Pale Moon Rider

Book by Canham Marsha

The horses were maintaining a comfortable canter when they passed over the log. Being unsprung, the body of the coach jumped as high as the wheels when they struck, rocking back and up then lurching violently forward, twice in rapid succession. As expected, the tremendous cracking sound of the rotted wood breaking made the driver draw back on the reins and put his foot to the brake handle. The matched pair pranced to a stop and Dudley waited until the coachman had climbed down from the box--not a quick job, as it turned out, for he took his sweet time and seemed much put out by the inconvenience. He had one gloved hand braced on the front wheel for support and was bent over, squinting at the undercarriage of the coach, when Dudley emerged from the shadows by the side of the road.

"I bid ye good evenin', sar. 'Ad a wee mishap, 'ave ye?"

His greeting, delivered with his best cockney accent, had no effect. The horses were stamping and snorting, and the driver was half covered by the body of the coach, poking at the axle to check for damage.

Dudley leaned forward and lifted the bottom edge of the curtain-mask that now covered most of his face. "Evenin', sar! 'Avin' a bit o' trouble are ye?"

This time the driver's head came up sharply enough to make contact with the edge of the wood frame.

"Mary and Joseph--" He backed away from the coach, his hands rubbing the top of his head. "There is no need to shout, my good man. I may be old, but I am not deaf!"

Dudley straightened in his saddle and raised his pistol so the driver had no trouble seeing it in the yellow spill of light from the coach lamp. "Not blind either, I trust?"

With fastidious care, the driver tugged the front of his livery to smooth the wrinkles. Tall and thin, he had a face as lined as a prune, bearing an expression that bespoke too many years of serving the nobility to tolerate impudence from a mere brigand.

"I assure you my eyesight is more than adequate." He glared at the gun, then glared at the masked highwayman with equal disdain. "So this is what you are about, is it? Robbing honest travelers in the dead of night?"

"Aye, that it is," Dudley admitted candidly, and raised his voice again for the benefit of those inside the coach. "An' such a fine night, too, I'd like t' invite all the 'onest folk t' step down an' get a ripe lungful o' fresh, 'eathen air. Lively now, one at a time."

The pale blur of a face appeared at the window. A moment passed while Dudley's figure came under harsh scrutiny, then the unmistakable sound of a softly muttered curse.

"Mon Dieu, this cannot be him."

The strongly accented pronouncement took Dudley briefly by surprise, delivered as it was by a distinctly feminine voice.

"'Appens I might be," he answered, increasing the gruffness in his voice. "'Appens I might not, dependin' on 'oo ye were expectin'. Either way, I've a gun in my 'and an' a finger willin' t' pull the trigger, so when I say "stand an' deliver' I'd be quick as spit t' do as yer told!"

The blur remained at the window a few seconds longer than Dudley found comfortable before a second whisper prompted the driver to turn the latch and open the door. He held out a gloved hand to assist a cloaked and hooded figure disembark one wary step at a time, dragging a handful of carefully gathered skirts in her wake. She had her back to the light so that Dudley could see nothing other than the bell shape of her hood and cloak, but there was no mistaking the richness of the silk garment.

"Frenchie, eh? 'Eard tell' that them o' ye what escaped sneezin' in th' basket brought away 'arf th' crown jewels stitched in yer 'ems."

"Sneezing in the basket? Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?"

The question was directed in a low whisper at the driver, but Dudley answered. "'Ad yer 'ead lopped off. Like this--" He held up his left hand to display the stub of a pinky finger. "Felt the kiss o' ma-dam gill-o-teen. Aye, an' I truly 'ope you an' yer friends brung a fine selection with ye tonight." He chuckled and steadied his aim on the coach door. "Rest o' ye now: Out ye come, one at a time, 'ands where I can see 'em."

"There is no one else," the woman said with an exasperated sigh. "I assure you I am quite alone."

"Alone? Ye're travelin' the Chester 'pike in th' middle o' th' night . . . alone?"

"I was told . . . that is, I was led to believe . . ." She stopped and seemed to reconsider what she had been about to say, and ended up expelling a huff of misted breath instead. "But I can see I was sadly misled. You cannot possibly be the one they call "Capitaine Clair d'Etoile.'"

"Eh? Cap'n 'oo?"

"Captain Starlight. I was led to believe he might be out on a night such as this." She paused and glanced up at the smeared disc of the moon. "I paid an outrageous sum for this information, but I can see now I was merely being played for the fool."

"I did warn you it would be a waste of time, mad'moiselle," the driver said, his hands clasped primly behind his back. "But as usual . . ."

"Yes, yes." Another puff of breath marked the woman's disappointment. "You warned me, and I did not listen."

Dudley raised his gun and scratched his jaw with the snout. "'Old up a minute 'ere. Are ye sayin' ye paid someone t' tell ye where t' go so's ye could get robbed?"

The driver provided the answer with a righteous sniff. "I advised mad'moiselle most emphatically against it, warning her she was just throwing good coin after bad, for what manner of highwayman advertises where and when he will be stalking a particular road? Indeed, this so-called Captain Starlight certainly would not have been able to elude capture for as long as he has if every unwashed jackanapes raising a tankard knew his business."

"And so he would not," came an amused voice from the shadows behind them. "Nonetheless he would be extremely interested to know where this information was purchased and from whom."

The driver and the woman both whirled around to stare at the shifting layers of mist. Even Dudley was somewhat startled, for he had not expected Tyrone to reveal himself without due provocation. Now he seemed to materialize like a ghostly specter out of the blackness at the rear of the coach, with nothing to lend horse or rider substance save for glints of light reflected off the stallion's bridle and the gold foliate work on the brace of leveled snaphaunces.

"Capitaine Clair d'Etoile," the woman whispered.

*

There was a lengthy pause, time enough for the mist to settle around the stallion's legs again, before Tyrone offered a slight bow. "At your service, mam'selle. Did I hear correctly: You have been looking for me?"

She continued to stare, for so long he was forced to gently prompt her again.

"Oh. Yes, m'sieur. Yes--" She took a halting step forward, her hand pressed over her breast as if to keep her heart in place. "I must speak with you, m'sieur. On a matter of some importance."

Dudley glanced nervously over both shoulders. "I don't like it, Cap'n. Don't like it a-tall."

His features masked behind the raised collar of his coat, Tyrone surveyed the shadows on either side of the road, searching for any sign of movement. He tuned his hearing to the forest and the hills, trying to catch the accidental nicker of a horse or the snap of a twig beneath a boot, but if it was some ingenious new trap set by the persistent Colonel Roth, his instincts were not detecting it.

His gaze settled on the woman again. Foolish and naïve were two words that came instantly to his mind, for she obviously had not considered the personal risk involved in her quest. There were few, if any, grown men who would venture out on their own along this deserted stretch of road, and he was curious in spite of the glared warnings Dudley was attempting to convey across the pale circle of lantern light.

Ignoring his partner as well as his own common sense, he uncocked the snaphaunces and tucked them into his belt. One long leg swung over the back of the saddle and he dismounted, the coarse earth of the road crunching loudly under his boots as he came forward.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Dudley asked urgently, his accent lapsing in surprise.

"The lady has gone to a good deal of trouble to find me. It would be most ungallant of me to send her away disappointed."

Dudley lifted the bottom edge of the curtain-mask to hiss, "Are you insane? The woods could be crawling with dragoons!"

"If you see any, shoot the driver first, then come and fetch me." Tyrone held out a black-gloved hand, inviting the woman to accompany him to the far side of the road. "Mam'selle--?"

When she hesitated, clearly not expecting to have to leave the comparative safety of the coach, he moved his head the slightest degree to let her see the glitter of his eyes. He had not chosen the fanciful name of Captain Starlight. It had been bestowed upon him by a near hysterical female victim who had sworn there had been nothing mortal between the rim of his tricorn and the top edge of his collar--nothing but a phantom space and a clear view of the starlight beyond. The story, much embellished from one telling to the next, had spread like wildfire, reinforced by the inability of anyone to get close enough to disprove the assumption that they were dealing with an otherworldly being.

"I can promise you, mam'selle, despite what you may have heard, I am quite earthbound. You did say you wanted to talk, did you not?"

The hood moved fr...