THE SCARLET BUTT-SCORCHER

Author: Beta (emourao@terra.com.br)

Pairing: Fox Mulder/Walter Skinner

Rating: PG, AU, Discipline, no slash

Spoilers: This story was inspired on the book "The Scarlet Pimpernel" written by Baroness D'Orczy.

Summary: The boys made their escape.

Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner et al do not belong to me; they belong to Chris Carter and Fox. I mean no harm and will make no money from their use.

Notes from the author: this story made more sense if you read in order.

Vocabulary: Mon petit : little one / Mon petit renard : my little fox

Chauve : bald / Sergent : Sargent / Fouettter : the person who whips

//: for thoughts

THE SCARLET BUTT-SCORCHER

Chapter 2

Three days later Walter's patience was running very short. He discovered that his spirited boy was also a very stubborn child. Fox refused to give him his real name and every time he asked the answer was the same, "It's none of your business, baldie." The big man’s reaction to that ill-mannered attitude didn’t vary either. A hard, well aimed swat applied to the seat of the brat's trousers, no matter where the two of them were at the time. Walter had very little tolerance for bad behavior. He sighed as he remembered the scene Fox had made at the wig's shop yesterday.

"I'm not going to wear this!" Fox wrinkled his nose in disgust at *this*, a white curly wig with a long thin pony-tail firmly kept in place by a wide black silk ribbon.

"Yes you are. We need it for our little drama tomorrow." Walter calmy whispered to Fox without interrupting his movement of adjusting the wig over the boy's head. White wigs were the fashion for formal dinners and soirées those days and the french people had always been among the most fashionable ones in the world, even the lower classes. And now that the commoners had taken over the power, they would want to appear presentable and for that nothing better than an old fashioned aristocratic white wig.

"Take it off!" Fox yelled in outrage as he pulled the wig off his head and threw it down on the floor. This small fit of temper cost him two hard swats promptly delivered to his backside.

All the commotion was being attentively observed by the young shop assistant who knew better than to intervene. Monsieur Dupont was an old customer, in fact a very good one and in the shopkeeper’s opinion, the young brat deserved more than those two swats.

"Ow!" Fox cried out. He glanced around furtively to see if anyone had witnessed his humiliation, and blushed furiously as he saw the assistant smiling at Walter approvingly. This only served to ignite his temper even more. He shouted in fury as he lifted his eyes to glare at the older man, tears of rage shining in his eyes.

"Why do I have to use this ...thing?"

Walter's face mirrored the boy's anger and he answered in a hard low tone. "Because I said so. Is that a good enough reason for you?"

"NO!" Fox shouted back furiously.

Walter raised an eyebrow to him, ironic and merciless at the same time, "Because *I* have a very strong arm and *I* wield the hairbrush quite efficiently. NOW that sounds like a good one to me, don't you agree?"

After a few seconds came a reluctant capitulation in the form of an impatient shrug.

"By that do you mean you're going to cooperate?" Walter asked ominously.

//May The Lord give me patience. Another damned shrug!//

Extremely annoyed by Fox's insolent attitude Walter pressed on, his right palm tingling with a strong desire to connect hard with the brat's bare bottom. Instead he asked again, "Are you?"

********

No amount of reasoning or threatening nor even a sharp set of stinging smacks could persuade the damnable boy to wear a wig. So instead Walter decided to powder the boy's long dark hair. They were back again to their neat room at the Chat Noir Inn preparing for the banquet tonight. Walter had explained to the boy that he worked for the league of the Scarlet Butt-Scorcher and had to attend the banquet to get some information to use in their escape. At first the little brat didn't believe him saying he didn't seem the type for heroic deeds but in the end Walter's unwavering and tolerant smile appeared to have impressed something on him and he sobered a little.

Walter playfully pinched his brat's little nose, pleased by the new look of respect that could be seen in the boy's eyes. This action naturally served to brush away all traces of respect from the boy’s face and Fox again fell into his brat mode.

"Let go of me, baldie!" Fox yelled as he pulled his head away from Walter's hand.

"Be still, mon petit. I still have to powder the hair on the back of your head."

"Sniff! Sniff! Stop it! It's making me sneeze."

Walter laughed good-humoredly. "Mon petit, you should have taken the wig." The man continued to apply the white powder generously all over Fox's hair and face, ignoring the evil stares the boy was darting at his direction. Just to tease him Walter started to whistle a happy tune. The stares then became lethal ones. "Here, all done. Turn around slowly so I can take a good look at you."

Walter pointedly motioned the youngster to move but Fox stayed planted on his feet glaring at him with the biggest pout he had ever seen.

"Come on mon petit," the big man said. "Don't be difficult." When the boy still failed to comply, Walter rolled his eyes impatiently and accurately landed a hearty slap on the bubble bottom.

"Ow! You brute!"

Clutching his bottom protectively with both hands and taking care to stay out of Walter's reach Fox gave a slow circle. "Are you satisfied now?" he prodded angrily.

"Tsk tsk, mon petit, so much anger! Hmm yes, you're perfect," Walter said as he scrutinized the boy, a hand cupping his bearded chin. He smiled. "Now let's revise your role and your accent. Gascons speak with the sun in their voices. Don't forget it. And kindly remember to only speak if someone poses a question to you. Otherwise keep your mouth shut. By the way you must tell me a name you'd want me to use to introduce you."

Walter observed for a few seconds the inner battle Fox was fighting by the intense frown and suspicious glances. Then Fox said quietly, "Guillaume."

//Good, mon petit. You're a *die hard* boy but I'm glad you're trusting me a little.//

*********

Les Tuileries, the Queen's usual residence when she was in Paris, was the place chosen for the banquet by the Joint of Public Salvation. The apparent courteous deference shown in inviting the royal family was in truth a new effrontery to the old regime to demonstrate the power of the new citizens who would soon be asking for the crowned heads to appease their distorted sense of justice. In the middle of this wave of power and vanity Walter was posing as a common citizen, one of the representatives of the Joint in the South, recently nominated to the post, thanks to a loyal friend and ally. And Fox was naturally accompanying him as his son. What he intended was to discover which roads were going to be closely monitored by the police in the next two days during *La fête de l'Etre Suprême or the Feast of the Supreme Being*.

The interior of the Palace albeit slightly plundered by the mob in the initial days of the *Terror* still kept its glory and splendor making Fox look around enchanted, his mouth agape at the beauty. The royal couple, Louis XVI and his *belle* Marie-Antoinette sat at a distant corner of the table, their faces sad and apprehensive. Like a good subject, Fox bowed his head respectfully when they passed by them in their way to the other corner of the long table and was held back to make a complete bow by the firm hand his baldie put on his shoulders.

Fox got bored as soon as the novelty of visiting the palace wore off. Moreover, he wasn't happy to be among all these revolutionaries at all. He despised them for what they did to his family. He had been seated there next to Citizen Spendé who was their host and in front of his baldie for what felt like an eternity and no one had bothered to bring him into a conversation or spare him more than one glimpse. It was like he was invisible! And to make things worse the food wasn't that good. Sighing impatiently, he started to fidget and play with his fork, accidentally dropping it on the floor with a loud crack. This action earned him a stern look and a "manners mon petit" from his supposed *Papa* much to the amusement of their host.

"Don't worry mon petit. All these fine cutlery is now ours as well as this golden place."

Mon petit? How dare this assassin call him that! Only his baldie had this privilege. And he was also mocking King Louis! He was going to put this revolutionary in his right place, back to the gutters from which he had come.

"That's no true. It all belonged to the king!"

This elicited a dubious look from their host, "What did you say?"

"I said that..." Fox couldn't finish his sentence as he felt the weight of Walter's strict look focused on him, prompting him to stop. In the blink of an eye his baldie was behind him at the other side of the table.

"Would you please excuse us, Citizen Spendé? I need to have a little talk with my son. He becomes snappy when he is tired but he should know better."

"By all means, Monsieur Dupont. I also have a boy around his age and I know how difficult it is to make him behave." He winked to Fox, "It seems you are going to get it this time, mon petit."

Fox opened his mouth to reply rudely but Walter firmly grasped his arms and pulled him up from his chair, marching him swiftly out of the dinning room and into a small adjacent sitting room at the end of a long corridor.

"What do you think you're doing, mon petit? Are you trying to get us arrested and killed with your spectacular defense of the monarchy?"

"You shouldn't fear them, *mon chauve Monsieur*. As you said before you're only an Englishman working as a sympathizer during the French revolution," Fox retorted impudently.

"What did we agree before coming here tonight?"

"I haven't agreed with anything. You coerced me to come with you and play my part in this deception as your son. But I'm not an idiot and Citizen Spendé is a murderer and has to pay for his crimes."

"Fox, I empathize with your pain of losing your loved ones but you must control your mouth or you'll put the entire plan in jeopardy. You cannot make your family come back and with this attitude all you'll get is to join them if you keep acting so carelessly. And after all the trouble I had to keep you safe, I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

"You're being selfish! I'll avenge my family with or without your help baldie, I don't care!"

"I see that you intend to ruin our plans mon petit so I won't waste any more of my time convincing you otherwise. Your mouth becomes too big for you. You're getting disrespectful and cheeky and you broke your word to me."

"I never gave you my word. You're such a coward! How could you work for the league of the English hero? I'd rather it was him who found me instead of you!"

Sighing heavily, Walter spoke again. "What did I say I'd do if you didn't obey?"

Fox shrugged in a dismissive manner, too angry to even speak.

"I recalled very well promising you a sound spanking if you didn't cooperate."

With huge eyes Fox muttered in disbelief," You wouldn't dare! Not here!"

"Test me, mon petit. Fox, you must try to understand that despite your hate for what they did to you, now isn't the time to reveal your true intentions and fight. This time will come. Now you must let go of the past because your family will never come back again. And look forward, to the future and to a new life. And you must help me to get out from this bloody nest. Do not jeopardize our mission ever again by disobeying my instructions, do you understand?"

"You say that because it’s not you who lost your family and your home."

"I know that it's hard, mon petit, but you are a brave boy and you'll overcome all this one day. But for now come over here." Walter motioned to him as he sat himself in one of the highbacked golden Louis XV chairs near the huge marble fireplace.

The boy headed reluctantly to him and stopped near his right leg. Walter reached out and in an efficient manner yanked the boy's pants down baring the still chubby buttocks.

"Hey, what are you doing?" yelled the surprised boy who found himself dangling over the older man's lap with his bare backside stuck out in the air. He immediately put his hands over his bare cheeks in defense and started to squirm frantically, trying to free himself. A muscled arm only tightened around his waist, keeping him firmly in place.

Walter bent forward to whisper into Fox's ear. "What Citizen Spendé expects me to do and what you deserve for your naughty attitude. Now remove your hands or it'll be worse for you."

He landed ten hard smacks in rapid succession over the once pristine cheeks. Too shocked to emit a sound the boy endured the painful process sobbing quietly, both hands clutching his baldie's right leg.

Fox was so humiliated! And mad for being spanked because he misbehaved towards an assassin. It wasn't fair!

"Now tell me mon petit. Are you going to cooperate from now on?"

When Fox didn't reply Walter swatted his butt twice with renewed energy, extracting two loud yells from his brat.

"Y-Yes b-baldie." Fox whimpered. Although reluctant to give up what he knew was right, Fox admitted that his baldie's words were sensible. Now was not the time to fight.

He suddenly found himself standing up in front of Walter facing him with flushed cheeks and teary eyes, a single stream of tears pouring down his chin which was quivering slightly.

Walter's eyes sparkled with satisfaction as he inspected the distraught lad who was grabbing his stinging bare bottom biting at his bottom lip, unsure of what to do next. Taking the quivering chin firmly in one of his hands Walter turned Fox's face from side to side and smiled, "That'll do very well. You're sporting the face of a well punished boy. Now come with me and let's not waste any more time."

He brought Fox's face forward and dropped a kiss on the boy's forehead, gently drying the single stream of tears with his thumb. Then he got up and walked down towards the door opening and holding it for the boy. After pulling his pants up Fox passed by him, unconsciously rubbing his abused posterior with downcast eyes.

"Cheer up, mon petit renard! Remember, it's all part of our grand plan of escape."

**************

The boy winced every time he heard a whoosh followed by a hard thud and a muffled cry. Of one thing Fox was very sure, he wouldn't want to be in that guy's skin, particularly not the skin on his butt. Fox had already counted twenty strokes and was awed at the realistic performance. //It really seems that he is in pain!// He and two other kids, a boy and a girl younger than himself, were hidden below a thick rug inside the wagon that was being used as a mobile stage.

Suddenly a round of loud applause and cheers erupted from the gathering crowd that were circling the large wagon. It was *La Fête de L'Être Suprême* and people from every region of France had come to Paris to attend the festivities. All kind of entertainment was taking place at such a happy time for celebrating the victory of the people against the tyranny of the nobles. Within this merry scene, the small acting troupe "L'Illustre Théâtre", (the name had been chosen as a tribute to the great school of scenic arts of Moliére) under the direction of Monsieur Fouetter, was perfoming its masterpiece *L'histoire du Tanneur de Fesses Écarlates or The tale of the Scarlet Butt-Scorcher*. Albeit historically inaccurate, the troupe’s version ended with the interfering English bastard getting caught and whacked on his own bare butt to a deep shade of scarlet by Citizen Spendé, played by Monsieur Fouetter himself. In each performance, a different member of Citizen Spende’s regiment was called on to play the part of the Englishman who would have his bare butt thrashed in the performance’s final moments. Lucky for the "butt-scorched" supporters of Spendé, none was made to repeat their performance.

The actors presented the piece four times during the day and they were euphoric with their success. Citizen Spendé came to see the show twice! But now that the feast had ended, it was time to dismount the stage and head back home. The fair had gotten them some good francs which were so precious in those turbulent times.

Citizen Spendé was personally at the north city's door to greet them.

"Bravo! You're to be commended for the excellent performance, Monsieur Fouetter!"

"Merci beaucoup, Citizen Spendé! We'll be performing this spectacle all over the country and soon you'll be able to catch the English bastard."

"Well said mon ami. Go in peace. Guards, open the gate."

This way, the Scorcher and all his protegés escaped from Paris by its most well-known door. With the blessings of their most hateful enemy. Leaving four bright, red butts by which they would be remembered. It was a *piece of cake* as the Scorcher would later tell his friends back in England.

Two hours later, "Citizen Spendé, Sir! Come see this! A soldier was found all tied up and gagged behind the carrousel at la Place Royale. It seemed the Scorcher attacked again!"

****************

"Hooray! We did it baldie!"

Walter gave the young boy a broad smile, one that reached his eyes making them shine in satisfaction. He was always euphoric when he deceived Citizen Spendé. And this time it was so easy! He would like to be a fly to see Spendé's face when he discovered the entire truth. The Scorcher had dared to spank a number of his precious soldiers and escape with a whole noble family, right from under his nose. The man was so eager for his head that he didn't suspect a thing for one minute. He must have given Spendé a little credit though. Monsieur Fouetter was one of his best disguises so far.

Walter and his refugees reached Calais eighteen hours later as it was hoped for. In the beginning of their journey they had traded their wagon in a small village along the way by a huge cart filled with fresh vegetables which made a perfect cover for the Marquis and his two older daughters. A little past seven o'clock in the evening they boarded the Day-Dream, Walter’s private yacht.

This time Walter was very pleased with himself. He had rescued an entire family: Le Marquis du Barry, his wife the gracious Madeleine and their four children, three girls and a boy varying from nine to seventeen years old. And he couldn't forget his little bratty Fox, the boy with no name. When they were well accommodated in his home he would extract the truth from the boy even if under torture.

"Monsieur when are we going to meet our savior, the Scarlet Butt-Scorcher? I'd like to thank him for saving us. We'll be in his debt forever."

"I'm afraid Madame it's not going to be possible. The Scorcher never meets his protegés. If you wish, you can write him a note and I shall make certain it reaches his hands."

"Merci Monsieur! Merci!" And the elegant Marchioness disappeared inside the small cabin she shared with her family to write the missive.

//Poor woman!// Walter gave a sad smile. Suddenly he looked around the deck and didn't see Fox anywhere. Worried, he went to look for the little boy. Twenty minutes later after a fruitless search he spotted the dark head in the middle of the small marketplace surrounding the docks. He watched impotently as Fox tried to hit Alex Krycek and was subdued by Krycek’s men. Alex pulled the boy across his lap in the front of his saddle, spurring his horse towards the small ancient prison beside the old monastery.

A voice behind Walter caught his attention from the scene he’d just witnessed. "Boy, where do you think you're going? We're ready to depart." The low thunderous voice of a mid-aged man echoed in his ears.

"Forgive me Brodic but I can't leave the boy there alone. He's been taken by Krycek and his men. Take these people safely back to England and then return for me tomorrow morning." Walter then jumped over the ship's brim and landed safely on his feet on the dock.

"Walter what are doing ? Come back here at once boy!" The McChallan yelled furiously as the yacht began to move off the seashore.

Walter waved back to the Scotsman and started to make his way towards the prison.

//Mon petit when I put my hands on you again, you'll be a very sorry little boy.//

He rounded the small building, in fact an old medieval stone tower, and stopped under a window when he heard Krycek's voice interrogating Fox.

"So what do we have here? A Muldé? Soon to be the last Muldé in the world, brat! Tell me how did you get here?"

"It's none of your damn business, assassin!"

"You'd better cooperate with me, brat, if you want your death to be painless."

"Go to hell, you cripple! I won't tell you a thing!"

Alex Krycek, the Russian as he was known among the military, shot the boy a look full of poison. The brat dared to make sport of his maimed hand! Although known by his volatile temper, when he spoke he did in a low controlled voice, "Let's see if you'll keep that same attitude in the morning, noble brat! Guards take him downstairs and put him in irons!"

Krycek smiled coldly as he watched a wave of fear pass through the boy's eyes. He sneered as he recalled the boy's terror of the dark, something he’d learned when he had put him in the well on his father's property during the night of the Muldés's capture. Krycek had charged the Comte and all his family, found them guilty and had sentenced them to death but the brat had managed to escape on that occasion. This time he would assure himself that the job would be completed.

Beneath the window, Walter cringed at hearing young Fox's fate.

//What kind of maniac is Krycek to put a child in a dungeon? Courage, mon petit. Don't be afraid! I'll be right here watching you and soon all this will be over.//

Suddenly.

"Hey you!"

"What?" Walter turned around sharply at the sluggish voice.

A drunkard was seated with his back leaning into a dark corner on the opposite wall. The day was almost over and soon it would be night.

"Is the little tyke yours?"

Walter hesitated for a moment. He was so upset that he hadn't even noticed the fat drunk man at his back. Cautiously, he replied. "Yes, he's my son."

"But rumors say he's a noble."

"My good man, do I look like a nobleman?"

"Not a chance! But I sense you're more than you let others see."

Walter gave him a shrug.

"I can tell you a way to get your boy out of prison." The man said as he took another gulp from the bottle in his hand. He offered it to Walter who refused with a shake of his head. He must be crazy if he was going to listen to a drunk's talk but, what the hell, he was without any options at the moment.

"How?"

Suddenly a cow mooed nearby at the abandoned monastery's backyard.

The drunkard pointed out to a shaft over which several huge stripped skirts were hanging. Walter followed his direction and then gave the man a smile of comprehension. He extended his right hand in a greeting gesture.

"Michel Dupont at your service. Pleased to meet you."

"Bertin. François."

**********

It was a cold dark night, especially to the young boy chained to the wall. His small body shivered with cold and fear.

//Baldie where are you? I'm sorry! Please come back for me.//

The darkness in the cell was absolute and however hard he tried Fox couldn't see anything. Since he was a little boy he was scared of the dark and his mother used to keep a candle burning at his bedside every night until he fell asleep. He decided to keep his eyes tightly shut and tried to call for a comforting memory. Glimpses of his mother and sister's faces came to his mind to soon be replaced by a rough face with a roguish smile. His baldie.

//I've lost everybody I loved and now you, baldie.//

A feeling of excruciating loneliness and sadness enveloped the boy and he curled into a tight ball on the dirty floor against the stone wall. He couldn't hold back the loud sobs anymore.

***********

It was a little past six o'clock in the morning and the sun had just risen, its first rays penetrating the dark cell where Fox had cried himself to sleep on a filthy pallet. Then he was awakened by some voices upstairs and for the first time he could look around the nasty place. All the other cells were empty except his. Suddenly a guard appeared followed by a huge fat lady carrying a huge pot.

"Hey kid you should be grateful! This nice woman came to give you a mug of milk for breakfast."

"Merci, my good man. Oh! Mon Dieu, but the boy is in irons!" the fat brunette exclaimed as she put a hand over her mouth in dismay.

"Sargent Krycek's orders Madame."

"But he's only a boy!" The voice reached a high-pitched tone full of indignation.

"Not only a boy but a noble one."

"I don't care! Release him immediately!"

"I can't Madame!"

"Soldier, do you have children?"

"Oui, Madame. Two boys and a little girl," answered the young soldier with a fond smile which he swallowed back at the hard stare the huge matron shot him.

"I'm sure they're adorable. Would you like to see them chained to a wall like this poor boy here?"

"No Madame but it's Sargent's orders..."

"Would you?" The tone gained the inflexibility of steel, difficult to be ignored.

Sighing heavily, the man opened the door of Fox's cell. He dreaded disobeying the Russian but dammit, he was a father! His *Sargent* might not have a heart but certainly five minutes wouldn't make any difference. The boy was going to be executed anyway so let him drink at least one last mug of milk.

"Here kid you're free." Those were his last words as he fell to the floor in oblivion.

Fox started as the milkwoman hit the soldier on the head with a powerful blow of her fists and cautiously stepped backwards.

"Come mon petit, quickly!" Walter reached for Fox, pulling him out of the cell.

"Baldie?" Fox asked in disbelief unable to see Walter in the ugly matron. Then a roguish wink from Walter knocked down all his suspicions and he clung to the man in a fierce hug. "Baldie!" Fox mumbled emotionally.

"Yes it's me, mon petit." Walter said with a lump in his throat, visibly touched by the boy's happiness to see him again. Detaching himself from Fox's arms Walter gently urged, "Now hurry up! We don't have much time. Let's get out of here!"

Walter hastily lifted the heavy skirt and gestured for Fox to hide beneath it. A few moments later, they made their way up the stairs and out of the building, no one suspecting a thing.

*************

"Sargent! Sargent!"

One of Krycek's men, Jean-Paul shouted agitatedly, his hurried footsteps resounding through the gallery that led up to the prison's office.

He opened the door smoothly, a little afraid of being the bearer of such bad news. He glanced at the Russian's cold eyes and decided it would be better to tell him everything at once. His two other companions might have sensed his hesitancy and grimaced in support. He swallowed nervously and then blurted out, "Sir, Young Muldé has disappeared. Gervaise was found unconscious in the boy's cell. Next to him I found this."

Krycek tore the envelope up from his soldier's hand and started to read the letter. The silence in the room became oppressive as a cold fury mask was taking control of his Sargent's features. The explosion was inevitable.

"It cannot be possible!"

On the letter, it was written in a very elegant style,

"My dear Sargent Alex Krycek

I have the pleasure to inform you that the young boy that you were keeping under your demented custody is now safely en route to England. As I didn't have time to operate my traditional display of a red butt, next time there will be two scorched butts instead of one. So be careful.

With the compliments of

The Scarlet Butt-Scorcher."

"No!!!!! How can that be possible?" Alex roared as he furiously punched the closest of his men for their failure.

"No one entered the prison but the milkwoman, Sargent." Jean-Paul said in a meek tone.

"The milkwoman? What the hell is that?"

"Madame Bertin, the prison's milkwoman got sick and the dairy sent someone in her place. A brunette. But she had a written authorization." The corporal explained as he pulled out a piece of paper from one of his pockets.

"Let me see it!"

"Of course, it was HIM!" Krycek shouted as he compared the two papers. His face contorted into an odious mask as his anger built up and he snarled furiously, "When I put my hands on this English bastard, he will wish never have been born. What are you waiting for, you imbeciles? To the docks! He must be trying to book a ticket to England. We must search all the vessels."

Meanwhile, as soon as they were out of the prison's range, savior and salvage got rid of the awkward vestment and the pot of milk and dashed off towards the docks, Fox's hand firmly grasped in Walter's. They stopped in front of a low stone wall near the market from where Walter retrieved a canvas sack, similar to those used in grain's storage which was carefully hidden under a large stone.

"Now mon petit you're going to step into this sack..."

"No baldie! I have to kill that man. He's evil! I'm not going with you."

Walter took a deep breath, "Fox, my patience with you at this moment is non-existent so be a good boy and don't give me any more trouble."

"No baldie, you don't understand. I can't go with you!"

"Mon petit, get into this sack right now and do exactly as I say or by the Lord you'll be the only boy going to the guillotine sporting a very SORE BOTTOM!" Walter growled, his face a big scowl.

Fox gulped in apprehension at the piercing glare. He had never seen his baldie that angry!

Walter swiftly pulled the sack up until it was covering the boy's entire head. He pointed out the little holes he had made in the front. "This hole is for your nose and that for your mouth so you can breathe easily. And mon petit for what's most sacred to you don't speak or move, whatever the reason."

As soon as Walter finished his instructions he tied a cord at the top of the sack, hauling Fox head first over his left naked shoulder.

"Humpf! Baldie, I can't breathe!"

Walter lifted his brows in amusement at the outraged voice. He couldn't stay angry with Fox for more than a few minutes because he wasn't really a bad boy, only a frightened child with more imagination than senses, sorely in need of guidance. He couldn't help being a model brat, it was so natural to him and that was perhaps what made him so special. However, Walter knew exactly how to deal with brats so he gave the upturned backside draped over his shoulder a sharp smack. "Take deep slow breaths brat." And after a few seconds, "That's it mon petit," Walter encouraged as he felt the boy relax and regain his normal breathing. "Now not one more word from you, Fox, and for God's sake don't move."

"Okay," came the muffled still sulky reply.

"Shhh! Be quiet and enjoy the ride."

Thus, the incognito hero and his treasured cargo calmly melted into the crowd strolling along the extensive docks, Walter greeting one and another with a gracious move of his red scarfed head never interrupting his "sea-gutted" whistled tune and long strides.

**************

"Hey you, what do you think you're doing? You're not allowed to board this ship." Captain Francis Cavender, a blond young man of small stature shouted in a surprisingly strong voice at the dirty, sweaty docker.

The bulky man with what seemed a sack of potatoes over his left shoulder never missed a step as he continued to walk towards the cabins. Then he turned his head in the Captain's direction giving him a roguish smile filled with rotten teeth and started to whistle God save the King.

It took a moment for the young Captain to recognize to whom that voice belonged. Then a smile of pure joy spread over his face. Once more his very smart chief had managed to mislead him with another astounding guise. The Scorcher was really a master in the art of disguise confounding even his most loyal and intimate associates. Smiling, Captain Cavender followed his Chief to his cabin.

"Good morning, milord! I'm glad to see you in such good health. But may I ask you what you have here?" Cavender inquired indicating the sack over the older man's shoulder.

"Good morning Francis. Please come inside and your curiosity will be satisfied."

Francis Cavender was in fact the youngest brother of
Walter’s closest friend and second-in-command of the Scarlet Butt-Scorcher operation, Theron Cavender, the Earl of Brook. Although the young man had been the Captain of the Day-Dream for more than two years now, he was still naive and Walter secretly enjoyed making a fool of him with his disguises. He was a too serious fellow and a lot of fun to tease.

Walter carefully untied the cord and opened the sack which pooled down to reveal the skinny lad. "Francis, I'd like you to meet Guillaume de Muldé."

A pair of rounded brown eyes fixed at him as if saying "Did you know who I was all the time?"

Walter couldn't suppress his smug smile at the surprised expression on his brat's face.

"Nice to meet you, young Guillaume," Francis greeted him with a slight bow. He knew the boy must be special otherwise his chief wouldn't have risked his own life in such a careless way to bring him back. The Scorcher always planned his ransoms thoroughly but he knew better than to poke his nose into his chief's private affairs.

"Guillaume is correct Monsieur but I'd rather you call me Fox," The disheveled boy said in a defiant voice after darting an annoyed look at Walter.

A genuine brat is what the boy was and thankfully he was Lord Skinner's responsibility. So Francis nodded politely. "I'll remember that. I'm Captain Cavender and if you need anything please let me know."

It was Walter who replied instead of Fox. "Thank you very much Francis but Guillaumme isn't going anywhere beyond this cabin and I'll see to all his needs during the trip. By the way if you already have permission to depart, then let's go. We're safe under the universal flag of free trade but soon Krycek and his men are going to come looking for us."

"Very well milord. I'll set sail immediately. May I order a bath and a meal to you?"

"That would be very kind, Francis. Thank you."

The young Captain nodded as he turned on his heels, leaving the cabin.

Walter then turned around to face his young charge.

"Drop the pout mon petit. At this point you should know that it doesn't work with me. You're in very big trouble and after we bathe, eat something and rest, exactly in that order, you and I are going to have a very serious talk.."

TBC