The city's delights (Remy)

[Bog]

It was an unexpected treat to be granted four days' leave to go to the city. The colonel was a thoughtful enough fellow, really. Four days was not a great amount of time but in war any relief from duty was certainly welcome. Feeling quite cheered with his good fortune, Leighton set off for the city, a small valise securely lashed down behind his saddle.

The journey was not an especially long one but he made it with due caution, since it was known that rebel patrols roved about with some impunity. It was impossible to catch them all up, though the army made a dedicated effort to do so. Fortunately, he encountered no trouble and reached New York City just after nightfall.

Finding suitable lodgings was his next task, though certainly the military commandant would be able to oblige him. There must be plenty of abandoned rebel homes available to claim, certainly. He'd have to find out. Once he was settled, of course, he was free to come and go as he pleased. In particular, Leighton looked forward to enjoying the company the city's officers. The messes here would be more established and therefore more enjoyable than those in the field.

His horse's ears pricked, then pinned back, as a pair of shadows appeared suddenly in the street. The two figures moved swiftly across Leighton's path, causing him to pull his horse up short. "Have a care there, damn you!" He snapped, annoyed by the thoughtlessness being displayed. Like as not, it was a pair of drunk subalterns having little idea where they were or where they were going.

[teperehmi]

Remy was just passing through New York. In fact, he was hoping to pass through it quickly. The quicker, the better. And preferably without getting detained or questioned by any Redcoat. He had hoped to have arrived in America farther south. However, an unexpected squall had blown his ship off course. This led him to two options. He either could travel far out of his way through hostile Indian Territory. Or head straight south through hostile Redcoat territory (aka New York). As he was one to never back down from a challenge, he chose New York. And so far, he had no trouble. Dressed in the latest style, to all appearances he was simply a loyalist passing through. Of course, this meant that he couldn’t speak. Any trace of French would arouse suspicion. And since his English was in a sense nonexistent, his only hope was to stay out of any and all trouble.

He was nearing the edge of New York City, and thinking a prayer of thanks. He was almost out. He had just about made it. And it wouldn’t be long before he managed to catch up with the Continental Army to offer his services.

As he turned a corner he fell into step behind another man who seemed to be heading in the same direction. Remy was careful to stay back. He didn’t want pique the man’s curiosity. Conversation was not exactly possible with him. He watched the man as they walked. He occasionally stumbled. Remy smirked. The man was drunk. Very drunk, he thought as he watched the man take a swig from a silver flask that he pulled out of his jacket.

A voice brought his attention back to the road. They had both very nearly been run over by a man on a horse. Remy was so caught up in watching the man that he failed to look where he was going.

“Je suis désolé. Excusez-moi.” (I am sorry. Excuse me.) The words slipped out before he could hold them back. He froze as he looked up at the man.

[Bog]

The first man did not immediately stop, but his swaying gait indicated why. A troop of cavalry could have ridden clean over that one and he would not have noticed. The second man, however, was much more aware of his surroundings. He had stopped short and was staring up at Leighton. To the captain's surprise, this second fellow blurted out an apology in French, which was not anything he'd expected.

"It is all right," Leighton replied in the same language. To be sure, his French was not truly fluent but he had always managed to muddle through with it. He took a moment to study the second fellow, who seemed to be decently dressed. A gentleman, most likely, then. "Do you not know to watch your path, sir?"

[teperehmi]

Remy wasn’t too surprised when the man on the horse replied in French. He looked like an officer and a gentleman. Many gentlemen were at least familiar with another language, usually either French or Latin. He, himself, had enough knowledge of Latin to painstakingly trudge his way through some of the great classics such as Voltaire and Cicero, not that he ever really chose to put it to use.

“Je sais pour observer mon chemin, monsieur. Peut-etre si vous n'alliez pas si temerairement...” (I know to watch my path, sir. Perhaps if you were not riding so recklessly…)

He knew that he was pushing his luck. It was one thing to be a stranger in those parts who spoke perfect French. It was quite another to start throwing out insults. But, as he figured it, he was already in trouble. There wasn’t much else he could do to raise suspicion.

Remy turned his attentions, suddenly, to the other man as he collapsed in the middle of the road. He sighed. “Excusez-moi.” Turning his back on the man on the horse, Remy grabbed the unconscious man’s arms and pulled him out of the road. “Je ne veux pas qu'il être écrase.” (I do not want him to get run over.)

[Bog]

Riding recklessly? Despite himself, Leighton's brow creased in a frown. "You may do well to mind your tongue, M'sieur. It is not wise to cheek a King's officer here."

It was only luck for this fellow that Leighton was of an easy temper. Any other officer would no doubt have summoned the guard and ordered the man arrested. Being French by itself was no crime, but a Frenchman in New York, which had been so recently taken from the Americans, was suspect indeed.

He sat his horse, not making a reply to the Frenchman's next remarks, and at the same time wondering if the fellow might attempt to flee. If he should do that, Leighton would be obliged to pursue him. And, of course, call for aid.