Chapter Twenty-One: A Rescue

Villeneuve was not happy, he loathed losing control, and here was the daemon Clotilde holding the sobbing Francesca by her neck, icy fingers, and icy heart demanding the mirror be open, and he was bound by orders to not interfere. This filthy doppelgänger had the ear of Napoleon Bonaparte! He grimaced further as Clotilde smacked Francesca's head against the mirror again. 'Open it,' she hissed. 'I know you can open it.'

Villeneuve couldn't get his officers involved. He wasn't the type of Admiral to delegate responsibility just to get himself out of an unpleasant situation, but ... he turned his gaze toward the ceiling with narrowing eyes, there were people he could involve in this, people who Napoleon has already made up his mind about.

'Dominique,' he whispered over his shoulder, startling a burly officer standing at his shoulder, instead of his manservant. 'Damn!' He croaked. Dominique hadn't heard, but more importantly, and luckily, neither had Clotilde. Villeneuve scowled at the officer to his right as if he had been the one that incautiously whispered, and motioned, with a twitching of his chin, for him to get Dominique's attention. The officer's puzzled look turned into a quick nod, and he set in motion a silent wave of activity.

Sailors discreetly tapped at shoulders, tugged at sleeves, and each tap, tug and nudge getting ever nearer the manservant, until a short, red-haired sailor discreetly poked a startled Dominique in the side. With the jerk of a stubby thumb, and a bob of his rust-coloured head, he made it clear to Dominique that he was needed by the Amiral.

A not so subtle discourse followed, a pressing together of heads, a rapid pointing of fingers into the air, and a furious amount of whispering that might have raised an eyebrow from Clotilde had it not been for a sudden outbreak of camouflaging coughs from the sailors nearest the two conspirators. As it was, Clotilde's ire was kept firmly upon the unfortunate Francesca, and while that ire burnt brightly, Dominique quietly slipped away, and out the cabin door, running into the sunlight as fast as his long legs could take him.

***

Joseph was in the process of cleaning away cups that had contained hot, frothy coffee, dishes, and trays still littered with the crumbly, caramel residue of butter-filled croissants, and brushing at table linen still sticky with the amber flakes of breakfast sweets. He frowned as Leo leant over, and deposited a napkin atop the growing pile of plates in his arms. He wouldn't have minded really, but he thought he'd be serving the Admiral of the ship, not his old comrades. Gaspard, Leo, Giuseppe and the Captain were seated around the end of a squat, rectangular table, all of them looking remarkably well tailored considering their previous night's failed attack on the ship.

A French marine that had been eyeing them with some disgust walked up behind Gaspard, and pulled him bodily away from the table, rebuking the blonde thief for resting his boots on the tabletop, and then, eyeing the already buttered and jammed croissant on Gaspard's plate, snatched it up, and away, popping it into his mouth with a crumbly grin.

'Rude.' Muttered Gaspard, as the marine stepped back to the wall of the cabin with his mouth still full of pastry. 'Ehm, Joseph?' Gaspard called out to the boy who was balancing a row of plates along the length of his arm. 'I don't suppose there are anymore of those little, sticky, raisin buns?' Joseph eyed him coldly for a moment, before turning to a pastry cart behind him, and, with a certain amount of assured skill he carefully bent forward to pick up a small plate carrying three raisin-filled sticky buns between his teeth, and abrubtly flipped all three buns over his shoulder so that they expertly arced over the heads of the other diners, bounced across the table, and rolled to a stop in front of Gaspard's half-empty glass of orange juice.

The entire company blinked in silent surprise, before exploding in cheers, claps, and laughter, banging their fists against the table. Even the French marine was impressed, albeit reluctantly. 'Oh,' said Gaspard. 'I say, well done! Wasn't that well done?' He asked the big Italian, Giuseppe who was sat at his side, without waiting for an answer. 'That really was well done!' He said again, over the loud cheering.

Joseph couldn't help himself, and, grinning from ear to ear, he took a great, giggly bow, which resulted in the still resting plates on his arms to slip to the floor with a sudden, resounding CRASH. 'Oh dear,' said Gaspard, quickly turning his attention back to the sticky, raisin buns in front of him. 'That is ...' He tugged free a piece of the doughy, buttery bun, and started pulling out the raisins one by one, eating each one separately. 'Regretable.' Giuseppe, pretending none of it had actually happened, stared straight ahead, nodded once, picked up his coffee cup, and slurped a noisy sip.

***

The Captain was probably the only person that started off his day looking rough, and only looked rougher as the morning progressed. He was staring straight at the space on the tablecoth where his plate had been, and fidgetted with one of the large, brass buttons on his collar. Despite the morning humidity, he was already wearing his rumpled, patchy peacoat, and it was, by now, assumed by the group that he just slept in it ... and possibly bathed in it too, they secretly whispered behind his back.

As the commotion from Joseph's display was replaced with conversation about inane things, the Captain scowled further. He hated conversation. 'But why?' He suddenly blustered, turning an eye on Leo. 'Why don't we just punch the guards ...' He stopped himself, glowering at the two Frenchies standing behind him '... in the stomach, and make a run for it?!' Leo suddenly coughed at this, choking on a biscotti he had just softened to perfection in his coffee. Gaspard, startled at Leo's barking, reached around Giuseppe as if he were going to give the bulky Italian a big hug, but instead gave Leo two smacks on the back, disloging the offending piece of biscotti, which only seemed to irritate Leo more.

'Hush, Sir!' Leo exclaimed, looking alarmedly up over his spectacles at the two marines. His eyes twitched nervously like two drops of Balsamic vinegar in a pool of olive oil. Leo only calmed down when he saw that the Frenchmen hadn't understood the Captain's outburst. 'Something to be said for the unfortunate lack of a cosmopolitan education after all,' he muttered to himself. 'You're welcome!' Said Gaspard loudly from behind Giuseppe, feeling dejected that no one had appreciated his obvious saving of Leo's life.

Dominique burst into the breakfast room, his eyes wildly darting back and forth, fighting with the rest of his face for composure. This wasn't the sort of day he was accustomed to! Not since the Grand Pax between France and England have things been so chaotic. The startled marines snapped to attention, then saw it was the Amiral's manservant, relaxed, thought the better of it, and jumbled themselves back into a half and half stance of unsure deference.

Dominique scanned the faces of the foreigners, each one of them had paused mid repas. The blonde one looked up at him and smiled, obviously unaware, thought Dominique, that his teeth were blackened with tiny bits of bread and raisin. The surly looking one in the peacoat only gave him half an eye, before turning his attention back to his fingernails. The bovine Italian puffed his cheeks out at him, nodded a salutation, and then tried to get the gangly waiter's attention by waving an empty coffee cup at him.

It was the short, round Italian in spectacles that finally calmed things down with a look, waving him over with two, quick flicks of his wrist. 'Come here, come here, my boy.' He said, pulling a small stool from the beneath the table, and patting at it with his palm. 'What can we do for you, eh?'

Dominique sucked in his cheeks, he was not a boy, but nodded a thanks to Leo and pulled the stool beneath him, his long legs sticking up almost to his chin. Leo smiled at him. 'Coffee?' He asked, not waiting for an answer, and somehow getting Joseph to instantly appear at his side with an already steaming cup on a tray. 'Thank you Joseph,' he said, taking the porcelain cup from him and carefully pushing it into Dominique's hands. 'Now, you sip that, and tell me why you're here, hmm?'

Dominique blinked in surprise at the coffee in his hands, and looked back up into Leo's kind face. 'This man ... these men are our enemies,' he thought. Then he frowned, but we took England, and conquered Europe. He Looked into the Italian's eyes again, and yet, some don't stop fighting us ... But these men are the ones that can help us ... and if it is what the Amiral wants, then ... 'You must come with me!' He suddenly said, jumping up, putting the coffee down in front of him. 'All of you,' he repeated looking them all in the face. 'all of you must come at once.' The marines, frowned, one of them, the pastry thief, grabbed Gaspard by the shoulder, holding him in place with a grimace. Dominique gave him a flat stare. 'The amiral commands it,' he said in an unusually authoritative tone, and then, thinking harder. 'Et vous devriez venir aussi!' He said to the surprised marine. 'Both of you!' Dominique said to the marines, and then he ordered them. 'All of you! Your Amiral commands it!'

Leo and the Captain shared a look, and rose to their feet. 'Gaspard? Giuseppe? By my side, if you please.' He turned to the marine nearest him, and liberated the soldier's sword, as if by magic, tossing it over to Gaspard. The marine just stopped and stared, his mouth opening and closing in consternation as Gaspard winked at him, raising the blade to his temple in a mock salute. Leo looked at the other marine, and pointed down at the sword hanging at his side. 'Would you be so kind as to give that to this gentleman in the peacoat?' He said gesturing to the Captain across from him, and then, as if in afterthought, he turned back toward the marines. 'Perhaps you should give Giuseppe your pistols too,' he said. 'What do you say Beppe? Ti serviranno le pistole?' The Italian smiled back at him. 'Sì, sì, grazie Leo,' he laughed, as he tugged free the pistols from the dumbstruck marines, weighing them in his meaty palms. 'Merci beaucoup!' He growled back at them.

Leo surveyed the little group a moment. 'Bene bene,' he muttered to himself. 'Joseph?' He turned toward the English boy. 'Time to put away the apron, and be a warrior again, eh?' Joseph looked down at the apron strung around his waist, blushed, and quickly untied it, dropping it upon the pastry cart beside him. 'Bene!' Leo said again, scooping up a cream-covered, cherry tart, and pushing it into his mouth. 'Delightful!' He happily mumbled, chewing away. 'The cream is just so ...' He turned back to Dominique. 'Dominique, mon ami, we are ...' He patted himself on the belly, wiping clean his crumby fingers, 'at your service! Let us go help this Amiral of yours, eh? But first -' He clapped an arm around Dominique's shoulders. 'There is someone we need to get in touch with.' Dominique's eyes opened in alarm. 'But Monsieur, we must go, we must go now! My Amiral, he ...' Leo snorted, causing his spectacles to slide down his nose. 'If your Amiral wants our help ...' He took his glasses off and gave them a quick polish, before replacing them. 'We will need to do it our way, savvy?' He smiled back over his shoulder at the men behind him, and winked at them. 'Our little group is missing a few important members!' Gaspard and Giuseppe both laughed outloud, and poked the mildly less grumpy looking Captain in the ribs as they all stepped out together through the cabin door like they were on the way to the opera.

***

Marie Antoinette leant over the rail of her ship, staring across the calm waters of the harbour at the French warships. She wrinkled her brow, puzzling at their lack of movement, and wondering why the great airships above were just drifting around in the air like so many drunken whales. The failure of Leo et al was obvious even to her by now, and the unexpected arrival of Antonio off the bow of her ship early that morning only compounded their defeat. She rolled her eyes. What was the man thinking, playing with magic he couldn't possibly understand! The fool is lucky he ended up in the sea next to her ship, and not in the middle of Napoleon's throne room in Paris!

'If you want something done right, you need to do it yourself, hm Petite?' The sound of tiny foot-falls heralded the arrival of Marie Thérèse at her mother's side. 'Oui Maman,' chirped the young girl, with outstretched arms.

Marie Antoinette scooped her daughter up in her arms, and tickled her little feet. 'Look at these toes Marie Thérèse! They are as black as gunpowder, where have you been playing?' Marie Thérèse giggled and shrugged, wrapping her arms around her mother's neck, and staring up at the slow, and rhythmic bobbing of the airships in the distance. Her small face grew suddenly solemn, and her little brow suddenly furrowed in concentration. Marie Antoinette watched her as she raised a small finger, and pointed up at the largest Man O'war, whispering. 'She is there maman.'

Marie Antoinette lifted her daughter to eye-level, her own eyes narrowing. 'Who is there?' She asked, studying her daughter's face. 'Francesca? She asked again. We already know that little one, we are going to bring her back -' 'No Maman,' interrupted Marie Thérèse. 'She is there ... the twin.' 'Ah.' Said Marie Antoinette, a cloud passed overhead, momentarily darkening her expression. She put her daughter back down at her side, and pressed her lips together in a frown. 'That is unfortunate.' She muttered, placing a hand on Marie Thérèse's head, and absently mussing her hair. 'She is a handful, that one ... a handful that those men of mine absolutely cannot handle.'

The Queen absently twisted at a large, ebony ring around her finger. She stared hard at the Man O'war. 'I am just going to have to get my feet, and ...' She stopped herself, smiling down at her daughter. 'Or rather, my hands,' she corrected herself, chuckling. ' ... dirty. Let's round up the others Marie Thérèse!' And with that, she turned round and walked back to her cabin, Marie Thérèse softly padding behind her.

***

Saint Geneviève was crawling over the furniture with impatience when Marie Antoinette walked into the sumptuous cabin. 'And so? The Saint asked. 'Ave you seen that I am correct?' Marie Antoinette turned to allow Marie Thérèse through the door, taking her by the hand, and walking her to an ivory coloured repose-pied, upholstered all over in tiny vines and roses. 'Sit, ma petite.' She said, helping her daughter settle herself.

'Geneviève?' Marie Antoinette turned her attention toward the phantom Saint. 'I want to remind you that you are a guest on my ship, and that we are not in Paris ... yet.' The Saint blinked, and bit her tongue. 'Ah bon?' She responded quietly, 'mayhap we are not in Paris, but if you want to be, you had better remember to whom you have been speaking, non?'

Marie Antoinette's cheeks burnt a bright pink. 'And you had better remember that I am the Queen of France, and not only of Paris!' Both women stared daggers at one other, each one waiting for the other to bat an eyelash, when Marie Thérèse, who had been busy rearranging a collection of bracelets from one wrist to the other, hopped up atop the repose-pied and clapped her hands above her head. 'Maman!' She frowned at her mother. 'Geneviève!' She pouted at the Saint. 'S'il vous plaît!' Both women looked at the girl. 'Have you forgotten Francesca?' Asked Marie Thérèse, 'and her double?' They turned away from the girl, staring at each other a little guiltily. 'Of course not, my dear.' Answered Marie Antoinette. 'Have we?' She asked Geneviève, not waiting for an answer. 'We were just about to call for help, 'n'est-ce pas?' She asked Geneviève again, and quickly turned her back on the Saint, walking toward a large, silver mirror that looked out of place in the back of the cabin.

'Any luck?' The Queen suddenly asked, as she quietly studied her profile. Geneviève walked up behind Marie Antoinette, brushing her hair from her eyes, and peeked over her shoulder. 'Non,' she said to the reflection.' I have been calling her name all afternoon, and all I have discovered is that my nose is too small, and I am getting a spot on my forehead.' Marie Antoinette couldn't help but laugh. She raised a gloved hand over her mouth to hide her amusement. 'Well, she is there, she is always there.' She said tapping at the front of the mirror. The Queen cocked her head, thinking for a moment. 'You weren't calling her in French were you? She thinks she is English now, you know.' This time Saint Geneviève laughed. 'My ass, she is English! I do not understand why you humour her Maria! Marie Antoinette's back noticeably stiffened at being addressed so informally, and she briefly considered striking Geneviève across the face. Saint or no Saint, she thought, before the cabin door opened and closed again with a bang.

'Sorry, Ladies, sorry,' said Antonio, balancing a silver teapot on an equally silver tray. 'Oh hello Marie Thérèse,' he smiled at the girl. 'I thought we might think better with some nice hot tea in us, eh?' He looked left and right, before, sliding the tray onto a low, narrow desk against the wall. 'Sugar?' He asked, holding up two porcelain cups in front of him.

Marie Thérèse looked exasperated. 'Maman!' She called out again. 'Please Maman, Francesca!' She stamped her foot, nearly losing her balance as she did so. Antonio frowned, and the Queen bit her lip, turning, and nodding at her daughter. 'Yes, dear,' she replied. 'We are doing our best ...' And then a thought struck her. She rotated on her heel, and strode over to the little Princess, lifting her up in her arms, and carrying her back toward the mirror.

Marie Antoinette nudged aside Geneviève, and pressed her cheek to her daughter. 'Dites-moi, petite,' she cooed. 'Can you hear Soleil?' Marie Thérèse giggled in her mother's arms, 'Sun, Maman, she likes to be called Sun now!' The Queen exchanged a look with Saint Geneviève that seemed to say, What did I tell you? 'Yes, dear,' she replied instead. '... Sun. Can you hear her?' The little girl squished her lips to one side of her face in concentration, and reached out to touch the surface of the large mirror. 'Ah!' She suddenly pulled away in consternation. 'It is cold Maman!' She frowned, pushing her fingertips between her lips.

The Queen quickly put her daughter down behind her and pulled off her gloves, carefully pressing a finger to the uneven glass, and suddenly pulling it away just as quickly as her daughter had. 'C'est vrai,' she said looking at Geneviève. 'It is cold.' 'Ah oui?' Answered Saint Geneviève, with a raised eyebrow. She lowered her voice. 'Has it been unblocked?' She turned her eyes to Antonio who was sullenly sipping a cup of tea in silence. 'Mais, êtes-vous certain ...' She paused tugging at her ear, 'how do you say? Are you certain you blocked the doors, monsieur?' Antonio blinked, startled at this lack of confindence in him. He opened his mouth to retort, remembered his manners, and glared over his cup at her, but it was too much to bear. 'My dear,' he sounded exasperated. 'Of course I am certain, I am absolument certain!' He put the cup down, spilling some tea over his fingers. 'Ow!' He growled. 'Why would you - ?!' He stopped himself, and picked up the tea again, sipping at it noisily, and then carefully put it down again. 'How do you think I even got here?!' He finally retorted waving his pudgy hand over his head, his face now turning a little purple with agitation, sending his spectacles sliding down to the tip of his nose.

'Silence!' Marie Antoinette shouted at them. 'We are not here to debate!' Geneviève and Antonio jumped at her tone, quickly turning away from one another. The Saint looked back into the mirror. 'If what he says is true ... ' She stared hard at the silvery glass, and whispered. 'Specchio? Oh, what have you done, Specchio?'

Silence.

Marie Thérèse tip-toed around her mother's skirts, and stared deep into the imperfections of the glass, her reflection rippling back at her. 'Sun?' She pleaded. 'Please? We need you ... Francesca needs you.'

The glass remained unchanged, as still as a Saharan moon ... and then?

Then it suddenly glimmered.

The mirror sparkled, and hummed, sending an unatural phospherescence shining out over their surprised faces. It sparked periwinkle stars, and little filaments of pink lightening started to bloom and blossom, undulating just beneath the mirror's surface.

Marie Thérèse leant in closer, her excited breathing lightly fogging her silvery reflection. 'Sun?' She asked expectantly. 'Sun, are you really there?!' The mirror shimmered again, and then and seemed to stretch inward, turning a very dark, muddy brown, and then an even darker inky black.

All three of the girls recoiled in horror, as it became abundantly clear that they were not looking into the face of the shining face of the Specchio, but instead into a large, hairy nostril that was very nearly hidden behind enormous black moustaches.

'RUDI!' Yelled Antonio from across the room. 'I'd recognise those foul moustaches anywhere!' He dropped his teacup, and almost tripped over the furniture in his haste to get in front of the mirror. 'Rudi, you cad, what in damnation are you doing in there?!'

The mirror shimmered brightly as his sibbling's visage seemed to stretch oblong, and then snap back into shape. 'Antonio?' He sounded confused. 'Antonio, what you doing there?' This time Rudolpho's image appeared quite clearly. The women perceptively brightened at this fresh perspective of the Italian's face. 'Where is Francesca?' He asked again, squinting into the mirror. 'Francesca?' Answered Antonio, looking away from his brother, and into Marie Antoinette's ebony eyes. 'She is quite near.' The Queen nodded at him impatiently. 'In fact,' he harumphed a little more confidently. 'We were about to go and rescue her.' He looked back at the two women for support. 'Excusez-moi, Monsieur, mais où est Soleil?' Said Geneviève, interrupting, and pushing herself in front of the round Italian.

'What are you doing standing around doing nothing? You bunch of lazy hens!' Soleil suddenly appeared in Rudolpho's place, glaring out through the shimmering glass, and then she scowled at them further, her appearance like that of Francesca, but with her curls uncharacteristically piled on top of her head in a heap. 'And what ...!' She started yelling at them, 'are you interrupting me for?!' She angrily waved a finger at them, jabbing it into their faces. 'Have you any idea what is happening to our poor girl even as we speak?!'

Saint Geneviève and Marie Antoinette exchanged worried looks, while Antonio suddenly picked up Marie Thérèse, and half held, half hugged her to him. 'Francesca,' he whispered under his breath. 'Mia povera, piccola Francesca.'

The Specchio only stared at them, her lips tightening in disbelief. 'Really?!' She started yelling now. 'Is that all you're going to do?!' She roared. 'Stand there?!' She hammered her fist against the mirror, sending waves of bright, violet and gold light crashing over them. 'Move!' She yelled again. 'MOVE! Francesca needs us!' She was almost spitting in frustration. 'Get in here all ready!'

The tall mirror continued to bend and wave, the glass rippling and undulating over her reflection like summer air clinging to a field of sunflowers in a snowstorm. The Specchio suddenly thrust her hand through the glass and grabbed at Antonio's collar, pulling him toward her. 'Come on!' She yelled again. Don't just stand there!' Antonio staggered forward, Marie Thérèse still clinging to his neck. 'Oh ... my,' he stammered. 'She is a strong one, isn't she?!' The little girl held onto him tighter still, and stared straight ahead as they stumbled into the liquid mirror together, like two old friends who had shared one bottle of chardonnay too many.

Antonio suddenly felt queasy as the glass began to wash over him, spinning him through its mercury fog. 'Oh, oh dear, I hate this ...' He swallowed as the ground beneath his feet suddenly tipped up, shot right up over his head, and disappeared. He swore he could hear Marie Thérèse laughing. He tried to turn his head, was she enjoying this? This was much worse, he decided, than traveling by cat!

God! He thought. I'm choking! I'm dying! But then he realised the Specchio still had a hold of his collar as she yanked him through. The brightness of the room blinded him, and before he could take in the shimmering space of waterfalls and glass he was suddenly, violently, and affectionately crunched by Rudolpho in a humongous embrace.

'Antonio! Antonio! How happy am I to see my dear brother!' Rudolpho succeeded in not only hugging his sibling, but also in picking him up off his feet, and spinning him round the room like a giant, bald top. 'Rudiii!' Antonio grunted. 'Per favore!' He was actually blushing a little.

Their fraternal fondle was suddenly interrupted by three high-pitched squeaks.

Both brothers stopped, mid-hug, and stared at each other in bewilderment as a fourth and fifth squeak suddenly penetrated the air between them. Antonio blinked a moment, turned pale, and then he whispered, 'oh my God.' He looked down in alarm at his belly. 'Rudi! Release me!' 'Eh?' The younger sibling looked confused as the words made their slow march toward his brain. 'Rudi!' He snapped again. 'Put me down!' 'Ah, oh.' He answered with a shrug of his great shoulders.

Poor Marie Thérèse had still been clinging to his vests, and looking a little worse for wear. 'Merci,' she breathed, a smile on her face. 'I was feeling a little like a pressed flower ...' 'Why nonsense!' Said Antonio, lifting her, and putting her up atop his shoulders, you look sweet as a Spring rose!'

'Ahem.'

Antonio blinked at his brother, and then realised where he was. Saint Geneviève and Marie Antoinette had already come through the mirror into the room, and were standing behind him. The two women were silently staring at Soleil, and she, in turn was staring directly at Antonio. 'Excusez-moi,' she growled at him. 'But would you be so kind as to step away from the mirror?' She impatiently pushed her way past him, and immediately fixed her gaze upon the quietly rippling water.

Rudolpho took the flustered Antonio by the elbow and led him away, whispering in his ear, while pointing and nodding toward Sergent Michael Condé, and the other soldiers in the room as a means of a quick explanation as to what had transpired in his absence. Antonio's eyes narrowed at the soldiers, but he managed a polite smile at Condé, who saluted him with a nod of his head.

CRACK.

Everyone jumped at the sound. 'Oh!' Soleil cried aloud, her face turning to a look of despair. Saint Geneviève and Marie Antoinette were instantly at her side staring in shock at the mirror. Francesca's reflection was back, back and visible to them all. Antonio went rigid at the sight of her. She was bloodied, her temple cut, her cheeks cut, her lips cut.

Marie Antoinette inhaled sharply, and bit her own lip, turning toward Soleil. 'Specchio!' She hissed, 'assist the girl at once!' Soleil glared. 'What do you think I was trying to do, before they -' She snapped, pointing her chin at Antonio and Rudolpho, 'decided to interrupt me?!' Turning her gaze back to the mirror, the Specchio spread her fingers wide, placing them against Francesca's reflection, her fingertips flexing, pushing into the mirror's liquid surface. The water raced over her fingers, chasing down her pale arms, and fell streaming to the floor beside her. 'I will save you.' She whispered. 'Francesca? Can you hear me? I will save you.'

***

Francesca's blue and bruised temple twitched. Did she imagine that? Wincing, she tried to open her swollen eye. 'Specchio?' She croaked, 'are you really there? I thought I had imagined you. I, I thought -' She shivered and gasped as Clotilde's grip tightened round her throat.

'What was that?' The doppelgänger hissed. 'What did you say?' The daemon leant forward, her cool cheek pressed against Francesca's as if she were about to lead her in a tango. 'Who are you speaking to?' Clotilde looked left, her eyes darting around the room, studying the sailors quietly shuffling in the corner. She snickered. 'None of those ... men.' A sudden, almost imperceptible haze washed over the mirror. Clotilde, probably would not have noticed it, but there was a sudden, subtle involuntary tensing of Francesca's muscles. Clotilde did feel it though, and she turned her face toward the mirror just in time.

Ten tiny ripples appeared, flickering across the mirror exactly where Soleil's ten, tiny fingers were desperately pressed against it from the other side. Clotilde's eyes widened. 'What?' Her question trailed off as the mirror shuddered where it stood. The men in the room nudged each other, pointing at the shivering glass. Amiral Villeneuve held up his hand, signalling his men to ... to do what? He frowned. This time, even he wasn't sure what was happening. The mirror had come to life. It shook and bounced and hopped as if it were a thing possessed, dancing a crooked jig behind the two girls.

The cabin suddenly went dark. The soldiers stared blindly around them. It wasn't only the cabin, it was the entire ship, it was the sky. It was as if a thundercloud had snaked and swirled in through the open door, and windows, spreading Indian ink across the air. The entire ship went momentarily silent, a sudden, silvery hush settled into the murk. The Admiral turned his head, eye's narrowed, trying to gauge the mood of his men, when the pale, frozen boards in the floor beneath his feet suddenly started to hum, tremble, and bounce along with the mirror.

Clotilde grabbed Francesca by the arm, and pulled her face close, both of them were now staring intently into the quivering glass. In the darkness, the mirror gave off a soft glow, a moonlit blue that illuminated Francesca's hope, and Clotilde's ugly grimace. The doppelgänger suddenly turned her head, dark curls flying around her face, as a low rumbling grew from the air around them, a sound that swelled, and rolled like the wind before a storm.

The sailors nervously shuffled, desperately trying to understand what was happening, when an enormous crash shook the cabin. It sounded like every one of the ship's cannons had been fired all at once. Luminous tails of wispy, rose coloured smoke curled its way into the sudden silence that followed ... and then Soleil's pale hands suddenly broke through the speculum, spraying Clotilde and Francesca in an incandescent explosion of bright, icy crystal, that pushed light back into the cabin.

Soleil grabbed at Francesca's arms and sleeves, and she pulled with all her might. 'I am here Francesca!' Her voice floated out from behind the mirror. Clotilde felt the sudden pull, and reacted swiftly, digging her nails into Francesca's shoulders. She pulled back. 'Oh no!' She yelled back at Soleil. 'It is I who am here.'

A tug of war started.

Francesca cried in surprise as she was yanked backward into the mirror. She suddenly felt like she was flying, floating in waves, falling down a hill, running through a thunderstorm. Francesca looked around, but everything was indistict. A turquoise mist pressed against her face, shapes flowed, and melted infront of her eyes. It reminded her of summertime, of playing in the Tyrrhenian sea with her mother ... and then white lightning shot through the blues and greens and blinded her.

She yelled out in shock as her head and shoulders were suddenly being grabbed at by frantic hands. It was her Specchio! And Rudolpho! Her dear uncle was there! His reassuring presence was really there, standing over her. 'Ciao Francesca!' He grunted through his moustaches as he tugged at her arm. 'Uncle!' She yelled and cried, half exhausted, half exhilarated at seeing his face again.

The water that cascaded down the wall of the bright chamber rushed, splashing around the mirrors, pouring over Francesca and the others as they tried to pull her to them. Antonio and Sergent Condé ran to the girl's side. 'Ciao Francesca!' Antonio choked back tears, his spectacles slipping down his damp nose again as he hopped from foot to foot, unsure how to help his dear niece. Condé pushed by him, wrapping his arms around Rudolpho's waist, and he too started to pull. Seeing this, Antonio ran behind the Sergent, grabbed the back of his coat, and planted his heels into the wet floor like an angry mule. 'Pull! PULL HARDER!' He frantically yelled.

Clotilde clung onto Francesca's arm, her tiny teeth grinding as she held fast. She pressed the heel of her boots against the mirror frame, her eyes flaming angrily. She was not going to lose. She needed this girl if she was going to be whole again. She needed her! Clotilde pulled back, and Francesca's screams coming from the other side of the glass made her lips twitch into a silent smile.

Two of the sailors couldn't help themselves any longer. They exchanged a look, and emboldened each other to action. Breaking free from their comrades, with raised swords, and a cry, they ran past their startled Admiral, ignoring his hissed protests.

Reaching the doppelgänger's side in seconds, they instantly lashed out, striking down at the tiny daemon with their rapiers. Clotilde barely blinked, she sidestepped the blades with a careless whirl of her iridescent skirts. Her tiny hands flew out like fireflies, little fingers stabbing into the sailor's throats, ten slender icicles instantly silencing them as they pierced their skin.

Frozen bodies crashed to the ground, splintering and sparkling like diamonds where they fell. Clotilde stared at the pieces of shimmering sailor a moment, and then looked up, fixing her hard eyes on the other sailors. 'Any other of you dare to confront me?' She quietly asked, pointing her chin at the glittering remains of their comrades beneath her feet, ... and then she abruptly gasped, her face clouding over with rage as she suddenly realised she had let go of Francesca.

'BORDEL DE MERDE!' She swore, spinning back round, and staring at the spot Francesca had been just a moment before.

She angrily kicked at a chunk of sailor, sending it skidding across the floor. The Admiral stopped it with the toe of his boot, swore under his breath, and crossed himself. He looked about him, trying to calm his sailors down, when a man suddenly jumped in through the open door of the cabin.

It was Gaspard!

Giuseppe, Leo, the Captain, Dominique and even Joseph all bundled in after him, pushing the surprised sailors out of the way. Clotilde clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. 'Why ... hello again.' She purred, turning away from the mirror with a swish of her skirts. Clotilde wore a smile like snowflakes.

Gaspard stepped backward, trodding on the toes of a nervous looking marine. He smiled an apology, and then noticing the marine's sidearm, urgently gestured at it, nodding toward Clotilde. With a quick look at the Admiral for approval, he pressed his lips together, and handed it over to the blonde thief. This cabin was too small for all of them, thought Gaspard, weighing the pistol against his own. Too small, too crowded, and too dangerous.

Giuseppe pushed his way between the marines and stood beside Gaspard, staring straight at Clotilde, planting his big feet onto the wide floorboards as if he were expecting a gale from the doppelgänger. The Captain and Leo quickly moved to either side of the Admiral, while Joseph and Dominique stopped at the entrance of the cabin with the sailors, doing their best to square their shoulders, and look menacing as Clotilde grimaced at them all.

She quietly ran the edge of a torn fingernail over the back of a delicately ornate armchair, the pale wood crackled as frost grew over it in a silvery web. 'Do you think?' She asked. 'That there are now enough of you to threaten me?' Her eyes flashed, unnaturally bright, as she surveyed the men before her. She reached up over her head, and tapped at a brass chandelier, causing it to silently spin back and forth in the air.

Giuseppe was the first to strike. His eyes never leaving Clotilde, the Italian slowly crouched down, his back bending, he scowled as if he were about to pull an apple cart behind him, and then, suddenly, he lunged forward. Gaspard shouted in surprise as the big man shot ahead. 'Beppe!' He raised both pistols and took aim, firing them simultaneously.

Two loud cracks, and charcoal clouds of gunpowder sparked, erupting from within the barrels. Clotilde grinned, both shots flying by her, and moved at Giuseppe like a prima ballerina, her slender legs twirling beneath the rainbow-coloured skirts as the bear of a man came roaring from the pack of sailors. Her tiny fingers, curled into claws as she lunged at him.

She shrieked, spinning around in the air, as Gaspard fired two more shots at her, the pistol's lead balls tearing into her shoulder. Giuseppe ran up and hammered into her before she even hit the ground. She flew backward, her skirts billowing out behind her like crows startled from a field. She hit the floorboards and slid, crashing against the edge of the standing mirror, sending it spinning to the back of the room.

The Captain and Admiral Villeneuve ran after her, swords out, Gaspard and Leo on their heels. 'Are you all right, you big idiot? Stai bene?' Asked Leo of the flushed Italian. 'Si, si.' He muttered, holding a hairy hand up over his shoulder. 'Let me see that!' Ordered Leo, standing on his tiptoes to get a better vantage of Giuseppe's shoulder. He pulled out a spotted, pocket handkerchief, using it to carefully prod at the big man's skin. 'Hard,' he grimaced. 'As ice.'

The pink tip of Clotilde's tongue traced along her upper lip, leaving behind tiny white bubbles that quickly popped and disappeared. She chuckled. 'And what did you expect?' She leant backward, resting on her elbows, her palms pressed to the cool floor, and sneered through her thick curls of hair. 'Let me see if I can't finish him for you ... ' She started to push herself up. Both the Captain and Villeneuve reacted, suddenly stopping her, their swords pressed against her shoulder, now wet with black blood from the pistol shots.

Clotilde laughed aloud. Leo turned to the two men, his eyes bright behind his spectacles. 'I wouldn't put much stock in those blades if I were you.' With two flicks of his wrist, he gestured at the men to step away from Clotilde.

They weren't quick enough.

She snatched at the blades, and held them fast, pressing them to her body, white frost spread out from her bloodied breast, and raced up the swords toward the two men. Gaspard rushed up behind them and yanked at their collars. 'Drop them!' He ordered. Startled, they let go. The swords fell, breaking like so much crystal.

Clotilde peered up at Gaspard, his eyes partially hidden behind his gold fringe. She pushed herself to her knees, gathering her skirts around her, and knelt there a moment. 'Well,' she finally said, turning her gaze upon all of them. 'Who shall I kill next?'

***

Rudolpho fell backward, almost crushing Condé. When Francesca fell through the mirror, water exploded into the room, silvery drops falling like summer rain as she flew right over Rudi's, and Conde's head, landing right into Antonio's surprised arms. 'Uncle!' She laughed. Antonio blinked hard, and stared at her, holding her in his embrace, his hands squeezing her. Quiet tears ran down his cheeks as he surveyed the cuts and bruises on her tiny face. 'Francesca.' He finally breathed, as Rudolpho appeared at their side, crushing them both in his arms. 'Ciao amore.' He said.

Soleil pushed herself into the embrace, and grabbed Francesca's hand in her own, smiling. 'Francesca, my dear, you need a makeover!' Even Marie Antoinette's lips twitched into a smile at that. The Queen pulled a lace kerchief from her sleeve, and stepped closer, hesitated a moment, and then proceeded to wipe the blood from the girl's brow. 'Tsk,' she said, exchanging a glance with a surprised looking Soleil. 'Quoi?' The Queen said, 'as you say, she needs a ... makeover.'

Marie Thérèse ran across the room, her feet splish-splashing as she skipped, hopped and jumped right into Francesca's arms with a laugh. 'Hello!' She happily giggled. 'We've been looking for you.' Marie Thérèse took the kerchief from her mother's hand, and continud wiping Francesca's face with it. She frowned at the still bleeding cut on Francesca's cheek, and her look turned suddenly serious. 'How are you?' She whispered, her eyes reflecting Francesca's own. 'How are you really?' Francesca looked at this little girl in her arms, and then at her uncles, Soleil, the Queen, and even dear Sergent Condé, who was standing away from the huddle with a silent smile on his lips. 'I am alright.' She said at last. 'Thank you all for coming after me.'

Rudolpho leant in and gave her a big kiss on her cheek. 'We are happy to do it, you know?' She laughed out loud now, how she missed his tickling moustaches! He smiled at his brother. 'We both been very worried 'bout you.' 'Yes,' interrupted Antonio. 'I think, perhaps ...' He took the spectacles off of his nose, and wiped them on his sleeve. 'I think,' he continued, putting them back on and squinting through the round lenses at her her. 'Next time we shall stick to keeping your studies strictly at home.'

A distant, roaring cannonade suddenly shook the room. The party all looked wildly around. It happened again, echoing throughout the large room. All the mirrors on the wall bounced with each deep boom, sending the falling water splashing out into the centre of the chamber.

Sergent Condé was the first to react, grabbing Soleil by the arm. 'Madame,' he said in his clear baritone. 'I am an officer in Bonaparte's army, and ...' He stopped himself, a pained expression rose to his eyes. 'I was an officer in Bonaparte's army,' he corrected himself. 'And that - ' The cannonade shook the room again. 'That is the sound of a warship!' 'Quoi?!' She said, still looking nervously at the row upon row of mirrors, now leaning askew, the water cascading from them at unnatural angles.

Marie Antoinette rolled her eyes, and turned toward them. 'Of course it is a warship! Where do you think the -' Another boom shook the floor beneath their feet. 'That?' She said, turning her head to one side, looking very much like a sparrow. 'Is coming from?!' The Queen of France stood still a moment, tapping the toe of her boot against the liquid floor, waiting for an answer. Surprisingly, it was Rudolpho who answered the slender monarch. 'I am thinking,' he began, despite the alarmed look on Antonio's face. 'That it would be coming from the ...' He looked at his comrades as if he suddenly needed reassuring. 'The, uhm, warship, no?'

'Honestly,' Marie Antoinette said. 'And to think you have the blood of Caesars running through your veins.' She looked over at Soleil, and snapped her fingers. 'Come on, allez, wake up! What are we waiting for?' Soleil blinked. She blinked again, and then she frowned. 'But,' she said. 'We have Francesca - ' 'And who do you think has the warship?' Snapped Marie Antoinette impatiently. 'I'll give you a clue, it is not the Admiral that is making all that noise!' The Queen looked over her shoulder as another explosion shook the room. 'She won't stop, she will come looking for Francesca again, and again.'

Antonio exchanged a look with Francesca, and absently patted Marie. 'I can't let her.' He looked at Sergent Condé, who nodded at him. 'We have to stop her.' He finally finished.

'We are agreed then?' Asked Marie Antoinette, pulling a long, white glove over her fingers. She suddenly looked up at the group, her dark eyes narrowed. 'Well?' Without waiting for an answer, she produced the slender, ebony dagger that had been dangling on a silver chain between her pale bosoms. 'Shall we?'

Soleil turned her head and looked up at Condé. 'Are your men agreed in this endeavour Sergent? Because I cannot guarantee their safety when up against her, as you very well know. 'Mademoiselle ...' She interrupted him, holding a finger up.'Sun, Sergent, just ...' She looked over at the Queen, and smiled. 'Sun, if you please.' Marie Antoinette rolled her eyes, her lips curling into the familiar sneer, but before she opened her mouth Condé led his men in a salute that made her bite her tongue, as another deep boom shook the room.

Rudolpho bent his large back, leaning down to whisper, a rumbling whisper in his brother's ear. 'Are we having a battle?' Antonio took a deep breath and looked into his sibling's eyes. 'We are,' he said matter-of-factly. 'We are indeed!' He slapped Rudolpho across shoulders and turned toward Francesca. 'You, my dearest, will stay here and watch Marie Thérèse.'

Francesca opened her mouth to protest, but Antonio held up his hand. 'No Francesca, we are not doubting your bravery, are we Rudi?' Rudolpho kissed her on the cheek again, carefull to avoid her injuries. 'Assolutamente non!' He said. 'The Marie Thérèse, she needs guarding too, eh Principessa?' He pulled the little girl up into his arms, and, giggling, she lifted his moustaches, and planted a kiss on his lips. 'Assolutamente si!' She answered. Antonio smiled up at the two of them, and turned back to Soleil. 'Well, Specchio?'

'Alright,' she said crossing her arms with a grimace. Soleil turned on her heel, and marched back to the mirror Francesca had just been pulled from. 'Let us go.'