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section7mfuAnd here's part IV, the conclusion! (part I, part II, part III).
This fic is also available on ff.net and AO3.
Napoleon saw the footprints approaching the bank as they approached—there hadn’t been any people going into the bank since the banker had died, leaving only one telltale set.
“This set of prints going into the bank looks fresh; there’s someone in there, alright,” he said, drawing his Special.
“Da, but it would be best if I went in first.”
“Why?”
“I can pretend to be Kid—unnerve the killer by saying that I already took the evidence before he had a chance to look.”
“That’s a very dangerous game to play,” Napoleon said, with a frown. “What’s to stop him from just shooting you before you get the chance to do or say anything?”
“You would, of course,” Illya said, plainly. “I would assume that you would be covering me.”
“…Of course,” Napoleon echoed.
“Then there is no problem; wait for one minute, and then follow me,” Illya said. He gently crept towards the entrance, pausing as he found it unlocked and ajar. He looked back to his partner and nodded one before slipping into the darkened bank, Special at the ready.
With only a small sliver of moonlight able to creep in through the windows, Illya waited for his eyes to adjust, quietly inhaling and exhaling as he attempted to get his bearings. As his vision began to clear, he could make out the banker’s stall, and a large safe behind it. The Russian slowly made his way over there, flinching as the floorboards creaked under his steps.
It was as he got closer that he realized that the door of the safe was ajar. His eyes widening, Illya opened it, and then chanced shining a flashlight into it, revealing it to be emptied of all of its contents, save for one moneybag. As Illya picked up the solitary moneybag, he quickly established that whoever had killed the banker had robbed the safe—and was probably planning to leave town, assuming they hadn’t fled already.
He turned towards the door, ready to call out to his partner, when he froze. Napoleon had indicated that the solitary set of prints had only gone into the bank. There were no prints leading out of it.
The thief and murderer had to still be here.
The door of the bank opened again as Napoleon slipped inside after waiting five minutes.
“Stay outside!” Illya yelled, but even as Napoleon attempted to retreat, a figure emerged from the shadows behind the door, and Napoleon suddenly stood rigid. Illya winced. “Gun in your back?”
“…Unfortunately…” Napoleon said, sounding much calmer than he felt.
“Drop your gun, Lionheart,” the shadow-hidden figure ordered. “You too, Kid, unless you want to see if Lionheart gets to be as lucky as you were when you got shot.”
Napoleon sighed and tossed his gun down, but his hand was already going for one of his exploding buttons. He cast a silent look to Illya, who gave a nod of understanding and threw down his Special, as well.
“The moneybag, Kid. Bring it over here—slowly,” the assailant ordered.
Illya walked over to the corner as Napoleon patiently waited, his fingers still on the exploding button. He held out the moneybag, waiting as a hand reached out from the shadows, reaching for it—
Illya suddenly aimed the flashlight in his hand behind Napoleon, the beam catching the perpetrator in eyes. The man recoiled out of reflex, and Napoleon chose the moment to set off the explosive button. The small explosion knocked the assailant back, and Illya chose the moment to recover both of their fallen Specials.
“Behind the banker’s stall!” he called to Napoleon, as the assailant opened fire. The two of them used the counter as a shield as Illya handed Napoleon his Special, and the two of them returned fire.
It was as Napoleon looked over the counter to get a better aim that a bullet grazed his shoulder; he let out a quiet hiss of pain. Illya quickly glanced over at him, saw what had happened, and furiously fired at their assailant.
The shooting stopped, followed by a loud thump.
“I believe you got him,” Napoleon said, calmly holding a handkerchief to his shoulder. “Nice work.”
Illya merely grunted in reply, walking over to the tranquilized assailant and turning him over with his foot; he then trained the flashlight beam on their assailant, who was lying on a pile of moneybags.
“Isn’t this Old Man Winstrate?” Illya said, frowning.
“Yes, it is,” Napoleon said, recalling him from the crowd from earlier. “Obviously, he decided to use Jim as a scapegoat, knowing that it would be easy to convince the townsfolk that an accused murderer would have killed the local banker. He could then depart with the money—only Kid started poking around and complicating things.”
“And so he shot Kid to stop him from finding out the truth,” Illya added. “I suppose the fact that he was found here with the money is more than enough proof.”
"This and the murder weapon,” Napoleon agreed. “There may not be a local lawman, but I’m pretty sure I saw a jail down the street. Let’s set him up there for the night—or what’s left of it. We can deal with him in the morning.”
“Fine, but we deal with your arm tonight.”
Napoleon’s response was a disgruntled mutter under his breath.
And Old Man Winstrate was soon in a cell with the keys in Napoleon’s possession as they headed back to the saloon-and-inn. Karen was shocked to see that Napoleon was bleeding, but both she and Clem were impressed to hear that the true murderer had been apprehended—and Jim was just grateful.
“I don’t know how I can ever repay you guys,” he said. “I’m just sorry that he winged you.”
“I’ve had worse,” Napoleon assured him, earning a chiding from Illya as he tried to shrug his shoulders. “…And I’m lucky enough to have the most attentive nurse I could possibly have.” He grinned up at Illya, who gave him a very forced smile in response—and then proceeded to use some vodka in lieu of disinfectant. Napoleon winced, but didn’t say anything about the sting.
“You are lucky to have someone as patient as I am to patch you up,” Illya insisted, as he now wrapped the wound in strips of cloth he had disinfected in vodka, as well.
“I’m lucky!?” Napoleon repeated, incredulously. “Do you know the number of times I’ve had to patch you up?”
“Alright, you’re both all squared away,” Karen said, amused. “Anyway, are you two fixing to stay long…?” She trailed off. “Lionheart! Kid!”
“No, no—I’m Napoleon; he’s Illya—”
“No!” she exclaimed. “It’s Lionheart and Kid!”
Napoleon and Illya looked to the entrance of the saloon; even in the dim light of the oil lamps, they could see two figures, their faces mirror images of their own. The brunet was supporting the blond, whose chest was wrapped in bandages.
Jim was at their side to help them while Illya absently continued to bandage Napoleon’s shoulder as they stared. Jim and Lionheart guided Kid to a barstool, the two newcomers staring right back at their doubles as Jim, Karen, and Clem described what had happened.
“We have heard all about you,” Illya said, at last.
“Ah… thanks for letting us borrow your horses,” Napoleon added.
“Glad they could be of service,” Lionheart said, speaking in an echo of Napoleon’s voice.
“And also glad you apprehended the guilty party,” Kid added, sounding like an accent-less Illya. “But I think we can all use a rest now.”
“Oh, Fellas, I told these gentlemen to take your room,” Karen said, apologetically.
“They can have it for tonight,” Lionheart said. “I want to take Kid to the doc’s for the night, anyway. I patched him up myself, but I want an expert’s opinion on how good a job I did.”
“I’ll help you get him there; I still owe you,” Jim offered, and he looked back to Napoleon and Illya. “Thanks again, Fellas; I owe you, too.”
“It was our pleasure,” Napoleon insisted, as they all stood up.
The two U.N.C.L.E. agents watched Jim leave with their counterparts before wishing Karen and Clem goodnight and heading back to their room.
“Well, Illya, what do you think about our lookalikes down there?” Napoleon asked, kicking off his shoes again and collapsing onto his half of the bed again.
“They say in some cultures that there are seven people who look exactly alike,” Illya mumbled. “I, for one, am too exhausted to dwell on it.”
“We never did find out what’s making everyone think it’s the 1870s.”
“We can dwell on that tomorrow, too; right now I just want…” Illya trailed off with something in Russian before falling asleep midsentence.
Napoleon chuckled to himself, yawned, and soon fell asleep, as well.
********************************
It was the morning sun beating on his face that awoke Napoleon the next morning. He kept his eyes shut as he turned over onto his side. He winced; the mattress suddenly felt very uncomfortable—and didn’t feel like a mattress at all. In fact, it felt like sand.
Napoleon opened his eyes, blinking as they beheld reddish-brown sands, a clear sky, and desert brush all around him—and his partner still asleep.
Napoleon scrambled so that he was sitting upright, once again looking around. There was no room, no saloon-and-inn, and no town at all. He slapped his forehead and cursed aloud—he’d fallen asleep while on watch and had dreamed that whole affair! It was a mercy that THRUSH had not found them during the night!
Illya now stirred awake at Napoleon’s sudden outburst.
“Napoleon? What is it…?” The Russian trailed off as he opened his eyes and looked around. He, too, sat up.
“It’s nothing, Illya,” Napoleon sighed. “I fell asleep on watch duty. That isn’t like me; I’m sorry…”
“Neither of us were on watch duty; we were in an inn!” Illya exclaimed, and Napoleon froze, going pale as he realized that it couldn’t have been a dream if Illya remembered it, too. “…We were in the inn… right? The one in Moonlit Gulch?”
Illya looked back at Napoleon, equally baffled as he was.
“Where is Moonlit Gulch?” Napoleon asked. “Where’re Karen, Clem, and Jim? And what about our two lookalikes?” He ran a hand though his hair. “Illya, were we hallucinating all of last night?”
Illya didn’t say anything; his gaze fell on Napoleon’s shoulder. Napoleon quickly unbuttoned his shirt, staring at the bandages that were still there. Gingerly, he touched the spot where the bullet had grazed him, and he winced. Illya checked his Special, confirming that he had fired several sleeping darts.
“Napoleon, where did everyone and everything go?” he asked, quietly.
Napoleon shook his head, at a loss.
“What was that you were saying about the impossible and the improbable last night?” he asked, at last.
“I don’t know anymore,” Illya said, quietly.
There was a quiet snort behind them; the two agents turned around to see two horses standing behind them—the same brown mare with the white mane and the same white stallion. And draped around the mare’s neck was a green feather boa.
“Those are the same horses,” Illya said. “And Karen’s boa!”
“Well…” Napoleon sighed. “We need to gather our gear and get out of this desert. I guess this time, we really have gift horses we shouldn’t look in the mouths.”
Illya sighed, as well.
“Da,” he agreed. “The sooner we get to civilization and to an airport to get us to New York, the happier I shall be.”
They began to load their gear on the horses; it was as Napoleon lifted the last bag that he noticed a plaque set in the sand.
“Illya!” he exclaimed. “Look at this!”
The Russian scrambled to his side to read the plaque.
Site of Moonlit Gulch, a popular waystation during the latter half of the 19th century. The town was abandoned during the turn of the century, but many travelers in the desert claim that the town, its residents, and even passerby are visible on bright, moonlit nights.
Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances again.
“Napoleon… do you really think…?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Napoleon said. “All I know is that I’m glad that whatever it was that happened here wasn’t part of an official affair, because no one would believe it if I wrote this in a casefile.”
Illya let out a weak chuckle and a nod.
“I agree. Now let’s leave before anything else happens.”
They quickly leaped upon the horses and began to ride off, but as they took note of the fact that the moon was nearly done sinking beneath the horizon, they were unable to resist a look back.
And there, just for an instant, the town flickered into view, along with a hazy image of Karen, Clem, Jim, Lionheart, and Kid waving to them, before it all vanished once more.
Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances again before shrugging at each other and continuing off on their next adventure.
This fic is also available on ff.net and AO3.
Napoleon saw the footprints approaching the bank as they approached—there hadn’t been any people going into the bank since the banker had died, leaving only one telltale set.
“This set of prints going into the bank looks fresh; there’s someone in there, alright,” he said, drawing his Special.
“Da, but it would be best if I went in first.”
“Why?”
“I can pretend to be Kid—unnerve the killer by saying that I already took the evidence before he had a chance to look.”
“That’s a very dangerous game to play,” Napoleon said, with a frown. “What’s to stop him from just shooting you before you get the chance to do or say anything?”
“You would, of course,” Illya said, plainly. “I would assume that you would be covering me.”
“…Of course,” Napoleon echoed.
“Then there is no problem; wait for one minute, and then follow me,” Illya said. He gently crept towards the entrance, pausing as he found it unlocked and ajar. He looked back to his partner and nodded one before slipping into the darkened bank, Special at the ready.
With only a small sliver of moonlight able to creep in through the windows, Illya waited for his eyes to adjust, quietly inhaling and exhaling as he attempted to get his bearings. As his vision began to clear, he could make out the banker’s stall, and a large safe behind it. The Russian slowly made his way over there, flinching as the floorboards creaked under his steps.
It was as he got closer that he realized that the door of the safe was ajar. His eyes widening, Illya opened it, and then chanced shining a flashlight into it, revealing it to be emptied of all of its contents, save for one moneybag. As Illya picked up the solitary moneybag, he quickly established that whoever had killed the banker had robbed the safe—and was probably planning to leave town, assuming they hadn’t fled already.
He turned towards the door, ready to call out to his partner, when he froze. Napoleon had indicated that the solitary set of prints had only gone into the bank. There were no prints leading out of it.
The thief and murderer had to still be here.
The door of the bank opened again as Napoleon slipped inside after waiting five minutes.
“Stay outside!” Illya yelled, but even as Napoleon attempted to retreat, a figure emerged from the shadows behind the door, and Napoleon suddenly stood rigid. Illya winced. “Gun in your back?”
“…Unfortunately…” Napoleon said, sounding much calmer than he felt.
“Drop your gun, Lionheart,” the shadow-hidden figure ordered. “You too, Kid, unless you want to see if Lionheart gets to be as lucky as you were when you got shot.”
Napoleon sighed and tossed his gun down, but his hand was already going for one of his exploding buttons. He cast a silent look to Illya, who gave a nod of understanding and threw down his Special, as well.
“The moneybag, Kid. Bring it over here—slowly,” the assailant ordered.
Illya walked over to the corner as Napoleon patiently waited, his fingers still on the exploding button. He held out the moneybag, waiting as a hand reached out from the shadows, reaching for it—
Illya suddenly aimed the flashlight in his hand behind Napoleon, the beam catching the perpetrator in eyes. The man recoiled out of reflex, and Napoleon chose the moment to set off the explosive button. The small explosion knocked the assailant back, and Illya chose the moment to recover both of their fallen Specials.
“Behind the banker’s stall!” he called to Napoleon, as the assailant opened fire. The two of them used the counter as a shield as Illya handed Napoleon his Special, and the two of them returned fire.
It was as Napoleon looked over the counter to get a better aim that a bullet grazed his shoulder; he let out a quiet hiss of pain. Illya quickly glanced over at him, saw what had happened, and furiously fired at their assailant.
The shooting stopped, followed by a loud thump.
“I believe you got him,” Napoleon said, calmly holding a handkerchief to his shoulder. “Nice work.”
Illya merely grunted in reply, walking over to the tranquilized assailant and turning him over with his foot; he then trained the flashlight beam on their assailant, who was lying on a pile of moneybags.
“Isn’t this Old Man Winstrate?” Illya said, frowning.
“Yes, it is,” Napoleon said, recalling him from the crowd from earlier. “Obviously, he decided to use Jim as a scapegoat, knowing that it would be easy to convince the townsfolk that an accused murderer would have killed the local banker. He could then depart with the money—only Kid started poking around and complicating things.”
“And so he shot Kid to stop him from finding out the truth,” Illya added. “I suppose the fact that he was found here with the money is more than enough proof.”
"This and the murder weapon,” Napoleon agreed. “There may not be a local lawman, but I’m pretty sure I saw a jail down the street. Let’s set him up there for the night—or what’s left of it. We can deal with him in the morning.”
“Fine, but we deal with your arm tonight.”
Napoleon’s response was a disgruntled mutter under his breath.
And Old Man Winstrate was soon in a cell with the keys in Napoleon’s possession as they headed back to the saloon-and-inn. Karen was shocked to see that Napoleon was bleeding, but both she and Clem were impressed to hear that the true murderer had been apprehended—and Jim was just grateful.
“I don’t know how I can ever repay you guys,” he said. “I’m just sorry that he winged you.”
“I’ve had worse,” Napoleon assured him, earning a chiding from Illya as he tried to shrug his shoulders. “…And I’m lucky enough to have the most attentive nurse I could possibly have.” He grinned up at Illya, who gave him a very forced smile in response—and then proceeded to use some vodka in lieu of disinfectant. Napoleon winced, but didn’t say anything about the sting.
“You are lucky to have someone as patient as I am to patch you up,” Illya insisted, as he now wrapped the wound in strips of cloth he had disinfected in vodka, as well.
“I’m lucky!?” Napoleon repeated, incredulously. “Do you know the number of times I’ve had to patch you up?”
“Alright, you’re both all squared away,” Karen said, amused. “Anyway, are you two fixing to stay long…?” She trailed off. “Lionheart! Kid!”
“No, no—I’m Napoleon; he’s Illya—”
“No!” she exclaimed. “It’s Lionheart and Kid!”
Napoleon and Illya looked to the entrance of the saloon; even in the dim light of the oil lamps, they could see two figures, their faces mirror images of their own. The brunet was supporting the blond, whose chest was wrapped in bandages.
Jim was at their side to help them while Illya absently continued to bandage Napoleon’s shoulder as they stared. Jim and Lionheart guided Kid to a barstool, the two newcomers staring right back at their doubles as Jim, Karen, and Clem described what had happened.
“We have heard all about you,” Illya said, at last.
“Ah… thanks for letting us borrow your horses,” Napoleon added.
“Glad they could be of service,” Lionheart said, speaking in an echo of Napoleon’s voice.
“And also glad you apprehended the guilty party,” Kid added, sounding like an accent-less Illya. “But I think we can all use a rest now.”
“Oh, Fellas, I told these gentlemen to take your room,” Karen said, apologetically.
“They can have it for tonight,” Lionheart said. “I want to take Kid to the doc’s for the night, anyway. I patched him up myself, but I want an expert’s opinion on how good a job I did.”
“I’ll help you get him there; I still owe you,” Jim offered, and he looked back to Napoleon and Illya. “Thanks again, Fellas; I owe you, too.”
“It was our pleasure,” Napoleon insisted, as they all stood up.
The two U.N.C.L.E. agents watched Jim leave with their counterparts before wishing Karen and Clem goodnight and heading back to their room.
“Well, Illya, what do you think about our lookalikes down there?” Napoleon asked, kicking off his shoes again and collapsing onto his half of the bed again.
“They say in some cultures that there are seven people who look exactly alike,” Illya mumbled. “I, for one, am too exhausted to dwell on it.”
“We never did find out what’s making everyone think it’s the 1870s.”
“We can dwell on that tomorrow, too; right now I just want…” Illya trailed off with something in Russian before falling asleep midsentence.
Napoleon chuckled to himself, yawned, and soon fell asleep, as well.
It was the morning sun beating on his face that awoke Napoleon the next morning. He kept his eyes shut as he turned over onto his side. He winced; the mattress suddenly felt very uncomfortable—and didn’t feel like a mattress at all. In fact, it felt like sand.
Napoleon opened his eyes, blinking as they beheld reddish-brown sands, a clear sky, and desert brush all around him—and his partner still asleep.
Napoleon scrambled so that he was sitting upright, once again looking around. There was no room, no saloon-and-inn, and no town at all. He slapped his forehead and cursed aloud—he’d fallen asleep while on watch and had dreamed that whole affair! It was a mercy that THRUSH had not found them during the night!
Illya now stirred awake at Napoleon’s sudden outburst.
“Napoleon? What is it…?” The Russian trailed off as he opened his eyes and looked around. He, too, sat up.
“It’s nothing, Illya,” Napoleon sighed. “I fell asleep on watch duty. That isn’t like me; I’m sorry…”
“Neither of us were on watch duty; we were in an inn!” Illya exclaimed, and Napoleon froze, going pale as he realized that it couldn’t have been a dream if Illya remembered it, too. “…We were in the inn… right? The one in Moonlit Gulch?”
Illya looked back at Napoleon, equally baffled as he was.
“Where is Moonlit Gulch?” Napoleon asked. “Where’re Karen, Clem, and Jim? And what about our two lookalikes?” He ran a hand though his hair. “Illya, were we hallucinating all of last night?”
Illya didn’t say anything; his gaze fell on Napoleon’s shoulder. Napoleon quickly unbuttoned his shirt, staring at the bandages that were still there. Gingerly, he touched the spot where the bullet had grazed him, and he winced. Illya checked his Special, confirming that he had fired several sleeping darts.
“Napoleon, where did everyone and everything go?” he asked, quietly.
Napoleon shook his head, at a loss.
“What was that you were saying about the impossible and the improbable last night?” he asked, at last.
“I don’t know anymore,” Illya said, quietly.
There was a quiet snort behind them; the two agents turned around to see two horses standing behind them—the same brown mare with the white mane and the same white stallion. And draped around the mare’s neck was a green feather boa.
“Those are the same horses,” Illya said. “And Karen’s boa!”
“Well…” Napoleon sighed. “We need to gather our gear and get out of this desert. I guess this time, we really have gift horses we shouldn’t look in the mouths.”
Illya sighed, as well.
“Da,” he agreed. “The sooner we get to civilization and to an airport to get us to New York, the happier I shall be.”
They began to load their gear on the horses; it was as Napoleon lifted the last bag that he noticed a plaque set in the sand.
“Illya!” he exclaimed. “Look at this!”
The Russian scrambled to his side to read the plaque.
Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances again.
“Napoleon… do you really think…?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Napoleon said. “All I know is that I’m glad that whatever it was that happened here wasn’t part of an official affair, because no one would believe it if I wrote this in a casefile.”
Illya let out a weak chuckle and a nod.
“I agree. Now let’s leave before anything else happens.”
They quickly leaped upon the horses and began to ride off, but as they took note of the fact that the moon was nearly done sinking beneath the horizon, they were unable to resist a look back.
And there, just for an instant, the town flickered into view, along with a hazy image of Karen, Clem, Jim, Lionheart, and Kid waving to them, before it all vanished once more.
Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances again before shrugging at each other and continuing off on their next adventure.
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Date: 2016-04-11 03:03 am (UTC)Love the last couple of paragraphs, and I hope you'll write that next adventure for us.
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Date: 2016-04-11 05:47 pm (UTC)I certainly have other adventures in store for them!