As modes of transportation went, Jack found that coach travel wasn't proving to be high on his list of favorites. There was a kind of rickety monotony to it, and while he had spent most of his life on the constantly moving deck of a ship, he found this kind of motion somewhat disturbing. The interior was dark, making the space seem smaller that it was. And it was very warm. The day was still, with not even the hint of a breeze moving the air.
Although, he thought with a look at his traveling companion, perhaps a confined, warm, dark space wasn't the worst thing in the world.
Across from him, the Lady Warringford stared out of the window. With her chin resting lightly on her hand, she was outwardly a model of calm. However, there was a worried little crease between her brow, and her free hand clenched tightly at a fold of her skirt. Judging from this, Jack doubted that her eyes even saw the view that rolled past them.
"There's no sense you dwelling on it, you know." he said finally, startling the Lady from her thoughts, "Your men know what to do. We planned it all out." Then, with a tight smile, he added, "His Lordship should be in for a nasty disappointment, come morning."
Miranda straightened. "I hadn't heard." she admitted.
Jack wasn't surprised. While he'd been in hasty, whispered conference with the men of Warringford Manor, she had been lost in a cluster of weeping women. Hannah had been particularly distraught, clinging to her mistress, and carrying on as though she never expected to see her again.
It seemed to take forever, but at last the two coaches were underway -- the one bearing himself and the Lady driven by Shem, and the second with AnaMaria and Sam handled by young Jaime Hutton, the groundskeeper's son.
"Let's just say that if all goes well, your good people won't have to tangle with Dunnthorpe's friends at all."
"God willing.'" Miranda said quietly.
"I suppose so," he replied casually, "Though I'd put more stock in the King's Navy."
Her face was mildly reproachful. She returned to her abstracted study of the landscape, and Jack repressed a sigh. He had to hand it to the Lady... he felt far better now, than in the entire time he'd spent on this island. Distracted though she was, Jack still couldn't hide his illness from her sharp eyes, and the doubly strong (and doubly foul tasting!) dose of medicine she'd forced on him had stopped his renewed fever in its tracks.
However, looking back it may have been a mistake on his part to ask Miranda for something to 'keep him going'. She'd come back with a strong sort of tea that while banishing that sense of weakness and clearing the cobwebs from his brain, had also left him wide awake and restless. There was nothing to do now, but feel his backside go numb with sitting, and Jack was bored.
"So tell me about this ring of yours." he said after they'd rattled on for another mile or so.
She frowned, and studied her hand. "There's not much I can tell. It's been in my mother's line for as long as her family's existed. It got passed down from mother to daughter, in fact --" She held out her hand and pointed to the symbols on the gold band. "That's Greek. A very old form of it, as a matter of fact. Older than the biblical Greek, even."
"Can you read it, then?" Jack asked, and she shook her head.
"It's not the same language I learned. But mother told me that it read "From Daughter to Daughter, Until the Coming of the Lands End."
Jack frowned too. "Until the Coming of...Lands End?" he repeated, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know...maybe 'until the end of time', or some such. But, who can tell?"
"And what about those marking on the dome?" Jack pointed to her finger, "What's that symbol supposed to mean?" She actually smiled, then. "I don't know, but that's not the real puzzle. Look at this..."So saying, she took the ring from her finger, and pressed her nail into the bezel. Jack heard a small 'click', and she lifted the ring for him to see.
"You've heard of poisoning rings? Well, this is a bit different. It startled the wits out of me the first time I discovered that. I thought I'd broken it, and Mother was just as surprised." But then a strange look crossed her face. "At least, I thought she was surprised by it, but now..." She shook her head, and passed her ring to him.
He took it from her, holding it up to the light. The golden dome was a cover -- a lid set on the tiniest of hinges, and beneath it was a gemstone.
On closer inspection, this too proved to be something of a disappointment. It was a large, pale blue gem whose shape mimicked the form of its cover, but the stone wasn't even faceted. There was nothing about it to indicate any kind of great value. The stone reflected the light sullenly, as if it resented the intrusion. It was a goodly size, nearly as big as his thumbnail, and a perfect oval in shape. Like the dome that covered it, the smooth surface was broken by scratches too regular to be anything but deliberate. He squinted, then stared at the carving on the gold cap. The marking there proved to be a kind of stylized hand. Above and below were other symbols, and one of them most surely had to mean water. Nearly every culture Jack had ever been exposed to used some form of waving lines to represent that element. The one above the hand could be some sort of cloud shape, but...
"What are all these scratches here supposed to be?" he asked, again angling the ring to see the stone.
"Look again, Captain. That's some form of writing."
Indeed it was, but the symbols were so tiny as to be near impossible to see.
"I've not been able to make those out." Miranda was saying, "It's not the same kind of writing that's on the band." She shifted in her seat. "Mother told me a story once, about the ring being taken before the Oracle of Delphi -- that's a soothsayer the ancient Greeks believed carried messages from the Sun God -- and that it was this Oracle that gave the words about passing it 'from daughter to daughter'."
"Hmmm..." Jack turned the ring over and over in his fingers. "Did this Oracle have anything else to say on the subject?" He held the ring out to her.
"Only what I've told you." Miranda closed the domed lid. The latch caught clearly with a 'snap', and she placed it back on her finger. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a question for you, Captain."
Jack grinned. "Only one, Lady?"
She leaned forward, face serious, and at the same time, wary again.
"Why are you doing this?"
He'd wondered when she would ask that one. It had to have occurred to her that she may be trading one bad situation for another.
"Maybe I thought you'd make a useful bargaining tool for getting me off this island." he offered, "Or that it might be a good idea to keep you and that helpful bag of medicines in easy reach until my crewmen and I are up to snuff?"
"Well, then you'd certainly be going about this in the most difficult way." she pointed out, and her voice was guarded again.
"Path of least resistance, luv. We've already determined that." He wasn't sure why he was deliberately putting her back on guard. By all rights, he should have told her any number of tales to further ingratiate himself to her.
"Perhaps you're merely intrigued by whatever this might lead to?" the Lady inquired, holding up her ring hand again.
"Could be part of it." Jack acknowledged. Then, with a sigh he went on, "Could also be that I...owe you. For my life, if not AnaMaria's
"Or maybe it's because my First Mate tells me that you are, in fact, a good woman."
He wasn't sure why he'd included the last, even though it was the truth. The admission made him uncomfortable -- exposed. But her green eyes softened then, and her smile was almost shy. He gave her a brief smile in return, and tipped his hat down to cover his face.
"Do us a favor, luv, and wake me up when we reach this inn of yours."
But he didn't manage to nod off once, and the miles dragged on.
.
.
.
.
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Night found the two coaches drawn up before a pleasant roadside inn. The quality of the place implied that it catered mainly to the wealthier merchant classes that traveled from port to port.
"Ah, Lady Warringford," the innkeeper greeted effusively, "So good to have you with us again." The fussy little man looked around with some apprehension. "Your fine matron isn't with you this evening?"
"No, Goodman Wolsely, I'm afraid Hannah is feeling under the weather." Miranda replied in a voice so flatly neutral that Jack stared at her. "There will be six of us needing rooms for the night, and I'd like to have the baths filled."
The innkeeper eyed the group with some distaste. "Would your servants not be more comfortable boarding with others of their station?"
She gave him a long, steady look, and the man cleared his throat nervously.
"Of course, Lady. Three rooms, and I'll have the porters bring your trunks and show you upstairs. Will the Lady require anything else?"
"Yes, Goodman, have dinner sent up, and I'll require food and stableing for my horses. We'll be departing in the morning."
"Of course, Lady." he said again, hand outstretched to receive the coins she deposited there.
"What was that all about?" Jack asked quietly when she took his arm and followed a porter up to the rooms.
"Wolsely has the best kept inn on this road," she said just loud enough for his ears, "But the man is a terrible snob, and an even worse gossip. The last time I stayed here, he was overheard telling another boarder how shamelessly scandalous he thought is was that a... that a woman of my reputation should show her face in public."
Jack had no idea how to respond to this. He couldn't help but laugh, though, when she added almost as an aside, "So Hannah tried to brain him with his own registry."
"I could see that from her." he chuckled approvingly.
"Oh, I was far worse, if you can imagine." Miranda confided with a wicked smile he found quite appealing, "I demanded three room changes for a single nights stay, used more of his candles than any five boarders, tipped his staff outrageously, snubbed him thoroughly the next day, and generally made myself a headache for him."
"A bit subtle, maybe." said Jack, "I'd have just stolen his money box and set fire to his roof. Though I guess this explains why all these lads are dancing in attendance." He gestured at the eager faced band of porters all carrying various trunks and boxes into the room the women would share. "I thought we'd agreed you'd not weigh us down with so much cargo."
"I don't recall agreeing to anything of the sort." Miranda said airily, then burst into laughter, "Oh, the look on your face!"
He lost track of whatever he'd planned to say, for the little minx had charmed him again. What made it all the worse, he thought, was that she was probably completely unaware of it.
"It's you who'll have to trust me now." she told him with mock seriousness.
The small army of porters emerged, all with identical expressions of hopefulness. She dispensed coins and murmured thanks in equal amounts, and waited for AnaMaria to preceed her into their room.
Jack fought to keep a bland front as his First Mate approached looking every inch the proper lady's maid. From the look on her dark face, AnaMaria hadn't forgotten his initial reaction to the sight of her in gown, apron, and cap.
Nor had she forgiven him, it appeared, for as she passed him in the narrow corridor, the heel of her shoe quite deliberately -- and heavily -- found the top of his left foot, and he stifled a cry of pain.
Wide eyed, Miranda watched her pass, then turned back to Jack.
"I'm afraid you deserved that." she told him solemnly.
His lips still tightly compressed , Jack gave her a brusque nod, and limped into his room, dragging the tattered remains of his dignity behind him.
"I'll be along shortly with your evening dose." she called after him.
Jack slammed the door. It didn't manage to block out the sound of her laughter.
He shared a relatively quiet dinner with Sam -- and with what seemed like an endless line of men and women streaming inland out of the open door bearing buckets of steaming water into the small chamber attached to the main room. Another steady stream passed back and forth through the corridor taking the same to the other two rooms, Jack presumed. Overcome with curiosity, Sam ducking into the bath chamber. He came out a moment later, shaking his head.
"There's two of them tubs in there, Cap'n. They've got drains in the floor and everything." He shook his head again.
"Landfolk are an odd lot." Jack said sagely. "I hope you were done with your meal, son, because one of those bucketmen just made off with your plate." He pushed his own tray back. It was swept up a moment later by another departing 'bucketman'.
"I'm done." Sam said, "And so are they, I think." he added as the last water carrier departed the room, closing the door behind him. The gunner shrugged, and started peeling off his clothing. "Might as well not waste it." he remarked, disappearing behind the bathroom door.
From the muffled hissing sounds Jack heard next, the water must still be rather hot. He rolled his eyes and pulled off his boots. He had just risen in preparation to remove the rest of his garb, when there was a faint knock at the door.
Jack huffed a sigh and stormed over, growling out, "We don't need any bloody more water!"
He threw open the door, and a cup was thrust into his face.
"No," Miranda said smoothly, "But you do need this."
"Sorry." he apologized, taking it from her hand. He downed about half the contents in a single gulp, then wrinkled his nose at the taste. She'd tried to sweeten it some, but it was still awful.
"How much longer am I going to have to drink this?" he asked with some feeling.
"Let me see..." the Lady looked to be doing some calculations in her head. "That's three times a day for...two more days - three at the outmost."
He made a face, and Miranda arched an eyebrow. "Best to stay out of swamps then, Captain."
Jack frowned. "But I haven't been in any swamps. Not in the last few years, at least."
She looked confused. "Then how did you catch malaria if you -- oh never mind, I'm too tired to think about it now." She glanced over his shoulder. "Where's young Mr. Bottoms gone to?"
"Oh, he's just --" Jack began, when he heard a distinct "plunk", followed by a muffled "Damn". "Just...looking for the soap, I imagine." he finished lamely, eliciting a snicker from the Lady.
"I'll have some things for the both of you to wear when we're ready to leave, come morning, so if you'd please let him know." She reached up, fingernails clicking off of the bone ornament in his hair. "You'll have to take this out again, though. It won't fit."
He leaned closer. "I'm guessing you're not going to give me any kind of hint as to why?"
"A woman is entitled to some secrets, Captain."
"Can't argue that." he conceded.
"Captain?"
"Hmmm?" Jack stepped nearer.
She held his eyes, though a slow flush rose in her cheeks. "That medicine's not doing any good in the cup."
"What? Oh..." he tossed back the remaining liquid. "I sort of hoped you'd forgotten." he said with a shudder, returning the cup. One side of her mouth lifted.
"No such luck. Go wash."
"Aren't you going to come in and wash my back for me?" he asked, not quite innocently. Much to his surprise, she placed a hand directly into the center of his chest, and pushed him at arm's length back into his room.
"Good evening, Captain Sparrow."
"Tuck me in? Read me a bedtime story?" he went on, not bothering to resist her.
"Good evening, Captain Sparrow." she repeated in a voice shaking with suppressed mirth, and backed out, drawing the door to close before her.
"Good night, Lady." he called after, grinning. A fine mood she was in, he thought. Himself as well, for that matter. The knowledge that he would soon be back to his fine ship with most of his crew intact had done a lot to improve his temper. And he could only attribute Miranda's playfulness to something along similar lines -- an escape from a most unwanted situation. A shame it probably wouldn't last once shipboard.
"More's the pity." he commented, and heard splashing from the bath chamber. "I'm coming in, Sam." he called out, and got as response the sound of draining water.
"I'm out, Cap'n. 'S all yours." Sam yelled back, and the boy emerged moments later, holding up his britches, and a towel draped over his head.
"That was fast." Jack noted.
"Wasn't that dirty." the gunner shrugged, then yawned mightily.
"I'm right with you in that, son." he admitted, feeling his jaws crack with his own yawn. "I'll just dunk these old bones first."
"Mrrph..." he heard Sam mumble, and when he looked back, the lad was already face down on one of the beds.
Not long after, Jack claimed the other bed with a groan. It had been a very long day. He dropped of almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
It felt like only a few minutes had gone by when he was jarred to wakefulness again. He lay there, mind a sleepy haze, and focused on the night candle burning on the bed stand. It had lost nearly half its height. Several hours had in fact passed.
Then, he heard it -- a high, thin wail from the other side of the wall.
He jumped from the bed, heading for the door, and pausing only to grab up his sword. Behind him, he heard Sam's feet hit the floor. Jack didn't wait, but rushed out into the dim hallway. "AnaMaria?" he called out, his hand already on her door latch, "Miranda!" The door wasn't locked. It swung wide and he started in --
--And froze in the doorway, hands upraised.
Perched on the edge of the bed, AnaMaria pulled up her arm and released her breath in a shaken rush. Her pistol had been aimed at his heart.
Her other arm was wrapped around Miranda. The Lady's face was buried in the girl's shoulder, her body shuddering with muffled sobs.
"It's alright," AnaMaria said, though still shaken, "It's just a bad dream."
Jack wasn't sure if she was speaking to himself, or to Miranda, but the Lady raised her head. He caught a glimpse of her anguished, tear streaked face, then she hid it again.
"I'm sorry!" she wept brokenly, "I'm sorry -- I'm..."
"Shhh..." AnaMaria patted her shoulder awkwardly, "It's alright, now."
These words she directed at Jack, and he realized with some bitterness that he was not wanted here.
"Lock the door." he said shortly, and waited out in the hallway until he heard the bolt slide home. He returned to his bed with his sword still in his hand, and a hard knot in his stomach. The night candle was considerably lower by the time sleep claimed him again.