It was the year 1783. I was on the run from the French army for taking part in the storming of Bastille, and I had taken refuge in Croatia. One night, on my way home, I saw an average-height man in a French army officer uniform being chased by a small mob. By a stroke of fate, he happened to turn down the alley I was hiding in and tripped right over my outstretched foot. Once he had picked himself off the ground, I discovered he was, in fact, the great Napoleon, on leave back in his native country. I had seen some British newspaper comics about him and I could not resist using the “Short” joke at any possible opportunity during the conversation that ensued. He was (and still is) a very intelligent man and he could see that the royals were not going to win this fight. He was interested to hear about my connections with the Jacobeans, and asked about contact information I had on their leaders. I agreed to give him what I had, in exchange for calling the army off my back about the Bastille thing. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he started to formulate a plan to the top of their organization, and I can clearly see him succeeding. He would be a dangerous man to have power, possibly a threat to the whole world. I hope he never gets it.