DISCLAIMER THINGY:
Still don't own much... This chapter title is from Genesis's "Jesus, He Knows Me".
Dusk wasn't much darker than the rest of the day had been, with the blizzard still raging outside and thick grey clouds covering the sky. In the gathering gloom, Jack could barely make out the Spot on his palm. Still, no-one else would be able to either. He turned his hand this way and that, the large elaborate rings on his fingers catching the light of the embers. At least being stuck here did have its one advantage - avoiding he whom the Spot marked him for. Davy Jones may have a Kraken, a crew of doomed souls and most likely the ability to lay claim to all the rum in the Caribbean, but there was one thing he didn't have, and that was Jack. And now Jack was stuck on a mountain in a blizzard. Ironic, that. He wasn't entirely sure where he would be better off. Perhaps Singapore... But he had his rum here, or what little remained of it.
There was a sigh from beside him - Ion, still awake, and far too observant for Jack to sneak off now. And there were already a couple of people creeping about.
Little did Jack know that his life was about to rapidly take a turn for the worse. Lister had been snoring loudly since, with nothing to do but wait and hope, the group had decided to settle down for the night, and Ham and Betty were right beside him. Ham, by a majority of one, had been elected pickpocketer - after all, how many times had she pinched the belts off the back of peoples' blazers at school?
"Eww, his shirt is so disgusting!" Ham whispered.
"Is that pasta stuck to it?" answered Betty.
"There's food stuck to it? Oh my god - I think I saw him eating that earlier! Ewewewewew!"
"He ate it? Well, he's really going to need those indigestion tablets then. Go on - get them!"
"Do I have to?"
"If we're going to get that rum." Ham sighed, gritted her teeth and reached for Lister's pocket. Suddenly, Lister grunted and snorted in his sleep. Ham and Betty both jumped, and Ham swore.
"What if he wakes up?"
"He won't wake up. He sleeps heavier than Cookie." Once again, Ham reached for Lister's pocket. Slowly and carefully, she slid her hand inside.
"Eww...ewewewewEW!"
"You got them?"
"Eww, there's something slimy...oh, got them." She withdrew her hand from Lister's pocket, the nearly empty packet of indigestion tablets held by the tips of her index finger and thumb. A lump of chewed, grey gum was stuck to one corner. Ham and Betty glanced at each other, and then at the packet and gum, and finally at Lister, still sleeping like a log. Then, they turned and walked silently back towards their places.
"So now we wait 'til tomorrow," said Ham, pocketing the tablets.
"Yep, pretty mu- ack!" Betty's foot had caught on something - or someone, who kicked out. Betty stumbled and caught herself on Ham who, startled, swore and nearly fell over herself.
The someone was Ion, who had finally fallen asleep before being painfully awoken. He rubbed his ankle with one hand and his eyes with the other, and peered around, but it was now almost pitch black and if the person was still there, he could not see who it was.
This is ridiculous, he thought angrily. I'm here, worrying about who's waking me up, when I could be trying to find a way out of this. We can't survive much longer if this weather gets any worse...the food'll run out...I have to do something! But what...
Down the other end of the plane from the worrying Ion, Silver had also awoken. For a few moments, his whole mind felt fuzzy, and it was a struggle to remember where he was. Then he remembered - and with the familiar sense of despair came the realization that despite the temperature having most likely dropped below zero, he was burning hot. He tried to sit up to push his blankets off, but a sharp pain throbbed behind his eyes and he felt sick. Before he had even started to lie back down again, white spots swam before his eyes, and faded into blackness as he passed out.
To the dismay of Claire, the last of the biscuits had been eaten the previous evening.
"Oh, I hate airplane peanuts!" she complained when 'Du tossed her a packet from the trolley.
"There's nothing else - just eat them," Ion snapped. He had spent another anxious night without sleep, and could barely keep his eyes open.
"Far out, keep your hair on!" Claire exclaimed.
"What's a matter with 'im?" Cilla demanded. "'E looks like death warmed up!"
"So does Craig," said Keren. "Oh, wait - he looks like that on purpose."
"Is that another one of your 'emo' things?" Guenittia asked. Keren gave her a blank look. "Oh, never mind - hey, Silver's still asleep." She leaned over and shook his arm.
"Gerrarfrrmmm," he mumbled, pulling his arm away.
"Oi, wake up!" She grabbed for his arm again, but his jacket sleeve was pulled up a short way and as soon as her fingers touched his bare arm, there was a loud snapping noise. Silver gasped, opened his eyes and jerked his arm away; Guenittia squealed; 'Du jumped and dropped her peanuts.
"No...touchy..." said Silver, sitting up slowly and wincing.
"Oops," Guenittia muttered, and then when her head was turned away from him, "Stupid Electromancers."
"Electromancer?" Vedhix asked.
"You know, like, electricity," Guenittia answered. "He makes electricity. Duh."
"So an Electric Mage?"
"Electric Mage? That's, like, a hundred years old. They're called Electromancers now, duh." Vedhix appeared annoyed, and was about to reply when Ion interrupted.
"Hang on - he makes electricity?"
"I am sitting right here, you know," Silver put in. "And no, I can't make the radio work. Already tried."
"Well, I don't see why not," said Ion. "I mean, you-"
"What about my poor baby pod?" Bri interrupted. "Could you make that work?" Silver took a breath and blinked several times as if trying to clear his vision, and for the first time, they noticed that he did not appear at all well. His violet eyes were bright, pink stood out on his cheeks while the rest of his face was oddly pale, and he was shivering - nothing new, except that despite the cold, his wild hair was damp and plastered to his forehead with sweat.
"He's not doing anything," Lister announced. "We'll get the radio working after...uh..." While he had been speaking, his hand had moved to his pocket in a subconscious movement, but apparently not finding what he had been feeling for, he trailed off and began searching his pockets frantically. Conversations gradually resumed, and only Ham and Betty's attention was focused on Lister.
"Oh smeg..." he groaned. Betty stood up and moved over to stand behind him, and Ham followed.
"Bet I know what you're looking for," Betty whispered to Lister and rustled the packet of the indigestion tablets in her pocket. Lister sat bolt upright and turned - just in time to see Betty and Ham disappearing into the air-hostesses' little room where the trolleys had once been kept. He glanced around, but no-one's attention seemed to be on him, and followed.
"What in smeg's name-" he began angrily, but Betty fixed him with a glare made even more intimidating by the way she leaned back against the counter, hair partly hiding her face, and gestured to Ham, who pulled the curtain shut behind him.
"So," she said. "We have something you want. Something you would most likely need if we had chicken vindaloo and peppermint icecream. And you can do something for us." She pulled the packet slowly out of her pocket and rustled it again, slowly, tantalisingly... "But there's a blizzard out there. Wouldn't it be unfortunate if I went out and it just...slipped...out of my pocket?" Lister sighed and slumped against the cupboard behind him. He was defeated, then - although he could probably pound Betty, if Ham didn't pound him back, he would have to explain himself to everyone else, and he dreaded to think what they would say - beating up a teenage girl over a packet of indigestion tablets?
"What do you want me to do, then?"
When Lister stepped back out into where the group were, he felt oddly relieved. The little packet was back where it belonged, in his pocket, and his instructions were simple and sounded fair. He had absolutely no idea what Betty and Ham could be up to, nor why they had done what they had - but part of the deal had been to keep his mouth shut, and Lister kept his word. Now all he had to do was wait...
He didn't have to wait long - Betty and Ham were heading over to Jack Sparrow now...no, they were walking past him, to Ion who had just called them over.
"We need reflective things," he was instructing them. "Shiny things. When this blizzard's over, we can signal if a plane goes past."
"What do we have so far?" Lister asked.
"Cilla and Guenittia have compact mirrors in their handbags, Whatsit over there has that knife, Craig has metal bits and pieces all over him and Jack's got a sword."
"Well, I did have a razor blade," Betty sighed with a sideways glance at Tybalt. Lister poked through his pockets and produced a crumpled piece of tinfoil with unrecognizable food scraps stuck to it.
"I haven't had a chicken sandwich in ages!" he exclaimed.
"Hmm...it's not really reflective enough," Ion decided, trying to avoid looking at the mouldering rubbish.
"Nope, don't have anything then." Betty turned to walk away, and only Ham caught the glint in her eye and signalling wink. Without a moment's hesitation, Ham stepped sideways, grabbed the leather tricorn hat off Jack's head and dodged away from him with all the skill of a netballer and experienced hat-stealer.
"Shot, Ham!" Betty congratulated her.
Jack froze on the spot (he had been fondly running his fingers over the rum in his pocket). Not the hat! A pirate wasn't himself without his effects, and that hat had survived so much with him - being marooned on islands, being imprisoned in Port Royale...no-one touched the hat! He sprung to his feet and whipped out his pistol, aimed straight at Ham. Suddenly, all eyes were turned their way. The prospect of an honourable duel interested Tybalt - although technically it was highly dishonourable, as Ham was an unarmed lady and Jack had not formally challenged her.
This could be interesting, Craig was thinking. Like something you'd see in a movie, really. He was quite confident Jack wouldn't shoot, and watched with interest.
"Oh...my...god..." Bri, Keren and 'Du breathed in unison.
Serves him right, pompous "pirate", Guenittia thought. But she kept this thought to herself - Jack did have a gun, after all.
"The hat, if you please," Jack ordered, pistol held steadily. Ham turned the hat over in her hands, looking it over, and then passed it to Betty who did the same. Jack's aim never left it, following it to Betty.
"If we were on me ship, you'd be marooned for that," he calmly informed her, but she ignored him. He rolled his eyes in exasperation, clicked the safety off the pistol and tightened his grip on the antique-looking weapon.
"The hat, if you-"
SMACK! Lister had stepped up behind Jack and delivered a punch to the back of his head. Instantly knocked out cold, Jack fell face downwards on the floor and the pistol clattered over to Cilla's feet, who kicked it away with a look of horror.
No-one said anything to Lister - after all, Jack could well have shot Ham or Betty, and he was doing the safest thing, since trying to grab the gun off Jack could have resulted in an accident. He picked up the pistol, clicked the safety back on and it joined Tybalt's gun in his inner jacket pocket.
How in smeg's name did all these get through customs? he wondered. And Jack still had a sword, Whatsit had that enormous knife, and goodness knows what Cilla could be hiding in her handbag!
Ham and Betty did their best to look relieved - although they had known all along that they were in no danger. And later that day, when the small flask of rum was in Betty's pocket, even the hopeless situation they were in was looking a little brighter.
