The Magic Porthole.
CHAPTER 9 - The Drunken Plot For Freedom
I was blowing my mind when Beckett glanced briefly up at me, his eyebrows raised expectantly. Oh. Right. The brandy. Should I get all soused, just invent some idiotic idea to get me and me friends out of jail for the next decade? Sure, why not? Never drank before, but - it's no biggie.
"Yeah, I guess," I reluctantly sighed with a shrug. I saw that smirk on his face as he stepped up to me, and handed me the crystal glass. It felt cold and heavy in my hand, and the smell rose up to my nose, gagging my insides. I glanced back up at him, and he was still standing there, waiting for me to chug it down.
Hesitantly, I held my breath to avoid smelling it, and slowly raised the glass to my lips, and took a teeny-tiny little sip...
YUCK!! Who in their right mind would even stand this stuff? It's disgusting! Nasty! It burned the crap out of my mouth!
I handed it back to Beckett, who did nothing. "I expect you to finish it," he sniffed, sauntering away, his hands back behind his back. He must be comfortable that way, I guess. As for this glass of brandy...
"I also expect of you to state truthful answers to any of my questions, Miss Donnelson," he went on, heading back to the map. I managed to bite the bullet, and take another brave gulp of this crap he offered me. Why in the world did I take it? "Are you, or are you not, associated with Jack Sparrow?" he turned to me, partially.
I forced myself to swallow the next gulp I took before I choked out an answer. "For the trillionth time, I don't even know him! Can't you hear me? Are you deaf? Are you stupid? Are you completely and totally retard-"
"Mr. Mercer, if you please," he turned to dog-face, who marched up to me, ready to punch me, or cut me, or something, so, in my oncoming drunken state, I had to think fast. I thrust the glass up into his face, making come to a sudden halt with a surprised and puzzled look on his face, as I grinned back at him.
"Down the hatch!" I quoted from John Wayne in McLintock! Then I swilled down the last inch of brandy, and let out a content sigh. I was getting drunk, and I knew it.
I tottered over next to Beckett in front of the map, as he watched me all the while with an amused look pasted on his face. My vision began to blur a bit, and I felt lightheaded and goofy, and incapable of controlling what I did or said. But I think I might remember all of it, despite being buzzed.
"I thhink I can complete thisss for you," I bit myself on the tongue. Dang it, Jade! Stop slurring your words!
"How?" Beckett simply urged me to say more. I tried my best not to slur my words, but that was little use.
"We're from thhe twenty-first century. That's why I talk differently, and look differently. That's how we even got here, was through a magic mirror. I can tell you exactly how the world looks - no - I can bring you books on history since now until my year, and books on modern science, and pictures of what the surface of what the moon looks like in space, and copies of documents written a hundred years from now that changed the world, and paintings and cameras, and TV's, and even your very own radio..."
I leaned forward onto the map, placing my hand on a painting of a ship, down where the Caribbean was, as I gazed at all the rest of the map.
"I can be your source of the future." I finished with a whisper.
The map painter stopped work, saw me, and let out a furious gasp. "The preposterousness of you! I've worked for weeks on that piece!"
Beckett snapped out of his trance, and took hold of my wrist of the hand that was pressed against the map, and gently but firmly pried me off and away from the map. I looked down at my palm to see it covered with a thick smear of brown and black paint. I glanced over at the map, to see a fuzzy image of a black and brown smear on where my hand was. Great! I've destroyed the ship! Darn!
While the map-painter was still sputtering at me, Beckett called up to him. "It's all right, Mr. Wheeler. I will pay you to repair your ship." Then he turned to me, and sighed deeply, obviously still recovering what all I had said, while sorting out the billions of questions forming in his mind. Then my drunken state took the better hold of me, and I managed to whisper "sorry" to him as I wiped my paint-covered hand off on his jacket!
Only after the fact did I notice that I did a major boo-boo! And I mean major! I gasped and looked fearfully into his eyes. He glanced down at his jacket, saw the hideous stain, glanced up at me, and sighed irritably as he turned to dog-face Mercer, as he unbuttoned and removed his jacket.
"Mr. Mercer," he said. "Would you mind taking this to be cleaned?" he handed the jacket to Mercer, who took the jacket, and marched out of the room. When he was gone, Beckett turned back to me. I was afraid he would smack me silly for ruining his blue jacket, that he had probably took great pride in.
"It would take you a bit of time to explain all of what you had said to me, Miss Donnelson," he stated. "But, in the bibulous state you're in, that would not go well."
"I'm sorry for...for wiping paint on your coat," I stammered. "I can't think right now..."
"Are you alert enough to tell me what sort of mirror you used to enter my bedchamber?" Beckett inquired. Only then did my eyes drift past his shoulder to a painting behind him. The painting was a full-sized portrait of himself, holding a cane, and looking really egotistical with his nose pointed up into the air an all. But that was not the reason why I was absorbed with the painting.
Off to the left of him, was a black flag...with the 'EICo' symbol on it! That was the connection! I walked right past him, and right up to the painting. He was at my heels, grasping me by the shoulders, and pulling me back a few steps.
"Please," he said into my ear. "It would be best if you kept a fair distance away from anything of which is painted in any fashion."
"Huh?" was the only thing I could say. "I was just saying...thhat symbol thingy on your flag was what was carved on the top of the mirror. I felt him stiffen with surprise. As I waited to see what he would do next, I felt nausea swim through my stomach. No, no. No, no. Stay down! Don't come out until later, please!
I begged my insides as Beckett walked around me until he was in front of me. His unreadable blue-green eyes studied mine as he asked me yet another question.
"The Mirror of the East India Trading Company," he said in his calm and steady voice. "Where did you find it, and how were you able to enter it?"
My mind was beginning to jam up, thanks to that glass of brandy he insisted me on drinking. "I...uh...I got a key...and...uh..."
"Take your time, Miss Donnelson," he icily suggested.
I pinched and rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to regain my fuzzing memory. Then a little came back to me. "Ah!" I looked right at him. "I...I bought the key from this guy named Adrian Fraser, and that was-"
"Fraser?" he interrupted, blinking his eyes in surprise. "You possibly could not mean George Fraser; son of my father's brother?"
"Huh?" slipped out again. "Wait...he's your cousin?"
"George, yes," he stiffly answered, walking away back towards the brandy table, after taking the empty glass out of my hand to refill. Refill?! No, I can't-
"Care for another brandy, Miss Donnelson?" he smirked at me while pouring another glass for himself and another for me.
"Thanks, but no thanks," I answered as politely as I could, keeping my slurring successfully in check.
"I insist," he curtly demanded, stepping up to me, pushing the glass in my hand. I glanced down at the full glass, before glaring up at him.
"Why," I asked. "do you want me drunk?"
"I simply want your answers, miss," he cockily answered, daintily taking a sip out of his glass.
Just then-something hit me. Not literally, although I wish that would happen, but I just realized something about all this alcohol consumption we were having.
"Aren't you English people supposed to be drinking tea in the morning, and booze in the evening?" I inquired incredulously, with that 'teenager' tone in my voice and a raised eyebrow to top it off.
"Why, of course, Miss Donnelson," he simpered back at me. "It's just a matter of choice."
I sighed. I can't get anywhere with this guy! "Can I sit down? I don't feel like standing and walking around anymore." It sounded like a bitchy complaint, which it actually was.
"Of course," he said, escorting me to a little round table at the corner of the room with two chairs. He pulled one out and I sat in it. After taking his seat next to me, he continued to drill me about Adrian and the mirror.
"How did you come upon Mr. Fraser for the key?" he narrowed his eyes at me as he swirled his drink around in his glass.
"On the Internet," I answered flatly, knowing what his reaction will be. A slight confused frown, and a "Inter-what?"
"I told you," I replied with a sigh. "It's going to take lots and lots of time to explain my twenty-first century world to you!"
"Was the key in a wooden box, bearing the same symbol as on the mirror?" he went on, ignoring my little rant.
"Yesh," I accidentally slurred out. My second glass was already half empty. Dang! I don't want to be hooked on booze! That would be bad! That would be very bad!
A light thoughtful sigh escaped Beckett as he leaned back in his chair, studying me unwaveringly. Well, actually...it was more like staring at me unwaveringly. Shrugging, I tore my eyes away from his, and downed the rest of my glass. Before it hit the table, he snatched it out of my hand and got up.
"Have another, Miss Donnelson," he stated, heading for the brandy table again! I will not - I repeat - will not become alcoholic! Besides, this kinda reminds me of that Brad Paisley song "Alcohol", but I must not allow myself to become all pathetic like that.
Two and half seconds later, he was back, setting the newly filled glass of brandy in front of me.
"Tell me more, Miss Donnelson," was his simple demand, as he settled down next me, scooting his chair closer to me. Now he's getting friendly! I get it! He's getting me all drunk and shit to 'get some'! No freaking way, man! I won't lose my virginity to a 300-and-something-year-old guy with an attitude problem! I'll die first!
"Miss Donnelson?" he asked again, now sounding like he was taking right into my ear. First sign of total drunkenness. Everything is REALLY FREAKING LOUD AT THE LOWEST VOLUME SETTING!!!!
"Uh-yeah..." I mumbled, carelessly finishing down my glass in one sitting. I rubbed my numbed lips together after I was done. Holy crap, they feel like I've used teething gel for chapstick!
"I can't say anythhing more," I slurred. "I really need to go." I stood up and steadied myself, as Beckett peered up at me from where he was sitting.
"Departing so soon?" he slightly chuckled. "Pity."
I blinked several times, ignoring him. Little green and orange blotches swam around in my vision, which was blurring along with my severe lightheadedness. I looked down at Beckett looking up at me.
"Shall I have Groves escort you back to the prison," he sneered.
I couldn't talk. I was way too drunk and dizzy to function... My vision began to fade, and my legs felt like they were going to give away. I felt myself falling down towards Beckett.
And then...Gargh! I can't remember anything else after I blacked out!
