1790

Jack landed in a crouch, near silent. He cast a look upward, towards the open second-story window. And grinned, straightening up, he twirled the rolled-up document.

"And old George said it'd be hard." He tucked it safely into his vest, flattening it down in the process. "Why, I've had harder--"

"¡Ahí está!"

Jack glanced over his shoulder and groaned. It appeared the guards were more efficient than his surveillance had implied. If the guard was closer, he would attempt to take him down, but considering the distance and his preference for bladed weapons and his own two fists over guns, he wouldn't have a chance before the man yelled for backup. Jack ran in the opposite direction, the yells of Spanish echoing behind him.

Times like this, he missed Kentucky. Oh, he worked just fine on his own, but knowing there was somebody standing by, ready and waiting to have his back... Well, it was a reassuring feeling. That woman could take down a fly at fifty paces. By God, some days he did miss her something awful. Almost made him want to track her down, but the way things ended, he wouldn't blame her if she put a bullet in his back instead of the man behind him.

Jack darted around the edge of hedges that ringed the property. Only to get a glint of metal. Too close, too fast to dodge. The sword hilt caught him along the side of his head, sending him stumbling a step. It was only a second but long enough for the tip to be leveled against him.

"Where are the papers?" the guard demanded. Or Jack assumed anyway. His Spanish was a little less than fluent, and his head was ringing.

He raised a hand to his hairline, unsurprised to have it come back bloody. He let himself sway sideways, moved a few inches, readjusted his stance, and forced the man to follow the movement with his sword. Another demand, same as the first.

"Huh?" Jack blinked at him. "Oh. My head..."

The guard faltered. The opening as all he needed. Jack struck, foot shooting out and into the man's knee. A cry of pain as his leg was forced to give way, that was quickly cut off with a punch. Jack almost felt bad about how easy it was. But the man was older, he should know better than to fall for cheap tricks.

Touching the gash again and wincing, Jack started walking, increasing his pace once he felt steady enough. There were shouts behind him, but they were distinct. Seemed the guards were incompetent after all. Senior What's-his-face should get his money back.

If they're following now, he had nothing to worry about. And once he reached the village, he'd be home free. Long as no one'd gone and stolen his horse.

The bleeding had stopped when he was roughly halfway there. Jack was ready to write the wound off as minor.

"Jack Stiles?"

He spun, eyes scanning the empty dirt road. "Who's there?"

"Are you Jack Stiles?" The voice was male, French accent. An odd thing to hear in these parts.

"Who's askin'?"

"I am."

A light weight settled on his shoulder, and Jack tensed. It didn't feel like a hand it felt like... He turned his head, meeting the beady black eyes of a parrot wearing a hat.

Jack closed his eyes and reopened them. The parrot was still wearing the hat. "Musta taken a harder knock than I thought."

"That's a nasty owie you got there, Pal, but you're not hallucinating."

"Well, of course, that's what the hallucination would say." Jack started walking again. He needed help. Preferably before dancing pink elephants decided to join the fun. But the weight on his shoulder felt real enough. "Okay, say you're not a hallucination, who are you?"

"Name's Jean-Claude," the parrot preened, "I am a transfer agent from France, working with the United States government."

"I didn't know we were using transfer agents--" Jack stopped and muttered, "Why am I talking to it?"

"I am here to deliver a message from Thomas Jefferson."

"Uhuh."

"You are requested at Monticello at the soonest possible convenience."

"Well, now I know I'm hallucinating. Tommy never wants me there, willingly." Either that or something seriously bad had happened.

A flutter of wings, and Jack had to tilt his head away to keep them from smacking him in the cheek.

"A man has been injured. There are rumors that he is you, Jack. Jefferson wishes for you to assist with identifying him."

"Can't he identify himself?"

"Pas tout à fait, he has yet not awoken."

"How long's it been?"

"Two days. You are a hard man to find."

Jack licked his lips. A doppelganger in a coma, huh? He had a few cousins but none that looked enough like him for a case of mistaken identity. In fact, Jack considered himself to be rather unique, maybe that wasn't best for a spy, but he had never been considered someone with 'one of those faces' unless he was bluffing for all he was worth.

He didn't see how he could help, but if it was true... His curiosity was piqued. Besides, he could use some time off. Worst thing that could happen is Jefferson didn't send for him and refuses to let him inside.

But he still needed to get that document to Washington. He glanced at the parrot and smirked.

"So, little birdie," Jack tugged the stolen document from his vest, "any chance you could do me a favor?"