Hello!
Here is a new chapter!
As always, many thanks to Mium, Porthos10, AlexZero12 and Ranger_Red for their support!
Enjoy!
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The wind blew softly, creaking the branches and carrying with it that familiar scent of humus, damp wood, and dead leaves.
Autumn had swept away the last colors of the world, leaving behind only faded, sorrowful tones, as if nature itself had gone into mourning.
Everything around Adam was gray or brown.
He walked at a steady pace, collar turned up, bundled in his black travel coat, crushing leaves underfoot like a brown carpet. His shoes sank deep into the sticky black mud in places, so he stayed as close as possible to the edges of the path, where the ground was relatively firm.
With his large bag of clothes slung over his shoulder, he looked like a lost pilgrim.
Every step toward Fort Bourbon brought him closer to a world very different from the one he had just left. The cobbled streets—even if uneven—had given way to narrow, muddy paths through the trees; and the stone houses to wooden shacks packed with dozens of soldiers.
He had already said goodbye to hearty meals at the inn and to the refreshing sight of women heading to market. And finally, he left behind the luxury of sleeping in.
Waking up before dawn, drills, and the military routine—those were waiting just around the corner.
The only upside to the end of his leave was that he was also leaving behind the dark intrigues. He had done what he had to do—and more, he believed.
What happened next was no longer in his hands.
CROAAA! CROAAA!
Adam looked up at a high branch, well out of reach. There sat a large crow, staring at him like he might a promising meal.
He frowned, wondering what the bird might be thinking as it looked at him. Perhaps that he was a dead man walking?
To ward off bad luck—he'd become quite superstitious after dancing so many times with Death—he clapped his hands twice to scare off the ominous creature.
The crow, clearly startled, flinched and took flight.
Adam smiled, satisfied.
The forest instantly fell silent again.
He turned his head to the left and glimpsed through twisted trunks the cold, still surface of Lake Champlain, smooth as glass. It was several dozen meters below, past a steep slope that plunged almost vertically into the lake.
If he were to fall here, he'd likely shatter every bone before plunging into the icy waters below.
Then he heard a low rumble behind him, like a growl. He turned quickly.
What the—? Ah, a rider.
A man on horseback—a soldier—was approaching fast. Too fast for a trot, not quite fast enough for a gallop.
He clearly didn't want to push his mount too hard and risk a serious accident. Horses were in painfully short supply in New France—losing one would be costly, now more than ever.
The man wore a blue uniform under a black coat, an unadorned tricorne, tall boots, and a large satchel strapped to the saddle.
Adam stepped off the road to let him pass, but received no words of thanks, only a subtle nod.
He watched the rider disappear into the distance.
Hmm. We're not far from Fort Carillon now, but also just half a day from Fort Bourbon. I'm sure he's headed there. Ah! I hope this isn't about Captain Chamoine's notebook…
Adam quickened his pace, continuing silently and leaving Lake Champlain behind. He was now just twenty kilometers from Fort Carillon.
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He spent the night there, grateful for shelter, and left at dawn the next morning.
Luckily, after the battle of Fort Carillon, a ferry system had been established to cross the massive Lake George quickly and with minimal effort.
He disembarked in front of the ruins of Fort William Henry, where more canoes waited to carry travelers in the opposite direction.
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Finally, on October 29th, he arrived at the heavy gates of Fort Bourbon. He had left in pouring rain, and it was in pouring rain that he returned.
With a hunched back, boots caked in mud, and his face half-hidden behind a scarf as soggy as a dish rag, he presented himself to the guards on duty.
Adam had no trouble identifying himself and was allowed into the main fort, which seemed oddly busy despite the miserable weather.
The soldiers, having not benefited from the marquis de Montcalm's generosity, were still working on rebuilding the fort under the supervision of officers waiting for their own leave—or those returning to their companies.
On the way in, Adam had noticed some changes in the fort's defenses, but the most noticeable improvements had been made to the south and on Long Island.
Though the season prevented major construction, the garrison clearly hadn't been idle.
Well, it's a bit strange to be back.
He headed for the officers' quarters to report his return. Adam needed to find the major.
Unfortunately, the major was in a meeting with the lieutenant colonel and Monsieur de Bréhant. Adam would have to wait—without knowing how long it would take.
He looked around and found shelter from the downpour under the edge of a building.
The rain hammered the roof above, creating a soft, soothing sound. As it streamed down the tiles and over the edge, it formed a curtain between him and the parade ground.
He let out a deep sigh.
Ah… What shitty weather! I'm glad to be back!
On the way, it had only started raining over the last few days, but that had been enough to wash away the lingering smells of the city. The downpours were so frequent this time of year that glimpses of the sun were rare.
Temperatures were dropping fast, each day colder than the last. At night, it was only five or six degrees, and during the day, it barely reached ten.
Soon, the rain would turn to snow and the roads would become nearly impassable without snowshoes.
Adam stifled yet another sigh at the thought.
"François?! You're back?!" someone suddenly called out to his left.
He turned around and immediately recognized Captains André Louis and Jean-Baptiste Gauthier. Their leave was only a few days away..
"Ah, hey! Yeah, I just got here. I still have to report back and hand in my papers. It seems the major's busy right now, so I'm waiting. Martin's not back yet, I guess?"
"Not yet," André replied, rubbing his cheek where a beard was starting to show. "He's got two or three more days, I think."
"Heh, he'll probably show up at the very last minute," said the bulldog-faced captain with a chuckle. "He must've delayed his departure as much as possible to spend more time with his little English girl. Lucky bastard… If only mine weren't so far away..."
Captain Gauthier lowered his head, looking melancholy. André laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
"Well, with some luck, you might see her sooner than expected. I've got the feeling this is all coming to an end."
Adam raised an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?" he asked, curious.
"You didn't hear the news while you were in Montreal?"
"Oh, you mean India? I mean, the East Indies?"
André shook his head.
"No, not that. I mean, it might be somewhat related, but it's something else," he said in a serious, almost somber voice. "We heard about it yesterday: the King of England is dead."
"Oh!"
Adam's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't heard anything like that, either in Montreal or at any of the forts he passed through.
The King George II is dead! That's… That's good news, isn't it?!
The young officer wasn't sure how to react. Was one supposed to celebrate the death of an enemy monarch?
He wasn't sure. Over time, he had learned that in this era, nobility—no matter the country—was treated with respect.
So while criticizing a monarch might be tolerated, rejoicing in the death of a king, even from an enemy nation, was not done.
Adam made the sign of the cross.
"May he rest in peace."
He discreetly observed the reactions of the two officers in front of him, and to his great relief, they didn't look offended. He'd done the right thing.
"The question," André said, folding his arms across his chest, his face even more serious now, "is what the new king is going to do. Since old King George died two months ago, his successor must already have been crowned and taken power. Soon enough, we'll know what his first decisions were—and from that, we can get a sense of what's coming for us."
Captain Gauthier nodded silently and crossed his own arms over his broad chest.
"So then," Adam asked with a furrowed brow, "who's supposed to be the new king of England? His son?"
"No," Gauthier murmured, "and thank God for that. If it were him, this war would drag on for another ten years. Then again, who knows—maybe that's what'll happen anyway with the new king."
Adam blinked in surprise. André explained:
"The old George II had two sons. The first, the Prince of Wales, died years ago. The second, we fought him in Hanover—he's none other than the Duke of Cumberland. Even though he was disgraced after Closter Zeven, he's still a potential heir. But he's not first in line."
"Oh really? Then who is?"
"The crown must've gone to the first son of the Prince of Wales. Even if he dies, the crown won't pass to Cumberland—there are other nephews ahead of him."
Adam pictured a family tree with a little crown hopping from head to head.
"I see. Wow, you really know your stuff, André!" Adam said, genuinely impressed.
"Heh, thanks, but I don't deserve any credit," the officer replied with a modest smile. "I'm just repeating what I heard."
"So, what do we know about the new king? What do we call him, by the way? George III, or something else?"
"Probably? Hmm… He must be fairly young. He'll likely surround himself with ministers and follow their advice. So I guess everything depends on who he listens to. If he keeps that lunatic William Pitt, we're neck-deep in manure. With some luck, they'll hate each other, and he'll try to sign a peace treaty quickly."
A door opened nearby, cutting the conversation short.
The senior officers of the Picardy Regiment appeared one by one. All three men had serious expressions, though they didn't look worried.
Adam took out his documents, ready to report in, but hesitated to step forward. Maybe they still had things to discuss?
His fears proved unfounded, and he was able to present his papers. Colonel de Bréhant then asked the young man to follow him for a private conversation.
They entered the building they had just exited, without another word.
Inside were not just Adam and the colonel, but also the lieutenant colonel and the major.
The room was simple, almost austere, but well kept. Two candles, extinguished only moments earlier, were lit again.
They cast their glow on a large table covered with maps and reports. Broad shadows stretched around them, climbing the walls almost to the ceiling, crisscrossed by thick, dark beams.
No one sat down, a sign this discussion would be brief.
Colonel de Bréhant stood at the center, the lieutenant colonel to his right, and the major to his left. All three were staring intently at Adam, who stood at a respectful distance.
"Captain Boucher," said the colonel in a heavy voice, "step forward."
Adam took a step, arms stiff at his sides. His hands quickly became clammy.
"You were supposed to have a few weeks to rest, and yet you've stirred up quite the hornet's nest."
He paused, locking his dark eyes on Adam's.
"I received your documents. The letters and that notebook. If what you've uncovered is true, then we are dealing with one of the worst logistical scandals since the war began. Who knows how long this has been going on?"
Adam was instantly relieved to see the matter being taken seriously. The three officers were visibly angry—and rightfully so, since everything that had been embezzled had not been sent to them.
It was as if they had been personally robbed.
The colonel continued:
"Do you have any additional information to give me? Names? Facts that couldn't be written down?"
Adam felt a tension rise in his neck. It was as if someone had driven a nail into the base of his skull.
For some strange reason, he felt he had to choose his words carefully.
"What I passed along is everything I could obtain without raising suspicion, Colonel. The captain involved in the affair, Chamoine, seems to have realized his situation is compromised. He… told me he's willing to cooperate in hopes of receiving a lighter sentence."
Silence.
The colonel remained still, then spoke again in a neutral tone:
"How bold. Hoping for such a favor after so many crimes. It will be up to His Majesty to decide what to do with that man. In any case, Captain, you've taken a considerable risk. Such zeal is rare. Too rare, sometimes."
The lieutenant colonel and the major nodded in agreement.
The colonel took a step forward and placed a large, powerful hand on Adam's shoulder. His gaze, filled with powerful emotion, bore into that of his subordinate.
"Captain Boucher… thank you for your initiative. Everything has been transmitted to the Marquis de Montcalm. The documents were copied and will soon be sent directly to His Majesty without passing through Governor Vaudreuil's hands. We cannot be sure at this point that he isn't involved. And if things run their course, heads will roll."
Adam nodded, a knot forming in his stomach.
"In the meantime, resume your duties. And above all, keep your mouth shut. What you've discovered could make more noise than all the cannons in the world."
"A-at your command, Colonel!" Adam said, snapping into a rigid salute.
"Dismissed."
Adam turned like an automaton and quickly exited the room under the crossed gazes of the three senior officers.
As soon as he was outside, he let out a sigh of relief. Yet he still couldn't relax.
His jaw was so tight it felt like his teeth were fused together. This did not go unnoticed by his friends who had stayed just far enough away to avoid being accused of eavesdropping.
"H-hey, François, what's going on? Are you in trouble?"
Adam didn't answer immediately, which worried the two officers even more.
"What is it? What did you do?"
"I-it's nothing. Uh, just about my duty to recruit a soldier. They thought I'd forgotten. I left it until the last minute, but I managed to convince a kid to enlist. We were staying in the same house, that helped, I think, haha."
The two officers listened silently as their friend told them how he had convinced a very young man named Gaspard—a debt-ridden garbage collector who had inherited his father's troubles—to follow him to the military administration office and sign a contract.
He explained that it hadn't been too hard to persuade him. He had spoken of his own adventures, the landscapes he had seen, the people he'd met, and his rapid promotions.
Adam had, however, left out the meager pay, the lack of leave, and the pitiful food they were served.
What he emphasized most was the end of the war, which he believed to be near. That meant the king would reduce the size of his army well before the end of the contract, and Gaspard would return to civilian life with valuable experience.
André Louis and Jean-Baptiste Gauthier didn't interrupt him and were relieved to hear that their young friend wasn't in trouble. Their doubts weren't completely gone, though—it was still very strange to be summoned to a private meeting with three senior officers over something so trivial.
They let Adam catch his breath, and he took the opportunity to head over to Long Island, where he met up with his lieutenant who led him back to his company.
In such weather, those who weren't on duty were warm and dry inside one of the newly built barracks near the center of the island, not far from the small bridge connecting it to the fort.
He entered a long wooden building, built on the same model as their old barracks. From outside, one could hear lively conversation, laughter, and music.
Adam smiled.
As soon as he opened the door, every eye turned toward him. A strange silence fell over the large group.
Adam saw unfamiliar faces, and thanks to his lieutenant, he knew why. He had received men from other companies too depleted by the previous siege.
Lieutenant Thomas Belmaison, formerly the lieutenant of Captain Albert Fontaine, had joined his company and retained his rank. He now stood behind Adam, next to Lieutenant Marais.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Surprise!"
"T-the captain is back!"
"Hey! How was the city?! Bet he came back alone, without a wife in tow!"
Adam wore a warm smile, but Lieutenant Belmaison had no intention of letting the company behave too informally. He barked from behind his superior.
"What kind of manners are these! In ranks! Attention!"
The men scrambled into formation before their commander, and thanks to rigorous training, it was done in an instant. Adam entered the room, inspecting his men like a general on the eve of a great battle.
It wasn't perfect—not by a long shot, since he had shown up while they were off duty.
He stopped in front of one soldier, a kid about the same age he had been before his transmigration, and smiled at him.
"I missed you. A little. Ahah!"
The soldiers couldn't hold their composure and grinned.
"Ugh, it doesn't smell like roses in here. No one's washed while I was gone?"
The smiles and chuckles grew, gradually easing the mood in the large cabin. He exchanged a word with each of his men, mostly saying things of no great importance.
Then, he gave his first order.
"Rest well tonight. Tomorrow morning: inspection, then outdoor drills."
Immediately, the smiles vanished, replaced by expressions of despair. As if in cosmic agreement, the downpour outside suddenly intensified.