eWThe train shook underneath her feet as they passed over a bridge, but Fleur didn’t dare look through the window, not with the zooming bullets sailing over her head.
“Just give up, Frenchie, you’re surrounded!”
Fleur finished reloading her LeMat Revolver, nine cartridges, and one buckshot if they got close.
But she had no time to play defensive.
She removed her hat, her new, latest fashion hat, sighed at it, placed a bottle under it, and threw it up.
The response was immediate, so she crouched lower and peaked on the side of the wood and brick balcony she was hiding behind.
Two shots and the guard who was closer to her fell, one more and she got the arm of the one who was shooting behind a turned table.
And that’s when she saw the one with the rifle.
Fleur jumped back just in time, the loud bang reverberating through the wagon.
And then there were three other bangs in quick succession, not as loud, but she could tell the caliber was no joke.
She was surprised when she heard three bodies hitting the ground.
“Sorry gentlemen, but I have an appointment with the Mademoiselle…” a young and very British voice said.
“You fucker!” a gruff voice shouted, but there was another shot, and then another, two more bodies hit the ground.
“Huh, sneaky fellow.”
“You can come out now, Miss DeLacour, that was the last of them.”
Fleur took a deep breath, before saying, “And who are you, Monsieur? What are you doing on this train?”
She heard a chuckle, “The same thing as you, these…cultists stole some pretty valuable documents from your father’s friends in London, and I was sent to retrieve them, imagine my surprise to find the French Ambassador’s daughter involved in this.”
Merde, he knew who she was, had she been followed, had her father sent him, or one of his friends?
“How do I know I can trust you?” she reloaded her gun, and heard him doing the same.
Another chuckle, and then a sigh. “You don’t, but what I can tell is that we don’t have long before these men’s friends go through the door I blocked before coming here, and the steel safe door behind you ain’t going to open itself.”
Fleur momentarily looked behind her, the door looked sturdy with a safe combination lock, even she would take some time to open it.
Her instincts were, for some reason, telling her to trust him, so she did.
“I am coming out.”
She rose, gun in hand, and her eyes widened.
Among dead corpses was a tall young man, probably around her age, holding a Colt Navy revolver pointed at her. Brilliant green eyes momentarily looked her up, and his lips curved.
What? Can’t a woman wear pants? Did he want her to infiltrate a train with a skirt? Sure she had done so, but when she needed to shoot at people she had ripped it, now she had a scandalously short “skirt” and her riding pants under it, it was a good thing too, the heat was too much.
“Bonjour.” he inclined his head, before lowering his weapon, a moment later Fleur did the same.
“Who are you?” She asked again.
The man now bowed, he was wearing a black dress coat, a military uniform jacket under it, dark blue riding pants, and knee-high cavalry boots. She was surprised to see a third holster on him, across his chest like a bandoleer, holding another revolver.
Who walked around with three revolvers?
“Harry Potter, British Intelligence, at Her Majesty’s Service.”
Fleur’s eyebrows’ rose, “British Intelligence?”
Mister Potter smiled as he walked towards her, “We are a discrete bunch, but come, let’s open the door, no time to lose.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“You are not as discreet as you think you are, or perhaps we are just too good. But don’t worry, I don’t think anyone else followed you, that stunt at the docks, really good, almost lost you.”
He reached the door and knocked a few times, humming to himself, “At least two inches thick, very modern lock.” He knocked again near the combination dial. “Might be able to do it by the ear.”
“Let me.” Fleur passed on his side, he smelled of good cologne, sweat, and powder, she kind of liked it. “I have been opening safes since I was a child.”
At his raised eyebrow, she smiled, “A hobby of mine, my sister likes guns and explosives, I always liked mechanics, and safe cracking.”
He chuckled again stepping back and gesturing for her to proceed, “And here I thought fencing was uncommon.”
Fleur kneeled by the door and placed her ear on it, taking deep breaths and focusing.
The first click was easy, the second not so much, she heard Monsieur Potter gently placing a table to cover her from the wagon’s entrance, and then the sound of him walking some distance while reloading another revolver.
The third click finally came, and Fleur let out a little whoop and the heavy door clicked open.
“I did it!” she shouted just in time for three other men to come through the door.
She had her revolver out of the holster when three shots rang out from Potter’s revolver, and those three men fell.
Two more entered shooting, Fleur hid behind the table, shooting twice in return.
Potter turned his body, presenting only one side, a bullet zipped past him harmlessly.
Two shots, and two men on the ground.
He holstered that revolver, and took out the one on his left holster.
“You know what we’re looking for Miss DeLacour, I will hold them off.”
She nodded shakily and entered.
She gasped at the barrels pointed at her, before she realized what she was looking at.
A Gatling gun.
Gabby would be so jealous.
Both walls on the side were covered in shelves, some papers with symbols she wasn’t familiar with were also on them, the back wall had a large banner with a symbol drawn in what she hoped was dark red paint, it gave an uneasy feeling, Fleur didn’t like it.
Quickly walking to the side as she heard more shots being fired, some ricocheting off the steel walls, Fleur saw the shelves upon shelves of books in various languages, some millennia old.
Some of them gave off the uneasy feeling her father and mother had warned her about.
She quickly put on her gloves, the silver etchings on them reflecting the light of the glass lamp she turned on.
Even so, she didn’t touch anything, eyes roving, she looked to the other side, there were too many, but she was looking for papers, not books.
Then she saw the box at the end of the shelves she had been looking.
More shots.
She walked over there, and opened it, a sigh of relief coming on her face as she saw her grandmother’s handwriting. Finally.
She picked the papers carefully, placing them in the wide bag she had been carrying on her back, before seeing there were other documents under them, she narrowed her eyes and picked them up too.
More shots.
“Miss DeLacour, we really need to leave, now!”
Fleur was about to get out shooting, when she stopped and looked at the Gatling Gun.
It had a turning mechanism, and was fully loaded.
She smirked.
“Mister Potter! Open the door on my signal!”
“What?”
She sat on the small chair behind it, and place her hand on the crank.
“Now!”
Five shots rang out and the door opened fully.
Fleur smiled at the three men coming through the door, rifles and pistols in hand.
She turned the crank and pulled the trigger.
The men barely had time to take a step back before the bullets ripped through them.
Fleur stepped on a pedal and the door was just wide enough for her to swivel the gun left to right, the .308 caliber rounds penetrating the two wood walls easily, two passes, and the weapon ran dry.
She coughed as smoke filled the small compartment and she ran out of it, hand covering her mouth.
Mister Potter was taking cover behind a balcony, a wooden table turned in front of it for safety.
More than a dozen bodies had joined the ones that were there when she had entered the safe room.
He was looking at her strangely, his face flushed.
The man coughed to regain his composure, or because the smoke.
“Well…I think that was all of them.”
Fleur smiled at him, she was flushed too, hair somewhat disheveled, and for some reason, he turned to look at the door again.
“Do you have way off the train, Mister Potter.”
“As a matter of fact I do.” he pulled out a pocket watch, “they should be here by now, come on, on the other window.”
He picked up a chair and threw at it, breaking the glass, then taking a broken table leg and removing the leftover glass.
“Out of curiosity, Miss DeLacour, what was your plan?”
“Er…stop the train?” She blushed.
“Noted.” He turned back to her, “I really liked what you did with that gun, by the way.” He smiled at her and she couldn’t help herself smiling back, he had a handsome smile.
She vaguely heard the sound of horses.
Mister Potter looked out the window, and smiled, this one had a roguish side to it.
Fleur liked it.
“You ever jumped out of a moving train into a cart, Miss DeLacour?”
“Non, but I learn fast.
“That you do.”
Fleur looked out the window and saw said cart being pulled by two horses in a fast gallop, a lanky redhead was at the helm, grinning madly, a wide hat covering his face from the sun.
“Hullo Harry! Ride for two?”
Mister Potter laughed, as if all this was children’s play, maybe for him it was.
“You know it, Ron!”
“Ladies First.” He gestured to her, helping her climb up the window.
“Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine.” he whispered in her ear, making the hair in the back of her neck rise, and a small shudder go through her back.
“I know.” she said with more confidence than she felt.
She saw as the redhead drove the cart closer, and saw her chance.
She jumped, feeling the weightlessness for a scary moment, before she landed on the cart, quickly climbing over it.
“Wow, you done this before, Lady?” the redhead shouted over the sound of the train and the horses.
“Non.”
Her answer was a laugh, “You’re gonna fit right in, then. I am Ron Weasley by the way, a pleasure.”
She nodded before looking over and saw Mister Potter reading himself, before jumping.
She barely had time to feel worried as he did so, landing in a smooth crouch on the cart.
Mister Weasley snorted, “Show off.”
He guided the cart away from the train.
“Everything okay, Miss DeLacour?”
“Oui, I got the papers, and even something more.”
“Brilliant.” he smiled as they sat, the train going farther and farther away.
They looked at each other, and Fleur noticed how his eyes glinted in the sunlight, and how his skin looked tanned, probably unused to the American West’s sun.
A throat clearing got them out of whatever they were in looking at each other, and both blushed as they turned to look at a grinning conductor.
“To the train, Harry?”
“Aye.” Mister Weasley nodded and guided the cart further West, where she could a city on the horizon.
“Train, Mister Potter?”
“We’ve got our own train, and you can call me Harry, everyone does.”
She smiled at him and extended her hand, “You can call me Fleur then, ‘Arry.”
She put in a little more accent than normal, but his gulp was rewarding enough.
“You too, Mister Weasley.”
“Ron, then, Fleur, and this is good, because there are plenty of Mister Weasleys around.”
Harry laughed when Fleur looked at him, “He has a big family.” They both realized they were still holding hands, and Harry was looking at her gloves.
“Ah, Enochian and Summerian protection sigils, nice, in silver thread too.”
Fleur raised her eyebrows, “You’re not British Intelligence are you?”
They both blushed as they released their hands, though their gazes were still locked.
“Not most of the time, no, we are part of an International Order of…people concerned with the well-being of the world and it’s people.”
“Oh.”
“The Order of the Phoenix, your father knows of us, we and his associates sometimes cooperate.”
“He sent you?”
“He knows we are here by now, probably, but no, we came by ourselves, you coming, however, was a surprise. I guess Ambassador DeLacour would be surprised too?”
Fleur grinned, “I believe he knows I am here by now, probably.”
They shared a laugh.
Ron who was guiding the cart towards a small city on the horizon, looked back.
“Well, you’ll have the chance to meet some of us at the Train, Old M-er, I mean, Grandmaster Dumbledore, Neville and…” he looked at Harry with a mischievous smile, “The Lady Chang.”
Harry sighed, “Brilliant.” He didn’t seem so enthused by it.
“Lady Chang?”
Ron coughed, “Oh, well, I am sure you will get along famously, Miss- er, Fleur.”
As they rode through the desert, the sun began to set and Fleur felt her eyelids get heavy, the tiredness and action of the day catching up to her she had been up since three in the morning.
She yawned, and feeling daring, placed her head on Harry’s shoulder, feeling him placing his arm on hers to steady her better.
She had closed her eyes for a few moments before she heard Ron comment in a soft voice.
“Ten pounds say you get at least one knife thrown at you.”
“Shut up, Ron.”
Fleur slept, lulled by the soft breeze and the comforting embrace riding towards a new adventure.