Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.
A/N: 'Fun with Edmund', this time.
Wait For No Man
Chapter 9
It wasn't until Rose was trying to urge him to climb over a split rail fence behind the inn that Edmund gathered his wits enough to speak. "I must go back!"
"Please, my lord, this is not the time." Rose sighed in obvious frustration, grasped Edmund's behind in both hands, and shoved, succeeding in surprising him enough that he mounted the first rail. "You've no weapon, and there are too many of them for you to take on alone. Hurry!"
"But my friends are in trouble. I must – "
Rose took a step back, fisted her hands on her hips, and huffed out an impatient breath. "I don't have time for this," she muttered, pushing up her sleeves. She lowered one shoulder and quickly slid it under his rear elevation, heaving him up and over like a sack of potatoes, swiftly hiking her skirts and following him over the rail.
Edmund landed on the other side with a soft squelch, Rose landing on his lap. A wet, pink, mud-encrusted snout presented itself in Edmund's ear with a loud snort. The Governor flinched aside with a loud yelp. The pig gave a series of small snorts which, had Edmund not known that it was impossible for animals to laugh… He looked at the creature suspiciously.
Rose stared at him, clearly annoyed. "Beggin' your pardon in advance, I'm sure," she hissed, "but shut your bloody cakehole! My lord," she added in an obvious afterthought. "Come on." The slim woman dragged Norrington to his feet, his bottom making a sucking noise as the mud let free, and led him to the very back of the sty. "Sit," she commanded, giving him a hearty shove in the middle of his chest for good measure.
Edmund sat.
Rose plopped down next to him, giving him a critical eye. She made a clucking sound and took up a handful of mud, smearing it over the astonished Governor's face and white shirt, and then over herself. "Soooeee, pig, pig, peeeg!" she whispered. For a wonder, the pigs obeyed, lumbering over to the pair in the corner curiously. The boar, a huge creature, began to sniff Edmund rather thoroughly with an air of misgiving, finally placing his large wet snout where one male animal would most naturally be interested in investigating a possible rival male animal.
"Eep," said Edmund in a strangled voice, trying vainly to roll one way or the other. He was further nonplussed to feel a warm hand cup itself over the offended region. Rose gave the questing pig a smack on the snout with her other hand. "Stop that, Jack. He's nothing for the likes of you there."
The boar all but shrugged in disdain, turning his back on the pair and laying his massive bulk down in front of them with Rose's encouragement.
The sounds of the chase echoed down the alley that led to the sty; Norrington froze. He watched with an air of detachment and some disbelief as several of the pirates raced down the alley past them, casting only the most cursory of glances at the pigsty.
They waited for several moments after the last pirate had gone by; then Norrington took a shaky breath. Beside him, Rose gave a small ghost of a chuckle.
"What?" he asked quietly.
"Wasn't sure that would work, actually," she admitted.
Edmund relaxed against the wall at his back. "The boar is named Jack?"
Rose dimpled at him through the mud on her face. "Aye. I had the naming of him myself." Edmund gave a snort of laughter, then went to get up, which brought something else to his immediate notice. He cleared his throat, embarrassed.
"Er – Miss Rose?"
"Mm?" She was still looking up at him with a saucy smile, leaving Edmund in no doubt that she was fully aware of his – um – discomfiture.
"Your – er – hand?"
Rose gave a low chuckle and removed her hand from Edmund's nethers. "Forgive me, my lord. I was that nervous, I never noticed what I was doing."
Edmund looked down at her skeptically. "Of course," was all he said, offering her a hand to help her to her feet.
~*~
The pirates sent to retrieve the Governor had returned, unsuccessful. Jack smiled grimly to himself. Now if Edmund and Will could manage to stop themselves from suicidal heroics, perhaps one of them might live to save the wee lass.
In the meantime, he'd been keeping his ears and eyes open, and several things had presented themselves to his notice. One, that the imposter Jack was nervous. Very, very nervous. And that was interesting.
More interesting was that as the band of rogues he'd sent after Edmund returned without their quarry, the false Jack went from nervous to downright panicked. Jack chewed that over. The inescapable conclusion was that having missed Norrington would result in consequences for the imposter. Unpleasant consequences.
But nobody would punish themselves, unless they were sick, sad bastards. Which, Jack mentally acknowledged, might be the case; but if true, the son-of-a-whore would be looking forward to the punishment, Jack reckoned, and not like a dog about to be shot.
All of which led naturally to the idea that this Jack, whoever he was, was acting for someone else.
And that was very interesting.
~*~
"Miss Rose, I must protest! I have to find my friends! Even now they could be in mortal danger," Edmund expostulated, shivering slightly in his skivvies as the cool night air hit the skin of his bare torso. The window of the room Rose inhabited on the upper floor of the Cochon had neither glass nor shade to keep out the chill sea breezes. The room itself was spare to the point of poverty: a large iron bedstead with a straw-filled mattress and a single clean blanket, a wardrobe, and a fireplace were all the amenities it had to recommend it in the usual course of things. At the moment, a large tin washtub had been set up in front of the fire and sat there, gently steaming.
A newly tidy Rose nodded as she bundled up his filthy shirt and breeches. "Aye, I do know it, and the sentiment does you credit, my lord. But the truth of the matter is there's no trail to be followed until the light of dawn, and in the meantime you have wounds for me to tend to."
Edmund looked down at himself. "Scratches merely; nothing of concern."
Rose looked at him with that hands-on-her-hips thing again. "And a scratch is enough to carry you off if it becomes septic and poisons your blood."
He raised his brows. "Why should it do that? I am in excellent health."
She dimpled, looking him up and down. "Robust, I'd say." Norrington blushed as the wench went on. "You'll forgive me for mentioning it, my lord, but I'm as sure as certain that you've not spent much time wallowing in pig shit before, and there's nothing so fertile for blood poisoning. Now do stop arguing and get your hide into that bath."
He grumbled mulishly even as he complied, stepping behind the screen Rose had thoughtfully set up for him. "I'm in," he called, and she came around the screen, armed with a crock of good brown soap and a large sponge. "I'm perfectly capable of bathing myself," Edmund protested as she began to lather the sponge.
Rose shot him an acid look. "Never a bright child, were you, my lord? I'll tell it you again: I can see far better than you can whether the cuts are clean, in particular yon nasty one on your neck."
It was a losing battle, Edmund knew, but he wasn't ready to fly the white flag yet. "Any English physician will tell you that cleaning a cut opens it to infestation."
She laughed. "And nor they've been in pig shit neither, I'll wager. Moreover," Edmund opened his mouth to interrupt Rose, who threatened with a gesture to fill his mouth with suds, "what 'any English physician' knows isn't worth a row of pins as compared to Maman. And I'll back Maman every time, even to bringing back the dead."
The soapy sponge was still clutched in Rose's hand, but Edmund chanced it. "Who is Maman? Your mother?"
Rose giggled. "Not at all. She is the high priestess of the Vodoun tribe as lives deep in the marsh. Not a woman you want to fall afoul of, Maman, though I can't see why you ever would. Maman would like you, with your polite and noble ways."
He found it difficult to excite the appropriate enthusiasm for this statement, but Rose didn't seem to care, bending closer to get to the small of his back, giving Edmund quite an eyeful. He smiled and shrugged. If he couldn't be out rescuing Jack and Bill, he might as well enjoy the view.
~*~
The marsh was darker than the new moon at sea. Will could hardly see Ana ahead of him, leading the way to her people, her feet sure, fast and silent. The breeze at his back was warm, almost urging him forward; it carried the scent of roses on the air. Not the profuse red ramblers his mother had favored, that twined over their small cottage at the quayside in Bristol; rather the delicate pink beach roses that Elizabeth had loved so much. She'd carried them at their wedding, he recalled, and they'd lain on the petals that night…
A hiss from Ana brought him abruptly to the present. "We're being followed. Damn it!"
"Are you sure?"
For answer the lady pirate nodded and grimaced. "Certain sure. Give me a thirty second head start, and then you go due east to the big caoba tree. Head to starboard, follow the stream." He nodded, and Ana loped off silently.
Will counted slowly to thirty, then glanced at what he could see of the night sky, getting his bearings, setting off due east.
The caoba tree was huge, unmistakable even if he hadn't known that caoba was the Caribbean word for mahogany. Such a massive trunk… it would take four, maybe five men to embrace it. Will frowned. Caobas didn't grow that large normally.
The stream was as eerily quiet as the rest of the marshland, but he could see it glinting in the moonlight. Will turned and headed upstream.
The quiet began to grate on his nerves somewhat. Where the hell were all the bugs? And birds, and bats… was there no life at all in this godforsaken place?
The flicker of a campfire in the distance caught his eye. Surely that was his destination. Will hurried his steps.
He slowed his approach as he neared the encampment, scanning the area. In the center of the clearing was a huge pole, as big around as his thigh and easily as tall as the Governor's two-story foyer. Next to that was the fire, burning hotter than Will would have imagined in this place of rot and damp. An old woman moved quietly around the fire, scattering something on the ground, though what it was Will was unable to make out. There were a few other people about, notably a youngish dark-skinned man, dressed in a white tunic. The old woman's dress was white also, and the turban that sat atop her head.
As he watched, two other men in more usual dress brought out a litter, on which lay a woman, dark-skinned like the others but in European clothing, with a white apron… Belle! Will nearly shouted her name aloud and started forward, but then the old woman started to dance.
Drums sounded an eldritch rhythm; Will could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck start to rise as the old one bobbed and weaved, now raising her hands to the sky, now crying out unintelligible words in a dry and raspy voice. Belle moaned softly. The man in white went to her, raising her head and helping her to drink from a simple wooden vessel. Belle coughed, causing some of the liquid to spill down her front, which stained her apron a deep red color.
Blood, thought Will, horrified. Belle's back arched then, a violent spasm twisted her body as she turned away from Will's vantage point, retching. The others leapt up to dance then, their moves jerky and uncontrolled, wild and abandoned.
A scented wind swept through the trees past Will, causing the fire to leap madly and seem to spiral up the pole; and as suddenly, the dancing and drums halted.
The old lady took a few steps in Will's direction, and now he could see the terrible blind whiteness of her eyes.
"Come, young master," she said, her dry chuckle falling sinisterly on Will's ears. "We has somethin' of yours. You come an' get it."