Prompt - Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world / She took the midnight train going anywhere / Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit / He took the midnight train going anywhere - Journey
Note – Thanks to Jennifer for this prompt, and for being a member at Solo Ensemble! I wasn't meticulous enough to pick a specific time period for this fic, so just think of it as entirely made up. (I.e., please excuse all anachronisms, because there WILL be anachronisms.)
Aboard the H.M.S. Morgan
Jason hissed when the whip lashed and curled against his bare back, easily breaking skin that had already been raw and abused to begin with. But he didn't allow the overseer the satisfaction of cursing, weeping, or worse, falling to his knees. No man had ever brought Jason to his knees, and no man ever would. It didn't matter if he were a medical practitioner or a slave, he would never debase himself like that in front of anyone. He would die before he did.
His fate had been sealed when he had answered his door late one night. One minute he was a doctor with a private clinic near Baker Street, and the next he was mistaken as a revolutionary, charged with attempting to dethrone Good King Richard's brother King Lucas, and made a slave of the crown. He'd only narrowly escaped his fate of being sent to Australia or the colonies and instead toiled on the royal grounds for the cronies of the man that had wrongfully taken the throne while his good brother was off fighting for Jerusalem.
It was only his first week of conscription and he was already formulating a plan for escape. In that short time, he'd become good friends with several of the other revolutionaries – the men who were actually fighting to free England from a tyrant while he had snored peacefully in his bed, men much braver and ready for action than he had ever been – and planned to include them as well. They could succeed if they all worked together, for each man had individual skills that would be a great asset to the group.
Francis was easily the most vigilant of the group. There were few things that escaped his notice. Jason liked to think that he was conscientious, but Francis's power of observation and keen recollection far surpassed his own. He remembered meticulous schedules and various passwords and discreetly scribbled notes from one overseer to the other, and would be of much help in their great escape.
Damien Spinelli was an orphan boy with an honest, trusting face that he used fully to his every advantage. Spinelli, as they called him, could exact any kind of information, sensitive or not, from anyone he met. He had the easy but hesitant voice of a youth, the wide green eyes of an innocent mongrel, and the scrappy appearance of a young man in need of clean food, a good bath, and a kind word. He was just the sort that people took into their confidences, and, oh, how Spinelli manipulated them! The boy was also something of a dreamer, and quite the astrologist, and his knowledge of the heavens would prove quite useful to them in the nautical sense.
The Italian-born Ritchie Zacchara was the strongest in the group. He could break through a thick board of wood with one hand, push the giant wheel around with the help of only two other men, and there were rumors that he'd wrestled a mountain lion and won during his brief stay in the colonies. His younger brother Gianni was the charming one. He was quite a beautiful boy and knew how to use his charm and manners just as Spinelli used his woe-is-me green eyes and gentle lisp. His ability to blend into any sort of society – high or low – would prove a great asset to them in the future.
They received one hour every day as leisure time, aside from their scripted hours for sleep and the half-hours for meals, and the men all used this time wisely. Once Jason had explained the plan to them, their thoughts were occupied by little else than the wish to leave the wretched palace. And finally, the day was upon them. After they finished cleaning out King Lucas's stables, they would be given leave to return to their quarters for the night. And that was when they'd make their move and leave the castle far, far behind.
The whip cracked again behind him but thankfully didn't graze Jason. He could feel the blood trickling down his back and soaking into the black cotton pants he wore, and he'd have to have Spinelli disinfect it for him and wrap it up before they left, just to be on the safe side.
"Morgan! Zacchara – younger Zacchara!"
That was the overseer. Jason stopped and exchanged quietly anxious looks with Ritchie, wondering what it meant for the moment and for their plans that night.
"You pigs! Get you to the palace, immediately! You're to have an audience with King Lucas!"
Jason's eyes widened; this was worse than he'd thought. Nothing good ever came to any man that had a private audience with the King. Gianni cleared his throat, dusted off his palms and nodded curtly at Jason. Though his back was stinging, it would have to wait. Jason nodded back and wiped his grimy hands on his pants, following the young man. Ritchie resisted the urge to reach out to his younger brother and instead gave both men knowing looks, wishing them luck.
"Ay! I didn't say the rest of you slops could stop! Back to work!"
The whip cracked again behind them as Jason and Gianni trudged up the walkway leading to the stables.
"What do you think this is about?"
Jason shook his head. "I have no idea."
"Think it'll…make us late returning to our quarters?"
They couldn't be too careful when referring to their plans for escape; the King had spies everywhere.
"I hope not."
They hadn't even been given a chance to wash up or put on clean clothes before meeting with King Lucas. Instead, Jason and Gianni had been marched like prisoners into one of the King's private parlors and once they got there, Jason realized why. It was the sign of a truly small, truly pathetic and paranoid man that he had to have his guests brought to him in humbled states so as to reassert and reaffirm his own power and control.
King Lucas didn't bother with any pleasantries. "You may leave now."
The guards that had brought them nodded in unison and quickly withdrew. Jason and Gianni exchanged sidelong glances and waited, stock-still, to see what trouble the foolhardy King could propose.
"Morgan and Zacchara, is it?"
The men nodded in unison.
King Lucas stroked the gentle silver hairs on his chin and frowned at them. "You two were leading the group of revolutionaries that sought to depose me, according to my reports."
Jason made absolutely sure to keep his features placid, and not form any expression that gave the slightest indication that the King's sources – namely the bumbling detectives Marcus Taggert and Malcolm Scorpio – couldn't be trusted to point out the location of the sun at midday.
"It's untrue, Your Highness," Gianni spoke up when it became clear that the King was looking for a response.
Luke's hands curled into loose fists behind his back as he paced in front of them. "Were you part of the revolutionaries, yes or no?"
"Yes," they replied in unison. To deny it was foolish: they'd already been convicted by the King's appointed court and to challenge the ruling would earn them even more trouble for daring to deny the King's word.
"But we were not the leaders," Gianni sought to explain. "I-We were among the lower ranking members of the group."
In truth, it was only Gianni that was a lower-ranking member of the revolutionary group. Jason was just an innocent bystander that answered his door and was found bandaging the leader's sword wound when the King's officers burst into the hideout and arrested them all. But they couldn't challenge the King's Court, so whether he liked it or not Jason was included in the lower ranks of the Black Lions, those that sought to depose Lucas and bring the good King Richard the Lion-Heart back home safely.
"My sources tell me that you two were instrumental in formulating the plans to depose me," the King bit off, his lips curling into a derisive sneer. "They just came to me with the information today, one full week after the planned attack. Do you dare to contradict the word of my royal officers?"
Both Gianni and Jason remained silent.
"I thought not," Luke growled, coming to a stop directly in front of them. "I know what I have to do – without the two of you brilliant leaders, your little group won't last. And no one will dare challenge my right to the throne."
Jason could see Gianni's breathing quicken, and he knew the hot-blooded Italian was starting to get upset. If King Lucas was thinking what they thought he was thinking, the two of them wouldn't be making it back to their quarters. And though their disappearance wouldn't extinguish the flames of revolution in England, it would most definitely put a halt to the escape plan they had worked all week to prepare.
The tension was so thick and oppressive that no man heard the sound of soft approaching footsteps until the intruder was tapping on the door.
"Uncle, I had hoped you would join me-"
"You two will be beheaded at sunrise." Luke's eyes widened at the sound of a gasp, and they all turned to see a young woman in a pale silk gown and matching veil standing at the door. "Oh. Elizabeth, what are you doing here?"
The young woman that could only be the Princess – the one whose beauty was so legendary that her uncle the King demanded she wear a veil to guard her modesty – drew back a small step. "I-I only wished to know if you would join me for tea in the gardens. I've been by myself all day and only hoped…"
"Yes, yes," Luke answered quickly. "You will excuse us now, Elizabeth, I'm dealing with our revolutionary friends presently."
Jason and Gianni watched the young woman whose face they could not clearly see, and it was clear that she hesitated at the door. "…Uncle?"
"What is it now, Elizabeth?"
"Uncle, I-I overheard your orders for these men that you claim planned to overthrow you, and I can't help but wonder if…"
"What, now? Come, child, out with it."
"I wonder if it would be better to make an example to them in front of their men."
"That is what I propose to do with the beheading. You should leave, Elizabeth, it's unseemly for women to hear this talk. I shall meet you in the gardens."
"No, Uncle, it is only my meaning that if you announced to all the charged criminals that you are aware of the dealings of these two and that instead of punishing them corporally, you are going to leave them to their wretched state, it should only serve to increase your standing in their eyes."
Luke scowled. "And who says my standing requires increasing?"
The young woman would not be cowed, but they could hear the slightest waver in her voice. "Not I, Uncle, but the fact remains that the ruler is hardly ever thought of very highly in the eyes of his prisoners. If you show these men mercy, it will surely undermine their cause and cause their own men to give them question when they return unharmed."
King Lucas actually appeared to consider this for a moment, much to Jason and Gianni's surprise. According to the rumors circulating within the palace walls Princess Elizabeth, the only child of the good King Richard and the only one to propagate the Webber family royal line unless her cousin Lucky came to power, which was certainly a possibility, was far from fond of her uncle. She didn't like the restrictions he placed on her and she didn't like how he ruled, which was why it was surprising to both men how Luke actually listened to what she had to say.
"Please reconsider, Uncle."
Luke growled low in his throat as he surveyed the two dirty, disheveled men, but his expression softened when he met the Princess's veiled gaze. "Very well, Elizabeth, but only for you."
He swept his royal cloak around his shoulders and gallantly strode toward the door leading into the massive royal washing chambers. "I will meet you in the gardens presently, my dear. Have the guards take these pigs away."
The Princess waited until her uncle was out of earshot, then looked at Jason and Gianni. Well, really, they couldn't be sure whether she truly was looking at them or not: the poor girl's veil was a terrible inconvenience.
Gianni was the first to speak, and he surprised them all by taking two large steps toward the Princess and dropping to his knee in a manner befitting the most sophisticated courtier. Jason's lips curled into a grimace when his young friend reached for the Princess's hand and dropped a feather-light kiss on her knuckles.
"Grazie, Princess," he murmured, rising only when she nodded her head. "We owe you our lives."
"You are welcome," she replied quietly, her head turning very slightly toward the wash chambers just to make sure her uncle hadn't yet emerged. "I believed you when you said that you weren't leading the revolutionaries. Not that I entirely disagree with their goals…"
Gianni grinned widely. "We thought not, Princess. We all pray for your father's expedient return home."
She clasped her hands demurely at her waist, and the gentle breeze made her light veil flutter at her nose. "As do I."
The Princess cleared her throat delicately and looked over at Jason, who made no gesture to kneel or even come closer. "You're bleeding, Sir. You'd best have someone take a look at that before you lose much blood."
"I was just going to see to that now," he grumbled, roughly pushing past Gianni and taking care to step widely around her toward the door. "Come, Gianni, we're late."
The Italian youth stared after his friend, his jaw slack, then made a quick, low bow to the Princess. "My apologies, your Highness, for his behavior. Please accept them."
"He's been hurt badly and was only just threatened with a public hanging," she murmured, turning toward Jason. "I will not fault him for that. But you'd best be going before he tries my patience with his sterling manners."
Gianni couldn't help but smile. "Good day to you, Princess."
He trotted off behind Jason, who was storming down the back corridor leading to the servants' stairs with long, hard strides. "What in God's name is wrong with you, Jason? That was the Princess! You owe her your allegiance!"
"I owe Richard my allegiance," he snarled. "It is reserved for him and him alone, not his incompetent brother and not his little snip of a daughter."
"That little snip saved your life!" Gianni shook his head when Jason could only snarl in reply. "You know I'm right. And if the Princess wasn't so mild-mannered, she could have easily returned you to your fate of a public hanging for your behavior. What have I told you, Jason? You must consider the image you are putting forward if you hope to have things done your way."
"The only thing I want done right now is for us to return to our quarters," Jason scowled. "I'm going to take care of my wounds and then we'll put our plan in motion. The ship is ready and docked?"
Gianni nodded reluctantly. "Yes, Francis and Ritchie took care of it this morning during their leisure time. It's hidden along the docks and waiting for us."
That night…
She couldn't take it anymore.
England was her home, her country, her birthright, and it was all ruined and unfortunately seemed beyond repair so long as the current King was in power. She'd never forgive her uncle Lucas for swooping in and claiming the throne so soon after her father left to reclaim Jerusalem. He had asserted himself as the Crown head, with his mangy brats lining up for the throne. She'd sooner hang herself than see her colicky cousin Lucky be presented for coronation! And her cousin Lulu, the Duchess of Hastings? Unspeakable!
And now they'd just gotten word that her father had been killed in battle in the Holy Land, and his body wouldn't even be returned home for burial. There was nothing for her here, now. Her family was gone, her homeland was under the control of a ruthless tyrant, and she would soon be relegated as an afterthought. It didn't matter that Luke currently treated her with affection; that would change soon enough, once his own family was firmly in place to continue the royal line.
There was only one solution, and that was to leave England behind. It broke her heart to have to do so, but she had to believe that at a time like this, self-preservation was more important than staying behind as the last relic of a dying royal family.
And so, clad in breeches, a white linen shirt, and wrapped up in a black cloak, the former Princess Elizabeth Webber, daughter of King Richard the Lion-heart, stole down the servants' steps and through the housekeeper's chambers, and out into the night. It was easy enough for her to climb a tree and scale the palace walls now that she was wearing boots and not those dainty silk slippers, and it was certainly much easier to see without that cumbersome veil her ridiculous Uncle had ordered her to wear.
She hadn't quite settled on a particular destination and so headed for the river. It cut right through London and was busier in the dead of the night than even the busiest street at midday. She could easily stow away on a ship and wake up in the morning adrift on the ocean, bound for some far-off locale where no one would know her name. Maybe she'd end up in the colonies, or India, or somewhere in far-off Africa. As long as she was out of England, she would be safe. There was no telling when her uncle decided that a 'mysterious illness' was in order for the former Princess, and that her majestic and lavish funeral would be the perfect last rites of a vanished family.
She had to move quickly and carefully to stay out of sight as she stole along the waterfront. A brisk run put several blocks between her and the busiest docking section of the river, and then she had some peace at last. Her movements became slower, craftier, easier, as Elizabeth searched out the perfect boat on which to make her escape. It couldn't be too small, otherwise she'd be discovered immediately and tossed right back onto shore. And it couldn't be too big, either, for obvious reasons. No, she needed a boat of reasonable size that would accommodate a crew of reasonable size.
And after prowling around for the better part of an hour, she found the perfect one. It was old but looked sturdy, and she could tell the mast had been very recently repaired and the sails newly outfitted. Someone had lovingly prepared the craft for imminent voyage, and it was her perfect getaway.
Carefully, she stole along the docks to the pier, then dashed out toward the boat, which was hidden quite cleverly. A rope had been left hanging casually to the dock – lucky for her! – and Elizabeth quickly shimmied up it and fell flat onto the deck. She crawled over to the stairs leading to the lower cabins and began to look around more freely now that she was safely out of sight.
There were plenty of hammocks and bunks, all of which looked very comfortable. There was a lavatory area with chamber pots and a larger room that most likely served as a common area of sorts.
She put her rucksack down in one of the hammocks and took a deep breath of the stale, musty air that smelled vaguely of salt and dead fish. This was to be her home for the foreseeable future. No more extravagant meals, no more breakfast in bed, no more silk gowns and slippers, no more horseback riding at sunset, no more cotillions and royal dinners and parties and-
A particularly strong wave knocked against the boat, making it sway, and knocking Elizabeth off her feet and causing her to strike her head on a low-hanging support beam.
The escape had been a success, and now Captain Jason Morgan (yes, he had been unanimously made Captain) and his men were safely in the English channel and on their way to the ocean.
They had escaped the palace after dusk and headed straight for the docks using underground passageways that Spinelli knew of. It was fairly easy to steal onto the boat, but the hard part was navigating down the river without being stopped. They sailed all through the night, each man too excited to sleep, and now with the sun climbing ever higher in the sky, they were starting to feel the effects of their harrowing escape.
"Jason, I have to get some sleep," Ritchie yawned, as he pushed himself away from the railing. He had been the one who had slipped off to do most of the repairs on the boat and had been awake longer than the others. "Have someone come get me if you need me."
Jason nodded and waved him off as he stood watch over Spinelli, who was poring over a collection of maps. "Go ahead, Ritchie. We'll be fine."
The next few minutes were spent discussing the best routes to take that would keep them safe from British war ships and pirate ships alike, and that was when they heard a great commotion downstairs and Ritchie came storming up with a squirming youth slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"Put me down, you hideous ape of a man! I can walk on my own! Put me dooooown!"
"Jason?" Ritchie gripped the scraggly youth and dodged a kick in the ribs. "Euf."
The men had gathered and Jason trotted down the steps to see that the youth Ritchie had caught was actually a petite brunette with dark curls and luminous blue eyes, and she was rubbing her arm where Ritchie had grabbed her and glaring daggers up at him.
"Er…we have a stowaway."