Chapter Twenty-Two: The Three Uncles

   The inside of a leviathan, that is what it looked like. Everything had been broken and bent. The stern of the craft was missing. The great window that looked out over the bay was just gone. The brightness of the blue sky reached in, illuminating the cabin. The heavy, wood floor boards, already whitened by Clotilde's touch had curled up and around like the ribcage of the great sea monster. The walls were blackened with gunpowder, and blood.

   Rudolpho, was the first to push through the mirror. He burst through the liquid glass, slipping and skidding to a stop, his sword clutched in his big hand. He stared in silent disbelief as the others bundled in behind him. 'Mon Dieu,' whispered Condé at his shoulder. Antonio stepped between Marie Antoinette and Soleil, inhaling sharply. 'She, she ...' He opened and closed his mouth, unsure what more to say.

   'She is still here,' came a soft voice opposite him.

   'Well, finally.' Clotilde gathered her skirts and gave them a swish. 'A reunion.' She carefully stepped over the broken body of a sailor. 'Hello uncles,' she smiled, waving her fingers at Antonio and Rudolpho. 'Ah, and your Majesty, quelle belle de vous voir ici, Napoléon sera si heureux de le savoir.' She grabbed at her skirts once more, and curtsied toward the royal, her knee touching the floor. 'Get up you creature,' growled Marie Antoinette, rolling the dagger between her fingers. 'I don't know,' said Soleil in her exaggerated English accent. 'She quite looks at home so close to the dirt.'

  Clotilde quickly stood back up, her blue eyes flashing angrily. She opened her mouth, but was interrupted by a cannonade that shook the air between them. Her face brightened then, and she smiled at their startled looks. 'But this is a Man O'war,' she cooed. 'Surely the cannon is not an unusual sound on a craft like this?' She flicked her eyes over the group, suddenly noticing Sergent Condé among them. 'Sergent? Bon après-midi.' She grinned. 'I see your comrades have joined you too!' She inspected a fingernail, and then looked up. 'What is left of them, is what I meant, of course.'

   The Sergent's brow darkened at her taunting, but a cautious look from Soleil held him fast. The craft resonated again with the deep rumble of cannon fire, but there was something more this time. Beneath the echoing boom was heard a sudden, shrill scream that drifted away with the cannons. BOOM! And there it was again, a terrified howl that chased after the explosion, shaking the chandeliers, rattling their spines, and then abruptly fading away again. Antonio, being the sensitive soul he was, couldn't help but look startled, and Clotilde noticing this, laughed again, her tiny shoulders shaking, tiny hands clasped together over her head in glee.

   'Mesdames,' Clotilde chuckled, flicking her gaze over the group. 'Et messieurs.' Her eyes settled upon Antonio. 'Why not come meet the rest ...' She looked down and nudged a dead sailor with the toe of her boot, ' ... of your cabal?' She turned, walking back to the door, pulling it open. 'They are all waiting for you! Ah yes,' she added, her expression hardening. 'Would one of you be so kind as to collect Francesca? I see she is missing.' With that, she strode out onto the deck as a sudden breeze chased a dark cloud of cannon smoke in after her.

   Rudolpho stared. His face one of sheer bewilderment. He looked at his brother, at Marie Antoinette, and Soleil, and finally at Condé and his men. Behind all that hair, his face went from visibly pale, to a bright pink, to a very deep red that blossomed beneath his moustaches. His nose shining a shade that even the most exquisite Cabernet sauvignon would have been jealous of.

   'But what?!' He spluttered. 'Why?!' He stammered. 'Antonio?' He looked at his brother, and grabbed both of his sibling's hands in his own. 'The battle? You said there would be a battle!' He looked around him, around them, at the bodies on the floor, and at the cabin that had been turned into disarray. 'This is a defeat!' He grabbed Condé by the arm and shook him. 'A defeat! You unnerstand?' Sergent Condé pulled his arm away, and turned toward Soleil. 'The Italian is correct, Madame, this ...' He too gestured at the murder round them, 'this was a defeat.' 'But,' Marie Antoinette spoke up, the dagger still clutched in her hand. 'Why has she taken the bateau at all, is she not in league with Napoleon?' Antonio snorted, and then quickly apologised when he saw the disapproving look from Soleil. 'She may have been summoned by the Corsican, but she has no allegiances to this world, she is loyal to no one but herself, and has only had her own interest in mind.'

   Rudolpho waved his rapier over head in frustration. 'Why we talking?! The witch is out there!' He stomped his boot against the broken deck, sending up a cloud of dust and debris. He looked back at his brother, lowering his voice. 'Allora, andiamo?' Antonio nodded, staring at the bodies on the ground, and then suddenly sighed. 'These poor men. Si, si, let's go already.'

   'I don't think she'd be very happy if I wasn't along, don't you think uncle? After all it is me she wants.' Francesca winced, cautiously stepping through the mirror as if she had stepped through a rosebush, her hand still firmly wrapped around Marie Thérèse's fingers. Antonio's eye's fairly bulged behind his spectacles. 'Francesca! What?! Why?! How?!' He screamed, his face turning just as red as Rudolpho's had been moments earlier. 'Tsk, uncle,' she said. 'Did you forget that I could see and hear everything going on from the other side of that?' She tilted her head toward the rectangular glass. 'Clotilde was very clear about me coming along, and ...' Marie Thérèse pulled free and ran to her mother, jumping into her arms. Marie Antoinette kissed her on the forehead, and then pointed her dagger in Francesca's direction, her lips tightly pressed together. 'You, mademoiselle, are a terrible minder.' Francesca ignored the Queen, and exchanged a look, and a smile with the little girl. 'No matter,' Francesca said, bending over to adjust her trouser leg. She tugged at her boot, and pulled free a slender blade, not dissimilar to Marie Antoinette's blade, only it was bright silver instead of ebony.

   'No!' Shouted Antonio. 'No, no, no!' He stormed over to Francesca, his arms crossed over his bulging belly. 'Basta! Francesca, what would your mother say if she knew?!' Francesca stood up again, kissing Antonio on the cheek. 'But she doesn't know, uncle.' She smiled at his apoplexy, and kissed him again, pulling his arm down, and tucking it under her own as she half dragged, and half walked him toward the door. 'And,' she added. 'She won't find out, either.' Turning, she stole a glance at the Queen, and whispered into Antonio's ear. 'So that's really her?' He nodded, it is indeed,' he said frowning. Soleil ran up to her side, taking her other arm. 'So we are together at last, eh Francesca?' She squeezed her arm and squinted at Francesca's hair. 'I think a bow wouldn't be amiss in that mess.'

                                                        ***

   The deck of the vessel was, for the most part as undamaged as the Admiral's cabin was damaged. The blonde wood still gleamed beneath the sky as if it had just been scrubbed, the barrels were still tied, and neatly stacked, the linen sails were still snapping brightly below the Admiral's pennant in the sunshine, and the cannons were still all lined up, their brass barrels pointing into the blue sky ... with one exception.

   At the far end, upon the forecastle the cannons were rolled out, and beside them was a huddle of sailors, all tied round the middle with a cord of hemp. Clotilde stood over their heads upon a large, oak cask, her hand upon her waist and another over her eyes, shielding them from the sun. She hadn't seen them yet, and was looking into the distance as if searching for something. 'Fire!' She suddenly yelled.

   A volley of cannon fire suddenly exploded, shaking the craft from bow to stern. The entire Man O'war bobbed in the air as if it were cresting a large, Atlantic wave, and then, the shrieks. 'Mon Dieu!' Sergent Condé gasped, pointing over the quarterdeck. The large, iron cannonballs that were gracefully arcing through the air had sailors attached to them. A thin rope, or chain held the men by their ankles, pulling them down into the bay as quickly as gravity would allow.

   The sea below the Man O'war was frantic with boats, as ships and horrified men tried to save their comrades from certain drowning. 'Zounds!' Antonio punched his brother in the arm, winced, and quickly massaged his knuckles. 'The daemon has no heart whatsoever!' He stopped himself, realising what he'd just said. 'Idiot.' He swore under his breath.

   BOOM! Another volley echoed into the air, rocking the vessel under their feet, followed by three more hapless sailors bound by their ankles. Clotilde danced a little jig atop the barrel laughing out loud as the sailors fell into the clear water below.

   'Enough!' It was a roaring voice, a deep voice, a voice not familiar to all, but a voice familiar to a few. It was Leo's.

   He was tied at the centre of the group of sailors on the quarterdeck, in fact, it was safe to say he was bound by the already bound sailors.

   Rudolpho grabbed Antonio by the waist, and lifted him from the ground in excitement. 'Leo! Antonio, it's our Leo!' He turned, and held the struggling sibling higher, his short legs swinging wildly back and forth. 'Look!' Rudolpho exclaimed. 'Put me down, you mule! I don't have to see, I have ears. I'd know our brother's voice anywhere! Down!' Rudolpho dropped his brother, and pulled free his sword, pointing it in Clotilde's direction. 'We going to get him?!' He asked, almost hopping from boot to boot in excitement.

   Soleil and Francesca stepped around the frantic Rudolpho, looking up at the big Italian, and then over at Antonio. He had the attention of Marie Antoinette, Sergent Condé and his men. Soleil eyed the blade in Francesca's hand, and looked at her young friend's profile. 'You sure you know what you're doing?' She asked under her breath. 'Francesca turned, her face, tired and bruised, and she managed a smile. 'Oh, Specchio, where would we be without each other?' Soleil ran her fingers through Francesca's frost damaged curls. 'Well, Cherie. I would have never imagined this.'

   'Are we done making each other pretty?' Marie Antoinette suddenly appeared at their side, her lips, Francesca swore, were freshly rouged, glistening in the sunlight.

   'Mademoiselle Francesca?' Condé came forward, with his men at his heel, all of them nodding to her. 'Oh, dear Sergent,' she smiled. 'How happy I am that you are here.' She took his hands in her own. 'I am truly sorry for what has happened.' She lowered her eyes, but the Sergent placed a finger beneath her chin and he tutted. 'Francesca, this is what soldiers do. We fight, we protect ...' He glanced at his men. 'And we help damsels in distress.' The men smiled at her, but she was not convinced. 'She killed you, Clotilde killed you and it's my fault!' She felt the sergent's hands tense. 'Mademoiselle, we admit that was most unfortunate, but God has a plan for us, for why else would we be here?' He squeezed her fingers reasuringly. 'Can you feel this?' He asked. She nodded. 'Then we are not so dead as you think, n'est-ce pas?'

   'There, can you see?' Marie Antoinette interrupted the exchange, gesturing at the captured sailors. 'There is Joseph, and the others, they are there too.'

   'Joseph?!' The English boy?' Francesca let go of Condé, and, grabbing her Uncle Rudolpho by the epaulets, pulling herself to her tiptoes, to better scrutinise the captured men. 'It is him!' She whispered excitedly. 'He is next to uncle Leo, but look how skinny he is ...' And then she gasped. She saw Gaspard. He was there too, his blonde hair stubbornly stuck in front of his eyes. 'Uncles!' She exclaimed. 'What are we waiting for exactly?' 'Si!' Said Rudolpho, looking over at Antonio. 'What we wait for?!'

   Another volley of cannons sent three more sailors over the side. Rudolpho watched them a moment, before turning back. 'I no care so much for the French sailors, but I no want to see our brother fall into the sea!' He thought a moment, scratching at his head. 'I no sure he can swim. Can he swim?' He asked suddenly, looking surprisingly worried. 'Honestly,' said Antonio, still shaken by the screams of the unfortunate Frenchmen. 'Close your mouth and ...' Clotilde abruptly turned in their direction, a sudden breeze whipped her hair over head, medusa like.

   She had spotted them.

   'Oh, hello!' She chirped loudly. 'I was beginning to worry I'd run out of sailors before you showed up!' And, as if to stress her point, another three canon-tethered mariners went flying off behind her in a cloud of gunpowder and thunder.

   'I said stop this, Clotilde. BASTA!' Leo angrily strained at the ropes holding him and the others, trying to get her attention. Her head tilted in his direction, but her eyes ignored him. Those cool, blue eyes searched the little group across the craft, and when they saw Francesca, they dilated suddenly. 'Francesca?' She whispered. 'Francesca.' She repeated a little louder. 'What?' Asked Leo. 'Francesca?' He followed the doppelgänger's gaze. 'Francesca ...' He couldn't believe his own eyes. 'Francesca,' he repeated. 

   Joseph, whose narrow body was being utilised to advantage as the mast the other sailors were securely bound to, twisted his head round, but he was facing the stern, and could only sea the sky. 'Honestly.' He grumbled. 'What is happening?' The terrified French sailors around him, ignored the Englishman, all of them worried they would be launched from the cannon next.

   'Playtime!' Clotilde sprang from the barrel, stopped midair, and floated down to the shining deck, balancing upon her toes. Another explosion behind her launched a whole volley of shrieking sailors over the side, framing her in a silhouette of faintly bluish charcoal smoke.

   The cloud dissipated, and cleared behind her. Leo, Gaspard and Giuseppe turned this way and that, trying to see what had transpired.  Joseph and the last two French sailors shivered, petrified, that they would be the next to die, and just behind them was the Captain, the Amiral and Dominique. All of them still bound by rope twined around their legs and midriffs.

   Clotilde stepped slowly, each foot crossing the other at the ankle, her iridescent skirts swaying and swishing, her eyes brightly reflecting back the pale, blue sky as she watched them. Francesca bit her lip, hard. She thought she had been ready, ready to confront the daemon, but she had fooled herself. If it hadn't been the distinct sapphire of her eyes, she wasn't even sure if her own mother would have been able to tell them apart. Of course she could have! She thought back angrily. I am nothing like her!

   'Oh, but you are.' Said Clotilde. Francesca's eyes popped wide open. Clotilde's voice echoed inside her head as if she were standing right at her shoulder, whispering right into her ear. Francesca frantically grabbed at Specchio's hand. 'What?' Her old friend asked worriedly. 'What is it my dear?' She turned away from the approaching doppelgänger, and into the young girl's eyes. 'Francesca?' She repeated. Marie Antoinette turned now, a puzzled look on her face, eyes narrowing. 'Quoi? Quel est le problème?' She asked of the Specchio, looking back up at Clotilde. 'What is happening?!'

   Soleil glared at the Queen, pulling Francesca into a tight embrace, and directed a stern look at Antonio. Alarmed, he hopped backward, stepping on Marie Antoinette's boot, risking her wroth. 'What?' He demanded. 'What is it?' 'I'm not sure,' answered the mirror, studying Francesca's eyes. Francesca's head suddenly snapped up and she screamed.

   Clotilde had been clear across the deck, but in three, quick steps she flickered, like a candle left guttering by an open window.

                             She suddenly appeared in front of them.

   Before anyone could react, her tiny hands shot out, grabbing hold of Condé by the front of his shirt. The group froze. 'Betrayer.' She hissed at him, her fingers tightened around the Frenchman, and Condé knew, he knew it was too late. He turned his face toward the group, his eyes suddenly softening. 'Adieu, mes amis,' he whispered, and then his body cracked in two as the ice flowed through him.

   Francesca wailed, and Clotilde smirked. 'Oh, don't be like that.' She took a step closer, her nose now almost touching Rudolpho's chin. He shook, his rage was trying its very best to escape his lips. She held a finger there, just infront of his face, almost touching, teasing with its promise of frigid death. 'You know?' She said 'You know very well, that he, and these others ...' She pointed her chin at the last of Condé's men, 'are just phantasms I've held in this purgatory to do as I please.' She looked at her feet, and drew a figure eight upon the deck with the toe of her boot. 'Hello Signore Antonio,' she nodded, looking over at him. 'Have you greeted brother Leo yet?' She turned, looking back across the deck at the last of the men there. ''Leo!' She yelled. 'Your brothers are here for you!' She laughed out loud as Leo started shouting expletives at her, his round shoulders straining at the ropes that bound him. 

   'And how are you, your Majesty?' She asked Marie Antoinette. 'You look remarkably well for a women without a head.' The Queen snorted, her eyes never leaving Francesca's doppelgänger, while all the while she carefully let the point of her ebony dagger slide down her palm, and into her hand, a conspicuous sixth finger shining blackly in the sunlight. 'And Francesca,' she quietly breathed. 'How pretty you are, or should I say, we are?' 'Monster.' Francesca spat back at her.

   They stared at one another, their faces so similar, save for the colour of their unblinking eyes. Clotilde lowered her eyelashes, smiled, and took a step backward. Rudolpho silently exhaled. A crosswind blew over the rails and caught at her skirts, billowing them outward a moment. 'Napoleon will be thrilled, she said, 'absolutely thrilled to hear what we have here.'

   Antonio left Francesca's side, puffing up his chest, feeling suddenly bold. He surprised Clotilde with his bravado. 'Have?' He asked quietly. 'What have you exactly?' He looked down at the already melted remains of Sergent Condé, his eyes betraying his sadness. 'Do you think we will let you near our niece?' 'Si,' scowled Rudolpho, interrupting, his sword raised protectively in front of the group. 'We no let you near our Francesca ...'

   'Oh no?' Answered the doppelgänger. 'No.' Countered the Specchio pushing Francesca behind her shoulder.

   The Queen of France's eyes narrowed. Her expression feline. She waited for Clotilde to look away, and then she suddenly lunged at the daemon with her dagger. The ebony blade sucked the sunlight from the sky as her arm flew at the daemon. Antonio bounded out in front of the doppelgänger, sword raised, and Rudolpho quickly dashed by her, heading straight for the back of the craft.

   A flicker of a smile passed over Clotilde's lips, as she danced sideways, easily avoiding the Queen's blade, her feet lightly floating this way and that. She swiped at a sailor here, deflected a sword there, she grabbed at cloaks, she scratched at eyes, she revelled in the screams of pain. She laughed out loud at the sudden silence that gripped the men as she killed. She felt alive.

    Francesca silently slipped along the edge of the banister, ducking beneath sails, and crawling behind barrels. She glanced backward, Clotilde moved like a circus cat among the group, she was unstoppable. With a sinking heart, Francesca turned, and ran, hopping over cannons as she raced toward the stern of the great ship, climbing right up over the quarterdeck, her legs pounding the deck as she sprinted straight toward her uncle Leo.

  Rudolpho was already there. He glanced over his shoulder. 'Ciao Franci!' He said, as she skidded toward them, her hair flying loosely behind her. He was busily cutting the ropes that bound Gaspard,  Joseph, and his elder brother. The Amiral and Dominique, presently freed, had their daggers out, and they too sawed away at the last of the cord that held Leo in place. 'Damned witch and her damned magic,' the Amiral grumbled, as another cord came loose beneath his knife. 'I thought we'd all end up being fired from those canons before you lot showed up!' Dominique, always one who could gauge his Amiral's moods, decided it best just to nod and continue worrying away at the cord with his blade.

   'Allora Francesca?' With a smile that let his gold spectacles slip down his nose at her. 'How are your studies going then, eh?' She started to shake. She almost cried then, in fact, there was no almost about it, she bawled. 'Oh uncle!' She suddenly sobbed uncontrollably, hopping up next to him, and throwing her arms around his belly. 'Ah ...' Leo said. He wanted to pat her head, but was still unable to move his arms, both still bound together. Rudolpho, catching his eye, grinned behind his moustaches, and hacked away at the rope faster. 'She has been a very good student this summer Leo,' he beamed down at her. 'Si, si, very good!' 'Ahem.' Gaspard cleared his throat. 'Mademoiselle Francesca?' He asked from the other side of Leo. 'Perhaps an embrace over here would be appreciated as well.'

    Francesca looked up at her uncle, and snorted through her tears. 'Might be appreciated?' She said, letting go of Leo and walking round to his other side, a small, crooked smile on her lips. 'Hello Joseph,' she said, ignoring Gaspard completely. 'Might you appreciate an embrace as well?' 

                                                        ***

    Soleil and the Queen of France were back to back, both protecting what the other could not. They spun, slowly, round and round. Each of them uncharacteristically guarding the other, and each of them carefully watching Clotilde's every step. The doppelgänger turned with them, like a cog in the Orloj, the sunshine glittering on the smile frozen upon her lips. She laughed and skipped, threatening them with pretended jabs and feints, and then she cried out in surprise. She slipped. Clotilde had stepped into a puddle. The mercury, liquid remains of a French soldier.

    Marie Antoinette, seized upon the stumble, pouncing at the daemon. Clotilde shrieked as the French Queen's blade slipped under her arm, finding her olive skin. She spun sideways, twisting away from Marie Antoinette in a fury, her skirts whipping up behind her, her nostrils flaring at the monarch. The Queen clutched the dagger tightly, hunching forward, her arm rigid. She fought like one used to fighting, she fought with a skill that contradicted her upbringing in the courts. Soleil, seeing their advantage, snatched a rapier up from the deck and also fought, jabbing at Clotilde, the narrow point of the sword pierced and stung the wounded doppelgänger like a wasp's tail. Angered and surprised, Clotilde lashed out at the two women, she hissed and spat like a wild thing, and suddenly started spinning like a children's top, her arms stretched out, her fingers searching for their prey. She spun wildly around, faster and faster, her body tipping at impossible angles, her eyes wide, her tiny teeth shining like bleached pebbles between her stained lips.

   Clotilde suddenly leapt, spinning into the air, and landing between the Queen and Soleil. 'Salut, mes amis.' Her fingers struck at them like angry serpents, her fists lashed out and held them by their necks.

   Soleil's eyes bulged in her head as ice and fear penetrated her throat. 'Ssstop,' the Specchio gurgled. Clotilde tightened her grip, strangling the words in her throat. Marie Antoinette struggled where she stood, and Clotilde raised the Monarch from the deck, until her feet swung beneath her as if she were suspended from a gallows. 'Non!' The Queen choked, swinging back and forth. 'Non?' Asked Clotilde, panting like a dog kept from a bone for too long. 'But Marie,' she smiled. 'Don't you see? It was you that Napoleon wanted all along.' She giggled as the two women turned blue. 'Do you think Napoleon really cared for this Italian girl?' She looked down at herself, dishevelled and blood soaked from the heat and wounds. 'He cares nothing for her,' she quietly spat. 'I am the only one that wants her.'

   Soleil's skin began to crystalise, her eyes looking like so many of the mirrors that were always a part of her life.

   A sudden, shadow rolled out of nowhere. Rudolpho came pounding across the deck, the hardwood boards creaking and groaning beneath his feet. His hair streaming behind him, he ran like a jaguar, his body ferocious, he raged at the doppelgänger. Rudolpho rushed at the women, and he wasn't alone. Held high above his head, like a gigantic, pale rhubarb, was the protesting waiter Joseph. Rudolpho barrelled down upon the women, roaring, he threw Joseph directly at Clotilde. Her eyes widened in surprise, shocked, she let go of the two women, and shrieked as Joseph and his narrow limbs came flying at her like a dragonfly.

   Everyone tumbled to the deck with a crash as the two men slammed into the doppelgänger. Bouncing between them, Rudolpho rolled, and quickly pushed himself up to his knees, shaking his shaggy head. Spotting Soleil, he howled out loud, and took her up in his arms, his eyes suddenly wet with tears. Antonio ran over, leapt over Joseph like a schoolboy, and knelt beside Marie Antoinette. 'My Queen,' he said, his pudgy hands hovering, unsure if he should gather her up. 'My Queen? Are you injured?' She opened a long, lashed eye and studied him a moment. 'With you crashing around like a great milk cow?' She almost smiled. 'It's a wonder anyone can stay unconscious.' Her skin, glistened in the sunlight, the ice that covered her was already melting away. A low moan distracted them. Rudolpho looked up from Soleil's face, and into theirs. 'Do something,' he whispered, his voice cracking. Antonio glanced at the Queen to assure himself of her condition, and was at his brother's side in a flash. 'Of course Rudi.' He said, placing his arm around the specchio, and carefully pulling her close.

    She was ice cold.

   'Oh, how terribly winsome.' Clotilde half sneered, and then yawned, pushing herself up on her forearms, and crossing one leg over the other. 'Is she not yet dead?' She leant forward, and held her feet by the toes of her boots, the dark curls of her hair spilled in front of her eyes. 'It won't be long now,' she growled under her breath, looking over at Soleil.

   Joseph lay on his back. He and his limbs were sprawled out over the deck where he had landed. He shook his head, and squinted up into the sunlight. Everything, he decided, after a moment's mental check, seemed to be working, if, perhaps, the worse for wear, thanks to that buffoon of an Italian. The vertebrae in his neck loudly popped and cracked, as he slowly turned his head round. The base of the snowy mainsail undulated, snapping noisily nearby. 'I am still on the warship,' he decided happily. '... and not in the sea.' He shuddered at the thought of the sailors that had been flung overboard, and turned his head the other way round and instantly shrunk into himself.

   Clotilde.

   He groaned inwardly. She was only a few handspan's from his shoulder. The doppelgänger was seated upon the deck, her back to him, her attention focused on the brothers, and the women he had just knocked over.  Joseph very carefully collected himself, stretched his body rigid, and started to roll away from her as quietly as he could. 'Coming to get us?' A voice whispered in his ear, startling him. 'Not to worry.' Gaspard, who despite everything, was grinning down at him. 'Leo and I,' he nodded over his shoulder at the Italian who was crouching beside him. 'We wouldn't let you fight that thing by yourself, now would we?' Gaspard turned, and winked at Leo.

   A tiny gasp came from behind his other ear. It was Francesca. She was staring, wide-eyed, over his head, and directly at Marie Antoinette, Rudolpho, Antonio and Soleil, lying, unmoving, in her uncle's arms.

   'Soleil,' she whimpered, placing a shaking hand on her Uncle Leo's shoulder. 'My dear, dear Specchio.' Leo reached up and took her hand in his, and pulled her down between him and Gaspard. 'We will ...'

   'You will ... what?' Asked Clotilde, suddenly, without turning her head. Gaspard whistled through his teeth. 'She has excellent ears, that one does.' He look sideways at Francesca's own tiny ears, half hidden behind her thick curls, his eyes narrowing. Francesca clapped her hands over her head and blushed furiously at him. 'My ears are not the same as hers!' 'Hush! Both of you!' Leo frowned sideways at them, and they both looked guiltily back at him. 'OH!' Rudolpho, who had heard their bickering, waved his large hand at Leo, his face filled with tears and pain over the prostrate Soleil lying in Antonio's arms. 'Brother!'

   He didn't have to say more. Leo grimaced, and started to rummage through his pockets, patting himself all over, and grumbling. He stopped suddenly. 'Francesca?' He asked, 'have you got your mirror?' She looked at him, confused, and then quickly nodded, pulling the ornate hand mirror from her person. Leo grabbed the delicate thing, turning it this way, and that in the sunshine a moment, as if he wasn't sure which way he should be looking at it. Francesca reached out to turn it round for him, but he pulled it away from her with a grunt. 'I know how to use a specchio!' He said huffily. 'Honestly!' He glared at her, and then back at the mirror, giving it a concentrated look, and then he started to whisper at it. 'Specchio,' he said, 'mi senti?' Francesca looked from her uncle, and then into the mirror. 'It's not working,' she said frowning. 'And besides, she is right over there!' She pointed over Clotilde's head at Soliel lying in Antonio's arms.

   'What,' said Clotilde, still not moving from her spot on the deck, 'do you hope to accomplish with that old relic?' Leo ignored her, whispering gently into the mirror. The glass reflected his sunburnt skin, the rough silver and black hairs that had sprouted across his chins, the spectacles that shone brightly, and the clever eyes that hid beneath them.

   Clotilde's back stiffenned. 'What was he up to?' She turned her head ever so slightly round, she couldn't help it, her curiosity piqued, this one always seemed too shrewd, by half.

     Antonio knew, though. He felt it. As soon as his elder brother thought of it it, he knew. As much as he hated to admit it, they were tied by bonds stronger than blood. If Leo thought of a plan, it may as well have been his own, he grinned, proud this time. Antonio looked into Soleil's face, her eyes were pressed tightly closed, her dark eyelashes lay over one another like wild moss on a pale stone. He held her tighter in his arms, not letting Rudolpho see the concerned look on his face, nor permitting Clotilde see any more of the hurt she had wrought on this girl. Soleil already felt lighter against his chest. She was leaving.

   Gaspard chewed at his little finger. What was the old man doing? He practically grew up with this Italian, and, still he felt he would never know what he was thinking. Leo's whispers had taken on a more urgent tone, his lips were moving quicker than ever, and no matter how much he strained, Gaspard couldn't understand what Leo was saying into the silver mirror.

   The mirror luminesced.

   The ornate ivy that wrapped itself all around the glass sparked, and the tiny mercury flowers frothed to life. Leo held the mirror in front of his face and smiled at it. He caught the surprised look on Francesca's face, and raised an eyebrow at her. 'You thought I couldn't do it, eh Franci?' He stared back into the mirror, squinting as it grew brighter and brighter in his hands. 'Come back to us Specchio,' he whispered quietly.

   Clotilde tilted her head, and with a slow, quiet popping sound, her neck turned like an owl's, grinding fully round upon her shoulders. She glared at Leo, and spat at him. 'I should have shot you from the canon first!' 'Me?!' Leo exclaimed, doing his best to hide his horror at the daemon's unatural flexibility. 'I'm too fat!' He chortled at this, his belly bouncing sideways as he laughed.

   Two angry, pink spots blossomed on Clotilde's cheeks. She glared furiously at him a moment, and then her head spun, and snapped back into place with a crack. She stretched out each of her ten, tiny fingers and pressed them against the smooth boards of the deck.

   Her hands flashed brightly like the sun, and then from each finger raced thin, white trails of glittering frost that flared, and spread out around Leo, Gaspard and Francesca. She lifted her hands from the frost and little flames raced along each line like a spark chasing after gunpowder. The three exchanged a worried look, just as the tiny flames reached them.

   BANG! Again and again, explosions ingnited where the daemon's frost had touched the vessel, ripping jagged holes clear through the deck. A roar of smoke and splinters flew up into the air, sunlight suddenly poured down through the great hull. The stunned sailors in the bay below yelled and pointed as big and small barrels, plump sacks, broken chairs, and unfortunate braying livestock, tumbled with the detritus out through the holes that opened up in the base of the warship.

   The unfortunate Amiral was too shocked to cry out, as he found his vessel punched through with more holes than his favourite cheese. He swung from a finger tip, his legs dangling over nothing but the brilliant bay below. 'Seriously?' He grumbled, finding himself once more swinging like a pendulum in the open air, but before he could cry out, Joseph's pink head, blackened with soot and smoke appeared over the edge of the deck. His eyes bright against his skin. The youth cried out at the Frenchman. 'Admiral!' The Amiral calmly looked up at the boy, wondering who he was. He knew all his sailors, but this boy ... he didn't know this boy. Joseph bravely stuck out his neck, arms and fingertips, trying to reach the great man. Naturally, he slipped. Naturally he fell. Naturally. He thought, as he tumbled forward.

   'Hullo.' He offered, as he found his shoulders knocking against the Admiral's nose. The Amiral just glared at him. 'Je suis,' started Joseph hesitantly. 'Le ... waiter.' 'Le waiter?' Answsered the Amiral with an admirably straight face. 'Would le waiter like to remove his ... bones from my face?'

   Joseph blushed furiously, but, fortunately for him, was saved from responding when Giuseppe's iron grip suddenly curled round him and the Admiral both, and with a huff and a great, garlicky grunt he heaved the two upward to safety.

   Both Joseph and the Admiral graciously clasped Giuseppe's hand, but the big man shrugged off their gratitude with a twitch of his beard. More explosions suddenly tore into the ship around them. 'Merde!' Exclaimed the Amiral, his ears ringing from the noise. He had participated in countless campaigns during his career, but having one's craft disintegrate beneath one's feet was new, even for him.

   Clotilde was up now, laughing, skipping, and dancing across the deck. Wherever her feet landed frost shot out beneath her and raced down into the bones of the craft, leaving explosions that cracked the hull like matchsticks.

   'Tra, la, la,' she sang, spinning around in cart-wheels, her hair flying round her face. 'Oh Queen, where are you going?' Marie Antoinette had been knocked to the rails by one of the explosions. She pushed herself to her knees and stared hard at the daemon girl, her dagger still clutched in her fist. 'I am not leaving this ship without you,' she growled, and then she launched herself at the doppelgänger once more.

   Francesca had managed to shelter herself with her uncles, all three were squeezed between boxes and barrels that had been displaced by the exploding vessel. She held Soleil's face between her palms and cried. Her friend had left her body as the explosions had started. Rudolpho, too, croaked out big, wet tears that dripped from his large nose, and into his black moustaches. Leo and Antonio shared a look, and the third uncle waved the silvery mirror at Rudolpho and Francesca. 'But look,' he said. 'Look here!' For in the rippling surface of the glass was clearly seen the face, the very cranky face, of their recently departed friend.

   'Yes,' said Soleil, in her most affected of English accents. 'Stop your blubbering,' she looked over at Francesca. 'Both of you, and destroy that cursed (she stressed the "ed" so that it sounded extra English) doppelgänger!' 'Oh Specchio!' Francesca sniffled, carefully laying her friend's head down, and taking the mirror from her uncles. 'We will ... right?' She held the mirror so that Rudolpho could see her clearly, and he stopped his crying instantly. 'Si,' he quietly said, straightening up. 'We will.'

   The craft rocked in the air, as further explosions sent more timbers flying. The barrels that they had been huddled behind disappeared through a smoking hole that had appeared beneath them. Antonio whistled through his teeth as he watched a cannon tip, and tumble down into the bay, narrowly missing a frigate in the blue waters below. 'Are you all right?' Gaspard leapt over the chasm, lightly landing on his feet. Leo nodded at the boy, smiling at his enthusiasm. 'Quite all right,' he answered, and quickly ducking as a piece of a mast shot by his head. Gaspard put a hand under Francesca's arm to steady her. Soleil looked over at him just as his blonde hair slipped down over his eyes, and she smiled, turning her eyes back toward Francesca. 'Quite the beautiful boy, eh Francesca?' Francesca blushed furiously, and hurriedly stuffed the Specchio into her clothes, squashing Soleil's muffled protests.

   Leo looked across the deck, and spotted Marie Antoinette, dagger easily visible, slipping behind a barrel, murder in her eyes. 'Antonio, Rudi?' He said, waving his brothers to him. 'We need to help the Queen banish the daemon.' 'Banish?' Rudolpho hated all the fancy words his brothers used. Antonio opened his mouth to translate, but Rudolpho just shook his head. 'I no want to know,' he grumped. Gaspard reckoned he did want to know, though, and whispered into his ear. 'Erase, send away ... kill.' Rudolpho glanced sideways at the boy, and nodded. 'Thank you,' he whispered back. 'Alright.' Rudolpho spoke up. 'Let us erase, send away and kill the daemon!' Both brothers stared at him a moment, and then they both laughed. 'Let us,' they both said still chuckling. Leo looked at Gaspard. 'Ready? He asked.

   Francesca grimaced, how typical to be ignored like this, she thought, sadly kissing Soleil's cold forehead, and abrubtly standing up. 'Ready!' She announced, and then hopped over the hole in the deck, and raced ahead before any of the men could stop her.

    Gaspard almost tripped over his own sword in alarm as she dashed by him. 'Wait!' He yelled after her, turning toward the others in alarm. 'Don't look at me boy,' growled Leo, go, go follow her!' And Gaspard twisted around and flew from where he stood, a blur of gold and black. 'Leo looked back at Rudolpho and Antonio. 'Well?' He harumphed, 'are we not going to help our niece?' 'It's like when we all children again!' Grinned Rudolpho, and with a yell of 'fratelli di nuovo insieme!' He led in the charge of the Tigullio brothers. 

                                                      ***

   Giuseppe, the Captain and Joseph ran across the quarter deck, drawing the last of the phantom soldiers away, and around the jagged hole where the mainsail had been. The Admiral and Dominique were further down toward the forecastle, running in and out of the explosions that snaked down the length of the Man O'war. Dominique climbed up the foremast like he had been born to it, and fired off a shot from a copper and brass pistol. What, if any, effect pistol shot would have on a phantom was unknown, but it did serve to draw the last of the enemy away from Leo, Antonio et al.

   Francesca ran, and hopped, and ducked her way through the smoke and chaos. She couldn't believe what was happening around her. The ship was disintegrating beneath the bright, blue sky. How, she wondered, much longer was it going to stay in the air?! This had turned into one of the most unrelaxing summers she had ever spent with her uncles! If her mother found out she'd kill them for sure. She suddenly dropped to the deck, and rolled as the mizzen mast came crashing down around her. She lay on her back, her chest heaving, and stared up at the sky. 'Oh!' She exclaimed, quickly pulling the specchio from her person. 'Specchio?! Are you alright?!' The mirror looked undamaged. She gave it a shake, the liquid surface of the glass rippled this way and that like tiny waves cresting onto a beach. 'Specchio!' Francesca pressed her nose to the cool glass. 'Where are you?!'

   Soleil's familiar face abrubtly appeared. Her hair had falled round her shoulders in a mess, and she looked like she had just come from the bath. 'Specchio!' Francesca smiled at her old friend. 'You look dreadful!' Soleil glowered at her a moment, and then laughed. 'You too look dreadful, my dear,' she said chuckling. 'I've never seen such a filthy girl as yourself, just look at the dirt on your cheeks, why you look like you've been kissing a chimney sweep!' They both giggled uncontrolably. 'I'm happy you're well,' said Francesca suddenly. Soleil smiled at her, and pressed her nose to the glass, making it ripple. 'I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help while I was over there,' she said, looking passed Francesca, at the craft around her. 'Don't be silly,' the young girl answered, pushing her dark curls on top of her head. 'We wouldn't have got this far without you.'

   A slender, familar looking hand suddenly snatched the Specchio from her grasp. 'Hullo hullo!' Crowed Clotilde, swinging the delicate mirror over her head. 'What have we here?' 'You give her back!' Yelled Francesca at her twin. 'Give her back now!' Clotilde raised and eyebrow at her. 'Her?' She asked with a smirk. 'You think the world of this old witch, don't you?'

   The Specchio shook in Clotilde's fingers, turning from a bright blue, to pink, to an inky rose red. 'Old witch?!!' Soleil yelled from behind the glass, who are you calling an old witch?!!' And before Clotilde could respond, a fist, a bright, liquid fist shot from the glass, landing right upon the centre of the doppelgänger's tiny, little nose with a loud crack!

   Oh, how Clotilde howled then. She'd been cursed and yelled at, stabbed, and bowled over, but to suffer the humiliation of a punch to her face? That was just too much. She stomped her foot in indignation, sending frost and fog, and a symphony of explosions across the ship. Banisters, barrels and cannons suddenly spun into the air, abrubtly disappearing as whole sections of the deck fell away beneath them. The entire aft of the vesel just fell away, keel, rudder and all. The flag that flew there, spun silently a moment, and then followed the rest of the fragments into the sea with a great splash.

   'Hahaha' Soleil's deep laugh echoed from the within the mirror. She was delighted, no, she was ecstatic her blow had angered Clotilde so. Clotilde shrieked and stomped and shrieked again, throwing the mirror high into the air, its filagree handle and glistening glass reflecting round and round against the clear sky. Antonio's pupils bulged. 'Not again!' He fell forward, bouncing his way across the disintegrating deck, his eyes and hands working in unison, following the arc of the mirror as it sailed through the smoke-filled air.

   'Rudi! Gaspard!' He yelled over his shoulder, hoping either of the two could get ahead of him. Another explosion ripped through the timbers, a cloud of debris roared upward, and the mirror tumbled over and over, cutting through the grey smoke, sometimes visible, sometimes not. Clotilde laughed at him, laughed with her hands clutching at her hair, tears of joy streamed from her eyes, painting undulating lines in the soot that covered her cheeks. 

   Antonio swallowed. He was panicking now, he wasn't thinking clearly as he weaved, dashed and lunged over buckets, beams, burning sail-cloth and holes that opened up beneath his boots to the sea and sky below. He yelped as the mirror suddenly dropped from the air. 'Dannazione!' He tripped and fell heavily to deck, bashing his head against an over-turned cannon. 'Oh, oh, oh!' Shouted Clotilde, dropping to her bottom, and grabbing her feet with glee. 'Look there!' She was laughing so hard, she spat the words at him, 'There, you big, fat oaf! Look quickly now!' With an almost frantic excitement, she pointed just up over Antonio's head. 'There!' She yelled again, her hand waving at him from across the deck.'Oh just look!'

   Antonio looked behind him and gasped. The tumbling Specchio caught his eye like a falling star. It dropped out of the sky, and hit the railing at the edge of the boat with a ferocious crack that made him wince behind his spectacles, and just as he thought it would spin over the side, and into the bay below ... it naturally, of course, impossibly froze - standing upright upon its glittering handle.

   'Pas mal, hm?' Breathed Clotilde. She had made her way across the ship, casually sauntering while explosions blew through the deck below and beside her. She stopped, standing not three paces from where he lay. 'Do you think she felt that?' Clotilde asked, staring hard at the mirror, half expecting Soleil to step through the rippling surface of the hand mirror.

   Antonio pushed himself to his knees, suddenly ducking as a cloud of debris flew over his head. He turned toward the foul copy of his beloved niece, snorted at her, and felt his spectacles slide down to the tip of his mushroom nose. Not the best snort, he thought. 'You can stand a mirror on its end?' He asked, snorting again, this time with more gusto, and the wire frames of his eyeglasses flew into in his hands as they pounced from his proboscis in a bid for freedom from his pink face.

   'What a powerful demon you are Clotilde!' He chortled as he carefully pushed the specs back into place, gazing up over them at the daemon. Sounding a little bored now, he smiled at her. 'What is your next trick? Pulling centimes from behind my ear?'

   Antonio may have gone too far. Her bright eyes narrowed, and her face suddenly darkened. A sooty, red flush spread from neck to nose until she was coloured like an angry, wind-blown poppy. With tiny fists clenched, she stomped her feet upon the heavy wood deck, once ... twice, and in an instant, a maelstrom of chaos covered the entire airship. North winds whipped around, and bullied their way through the East, tackling the West and murdering the South. Explosions came fast and furious, and plank after plank, sail after sail, the massive ship disassembled itself with an icy cold horendous shriek.

   Gaspard hopped, and ran across the deck, quickly trying to manouver himself into a position to surprise the mad doppelgänger, but the craft gave another great, juddering heave to one side as pieces of it exploded into the air and he lost his balance. Gaspard  slipped, and tumbled toward the open sky, his fingers scrabbling at the smooth wood for something to hold onto. He hollered for help as his feet suddenly shot out over the bay, the ship began to crumble all around him as explosion after explosion tore it apart. Rudolpho, who had also been doing his best to stay upright, turned alarmedly at the familiar voice frantically calling out. He spied the blonde boy in distress and quickly sprinted toward him, dodging and rolling as great pieces of brass and wood flew round and round in the air, an icy, angry tornado of nautical ruin. He skidded up to Gaspard, shot past him, and reached backward, snatching at the thief's collar just as the deck beneath them began to fall into the sea below. 'Grazie!' Yelled Gaspard into the wind as the two of them quickly danced up, and over the precarious holes that were appearing everywhere.

    As the Man O'war gave a great jolt and slid sideways through the air, Leo reached out, and pressed his back up against a cabin wall. 'Francesca?! Rudolpho?!' He yelled over his shoulder, stumbling forward, and wrapping his arms around the masthead, as more and more of the vessel fell away around him. Clotilde's laughter rang clean and clear over the sounds of the cracking and crumbling Man O'war. 'Damn her!' He cursed outloud. 'Damn her to Hell!' A sudden flurry of swearing limbs, a cursing even more volatile than his own, rolled and smacked into the masthead he had anchored himself to.

   It was the Captain! The Englishman stared at Leo a moment, as if he couldn't quite place him, and then he cursed some more as the ship lurched in the opposite direction. 'This plan,' he grunted, 'hasn't exactly been going our way.' Leo looked at him with a shrug. 'Never say die!' He yelled back as a stray cannon rolled on by them, silently disappearing though a hole in the deck, falling to the water below.

   Marie Antoinette held Francesca firmly by the hand, both of them slipping where they stood, as the airship lurched, spinning wildly over the bay. 'I hope,' the Queen said through tightly pressed lips. 'That you have wings under that ...' She found time to look distastefully at Francesca's outfit, 'top.' She gave a little cry, the craft jumped, causing her left foot to do its best to trip her right. Francesca just laughed outloud, too scared to scream, and more grateful than she cared to admit at having the unpleasant Queen by her side. She ducked as a thick rope whipped by, trailing beneath a blue and gold balloon that had come undone, bouncing and jostling for freedom among the others.

   A loud CRACK erupted beside them as the entire bow split from the airship, hung there a moment, just like she held to Marie, dangling, and trembling, before it noisily ripped,  splintering off,  and flying away in the maelstrom. A spray of glimmering white mist erupted as it hit the water, sending up a huge wave that engulfed and capsized the vessels in the bay. Screaming sailors were washed from their decks, buried beneath the suddenly turbulent water.

   Giuseppe had, despite his enormous size, managed to find a temporary refuge for not only himself, but the Amiral, Dominique and Joseph too. All four were sheltered from the ferocious explosions behind a series of large crates that seemed, for the moment, to be beyond the reach of Clotilde's chaos. Dominique stood on his toes, and peeked out over the spectacular destruction. This ship had been a home, his home, and now it was falling to bits before his eyes as if they were in the midst of the grandest of grandes batailles ... which, he supposed, they were.

   Antonio had been thrown quite clear of the raging daemon and her tantrum, but it still remained to be seen how they would stop this terror from destroying them and their hopes of bringing the Queen, and the revolution to Napoleon's doorstep. Well, first things first, he thought, as he dodged some rather pretty Dutch dinnerware. Rescue the Specchio, defeat Clotilde and then? His stomach growled at him, and then some penne with creamy Genovese pesto! He smiled at that, squinted through the North winds at the tiny doppelgänger, and made ready to pounce.