Exultant inside but outwardly incensed in all her actions, Scarlet clenched her fists. “Me heads!” she shrieked. “He’s stolen our heads!” She caught Lord Devereaux’s eye and nearly smiled, turning away before she could.

Bibot fumbled with the bag and tried to toss it back to her, but it fell short, hitting the edge of the cart only, and spilled its contents, which bounced across the stony ground before rolling to a stop.

She stood, waving her arms about, entreating the crowd. “Me heads! Thief! Give me back me heads!”

Lord Devereaux increased the volume of his own wailing, their discordant notes clashing together in such a jarring sound Bibot was sure to bless their departure. The cart began to pull away at a quicker pace.

Grumbling from the crowd surprised her.

A man called out, “Here man, it’s her property, now, isn’t it?”

Would they support her when challenging their hero, Bibot?

The man himself chased after, tossing heads inside until they had all been returned, and Scarlet reclaimed her seat and her taciturn demeanor. She brushed off her torn clothing, a cloud of dust rising from it. Lord Devereaux too resumed his seat, legs dangling off the back of the cart.

The impenetrable Bibot shivered in disgust, wiping his hands over and over down the front of his trousers.

Abelino waited up ahead at the side of the path, clutching his side and laughing as though he couldn’t stop, full tears on his face. As the cart approached him, she looked down into his bright countenance and winked. He grinned even wider and ran off into the darkening streets of Paris.

***

Familiar landmarks encouraged her in their race to escape as dusk turned to night. Dark old trees, gnarled but cheery, welcomed their cart to the journey’s end. She sighed. “Lord Devereaux, my scalp itches; my very brain tingles. This wig is reaching the point of unbearable.” Lady Scarlet Cavendish pressed one delicate finger against the back of her head while holding the reins in her other hand.

He climbed over the tops of eight coffins to sit beside her in the front.

“I’m weeping in sympathy, my lady.”

She scowled and pushed the donkey faster as their rickety cart lumbered along the old country roads.

“I could do without your sarcasm, sir.”

They rode in silence for a moment. Scarlet knew he bit his tongue, stopping his response, but only just.

She goaded him. “I see your smirk, you know.”

He laughed. “Can I not even smirk without your knowledge?”

“Certainly not.” She brought the donkey to a walk, concern for the others reminding her to avoid a large pothole. “I hope our passengers did not get too jostled going at the speed we did.”

Lord Devereaux ran a hand over his face. “I’ll be happy when we reach Dover.”