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section7mfuAnd here's part III (part I, part II)
If anything looks like a reference to something else, it probably is.
Napoleon unlocked the door, revealing a rather small room with a single, large bed. Napoleon sighed as he unceremoniously dumped his half of the gear, kicked off his shoes, and reclined on his half of the bed, feeling suddenly exhausted.
“Napoleon?” Illya asked.
“Huh?” the American mumbled, sleepily.
“Where is the light switch? I’m having trouble finding it.”
“Do we really need that now? Get over here and go to sleep.”
“At least turn the lamp on so that I do not fall and break my neck!”
Napoleon sleepily reached for the lamp on the bedside table, fumbling for a switch. When he didn’t find one, he turned and looked at it more closely, frowning as he realized that it was an oil lamp.
“Seriously?” he muttered in annoyance, as he lit it with a match. “I get that they want to keep things looking authentic, but they can’t even give us modern conveniences in our rooms, at least?”
“As you said, Napoleon, it is a tourist trap that is still better than sleeping on the desert sands,” Illya sighed, reclining on his half of the bed. “Dobroy nochi.”
“Good night,” Napoleon echoed, dousing the lamp.
They both dozed for about an hour; it was the sound of gunshots that awakened them again. Illya scrambled for his Special by force of habit and ended up falling off of the bed, flat on his face. Napoleon awoke and cursed in frustration as he stood up, lighting the oil lamp again with one hand while grabbing his Special with the other.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. “I’m all for the acting out of these historical recreations, but not in the middle of the night! What do they expect us to do!?”
“I do not know about them, but I, for one, would appreciate it if you stopped standing on me.”
“Oh, sorry,” Napoleon said, hastily removing his foot from Illya’s back and then helping him up.
More shots rang out now, and the duo quickly headed downstairs.
“They’re after me again!” Jim said, taking refuge behind the bar with Karen and Clem. “They won’t listen when I try to tell them that I’m innocent!”
“Mobs rarely listen to anyone,” Illya said. “They are a writhing mass that operates under one unchangeable mental wavelength.”
“Very poetic, Tovarisch,” Napoleon commented, suppressing a smirk in spite of the situation. “Now give them a couple warning shots—aim high. If that doesn’t stop them, then give them a taste of the darts.”
Illya gladly obliged, and the shots coming from outside soon stopped.
“Alright, that’s enough!” Napoleon called out. “I already told you, we’re the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement; we’re more than willing to make multiple arrests for any of you foolish enough to try to bring any further harm on anyone in here!”
“You’ve got yourself a killer in there, Lawman!”
“That’s Old Man Winstrate!” Jim said. “That’s the one who claims he saw me kill the banker! He had words with Lionheart and Kid about it—said that they didn’t know what they were talking about and were just rambling cowards.”
“Well, in that case, he’s about to get the shock of his life,” Napoleon said, grabbing one of the lit oil lamps. “Illya, come with me to the entrance—we’re going to let them see our faces.”
Illya’s eyes widened in sudden realization, and he went along with Napoleon’s plan. The swinging doors, now shut, mostly blocked their anachronistic suits from view. Napoleon then held up the lamp, allowing the light to illuminate their faces.
The reaction was everything Napoleon had hoped for.
“It’s Lionheart and Kid!”
“Kid’s alive!”
“That’s right, he’s alive,” Napoleon said. “And he knows everything—the one who killed the banker, and the one who attacked him! First thing we’re going to do is collect the evidence—and then round up the guilty one before the night is over!” His eyes narrowed. “So anyone who wants to avoid being arrested for obstruction of justice had better stay out of our way!”
The crowd dispersed even more quickly than before the first time. Old Man Winstrate and his son were the last to leave, trying to glare daggers at either them or at Jim inside. They eventually left, as well.
“That was a risky move, Napoleon.”
“I’m just playing their game, Illya. That’s what this whole thing is about, after all. The sooner we win the game, the sooner we can sleep.”
“That was a stroke of genius!” Karen commented, as she and the others came out of hiding. “Pretending to be Lionheart and Kid! That’ll get the murderer moving to cover his tracks!”
“Da; that is true,” Illya added. “Napoleon, we had best go and find the evidence before it is destroyed.”
“Fellas…” Jim said. “I’m obliged to you.”
“Don’t thank us yet; we haven’t got the evidence yet,” Napoleon warned him. He looked to his partner. “Let’s get going.”
“Where do we search first?” Illya asked. “The bank?”
“Best place to start,” Napoleon agreed.
“You can use Lionheart and Kid’s horses to get there quicker,” Clem said.
“With all due respect, an automobile would be better,” Illya said.
“A what?”
“…Never mind,” Illya said, with a roll of his eyes. “We’ll borrow the horses. Where are they?”
“They’re hitched out back, and they left them when Lionheart took Kid on the ox cart; with you two looking like them, those horses will likely listen to you just fine. The white one, Storm, belongs to Kid; the brown one with the white mane, Epona, belongs to Lionheart. If you want to reach the bank, keep going down this road until you reach the undertaker’s at the end of town, and then go left.”
“Thanks,” Napoleon said, with a nod. He headed out and to the back, with his partner right behind him.
**************************************
The way down the road was clear, though the both of them could see people staring at them from behind the windows of buildings as they rode the horses through the town. And Illya was beginning to feel uneasy.
“Napoleon, may I ask you something?”
“Go on.”
“Do you not find it strange that no one took issue with the fact that we are two armed, out-of-town agents attempting to apprehend a murderer?”
“Yes, but, like I said, it’s probably all part of the act,” Napoleon said, with a shrug. “This whole thing—the lack of electricity, these horses, that mob… It’s all what you see in the movies. Saying that we have two lookalikes is their way of getting us involved in the story to find the murderer.”
“Exactly my point,” Illya said. “Napoleon, our weapons are real; they have no possible way of knowing that we have loaded them with sleeping darts. If they are actors, would they not be more concerned with the fact that we are armed with real weapons on a quest to apprehend a murderer?”
Napoleon suddenly pulled on Epona’s reins, pausing to consider the implications of what Illya was trying to say.
“How do you explain it?” he asked, at last.
Illya shrugged, helplessly.
“I cannot,” he said, simply. “But it was Sherlock Holmes who said, ‘Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ …Only, I am not sure what impossible things we can eliminate.”
“Alright…” Napoleon sighed. “You’re the quantum physicist. Would you consider it impossible or improbable that we’ve somehow slipped between time periods and ended up a hundred years in the past?”
“There is still so much we do not know. I would say that it would be improbable—highly improbable.”
“Maybe we’ll find some less improbable things as we go along,” Napoleon sighed, urging Epona forward again.
Illya rode alongside him, and then indicated a building ahead.
“Look, Napoleon—the undertaker’s place!” Illya stared for a moment and then suddenly pulled on Storm’s reins.
“Illya?”
“I want to check something,” Illya said, getting off of the horse and drawing a lockpick from his pocket to open the door of the undertaker’s shop.
“In there!?”
“Napoleon, this will be our way of knowing whether or not this is an act or not!” Illya said. “If the banker is truly dead, then…” He trailed off, staring at a closed, wooden coffin in the center of the main room, visible as he opened the door.
Napoleon had now reined in Epona and had followed Illya inside, staring at his partner as he approached the coffin.
“You seriously aren’t considering--?”
“We must know for certain,” Illya insisted, gently opening the lid. “I apologize, Sir, for this intrusion…”
“Never mind the pleasantries, Illya. Is it the banker?”
“He is dressed like a wealthy man; it’s more than possible,” Illya said. “And I would say that he has, indeed, been dead for three days.”
“Are you really sure?”
“I’ll have you know, Napoleon, that in addition to quantum mechanics, I also took some courses in medicine; I developed a bit of an interest in pathology and had considered getting a second degree.”
“…I’m not even surprised.”
“Really?”
“Nothing about you surprises me anymore.”
Illya shrugged and gently closed the lid of the coffin.
“So,” he said. “A man really is dead, which means that we really are after a murderer—who apparently shot my doppelganger and would, presumably, have no qualms about shooting us, either.”
“That still doesn’t explain why everyone here looks and acts like it’s a century ago,” Napoleon pointed out.
“Maybe it’s some sort of mass hypnosis—or some sort of chemical in the food or water that causes them to live in one big delusion,” Illya said, with a shrug.
“That certainly sounds more plausible than the thought of us or this town slipping through time,” Napoleon said.
“Da, but we can figure that out later; right now, we must find the murderer first and foremost. Look, Napoleon! There—you can see the bank through this window!”
“Okay, but remember, the murderer might still be there now, trying to cover up the evidence,” Napoleon said, plainly. “Stay behind me and be careful.”
The two darted off towards the bank.
If anything looks like a reference to something else, it probably is.
Napoleon unlocked the door, revealing a rather small room with a single, large bed. Napoleon sighed as he unceremoniously dumped his half of the gear, kicked off his shoes, and reclined on his half of the bed, feeling suddenly exhausted.
“Napoleon?” Illya asked.
“Huh?” the American mumbled, sleepily.
“Where is the light switch? I’m having trouble finding it.”
“Do we really need that now? Get over here and go to sleep.”
“At least turn the lamp on so that I do not fall and break my neck!”
Napoleon sleepily reached for the lamp on the bedside table, fumbling for a switch. When he didn’t find one, he turned and looked at it more closely, frowning as he realized that it was an oil lamp.
“Seriously?” he muttered in annoyance, as he lit it with a match. “I get that they want to keep things looking authentic, but they can’t even give us modern conveniences in our rooms, at least?”
“As you said, Napoleon, it is a tourist trap that is still better than sleeping on the desert sands,” Illya sighed, reclining on his half of the bed. “Dobroy nochi.”
“Good night,” Napoleon echoed, dousing the lamp.
They both dozed for about an hour; it was the sound of gunshots that awakened them again. Illya scrambled for his Special by force of habit and ended up falling off of the bed, flat on his face. Napoleon awoke and cursed in frustration as he stood up, lighting the oil lamp again with one hand while grabbing his Special with the other.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. “I’m all for the acting out of these historical recreations, but not in the middle of the night! What do they expect us to do!?”
“I do not know about them, but I, for one, would appreciate it if you stopped standing on me.”
“Oh, sorry,” Napoleon said, hastily removing his foot from Illya’s back and then helping him up.
More shots rang out now, and the duo quickly headed downstairs.
“They’re after me again!” Jim said, taking refuge behind the bar with Karen and Clem. “They won’t listen when I try to tell them that I’m innocent!”
“Mobs rarely listen to anyone,” Illya said. “They are a writhing mass that operates under one unchangeable mental wavelength.”
“Very poetic, Tovarisch,” Napoleon commented, suppressing a smirk in spite of the situation. “Now give them a couple warning shots—aim high. If that doesn’t stop them, then give them a taste of the darts.”
Illya gladly obliged, and the shots coming from outside soon stopped.
“Alright, that’s enough!” Napoleon called out. “I already told you, we’re the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement; we’re more than willing to make multiple arrests for any of you foolish enough to try to bring any further harm on anyone in here!”
“You’ve got yourself a killer in there, Lawman!”
“That’s Old Man Winstrate!” Jim said. “That’s the one who claims he saw me kill the banker! He had words with Lionheart and Kid about it—said that they didn’t know what they were talking about and were just rambling cowards.”
“Well, in that case, he’s about to get the shock of his life,” Napoleon said, grabbing one of the lit oil lamps. “Illya, come with me to the entrance—we’re going to let them see our faces.”
Illya’s eyes widened in sudden realization, and he went along with Napoleon’s plan. The swinging doors, now shut, mostly blocked their anachronistic suits from view. Napoleon then held up the lamp, allowing the light to illuminate their faces.
The reaction was everything Napoleon had hoped for.
“It’s Lionheart and Kid!”
“Kid’s alive!”
“That’s right, he’s alive,” Napoleon said. “And he knows everything—the one who killed the banker, and the one who attacked him! First thing we’re going to do is collect the evidence—and then round up the guilty one before the night is over!” His eyes narrowed. “So anyone who wants to avoid being arrested for obstruction of justice had better stay out of our way!”
The crowd dispersed even more quickly than before the first time. Old Man Winstrate and his son were the last to leave, trying to glare daggers at either them or at Jim inside. They eventually left, as well.
“That was a risky move, Napoleon.”
“I’m just playing their game, Illya. That’s what this whole thing is about, after all. The sooner we win the game, the sooner we can sleep.”
“That was a stroke of genius!” Karen commented, as she and the others came out of hiding. “Pretending to be Lionheart and Kid! That’ll get the murderer moving to cover his tracks!”
“Da; that is true,” Illya added. “Napoleon, we had best go and find the evidence before it is destroyed.”
“Fellas…” Jim said. “I’m obliged to you.”
“Don’t thank us yet; we haven’t got the evidence yet,” Napoleon warned him. He looked to his partner. “Let’s get going.”
“Where do we search first?” Illya asked. “The bank?”
“Best place to start,” Napoleon agreed.
“You can use Lionheart and Kid’s horses to get there quicker,” Clem said.
“With all due respect, an automobile would be better,” Illya said.
“A what?”
“…Never mind,” Illya said, with a roll of his eyes. “We’ll borrow the horses. Where are they?”
“They’re hitched out back, and they left them when Lionheart took Kid on the ox cart; with you two looking like them, those horses will likely listen to you just fine. The white one, Storm, belongs to Kid; the brown one with the white mane, Epona, belongs to Lionheart. If you want to reach the bank, keep going down this road until you reach the undertaker’s at the end of town, and then go left.”
“Thanks,” Napoleon said, with a nod. He headed out and to the back, with his partner right behind him.
The way down the road was clear, though the both of them could see people staring at them from behind the windows of buildings as they rode the horses through the town. And Illya was beginning to feel uneasy.
“Napoleon, may I ask you something?”
“Go on.”
“Do you not find it strange that no one took issue with the fact that we are two armed, out-of-town agents attempting to apprehend a murderer?”
“Yes, but, like I said, it’s probably all part of the act,” Napoleon said, with a shrug. “This whole thing—the lack of electricity, these horses, that mob… It’s all what you see in the movies. Saying that we have two lookalikes is their way of getting us involved in the story to find the murderer.”
“Exactly my point,” Illya said. “Napoleon, our weapons are real; they have no possible way of knowing that we have loaded them with sleeping darts. If they are actors, would they not be more concerned with the fact that we are armed with real weapons on a quest to apprehend a murderer?”
Napoleon suddenly pulled on Epona’s reins, pausing to consider the implications of what Illya was trying to say.
“How do you explain it?” he asked, at last.
Illya shrugged, helplessly.
“I cannot,” he said, simply. “But it was Sherlock Holmes who said, ‘Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ …Only, I am not sure what impossible things we can eliminate.”
“Alright…” Napoleon sighed. “You’re the quantum physicist. Would you consider it impossible or improbable that we’ve somehow slipped between time periods and ended up a hundred years in the past?”
“There is still so much we do not know. I would say that it would be improbable—highly improbable.”
“Maybe we’ll find some less improbable things as we go along,” Napoleon sighed, urging Epona forward again.
Illya rode alongside him, and then indicated a building ahead.
“Look, Napoleon—the undertaker’s place!” Illya stared for a moment and then suddenly pulled on Storm’s reins.
“Illya?”
“I want to check something,” Illya said, getting off of the horse and drawing a lockpick from his pocket to open the door of the undertaker’s shop.
“In there!?”
“Napoleon, this will be our way of knowing whether or not this is an act or not!” Illya said. “If the banker is truly dead, then…” He trailed off, staring at a closed, wooden coffin in the center of the main room, visible as he opened the door.
Napoleon had now reined in Epona and had followed Illya inside, staring at his partner as he approached the coffin.
“You seriously aren’t considering--?”
“We must know for certain,” Illya insisted, gently opening the lid. “I apologize, Sir, for this intrusion…”
“Never mind the pleasantries, Illya. Is it the banker?”
“He is dressed like a wealthy man; it’s more than possible,” Illya said. “And I would say that he has, indeed, been dead for three days.”
“Are you really sure?”
“I’ll have you know, Napoleon, that in addition to quantum mechanics, I also took some courses in medicine; I developed a bit of an interest in pathology and had considered getting a second degree.”
“…I’m not even surprised.”
“Really?”
“Nothing about you surprises me anymore.”
Illya shrugged and gently closed the lid of the coffin.
“So,” he said. “A man really is dead, which means that we really are after a murderer—who apparently shot my doppelganger and would, presumably, have no qualms about shooting us, either.”
“That still doesn’t explain why everyone here looks and acts like it’s a century ago,” Napoleon pointed out.
“Maybe it’s some sort of mass hypnosis—or some sort of chemical in the food or water that causes them to live in one big delusion,” Illya said, with a shrug.
“That certainly sounds more plausible than the thought of us or this town slipping through time,” Napoleon said.
“Da, but we can figure that out later; right now, we must find the murderer first and foremost. Look, Napoleon! There—you can see the bank through this window!”
“Okay, but remember, the murderer might still be there now, trying to cover up the evidence,” Napoleon said, plainly. “Stay behind me and be careful.”
The two darted off towards the bank.
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Date: 2016-04-08 10:37 pm (UTC)I had fun with those dialogues!