Do you believe in fairies? ?
- James M. Barrie, (1860-1937) Scottish children's writer and dramatist, Peter Pan

The lone man perched on one of the posts one of the piers of the Spit and Scales and looked out past the lighthouse to the distant horizon. The setting sun dipped low in the darkening sky, melting into the horizon and coloring the edge of the world in a shimmer of orange and red. The man watched the silhouettes of the varied vessels that trailed across the pristine waters against the day's closing.

Eyes of ice blues narrowed on one of the furthest ships following its path. He followed its solitary journey across the vast ocean waters. He wondered where the ship was headed. What would the ship and her crew encounter. His thoughts drifted as the outline of the vessel grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared into the last warm glow of the sun on the horizon. When would she return to these ports, he thought. Would she return at all.

*****

The waters glistened with a soft silver shimmer of nightfall, the earlier bustle of the day quieting to the muted lapping of waves against the pier and beach. He remained on his perch, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed out over the darkened horizon. Against the blue, black sky, the moon shined with all her glory, surrounded by her court of stars. He remembered another evening such at this, two siblings on a beach and riding to the heavens on kite strings. It was a small reprieve, a measure of peace eked out from a whirlwind of pressures and emotions.

The hard earned peace of that evening would soon be shattered violently, shot out of the heavens and brought crashing down. Hands curled to a tight fist in the man's pockets as a frown marked his brow at the memory of the fall, and the fight to keep flight.

*****

The wheels had been set into motion the very moment the first reports were made. Orders were dispatched, materials were secured, and informants were hired. Reports were to be made personally three times a day. All information was to be checked and checked again. Then checked again. No time was to be spared. No expense was to be spared. Mistakes were not to be tolerated. Failure was not an option.

And so it was the clandestine operations began to unfold, driven by one man, sent creeping across the RhyDin landscape from the western shores, past the odd timepiece of the West End, north toward the Marketplace. Ultimately, its shadowy fingers would wind its reach past the gates and to the manor of the Yearling Brook.

A nod at the door was answered with a firm command, colored with impatience. ?Enter.?

The hunched figure stepped into the room and nodded to the man sitting behind the desk. ?All the arrangements have been made.?

?The Guards won?t be a problem??

?No, Sir.?

?What about the governess? Miriam??

The man shook his head answering confidently. ?No, Sir. There will be no problem there.?

There was a small hesitation in the man?s voice when he asked the next. ?The children??

But the hunched figure shook his head once again, the confidence in his tone remaining unfaltering. ?We?ve already seen to them as you?ve ordered.?

The ocean took on an inky hue, the storm clouds erasing the silvery shimmer from the waters. The smell of rain was carried on the breeze and the weight of the storm was thick in the air. Eyes of ice blue closed to the threatening storm, thoughts entrenched in even unfolding from another time.

*****

Silence.

Silence was absolute. Stealth was the key.

The guards turned a blind eye as the caravan of wagons rolled onto the property, led in by the Captain of the Guards. When one of the guards approached, the Captain gave the younger man orders mutely with his hands. Immediately the young guard snapped to attention and took off running to carry out his Captain's orders.

The wagons were led to an area where they would be obscured from the view of the main residence windows. Hooded and robed figures filed out of the wagons and began unloading the wagons. No words were spoken. Commands and directions were all conveyed silently with hand signals and subtle nods and gestures. The barrister stood among the shadowy cast rushing back and forth, like a general directing the well choreographed operation.

As the last of the rigging and harness were assembled, Lucien ducked into the wagon to make his own final preparations. By the time he stepped out of the wagon, the rigging was finished and secured, ready to launch at the Baroness' bedroom window. As he stepped to the rigging, the young guard returned, leading Miriam and the Baroness' children toward the group. Every aspect of it had been rigorously synchronized to insure the largest impact and surprise. Everything was in place. The very air around them hummed, taut and poised, like a loaded bow string ready to be released. Everyone held their breath and looked to the barrister, waiting his signal. Lucien drew a deep breath and braced himself...then nodded once.

*****

Where silence and stealth once reigned was now replaced with an explosion.

Timed to go off as the children came into range. Timed to catch the healing Baroness unawares.

So with the barrister's mute nod, an explosion went off. An explosion of color and noise and activity.

Hoods and robes were cast off to reveal the army at once. Torches came to life with flames surging with a hiss and knives flashed as they swung in the air. Trumpets blew and drums beat. Rigging and harnesses strained as ropes and ties were pulled by four hardy men to launch...the Pan up to the Baroness' window.

Under Sylvia's window, the troupe of acrobats and entertainers put on a show for the children and the Manor's household, while Lucien, complete in green cap and tights, was sent 'flying'. He rapped on Sylvia's window and called out in his best Peter voice. "Come flying with me!"