Disclaimer: pokemon is not mine.

Notes: <> indicates telepathy, ** indicates thoughts, and italics indicates translated

pokemon speech.

This will be based on the book, by Alexendre Dumas, and not the new movie, because the movie sucks mangoes, to quote my biology teacher. Mercedes is such a slut in the movie. Also, it is completely inaccurate, almost nothing is true, and it completely makes a mockery of Alexandre Dumas’ wonderful writing.

Chapter 4: The search

Fortunately, Lance had enough presence of mind to take a breath. As the water flowed into his lungs, he felt no pain, as this was one of the jutsu he had learned on his own without any help. He quickly smiled and willed his dragon’s wings into existence, the steel tore through the shroud easily. Then, Lance began swimming away from the horrible fortress.

As he swam along, a pair of Dragonair, a Gyrados, a Dragonite, and an Aerodactyl, whom he had fed for many long years, joined him.

Of course we’ll stay with you. Dragonair said matter of factly.

Lance smiled, somewhat grimly. < Let us head for the Isle of Monte Cristo, then, where the treasure is buried. >

It was barely half a day into the voyage when they came across a floundering ship. All of the survivors had already drowned.

The water was filled with floating poke balls.

The dragon pokemon smiled in understanding and each willing went into one. Lance clipped the five poke balls onto his belt – now ragged brown leather, and made a mental note to get a new one.

As he swam along, he then noticed a ship heading his way. Lance smiled inwardly.

He immediately used Henge no Jutsu to change his appearance slightly, as his clothes were replaced with the white trousers and jacket of a sailor, and his blonde hair crimsoned to a fiery red, while his eyes faded into a yellow shade. Indeed, he looked much like his mentor. A wry smile crossed his lips.

The sailors on board the little bark spotted him and quickly threw down a rope, pulling him up.

“Don’t worry, friend, you are safe now.” One said.

“Yes, what happened?” The captain inquired as he pushed his way forwards and began to interrogate. “Who are you?” His French was quite bad.

“I am a Maltese sailor. Our ship was returning from Malta with a shipment of grain, when a storm struck and we were moored along those rocks there.” Lance replied in bad Italian, indicating the remnants of the ship on the sharp rocks. “I was the only one who survived.”

A sudden booming noise made them all look up.

“What is that?”

‘The Chateau d’If.” Lance said calmly as he lifted a cup of rum a sailor had offered to his lips. “They are firing the alarm gun, as a prisoner has escaped.”

The captain here looked quite sharply at the dragon trainer, but he had perfect composure, and his attire was that of the station he claimed.

“And can you sail?”

“Let me take the helm.” Lance said, standing up. His skillful maneuvering of the ship soon won over the captain, and his defense of his story, accompanied by perfect sketches of Naples and Malta, which he knew as well as Marseilles, solidified his appearance.

Silver, the sailor who had rescued him, was surprised when his new comrade asked the date.

“Why, it is the twenty-eighth of February,” He said.

And when the year was told, Lance realized that it was exactly eight years, day for day, since he had been arrested and imprisoned.

He had been seventeen when he entered, now he was twenty-five.

Now the ship, known as the Gardevoir, was fitted for speed, as the honest captain and his crew made quite a lot in the smuggling trade. And so sixteen or seventeen journeys and nearly half a year later, they landed at the Isle of Monte Cristo, a bleak, barren rock belonging to the Tuscan government, which served often as a resting place.

It was here that the treasure Charlotte had spoken of was buried.

The smugglers had pulled up, intent on resting before they headed for Elba with a shipment of fine cloth and brandy that had been forgotten by the stamp of the crown. A few of the sailors, Lance included, headed off to hunt a bit of game to spice up their dinner of biscuit and rum.

Lance’s heart beat almost wildly beneath the still-spotless white of his uniform. A simple spell kept it that pristine shade, much to his comrades’ continual questioning and amazement, and his yellow eyes looked from side to side as if searching for the cavern that Charlotte had described.

The smugglers were preparing the fire for a few partridges they had managed to bag when they saw Lance reappear. He had already shot a kid beforehand, sent back with Silver and Martin, another of the crew.

The smell of roasting meat was filling the air when suddenly, Lance slipped off the rock he had been jumping agilely to, as if a deer. He landed on the ground with an ominous thud.

Quickly, the crew rushed over, for they all loved him, even if he was far superior. Indeed, many benefited from his lessons in small things, astronomy and bits of language that they were taught on the long sea voyages.

They found him almost senseless, stretched out on the rocky ground. When they attempted to move him, he complained of pain in the legs and a feeling of heaviness in the head.

“What shall we do now, Maltese?” The captain asked anxiously, for that was what he was sure Lance was. They didn’t use names, after all…

“It is my fault, let me alone pay for my folly.” Lance replied. “I cannot hinder you and the rest of the crew.’

“I will stay here with you.” Silver said. “I have not much to lose.”

Lance stared at the smuggler. * Well, never let it be said that friendship and honor cannot be found in the midst of thieves. Strange that here I find the strongest proofs. *

“No, I cannot move...” Lance said. “Just leave me a gun and some provisions.”

After much persuasion, the crew finally consented to leaving.

Barely an hour had passed when Lance rose again, no mark of any kind upon his body, proof of his deception. A small smile crossed his lips. He stood up, brushed the sand out of his fiery hair, and then gracefully began scouting. Finally, a cavern presented itself to his eye, sharpened by the dungeon to be accustomed to the smallest detail, the most insignificant light, and the tiniest glimpse of the unordinary.

And it was here that Lance discovered the treasure of the ancient Spalda family, buried deep beneath the crystal cave. Let us not talk of the value of the money, sufficient to say it amounted to approximately a hundred millions, not counting the chest of wisdom, containing therein the knowledge of the world, which in itself, proved to be as valuable, if not more, than the money.

When Silver and the rest of the company arrived a week later, they were delighted to see that Lance was well again, although a small lament that he could not have shared in the profits of the expedition, a good sum. They had sorely missed his navigational skills, when on run from a guard ship. But all was well, and since they had stopped by Monte Cristo only to pick up Lance, they were soon in Leghorn.

End Chapter 4…

Completed 6/20/03