Title: Wheel of Dharma Trilogy (1/3): A Pirate's Revenge 
Author: Percy Blakeney
Email: percyxf@gmail.com 
Website: http://www.geocities.com/percyxf/
Rating: PG  
Category: AU, MSR
Keywords: Time Travel, Historical AU, Past Lives, MSR
Summary: Mulder and Scully - from Pirates to Penzance 

"History is merely another literary genre: the past is 
autobiographical fiction pretending to be a parliamentary 
report." Julian Barnes.  

xXx

A patina of smoke had yellowed the expensive furniture in 
the last forty years.  Appropriate, Spender thought, as the 
wrinkled and ashen faces of his fellow patriots stared back 
at him, some holding darkened plastic markers while others' 
hands were empty.     

It was a time-honored tradition, but one which he loathed, 
drawing chips out of a tall Chinese vase to determine who 
would enter the locked room. 

Spender licked dry lips and stared at the vase's benign 
scene of blue deer grazing under an ornately clouded sky, 
wishing for x-ray vision. He had felt like Superman at the 
beginning of his quest so long ago, but now he just felt 
old. Old and unprepared to speak to their so-called guide - 
whoever and whatever it really was.

He felt clammy under his collar and hid his shaking hand by 
thrusting his arm down into the narrow mouth. Spender 
pulled out a sweat-grimed chip marked with an eye. He 
swallowed and deliberately stopped his knees from buckling 
as the room relaxed. 

"Bad luck." The voice was insincere.

Spender fumbled for his cigarettes, and tried to hide his 
expression behind his lighter.  You were either dedicated 
or pretended so well that no one knew the difference.

"No time like the present," drawled the Englishman. The 
bastard.

"Right." Spender nodded and crushed his cigarette 
underfoot.  

The Englishman tsked and rang for service. "You understand, 
Mr. Spender, that our affairs are in need of urgent 
solution.  And since you are the principle cause of this 
need," he held up his hand to stop Spender's protest, "it 
seems almost Karma that you have been chosen. Don't you 
agree?"

"Let's get it over with. Give me the keys."

The room turned its back on Spender as, keys in hand, he 
unlocked a nondescript door in the corner of the room. He 
walked slowly down a short hallway, through another locked 
door, then a hundred paces to a dead end.  

The six-foot metal vault door blocking his way was dusty. 
Spender briefly considered throwing down the keys and 
turning back, but there was no escape to what lay beyond 
but a well-placed bullet. You didn't quit the organization; 
it quit you.

He coughed against the stench of incense as he stepped into 
the vaulted metal room. The incongruous glow of a crimson-
drenched unearthly light and the hum of something like 
sitar music made him feel like an extra in a Bollywood 
production. It was purposeful, Spender knew. Others in his 
group had muttered of suffocating underwater vistas and 
stalactite caverns filled with angry bats. Their 
shapeshifter (or was it something more?) seemed to amuse 
itself with whatever made the supplicant most uneasy.  
Spender had never again been able to choke down curry after 
his first visit.

He bowed low. Spender knew not to look at the creature's 
face after witnessing writhing snakes one moment, a 
slathering pit bull the next, and - the very worse - a 
multi-eyed face of a spider staring back.

"We beg your advice, Great One. Our group has come to a 
time when only one man stands between us and our goal - Fox 
Mulder. Can we finally eliminate him?"

The hissing sound assaulting Spender's ears was followed by 
a command. "Look at me."  

Spender couldn't stop tears of terror springing to his 
eyes, and he wiped his face with an angry fist. "You are 
too vast to look upon."

"Look at me - or crumble into stinking ash."

Spender grit his teeth and raised his head to see a smiling 
Shiva with graceful arms. His shoulders relaxed.
 
"Now look at this tapestry behind me. What do you see?"

Spender glanced quickly to a vault covering he had never 
noticed before. He studied it, puzzled.

"No picture or pattern, Great One. I see a tangle of color 
and fabrics, nothing more."

Shiva's smile made Spender shiver. "Humans cannot discern 
the pattern, but is there any consistency in the design?"

Spender bit his nicotine stained lips and felt like a 
schoolboy, sweat trickling down his armpits. He saw nothing 
but wrongness in front of him.

"Pay attention. You will relay this message to others."  
Shiva stoked the tapestry with three of his hands. "This 
gold thread is Mulder. He was here, is here, and will be 
here. Past, present, future. I've been following his career 
with interest.

"His thread will not be cut until *I* decide."

With Shiva's evil grin, Spender stumbled back a step.  

"All these other threads - yours, for instance - are 
meaningless."  A manicured finger poked idly at a dull 
thread, and Spender felt his guts twist. He gasped.

"Do you understand me?"

Spender bowed lower, unable to speak.

"Sit," Shiva commanded and Spender collapsed to the floor.

"I don't think you understand Mulder's connection to time.  
Let me tell you a story..."

xXx

Scully lowered her spy glass and gazed thoughtfully at the 
horizon. Her ship had been blown far off course in the last 
gale, and an unknown island loomed ahead. She ordered a 
mate to lower the pirate flag and she steered toward shore.

A song devoted to tales of the Irish Sea Queen floated up 
from below decks, and Scully smiled. Give her crew fair 
treatment and grog - with a break now and then for 
plundering fat English riches - and they were a happy lot.  
But she also needed to consider drawing fresh water and 
supplies. Trade with natives had been good lately and 
Scully whispered the hope that, God willing, she would run 
with good luck all the way back to Ireland. 

As they pulled closer to shore the inevitable crush of 
native boats surrounded them, with tattooed men holding up 
breadfruit, carvings, and scrawny birds clucking against 
their slaughter.

"Should we allow them on board, Captain?" the First Mate 
inquired.

Scully started to agree, but caught a motion on shore at 
the edge of her vision. She again raised her spy glass - 
and blinked in surprise at someone running up and down the 
beach, waving his arms. A someone who was most obviously an 
agitated white man, despite his tanned skin and native 
loincloth.   

"Keep the natives at bay, Mr. O'Shea, and organize an 
exploration party with the usual trade items."

"Aye, Captain."

Scully stood at the prow of the rowboat as it pulled 
ashore, flanked by two crew holding muskets at the ready.  

It was the life she loved: red hair flying in the breeze, 
salt wind in her nostrils, adventure ahead, and a mystery 
to be solved.

The lanky stranger rushed towards Scully, only skidding to 
a halt when both musket barrels were pointed at his chest.

"You have to help me - I've been marooned for ten years!" 

Scully squared her shoulders, and spoke in a cool voice.  
"Are you in charge here, Sir?" 

"No, but..."

"Then step away, and I will settle your affairs in due 
course." 

He stood aside, but hazel eyes pleaded for help. Scully 
couldn't help but notice that he was a fine figure of a 
man, lithe and strong, with a short scrap of cloth around 
his middle that did little to hide his assets.

Scully smiled to herself as she began the ritual greeting 
with the islanders and their chief, the latter dressed
respendently with quetzal feathers, considering the pretty 
question before her. The Englishman (of that she was 
certain, judging by his accent) needed her help. What would 
be the payment for services rendered?

After two hours of trade, fair bargaining, and good wishes 
on both sides, Scully sent a portion of her landing crew 
back to the boat to arrange for debarkation and drawing up 
of water and supplies. She stepped over to the stranger, 
who had hovered at the edge of the crowd the entire time.

"Do you have a dwelling where we can talk, Sir?"

"Yes, I share a hut with three friends, Miss."

"That's Captain Scully. And your name is?"

"William Mulder. I've been hoping for rescue -"

Scully looked round. "Paddy, follow me to Mulder's 
quarters, then return with tea. Tell the crew they may each 
celebrate with a tot of rum when provisions are in place."

"Aye, Captain." 

Scully was soon seated on a low bench, with Mulder at her 
feet and three tattooed natives standing silent behind him.  
A few low words in their tongue, and Mulder laughed.

"Beg pardon, Captain Scully, but my friends are mightily 
curious about your hair. I don't believe they've ever seen 
that shade before."

Scully smiled slightly. "I've heard that query again and 
again in these parts. Tell them my hair is as red as the 
blood of my enemies and the true hearts of my friends.  
Which do you intend to be?"

"Most assuredly your friend, Captain. And I'm hoping that, 
as your friend, you'll rescue me from this stranded island 
and take me with you to somewhere closer to home. And 
what's more, my three friends wish to join me on my 
journey."

Mulder gestured behind him, and the three natives nodded in 
eager agreement. The shortest one winked at her.

"And why should I do that?"

"I have a birthright waiting, and can pay you well for your 
services."

"An easy promise," Scully laughed. "Prove it."

"Ten years ago my family sent me to Australia from England 
to oversee new business interests in sheep farming. My 
father, Sir Julius Mulder, was failing in health, and I 
believed this would be a final duty to him. But, alas, 
during a fierce storm our ship struck a rock close to this 
God forsaken island, and I was the only soul to swim to 
shore. I have been here almost a decade, and my father must 
surely now be dead."

"Your family may believe you to be dead too. I assume you 
are a landed man, and that a bountiful estate awaits your 
return? Are these the riches of which you speak?"

"My inheritance is the fairest estate to be seen in 
Cornwall, and I will also come into the family business. My 
father was one of the richest bankers in London."

"A mercantile banker with a landed estate? A likely story."

"My father is a self-made man, the keeper of the Royal 
checkbook, and the first Jew to be created a baronet."   

"You - a Jewish aristocrat? Only one way I know of to 
demonstrate the right of the Jewish claim, Mr. Mulder."

Mulder's face expressed shock before it colored and his jaw 
clenched. Standing straight, he lowered his loincloth and 
exposed his manhood. 
  
Scully swallowed. "Yes, you are Jewish indeed, Sir."

Mulder carefully tucked himself back in place. "Then do we 
have a bargain?"

"We do. I will give you a passage back to England in 
exchange for half of your fortune."

"Half! What kind of bargain is that?"

Scully gestured toward the island. "One you're not in a 
position to argue with. My interest is gold, not charity."

"Very well. But you have said nothing about my friends. My 
three protectors must accompany me. They have expressed a 
great desire to see my homeland, and I wish to repay them 
for the hundred kindnesses done to me. Langlea, Byerz and 
Frohiki are good men and hard workers."

Scully briefly evaluated his native friends, and turned to 
one of her crew. "Take these men back to the ship and set 
them to work below deck. Show the lost heir to my cabin; I 
wish to examine him further. Anchors away, men, we sail for 
Europe!"

*****

Dana Scully had spent most of her life at sea. She was the 
daughter of a captain in the British navy, who had married 
an Irish girl without the permission of his commander. 
Captain Scully had deserted his posting with an intense 
hatred of the English, and fled with Katherine of Ireland 
for a life at sea under a very different flag: the flag of 
the pirate Mad Tom O'Hara, and his fellow renegades on the 
South Seas. 

"Dear father." Scully allowed herself a moment of sentiment 
as she glanced at the portrait in oils of him hanging in 
her cabin. He resembled her somewhat, with a mop of red 
hair and a piercing blue eye (the other was covered by an 
eye patch). 

He had been dead for almost fifteen years, but she missed 
him with a grief almost as sharp as the night she had wept 
over his broken body at Newgate gallows. Captain William 
Scully had been hanged for desertion and piracy, and his 
daughter had not returned to England since his trial and 
public hanging.

Something that might have been the glint of a tear hovered 
perilously close to Scully's eyelashes, but the instant 
there was a knock at her cabin door, this rare flash of 
weakness was wiped away by the cuff of her sleeve.

William Mulder was pushed into the room by the burly Second 
Mate.

"The prisoner, Captain. Are you sure you don't want 'im 
cast in irons? Or a lash or two of the cat o' nine tails 
would soon have 'im loosening 'is tongue and telling us the 
true story of 'is so called 'istory." The man looked as if 
he would relish the task.

"Perhaps later, though we are not in the habit of abusing 
our guests," smiled Scully. She observed Mulder's still 
unclothed form. While keeping him in this state had an 
undeniable attraction, it would hardly be kind. "For the 
present time, find some gentlemanly garments for Mr. 
Mulder, and see that dinner for two persons is brought to 
my cabin."

"Thank you," said Mulder, when they were alone.

"Please be seated, Mulder. I will call you by that name 
until your claim to the baronetcy is secured."

Mulder looked uncertain what to do. He perched awkwardly on 
his chair, and handled the cutlery as though they were 
foreign objects. He also appeared to be reluctant to look 
at her. 

Scully decided to take pity on him, as she realized he had 
been away from home comforts for so long that he had become 
unused to being in company.

"I beg of you not to be so nervous of me. I realize you 
will not have met a commanding woman such as myself in your 
pampered former life."

"It is not your unwomanly position as captain that has 
fazed me, but more the fact that I have not seen a woman of 
European descent in many, many years."

"I'm sure your three friends were able to entertain you 
during those years of privation," replied Scully, not 
bothering to hide her irritation as she saw his lingering 
eyes run up and down her body. 

"And I am equally sure your fearsome-looking crew have been 
able to entertain you likewise," said Mulder hotly.  

"You will find my men rough and ready, but they are 
unswervingly loyal to me. Do not cross swords with me and 
you will not cross swords with them."

"I will try to remember that," said Mulder, adding 
mischievously, "I must confess I have never been very good 
at following orders."

"Enough of this banter. You are an educated man, and I must 
confess I have missed intellectual intercourse these past 
years at sea. My men know much of the value of plunder, but 
little of the value of books. I also have a love of chess; 
do you play?"

*****
 
The journey back to Europe took many months, and Captain 
Scully gradually grew to like and respect William Mulder. 
She was used to being treated with great deference by her 
crew, and so there was something quite refreshing at having 
her opinions and orders questioned by a man who could match 
her word for word.

His companions, too, delighted her. Their English had been 
learned from Mulder, and it was amusing to hear them 
squabble in the intonations of their aristocratic friend. 
Their musical skills and unusual instruments had provided 
much entertainment on board, and they accompanied the crew 
as they sang sea shanties of pirate glory.

Toward the end of their voyage, Scully was amazed by their 
technical prowess as they provided her with modifications 
to her astrolabe.

The ship landed in France, as there was a price on the 
heads of Scully and most of her crew in England, and it was 
decided that Mulder, Scully and the three islanders would 
travel alone to England by passenger boat.  

After careful measurement - and much fascination by the 
islanders as a crewman traced their feet on scraps of 
butcher paper - Scully sent O'Shea off ship to purchase 
something finer than sailor castoffs.

They huddled together on deck, shivering and pointing 
ashore with low voices and wide eyes.

Mulder stepped next to Scully as she lounged against the 
railing. "I fear the weather may be a hardship for my 
friends. France's summer is their winter."

Scully nodded. "And you, Mulder?  Are you finding the 
change of climate and scenery invigorating or 
disconcerting?"

"Everything is - different."

"Because it's a new century?" Scully prodded, gently.

"Yes, it's 1800 now, which seems strange, rolling around on 
my tongue. But that's not it. The smell of civilization, 
its grime and decay. I never noticed it before."

Scully clasped Mulder's shoulder for a moment. "I am 
familiar with this phenomenon. Each time I return to 
Ireland's shores, green though they be, I cannot help but 
notice that the sea air and new islands explored somehow 
tarnish the old and familiar. Friends and family help ease 
me into my old life, though, at least for a while."

"Do you ever wish to settle down, Captain Scully?"

She shrugged. "It's a pirate's life for me. A very 
comfortable pirate's life, once my half of your fortune is 
secured."  

Scully was about to comment on the disappointment that 
seemed to mar Mulder's expression when a shout from the 
docks indicated O'Shea's return.  He was followed by a boy 
pulling a small cart.  

Two deck hands carried a pile of belongings up as O'Shea 
tipped the boy with a dull coin. After pocketing it, the 
lad wove his rattling cart through the crowd.

"Here is your clothing, men," Scully gestured, "match up 
your shoes as best you can."

She lifted an eyebrow to Mulder and turned away as the 
islanders began to strip off sailor's rags then and there 
in their eagerness to don their finery. Soon Langlea, Byerz 
and Frohiki were dressed in the English style of somber 
frock coats and dark pants, which seemed to highlight the 
tattoos on their faces and hands. Frohiki beamed with pride 
as he donned a beaver skin top hat.

"We need hats too," Langlea declared, and Byerz nodded 
eagerly. "Tall hats."

"There are many hats in England, Langlea," Scully said.

"Good. Let's go now."

Scully gestured to the deck, where three pairs of shoes lay 
unclaimed. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Frohiki poked the shoes with a dismissive toe and scowled.

Mulder stepped forward. "Remember when I was first marooned 
and told you about my shoes. The land is covered in 
cobblestones that will hurt your feet."

"We will walk in the grassy places." Byerz stated firmly.

Mulder sighed. "Look ashore. Do you see any grassy places?"

Three mournful pairs of eyes peered over the deck onto 
Calais's bustling port. There was not a blade of grass to 
be seen.

Frohiki grunted. "We will do this. But when we see the 
grassy places, we will free ourselves of foot coverings.  
They are unnatural."

The shoes appeared to be tormenting their feet as the 
islanders limped down the gangplank behind Scully and 
Mulder. O'Shea hailed a carriage but, as the horse came 
closer, the three men started a panicked muttering before 
Frohiki grabbed Scully's left hand and smiled blissfully.  
Byerz beat Langlea to Scully's right hand, and Langlea 
turned to grab Mulder.

"Sorry, boys," Mulder drawled. "No one's holding my hand.  
Unless Captain Scully would care to oblige."

"My hands are full with your friends. Let's board the 
passenger boat as quickly as possible."

The final journal from Calais to Dover took several hours. 
Mulder appeared to gradually relax and feel at ease with 
himself, and was dressed in a handsome green frock coat. 
Scully felt uncomfortable in her fine dress, but noticed 
she was attracting admiration from their fellow passengers. 
Many of these passengers were English tourists returning 
from France, and Mulder's friends found themselves to be 
objects of much interest, with their unusual appearance and 
tattoos. 

On their arrival at port, Mulder bought a newspaper to read 
on the journey to Penzance in Cornwall, but as the horses 
departed from the coaching inn Scully noticed his face had 
grown ashen. He passed the paper to her. 

"Lost Heir to Baronetcy Found

"Celebrations are in place in Cornwall and at Mulder's 
Bank, after Sir William Mulder, feared lost in a shipwreck 
ten years ago, returned to Penzance Place two weeks ago.  
 
"Sir William is described as being in robust health, and is 
believed to have suffered a memory loss these past years. 
His mother Lady Teena had expended thousands of pounds 
searching for her son, and had been so prostrate with grief 
that in recent years she had rarely been seen in Society. 
 
"Soon after the restoration of her son, she had a second 
reason to rejoice: her own nuptials to Judge Spender have 
been announced."

"Mulder? What's the meaning of this?"

"I hardly know what to say. Who can this impostor be? And 
how can my mother believe he is me?"

"You have been away for many years, and you must be much 
changed. Perhaps this man resembles you and plans to steal 
your identity."

"You are Mulder," Byerz stated. "We will swear it."  
Frohiki and Langlea nodded.  

"Thank you, my friends. And my family will not have 
forgotten me," said Mulder confidently. "What mother would 
not recognize her own son? If need be I have a 
distinguishing mark about my person which will prove my 
claim."

Scully was intrigued, although she tried not to show it. "A 
distinguishing mark? What kind - and where is it?"

"A mark known to few; my mother, my boyhood nurse, the 
fellows I played cricket with at school and others I cannot 
name."

"I have seen it," smirked Frohiki. "Mulder, your mother is 
about to marry. I had hoped to win the heart of this 
English woman."

Mulder ignored his teasing. "Judge Spender was my father's 
friend. I never liked him when I was a boy, and I was 
unhappy with the influence he had over my mother."

"I know of him only too well." At Mulder's puzzled glance, 
Scully added, "He is known at the courts as 'Hanging Judge 
Spender'."  

*****

The sun was setting on the silent occupants of the carriage 
as they rode up the long, sweeping path to the Mulder 
estate. Scully noted in her fading vision a mansion with 
outbuildings, acres of grounds and gardens, and a woodland 
copse that bespoke of riches beyond her expectation.  

Windows on the main floor blazed with light, and Mulder 
rubbed his hands nervously on his trousers. "It must be 
dinnertime. Mother won't be expecting us."

"I dare say not," Scully muttered.

Frohiki was cheerful. "Your mother has much wealth. I will 
wrestle Judge Spender to gain her hand. And then I will be 
your new father!"

A shocked silence, and then the carriage filled with a 
laughter that seemed to ease some of Mulder's nerves. 

Mulder was smiling as he exited the carriage and Scully 
paid the driver. "Please hold back from your plan for the 
moment, Frohiki, and allow me to make proper introductions.  
Then you can wrestle Spender."

Scully stepped to Mulder's side as he rang the bell. She 
had been pondering, on the long drive, about how a mother 
could mistake another for her son, particularly if her son 
was William Mulder. She considered the possibilities. Was 
the mother a fool, a charlatan, or worse? Or was Mulder 
delusional, and acting on a false claim?  

Scully's fingers grazed the outline of the knife she had 
hidden in her undergarments, beneath blue silk. She was 
prepared for any eventuality. Her father had taught her 
well.

The door swung open. The servant stared. And shrank back 
against the far wall.

"It's me, Peveny. William Mulder."

Peveny swallowed. His lips moved, but no sound emerged.

"Is Lady Mulder in the dining room?"

Peveny nodded, and Mulder patted his arm, cheerful. "Never 
mind, I know the way. Please ask cook to set five extra 
plates, and have the maid ready bedrooms in the guest wing 
for my friends."

Peveny fled.

Scully grabbed Mulder's arm and spoke in a low voice. "Do 
you think it's wise to barge in unannounced? Remember, 
another has laid claim to your name. It might get ugly."

"No, no, this is a simple misunderstanding. I'm sure of 
it."

The islanders hung back as Mulder threw open the dining 
room doors with Scully by his side. Three figures were 
standing at an end table, glasses of sherry in hand - a 
bored young man, an older gentleman Scully was sure had to 
be Judge Spender, and an older woman.  

Lady Mulder.  

Who looked up in shock as the glass slipped from her hand, 
and a crimson splatter spread and stained her taupe gown.

"Mother, I'm home at last!"

Lady Mulder tried to grasp the edge of the table before 
sinking to the ground in a dead faint.

Mulder rushed to her side. "Mother!"

"Not so fast." Spender barred Mulder's way with a cane.  
"Who are you, and who in damnation let you in here?"

"I'm William Mulder, as you well know, sir. I've known you 
since childhood!"

"You are mistaken, Mr. No-Name. This is William Mulder," 
Spender gestured to the young man, who was busy helping 
Lady Mulder to her feet and leading the dazed woman from 
the room. "You have no claim here.  I suggest you and your 
- friends - leave immediately. Peveny!"

"No, wait. Charles." Lady Mulder's voice was faint. "It's 
too late to turn them out."

"My dear, are you certain?"

"I - I would like an audience with them. Tomorrow. When I'm 
feeling better."

Spender cursed under his breath before a louder, "Of 
course. I'll make the arrangements. You go rest now."

"Thank you," she whispered, and was led from the room. 

Scully grasped Mulder's hand and held on with a resolute 
grip. She muttered the word, "Patience," and Mulder nodded.

Peveny hung at the doorway, his face as white as his 
collar. "Yes, sir?"

"Make up two rooms in the guest wing. For one night only."

Mulder pointed to the islanders. "And what of my friends?  
You can't be meaning to leave them out in the cold."

"Lady Mulder is too generous. But I will not allow savages 
into the house. Peveny, show them to the caretaker's 
cottage. Now, get everyone out of my sight." Spender turned 
his back on the group and poked furiously at the fire.

"Sir, we will have words in the morning, I assure you," 
said Mulder. 

Scully had hated the Judge on sight. She felt an aura of 
evil as she gazed at his harsh face and yellowed skin, 
which was crinkled like the parchment of one of her maps. 
She noticed, too, that while Mulder was clearly outraged, 
he was also confused and somewhat in awe of Spender. She 
sensed he retained some boyhood fear of Spender's 
authority.

Spender studiously ignored Mulder's words of challenge, and 
Peveny bustled them from the room. Another servant ushered 
the three natives towards the servants' entrance at the 
back of the house.

As Mulder and Scully followed the old manservant upstairs 
to the guest wing, Mulder tapped him on the shoulder.

"Peveny, old fellow, now we are alone be frank, surely you 
recognize me?"

The old man cast his eyes on Mulder's face, moving the 
candlestick in his hand so that his features were better 
illumined. "You are like and yet unlike Master William of 
old. The other young man's skin is as white and smooth as 
alabaster, while your own is bronzed and aged."

"Ten years stranded on a remote island and more than a 
touch of sun will do that to a man," said Mulder, laughing. 
"We are all older; but I'm glad to still be the possessor 
of a full head of hair. Come now, you have known me since I 
was a toddling child. Do you remember how you would give me 
sunflower seeds instead of punishing me when I was caught 
scrumping apples from the orchard with your daughter?"

"I... I..." Peveny fell silent.

"You seem frightened," observed Scully. "Are you in fear of 
something - or someone?"

"Life is not as it was in those happy days," Peveny 
admitted. "My daughter has gone. Judge Spender took a 
liking to her pretty ways, and has sent her to work at his 
London chambers."

Mulder looked at Scully meaningfully at this news. It was 
easy to imagine what use Spender had for her in London.

Peveny continued. "Since the old master's death, her 
ladyship has not been herself. A vital spark is missing, 
and from the day that man - Judge Spender - ingratiated 
himself further into the household, she seems only to be 
alert when speaking to him or her little lapdog."

"Lapdog?" said Mulder in surprise. "I do not remember my 
mother having any great fondness for dogs."

"The creature was a gift from the Judge, sir. The poodle 
rouses her sometimes from her state of wakeful sleep and 
she loves to play with it in the grounds."

"And what of this impostor?" asked Scully. "The young man 
who claims to be William Mulder? Does Lady Mulder really 
believe he is her lost son?"     

"As I said, the young gentleman is not unlike yourself, 
sir," said Peveny, who seemed at last to believe in 
Mulder's identity. "You must have observed there is a 
resemblance?" 

"If you say so," Mulder did not sound convinced.

"Yes, he does look like you, Mulder, but I would surmise he 
is a little younger," said Scully.

"I am beginning to feel old with all these personal 
comments," said Mulder.

"Her ladyship was ecstatic when the lost heir was brought 
into the house," Peveny continued. "Penzance Place had been 
like a tomb for her since you went missing. She was 
alternately overcome with the vapors and joy when Judge 
Spender found him wandering near the estate. He looked as 
though he had been living the life of a beggar, and could 
remember nothing of the intervening years. Now I think 
back, although his clothes were ragged, his constitution 
seemed undamaged by supposed years of privation."

"Interesting. I wonder if Judge Spender found him by design 
or good fortune?" asked Scully.

"I doubt if Spender has had any incident happen in his 
entire life without being sure it was to his advantage," 
said Mulder darkly. 

Peveny stopped outside an ornately carved door. "Your 
bedroom, miss, and yours is next door..." he paused, "Master 
William."

Mulder smiled broadly. "Thank you, Peveny, your belief in 
me means a great deal."

After they had bade him goodnight, Scully turned awkwardly 
to take leave of Mulder. She had noticed in the course of 
their voyage that he had an uncomfortable habit of standing 
too close behind her. It was strangely intimate, and made 
her feel long held defenses against the harsher sex were in 
danger of being breached.

"Make yourself at home, Scully," he said, looking over her 
shoulder, as she entered her room.

"Thank you."

"After all, you plan on owning half of it."

"I will earn half of it," she reminded him.

Mulder stood in the doorway, looking at the vast bedroom 
and the four-poster bed within. "Are you sure you won't 
feel lonely or frightened in such a cavernous room?" 

"I fear nothing or no man. Goodnight, Mulder," said Scully 
firmly.

*****

The following day a late breakfast was served in the 
morning room.

Mulder and Scully were ushered into the room by a maid, 
while another poured tea and served food on delicate 
Dresden porcelain. 

"I hope the boys are being provided for," Mulder whispered. 
"Langlea is used to hunting for a good breakfast for his 
people, and dried meat and biscuits did not suit him on 
board ship." 

Spender was sitting at the head of the long mahogany table, 
furiously leafing through a newspaper, while Lady Mulder 
sat at the opposite end pouring a small quantity of liquid 
from a blue medicine bottle into her tea.

The spurious William Mulder stood behind Lady Teena's 
chair, with his hands placed firmly on her shoulders, and 
he glared at Mulder with a supercilious sneer.

"What?" he said. "These persons are still in our house, 
mama? They should be sent away like the unwanted tradesmen 
they doubtless are. Or is it that you doubt me in some 
way?"

Teena patted his hand indulgently. "Please be patient with 
me, my dear son. Of course I do not doubt you. It's just 
that this man reminds of your late father, and I would like 
to hear what he has to say. Charles, would you and William 
please wait outside? I would like to speak to our guest 
alone, before I become too fatigued to do so."

Spender folded his newspaper, and slammed it down on the 
table angrily. "Please do not take too long, or my kippers 
will get cold." 

Lady Teena flinched. "I do not mean to make you cross, 
Charles. If you wish to stay, please do."

Spender softened slightly. "My love, my only fear was for 
you, and possibly for the safety of your silver cutlery. 
Are you sure you wish to be left alone with these 
interlopers?" he asked.

"Quite sure, Charles. You keep telling me I know my own 
mind."

"Just so," he said, looking directly into her eyes. 
"Remember you know your own mind. Your son and I will wait 
outside in the hall. Do not hesitate to call for help, if 
you should need it."

Once alone, Mulder knelt by his mother's chair and took her 
hand. "Mother, I see it in your face, you do know me."

"My son is already here. You can't possibly be him. Judge 
Spender knew William as a boy, and he recognized him at 
once. He was examined by our family doctor and has been 
seem by many of his father's friends; all of whom recognize 
him to be my son."

"You haven't said what you think and feel. Surely a 
mother's instinct, a mother's feeling must tell you the 
truth," urged Scully. "Can you be deceived so easily?"

"Young lady, you are very presumptuous. Animals have 
instincts, and markings of maternal ownership. We, I am 
glad to say, are of a higher order."

"Scully, you don't know what you're dealing with. In 
families like ours, children are brought up by servants and 
sent away to school as soon as possible," said Mulder, 
wearily.

"William knows so much about his childhood and youth, and 
he has met many of his old schoolfellows from his days on 
the playing fields of Eton without any of them doubting 
him. And yet, and yet there is something about you."

Mulder spoke gently. "You said I reminded you of father. I 
know how much you loved him. Do you remember how he always 
brought you a beautiful nosegay from Covent Garden back 
from the City?"

"I do," sniffed Lady Teena, looking moved. "And a toy for 
his little boy."

"Yes, he did," smiled Mulder, clearly sensing a 
breakthrough. 

Suddenly Lady Mulder leapt to her feet and emitted a loud 
shriek. "No! No! What are they doing?" She rushed towards 
the windows and opened one, just as Spender and his protege 
burst into the room with a manservant.

"What have these villains done to you?" demanded Spender.

A smell of roast flesh wafted through the open window, and 
they all looked outside. There, on the front lawn, were the 
three natives and a large spit with rotating meat.

Scully sniffed the air. "I do believe we're having roast 
pig for lunch."

"Disgraceful!" spluttered Spender. 

Lady Mulder looked faint. "Where is my dog, Taffy? Those 
savages might harm her."

"She's with Bates, ma'am, he's taken her for a walk in the 
North Wood," answered the manservant.

"Thank heaven, don't let her anywhere near those - those 
cannibals!"

Scully noticed that Lady Mulder appeared to have forgotten 
Mulder's presence, and she nudged Mulder to regain her 
attention.

"Mother, do you remember a certain mark peculiar to my 
person? A birthmark by which any mother would recognize her 
progeny?"

"Yes," said Lady Teena. "A purple mark in the shape of a 
Scotch thistle. When my baby was born I hoped the mark 
would lessen and fade, but it stayed exactly the same in 
size and shade."

"I carry the mark with me still," said Mulder. "And by 
showing you I will prove my identity."

Scully watched as Spender looked sharply at the young man 
Lady Teena believed to be her son. The young man's 
arrogance was dented, but only a little, by Mulder's sudden 
revelation.

"What the devil are you doing?" barked Spender.

Mulder ignored him and faced the breakfast table. He pulled 
down his breeches to display his shapely buttocks. On the 
left was a prominent birthmark, which was indeed in the 
shape of a purple-headed thistle. 

The young man by Spender's side stepped forward and lowered 
his breeches likewise. There, too, was an identical 
birthmark. The young man smirked and pulled up his 
clothing.

"It's amazing, mama, how far this charlatan will go."

Lady Teena sniffed her smelling salts. "This has been a 
most provoking morning. Never in all my days did I expect 
to witness such spectacle."

Spender took her other hand and gazed into her eyes, firmly 
fixing hers with his. "Teena, would you like these people 
to leave?"

"Yes, I wish to be left in peace." Lady Mulder looked at 
Mulder and firmly said, "No, sir, you are not my son."

*****

The evening was raw, and the damp fog seemed to suffocate 
spirits even further as five passengers stepped silently 
from the carriage onto a muddy London street. Decaying 
terrace houses marched up and down both sides, with 'for 
let' signs covering many of the grimy ground floor windows.

Mulder shook himself slightly, and Scully put a steadying 
arm on his elbow.  She wondered if he was finally 
struggling through the miasma that had silenced him since 
his mother's rejection.

"This is not my usual lodgings. I take it we're not staying 
at Durrants, or my club?"

"Not enough money to squander," Scully said, "as I believe 
we're in for a long fight to reclaim your birthright and 
*our* estate.  It's also probable that another William 
Mulder has been enjoying the rooms at your club. Sorry."

"But still," Mulder gestured, "This?" The islanders stepped 
carefully around the muck and gazed upward with 
expressionless faces.

"Mulder, if you are not of noble birth, this is the heart 
of London's lodgings."

Mulder's voice was wry. "It appears we're spoilt for 
choice."

The group had three doors slammed in their faces and one 
ancient musket pointed from a blackened window before an 
elderly woman gestured them inside a tiny foyer. She 
ignored Mulder and Scully and stared at their friends.

"Yer darkies, ain't ye? Ain't never seen no darkies afore."

"Our skin is dark, and our tattoos tell of a vision," Byerz 
intoned solemnly.

"A vision of the stars and star-men," Frohiki added.

Scully wanted to giggle from the outrageousness of the 
situation and turned to Mulder, who shrugged. 

The elderly woman examined the trio with narrowed eyes 
before turning to Scully. "I'm Mrs. Lolly. Yer landlady, 
unless there's funny business. It's six pence a week fer 
two rooms at the top - in advance - and no visitors. That 
means no star-men in particular. Agreed?"

An exchange of coin and borrowed candle later, the group 
tried to warm themselves in the larger room, huddling 
around a tiny fire.  

Scully's anger grew as she scanned the four cots crowding 
the corners of the room, the rickety table with three 
chairs and, beyond the door, her own cot in a space even 
smaller than her ship's cabin. Spender would pay for his 
craven deceit. This she knew.

"Welcome to London, boys." Mulder said. "I promised you 
much more when I told of my homeland, and I will do my best 
to keep my promise."

"Eat now, worry later," Langlea advised, digging into his 
pack. "I have gathered a feast. This is my duty - and my 
pleasure."

"Food!" Frohiki shouted, as Langlea opened a cloth bag to 
expose the remnants of left-over pig that he had somehow 
gathered before their quick departure.  

Scully reached among eager hands for a morsel of meat, then 
turned and raised an eyebrow at Mulder, who was relaxing 
back from the group.

"Mulder does not eat pig," Langlea said, "but I have 
another food fresh from the hunt. I do not forget my 
friend."

Unwrapping an oilcloth tucked in the corner of his bag, 
Langlea revealed a smaller haunch of meat, which he 
expertly threaded on a stick and began to roast over the 
flames.

Scully sniffed. "What is it, Langlea? It's too large for 
rabbit."

Frohiki smirked, Byerz looked slightly guilty, and Langlea 
shrugged. "We talk after food."

Mulder and the rest of the group made short work of their 
meal, and Langlea began roasting the last piece of fresh-
killed haunch when Scully's suspicions could no longer be 
held in check. She had earlier watched as Langlea quickly 
rolled up the oilcloth and thought she'd heard a slight 
jingle.

She stood, stretched, and declared, "I'll wash up, and 
clean this too."

"No, I will do it."

"That's fine, Langlea. I don't mind helping since you had 
the foresight to gather provisions."

Scully ignored Langlea's worried look as she gathered the 
oilcloth and trudged downstairs and down the street to the 
public pump.  

Scully plunged her hands into the icy water, then scrubbed 
her face with them before unrolling the oilcloth. Just as 
she suspected - in the center of the bloodied cloth rested 
an ornate silver bell attached to a red leather dog collar.  
She grimaced as she washed the cloth and tossed Langlea's 
grizzly prize onto a trash heap, where a passing boy 
immediately snatched it up.  

Taffy the lapdog was no more. Eating your mother's beloved 
pet? Lady Mulder deserved it, but still - Mulder must never 
know.

*****

The next morning brought purpose. Since the islanders were 
interested in exploring the city, Scully and Mulder agreed 
to show them the sights before deciding how to approach 
their problem.

Mulder leaned into Scully's space as they walked. "Explain 
again why we don't just hire a lawyer?"

"Lawyers take years, Mulder. We don't have years. Besides, 
I don't trust the bureaucracy of any government, most 
particularly Britain's. It's done more harm to me and mine 
than you will ever know."

"Scully?"

"I'm fine. But we need to find another way. I'd like to 
know who the pretender to your title really is - that's the 
place we should start." 

Byerz stopped suddenly and pointed, and Langlea and Frohiki 
collided with him.  

"Grass!"  

The three men ran over to the patch of lawn and immediately 
removed their shoes.

Scully smiled. "It appears your friends are enjoying Covent 
Garden."

"We will stay here," Langlea declared.

Scully watched a small crowd gather, a crowd which swelled 
further as people exited the Theatre Royal.  

Frohiki immediately removed his beaver hat, turned it 
upside down at his feet, and sang out, "Taonga puoro."

Langlea and Byerz pulled out a bone whistle and gourd 
shakers, Frohiki added rhythm sticks, and a spirited island 
tune soon rang through the crowd, the same one which had 
pleased the crew so much on their voyage.

"Look at that." Scully pointed as coins began to rain into 
the hat.

"It appears my friends' fortunes are made, or soon will 
be," Mulder declared. "I'm glad. And what you said earlier 
- about discovering the identity of my pretender - I have 
an idea."

"Yes?"

"Peveny told us that his daughter works at Judge Spender's 
London chambers. And -"

"She might know who the fake Mulder is!" 

"Exactly, Scully.  And if it's the same as when I was a 
boy, I happen to know the address."

Mulder grabbed Scully's arm and pulled her towards a hired 
carriage, the binary beat of the islander's instruments 
ringing out a good luck tune in her ears.

Within the hour, they pulled up outside an imposing stone 
structure. It was a tall townhouse with a gated basement, 
and an archway at the side that led to the coach-house. 
Judge Spender's house was close to the Old Bailey, the 
legal heartland of London. 

"What are we going to say?" asked Scully. "We must provide 
some semblance of a story to gain admittance to his house."

"Just leave it to me and back me up," said Mulder, 
confidently, as he immediately pulled the heavy doorbell.

An elderly man, dressed in the liveried garb of a footman, 
answered the door, and looked them up and down with scorn. 
"Yes?"

"I have been sent by Judge Spender to inspect his wine 
inventory."

"I beg your pardon?" The man was incredulous and sneered. 
"Do you have a letter of instruction from my master?"

"The Judge is in a hurry. You must be aware that his 
nuptials are pending. He wants to have a thorough knowledge 
of the stock in his cellar in order to prepare for the 
London reception."

"A likely story!" scoffed the footman. "You are not the 
first vagabond or lunatic to attempt to gain admittance to 
this establishment. The last felon attempted to murder my 
master in his bed, and now lies in an unconsecrated grave. 
Good day to you, sir."

The door was shut firmly upon them.

"Perhaps I should do the talking next time, Mulder."

"I must have lost my charm as well as my inheritance while 
on the island," mused Mulder. "Though even while there, I 
was always able to sweet-talk Frohiki."

Scully smiled. "In cases such as this, it is not the 
master's entrance we want."

She opened the basement gate and Mulder followed her down 
the steps to the servants' entrance.

A few moments after she had knocked on the dingy door, a 
young woman with flour on her apron and worry writ clear on 
her careworn face, answered it.

Just as Scully was about to speak, Mulder interrupted. 

"Mercy Peveny!"
 
The young woman stared at Mulder in disbelief and shook her 
head as if to clear it. "William? I mean, Sir, is that 
you?"

"You remember me," said Mulder, delighted, and he grasped 
Mercy's hand warmly.

"Of course I do, but..." she trailed off.

"You've seen the other man claiming to Mulder," interjected 
Scully.

"Yes," whispered Mercy. "If it had really been him - I mean 
you - he would have remembered me from when we were 
children. But there was not a glimpse of recognition in his 
face. He treated me like every other servant, as if I was 
invisible. And also..."

"What, Mercy?"

Mercy looked behind her, back into the house, nervously 
before replying. "I have discovered that this man was Judge 
Spender's own love child."

Mulder and Scully exchanged surprised glances.

"Can you prove this?" asked Mulder. "You must know I have 
been cast out from the bosom of my home and mother. Without 
your help, I may never be able to reclaim my position."

"I can prove it," said Mercy. "I want to help you, sir, 
whatever the cost may be, and I ask only that I may be able 
to return to Penzance if you should succeed."

Mercy led them into the house through the servants' 
entrance and they passed into the large, stone floored 
kitchen. It was a cold, white room, adorned only with 
copper pots. A stout, large woman was vigorously pounding a 
slab of meat at the table.

She looked at them with a surly stare before cutting the 
meat viciously with a sharp knife. Scully shuddered. There 
was something sinister about her.  

In haste they followed Mercy up the servants' back 
staircase into the main part of the house.

They entered a dark hall, illumined by only a couple of 
lamps. Hanging over a sideboard was a large oil painting 
showing Judge Spender as a young man in a scarlet frock 
coat and a riding crop in one hand.

Scully stared at the painting intently. In his youth 
Spender bore a strong resemblance to the young man claiming 
to be the lost heir in Cornwall. More disconcertingly, he 
also resembled Mulder.  
 
Mercy opened the library door and warned them to be as 
quiet as possible.
 
She opened the lid of a bureau, and pulled out a small oval 
leather case. Pressing a button, it popped open and inside 
was a miniature watercolor portrait on ivory of Judge 
Spender and the impostor, his son. It was captioned 
"Jeffrey". The boy was about ten years younger than the man 
they had met in Cornwall, but it was undeniably the same 
person.

"Spender's son," breathed Mulder. 

"I hate him. I want you to have it. And I want you to use 
it and ruin him," urged Mercy.

"What has he been doing to you, Mercy?" asked Scully.

"Judge Spender hasn't been doing no different to lots of 
gentleman." Mercy looked ashamed. "He likes to watch me 
doing housework - dusting or scrubbing floors - and he 
likes me to hitch my aprons up while doing it... and he 
likes other things. There was a girl here before me, also 
from the country, and she was with child. He had her 
transported to Australia before her confinement."

"The scoundrel," said Mulder.

"There's more. That woman downstairs, the cook. She has 
been in Judge Spender's employ for thirty years, and before 
that she spent ten years in Newgate Prison. She was given a 
new start as a servant here, and has told me something of 
her life here. She is the mother of the son in the portrait 
you hold in your hand. Take the portrait," said Mercy, "and 
go!"

As they walked back to their lodgings, Mulder was quiet and 
appeared to be brooding. 

Scully decided to make him a confidence.

"There's something I didn't tell you before, Mulder. The 
reason I had heard of Judge Spender's reputation as the 
'hanging judge' was because he was the man who passed 
sentence on my father for piracy. He showed no humanity, 
and had but a deaf ear for pleas of clemency. My feelings 
of hatred for him are every bit as strong as yours."

"I may not be able to make him face justice of an official 
kind, but he will not escape." Mulder grimaced.

"Are you feeling all right? Try not to make yourself 
angry."

"It's not that," said Mulder, looking pale. "I have some 
sort of digestive complaint. The meal prepared by our three 
friends last night does not seem to have agreed with me at 
all."

*****

Scully sat straight on her cot and peered into the other 
room as Mulder trudged back from the privy for the third 
time.  His hunched shoulders and green-tinged pallor 
worried her immensely, and she wished that she knew more of 
doctoring than the pirate ship kind - how to sew up cutlass 
wounds and extract musket shot was of no use to her friend.

"Shall I fetch a physician?"

Mulder eased himself gingerly onto his bunk, sitting on one 
hip. "No. I think the worst is over." He licked dry lips.  
"Tea?"

Scully nodded as she stepped into the room, rekindled the 
small fire, and placed a battered metal kettle securely 
atop the grate. Tea would do. Tea would always do.  

Mulder held a scrap of newsprint out to Scully. Her brow 
wrinkled as she glanced at an advertisement for horse 
liniment.

"What?"

"I have an idea, Scully."

"Something to do with horses?"

"No. Thought of it when I was, uh, busy. If we confront 
Spender he'll deny it, and we don't want my claim to drag 
for years through the court system."

"Yes?"  

"My disappearance and so-called 'return' was big news. We 
have proof of the fakery. Why not let the papers tell our 
story, force Spender out into the open?"

"Wouldn't that be dangerous? What's to stop Spender from 
sending someone to silence us. Don't forget, Mulder - end 
of us, end of claim."

"I plan to emphasize the legitimacy of my claim by issuing 
a challenge to Spender. Honorable single combat."

Scully choked on her tea, and abruptly lowered her chipped 
cup to the floor. "Mulder, no."

"Scully, yes. It's the only way. An anonymous attack on us 
before the duel would bring suspicion and dishonor to 
Spender, and if there's one thing I now know, it's that he 
hides behind the cloak of honor."

"But-" Scully bit back the words that wanted to pour out.  
Incredulity that Mulder would risk so much. Doubt that he 
was skilled enough in combat to win.

She shook her head, and tried to gentle her tone. "Mulder, 
is it so bad, this life we now lead? Poor, certainly - but 
many thousands are poor and still find happiness. You could 
choose a different path. Perhaps," she smiled up at him, 
"even come a-pirating with me."

Mulder grasped her hand for a moment. "Thank you. For both 
the invitation and for being willing to release your half 
of the claim. If it was only the money - but it's not. You 
didn't previously know my mother. There's something wrong 
with her. She appears to be under Spender's sway to an 
unnatural degree."

Scully sighed. To her mind, Lady Mulder had been an 
unnatural mother from Mulder's childhood. Yet, even she 
felt reluctant to leave the confused woman with Judge 
Spender.

"All right. Are you well enough to travel? We'll need to 
leave for the Chronicle now to ensure our news is in the 
morning edition." 

*****

Scully blinked awake, stretching muscles sore from the 
lumpy cot. She idly pinched a flea between finger and thumb 
and stood, pleased to hear Mulder's atonal whistling from 
the next room. She tied dusty shoes, straightened her 
dress, combed fingers through tangled curls and, simple 
ablutions complete, almost stepped into Mulder's arms.

He quickly dodged back from the doorway to avoid a 
collision, strait razor in one hand and newspaper in the 
other.  

"I heard you stirring and wanted you to read this."

Scully took the Morning Chronicle's inky sheets and read: 
"Mulder Claimant Challenged: Proof Offered of Nefarious 
Plot." The article retold Mulder's story in bombastic style 
and hinted at an upcoming duel. Scully was grateful for the 
paper's unexpected discretion. Duels, while not illegal, 
were beginning to be frowned upon - by the courts, though 
not the mob. 

"This story is certain to taunt Judge Spender into a 
confrontation. Nicely done."

"Thank you." Mulder wiped his shaven face with a rag and 
picked up the small oval case - their only proof. "I've 
been puzzling about where to hide this. I can't trust Mrs. 
Lolly, and this barren room offers not a scrap of 
protection."

"Allow me."  Scully popped the case down her dress, where 
she could feel it snuggling against her breasts.

Mulder drawled, "And if I should need to secure our proof 
at a moment's notice?"

"Use words, Sir, if you wish to retain your fingers."

"Yes, ma'am."

Three excited voices bubbled up from the stairs before the 
islanders stepped into sight - and what a sight they were.  
Dark faces beamed from three gaudy suits, which appeared to 
be sewn from ball gown material, as mauve and lilac and 
lime green finery competed for Scully's attention.

"We are returned," Frohiki enthused.

"With food," Byerz added.

"And a fine machine," Langlea smiled. He held up an organ 
grinder's box. "I will take this apart and it will soon 
play OUR tunes."

"Who will be the monkey?" Mulder asked, but refrained from 
further teasing when Scully's shoe met his ankle.

Mulder and Scully outlined their plans during an impromptu 
picnic on the rough plank floor. The islanders insisted on 
accompanying them to the Mulder estate, and the travelers 
were soon on their way back to Cornwall and Penzance.  

As the coach moved steadily forward, Scully observed that 
Mulder wore a serious but resolute expression; proper 
feelings when facing Judge Spender.

"Tell me again," Langlea asked, "why we did not buy five 
rapiers. Five against Spender and his son are better for 
us."

Mulder shook his head. "That would be cheating. It has to 
be fair in a duel. I've chosen Scully as my second because 
she is the only other person practiced with a sword. I 
daresay she's better than I am."

"You'd be right," Scully answered.

Byerz leaned forward, speaking calmly. Almost as if to a 
small child, Scully thought, amused. "My friend Mulder.  
Spender is a cheater. He cheats you of money and happiness, 
and cheats us of the life on your land you promised we'd 
see."

"And cheats me of my new bride by refusing to wrestle with 
me!" Frohiki complained.

"As you see," Byerz continued, "There are many reasons to 
win this fight. Spender is an evil man. Why should you be 
fair?"

"It's hard to-" Mulder stopped. "No, it isn't. It's easy to 
explain. Our cultures are not so different. Your islands 
have had wars, battles?"

"You know this," Byerz answered. "The islands are at peace 
now, but you have seen the picture stories of past 
fighting."

"Were there any rules when fighting?"

"We are men, not animals. There are many rules."

"It's the same for us," Mulder said. "There are rules when 
fighting in a war, and also rules when fighting against one 
person. Judge Spender is evil, but if I do not follow the 
rules, then what does that make me - a man, or an animal?"

"You are a fine man." Scully placed her hand in Mulder's.

"You are a fine man with three friends," Frohiki answered, 
"who will be there to make sure that Spender does not try 
to cheat you again."

After several hours, the coach halted outside a small inn 
at Penzance, at the edge of the Mulder estate. The 
islanders' fortune in coins guaranteed good food and ample 
bedding, and the innkeeper's son was commissioned to 
swiftly deliver Mulder's note to Judge Spender.  

The evening grew late and the islanders had long retired, 
along with the rest of the household. Scully watched 
silently from her chair near the great fire as Mulder 
paced. To the old clock and back again, his footfall steady 
as a metronome, withdrawn and distant. Hours ticked past as 
Scully searched for the right words and came up empty.

The door flung open and the boy appeared, wild-eyed and 
gasping for breath. "Judge Spender is mad, Sir. He made me 
wait for ever so long, then wrote this note and claimed I 
wasn't moving fast enough. He sicced his dogs on me."


Mulder tipped the boy and Scully stood. They walked 
together nearer the flames. He carefully unfolded the note.  
//Dawn// it said // The clearing at the entrance to the 
North Wood. Bring your so-called proof or I will refuse the 
challenge duel and have you clapped in irons//

"Well, I guess that's it." Mulder tucked the note into his 
pocket. "Are you sure you want to go through with this, 
Scully? I never meant to put you in the position that you'd 
have to fight for me."

"I'm fighting with you, not for you." Scully suddenly 
smiled. "I, for one, will sleep much sounder tomorrow night 
at your Estate than I ever have under Mrs. Lolly's roof."

"Truer words were never spoken. Till tomorrow."

"Till tomorrow."

The bed was soft, the room a luxury - and Scully enjoyed it 
not at all. The dawn was a long time in coming.

*****
  
Tendrils of early morning fog wound its way around the 
ankles of the small band quietly marching up the hill. An 
eerie sound accompanied the group - a warrior's song, 
Frohiki claimed, a song of battlefield victory. Scully was 
never more grateful for comrades-in-arms than at that 
moment; win or lose, live or die, there was a supreme 
comfort in being surrounded by friends. 

Dawn broke just as the group crested the rise to the 
clearing. Judge Spender, his son, and three servants were 
already waiting.

"We thought you'd abandoned this ridiculous charade," 
Spender sneered. "Show me what you claim to be proof, or my 
men will stop this duel before it's started."

"You already know the truth, Judge Spender. This so called 
Mulder claimant is your natural son."  

Scully handed Mulder the case and he flicked open the 
button. Judge Spender lunged forward, and Mulder snatched 
their proof back just in time.

"Not so fast, Spender. Scully."

Scully took the case and, with the islanders at her side, 
showed the portraits to the servants, who began a confused 
muttering. She watched as the younger Spender, looking 
supremely uncomfortable, tried to detach himself from the 
crowd.

"They're fakes!" Judge Spender shouted, "The sooner this 
affair is over the sooner you can be sent to hell."  

He shoved Mulder, hard, before stalking back to his 
weapon's case. With his back to the group, Spender bent low 
and seemed to be caressing the blade.

Spender turned, a rapier with a heavy, ornate hilt held in 
his hand. With an ironic smile, he performed the 
traditional salute.  

"Well? I haven't got all day. Lady Mulder is waiting. I 
have such a lot of plans for her after our wedding."

A muscle in Mulder's jaw twitched, and Scully laid a 
warning hand on his arm. He nodded, abruptly, and held up 
his plainer weapon.

"Seconds at the ready?" intoned a servant, and Scully and 
the younger Spender stepped to the edge of the clearing 
with their swords.

The sharp clang of metal on metal rang through the air.  
Despite Spender's age, he was a strong swordsman, cutting 
and thrusting mercilessly. Mulder seemed strong on defence 
but weakening in attack, and was driven backwards. Scully 
scanned the ground anxiously, knowing a rough patch or 
hollow could cause a fatal loss of Mulder's balance.

Mulder thrust, his rapier passing harmlessly between 
Spender's arm and body. At close quarters, Spender swung up 
and viciously struck Mulder's forehead with his sword's 
pommel.

Scully gasped as Mulder sank to his knees, blood pouring 
into his eyes.

But before she could react further, Spender tripped - and 
nicked his own hand with his rapier.

Spender screamed and dropped his sword. "Help! I've been 
poisoned!" He clutched his hand at the wrist and swung 
wildly to his servants, "Help me, I'll pay anything..." 
before sinking to the ground.

Scully spared a quick glance at Mulder, who was being 
bandaged by the islanders, before turning resolutely to the 
younger Spender.

"Do you publicly yield your claim, or do you wish to 
fight?"  

The younger man licked his lips and backed away. "I yield."  
He turned and ran.

"Don't let Judge Spender get away, Scully," said Mulder, 
trying to push Byerz aside.

"I don't think there's much chance of that," said Scully. 
She knelt down by the man, and felt his pulse; it was 
weakening. A poison tipped sword and an agonizing death 
were the fate of the man who had sentenced her father to 
hang and robbed Mulder of his home and family.

Now that his life was at an end, Scully was willing to 
listen to any last words, to any attempt, however 
inadequate, to explain or apologize for his misdeeds. 
"Speak, sir. If you wish to atone, I will convey your 
message to Mulder and Lady Teena."

Spender tried to speak, his voice rasping and his breathing 
labored. "You have not beaten me yet; somewhere, somehow, 
sometime... Fox Mulder!"

Then there was silence.

"Mulder, he's gone. Judge Spender is dead." She went to his 
side and checked his bandage. "The battle is over, and the 
estate is yours."

"Just mine?" asked Mulder, taking her hand. "The estate and 
the house are large for a single man. So, what is it to be? 
Mine - or ours?"

Scully smiled weakly, and wondered what a life away from 
the sea might be like. This land still did not quite seem 
like home to her, with its smoky cities and constrained 
manners. And yet, what would life be like on board ship now 
without Mulder? There must surely be excitement and new 
discoveries with him too, if she remained in England. She 
ruffled his hair for a moment, and briskly said "Ours, 
Mulder. Ours."

******

Even though their voices were faint, Spender was vaguely 
nauseous by their sentimental words as they continued to 
talk about a shared future. And was that a kiss? Yes, there 
were several. 

No more, he pleaded. 

But there was more: visions of the long life ahead of 
Mulder and Scully; a son and heir; a new lapdog for Lady 
Teena; and the three natives packing concert halls with a 
new-fangled astronomical show set to their own strange 
music. 

But wait, wasn't he dead? He had experienced pain beyond 
endurance, and had passed from this world. 

Spender felt as though he was floating, up above himself, 
above his own worn-out carcass, which he could see lying on 
the ground below.

Yes, he was dead.


xXx


"Enough, enough!" moaned Spender. He was feverish and 
afraid. He didn't want to die. There was so much to do. 

The incense was overpowering and he started to cough. His 
arms thrashed and he suddenly came back to full 
consciousness to find himself lying on the floor of the 
chamber.

Shiva was watching him with amusement. "Welcome back, Mr. 
Spender. Through your death you have learned about your 
life. One life of many lives through many dimensions - with 
one constant."

"Fox Mulder!" Spender spat out in disgust. He was almost 
embarrassed that he was still trembling. "Are you telling 
me he can never be destroyed?"

"The answers are for you to find and interpret, not for 
Shiva to provide."

"No matter." Spender stood up and brushed down his clothes. 
He had almost recovered his dignity.

He stumbled out of the chamber and returned to the meeting. 
He scowled at the supercilious smile of the Englishman; the 
fellow wouldn't be smirking when it was his turn to enter 
the chamber.

Spender accepted the proffered brandy and sank down in a 
leather armchair. He had no idea what the future would 
bring, but for the moment he really needed one thing - a 
cigarette.  



xXx

THE END Wheel of Dharma Trilogy: A Pirate's Revenge