10:50 a.m. | The road from Barnet to Hertfordshire | The storm:
Morven and Marcus still galloped onward, but their pace had slowed considerably. The horses planted their hooves carefully into the slick mud to avoid slipping.
Both riders were hunched low over their mounts. A thick fog had rolled in from the fields, blanketing the ground and swallowing the horizon.
The rain hammered down relentlessly; Morven's and Marcus's clothes were soaked through to the skin.
Morven shouted over the roar of the wind, exhaustion clear in his voice.
"Why is the weather so wretched today—of all days!?"
Marcus glanced at him, barely hearing.
"What did you say, Master!?"
Morven yelled louder.
"I said—what's the date today!?"
Marcus shouted back.
"Why ask me? You're the master—you're supposed to know these things!"
Morven muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.
"Once again the idiot acts like a genius…"
Marcus bellowed even louder.
"Master, shouldn't we turn back!?"
Morven narrowed his eyes against the rain and muttered,
"I thought he heard me the first time…"
He gave two theatrical coughs and called out,
"Turning back won't change a thing. We keep going!"
Marcus nodded faintly and yelled,
"With this weather, how long until South Mimms!?"
Morven exhaled sharply.
"If the storm doesn't worsen—twenty-five, maybe thirty minutes!"
Marcus clenched his fists and roared,
"Damn it all!"
Morven turned in the saddle to glance at him.
"Why!?"
Marcus scratched the side of his head with a sheepish grin and shouted,
"I'm starving!!"
Morven narrowed his eyes again and whispered to himself,
"Now I'm absolutely certain my apprentice is an idiot."
They fell silent after that, focusing only on coaxing a little more speed from their weary horses.
Thunder cracked overhead like cannon fire; the wind howled so fiercely that conversation required shouting.
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Minutes later | Great North Road toward Hertfordshire:
The rain grew even heavier, turning the road into a quagmire.
Then, almost miraculously, the wind began to ease.
Morven noticed first. A spark of excitement lit his face. He kicked his horse firmly, loosened the reins to avoid straining the animal, then flicked them lightly.
His mount surged forward with renewed energy.
Marcus saw and copied the motion, racing after him.
Morven called back, voice finally normal.
"At last—we don't have to scream to be overheard!"
Marcus laughed, brushing a few sodden leaves from his jade-green hair.
"Yeah… I don't mind the rain, but the wind was brutal. It made everything so much colder!"
Morven allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
"You realise riding this fast on muddy ground is dangerous, don't you? One slip and the horse goes down."
Marcus's grin vanished instantly.
"So we're being completely reckless right now!?"
Morven raised an eyebrow and said nothing.
Marcus closed his eyes in resignation.
"Dear God… I beg you…"
He hadn't finished when Morven suddenly shouted,
"Watch out! Watch out!"
Marcus's eyes snapped open in panic—but there was nothing ahead. He stared at Morven.
"What is it!?"
Morven glanced sideways.
"Nothing. I just wanted to remind you not to pray while riding. It increases your chances of dying more than the mud does."
Marcus ground his teeth in frustration.
"Do you ever do anything besides mock me, Master!?"
Morven's smile turned gentle.
"Of course I do… the mocking is extra."
Marcus sighed dramatically.
"How unlucky can one person be…?"
Morven shrugged as they rode.
"Extremely. Even I'm not that unlucky."
Marcus finally gave up and fell silent.
When quiet settled, a small, contented smile played on Morven's lips. He said nothing more.
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11:10 a.m., 22 November 1797 | South Mimms:
At last they reached the village. Morven exhaled in weary relief and dismounted carefully. He ran a gentle hand along his horse's neck and flank, then looked at Marcus.
Marcus caught the look and swung down from his own saddle.
Morven gave a tired smile.
"Take both horses to The White Hart Inn and hand them to the stable hands."
Marcus blinked.
"And you, Master?"
Morven glanced around. Thick fog still clung to the fields; the ground was a sea of mud. Rain continued to fall in heavy sheets.
"I'll follow. Just… a little slower."
Marcus scratched near his left eye.
"But… the rain's pouring. You'll catch a chill!"
Morven placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"I'm made of sterner stuff than that."
Marcus nodded reluctantly and led the two horses away toward the inn.
Morven remained a moment longer, drew a deep breath, and let it out in a white cloud.
"I hope this rain ends soon…"
Then he started walking after Marcus, cane tapping softly against the wet ground, heading for the welcoming lights of The White Hart Inn.