Quartering Acts
By Ahro
(Rated M for explicit sexual situations, violence, and language.)
Chapter 11
Every inhale sent a stabbing pain through Alfred's abdomen as he tried to make it clear to Arthur exactly what the man was in for. It had been the smith's own damn fault for having antagonized the soldier's to add to his prior list of injuries, he just couldn't help messing with them some. Seeing that posh attitude be whittled away brought Alfred a sense of pride.
That's right, you're not gods, you're human just like me.
The one soldier that seemed to know this was still in the tent with him, eyeing him with worry and concern at both the smith's previous words and at his injuries. How this soldier, now a Captain, had managed to find his way into Alfred's lonely life and change it so quickly astounded him. Though he wasn't sure of just how much longer either of them would be altering one another's life in the coming months. If he even had that long.
"Do you think they know I'm helping you?"
Alfred smirked, "So you're helpin' me now?"
Arthur glared, "Helping you save Micah. I never agreed to help you out of your current predicament. My plan was to see you hang for your treason as a rebel."
A snicker left Alfred but he regretted it quickly as the pain from his bruised ribs seered through him. He had been well practiced at masking his discomfort, yet today he was beginning to tire from it all.
Gasping slightly, he suddenly felt Arthur's hands on his shoulders, forcing him back against the pole he was tied to.
"Try and stay up right. Your breathing will be easier."
Alfred cracked a smile, "You're really somethin', ya know that, Captain Kirkland. You're still holdin' onto those brainwashed ideals your countrymen have yet you continue to show such pity towards me."
A slap knocked his head to the side but he continued to hold the same grin. This seemed to only anger the new captain furthur.
"What of you then? Why would you warn me to watch out if you care so little! You honestly think I am naive enough as to let my guard down even around my own men?"
"If you can't, should you really be with them?"
Arthur fumed as he stood back up, and headed back to the entrance of the small tent. He paused just inside it to look back at Alfred once more. Pure hatrid lined his young face as he glared at the smith.
"We should reach Boston by dusk. You will be placed in a holding cell upon arrival. By tomorrow morning your crimes will have already been judged upon. They have enough proof already that you are guilty." He then turned around completly, "I will see you hang."
With those final words, Arthur left quickly through the canvas door leaving Alfred alone once more in the tent.
He suddenly didn't feel like bothering the returning guards.
A few hours passed by the time Alfred was finally tied to an officer's horse at the rear of the procession. His legs had been bound loosely but it would still be difficult for him to run. Not that he would. This had been his goal. To turn himself in to help Arthur have Micah released. Even with Arthur's change of heart against Alfred, he knew Micah would be safe.
I had to push him away. If he showed too much concern over me than that general would have never believed him.
Now he could only wonder what Arthur would do concerning the pistol. It was a standard flintlock but with the royal seal engraved on each one. There was no way Arthur could say he stole it from Alfred, nor could he say he knew nothing of the alteration to the barrel. It would be too easy to believe Arthur was helping Alfred. Right now though, Alfred knew nothing except avoiding being swatted in the face by a horse tail, and avoiding massive droppings.
Alfred's legs ached by the time they arrived in Boston. It was close to supper and the oil lamps were being lit as the sun began to creep closer to the horizon. The sound of hoof and carriage wheel against cobblestone roads littered the streets with noise. Far from the quiet that he was use to in Quincy.
Boston had been a place that he loved to visit when his father was still alive. He enjoyed the fast paced speed of the harbor city. It always lifted his mood, and his father would laugh that deep laugh of his patting Alfred on the shoulder as he ran from shop to shop. The tall ships as they sat docked along the shore brought him to imagine what it would be like to sail for months at a time on the ocean. It was what made his father build him the small sail boat he currently still used. However, his father was forceful in reminding Alfred that he was to take over the family business. Dreams of sailing were not the dreams of a man who would need to bring up a family of his own.
If his father saw him now, would he have preferred his son become a sailor, or was his intention for Alfred to follow in his footsteps, and rebel against the British like he had?
"Keep up, Yank!"
His arms were pulled suddenly almost causing him to fall and be dragged along the ground. Alfred spat as he took in his surroundings, quickly noticing the jail that would be his inn for the night. They had arrived, and it wouldn't be much longer now. He hoped Micah wasn't being kept in this place as well, however, he wouldn't have put it past them.
"Alfred. What happened to you, boy?" A soft, older voice caught the smith off guard as he turned his head to see an older man coming up to him, his face hidden in the shadows of his hood.
"I'm sorry?"
"Last time I saw you you were nothin' more than a babe suckin' on your mother's teat. Now, you're in chains to be prosecuted as a rebel?"
"What are you gettin' at, old man?"
"Hey! No talkin' to the prisoner!" The officer astride the horse that had been pulling Alfred along yelled down at the old man.
The elderly man just put up a hand in apology and began to turn. As he did, the man steered closer to Alfred and whispered, "You've made your old man proud, but next you need to escape this."
"What?" Alfred almost jerked the horse around as he tried to get a closer look at the man, but he had already disappeared amongst the roaming pedestrians.
"Hey there now!" The soldier atop the horse that was leading Alfred spun in his saddle as he attempted to calm his mount, "Rebel, pig! Knock that off or you'll have a matching gash on the other side of your head!"
Alfred's arms were violently pulled, throwing him off balance and landing hard on the cobblestone road. A hiss escaped his lips as he felt his skin tear along his arms and hands as he had tried to brace himself. Nothing new by this point. All the pain felt the same now to him. The only thing that interested him was the strange old man.
What is his relation to my father? If he knew me as a babe, why was he absent while I grew up? Why show up now? And that voice... it sounded familiar though, yet there was a strange accent to it. Dammit, why can't anythin' just be straight forward. Damn riddles!
He had gotten back to his feet during his internal struggling as he was propelled towards the jail. He was relieved of being tethered to the soldier's horse, and ungraciously deposited in an inner cell. His shackles being replaced by ones that were chained to the cold, stone walls. The walls were damp from the recent storm where rain had broken through the mortar, causing the stone to partially freeze in places with the cold winter approaching. This made Alfred's position against the wall that much worse. His arms had been strung up tight and apart above his head, while his feet were chained to the ground. He would be forced to stand in this position, his back pressed against the icey wall as the cold seeped through his thin shirt.
I'll be lucky if I live through the night like this.
Beyond the cold wall, that he was now trying desperately to keep his back from touching, he attempted to make out exactly what he was surrounded by. As much as he could due to the complete pitch of the dank jail. The most obvious was the potent odor that wafted through the air. Even with the cold, the stench was so strong of excrements, blood, and rotten flesh (hopefully, that of rats), Alfred wanted to do nothing but retch. Breathing through his mouth in hopes to alleviate some of the smell, he could just barely make out scattered junk amidst the floor. A privy bucket that had been toppled over (probably once full and never emptied), was closest to him, while a faint glint off of more chains and shackles littered the corners of the cell. There were no planks for sitting. Either men were strung up, like in Alfred's case, or were to sit on the floor.
This was another interesting conclusion. Alfred was surprisingly alone. The jail held roughly eight seperate cells, connected to a central hall with the cells facing one another. There was only one entrance and exit and it was at the front of the building. Light just barely made it to the far back where Alfred had been placed, much as a means of torture next to physical pain. Alfred had been scrutinizing over the old man while he was lead down that hall, but he wasn't oblivious as to observe exactly the layout of the jail. The lack of cell mates, however, was strikingly reassuring to the smith.
Looks like the Brits are having more trouble rounding up the rebels than they let on.
Just as he was about to relish in the idea, the slow creaking of the lone door of the jail siddled open on rusted hinges that echoed off the walls towards the smith. A single streak of light lit up the floor of the hall while a large shadow suddenly moved in front of it, darkening the hall once again.
Heavy foot falls, clinking of metal, and the brush of steel being drawn, slowly approached the smith as he tried to find some dignified posture in his predicament.
The first thing that he saw was the glint off of razor sharp steel, leading back to the exact man Alfred did not want to see.
"So, the famous Quincy Blacksmith finally rears his ugly head as a rebel. Just a shame I wasn't the one to have brought you in." Another soldier quickly stepped around the gluntonous man to shine the light from a torch into Alfred's cell. The smith winced at the sudden light, but refused to remove the sneer that was plastered on his face.
"Dereks."
"General Dereks, yank, and I'm glad to see that you know my name. Do tell me, how have you been fairing with those gifts I left you?"
"You mean your men left me. You just sat there like the lazy basturd that you are and shouted orders."
This seemed to ruffle the general as the door was then quickly unlocked and the large man pushed his way in to size up against the smith. His sword point, quickly pressing against Alfred's partially exposed chest, his shirt in such tatters that it did nothing to shield him.
"You aren't worth dirtying my blade over." The man growled and spat as he pressed the point furthur causing blood to slowly seep around the steel.
"Tell me, is it common practice for you Brits to only challenge unarmed men?"
A quick movement and Alfred felt his chest seer in fire as the general's sword quickly cut a smooth line into him. Blood quickly began to spill out of the shallow wound and another soldier quickly ran into the cell.
"Sir! You can't-"
"I slipped." The look the general gave to the soldier sent the man shivering and nodding back into the hallway.
"Enough of this. Bring the boy!"
Alfred's gaze shot up to stare past the obese general as a small, limp form was hauled into the cell. The boy had a burlap sack over his head and his hands and feet were bound with corse rope. Alfred felt his stomach turn once again as the boy was held up right by his arms by one of the soldiers.
The general smirked, turned, and pulled the sack from the unconcious boy's head.
Seeing the truth brought Alfred to a new fury.
"LET HIM GO!" His chains pulled taught as Alfred tried to get at the child. Micah. His brother. "He's innocent! You have me! He means nothing-"
"On the contrary-" The General cut in as he quickly grabbed Alfred by the chin to force his gaze away from the boy. "He means much more to so many people. Does he not?" A sickly grin spread across the man's round face. "Seeing the boy hang... why that would lure your rebels out of the crowd quite quickly."
Alfred's eyes widened. They were still planning on hanging Micah. Even with Alfred in custody.
Perhaps they just haven't talked with Arthur yet. His word should garner some weight for Micah's release.
"You would hang a nine-year-old, innocent boy as an attempt to lure out rebels. You're askin' to incite a riot in the streets."
"Ha! No civilian will stand up for some boy. Not with the British Army occuping every cobblestone in Boston. Only your men will cause a disturbance, and in turn make it easy for us to pick the lot of you off." The general shoved Alfred's face away as he stood back up, throwing back his head with a loud laugh and slapping his gut as he did. "It will be a grand show on the Common tomorrow afternoon, and you, my friend, will have a front row seat." Another boisterous laugh punctuated the dark cell and vibrated off the wet walls. Alfred felt sick again as he looked on at the young boy before him. It was the first time he had laid eyes on him since he learned that the boy was in fact his brother. His ruffled blond hair was slightly darker than his own thanks to his mother, yet he knew those eyes, hidden now behind closed lids, were the same bright sky blue as his own.
My little brother... all those years, and I never knew. I kept you away due my selfishness for revenge. Kept everyone away, and for what?
If he could, Alfred would have fallen to his knees, instead he felt himself go limp in his chains, hanging from the shackles on the wall while the man before him laughed. He couldn't even find the strength as the soldier's replaced the sack over Micah's head and began to leave. The general, his laughter continuing to ring through the cell, mocked his powerless form.
All for what?
The old door creaked as it was opened and closed again. Light coming and going. The sun had already set by now, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the puffs of his breath in the air, feel the cold closing around him, and allowed unconciousness to somehow get him through the night or let him sleep eternal.
A muffled voice.
"-bloody idiot."
The rattling of steel hinges.
"-this planned... dressed for the occasion."
Something thick and heavy on his shoulders.
Warmth.
"All that boasting, and a mere chill in the air knocks you unconscious."
Alfred couldn't help but smirk.
"Right-" Alfred coughed with a laugh, "-don't let the bruised ribs, broken nose, black eyes, oh- and the gash and broken collar bone from the other day fool you. The cold does me in every time."
The newly appointed captain paused, "You forgot about the still bleeding slice across your chest."
Alfred took his own moment to pause, "Ahh- must be gettin' old. Havin' trouble keepin' track of all these injuries."
"Perhaps I should give you a few more so you can forget about that smart mouth of yours as well."
"Ha- ahh! Shit!" A sudden cold rag that must have been doused in alcohol burned along the cut on his chest. A hiss escaped his lips as Arthur held pressure to the cut.
"She was right, you are nothing more than a baby."
"Piss off, Brit."
"Belt up, Yank."
A mutual silence seemed agreed upon as Arthur continued to work at stopping the blood flow from Alfred's chest. The initial sting of the alcohol had subsided which allowed the smith some much needed time to think. Primarily over whether Arthur had been successful in gaining Micah's freedom. However, Arthur's sudden return to care giver had Alfred choking on his immediate questions.
Thankfully, Arthur stepped forward to provide a much needed answer.
"I was able to have a meeting with General Redford concerning Micah's release." Alfred's head snapped to look at the soldier. Arthur's gaze was trained on the long sword cut on Alfred's chest. It was well past the point of continued pressure but Arthur seemed to think otherwise. "The decision is still being made, however, he believes Micah was merely found in the wrong place at the wrong time. After questioning him he was found to have a plausible alibi. Thanks in turn to Ensign Berkley."
"Berkley?"
"He was being quartered recently to stay with Micah and his mother. I went out on patrol with him that first night after you..."
Alfred studied Arthur's face as he quickly bit his lip and began reaching in his coat pocket for bandages. Even in the dim light that came from the small lantern Arthur had rested just outside his cell door, he could see a dark tinge had begun to dust the soldier's cheeks.
He had been standing too close to him. That clove scent in his hair then that sweet spice of camomile tea that lingered in each breath; it blocked all of his senses to the surrounding filth they were in. With the added knowledge that Arthur may have succeeded in saving Micah. Saving his brother. Alfred's chest tightened and his continued effort to push this man away seemed to wither where he stood.
Even with the sudden jostling of chains as Alfred moved in closer, Arthur never moved but the moment Alfred's breath was at the soldier's neck he stiffened.
"After I breathed you name, Arthur?" He said, dusting his warm breath against the man's cool skin, sending a shiver through the soldier as he did. To Alfred's delight Arthur didn't pull away, even though a small voice in the back of Alfred's head screamed at him to not start this again with the soldier.
"W-why- did you do that... that night?" He swallowed.
Alfred smiled against the soldier's skin as he slowly inhaled those sweet scents he had grown so weak for.
"If you asked me then I'd have said you were the first warm blooded thing besides Hero that stuck around me for more than twelve hours. Not too many men can say they've gone four years without gettin' their dick wet."
"But- I'm a man."
"You think that mattered much to someone who had been sucking from the teats of revenge?" Alfred then lightly licked the man's ear lobe before taking it into his mouth to suck on it. Arthur's grip on the rag must have failed him as a wet slap echoed through the cell but didn't seem to faze him as a moan escaped his lips.
"Asking me now though," Alfred pulled back a bit to look Arthur in the eyes. They were now heavy with want but those green orbs still looked on into his to show the smith he had his direct attention. "I would say that a foreign stranger with emerald eyes had pulled me away from revenge, and turned me to see what really mattered in life." Alfred smirked, "Angels were never given a specified gender after all."
Arthur's gaze was pointed to their feet but Alfred could see the distinct darkening blush that had been on his cheeks move back to his ears even in the dim light. The man began to shake slightly, as his hands began to twist the bandages he still clutched, contorting them from being useful.
"You're a fool..." It was whispered, and Alfred pulled back to look at the soldier in confusion. "... a fool Arthur Kirkland."
Arthur snapped his gaze back up at Alfred, his eyes lit with a fire that Alfred had not seen since the soldier was in his arms in the woods.
"Arthur, what-?" Before Alfred could finish his question his lips were taken with such a ferocity that Alfred felt himself shoved back against the wall. It only took a moment for the smith to realize a blanket, that the soldier had slung over him upon entering, created a warm barrier against the cold wall. Knowing this, Alfred felt himself relax immediately into the kiss allowing the aggression the soldier had kept restrained come out the way he possessed Alfred's lips.
This was what Alfred had kept at bay. He knew he had angered the soldier. Angered him by putting him second. Angered him by throwing the war in his face. Something that Arthur wanted to deny was going to ever happen. Yet, here it all was put forth in a single motion. He had angered him, but he had failed in pushing him away. The evidence was clear that the soldier would come back to him. No matter how much distance was between them, or how much hurt either one caused the other. At least Alfred knew that there might still be a chance after all this was over.
Alfred's attention was brought back to his situation when an audible moan came from the soldier. His tongue dove deep into Alfred's mouth as he tasted what was probably blood. It slightly unnerved him that the soldier didn't seem to care, he only began to fist his hands into Alfred's messy hair to bring them closer together.
Alfred felt himself growing irritated by his limitations with still being chained to the wall. Arthur had free reign over him while he could do nothing.
Arthur seemed to have realized this as he pulled back ever so slightly, still kissing him in between his words, "I could..."
"You can't."
Another kiss, "But I-"
"You can't."
He was pulling away. His hands had moved down to rest on Alfred's shoulders while he leaned back, his head hanging between them, their breath, still heated from the previous moment, put out puffs of white smoke in the cold air.
"He is safe Alfred. I know he is. I could undo these shackles and we could be out of here."
Alfred let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as much as his binds would allow. A dull ache throbbed from his collar bone but he ignored it as he had been for a while now.
"He's not safe yet. Not until he's back in the arms of his mother will he ever be safe."
Arthur continued to look away yet his grip tightened their hold on Alfred's shoulders. "You really believe they still plan on hanging him tomorrow?"
"I won't be sure until that noose is around my neck."
Arthur's grip loosened, and his hands finally fell down to his sides.
"Arthur, you know that this war is inevitable. My men and I aren't the only ones fightin' for our freedom. Just tellin' me to let it all go won't end it. There will be no place for us to hide whether we win this war or not."
"So that is it. You are settling with letting yourself be hanged tomorrow."
Alfred's heart ached as he looked at the man before him. His shoulders shook as he clenched his hands into fists. His gaze never leaving the floor. He wanted nothing but to comfort the soldier, but there was too much that needed to be done. Too much in the way.
"I thought you were only hear to help Micah."
A curse escaped the soldier's lips as his gaze quickly shot back up to lock with Alfred's. A gasp escaped the smith as his chains rattled in the silence. Those piercing green eyes, even in the dim light, rimmed with such fierce devotion, pain, and anger all at once Alfred wasn't so sure how to continue.
"We kissed, and you wanted me, then you push me away, all while building walls around even your corpse to keep me from you. Why are you doing this if you know it is forfit?"
Alfred's eyes never wavered from that gaze, trapped in it as he was. Just as much as he was trapped in the cell. Chains clung to his soul as much as his physical form, only now they pulled in opposite directions.
"Maybe it wasn't at one time." Alfred began as he tried to swallow the lump that had been growing in his throat. Was he right in saying this? Was there a point in keeping some hope alive? Should he chance giving any hope to the soldier right now? So much was riding on both of them to carry out their roles. If Arthur slipped because he knew anything of what was to happen all would be lost.
Biting his lip, Alfred sighed finally pulling his gaze away from those eyes, standing back up straight and lifting his head up to look down his nose at the soldier. This seemed to throw Arthur off as he took a hesitant step back, but waited for Alfred's response with baited breath.
"But- I was reminded of what was at stake. If you can't respect my want to see a free America, and stand beside me in that fight than it is forfit. I thought maybe if you knew I cared about you you would stay, but you can't see past what your country has blinded you to." He let out a sigh, chains rattling as he did, "You're a devoted soldier, and so am I. We just happen to be on opposing sides. I'm sorry Arthur."
Silence fell over his last words as Alfred's ears became instantly accute to any sound. Listening out of desperation to hear an utterance of defiance at him, or betrayal towards his people. Neither came and Alfred wasn't surprised. Instead, he felt Arthur's presence begin to leave the cell, a warm light dissipating in the dark, creaking hinges, footsteps leading away, and a heavy door being closed and locked.
Emptiness, and he had opened his arms to it.
Feeling the warmth and soft cotten of the blanket on his shoulders, Alfred squinted his eyes as they began to burn, and with a shrug of his arms he allowed the blanket to fall off of him and pool on the ground. This was his punishment. Punishment for letting Micah be captured. Punishment for failing his father.
"Punishment for turning away an angel."
Alfred was surprised when he woke to the dawn. Outside the thick walls he could hear bird song and found it ironic such cheerful music could open on what would be a dreary day.
He took in a rattled breath and winced as cold seered through his chest. The winter air and poor environment had infected his lungs over the night. Alfred couldn't help but wonder if he would be remotely useful to anyone after this, even if plans came to pass.
"Damn- maybe I overestimated what my body can handle. This-" he coughed, "fuckin' sucks."
Just as he was about to attempt to stretch from his hunched position all night, the familiar creaking of the heavy jail door signaled someone's arrival.
Standing up straight, he waited for whoever it was to make their way down the hall to his cell. He noted that the footsteps were brisker and lighter than a certain general's and was pleased to know he wouldn't be taken anywhere by the likes of him.
As he thought, a young British soldier rounded the corner to confront him. Alfred was surprised the boy was by himself without any other aid or backup. Were they that cocky to think he wouldn't try to escape.
"Mr. Jones, I am Ensign Berkley, I will be escorting you to your trial."
Berkley? That's the boy Arthur mentioned who'd been staying with Micah and Emily. If Arthur trusts him...
"Well isn't that nice. I'm being escorted to my death sentence." He couldn't help but be snide.
"Ahh, Captain Kirkland said that you would come along willingly."
Alfred laughed but quickly regretted the action as the quick intake of air stung his lungs. "Well, I guess I shouldn't contradict the great Captain Kirkland."
The ensign hesitated before he unlocked the cell door and made to remove the cuffs from Alfred's wrists and ankles. The moment his arms were freed they fell down to his sides like a lifeless puppet. His strength wasted in trying to partially keep them upright throughout the night, rather than lean on the rusted metal that had held him bound. He rubbed at where the cuffs had dug into his skin, brushing off the bits of rusted metal that still clung there.
Once he was completely free from the wall, the boy then went for his own set of shackles to rebind Alfred once more. Alfred groaned at the sight of them but knew there was no fighting it.
"I am sorry about this."
Alfred's gaze shot up to look at the soldier, "I'm sorry, what?"
The ensign seemed to dwell over his words as he locked one of the cuffs in place. His expression was solemn as he took the other and began to place it over Alfred's wrist. He seemed to finally come to some conclusion as he relaxed with an audible sigh before speaking.
"Your desire for freedom. It is an admirable quality."
"Right. Look where that's gotten me."
The soldier paused again, "You are not wrong in wanting to be free. I have seen it in everyone's eyes since I came to this place and it has frightened me."
Alfred searched for the young man's gaze to bring it on his own. He wasn't so sure he could believe what he was hearing unless he saw the physical truth to the words. The soldier seemed to understand as he brought his gaze back from his task to look at Alfred. The boy's expression seemed old and tired. A far cry from someone of no more than twenty years.
"Why? Why frightened?"
A fierceness came into the young soldiers eyes then, along with a sign of a hidden sadness he had yet been able to overcome. "This is the New World. New life, new prosperity, new meaning, and yet it's people, who till the soil of their doubts, plant their seeds of hope, and grow the fruits of their dreams, have yet to even taste what is theirs before it is taken from them. This is what I have seen in all of you, and it is something we should not be taking away... but learning from it."
Alfred was at a loss for words. He felt himself sputtering as he just starred at this young man who spoke such wisdom well beyond both of their years combined. It wasn't until the boy held up a key in front of Alfred's face that he was brought back to reality.
"Unlike many of us-" with the key in hand, he than reached for Alfred's trouser pocket and hid it well inside, "-I choose to learn, and I am taking that step now." His gaze returned to lock with Alfred's. "I know this is not the end for you, Alfred F. Jones. You will become great one day."
Alfred hadn't even realized the heavy door to the jail had been opened once more until he heard yelling coming from the entrance.
"Yes, sir, I am on my way, sir!" Berkley shouted before turning back to Alfred and making sure the smith looked well prepared to face what was soon to come. "Right then, shall we."
Alfred vaughly felt himself ushered out into the hall, as his mind still tried to pick over what he had heard, as the cold metal of the key burned in his pocket.
It wasn't till his hands were being bound to the saddle of another British soldier's horse, and Berkley was mounting his own blue roan while turning away did Alfred snap to his senses.
"Wait!" Alfred turned to the retreating ensign. "What was your name?"
All he was given was a smile.
The trial had went as Alfred assumed it would. He didn't even have to show up as the verdict had already been decided upon. According to General Dereks, he had sent men back to Quincy to investigate the the smith's home and had come up with a single musket with the same rifling and adjusted weight that went along with the bronze muskets pulled from the water. They also found the stash of bronze he had hidden under the floor boards of his shed. Alfred had to admit he was impressed with the thoroughness of their search.
He had been antagonized to reveal how he had crafted the altered muskets, yet he remained quiet as ever. This infuriated the British gunsmith, demanding to hold off from hanging Alfred until they rung out his usefulness but the judge merely denied and told the man to work harder in learning it himself. Alfred couldn't help but laugh at this poor excuse for a gunsmith. He wondered if the weapons had even been shot and tested. Did they even know the difference the rifling did to the weapons?
After the spectacle with the gunsmith, the judge called an end to the trial, and then carried out that Alfred F. Jones was to be executed by hanging for treachery against the Crown.
Alfred went willingly, but the lack of Micah's name being brought up to announce the boy's release kept Alfred on edge. Surely they would have held both of their trials at the same time. Micah's involvement was directly tied to Alfred's claim of guilty. The boy should have been released.
Perhaps he already has been.
As the trial ended, the procession of civilians and British soldiers moved out onto the Commons where the familiar gallows stood for all to be witness to.
Alfred took note that there were many women sniffling and angry mutterings amongst the men in the crowd that this was not a favorable decision. The smith had to say he was impressed with the colonists of Boston, for showing pity and strife against the British judge's verdict out in the open. It was something that could have them all behind bars. However, Alfred couldn't help but notice the colonists still far out numbered the British soldiers that swarmed around the edges of the crowds. Boston was under heavy restraint after the Boston Massacre incident, yet still the bodies were few compared to what could overwhelm them if enough people had the courage to do so.
These people have all grown their fruit. They're just too afraid to pluck it.
The gallows stood high against a line of trees as they faced the main road from the park. It held three posts, each with a noose tied and waiting. It was an eerie sight as many had felt those ropes tighten around their necks over the years for a multitude of reasons. Be the victims guilty or innocent, the noose would never care, as each body swung the same.
Alfred felt himself pushed along by a soldier. The point of his musket's bayonet threateningly close if he happened to falter, which happened often now as his cough had grown worse over the course of the day. At one point Alfred had stopped completely as his lungs screamed with the growing infection, only to cause him another pain as the bayonet cut into his back suddenly. He had whirled around to face the soldier but was quickly shoved to the ground by another, his face finding a pile of wet mud as he did.
No one in the crowd seemed to appreciate this as they began to argue amongst themselves. They all knew what Alfred represented for them and seeing what might as well have been their fruit that they had toiled for struck down was only adding further bruising.
Build it louder and bigger. Make them see exactly what I want them to see. Make them react how I want them to react.
"You see son, a deer is most cautious while it knows it's guard will be down, but if you distract it," His father had picked up the buck antlers they had brought with them and crashed them together which quickly grabbed the deer's attention from where it had been eating. "-It no longer knows it's guard is still down." Alfred watched now as the deer slowly began to stalk towards the sound of the clashing antlers that his father held in his gloves hands.
Alfred had bit his lip, trying to make sense of his father's words. "So rather than hide and stay quiet, sometimes it's better to make noise in order to incite what you want to happen?"
His father smiled and patted Alfred on the shoulder. "You will grow up to be something great." His father lined up his shot on the slowly approaching deer, and pulled the trigger.
The moment Alfred's foot found it's way to the top of the platform, the only thing that he saw out in front of him was a mass of people that were ready to fight, but had no direction. They were all disjointed and scattered. Carrying on with one another, yet not one focusing on the same thing as another. He needed to be that distraction. That focal point that they would all look to, and move the way he wanted them to.
"So this is what you let happen!" A few faces turned. Not enough. "One man dies before you under charges that you all have been wanting since the moment we first stepped foot on this soil."
"Bloody yank, shut up before I shut you up myself!" Alfred ignored the soldier as he felt his arms that were tied behind him pulled aggressively to stand over the trap door at his feet. The noose lowering to take hold of his throat.
"Did our ancestors not want freedom? Did they not take that perilous journey into the unknown to simply continue to stoop to British rule?" Cries began to come up from the crowd now as more faces turned up to him.
"Knock it off!" A blow from the butt of a musket hit him square across the jaw which only incited further booing from his audience.
"Tell me then!" Alfred's eyes lifted to gaze out over the roofs of the city, there he met the glint off steel in an upper window... he could push on. "Will this gallows see more of us... no, more AMERICANS litter below it! Or will it be burned to the ground to say no?" Shouts and cries began to come up louder now from the crowd. This was it. This is what his father had wanted him to do. That fire needed to be fanned back to a brightness that had been shaken from it. Now, it just needed kindling to spread.
"General! He's innocent!"
"You will stand down, Captain! I have spoken with the judge and he is favorable in his decision. These rebel's spirits need a bit of crushing."
Alfred wasn't sure he was hearing correctly. It was only until after the disgusting body of General Dereks appeared over the platform edge holding onto a small form, now struggling, in his arms, did Alfred feel his legs almost give way from under him.
A small boy, his head covered by the same burlap sack as the previous night, his hands and feet bound, and what were gagged cries, came from the thrashing form. Alfred couldn't do anything, and at the sight of blond hair sticking out from under the tie of the bag, he knew.
Micah.
"But sir, surely this will only cause more uprising!"
"Captain Kirkland!" The general spun on his step to face the determined yet desperate expression of Arthur Kirkland. He stood stiff and ready for a verbal assault, or his position of command ripped from him where he stood, but he did not back down as the general fumed at him. "Your merit is being tested, hear and now! You claim you were spying on the rebels in the forest, yet, you carried a pistol with the royal seal upon it. The barrel of that pistol was riffled, much in the same way this rebel had altered his own muskets. Do you deny that you have been consorting with the enemy?"
"Since when am I suddenly on trial? You are not in a position to accuse me of such allegations!"
"I am putting myself in such a position, Captain!" With that final sentence, Dereks grabbed hold of the central noose on the platform and quickly tied it around Micah's tiny neck, while the boy screamed and cried around the thick rope that gagged him.
"If you are innocent, Captain, than you will see this boy hang."
Alfred could do nothing but watch in absolute fear that quickly turned to disbelief as Arthur... His Arthur!... hesitated and then backed off.
"Arthur. No. You said you'd save him. You said you'd save him!
"Smart man." And with a final quick movement, Alfred felt his feet fall out from under him.
Followed by a gun shot.
A/N: I SO was not planning on leaving you guys with that, but for the next chapter I feel that that scene is best left for the beginning of Chapter 12. For starters, it will make it so much easier for me to jump right in and write it, as that sometimes can be difficult for me. I hope you guys won't hate me too much with this update. It was pretty intense throughout, but we are talking the Revolutionary War here.
Thank you all so much for your continued support in this little fanfic of mine. Like I've mentioned before, I rarely write fanfiction as I am by no stretch of the means a good writer. lol I prefer sticking to pretty pictures. Unfortunetly, a comic is such a massive project to undertake to tell a story with only one person that it wouldn't get done. However, I do hope you can continue to find some enjoyment with the scenes I illustrate from this fic (still need to get them uploaded).
The next chapter will be out much faster than this one. I'm afraid I've been preparing for a convention next month and I made a 32pg USxUK sketchbook to have on hand there and that has taken a load of what little spare time I have. Sorry, again! I promise I won't leave you guys hanging for long after something like this.
See you in chapter 12! :D *love*
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