Kulmsted

"Percy will be here any minute, he has to be!" Or at least that was what Kulmsted told him self again and again, day after day, from the first moment he was condemned to this cell. He had traveled to Paris at the behest of one of his sources, who had been tracking down a rumor of innocents that may need the help of the league. Kulmsted would have preferred a weekend of wine, women, and wickedness, but that could easily found in Paris after he had attended to business. When he had enter the house where he was to make the rendezvous he was only slightly surprised to make the acquaintance of several rifle baring soldiers Kulmsted had just smiled, and acted as any other English gentlemen would as they bound and blindfolded him. The blow to the back of the head had been rather unpleasant, and so was waking on a cold and very unclean cell floor, but Kulmsted had always known the dangers involved in aiding Percy with his missions of mercy. Kulmsted had let those who came to question him play their little mind games, and even mocked their efforts to beat what they wanted out of him. Even when his escape attempt had failed, and he had been given a severe flogging as reward, Kulmsted could still smile with the knowledge that soon he would be free. Kulmsted was confident that it would not be long before Percy and the others would be here with some clever ploy to get him out. Now tied to a chair almost two weeks later, trying to relax soar limbs and ignore the numerous bruises that decorated his body, Kulmsted wrestled with doubt.

"Percy will come!" Kulmsted whispered to himself determinedly. "They all will! We have been friends for a long time. They would not leave me here to rot."

But a small part of his mind asked "Then where are they, where's Percy? At least he should have been here by now."

"They are probably just waiting for the right moment." Kulmstedassured himself.

But that small part of him still persisted. "It has been two weeks; if they were going to do something they would have done it by now.""Perhaps they don't know I am here." Kulmsted thought. "Yet Percy always seemed to know when and where those people of his pet project were imprisoned." His mind countered.

"I have always been there when they needed me. Cut, burned, beaten, I kept my word, and held my tongue. Where are they?" Kulmsted growled to him self.

"Real friends don't reward loyalty with betrayal."

"They would not betray me"

"Then where are they?"

"Could it be that they can't find a way to help me?"

"Percy has always been able to find a way for others. He always seems to find some cleaver way to make his outrageous schemes work."

"So where is he now?"

"Have my friends forgotten me, have I been betrayed?" Kulmsted always knew that he was hansom, and he had always known that there were those who were jealous of his looks. Even Percy was a little jealous of him, that was why he always tried to be so witty and cleaver all the time. Kulmsted never minded, they were friends and that was all that mattered. "Could Percy's jealously lead to betrayal?"

Just then Kulmsted heard the sound of boots on stone, someone was coming. Kulmsted wondered what fun his guards had planed for him this time. Food or fists it did not matter, nothing could be worse than what his friends had done to him. The foot steps stopped in front of his cell, then came the familiar clinking of metal that was the guards unlocking the door. With the loud grating sound of iron on stone the door to the cell was pushed open. Two guards entered the light of their lantern made Kulmsted squint. There was no food tray. Kulmsted did his best to prepare himself for what was to come, he would tell them nothing. His pride would not let him. Waiting for an assault he was slightly surprised when he felt the guards untie him and help him to his feet. He was a bit more surprised when they told him that there had been a mistake and that he was free to go. As the guards lead him out Kulmsted felt relief and guilt. Percy must have come to his aid. Kulmsted smiled with the thought of a joyous return, his friends welcoming him back. They would laugh and drink and tell the story of Percy's clever ruse. When one of the guards told him that the one who had gained his release was waiting for him outside Kulmsted pictured Percy in some humorous guise. With a suppressed smile Kulmsted followed the guards out of the small prison, down a short walkway to a gate that lead to the street. The soldiers at the gate didn't even give him a second look as he passed.

Kulmsted smiled, he was free. Though his hair was in disorder and his close were in disrepair at least there was no real damage done to his face so he was still in high spirits. But as his eyes fell on the one who awaited him, his smile dropped, and for the first time in his life Kulmsted was truly and completely surprised.

Prosecutor Villefort stood outside the prison on the empty street, a smile on his bloodless lips as the prisoner was brought out. The official was dressed as he always was, in severe black, just like many Jacobin officials, his hair no longer powdered as it had in his youth, and tied simply, he looked like the image of the Republic of Virtue, that was now France. So this was the Englishmen caught? He had heard that he had been left to his fate, he had put a special watch on him to insure that he served as bait for the Pimpernel. Absolutely nothing. Providence worked in many ways. He could have sent him to the guillotine, could have had him tortured more but no, that rarely worked when one was prepared for one's fate. The guards had informed him of his stoic nature, perhaps other persuasion could be used. Yes, he could use this method. He studied the prisoner with pale eyes. He was handsome and young, a spoiled dandy of the English society, he had nothing in life to live for and so he wasted his life rescuing French damsels in distress, fancying themselves the knights of yore. Pathetic. Now his once elegant garb had been torn, he was a long way off from London tea parties. He probably expected the Pimpernel come to rescue him. Well, his little reverie must have gone crashing down. And now, he was trapped, trapped a lot more then he was in the cell. A traitor in the League, how very...wonderful, a relish spread through his body, as he imagined the other nineteen lads falling at his feet, tightly bound, terror-stricken, and awaiting the loss of their heads. "Good morning, I hope you are doing well" he said almost mockingly at the man's dumfounded expression. So young, so innocent, it recalled another case. Ah, youth, nature played a cruel trick, giving all that strength to brainless youth, making them so easy to manipulate. It was one of his first cases, he had been young and not so cold, he had been madly in love, in love with Ambition and willing to sacrifice anything on her alter. That boy had unknowingly threatened his safety and paid for it, dearly. He had sacrificed much, which saved him from joining his prisoners after the Revolution came. Well, no matter, that case was over with, a new one had begun. "Would you care for a drink? Oh come now, I won't poison you, if I wanted you dead, you'd be carrying your head in a basket. You're quite free, well, free as you can be given the circumstances. I just wish to talk, you at least owe me that, hero" he said, pointing to a small shop across the street. "And if you think of running, I won't stop you. Just ponder this, how will you explain to your friends that you were 'mysteriously released'?" he asked. There were guards on either side, with pistols, with orders to shoot if he gave the signal as insurance but he hoped it would not have to come for that. "Not that they have been good friends as it is, leaving you here to rot while a young Vicomte was broken from prison" he said, his lip curling. . Damn, he had so looked forward to watching that insolent pup lose his head, what a pity. Well, there was time for that later. "I personally would have gone for my men first, but well, I am sure they had a good excuse for that. So how about that drink and some decent food, my treat?" he said, smirking at the man's discomfort. This should prove interesting.

<Kulmsted-William>

Evening gave the city of Paris its promise of approaching night. The high walls of the warehouses painted the narrow confines of the alley with nocturnal shads. Trash and a fowl reek infested this scrap of the beautiful city. But Kulmsted did not notice. Wrath ruled his senses, and a desire for vengeance robed him of reason. A refined English gentleman, Kulmsted relished fine wines, very fine women, and the finest attire. So his current rag clad state only vexed him more. The cold air did little to cool the fire of his displeasure, and man who appeared in front of him with a pistol only fanned the flames.

�Kill me, cur!� Kulmsted roared defiantly. �I will not be imprisoned again.�

The man before him sneered and raised his weapon. Kulmsted did not fear death, he only raged at the thought of those who would escape his retaliation. But what Kulmsted did not know was that death had other plans this night, and other victims.

The man with the pistol never saw the one who stepped from the shadows behind him. The sneer was still on his face as the tall white haired man from the shadows casually reached out, and with a twist, snapped his neck. Before the dead man had even hit the ground his pistol was plucked from his hand by the man with hair like frost. The weapon was again raised in Kulmsted�s direction.

Kulmsted heard the shot and saw the cloud of smoke, but felt no pain. He had thought for a moment that maybe the white haired man had missed until he heard the sound of something thudding to the ground behind him. Kulmsted turned to see a man sprawled in the trash of the alley, a pistol in his lifeless hand. Kulmsted turned to gaze upon his savior. Anger turn to shock, and shock faded to fear as Kulnsted eyes meet a face he recognized.

�William!� Kulmsted's voice came in a whisper.

The tall imposing figure of William approached and laid a hand on his should. A wolfish grin touched a face Kulmsted had hoped never again to see.

�Come, my old friend.� William said. �We have much to talk about.�