The story is a surprise that Lorraine has prepared for Marat.

The content itself has no traceable nutritional value, it is just a hodgepodge of miscellaneous, messy, and like a pot of stewed in the Northeast, forcibly instilling a full group of suspense.

Is Frey a traitor?

Did you blow up the arsenal?

Will there be collusion with the British army?

How did Lorraine, or Ruhr, escape from the hail of bullets with women and maimed men?

That beautiful and weak Moorish girl, Leonor, is she still safe? Can you meet your lover? Did you get hurt in any way?

It's all a problem.

These dispensable questions filled Marat's head in an instant, forcing him to ignore some of the details in front of him, and also obscuring Lorraine's position as friend and foe.

At least to some extent, Lorraine managed to get Marat to let his guard down.

Seeing that the British army was about to break the city, Marat immediately took care of the adjutant and four strong sergeants from the sailors with him, and boarded the ship from the plank road in turn.

At the last moment, Lorraine on the oars quietly tightened his grip on the hilt.

In fact, in his opinion, the trap that lured Marat was not a mature and reliable plan at all. It's an adventure, a ridiculous little trick that may well mean nothing to anyone other than Marat.

Because through a short but deep encounter, he discovered that Marat was a special person.

Generally speaking, every adult will have their own style and habits of acting.

It's like a crazy millionaire playing a chess game in a crowded park, forcing passers-by to bet on him with their lives, and beat him if he doesn't comply.

That's when people's style comes to the fore.

Some people are not good at or are not accustomed to thinking about the deep meaning behind the grotesque and strange, and they are confident in their own strength, then they tend to flip the chessboard, and if the person who is playing the chess dares to rise up, everyone will break their wrists.

Henna and Leif are two very different representatives of this genre.

They are direct and reckless, and the act of flipping the chessboard does not mean stupidity, but rather promotes their strengths and avoids their weaknesses, giving up the best interests while avoiding the worst outcome.

Some people are good at calculating.

Calculators tend to have a gambler factor and are prone to taking risks, ignoring or accepting bad results in advance.

They will happily enter the game, chasing the result and enjoying the process, like Carmen.

Lorraine is the third category, which has both.

He may play chess with someone on the chessboard, and if he wins, of course, he should deserve it, if the defeat is really irretrievable, he is likely to flip the table before the opponent drops the last piece, and anyway, if it is a fight, he has a higher chance of winning.

And Mara is the fourth category.

His talent is close to the first category, and his thinking is close to the second. He likes to think a lot about things, but he often fails to grasp the main points, and is easily tempted and agitated.

Lorraine set the table, he sat down opposite, Lorraine said he was crazy, he put aside the life-threatening chess game, and thought about why Lorraine went crazy.

His self-confidence has no source, and his smooth life has little to do with personal ability, it is purely destiny.

Because of this, he or they will always stop at a certain point in their lives, sooner or later, and when their luck or family can no longer protect him, they will stop.

And today seems to be the day when Marat stopped.

Lorraine won the bet, Marat and his seemingly more powerful entourage boarded, Barto put away the plank, Lorraine let go of the hilt of the knife, rowed the oars and pushed the boat to a distance of about fifty meters from the boardwalk, completely out of the effective range of the musket.

"Major."

He put away his oars, stood up as if nothing happened, and hoisted the sails with Bartow.

"Major, it's windy and dark today, and it will take a long time to find the San Carlos. Why don't you go and rest in the cabin for a while? ”

"Uh......"

Marat, who was busy thinking about life, suddenly got out of his thinking state and rolled his eyes in a panic.

"Ruhl, the San Carlos is fighting, but she's on her own. Do you know why I boarded your boat? ”

"Because...... Happened to come across? ”

"It's certainly a reason, but it's not a critical one." Marat flicked his arms, looking arrogant, "Like I said, the San Carlos can't stand alone!" ”

"But I seem to have heard that the British did not have a ship this time......"

"They have cannons!" Marat glared at Lorraine viciously, "They have cannons, even if they can't hit the cunning and nimble San Carlos, but the other San Carlos is doomed!" ”

"We need to be stronger, and Grenada is close to us. That's why I'm going to board your little ship, the San Carlos must defend her home port, but we can go to Grenada and let our mighty army change the fate of this fortress! ”

Lorraine raised an eyebrow: "You mean...... Help? ”

"It's a call for help!" Marat spat out syllables in a sonorous voice, "There's no time to hesitate, Ruhl, take me to Grenada at once, you can be the hero who saved the fortress!" ”

"Then we're going to turn around and head west." Lorraine reached out to probe the wind, "It makes it worse, Major, and it could take us ten hours to get this little boat to Grenada." ”

"I'll be waiting for you in the cabin, and my lieutenant will show you the way, you won't get lost."

Dropping the words, Marat winked at his lieutenant.

The adjutant understood and led the two soldiers to stay on deck, and let the other two soldiers escort the horse into the cabin.

The hatch is closed.

Seeing the hatch seal together, Lorraine wanted the adjutant to smile slightly.

"The major's speech is always long, isn't it? It must have been hard work to be his adjutant. ”

The cold adjutant shook his face: "This has nothing to do with you." ”

"How can you say that it doesn't matter......" Lorraine looked up at the shore of the lake that was fading away, "because the wind is in the right direction, before we know it, we are more than 200 meters offshore......"

"To get to Grenada, we still have an infinite number of 200 meters to go."

"Not that many 200 meters." Lorraine moved her shoulders and spoke cheerfully, "To be honest, I'm surprised that Marat left you on deck. He actually knew how to be on guard. ”

"Huh?"

"Two hundred meters from the shore, unless there is a high-level hunter on your ship, and that person has a keen sense and happens to be on the shore, the musket will be completely ineffective, and they may not even know what is happening on board."

The adjutant finally began to sense something strange, and drew his sword with a bang: "Ruhr. Sebilian, your statement is dangerous. ”

"For a person who was almost made a scapegoat, no kind of statement is dangerous. For a man who conspires against others, you are far from fully prepared. This is my epitaph for the three of you, thank you...... You don't have to. ”

……

Marat led his guards into the cramped cabin of the fishing boat.

Compared to a warship, a small fishing boat obviously can't fit into multiple decks, and the space inside is not enough to properly divide the space.

The cabin was a messy passageway, with two old rope beds, a few boxes in the corners, a cabinet fixed to the bulkhead, and the rest of the room was filled with all sorts of miscellaneous items that might be used in the boat.

For example, loose cables, broken sails for sewing, fishing baskets, fishing rods, nets, and mallets and rivets for repairing ships.

Marat had expected such a scene, the terrible environment, the terrible smell, and what was worse was that the only neat and open space in the cabin, and there was a man lying on the floor in the center of the cabin, and he was so tightly covered that he covered his mouth.

Through the dim wind lamp, Mara saw the man's appearance clearly: "Antonio. Torresias? ”

"Woooooo

"How did you get on this boat? No, didn't your people say that you have been buried alive in the fortress of the gospel? ”

"Woooooooooooo

"What did you say?"

"Woohoo! Whining! ”

“des…… pués？ Behind? ”

The subtle sound of the wind.

Two winds erupted from behind him, followed by a faint snort of pain from the guards.

They fell to the ground with a thud, and the sound of thump shook Marat's heart with every thud.

He twisted his head with difficulty, and saw the small unsupported position above the hatch, and a strange image floating in the air against the wall.

Her clothes were pure black, her skin was brown, she had big emerald eyes and three gorgeous and memorable bows.

"Leonor...... "Leonor...... Miss? ”