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High Plains Drifter rouses Edward not long after dawn, bidding him to retrieve the horses and secure them to the carriage.

He does not intentionally awaken Alessa, watching her sleep for a time, as he stands there in his dark overcoat that hangs upon his thin frame. Along with the top hat perched on his head, he gives the impression of an undertaker and the way he looks upon Alessa, it is almost as though he is sizing her for a coffin. Those spidery hands are still atop his strangely decorated cane and he is otherwise rigid and still, almost like a statue wrought of flesh and bone.

The early morning sun shines through the dew dappled leaves of the trees. Winter is never very harsh in this region, though snow is not unknown. Still, spring has already begun to creep into season. Above them, the sky is blue, streaked with a few errant clouds. Birds sing in celebration of the dawn somewhere in the distance but none seem to have perched nearby. The only music closer is the incessant harmony of the stream.

Alessandra DuMourier stirs in her sleep, her hand rising to unconsciously brush her hair from her face. She looks so peaceful when she sleeps, a far cry from the rogue who had accosted him the prior evening, but the spell is broken all too soon as she awakes with a start. She blinks those wide blue eyes for a moment or two as she gathers her thoughts before sitting up. If she suspects he has been watching her she says nothing of it, instead getting to her feet and brushing the dust off her clothes. "Well I seem to have made it through the night unharmed, you are truly a man of your word Master Darque, I trust the night was uneventful?"

She clicks her teeth again, the strange sound louder than normal as it breaks the silence of the meadow, the only reply the whinny of a horse as it makes its way to its mistress. Before her horse returns she turns on her heel and walks to the stream, splashing the cool water over her face. "Shall I ride ahead then?" she asks, not bothering to turn to look if he is even listening.

High Plains Drifter nods. 'If the night had been otherwise, you would have been awakened.' He pauses. 'Or killed, perhaps, but I am indeed a man of my word, an assertion you yet have reason to doubt. Eventually, however, you may find it more convenient to trust me or at least insofar as you ever trust anyone, which is likely the suitable degree to which you should trust a man like myself.'

Behind him, Edward has wrangled the horses and tethered them to the yoke attached to the carriage. He stands there, reins in hand, awaiting further instructions from his master, smiling at Alessa when Darque is not looking at him. The slave has also neatly folded the blanket Alessa had given him for the evening and placed it gently upon her while she slept.

'Were I to know you as a lady of breeding and proper etiquette, I would insist you join me in my carriage,' Darque says dryly, 'but as we both know you to be an independent and strong willed person, I presume you would decline my offer, regardless of any lingering suspicions you may have. So, indeed, by all means, do please ride on ahead. This carriage is old and not especially fast but with a proper guide, we should certainly make good time to Memphis. Trust a historian to name a new city founded in a young country after an ancient Egyptian metropolis. I doubt very much if there is any resemblance to be found between them.'

Alessandra DuMourier smiles "if I didn't know better Master Darque I would think you were baiting me". She walks back over to her horse, which is for some reason standing a fair distance away from him and attempts to lead it over to its waiting saddle. Seeing that the animal is having none of it, she walks over, picks up the saddle and carries it back, strapping it to the horse with a sigh of contempt. "He's never this uncooperative" she explains, as she walks back to grab her bags and secure them. She notices the blanket where it fell when she awoke and rolls it up, placing it on her saddle for safekeeping. She gracefully swings herself into the saddle, ready to leave whenever it suits her companion. "If your horses can keep a good pace we should reach Memphis by nightfall which means you won't have to spend another night in the cold with me".

High Plains Drifter gestures blithely. 'Animals have long treated me with a certain degree of disdain, particularly those unfamiliar with me. I have learned to accept this natural dislike and even understand it. Do not humans fear and despise such beasts as are wont to make prey of us?'

Turning away from Alessa as the bandit mounts her horse, he nods at Edward, who hastens to open the door so his master may climb aboard his carriage. The slave takes great care to avert his master's eyes and keep his head bowed. Only once Darque is settled in his seat does Edward close the door and pull himself up to the driver's seat atop the carriage, still clasping the reins in his hand. Three sharp raps on the roof of the cab cause Edward to jump in his seat and nod gravely at Alessa. 'We is ready when you is, ma'moiselle,' the driver says.

Alessandra DuMourier smiles to Edward "well it seems yours is the only company I'll be enjoying today, so we best be off before his highness gets grumpy". Her voice is light and playful as she snaps the reins letting her horse take off a run to get a fair distance ahead of her companions to check for danger on the road. She sits high in the saddle, her jacket unbuttoned and resting off her shoulders as the chill burns off the morning air. Today she lets her long hair flow around her shoulders and for the first time it can be seen that is it is so pale that one could almost mistake it for strands of cornsilk as it shines in the rising sun. Satisfied that the road ahead is clear she turns her horse and circles back, coming to a trot alongside the carriage.

High Plains Drifter studies the parchment map once more while holding his compass in his other hand. He had plotted a long route that would find going ever eastward in a northerly direction. Having already crossed through Mississippi, he intends to stop in Memphis before leaving for Nashville. Then it would be possibly the most perilous part of the journey, through the back country of Virginia, far from the prosperous coastal city of Norfolk. It is even now a rather wild area with scattered farming settlements but little law.

While most of the people of the First Nations have been driven out or relocated, in their place are all manners of folk who would take advantage of lone travelers, relieving them of their excess wealth or possessions. It is here that Darque expects Alessa shall either prove her loyalty or lack thereof. In either case, he shall know where she stands.

Alessandra DuMourier keeps a watchful eye on the road ahead, although she seems relaxed her hand is always near her gun in case of trouble. She finally gives up on her coat, expertly shedding it to reveal a simple white linen shirt that bares her tanned shoulders. There is a smile on her face and her horse seems to have finally relaxed as well, falling into an obedient trot beside the other two of its kind. Alessa absently wonders what she would look like to someone else, certainly not her usual self and she was definitely too feminine to pass for a guard of any kind. She shook off the absent thought and turned her eyes back to the road.

"Well the good news is at this pace we will most certainly hit Memphis before nightfall, barring any inconveniences".

High Plains Drifter listens casually as the highwaywoman speaks to Edward. The slave merely nods silently.There are not many trails in the back country and even fewer roads as most travel the main thoroughfares, those that tend to be better protected or watched. This does not prevent the occasion for banditry but certainly makes such occurences less common. As Darque had mentioned, there are toll to be taken and taxes to be collected, not all of them legitimate. They operate under the auspices of the law, committing robbery openly but this woman would surely not be welcome among them as, in this age as many that have come before, the fairer sex is considered weak and foolish.

Darque considers that this perception is advantageous to Alessa in certain situations. He has known his share of capable and vicious women who are just as likely to commit dark acts as men, even if their methods may differ. He knows that Memphis is near enough but the trek from that newly founded city to Nashville shall be at least three times that long and the sojourn through the wilds of western Virginia might be nearly a week without proper roads to speed their transit. However, Darque is a man presently possessed of an abundance of time.

Alessandra DuMourier wonders to herself what type of arrangement she's gotten herself into with this strange man, but she has to admit it is nice to be able to feel the sun on her skin and worry less about someone putting a bullet in her back. Even as it seems her guard is down, those curious blue eyes scan the horizon, even the horse beneath her seems to be enjoying the strange change of pace.

She however cannot prevent her mind from wandering back to the strange man and his vague but interesting proposal. She can only hope that over time he will reveal more to her about the nature of his business and just what her involvement might be. She also can't help but wonder where it is they are heading as it does not seem likely to her that Memphis will be their final stop.

High Plains Drifter draws back the curtains to gaze out at the forest, which is mostly spruce trees but there are also towering oaks, aspens and pines. There are an abundance of shadows, which is doubtlessly why this woman chose to ply her trade here, even if her accent hints that she might also have spent some time in what was once the formerly French South. Then again, she might just as easily be from the far North, possibly even the provinces of Canada where French remains a dominant language.

There was a time he had been fluent in the language but that, along with various other talents, had left him at some point and with this growing country being ruled by those of English decent, it is their language he has adopted as his own. It lacks the elegance and simplicity of the French tongue but times have changed since the city from whence he so recently departed was known as La Nouvelle-Orleans and owed allegiance to the monarchy. In the interim, France, not unlike this nation, had become a grand republic. Times change and civilizations advance but the single variable that Darque could count on remaining the same is people.

Despite all the new ideas of this supposed industrial revolution, Darque knows that people are still driven by the same desires as they had since their original inception.

He is entirely content to remain ensconced in his thoughts while Edward bats at the gnats that gather in a cloud around himself and the horses. Neither the slave nor the animals have had a decent bath in days, having travelled through the cloying mud and reeking marshes of the Mississippi wilds.

Darque, never seeming to perspire and enclosed in the carriage, does not suffer the indigence of the elements. Even so, there is a kind of unusual aroma that he carries, not unlike an open grave in winter. It is not the odor of decay or corruption but of loss and despair.

As the day wears on, an observant ear might notice that silence precedes and follows after the carriage, the chirping insects and whistling birds abruptly falling into an almost solemn stillness. It is as if Alessa is leading a funeral procession and all of nature is paying their respects. Yet the sensation is less of admiration and more of fear, as if something terrible travels in that carriage.

Alessandra DuMourier has noticed the strange silence that seems to follow them and has begun to wonder just what nature of man she has found herself accompanying. She remembers a story told long ago of creatures who seemed to live and yet did not. She almost laughs at herself, frightening herself with fairy tales like a common housewife. She looks around, finally seeming to set into the pace of travelling rather than her usual run. Out of the corner of her eye she catches Darque's movement and smiles to herself, perhaps even the most mysterious of men cannot resist the temptation of the early spring sun.

High Plains Drifter is less tempted by the warmth of the sun, which he cannot enjoy, though at least it is not harmful to him than some distraction from the monotony of his journey. There are only so many times a day he can recite his mantras in his head or attempt, in vain, to remember some of his old memories or abilities. Though the constant shuddering of the carriage is not a complete deterrent to his attempts to read, the books with which he travels are not the sort that are perused lightly or for entertainment.

However, Alessa is correct about Darque being able to resist certain temptations. He does permit himself more than one lingering glance at the lovely bandit, high astride her saddle, clad in clothing that are intended for the utility of her larcenous occupation and do, in various pleasing ways, highlight the beauty of her fine form. He is not entirely dead, after all.

Alessandra DuMourier doesn't seem to notice that he's looking as she leans forward in her saddle, presumably to shoo some of the swarming gnats away from the eyes of her mount, but it has the lovely side effect of allowing him a unique view of just how spending her days on horseback has refined her form, the leather leggings she wears just working in his favour to accentuate certain features. And just as quickly she's back in her saddle, blissfully unaware of the attention she's attracted from her silent companion.

Strange it is how the gnats eagerly clustered around them while the rest of the woodland inhabitants give them a wide berth. Still, when Alessa travels alone, she is swift and elusive upon her steed, moving so quickly that the animals have mere moments to avoid her while this aged carriage creaks loudly upon its axles and groans whenever the yoke shifts. So the explanation might be more mundane, after all.

In the meantime, the forest begins to thin as they travel out of the hills and into wider open spaces, sprawling, rolling meadows, some of which are surrounded by fencelines and, in the distance, an occasional settlement can be seen. It can be rough living in this environment but it does give some indication of civilization. So long as they do not trespass, Alessa likely knows, they should be left to continue in peace or possibly even be invited to one of the homesteads. Hospitality is not unknown, even if it can be unwise.

Alessandra DuMourier looks around and smiles, she's familiar with this part of the area but she also knows that not everyone around can be trusted. She makes careful note of their location in relation to the sun at her back. "We should reach Memphis soon enough, I should warn you though, not everything here is what it seems and some would rather bury a blade in your neck than give you the time of day, stick close to me and I'll get us through" she explains as she shifts to ride ahead of the carriage.

Memphis is one of many cities built along the Mississippi River and is a port of call for all manners of ships traveling all the way from the Great Lakes in the North to the Delta in the South. In fact, so essential is this waterway to commerce in this region of the country that it is surprising that this man, who claimed to have the funds to purchase a carriage and a slave, did not simply buy a ticket on one of the many sternwheel riverboats. He could have arrived in Memphis much more swiftly, if that is, in truth, his destination, and for much less money than even this old carriage and young slave would have cost him.

High Plains Drifter peers out the open window as the trail joins a main road, a wide gravel lined path that runs along the high ranks of the massive river. It is not a sight unfamiliar to him, the way in which the waters span the distance between the shores or the numerous ships of various sizes to be found there. Traffic upon the river can even become troublesome at times when too many vessels are on the waters, leading to congestion, though only rarely collisions.

On the horizon is the city itself, built upon bluffs overlooking the river. It is a site that had been prized by the local tribes of the previous peoples who had since been displaced. Most of the farmsteads they had passed upon their arrival had been cotton plantations in which a vast number of slaves toil. The crops are not yet ready for harvest as it is still early spring but soon, very soon, and it is this industry that has allowed Memphis to expand so rapidly. Here, the Industrial Revolution is not so evident, save for the stirring sight that awaits them as they approach.

A high steel structure of girders form platforms that tower over the tallest buildings of the city and, tethered there, is a colossal airship. It resembles a British cutter except there are no masts or sails. Instead, a huge air bladder, lashed with hundreds of ropes, provides the necessary lift. Below decks, what is likely two or more coal powered steam engines vent boiling gases up into the dirigible while at the same powering the spinning turbines that permit the airship to move forward. At the moment, the vessel is still but it easily dwarfs any of the riverboats on the waters that fall beneath its shadow.

Darque has seen such vehicles before and, while he considers them impressive in their own way, he does hold within him the same kind of awe and respect that others might. That is yet another more expedient means by which he may have journeyed northward but Alessa need not wonder why he did not. They are very expensive and the luxury of only the wealthiest of patrons. Even the least in size still requires an enormous expenditure.

Alessandra DuMourier leads them into the city proper according to her word, assuming that he will want somewhere to pass the night she leads them up to the local inn and waits for him to decide their next move, stretching lithely in her saddle. Her comfort in this city is not unexplained for she has always taken great care to conceal her identity when she conducted her 'business' and despite much speculation no one has ever really been able to reveal her face. She swings down off her horse and walks over to the carriage, carrying on the facade of a hired hand waiting for her employer, a rather easy arrangement to slip into when necessary.

"Your destination, unharmed as promised" she announces to the closed door of the carriage "unless of course your destination is not in fact to your liking then we shall continue and find elsewhere". Her coat is slung over the saddle of her horse and she stands there in merely her leggings and the simple linen shirt along with what look to be fairly comfortable boots.

There is not one local hostel in Memphis but nearly a dozen of various price and opulence. Because it is a city founded upon trade and travel, there are various establishments that cater to different tastes and luxuries. However, Darque merely shakes his head as Alessa offers to lead him to such a place. As a traveller herself, she knows the city well enough to offer him a selection of locations for noctural habitation.

He merely shakes his head. 'I am without coin or anything of value with which to trade,' he explains. 'We have come here because the people here are not like those who dwell in the open country. Those are friendly but suspicious, superstitious folk to whom I could not ply my trade as they would not be so imprudent to offer coin for it yet find it frightening and even threatening. So we are here in Memphis so I might earn some coin in what some may question as an honest endeavor.' As Edward holds the door, Darque steps from the wagon, looking around the bustling city streets where there are a number of horse drawn wagons as well as common pedestrians, a few of whom spare Darque a passing glance and even more of whom, mostly men, take their time in looking over the woman with him.

'As I have instructed you, Edward, you are my assistant and therefore must stay close to me,' he explains to his slave before turning his attention back to Alessa and beckoning her closer with his jagged nailed slender fingers.

'Tell me, Mademoiselle du Mourier,' he demurs quietly. 'Are your talents at legerdemain limited to seizing what you wish by force or have you some experience at finesse? I ask as my performance can sometimes draw a crowd.'

Alessandra DuMourier steps closer as he beckons her, taking up a position on his other side. "Must you even ask such things Master Darque? A woman of my vague career description must be a mistress of all trades. I can do whatever it is you have need of me to do" she says, her voice barely above a whisper and rather conspiratorial for two people having a conversation in the street. "As you can tell I can attract no shortage of attention should the need arise", she clearly knows that she is attractive and if she'd doubted it before the fair number of passing men almost tripping themselves up to get a clear look at her would have dispelled any such illusions.

High Plains Drifter leans closer to her. At this proximity, the weathered lines on his face are more visible while his eyes remain hidden behind his smoky glasses. His breath has a vaguely unpleasant odor but not intolerable and rather reminiscent of rotting meat.

'Consider this a kind of rehearsal for the greater plan of which I intend you to be an integral part. I engage in my legitimate practice as a prestidigitator and spiritualist while you do what you do best. It has been my experience that there are often many well to do and wealthy men in my audiences and what distraction I can provide would surely only be accentuated by the presence of a beautiful woman. While they may be initially suspicious of your intentions and shall likely mistake you for a whore, though your apparent health and bearing clearly marks you as a woman of better breeding than that, if I were to use my driver in your place and he were caught, it would mean a very swift death for him and thus voiding my promise.' He says all this in his usual measured tones and it is only at this distance that an observant person might notice there is something odd about his breathing. It almost seems forced or as an afterthought, without any regular rhythm to it. Moreover, his pallid complexion is even more eerie up close. He is not any mere albino or even an Englishman. Instead, it is as though his flesh has been drained of blood.

'In this endeavor, we shall accumulate some mutual funds. If you find the venture to your liking, perhaps you shall accompany me onward to the East but I will understand entirely if you have become accustomed to this place and wish to remain here.'

Alessandra DuMourier stifles a laugh "a man after my own hear-" she stops for a moment, thinking the better of it "asking me to do what i do best and relieve those with more money than sense of the former and hopefully teach them some of the latter". Her mind can't help but race back to her time in New Orleans, she knows the type of man he is and she has her suspicions that there is something more at work here than it appears. "As you wish Master Darque, consider me your willing and able accomplice as I would hate to see anything befall our companion".

High Plains Drifter glances back at his slave. 'Most fortunate for you, Edward,' he murmurs. 'Mademoiselle du Mourier has agreed to our arrangement so you need not risk yourself.'Though there is a smile in his voice, there is none to be found on Darque's face.

'Now, Mademoiselle, I shall need you to guide us to what passes for a marketplace here in Memphis. When last I visited, this was yet a burgeoning town".

Where there were once shops and stalls of all kinds, there is now a magnificent edifice of stone with a high peaked ceiling set with a number of large windows above that allow in the light. Within, there are still various merchants selling their wares but not any longer in the open elements. Slaves sweep the stone floors clear of debris, not meeting the eyes of the patrons and shouts come out from all around as salesmen hawk their wares.

Nearly every contemporary comfort can be found here, if not a few exotic luxuries as well. Most of it is not the finest of craftsmanship but it is still a variety by comparison to common goods offered in the small general stores in the country. Both rich and poor gather here to both buy and sell and the walkways between the rows of stalls are crowded with people.

High Plains Drifter knows to be mindful of pickpockets and knows he need not warn Alessa. Edward has nothing of value on him to be stolen so there is little concern for him there. The slave carries a large, heavy satchel upon his back and drags the steamer trunk behind him while Darque himself transports a broad leather case in his hand while the other still clutches his cane, the latter of which he uses to guide him through the throng of people, occasionally tapping insistently at those who are not quick to move out of his way. His rather foreboding aspect quells any misunderstandings as most who turn in his direction to rebuke him hastily decide the better of it and meld back into the flow of people.

Alessandra DuMourier follows close at his back, her coat back around her shoulders but still showing enough of her tempting body to gain the attention of passing men. If they think she's a whore it doesn't seem to bother her at all, even as some over them make no qualms about checking her out. Her hand is on her gun and her teeth are gritted but its to her credit that she hasn't drawn on any of them yet, she simply follows her companions with her head held high.

Guns and other firearms are permitted to be carried openly as this is still a frontier city but it still will draw curious glances by those who find it surprising to find such a weapon strapped to the hip of a woman. That, if nothing else, adds a factor of intimidation and, despite what Darque explained, deters most from making the improper assumptions as to her profession. Most whores dress in a far more feminine fashion and if they are likely to carry a weapon, it would be a small pistol or knife tucked into their garter, not a revolver hanging in a holster at their side. Evidently Darque does not patronize many brothels.

Nevertheless, those with experience know that it is imprudent to display arms too aggressively as that only brings the attention of the law upon a person and that might already be a concern considering she is not a demure or shy woman, likely to draw eyes upon her. Edward the slave could not hope for a more formidable escort as none of the people around them dare utter an unkind word in his direction while he is flanked by his dark master and the dangerous looking woman.

High Plains Drifter locates an open stall and gestures towards it, murmuring something to Edward that Alessa will most likely not be able to hear over the cacophony of mingled voices. Then he looks back at her. 'There is likely a permit fee or something of that nature to sell goods here so keep an eye out for any well dressed gentlemen who seem interested. If you can, distract them.'

Edward unloads what proves to be a small tent from inside the steamer trunk while Darque places one of his case on the counter within the stall, pulling out various odd implements, including candles, a crystal orb and what looks to be an old wooden spirit board with letters etched across it. These he lays out across the counter and arranges.

From another case, he removes a thick, leather bound book with an iron spine, setting it next to the spirit board. With a momentary glance at Edward and Alessa, to whom he nods faintly, he raises one hand and snaps his fingers. Instantly, the candles burst into life with ghastly greenish flames and the book opens of its own accord, pages frantically flipping until it lies still. This spectacle is only seen by those closest to the stall but it immediately draws attention. From the pocket of his overcoat, Darque removes a deck of cards and sweeps his hand over the counter, causing a number of the cards to fall into place in a distinctively cross shaped pattern. Though he never raises his voice, it seems to carry further than it should and resound upon the walls.

'I speak for the dead and they reveal their secrets to me. It is their visions I can interpret for your fortunes. Bring your coin, those who are curious, those who are desperate and those who doubt. If you choose to believe, then allow me to determine your fate. All are welcome here. I am Nicodeme Darque, master of spirits.'

Alessandra DuMourier drops her hand from her gun, sliding it out of view behind her coat, now was not the time to be drawing attention to herself. Instead the beautiful bandit scanned the crowd looking for anyone who might make an interesting mark. It was strange how easily she could slip through the crowd unnoticed until she popped up somewhere, merely a head of blonde hair from where Darque and Edward stood, obviously plying her charms to some unsuspecting man. And the woman did have charm, the men so caught up in her sweet and striking looks that they never noticed the woman relieve them of their coins and the occasional bill, each one disappearing into a hidden pocket in her coat, always keeping one eye on her companions and the other on the crowd.

High Plains Drifter soon finds himself a few interested customers, though there is hardly a mob clamouring for his attentions. He takes every session in private, leaving his crystal ball and spirit board in open sight while taking the heavy tome with him. The customer is lead into the tent while Edward remains outside, keeping watch or standing guard. Most just ignore him but they dutifully give him some of their silver coins as they enter the tent and the slave deposits them on a purse hanging from his waist.

In general, Darque enjoys the patronage, it appears, of women, mostly older women. One by one they emerge from the tent, most of them seemingly sad or distraught but none of them ask for the money back.

For Alessa, the crowd of people proves more easy pickings than a month's worth of travellers, which may cause her to reconsider her methods. Not only that but they are almost oblivious to her activities, though she has a couple of close calls.

Alessandra DuMourier grins to herself as she returns to stand guard over her companions, their money hidden safely in her coat as she takes up a position just far enough away to be out of sight, but able to move quickly if there's trouble. She's seen enough voodoo men in her time to know exactly what it is her companion is doing, but she is doubtful that what he is doing is more than a glorified magic trick.

It is more than an hour and there are fewer than six patrons visiting Darque's stall before a heavyset white haired man in a gray suit and waistcoat, accompanied by a small number of plainly dressed Negroes, most likely slaves, begins to make their way purposefully through the crowd, clearly headed in Darque's direction.

Edward notices them as well, alertness being one of the traits he has honed while living in a culture that views him as little better than cattle, and he rushes into the tent. Darque steps out, still wearing his sunglasses and evidently displeased. He turns and appears to give Edward some instructions before walking calmly over to pack his belongings back into their case.

Alessandra DuMourier moves to stand between her companion and the approaching strangers, curious as to what this person's intentions are. She may trust Darque and quite possibly Edward, but she by no means trusts any other person, especially not those who look like they could mean trouble. She brushes her blonde hair back, prepared to use her charms first, her weapons second as she waits to see where this is going.

High Plains Drifter watches as the man, likely a property administrator for the marketplace, marches right past Alessa without giving her a second glance, only muttering a hasty pardon while his companions give a few appreciative glances in her direction.

However, just as Darque finishes putting away his books and other peripherals, there is a sudden disturbance among the crowd and a woman shrieks and falls away fainting. This distraction is all Darque needs to seize his case while Edward continues to hastily break down the tent. Removing something from a satchel on his belt, Darque whispers quietly and hurls what looks like a glass vial at the stone floor. A dark mist or smoke bursts from the shattered vessel and surges upward, filling the stall where Darque and Edward stand, so thick that Alessa likely loses sight of them, not to mention the administrator and his security detail.

Then, suddenly, Darque is standing at her side, clutching his case with his cane under his arm. 'I knew it would not last. Business here was not as lucrative as I had hoped. I trust you had better fortune than I. Let us away, Mademoiselle.'

Pivoting on his heel, Darque lowers his spectacles and growls in an unintelligible whisper. As if by magic, the crowd seems to part before him. 'Quickly now, mademoiselle,' he says, 'before we have the constables upon us.'

Alessandra DuMourier is quick on her feet and following him through the parted crowd, there will be time enough to inform him just how lucrative her time had been once they are safely out of range of this current problem. Her hand has fallen away from her gun, her instincts taking over as she moves faster than she rightfully should, somehow keeping pace with the taller men. She's seen tricks like his in the city before but she can only imagine what the strangers think of him. She gives him a quick wink and a flash of that charming grin as they reach the horses and she flies into her saddle, rearing her horse to stand between her companion and any danger. It seems Darque, whether he likes it or not, has found something of a bodyguard in the beautiful blonde.

High Plains Drifter leads Alessa out of the marketplace and outside where Edward is attempting to load the steamer trunk onto the roof of the carriage where it had been before.

Tilting his head, and with a sidelong glance at Alessa, he waits until the woman is busy mounting her own horse before he points his cane at the trunk and it slides up onto the roof. Edward leaps back as if the trunk had bitten him and then looks at his master with wide, fearful eyes. 'No time to secure the rest of the luggage, my boy,' he says evenly at his slave. 'Place them in the cab. It shall be cramped for the moment but still more spacious than the inside of a prison cell.'

Practically twirling, his coattails flying, Darque turns towards Alessa, speaking in a louder voice. 'If you wish to accompany us, Mademoiselle du Mourier, then follow in haste. Otherwise, it has been a pleasure making your acquaintance and I bid you best in your future endeavors.' Removing his hat, revealing his balding head with just a fringe of lank white hair, as fine as spidersilk, around the edge of his scalp, Darque bows and swiftly climbs into his carriage even as Edward settles into the driver's seat and snaps the reins.

Alessandra DuMourier is quick on his tail, no intention of sticking around this place any longer than necessary. It becomes fairly obvious how she has managed to avoid being caught, her horse is quick as lightning and the woman on its back knows how to control it even at a time like this. She doesn't know why but she feels the need to follow this strange man as far as their adventures will take them and besides she did give him her word more or less.

High Plains Drifter sits firmly upon the worn seat of the carriage, his leather suitcases on either side of him and another between his feet. As the vehicle rattles roughly upon its rusted axles, shuddering with each uneven paving stone beneath the wheels, he can hear the cries of pedestrians scrambling to get out of his way. He does not believe that there shall be a pursuit but it is best not to linger longer than necessary.

Ironically, his illegal pursuits were minor infractions compared to the riches that Alessa might have gleaned from the various wealthy men she encountered in the crowd. If she were wise and avoided pilfering the pockets and purses of the obviously destitute, she more than likely made an adequate haul. Unlike road robbery, where she had to lay in wait for travelers who appeared worthy of her attentions, locations like the marketplace were teeming with people, most of whom had coin upon them to make purchases. Not only that but she may have noticed that she was not the only thief in the crowd and this meant that even if one of her victims realized he was missing something, there were multiple suspects upon whom to place the blame.

Yet, there is the occupational hazard of the law being ever present whereas on the open road it may be days before her crimes could be reported. There is also less mystique to being a simple thief as opposed to the romance of the highways. To most people, it might be a fine distinction but to some in the thievery trade, there is less honour involved in being a pickpocket as opposed to a highwayman.

Nevertheless, her efforts may prove to be worthwhile that day, though whether or not they would prompt an alteration in her professional habits remains to be seen.

Alessandra DuMourier slows her horse to a quick trot as it becomes clear they're not being chased, her hair is windblown and yet somehow it only adds to her charm. She leans forward to pat her horse's neck, once again saved by it's swiftness and steady gait. She's had neither the time nor the want to count her earnings for the day, waiting to split them with her companion, for without his distractions it would have been far harder to do her job.

As it becomes clear the danger is past the luscious rogue relaxes in her saddle, a quick wink to Edward is followed by her infectious laugh. "Nothing like a good run to keep the horses in shape and get your blood pumping is there?" Her blue eyes are sparkling and its clear that she lives for the excitement of the wrong side of the law.

High Plains Drifter directs Edward to pull the carriage up beside Alessa, gesturing to her through the open window.

'I believe we shall find a quiet place down the road to make camp. Night is falling and the dark is upon us. I doubt anyone shall pursue us beyond the boundaries of the town.' He taps his cane on the ceiling of the carriage and Edward, who still looks quite frightened, likely because, should they be caught, he would certainly be hanged or dragged to death as opposed to merely being imprisoned, snaps the reins once more.

As it happens, the carriage easily navigates away from the crowded streets onto a country lane that leads out of the city, winding through the cotton fields. Scores of slaves pause in their labors to watch them pass. In the dusk, their skin blends with the shadows of the meadows and only their eyes and teeth are starkly visible.

It is not hatred or subservience that is reflected in their gazes but curiosity. These are a people lost in an unfamiliar country, stolen away from their own cultures and placed together in makeshift families.

Edward keeps his own eyes solely on the road and on the woman who rides out in front of them.

It is well into the evening and they have passed miles of cotton stalks before Darque bids Edward to slow the carriage so he may converse with Alessa. 'I do not believe it prudent to encamp ourselves in these fields, particularly in the company of my driver. Let us proceed until we are well beyond the borders of the city.'From experience, Alessa may know that this requires still further travel, as the plantations sprawl out for miles. If they were to request hospitality from one of them, they might be welcomed with a warm meal and a soft bed. In the case of Alessa, there might even be volunteers, both male and female, offering the share it as well.

Alessandra DuMourier simply nods and clicks to her horse, continuing on next to the carriage. "It's a bit of a trek, but we should come to another clearing in a few miles, we can set up a camp there and rest the horses" she says knowing that her horse can carry on probably much longer than the others but that a few extra miles between themselves and the city is a few extra miles of safety and so she leads the way, pulling her coat back around her shoulders to stave off the growing cold.

As promised after a few miles they head into seemingly familiar territory, another sparse forest and towards the centre a grassy clearing with plenty of grazing for their horses and a small pond for them to drink from. Alessa slows her horse, waiting for her companions approval before dismounting. She seems at ease in the saddle, her clearly toned body adjusting easily to the movements of the animal beneath her with seemingly no strain on her part.

High Plains Drifter considers her words before nodding in reply.'I take it then that your thirst for adventure has prompted you to accompany me on my travels and that the monotony of robbing privileged people lacking the prudence to pay for additional security is of less interest to you than what I may offer?' Not waiting for her reply, Darque taps the roof with his cane and Edward continues to follow Alessa to the clearing amongst a copse of trees where a pond, once much larger, rests. The waters within are green with algae but it should not bother the horses.

The moment that Edward opens the door of the carriage and Darque steps out, there are several distinct splashes and the previously croaking frogs have all vanished among the cattails that grow thick around the edges of the pond. 'It is unfortunate that we were unable to acquire provisions for this evening but, in the morning, if you would, Mademoiselle, you and Edward may return to the city and spend some of the coin you obtained. Or one or both of you may decide to pursue a new course. Follow the river north and you shall eventually reach Chicago, though I would suggest you not travel alone, Edward, for you are still in the South and nothing but harm may befall you if they believe you to be an escaped slave.'

He looks towards the bandit woman who is still upon her horse.'If you would like, Mademoiselle du Mourier, I can sign over his bill of sale to you. I only ask that you fulfil my promise to assist him in reaching the North where he might find his freedom and possibly opportunities.'

Edward's face is contorted in shock and terror. He attempts to speak but merely mouths words as he glances from his master to the woman and back again. 'Iffin I may speak to you, Massah Darque,' Edward finally utters between quivering lips, 'I don' wan' to be left behind. I promise to do as you ask until we reach the big city and I do as you please 'til then. Beside, you say you do some ter'ble juju if I run off on you.'

Nodding, Darque returns his attention to Alessa. 'And what of you, Mademoiselle? It was not the most successful of endeavors I have attempted, I shall grant you, but what I have in mind for our partnership is something far more grand.'

Alessandra DuMourier slips off her horse and approaches her companion, counting out his half of her earnings for the day and offering them to him. "I'm afraid my dear Master Darque that I am of the same opinion and that you are rather tragically stuck with me for the duration of our partnership". With that the bandit sets about setting up a camp for them, releasing her horse as soon as the saddle and bags are off. The horse gives a sideways look to the man standing in the clearing and trots off wanting no part of his company as usual.

She nervously runs her fingers through her hair, the normally confident woman seemingly at a loss for words "that is, if you'll still have me along?" She smiles at him as she awaits his answer. Today's events have seemingly left a taste for adventure in the woman's mouth and it's doubtful that she'll be leaving his side any time soon. "Although I should love to hear what people think of us, we must make a strange sight travelling together, especially around here".

High Plains Drifter seems pleased by these responses, even if his expression remains unchanged. 'I would congratulate both of you on the wisdom of your conclusions but it would fall hollow as I am biased. I have need of you both for differing reasons and I have given each of you my word to assist you in ways that I have defined.' Gesturing at his slave with his cane, he commands, 'Edward, go and fetch some wood for a fire. Stray branches or brush shall do and mind you do not stray too far. If in the course of these duties you should happen to find a rabbit or a quail, do not hesitate to wring its neck as I am certain both yourself and Mademoiselle du Mourier are starved. It has, after all, been nearly a day since either of you have eaten anything.' Nodding hesitantly, Edward walks off into the shadows of the trees, which deepen and darken with every passing minute.

'It has been some time since I have had to earn a living, Mademoiselle du Mourier. Myself and my former partners were quite prosperous in New Orleans until a series of unfortunate events set me upon my present path. Perhaps at a time when I am more comfortable with your company, I may share my stories with you, should you find the prospect interesting.'

He pauses, peering sideway at Alessa, the gleam of his eye visible around the edge of his spectacles. 'These people were less impressed with my display than I expected but I suppose with this era of reason where science has displaced the old beliefs, they merely dismiss it as clever trickery.'

Alessandra DuMourier listens intently as he speaks, wondering just when he will grow comfortable with her. She sits herself down on her saddlebags as she did the night before, but this time does not make the mistake of asking him to join her. She will of course not refuse him should he choose to do so, but she is content with her own company for as long as it takes. "Well my friend that makes one of us, I shall continue to help you, splitting our earnings fairly of course and should you ever have want of my companionship it is yours for the asking", if she is aware that her offer could be taken multiple ways she makes no attempt to confirm or deny either meaning, simply scouting their surroundings "as for your stories, I would be interested, should such a time come that you are comfortable sharing them with me".

Leaning against the saddlebags she absently remarks "must have been some lovely scenery to draw your attention this afternoon". If she suspects that it was far more than the scenery that caught his eye she's taking it rather well and yet her words leave her meaning open to debate, for she could simply be remarking that she noticed him enjoying the sun or the weather rather than accusing him of admiring his travelling companion. "Perhaps you'll find other views equally to your liking in our travels".

High Plains Drifter nods solemnly at Alessa, letting the moment lapse into silence before finally commenting.'Innuendo and inference; the language of thieves. I know it well. To say what you intend without explicitly revealing your intentions. I shall not attempt to glean deeper meaning from your words but they do reveal this, Mademoiselle du Mourier. You are a woman who enjoys cultivating her mysteries. Perhaps you believe they make you interesting or they are safeguard to prevent whatever the truth may be from slipping past your lips by chance. Whatever the case may be, Mademoiselle, I assure you that my plans for you are entirely honorable. You are truly a beautiful woman but all beauty fades and decays and remains in that lamentable state far longer than the fleeting glimpse of pulchritude we are allowed. A rose by any other name remains just as withered and dead once it has become so until it is rendered unto dust. In that respect, not so different from humans as even the most comely of them shall one day become fodder for the worms, all finer features lost.

'Your flesh does not interest me, Mademoiselle, regardless of its pleasant configuration. I know better than most how swiftly and suddenly that may change. I shall take your company as you choose to present it. Do not presume I share the same interests as more common men.'

Around them, the darkness slowly encroaches. The pale man stands there, not unlike he had the previous evening, hands folded atop his cane. It seems as if the shadows cluster more closely to him that in other places where dusk casts every thing in shades of black and gray, the color fading as the light dies.

Alessandra DuMouriercontemplates his words for a moment and smiles, "if i thought for one moment that your intentions for me were any less honorable than they appeared on the surface I would not have placed myself between you and this afternoon's danger. However your opinion is duly noted and I shall keep my inferences to myself from now on, although I must say it is quite a welcome break from this afternoon, I swear half of those rich buffoons wouldve given me the world if i'd but asked for it" There's a wicked glint in her eyes as she considers the possibility but shakes it off, the ruling of worlds is far more dangerous than her current career and there appears to be far more honest work involved.

High Plains Drifter listens for any sound of his driver, which is made easier by the silence in the glade, broken only by vague distant noises and the occasional splash of something moving about in the pond. 'I am not so foolish as to promise anyone the world, even myself,' he demurs quietly. 'All things in their own time.'

After another pause, he adds, 'You have doubtlessly accomplished much through use of your charms and your skills and I would not easily dismiss your methods, even if they would have little effect upon myself. As I mentioned, I do not share the same interests as common men and thus it requires far more than a pretty face or a warm body to entice me. Still, these are precisely the types of capabilities I lack. My charms, such as they are, are much more unwieldy than yours. I have other ways of accomplishing my tasks.'

It is not so cold this evening as it had been the night before but the air hums with mosquitoes who have taken advantage of the sudden disappearance of the frogs to swarm around the pond.

Alessandra DuMourier nods and looks out over the pond watching for any sign of animals. "Such is the way of things I suppose" she muses "some men have far different weaknesses and strengths than others, as do women and even animals, even I know such a thing". She leans back and looks around "so you practice voodoo then?" she asks rather bluntly, curious to know more about her strange partner if he chooses to share with her.

High Plains Drifter is now almost invisible in the dark. Stars shimmer overhead and their faint light flickers upon the placid surface of the pond. 'Vodou is a religion, Mademoiselle du Mourier, with its own clergy, among whom I am not one. It involves the invocation of spirits as guides, protectors or avengers. It is a faith brought from the darkest heart of Africa and not something to be taken lightly or trifled with by the uninitiated. I do not practice Vodou but I do not doubt its power.'

It is an evasive answer as well as a mild rebuke. 'I would take care not to speak of such things around Edward. He is particularly sensitive about the subject as his family, he believes, was subject to a curse from a Bocor. Know you much of that heathen faith, Mademoiselle? If not, allow me to enlighten you.'

Alessandra DuMourier nodded, remembering the man's strange reaction to her words the previous night. "My expertise lies mostly in the myths of Rome, Egypt and the Norsemen, so I would certainly welcome any enlightenment you would have to offer, especially if we are going to be working together". She can still pick out his outline in the darkness, but its probably due to her proximity.

High Plains Drifter explains, 'In Vodou, there is the priest, the Houngan, and the priestess, the Mambo. In the best of times, they invoke good or positive spirits to heal or protect others or to dismiss negative influences. The Bocor, however, is said to practice his craft with both hands; that is, he invokes both light and dark spirits. He can bestow blessings but also curses. You may know of the rather popular belief in what are called zombies wherein the Bocor raises the flesh of the dead to his service. In truth, he enslaves the living and robs them of their identity and purpose. They are not truly dead, only in spirit. To conjure the departed, one must be a Carrefour or intercessor between the land of the living and the Deadside. This type of practice is inherently corruptive upon those who perform it. That, Mademoiselle du Mourier, is Vodou.

'Now, what you may know of Vodou, as kind of sorcery or magic, that is hoodoo. It does not rely upon the summoning of spirits but on manipulating the raw essence of the spiritual realm to reshape the material world. Hoodoo and Vodou are similar in many ways but never to be confused.' A note of dark amusement enters his voice. 'Myths you call them, suggesting they are merely stories but within every legend there is some truth that has allowed the tale to transcend time rather than be forgotten.'

Alessandra DuMourier watches him intently, absorbing all this information. "So tell me then, where do you fit in to all of this?" she asks "Unless that is a story for a time when I have proven my loyalty or some such concept". There's no anger in her voice, merely the acceptance that there are certain things he would most likely rather not tell her so soon into their partnership lest she turn out to simply betray him in the end anyway. She simply stared up at the shimmering stars as he spoke, wondering what other mysteries he might have to teach her.

High Plains Drifter spreads out his arms slowly, still holding his cane, as he says sardonically, 'Do you not believe me to be a simple magician, a charlatan adept in trickery and deception? Surely there is not any such power in those beliefs of which I speak? Faith can alter the course of history, Mademoiselle du Mourier. It is the element of humanity that has driven armies into battle, inspired greatness and depravity and saved and slain thousands, all in the name of faith. So what you believe, ma cherie, is more powerful than you know. It can create or unmake the most fervent of dreams and desires and turn the fondest wishes into most horrible nightmares. 'It is your place in the grand scheme, if there is one, that should most concern you. What is it you believe?'

At that moment, there is crashing and trampling throught the bramble bushes growing around the base of the nearby trees and Edward, or at least someone of his size and build, stumbles into the clearing. 'Dat be you, Massah Darque?' Edward inquires cautiously. 'None other,' Darque replies. 'I trust you have fetched wood for a fire.' 'Yes, Massah,' Edward answers, 'but found no sign of no quail or squirrel. Not even a possum, Massah.'

'Then I suppose you shall go hungry tonight unless Mademoiselle du Mourier has some additional provisions she is willing to share with you. I doubt you would partake of my rations.'

Swallowing audibly, Edward shakes his head as he walks around the pond and deposits a pile of sticks on the ground near Alessa. 'No, Massah. I think mebbe I just not eat tonight. Mebbe I go to town with Ma'moiselle tomorrow and get some foo' den.'

Alessandra DuMourier considers his question carefully, for it is surely something that requires much thought. Thankfully she is spared having to answer, at least for the moment by the return of Edward. She reaches into her saddlebag and pulls out some apples, it seems there is more in those two bags than meets the eye, she presses them into his hand "I'll have none of that, I have more than enough to share and it's no burden on me to do so". She begins building a fire with the sticks, leaving the men to whatever it is men do at times like this, specifically ones with more mystery about them than even herself. Once the fire is started she speaks again "but we should go to town and make sure we have enough supplies before we get too far out, would hate to be caught out there with nothing". She pulls another apple from her bag and takes a bite, watching the sparks dance into the sky as she continues contemplating the answer to Darque's question. "As for your answer Master Darque, perhaps that is something best shared privately some other time, when I have had my own time to consider the question throughly".

High Plains Drifter retires to the interior of his carriage but, before he does so, he bids Edward to erect the cloth tent from the steamer trunk. He assures Alessa that it can be safely pitched around the campfire, given that it proves fairly large, certainly big enough to house twice their number, with a high ceiling held in place by a single central pole. Edward hammers the stakes into the ground around the tent, with ropes tethered to the fragile structure to hold it in place.

Once the slave has completed this task, Darque enters, standing in such a way that he seems to not cast a shadow on the billowing white cloth. Though the tent would be little protection against a heavy rain, it is at least some modest form of shelter.

Still, it is when Darque removes something from his belt satchel, what looks to be a handful of dried herbs, and tosses them upon the glowing embers of the fire that a sweet smelling smoke rises up, filling the tent before drifting out through the entrance. At once, the hordes of mosquitoes whistling around the pond disappear.

'Sage and citron,' Darque explains. 'It drives away all manners of insidious creatures.' He covers his face with the tail of the scarf wrapped around his throat and nods, departing from inside the tent. For his part, Edward prepares separate bedding areas for himself and Alessa using the threadbare blankets.

Alessandra DuMourier inhales the strange scent with a smile, finding it interesting enough to be pleasant. She is grateful for the respite from the insects and as she watches Edward prepare a bed for her she can't help but wonder how this strange man with his magic intents to use her talents. But her thoughts are short lived for the excitement of the day quickly catches up to her and her blue eyes drift closed the moment she curls up on the blankets. Surrounded by strange smells and sounds it is certain that her dreams will be eventful.

High Plains Drifter closes the door of the carriage but the unpleasant odor still drifts in through the open windows. He pulls his scarf up around his nose and mouth. To him, the scent of sage is tolerable but avoided when possible. In other times, he can simply not abide it but, at the moment, he has the benefit of some resistance. However, he is likewise aware that not only does the herbal concoction serve to banish biting insects but also troublesome dreams. It is, after all, precisely what certain acquaintances in his past had used when he had come calling during nocturnal visitations.

In general, it is of little use to him; he does not suffer from nightmares or, in fact, dreams of any sort and such formidable visitants as most are inclined to ignore or avoid do the very same to him. The scarf is made of worn wool, stained black, but it does serve to conceal the scar along his throat where the Sengese blade had nearly severed his head. A reckoning, he gloats silently, shall arrive soon enough.