Disclaimer: I do not own either pokemon or the Count of Monte Cristo. Anyways, Pokemon belongs to Nintendo and Shogakukan Comics.

Notes: AU, definitely. Changes from the Count of Monte Cristo book. And I use ** for thoughts, <> for telepathy if it occurs, and italics for pokemon speaking~!

Chapter 2: The Arrest and what happened after

 

            It was a bright, beautiful day only three days later. Lance’s father, old Mr. Drake, once a famous sailor himself, was quite happy with the wine and cigars which his young son had managed to smuggle past the authorities on his journey back, and was in high spirits. Delia sat next to Lance, a happy smile on her face.

            The wedding was in an hour, and the day was glad.

            Bruno sat close by, enjoying the appetizers provided. “Where did you get these sausages? They’re great.”

            Lance opened his half-closed eyes somewhat lazily. “My father handled the arrangements.”

            Bruno directed the question towards Drake, and the reply was quite simple. He had bought them from one of the little shops down the way.

            Indeed, this scene of peace and tranquility could not last long, ere it was shattered.

 

            It was in the middle of the wedding ceremony, indeed, when a sharp tap came from the door of the church. Much of the congregation glanced back in annoyance, and then dawning horror, as the door opened to admit six gendarmes, a.k.a. the police.

            “Lance Dragyn, we arrest you in the name of the law!”

            “But what crime have I committed?” Lance questioned. * What in the world?! *

            Mr. Andrews quickly came to his new captain’s defense. “It is quite true, messieurs. No crime has been committed.”

            “We shall leave that to be decided. Come, we escort you to the magistrate for questioning. A letter whose contents quite clearly point you out as an agent of the rebellion trying to overthrow our government and reinstall the exiled Emperor William.”

            Delia cried silently. “Lance, don’t forget me!”

            “Don’t worry, Delia, I will return soon!” Lance rejoined as he was led off.

 

            “A letter?!” Bruno turned to Zackie and Giovanni almost fiercely. “You wrote a letter to the police! I remember.”

            “Shut up, Bruno, it was just a joke.” Zackie said.

            “Besides, we tore the letter up.” Giovanni finished. * That drunken fool… *

            “No you didn’t, I saw you! You just crumpled it up and threw it away.”

            “Quiet!” Zackie commanded. “Do you want to be arrested too?”

            At this threat, Bruno wisely decided to remain silent.

 

            At the office of the procurer du roi… or else known as the magistrate…

 

            Gold was not much older than Lance himself, at the tender age of twenty-four. Indeed, he treated his victim with utmost kindness.

            “So you are ignorant of what crime you may have committed?”

            “Yes sir.”

            “Did you have in your possession a letter addressed to the Bonapartist Club on the Rue du Helder?”

            “To a Monsieur Regent, yes sir.”

            Gold trembled almost imperceptibly. * My father! I cannot let this be known! My in-laws would disown me. Sacrifices must be made. * He managed to conceal mostly the tremor in his voice.

            “And did you know the contents of the letter?”

            “Why no,” Lance said, quite shocked. “I never opened the seal.”

            Gold folded his hands. * So much the better… it has to be this way. * “Take him away.” He addressed the soldiers. “I will try to arrange for your freedom quickly.”

            “My thanks, monsieur.” Lance said with a bow before he was led off.

 

            Gold quickly dashed off another letter, to the inspector of the prisons, a certain Monsieur de Blanche.

            “He is a dangerous agent to the throne, he must be kept under tight security.”

            Monsieur de Blanche nodded.

 

            Lance was awakened that night by the arrival of four armed gendarmes; they led him to a boat and began rowing.

            “Where are you taking me?” He inquired.

            There was no answer.

            As they rowed further out into the sea, Lance became more agitated. Indeed, he even attempted to dive overboard, but his endeavors were thwarted.

            Finally, they reached a bleak, dark rock.

            The fortress of the Chateau d’If

 

            It is impossible to say what the Dragon Master suffered during his imprisonment. Sufficient enough to say that by the times two years had passed, and neither prayers nor entreaties to the divine spirits had helped, the governor of the prisons was quite convinced that he was mad and moved him to the dungeons.

            For in the dungeons resided also a mad priest, and it was simply more convenient to put madmen with madmen.

 

            When Lance had first arrived, after realizing that liberty was impossible, the next thought had been one of death. It is impossible to say what exactly drives the hapless ones to suicide, but whatever it was consumed the sailor like a tidal wave. There were two ways of accomplishing the feat, one was by hanging, which Lance did not even want to try, while the second was by starvation. That was easy enough, when the meals were brought, he tossed them out the window, much to the delight of the wild pokemon that resided in the sea, indeed, they grew rather sleek and healthy while he himself seemed to weaken. But then, after almost a month, the day came when he was too weak to even make it to the window, and that was when hope finally arrived.

 

            It was nearly the third year of his imprisonment, indeed he had almost given up hope. He was lying on his bed weakly, hoping that death’s embrace would come soon, when a faint, scritch, scratch, sound reached his ears.

            Now the Chateau d’If was infested with those vermin that beset all other dungeons, but this did not resemble the chattering of the skittering rats or the hissing of the insects.

            Some other poor prisoner must be attempting an escape, he reasoned. And as one prisoner to the next, he was quite obliged to help out. Looking around his sparse cell, besides a few spare changes of clothing, and the small necessities of life, he still had his porcelain jug and a plate. So he dashed the jug against the wall, breaking it into small fragments. Taking one of them, he began scraping the plaster away from the stones in the wall, from whence the sound issued.

 

            Later that day, when the gaoler arrived with his prisoner’s food, he was quite upset over the loss of the jug, but he decided he would deal with the matter in the morning. Lance quickly wolfed down the soup and bread provided, and then resumed his digging. If there really was escape – then he did not want to face death now1

 

            By nightfall, when it became too dark to work, he stopped. His earnest efforts had yielded only a handful of plaster. And that was not nearly enough. There must be another way.

            It was then when he remembered the saucepan. The gaoler always brought his soup in a saucepan with an iron handle. And he needed that handle. So reasoning, Lance placed his plate on the floor almost immediately in the doorway.

 

            The next morning, when the gaoler arrived, he stepped on the plate and broke it. Too lazy to go fetch another, he left the saucepan, not knowing what he had just done.

            Lance tossed the fish out the window to the fish, ate the bread, and then after much work, finally managed to pry open a stone in the wall, big enough for a man to pass through.

            And found himself looking into a pair of yellow eyes.

 

End Chapter 1. CLIFFIE! *Laughs* Review or I won’t continue! Of course, those of you who have read the book already know who this is…

Completed 6/9/03