Being out in the fresh air felt good and he breathed in all he could get of the sweet dampness of night, marshaling himself for another staggering run. This one got him to the gate. Silently he felt the guard around the corner, reached out with his mind and misted his vision, ghosting past the man and out through the gate. The planks of the drawbridge seemed to boom out as he staggered across them towards the woods but there was nothing to do about it so he went forward as fast as he could. His friend was there, as arranged, a hand up and they kicked the horses into a gallop, sprinting long and fast through the dim woods.

"Di'n't think you be makin' it, me friend," the rescuer commented as they slowed a little.

"Thanks for waiting. It lasted longer than I thought it would. I tried to give him enough to return me to my cell but he just wouldn't give up this night. Sorry," he returned between gasps of air. "They just don't want to believe there is no philosopher's stone to turn lead to gold. He's really quite mad, you know."

"Not a prob, there gov'nor. Ole George, 'e's madder'n a hatter. Jus' 'appy to oblige a friend."

"And most obliged I am," Jonathan answered back. "Don't know how I can ever repay you for this."

"You gave the life of me daughter nigh on five years ago, guv," the other rider stated simply and handed over a flagon of ale to keep the night from seeming so cold. Their eyes met in mutual respect and they rode on through the damp night air.

From then on it was three days of run and rest, run and rest, crossing the Channel and escaping into the new Republic. It was nearly as dangerous there as England but at least he didn't have the new leadership after his head, he wasn't considered a noble in France. Jonathan retreated into the woods and mountains as far as he could to recuperate in body and mind. There was no thought of retaliation as it was a waste of time, he'd outlive the king by many years. On the other hand the king would spend his days worrying about him coming back and that was a good enough revenge. And there were still those that put him the clutches of the mad king to take revenge on him for his political defiance in the first place. They would not outlive each other. Yes, there would come a day for them. Years passed.

The apartment stank, that's the only way to describe the hovel he was in these days. Dirty walls, windows that had not seen the clear light of day for at least a generation, sink and bathroom unmentionably horrid, bed that dogs would have turned their noses up at, carpet (laughingly) threadbare and had to be deloused it was so bad. The worst tenement one can live in and stay alive. But it was a home for a bit.

The man reading by the window was still in hiding from people that wanted him worse than dead, catching up on some old knowledge that might be of help some time in the future. Terribly ordinary looking he was; medium height, in decent shape from all appearances, dressed in worn but serviceable clothes with hair that was a few weeks away from a barber. Nothing noteworthy about him until you looked in his eyes, if he let you, that is. Nothing out of the ordinary at all about him as he read by the last light of the warm summer day.

The next day Jonathan was walking in the park like he had so many times over the last few years, trying to get a sense of the surrounding people and wondering if his search would ever reveal what he needed. It brought a sense of amusement to him as he was now taking the place of another searcher from so long ago, himself on the run this time instead of the scared young boy being hounded out of his village then out of seminary. His mentor had found him alone and shivering, nearly starved to death a few leagues from the monastery and took him in to teach him the ways of that world just outside this world, teaching him to be free of mind and thought. That had upset the ruling few that wanted him instilled with the Council's edicts and schooled in their rigid and set- in-place, stultifying, politicized system. Over the years his independence had more than just upset some of the members of his order; they had taken it upon themselves to teach him a lesson. It was one of the things that led him to a dungeon in England and now to this park in his continued search.

There had to be that one special person he had to find in all the crowds around him, though he hadn't found what he was looking for in the past several years on the run. Still, the search went on as he idly scanned the crowds around the park. That was when he got that prickly feeling on the back of his neck, the knowledge someone was searching like he was but with a different intent. The search was purposeful and directed with harmful intent. He was being hunted. As easy as he could he melted into deep shadows and held his breath, closing the projections of his mind but keeping the passive senses alert.

Walking near the pond was a man like him, nondescript, ordinary in appearance, nothing externally special about him at all. Except the eyes. They were hunter's eyes reflected through a bystander's mind and well experienced at ferreting out the likes of him. If he hadn't been on the prowl himself, Jonathan would have been noticed and the hunt would have been on. As calmly as he could he sauntered away with his mind closed to everything but ordinary, mundane thoughts like food and staying cool in the heat of the day, putting other people's images in his mind to concentrate on as he walked. When he'd made it to the edge of the park he looked around for transportation, encouraging a bus driver to slow and getting on board the crowded vehicle when it stopped in the middle of the block. No one took notice of him in the slightest and that was good. ......(cont)