Hehehehe….

Disclaimer: Wish I owned pokemon and count of Monte Cristo…

Notes: <> for telepathy if it occurs, ** for thoughts, italics if a pokemon talks

Chapter 6: At Marseilles again

After the Gardevoir had arrived in Leghorn, Lance headed off to the nearest jewelry shop he found, where he sold four of his smallest diamonds for 6000 francs each. The jeweler saw no reason to suspect why a sailor would carry such wealth, indeed, he would not care, for he made at least a profit of at least 2000 francs per jewel.

The following day, Lance made to Silver a present of a beautiful little vessel, along with 100 piastres, with the knowledge that he should go to Marseilles and inquire of an old man named Giovanni Dragyn and a young woman named Ashline. This Silver promised to do, in shock at receiving such a magnificent gift.

Lance hastened to assure his friend that he had become a sailor only on a whim, and on his arrival in Leghorn, had discovered that a rich old uncle of his had made him his sole heir. With Lance’s excellent education, Silver easily believed this and never thought to doubt it.

As the Gardevoir sailed off, Lance having dissolved his contract, much to the dismay of the captain, he easily vanished from view and reappeared in Genoa. Now at the moment, arriving in the harbor was a beautiful little yacht. This had been built to order for an Englishman who offered a sum of thirty thousand francs for it.

Lance was struck by the beauty of the little vessel, and offered the owner fifty thousand francs for it. The builder, knowing that the Englishman had set off for Switzerland and would be absent for a month a least, and also knowing that he could have had a second yacht completed by then, quickly assented immediate possession of the yacht to Lance.

Lance quickly found a jeweler and in a matter of moments, fifty thousand francs in bright golden money had been counted out to the delighted builder, who proposed to find a crew as well, but Lance dissented.

Lance did, however, entrust to a builder the construction of three secret cabinets aboard the yacht, cunningly disguised behind closets, which only he himself could open. The builder promised to have them ready the next day. Just in case, he shielded them with the strongest unbreakable charms he could think of.

Two days later, a crowd gathered at the quay to see the rich Spanish nobleman who sailed on his own. Great was their wonder when the yacht sailed off with not a hitch.

Lance reached Monte Cristo in the space of sixteen hours; his yacht was first rate, and a little calming of the seas helped admirably. He easily loaded the remains of his treasure in the three compartments, and spent the rest of the week constructing plans of the island for defense.

Then Silver arrived. Alas, he only had mournful tidings, for old Drake the sailor was long dead and Delia had disappeared.

Lance received his tidings impassionately, but the next day, he and Silver headed back to Marseilles.

As if by fate, two days later, they landed exactly opposite the spot where he had been imprisoned, eight years hence. Lance could not repress a slight shudder at the sight of a gendarme accompanying the officer who demanded a bill of health. However, with the cold civility he had learned while with Charlotte, he coolly presented an English passport he had acquired in Leghorn, and was promptly admitted ashore.

Lance left Silver for a bit, and found the house where his father had formerly lived. The rooms were empty, the place abandoned. No one was there, not even Bruno, his former neighbor.

Inquiring of a passerby, Lance learned that Bruno had left and was now running a small inn on the road to Beaucaire.

Lance found the owner of the house, and, under the name of Lord Wilmore (the appellation on his passport) paid 9,000 francs for the house.

This strange event served for wonder for the entire neighborhood. But what was more shocking, was that the English gentleman was seen that night, walking to a small fishermen’s hut near the edge of town, and inquire of several persons who had been gone for nearly ten years.

But on the following day, the members of the household received a magnificent present, a lovely new fishing-boat and supply of excellent nets.

The delighted recipients would have bowed before their generous benefactor, but he had disappeared that night, leaving on horseback in the direction of the north, after giving a few orders to a sailor.

And now, three days later, at the Inn of the Pont du Gard… where Bruno is…

The inn itself was small, dusty, and ill visited. For with the construction of a canal along the same path, few preferred the hot road to a cool ride on steamboat. The sole inhabitants were one Bruno, perhaps thirty-seven years of age, and his wife, a shrill-voiced, weak-bodied woman, named Agatha, who was several years his senior. It was definitely not a match made in heaven…

As Bruno glanced at the road, sighing, he perceived a rider approaching. It was a priest garbed in a black robe and hat, even on this devastatingly hot day, on the back of a beautiful Rapidash.

“You are welcome, sir, most welcome!” Bruno said as the rider arrived at his door. “What refreshment can I offer you on this miserable day, M. l’Abbé?”

The priest scrutinized Bruno for a few moments, before dropping his gaze. “You are Bruno?”

“Why yes, sir.” Bruno said.

“Bring me a bottle of your best wine, we will discuss this indoors.” The priest said. “Rapidash, return.”

The horse nodded and vanished into a ball the priest held, and then they proceeded indoors. Interesting…

So the tales of new inventions that could capture the mysterious beasts that sometimes appeared were true…

Bruno quickly proceeded downstairs to fetch the wine, and then, returning, found the abbé still staring at him.

“You were once a tailor in Marseilles, were you not?”

“Yes, until the trade fell off. It was much too hot there.” Bruno said, “To ever make a living like this.”
The priest looked around a bit sharply. “Are we alone?”

“Except for my poor wife Agatha.”

“You are married?”

Bruno caught his guest’s glance at the poor furnishings. “Yes, I am…” * Why the heck did I ever marry?! *
“Well then, first things first. Did you know, once, perhaps nine years ago, a young man named Lance Dragyn?”
“I should say so!” Bruno said. “We were best friends and neighbors! What happened to him? Is he alive and at liberty? Is he prosperous? Is he free?”

“He died a more wretched, broken-hearted prisoner than any of the felons convicted at the galleys of Toulon.”
Bruno gasped. “Poor fellow!” He turned and wiped his eyes on a red handkerchief. “Ah, the world grows worse and worse, the wicked prosper and the good never receive. But how do you tie into all of this?”
“I was called to administer to him on his deathbed.” The abbé said. “But the strangest thing is, is that Lance swore he never knew the cause of his imprisonment.”

Bruno nodded. “How could he have known?”

“So I promised him to clear up his memory.”

Bruno opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped at the sound of a screeching voice.

“Bruno, consider well what you are about to do!”
“Quiet, Agatha!” Bruno said.

“Very well, but if you lose, it is not my fault.” Agatha said as she left. “Remember, they who condemn are rich and powerful!”
Bruno nodded as Agatha headed up the stairs with an uncertain step.

End Chapter 5!

Completed 6/20/03