North-Eastern Romania

  1861, January

  In the northern part where the snow had more or less disappeared. Along the dusted road walks a lone figure. A man in his late twenties dressed in the tattered clothes of the queen’s own foot regiments.

  A dulled button with the number 88 resembling that of the Connaught Rangers shown under the growing sun. The man himself looked destitute. His once vibrant scarlet red had been dusted and bleached under the looming sun. It more or less resembled the ragged and thread bare sibling of the enlisted man’s tunic. The once immaculate black trousers that held his rank were tattered and near the knees the fabric had thinned. His shoes were held together by a series of leather straps that were tied to keep them together. His once sharp and sparkling sword was dulled and shattered. His pistol hanged precariously from his chest. Attached to a sun kissed rope. Three rounds jingle in his one remaining pocket. Strangely enough, a velvet pouch was hidden within his tunic pockets that carried silver about a thousand Sterlings.

  This lone figure entered the rather deserted town in a name he could not pronounce. Nearing towards the only open inn. The stranger walked through the dilapidated doors. The doors opened to that of an ancient tavern with wooden accoutrements.

  The tavern keeper walking towards the stranger. In a thick accent of the Romanian people welcomed the stranger. “Hello sir,” looking at the tattered clothing and clicking his tongue. Before he could speak the stranger dropped several Sterlings into the hand of the tavern keeper. Whose eyes began to bulge from his head.

  “Mi’lord, we can provide for you the most luxuries room within the inn itself.” The inn keeper beckoned for him to move towards the counter and stopped in front of the ledger. “May I have your name, sir?” The man simply smiled. “Bernard Farnsworth the third, Captain with the 88th regiment of foot. The Connaught Rangers.” The inn keeper was surprised. “What is a British officer doing in the middle of nowhere, Romania?”

  Bernard leaned forwards to simply whisper “on a special assignment.” The inn keeper tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the notion. ‘Special assignment’ the innkeeper thought ‘what a load of bull. This captain looks as dirty as any vagrant on the street. At least he had the funds to purchase these amenities.’ The innkeeper smiled and brought Bernard towards the canteen of the inn. A somewhat dead place with only a few members within.

  Bernard scanned the room with what sense he had left from his harsh walk towards this region. He spotted several interesting figures. Near the bar was a fellow dressed in that of the orient. He noticed the rather lovely carved swords that hung by his waist and the spear that leans next to him. The opposite near the fireplace was a figure leaning over a pint of beer. While across from her in a brooding corner was a brightly grey figure. A gleaming rifle sat next to his leg.

  Bernard taking in the scenery took a seat farthest from the rest. Ordering some warm porridge and a pint of beer. However, a noise had come from the front of the building. Looking out a window. Bernard saw a series of fellows a top a horse. He counted four or so men armed with pistols and swords. Bernard grimaced at the sight. When a round shattered the glass that he looked out of he heard the demands of these desperados.

  “We want all of the guests to step out so that we may speak with them kindly” said their leader in the similarly thick Romanian accent. Bernard looked inwards to see the more civilian of the guests clutching their pockets and jewelry. Which in reality was only about two to three people.

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  The more peculiar of the guests simply looked on with wonderment. Bernard simply leaned out and with his broken sword “come in you vagabond bastards. You lily limping milksops.” The vagabonds didn’t take to kindly to such insults. Opening in a volley of shots which missed widely. Bernard looked towards the three figures which had inched their way towards the very window.

  Bernard had realized upon closer inspection that the oriental fellow must have come from the Japan, one was a copper skinned woman, and the other had piercing blue eyes that stared into his soul. He spoke to the blue-eyed man first. “Hello, old chap. I am afraid I had startled the poor fellows and they appear to be giving us the what for.

  The blue-eyed man spoke with an American southern twang that had alerted Bernard that he was a southerner. “You riled them up, you fool.” The harshness of the words stung at Bernard before the copper skinned woman spoke up. A rather rhythmically soft French accent cut through the sounds of gunfire.

  “I believe we should respond to their words than to the Englishman Chester.” At this point the Japanese man simply looked at the group in silence and leapt through the window. The woman cursed to this. “Merde, Masamoto. Do be careful.” However, Bernard did not quite catch that for he didn’t speak French.

  Masamoto simply shouted a hai and charged forwards unsheathing his two katanas. One vagabond turned to point his pistol only to receive a slash across the face downing the villain. At that moment Bernard had watched as Chester, the burly American pull his rifle. Aiming at one of the mounted vagabonds squeezed the trigger letting loose a single shot. Which struck the man dead. Before the other mounted vagabond could respond. He fired another shot which brought him down from his horse.

  Bernard squeezed away from the window taking a seat overlooking the whole ordeal. Noticing his food had been brought to his table prior to the engagement. Began to munch on the food rather vigorously. The Frenchwoman looked at him with abhorrence. “Typical English pigs.” She said with a soft pillowed voice. She then readied her own rifle and fired killing the last member of the attacking band.

  At this point, Bernard had finished his plate, looking at the corpses on the outside. Called the trio over. “I must say you had all done an excellent job. Now I must inquire. Do you have a current employer?” The question seemed to puzzle the three. Unsure of how to answer. Chester spoke first.

  “Do you mean are we employed? The American looked on with confused annoyance. Bernard picking at his teeth with one of the wooden forks muttered an agreement. The Frenchwoman responded. “We are in between jobs at the moment. A sort of vacation.”

  Intrigued by this development. Bernard stood up tossing the fork onto the plate. “Well, I have a beneficial proposal. For you see I am on special assignment via Queen Victoria and more precisely Prince Albert. I require the assistance of some very special people. I hope that you are that people?”

  The three looked at each other and spoke softly. Excluding Bernard from the rather sensitive decision. A couple “I see.” Some “Wakarimasen.” Finally, a sprinkle of “merde.” They then stood looking at Bernard. “What would be our pay?” Bernard simply smiled at the question. “A Sterling a day including whatever loot you may receive along the way with the ability of advancements.” He then reached a hand out. “What do you say?”

  The Frenchwoman took his hand. “I hate to stay anonymous during a deal. The name is Isabella.” Bernard smiled with a wide grin. “Captain Bernard Farnsworth the third.” Isabella snickered at the name. “Rather presumptuous aren’t you.”

  Bernard then stood there before turning to an innkeeper who had walked to speak to their saviors. “I must say Bernard’s Volunteers have done it again. Innkeeper, bust out another cask of ale. We are celebrating.” The innkeeper stood their stunned by the notion. “They are with you?” Bernard nodded. The innkeeper began to then list a series of charges the three had incurred which resulted in a total bill of 127 Sterlings. Bernard grumbled staring at the trio who had begun to busy themselves.

  “We need lodgings for tonight. Separate rooms and meals to them.” He then turned to the trio. “I suggest you begin to loot the bodies outside before the scavengers get to them.” Bernard pointed outwards spying a few of the villagers