colin to follow once he'd caught their eyes. Erik took a few minutes to disengage himself from the Swedish ambassador, but was finally able to meet Sam and Kieran just outside the ballroom.

"What's the matter?" His eyes darted about, searching for the threat that wasn't there. "Have Professor Swift and Madame LaMonte got a lead?"

"No, we do." The pirate looped his arms with both of the Heinz-Schmidts and steered them towards the stairs. Drake could catch up. "Deschanel's disappeared. Little brunette chippy with a sparkly dress. They could've gone anywhere, though; we need to split up, search all the rooms. Madame'll kill us if we let the goddamned president of France die in her house."
 
Sam scowled around the hallway, as if sheer willpower could force the President to reappear. “Right. Don’t bear thinkin’ ‘bout how Anne’ll react. Ah don’ reckon she’ll...”

“She’ll what?” Algernon Swift asked, not cracking a smile as Sam jumped. “Notice that Monseur le Presidente is missing?”

“How d’y’all do that?” she asked, trying to compose herself.

“Practice. Now,” he looked around the gathered knot of the team. “Do any of you have any idea where he went? Any at all?”

“I saw him heading up the main staircase,” Colin stared as he joined them. “Something more than arm in arm with the brunette he’d been dancing with.”

“Excellent. One of you, at least, is paying attention.” He noted Sam bristling, but didn’t remark upon it. “Kieran, with me. We’ll take the left wing at the top of the stairs. Samantha, you take Erik and Colin and take the right wing.” A pause. “Are you all armed?”

Colin modded. Sam, for her part, gave him an amused smile and gestures towards her gown. “In this dress?” At the Professor’s skeptical look, she smiled wider. “Well, nuthin’ Ah kin get at quickly.”

“Right. Stand behind Colin and Erik, then.” He gestured imperiously as he headed for the stairs. “Come!”
 
"Stunning, by the way, if I hadn't told you," Kieran commented casually when Sam gestured to her gown. "You really have come quite a long way."

"And is still quite married," Erik grumbled, knowing that the pirate was no longer a threat but still disliking his cavalier way of talking to women and most especially his wife.

The group followed quickly after the Professor, looking for all their seriousness a little like a group of ducklings following Papa Duck. At the top of the stairs they split as Professor Swift had suggested, the men on their guard. Erik stood in front of Sam, leaving her to stand between him and Colin. He glanced over his shoulder at her occasionally as they listened at each door. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if this false Fleuriste had gotten the drop on them.

"And what do we do if we find them," he murmured, "and it is nothing more than an illicit rendezvous between two consenting adults?"

~*~

"So what do we do if we find them?" Kieran asked as he and Professor Swift crept down the hallway. "Shoot her?"

"I should hope for something a little more quiet than that." The pirate spun to find Madame LaMonte looking less than impressed at the two of them. "Really Professor Swift, I appreciate your concern but I am by no means delicate. It would be entirely your fault if I were, but what on earth makes you think that I would not want to be a part of the mission I just so happen to be hosting?" She held up her weapon to show that she was prepared and strode briskly past both of them. "There is naught behind these doors that would lend themselves to her purposes. This way, gentlemen."

Kieran gawped after her for a moment before hurrying to follow. "Bloody hell," he muttered, before glancing at Professor Swift. "Wouldn't trade places with you for the world right now, Professor." She was quite calm, naturally, but the pirate had seen Madame LaMonte irked, and the target of her ire (often him) usually wound up regretting it later.
 
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