At Sleepy Hollow woods:

Manouche and Malachi *arrive at the appointed place, making their way carefully through the woods in the dark, illuminated here and there by patches of moonlight* 

Manouche *voice low*  I hope we ‘ave th’ right place, mate …

Malachi *looks ahead, nudges her*  We do. 

Manouche *looks where he’s pointing, sees the large tree.  Standing near it are Loralee, a second man she doesn’t recognize, and two younger men, also unfamiliar to her.  She assumes they’re all vampires.  The second man, standing close to Loralee, holds Blake in a firm grip.  She forces herself not to cry out as she sees the shape he’s in – clothes torn, hair wild, a glazed look in his eyes.  She swallows her fury, and she and Malachi slowly approach them*

Loralee *to Manouche and Malachi*  Stop!  That is close enough.  *Smiles unpleasantly*  How nice of you to come … *her gaze moves to Malachi – who she believes to be LaCroix, her expression softens*  LaCroix, my love, we will be together at last!  *to Manouche; voice turns cold again*  Send LaCroix over here first, then you shall get your poet.

Delano *remembers what he’s heard about Manouche and Malachi in town*  And don’t try anything funny!  Just send him over here, nice and slow.

Malachi *looking at them, murmurs to Manouche*  Don’t worry … I’m fine, I remember everything Gili taught me.  *reaches down, takes her hand, squeezes it quickly.  Drops it, slowly makes his way toward them.  The two young men grab him, hold him tight*

Manouche *trying to keep her voice steady, looks at Loralee sternly*  Right, we kept our part o’ th’ bargain.  Ye ‘ave yer … LaCroix.  Give me back me Mr. Blake … let ‘im go.

Loralee *puts a finger on her chin, looks up as if putting great thought into it; lowers eyes and meets Manouche’s eyes with a mischievous expression*  I do not think so … *paces back in forth in front of the rest of the group of vampires and captives*  You see, Danielle, if I kill BOTH the poet and LaCroix, then you get nothing and will finally feel something of the pain you have caused me.  *stops and turns to face Manouche again; smiles condescendingly*  You see how well that works out for me?

Delano *glares at Loralee in surprise; a smile broadens on his face as he realizes her plan*

Blake *feels a new rage as he sees Manouche’s face filled with anguish, hears Loralee’s mocking laugh.  With a swift motion he brings elbows back as hard as he can, striking Delano underneath the ribcage, knocking him off balance.  His hold loosens, and Blake breaks away, drops to the ground and grasps a long, pointed stick he’d noticed earlier.  Quickly jumps to his feet, leaps toward Loralee, cursing her loudly, swings arm back, and with all his might plunges the makeshift stake into her heart.  She lets out a horrific howl, her face morphing into many terrible visions, and she sinks to the ground, blood flowing.*

Manouche *still at a distance, watches helplessly, sees Malachi struggling in the hands of the recruits that hold him.  Then to her shock, he turns into a huge, vicious, snarling wolf in their grasp – and tears fill her eyes as she mouths the word “Refugee” – it was Gili all along, in Malachi’s place.  The recruits, terrified to suddenly find an enraged beast in their hands, start making strange squealing noises as they hasten to let go; Gili is not about to let them off easily, clamping powerful jaws down here and there, the recruits screaming.  Manouche then sees Delano rise and stare at Loralee's lifeless form; she hears his furious growl at what Blake has done … and watches in horror as Delano falls upon Blake, roughly yanks his head back, and sinks his fangs deep into Blake’s neck, the blood flowing.  In that second, Manouche is pretty certain she feels her heart bursting in her chest; her eyes roll back in their sockets, everything goes black, and she drops to the ground in a dead faint, and knows no more.*

*Later, back at the house on the river, Manouche sits on the patio, and Blake joins her from the kitchen, carrying drinks for them both.  He leans down, kisses her, hands her a glass, sits down in the chair next to hers, they gaze out at the river*

Blake:  It’s supposed to be a nice day today, I thought we could go out on the river.

Manouche:  I think ye’d suggest that if it were rainin’ cats an’ dogs, love.  I think yer jus' keen on goin' out on th’ water. 

Blake *shrugs*  Pisces.

Manouche *smiles*  We should continue yer lessons on Th’ Viper.  I’ll make a pirate outta ye yet.

Blake *grins*  So there’s still hope for me?  Guess it’s never too late.

Manouche:  All th’ time in th’ world, love.  We're in it fer th’ long haul, you an’ I, savvy?  The long haul … the long haul …

Malachi:  Manouche?

Manouche *scowls*  Not now, mate …

Malachi *insistent*  Manouche?  Speak to me …

Manouche *reluctantly opens her eyes, finds herself lying on the ground where she passed out.  Looks up, focuses, sees Malachi, kneeling down next to her, gazing into her face.  Blinks, looks around, starts to remember*

Malachi *smiles anxiously*  Th-thought you’d left us, sweetheart.

Manouche *looks at him carefully*  Are … are ye …

Malachi *nods*  It’s me, Malachi.  Ah ... Gili … it looks like he played a little trick on us both.  I guess in Hollywood terms, you could say he slipped me a mickey.  I woke up, got here as fast as I could …

Manouche *slowly sits up, looks around*  Wh-where are they?  *looks at him hopefully; perhaps she had dreamed it.  After all, the drinks on the patio, that was a dream … *  Wh-where’s me Mr. Blake …

Malachi *face pale*  They … they’re all gone … I don’t know where they are.  I … I got here just in time to see … *tries to grin*  that Gili, he was in rare form.  He was makin’ those miserable creatures scatter.  And ... Blake … *he pauses, swallows, takes her hand in his*  Manouche … I think he’s—

Manouche:  Don’t say it.  *she stands up, unsteadily, then runs for the spot where she’d seen Delano attack Blake; Malachi runs after her.  She slows her step as she approaches, sees nothing but a pool of blood on the ground.  She looks down at it for a long time, the world around her goes uncommonly still.  Malachi says nothing, places hands on her shoulders.  They look up fearfully as they hear a rustling in the brush; let out a collective sigh of relief as they see Gili emerge.*  Oh, blimey, Gili, thank god yer safe … *she runs to him, flings arms around him, tears in her eyes*  Ye shouldn’t ‘ave done that, mate … that weren’t part of our deal.  *she smiles, looks up at him, smile fades as she sees his grave expression*  Gili … wh-where … I didn’t see what ‘appened … where is …

Gili *his usually calm, collected face shows fear and deep sympathy*  Loralee is dead.  William Blake … I did what I could.  There’s a chance, but it’s very slim … do not give up completely, but be prepared for the worst.  I – I’m sorry, dreamer.  He was very brave …

Manouche *stares at him, all the blood rushes out of her face.  She slowly sinks down to her knees.  Her trembling stops; she gazes straight before her, eyes wide, unseeing, beyond tears.  She whispers*  Stupid white man.

At Manouche and Blake’s house:

Manouche, Malachi and Gili *make their way back from the woods, back into town, saying nothing, Manouche walking between Malachi and Gili, both of them holding her hands.  They arrive at the Arizona Dream Studios property, making their way across the grounds by moonlight*

Gili *to Manouche*  We’re not done yet, dreamer.  He could still be alive.  There still may be something I can do.  I’ll do everything I can.  *to Malachi*  Help her.  *he squeezes her hand, turns, quietly enters the large house*

Manouche *thinks to herself*  Bless ye, Gili.  *he’s already inside, but she knows he heard her*

Malachi *looks at her*  Wh-where do you want to go, dear?

Manouche *glances over at her house*  I want t’ go home.  Will ye stay with me fer awhile, mate?

Malachi *nods*  Long as you need.  *they walk over to the house, she unlocks the door, they enter.  It’s slightly stuffy since she and Blake haven’t used it much since they had gone to stay at the factory weeks ago for the birth; she goes around opening a few windows.  She turns on one very low lamp, barely illuminating the room.  Goes to the couch in front of fireplace, sits down slowly.  All her movements are slow and cautious, as if afraid of disturbing something*

Malachi *moves to buffet*  Want a drink?

Manouche:  No, mate … but help yerself.  *he glances at her, surprised, pours himself a rum.  He comes over to couch, sits next to her, drinks, silent for a few minutes.* 

Malachi:  Y’know, it’s not over.  We don’t know for certain.  He could very well still be alive.  He’s tougher than people give him credit for, and he’s smart as hell.  He’d been through quite a bit even before you met him, right?  I remember some stories …  *voice trails off as she gives no indication that she’s listening.  He pauses, then tries again*  He’s taken bullets before, he’s had wounds that would’ve killed anyone else an’ turned right around an’ took out his adversary.  He—

Manouche *quietly*  I saw th’ monster's fangs, mate.  Savvy?  I saw ‘em go into his throat.  Saw it with me own eyes … it weren’t no bullet, it weren’t buckshot.  *glances at him*  I ain’t sayin’ I won’t hold out a bit o’ hope, ‘cause it’s all I got.  *smiles slightly*  It’s what I do, innit?  Eternal optimist.  *smile fades, she gazes toward the fireplace mantle*  But … Gili himself said, prepare fer th’ worst.  *she sits quiet for a little while, Malachi finishes his drink*  Malachi, luv … if … if worse comes t’ worse, an’ … well … w-would ye help me do somethin’?

Malachi:  Sure I will.  But Manouche—

Manouche:  I want t’ get me ship back.  Th’ Libertine Trailer.  Would ye help me do that?  I think I’m ready t’ get back into some piratin’, as it were.

Malachi *looks at her*  But … but Manouche, it’s so far away … it’s got big holes in it.  How would you ever get it repaired?  And to what purpose?  You have The Viper.

Manouche *shakes head*  I’m givin’ it back.  It’s Kat’s ship.  She’s done with me … I could never feel good about usin’ it again.  There’s nothin’ left fer me ‘ere, mate. 

Malachi:  What’re you talking about, you still have friends here.  There’s Willy and Madame … the triplets …

Manouche:  An’ what am I t’ do … hide in th’ factory th’ rest o’ me life?  So I don’t run into any one of a multitude o’ enemies?  No more workin’ as part o’ Kat’s crew … no more traffic o’ any an’ all manner o’ friends through th’ house fer drinks or goodies … like Sergeant Godley an’ the like.  N-no more Raven, more’n likely.  No more larkin’ about at Chez Roux, after all, I might ‘appen upon Commander Portsmith, or that bloke drivin’ th’ bleedin’ hearse who caught me with a flyin’ tackle … or Nate, hell, he’s bound t’ be outta th’ lockup one day, if he ain’t already … them Order blokes, who knows, they could come back … Marchand, Corso … well, Corso!  *she almost smiles, grimly*  Aye, I’d still like t’ settle an account with that blighter.  *silent for a moment, then she looks at Malachi*  Y’see what I’m on about, don’t ye?  I’m afraid I’ve reached a point where th’ bad outweighs th’ good fer me ‘ere.  I know Willy an’ Madame will want me t’ stay … but when I explain to ‘em how th’ very sight o’ th’ place breaks me heart … an’ if I promise ‘em I’ll come back on occasion, or spend longer stretches with ‘em at their home in Malibu … blimey, they’ll understand, me brother an’ sister.  They would never insist on keepin’ me ‘ere like a caged animal if me heart were breakin’ with every passin’ minute.  In short, mate … I reckon I’m bein’ … I’m b-bein’ …

Malachi:  Selfish.  *he takes her in his arms, holds her, stroking her hair*  How ‘bout that.  At long last, you’re developing that self-preservation streak I’ve been harping at you about all this time.  And now that you’re finally doing it, here I am, trying to talk you out of it.  Ironic, innit?  *he’s concerned that she’s so still; no tears coming forth, no trembling, just the slow, careful movements, when she moves at all*  Listen … take your time, all right?  Don’t decide anything right this second.  People are often tempted to make big life-changing decisions after a shock, and it’s the absolute worst time to do it.  Let’s find out about Blake first.  Then, if … if you still want to leave … well, there’s nothin’ holding me here.  We’ll pool our money, get a ship, we’ll leave together, and I’ll do everything I can to help you get The Libertine Trailer seaworthy again, savvy?  If it’s beyond repair, then … well, you’ll be in the market, as it were.  So we’ll find you a new ship, and you’ll have a new start.  Who knows … maybe it’ll be the time for us to finally join forces and attempt to combine our pirate careers.  We never really tried before.

Manouche:  Ye never wanted to.  Y’ said I were too much trouble.  *smiles a very small smile*

Malachi *shrugs*  Well, that was a long time ago.  A lot of things have changed.  Anyway, just a thought.  Like I said, let’s wait awhile, see what happens.

Manouche *nods*  We ‘ave an accord.  Cheers, mate, thanks t’ ye.  D-don’t know what I’d do without ye right now.  I’m obliged …

Malachi:  Forget it.  *reaches into pocket, brings out cigarettes, lights one*  Just do me a favor, don’t let it get around.  My reputation at From Hell Court’ll be ruined if any of this “noble” bollocks gets back to my associates.  *he gives her a shake.  They fall silent, the room lit by nothing more than the low lamp in the corner, and the glow of Malachi’s cigarette*

At the hospital:

*The monitor is beeping at its normal rate again, properly attached, after Abberline's been threatened with strapping him into the bed if he touches it again, and Kat with being thrown out and getting an entrance prohibition if she touches him again.  Two nurses are sitting in the room, the other one knitting a sock, the other filling papers, both observing the pair.  Kat is seated in a chair with a rumpled dress and disheveled hair*

Abberline:  Kat, I got to ask you something.  On the Apparition, what did you mean with a certain member of the crew?  Is there something I need to know, that you haven't told me?  *looking intensely at her*

Kat *Staring daggers at the pair of nurses, is startled at the question.  Glancing at him*  I woulda thought that were bein' fair obvious.  Thought ye might be lookin' te find Manouche.

*Both the nurses look up and begin to stare at Kat immediately when she opens her mouth.*

Abberline *curses himself for his stupidity*  I thought you were referring to some male pirate you haven't told me about.  Why would I go asking after Manouche?

Kat *Snarls at the nurses*  WHAT??  *More subdued to Abby*  Be more fittin' te ask what ye were doin' kissin' 'er on our weddin' day, innit?  *The nurses exchange a meaning glance and go on observing Kat*

Abberline:  No, the proper question is why were you spying on me.
 

Kat:  Oh is it?  *Her voice going cool*  I wasn't for spyin' on ye, luv.  I 'ad business te see te.  I can't 'elp it iffen I were trippin' o'er yer lil rendezvous.  Now can I??

*The nurses resume their work*

Abberline:  Look, can't we drop this subject already?  Manouche is just a friend.  What business would that have been that forces you to go running after me in secrecy? 

Kat *Voice going icy*  I didna bring it up mate and I wasn't for runnin' after ye.  Mayhap I be 'avin' secrets of my own!  Savvy?

Abberline:  No.  You are my wife and it means that you cannot have any secrets of your own.  So I was right after all, about that pirate lover of yours.  What other business would you have on the beach if it isn't snooping after me?

Kat *Leaping to her feet*  'ow darst ye be accusin' me of naught with the name of yer gypsy whore still 'angin' in the air!!!

*The nurses jump up, in unison*  Mrs. Abberline!

Abberline:  You have no right to go calling her names, you with your pirates and vampires and shadowy gents.  How do I have to spell it that you'd understand.  She is just a friend, a dear friend to me.  As she is to you.  And as you well know that at least she is happily married.  And I suggest that you go and make your peace with her and apologize to her for your stupid behaviour.  And furthermore, we are going to need her.  I want her to deliver my daughter when the time comes.

*The nurses*  Mr. Abberline!

Kat *Glares at him*  I'm thinkin' ye 'ave made yerself perfectly clear.  Now I best take my leave.  I wouldn't want te be keepin' them shadowy gents waitin' now, would I!!!  *Turns and storms out the door*

Abberline *gets up and tries to go after her, stopped first by the cords of the machine that begins to beep wild and then the nurses, who take him in an iron grip by the arms and lead him back to the bed.*  Kat!

1st Nurse:  Now, Mr. Abberline, it's either calming down or the straps.

Abberline:  But my wife ...

2nd Nurse:  Yes, she left.  Don't get upset, Mr. Abberline, or I have to summon the doctor to give you a tranquillizer.

1st Nurse *indignantly*  Though I don't wonder at all that she left in that way, Mr. Abberline.  You should learn to control yourself.

2nd Nurse:  Maybe she won't be back at all.  *pats him on the shoulder*  You'd better get some rest now.  *to the 1st Nurse, on their way out of the room*  Hey, we could have a bet of how long this marriage is going to last ...

1st Nurse:  What fun would that be, we'd both bet on the same ...  *they close the door*

Andrew *to Sebastian*  Aww, no fun.  What if she doesn't come back?

Sebastian *takes a sip of his light coke and rewinds the tape*  This second tape is even better than the first one, dontcha think?

Andrew *nods, they both fall silent and start to watch Kat and Abberline again*

At Manouche and Blake’s house:

Manouche *wakes up early in the morning, feeling very stiff, realizes she’d fallen asleep on the couch, half sitting up, half lying down, Malachi’s arms around her.  She looks at him, sees he’s heavily asleep, slips out from under his arms, stands up, stretches.  She moves slowly, softly through the house, still as if to make sure she doesn’t disturb anything, loathe to disturb even so much as the air around her by moving through it.  She crosses the living room, going into the kitchen, decides to make coffee like she’s done a thousand times but suddenly can’t remember where anything is.  She keeps looking, finally finds everything she needs, gets the coffee going, steps out on the patio, arms wrapped tight around her as if cold, though the morning is mild and warm.  She steps over to one of the chairs facing the river, slowly sinks down into it, still in a daze over the events the night before.  She figures sooner or later the floodgates will open, and she’ll let loose with the grieving, but for now she feels dead inside.  She vaguely remembers things Alifi said to her … she’s a dreamer … she has the Rom magic … and she wonders, can she use it to pierce the dimensions, to pick up on some indication of whether Blake is still alive.  She tries, or thinks she’s trying, but she knows she’s too tired and sick at heart to concentrate properly … she hears nothing, she feels nothing.  She’s oddly grateful for that.*

*She listens to the river rushing, thinks how nice it would be, just to throw herself onto it, float with it wherever it would feed into, the sea, probably … perhaps just become part of the sea, the water that she’s always found solace in, from the time she lost her brother to now, listening to the water rushing over the rocks, speaking to her as if it knows of her grief and wants to comfort her.  She suddenly feels an odd sensation prickling at the back of her neck; she nods, knows what it is without turning around.  She speaks without shifting her gaze from the river*  ‘Ello, beastie.

Leader *standing behind her, with one of the Shadows*  You’ve been away, dreamer.

Manouche:  I been stayin’ at th’ factory … y’ remember, I told ye I were deliverin’ Madame’s babies.

Leader:  I remember.

Manouche:  They was more beautiful than I’d predicted.  An’ weren’t it jus’ like Madame, t’ spring a third one on us.  Triplets, mate.  Y’never seen th’ like.

Leader:  What’s wrong with you?

Manouche *closes eyes slowly, sighs*  I’m nursin’ a broken heart.  Why’re ye askin’, y’ bastard?  Ye bloody well know.

Leader:  It’s just curious to me.  You humans and your attachments, fascinating … *pauses*  Given the situation, I thought I would check up on you, see if you would care to honor your promise to us sooner rather than later.  As I understood it, you asked for more time so you and this man could have a wedding.  Seeing as how that’s not likely … well, it occurred to us that you might want to—

Manouche *snaps*  Well, guess again.  October 17 is the date we agreed on, an’ so it stands.

Leader:  But … very well, explain to me for my own curiosity, because I would like to understand.  Why wait, when all you’re going to do for the next three months is feel this emptiness?

Manouche *smirks*  Part o’ th’ grievin’ process, let’s call it.  Ye wouldn’t understand, don’t bother yerself, mate.  Let’s jus’ stick to th’ schedule, savvy?  Now if ye don’t mind, I’d like t’ be left alone.

Leader:  Very well.  October 17 it is.  *turns to leave, then turns back toward her*  Look at it this way.  You’ll be with your brother again.  *waits a moment; when Manouche doesn’t respond, he turns and leaves the premises, the Shadow following close behind*

Manouche *sits staring at the river, thinking about the bargain she’s made with the Guardians, thinks of all the good it’ll do for everyone in the town.  Suddenly, it sounds like a bloody good idea.*

Malachi *comes out with two cups of coffee.  He comes over to her, hands her a cup, sits down in the chair next to her*  I guess now’s as good a time as any to spout a cliché … everything looks a little better the next day, doesn’t it.

Manouche *sips coffee, continues to gaze out at the river; nods slightly*  Aye, that it does, luv.  That it does.

At the hospital:

Commander Portsmith *enters the hospital and goes first straight to her own surveillance room and starts a tape, first she turns red with anger seeing Kat burst in the room, then even more red with something else, and finally at the end of the tape she smiles contentedly to herself, stops the tape and goes to Andrew*  Andrew, give me the Abberline papers.  Who's the nurse responsible for him now?

Andrew:  There are two, nurses Hilda and Helga.

Portsmith:  I want a word with them.  Fetch them.

Andrew *timidly*  They are in Mr. Abberline's room.

Portsmith:  Good. *she turns her back to Andrew and goes to Abberline's room, enters without knocking and startles the two nurses guarding him; she looks at their sturdy frames with satisfaction*  Wait outside.

Nurses, in unison:  Aye, Commander!  *they salute her and march away*

Portsmith:  Hello Fred.

Abberline:  What are you doing here?

Portsmith *with mock astonishment*  You didn't wait for my visit?  I am here of course to see how you are doing, I am responsible for my personnel and want to see you get the best treatment.

Abberline:  Sorry to say, but he's fled the hospital.

Portsmith:  I take it that you refer to Dr. Rainey.  And knowing you, I can guess which of the Raineys you would prefer.  Yes, Dr. Martin Rainey is unavailable but I will catch him sooner or later.  As that other Dr. Rainey as well.  It is only a matter of time.  But if you were so displeased with Dr. Rainey's treatment, you should like Dr. Steward's approach better.  You will see that his views on addictions and curing them are entirely different.  But I am not here talk about that.  I was first going to request that you annul that stupid marriage of yours or I will do it myself.  I am sure I will find some way to get it cancelled, but after, lets say some inspiring visions I saw today, *grins*  I have come to the conclusion that I don't have to do anything.  Your pirate wife does it herself.  You are a bloody fool, Fred.  Whatever made you commit such a grave error of judgment?  You are such a fool to believe those pirates and Indians, they've tricked you before.

Abberline:  Not as badly as you.

Portsmith:  You know you don't need a marriage to keep that kid, whoever is the father of it.

Abberline:  My daughter.

Portsmith:  As you wish.  You know as well as me that Kat can't keep a child, she'll give it to the best first person who wants to take it.  It's going to be funny to see what colour that 'daughter of yours' is going to be.  Do you really believe that she could be a wife and a mother?  Have you ever thought why she married you?  You are so selfish and blind that you don't see the real reasons.  She's a pirate.  Once a pirate, always a pirate.  *frowning*  I will never forgive you this marriage with Kat.  How dare you marry that tramp.  She's just trash.  Did you know that she's already cheating on you?  Do you know where she went, in that indecent skimpy frock of hers?  I bet you don't want to know ... those guys are just going to love her new style.  Did you think it was intended for you?  You are a fool Fred.  *without waiting for any answer, Portsmith turns around and leaves the room.  Outside the room*  No visitors.  Absolutely.

Nurses *in unison*  No visitors, Commander Portsmith!

At Manouche and Blake’s house:

Manouche *wanders through the house aimlessly.  Malachi has left for awhile, saying he had things he needed to do but promising he would be back as soon as he could, and making her swear she would just stay put and take care of herself.  She had agreed, a little bewildered; what on earth did he think she would do?  It’s all she can do to move from one room to another … *

*She knows it’s been awhile since she’s eaten, but nothing appeals to her.  She finds an orange, peels it, pushes it away after two sections.  She pours more coffee, thinks for a moment, then takes it to the buffet in the living room, opens a bottle of kahlua, adds a shot to the coffee.  She tastes it, finds the liqueur comforting; takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, cautiously, almost as if a deep breath is a luxury she cannot afford.  She drinks again, then looks toward the hallway.  So far, since coming home, she has stuck to the front of the house … living room, dining room, kitchen.  She has gone into the tiny half-bath off the kitchen several times, splashing cold water on her face, avoiding looking at her reflection in the mirror.  But now she feels drawn toward the hallway that leads to Raven’s room, Blake’s study, her own little studio … their bedroom … *

*She averts her eyes from the framed pictures and mementos hanging in the hall, many pictures of her and Blake, one she particularly likes of her and Blake with Willy and Madame at Chez Roux, some of other friends, or places they’ve been.  She turns at the first door on her right, and finds herself in Blake’s study.  Stands quietly in the doorway for a moment, taking in the large desk with papers scattered all over, the overstuffed chair next to the tiny woodburning stove in the corner, the built-in shelves filled beyond capacity with books, and binders of his verse still in search of a publisher.  She looks over at a far wall that’s partially papered in pink pages, and remembers how it came to be.  He had come into the kitchen one day carrying the mail … she was making a sugar cream pie … *

Blake *disgusted, holding up an open envelope*  Here it is, another rejection to add to my collection.  *drops the envelope down on the table, the pink rejection letter partially exposed*

Manouche *wipes hands off with a towel, comes over to him, wraps her arms around him*  Ye ‘ave quite a knack fer it, my love … how do ye do it?  Y’ manage to find all th’ most tasteless publishers o’ limited vision to send yer submissions to.  Pearls before swine, is what it is.  *kisses him*

Blake *smirks*  Yeah, it’s very specialized work.

Manouche:  Look at it this way … each rejection ye get means yer that much closer to th’ one who’ll accept ye.  Law of averages, innit?  Sooner or later, someone’s got to ‘ave th’ good sense t’ see the worth o’ yer beautiful poetry.  I say we celebrate each one o’ these bloody things as one more step up th’ ladder.  An’ we jus’ happen to ‘ave a bottle o’ champagne in th’ house fer just such an occasion, savvy?  *kisses him again, this time long and lingering*

Blake *pulls her closer, murmurs*  You do take the sting out of rejection, Mrs. Blake.  *smiles*  Sure, what the hell … why not?  Maybe you’re right.  *he releases her, fetches the champagne from the refrigerator while she turns to the cabinets, opens one, reaches up for two glasses.  He continues talking as he turns the cork in the bottle to open it*  It just gets old sometimes, y’know?  I mean … I bet I have so many of those damn things, I could paper a whole wall with ‘em.  *he suddenly looks up, she turns, they look at each other and smile mischievously – just as the cork pops free from the bottle.  They exclaim and laugh as the champagne sprays, quickly positioning the glasses to catch some of it.  They soon found themselves in his study, with wallpaper paste and the stack of rejection letters, gluing them to the wall as they finished the champagne and laughed a great deal.  After which they then gazed at each other and moved on to other activities … and the sugar cream pie was completely forgotten, left to be finished the following day*

Manouche *nods to herself slightly at the memory, then turns her eyes away from the wall, slowly makes her way over to his desk.  She quickly turns over a framed picture of herself so it lays flat, face down on the desk.  Everything is as it always has been, dozens of pages with unfinished verse, a few sheets crumpled up into loose wads.  She shuffles through them absently, then stops at one – one she’s never seen before, a page with her name at the top, Manouche.  She reads it, her eyes growing soft; she slowly sinks down into his desk chair, reads it through several times.  It’s heartbreakingly beautiful … and it’s complete.  She brings the page up to her face, covers her face with it, then brings it down, holds it pressed against her heart.  She leans back in the chair, her eyes closed, as the sun and shadows move across the room through the generous-sized window with a view of the woods.  The rushing river sounds louder to her now ... or maybe that’s just her imagination … *

At the hospital:

Mailman Mike *comes to the reception at the hospital*  Where can I find Mr. Abberline?  I’ve got a delivery directly the addressee.

Andrew:  Leave it at the reception.

Mike:  Man, didn't you hear a word I said?  It's to be delivered to him personally.  I've got to report you to Commander Portsmith if you don't let me through.

Andrew:  What's the Commander got to do with the post?

Mike:  Dunno.  But she keeps an eye on us and the mail.

Andrew:  All right, all right second floor, room 15.

Mike *runs the stairs, knocks at the door*  Mr. Abberline, mail for you!

Hilda *opens the door, looks down at Mike, then she grabs him by the collar and carries him into the room*  The mailman is here.  I don't know it he counts as a visitor.  Come on, give the package to Helga.

Mike *squeals*  I am an official, you are not the treat ... *Hilda shakes him*

Helga *snatches the box from Mike*  Throw him out, we're not breaking the Commander's orders.

Hilda *throws Mike out*  Shut up you whining brat and bugger off!

Mike *piping*  I got to give it to the addressee ... He's got to sign ...

Helga *tears a paper from the monitor output and gives it to Abberline with a pen*  Sign here.  *Crumples the paper to a ball and throws it after Mike and slams the door shut*

Abberline *stares at them with wide eyes*

Helga *opens the package and finds the box and the note*  Hey, Hilda, listen to this, this is hilarious, Daphne the daft sent him a message and a ring:

Dear Freddie,

I’m so pleased to have found a replacement for your ring.  It’s probably not quite as valuable as the original, but I think it’s awfully close, n'est-ce pas?  After we parted, I was feeling so guilty for my dishonesty to you, so I’m grateful for this chance to make amends.  Isn’t it true, honesty is the best policy.  Best of luck in your marriage,

Fondly,

Daphne

Hilda:  An engagement ring.  Looks a bit old.  Must be secondhand.  *laughs thunderously*  Did she want to marry you?  *throws the ring on the cover*  Helga, lets get some coffee and talk about the bet …

Helga:  And no tricks. Mr. Abberline.  *to Hilda*  Wonder if she proposed to him too ...

At Manouche and Blake’s house:

Kat *Having already given the order to her crew to make the ship ready to sail, stands staring at Manouche's house.  Wanting peace with Manouche before her departure.  Knowing now that there would be no chance of a future with Abby, therefore no reason for a war with Manouche.  Knocks at door.*

Manouche *still in Blake’s study, holding the poem to her chest, opens her eyes, thought she heard something.  She blinks, waits, then hears it again – a knocking at the door.  She slowly stands up, gently places the poem back on the desk, makes her way down the hallway, through the living room, to the entryway, opens the door.*  Kat … I … I reckon this ‘as been comin’, ain’t it?  Ye care t’ step ‘round to th’ back o’ th’ house?  Ye can get a good, clear swing at me there … an’ no one’s likely t’ see.  *looks her over carefully, her remote eyes showing only a slight surprise*  Where’s yer shovel? 

Kat *Steps inside.  Sad but firmly*  No sho'el, no sword, no Abby.  It be o'er and done with, I've come te cry peace.  *Hesitatingly putting out her hand*  Mate, friend ... eh?

Manouche *stares, not quite sure she’s hearing right.  Looks at Kat’s outstretched hand, slowly takes it in hers, shakes gently*  Aye, friends.  If that’s what ye want, mate.  C’mon in, if ye like, sit down.  *leads her into the living room, still moving slowly*  Ahh … can I offer ye anythin’?  *moves over to buffet, pours out two large glasses of rum, brings them over to table in front of couch*  No worries, I’ll ‘ave it if ye don’t want it.  *looks at her closely, with just a ghost of a smile*  Blimey, what’re ye made up fer?  Never known ye t’ go in fer that sorta thing.  *frowns, shuts her eyes for a moment, brings a hand up to her head*  I – I’m sorry … apologies, luv, I’m not at me best today … did y’ say it’s over between yerself an’ Abby?  Why’s that?  Thought th’ pair o’ ye were wantin’ to make a go of it …

Kat *Picks up rum.  Studies Manouche*  A go of what, mate, disrespect, distrust and disloyal..... *Pauses, looks away*  Sorry mate, no offence that.  'e's made his opinion of me more than plain.  It be time te put it aside and put back te sea.  Try to forget.  *sighs*  And you, mate, will ye and Blake remain 'ere then?

Manouche:  No offence taken, luv, an’ I’m truly sorry fer th’ pain I musta caused ye, inadvertent though it were.  But … put t’ sea, an’ with a baby on th’ way?  Ye’ll ‘ave to time it careful, won’t ye?  I reckon y’know what yer doin’.  S’funny ye speakin’ o’ returnin’ to sea … I … I were jus’ tellin’ Malachi that’s soundin’ highly appealin’ t’ me as of late.  Matter o’ fact, if ye’d care t’ wait, stay on a bit longer till I’m ready t’ leave, I’d be proud t’ continue servin’ under ye, savvy?  *takes a drink, pauses*  Mr. Blake … h-he’s … he’s gone, luv.  D’ ye remember that Loralee, what showed up ‘ere recent?  It would appear I’m a descendant of a woman who crossed her, long ago … an’ she’s had it in fer me.  A vampire … th-they’re hard t’ fight, mate, as ye no doubt know yerself.  *swallows, takes another drink*  She … she got ‘er revenge, as it were.  She an’ a bloke she were with, they kidnapped me Mr. Blake … I tried t’ get ‘im back, an’ yer brother Gili were a huge assist, blimey, mate, he’s a treasure … but … things didn’t go as planned.  S’the way of it sometimes, innit?  Luck o’ the draw, an’ all that.  *her voice becomes very soft*  Mr. Blake, he killed Loralee … an’ in return, her mate … he … put his cursed fangs in me Mr. Blake’s throat.  *the glass slips through her fingers, falls to the floor; spills but doesn’t break.  She stares down at it*  Blimey, look at that … that’s some quality glassware, innit?  I … carried it home from Chez Roux one night.  I wanted t’ finish me drink, an’ it were past closin’.  I … reckon I should get it back to Marijke …

Kat *Shivers*  Blake, a good man, my sincerest regrets luv.  *A sudden thought occurs to her.  She looks hard at Manouche.*  Ye can't stay 'ere long, mate.  There be worse thin's than death at the 'ands of such creatures and it may be that Blake has met one.  If that be the way of it, ye best be puttin' distance twix ye and Deppville.  Apologies mate, but I can't wait for long, the temptations te great.  'e's all I can bloody think 'bout.

Manouche *shrugs*  I don’t give a toss what happens t’ me now.  Matter o’ fact, I ……..  *thinks about the Guardians*  Never mind.  *Turns to look at Kat*  You, however, that’s a different story.  He’s all y’ bloody think about?  Then why th’ hell are ye runnin’?  Why don’t ye work on it with ‘im?  I know fer a fact he wants t’ try with ye.  Give it a shot, ye can always cut an’ run if it don’t work.  Take it from me, mate … if ye ‘ave a love in yer life, don’t be tossin’ it aside with both hands, savvy?  It … it don’t grow on trees.  *runs hand through hair*  There I go, meddlin’ again, an’ I promised I wouldn’t.  No worries about waitin’ on me, if puttin’ to sea is indeed yer final decision.  Malachi an’ I can go together, we’ll be sound.  I’m glad ye were willin’ te make up with me.  Seems we been through too much together t’ leave it sour, ay?  *tries to smile, can’t quite*  In whatever time we ‘ave left … I’d be most obliged an’ grateful if we could all be friends again.  It’s a bloody short ride, this life, an’ sometimes a rough one.  Good to … to ‘ave extra hands t’ hang onto when ye need ‘em.  *takes long drink, gazing at the fireplace mantle*

Kat:  I 'ave tried mate.  *Looks down at herself*  What do ye think this silly outfit's 'bout.  It didna matter, we still ended up tryin' to break a knife off in each other. 'urts too much.  I'll stay long as I can, mate.  But ye should seek out Jerod's 'elp if naught else, eh?  I'll be on my ship if ye 'ave need, luv.  Mates we be and shall remain.  Now I best see te my ship.  Ye should rest, mate.  *Takes hold of Manouche's arm*  Remember Jerod, mate, 'e can 'elp.  *With a nod, she departs and returns to her ship.*

Manouche *watches Kat go, thinks to herself*  Nothin’ silly about th’ outfit, mate … ye’r beautiful.  But ye always was.  Ye an’ th’ Inspector’ll make a go of it, ye’ll see.  Ye’ll both come t’ realize … with a healer baby on th’ way, ye ‘ave no choice, bless ye both.  *looks down, sees there’s still rum left in Kat’s glass; picks it up, finishes it off.  Remembers spilled rum at her feet, removes a scarf from around her neck, mops it up.  Slowly rises, takes glasses into the kitchen, sets them in the sink, rinses them out.  Stands in the kitchen for a few minutes, looks out at the river.  The house seems to be closing in on her, she finds it hard to breathe.  She tries to take a deep breath, but it’s different than before, when it felt like a luxury; now it feels like something she doesn’t deserve.  Surprisingly, the sensation gives her no feeling of urgency as she slowly walks out to the patio, then down the lawn to the river, where she steps into the rushing water, walks out into it till the chilly current is up to her waist, holds her nose, immerses herself for a brief time, then pops back up, blinking, gasping from the cold.  She pulls herself out, finds a spot on the riverbank where the setting sun still casts a beam, lets herself dry off for a little while, her mind a total blank.  Soon the shadows are growing long, and she sits up, shakes the excess water out of her hair.  She stands up, glances toward the house again, then shifts her gaze and heads away from the house, walking along the river, till she’s close to town.  She then goes through the woods, into town, till she reaches From Hell Court.  She finds the old familiar tavern, peeks inside to see whether Malachi is there; when she’s satisfied he isn’t, she steps inside, makes her way to the back, down the stairs, digs in her pocket for a few coins for the man at the entryway, finds an unoccupied padded bench, and takes her place among the dragon-chasers*