Chapter 5: In a Pestilential Prison with a Life Long Lock
"Come along!" ordered Gillette. He was standing with fourteen marine guards outside the captured Captain's cell, awaiting her to arise from her sitting position on the floor.
Andraste gave a small bark of laughter and stuck forth her hand, her glove encrusted with blood, "you might need to give me a little more assistance than that. Unless you want me to crawl to your prison...?"
Gillette frowned. He knew his call of duty, but he was also a gentleman and wouldn't deny an injured woman aid. Still, she was a pirate and he didn't dare touch her himself. She might bleed on his uniform. "Mr. Murtogg, Mr. Mullroy! See to it that our 'friend' here is set on her feet. She is in your charge. Carry her if you have to."
Murtogg grimaced, "but, sir…"
The first lieutenant gave an exasperated sigh and tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the larger of the two marines, Mullroy, to give his rifle to Murtogg and scoop up the pirate captain in his arms. He heard the sharp hiss of pain from the woman as her injured leg was jostled about. She wasn't the only one in pain, as stout Mullroy gave a muffled groan of protest as he fell towards the center of the formation. Andraste was a bit more woman than he had anticipated.
Making their way up ship and across town proved no easy feat. The group was constantly stopping along the way to let Mullroy rest, or let Andraste take a moment to gather her senses. In the end, the Lieutenant was so fed up of the situation he commandeered a wagon and drove the Artemis's Captain to the prison himself. Not entrusting Mullroy again, wiry Richard Gillette slung an arm of the injured woman over his shoulders and wrapped an arm about her waist. Slowly but steadily Gillette dragged her through the prison doors and into the custody of the surly warden. He quickly disengaged himself and glowered at Mullroy.
The warden was a little surprised to see an officer escorting a woman to prison, and questioned the lieutenant if it was some joke on the navy's part. Gillette explained to him that she was a pirate and that the noose "made no exceptions about gender." Though this troubled the warden, considering he'd never seen a woman hang in Port Royale, he was in no position to dispute a man in service to his king. He couldn't very well break the law because of his uncertainty. The finality in this lieutenant's voice also couldn't be ignored. The woman could be more dangerous than she seemed. Convincing himself that his newest inmate was indeed a vile and dissolute creature, he gladly took full charge of her. He thrusted her over one of his mighty shoulders and began to descend the stairs to the prison cells.
Not accustomed to being manhandled, Andraste gave Gillette a dark look as she disappeared down the stairwell. She had never felt so insulted in all her years. She gave mute protests to the indignant way that she was being carried, scowling at prisoners who gave her smarmy grins as she passed posterior first before them.
When he reached an especially foul cell, the warden dumped her and, making sure she was in sufficient pain to not try and escape, removed her shackles and slammed the iron barred door closed. Andraste was left sitting on the floor of her filthy prison, her leg throbbing out blood and collecting dirt, her back aching just as bad. In the barred rooms on either sides of her, there were cellmates wanting to pose questions, adding another infliction to the new comer, a head ache.
Looking to the bright side of things, at least she had a room with a window. Using the bars of the door to aid her standing up, Andraste fumbled along the adjacent wall to an alcove just below the iron grate that served as her view to the world. It was a perfect fit for her to sit upon and gaze out across the ocean and Fort Charles, allowing her to prop her bad leg up.
"Who are ye?" asked an ugly looking fellow who pressed himself up against the bars to compensate for his poor vision. "Do'n look like a pirate ta'me."
"Yeah, what's ye purpose?" came the chorus of inquisitions hurled at Captain Rose. "Where ye been?" "Do I know ye?" "Get me outta here?" When no answer was forthcoming from their new cellmate, the other prisoners set back down to try and devise an escape plan. Mainly they wanted to wring the neck of the scrawny dog holding the keys. The dog knew this too, and stayed conveniently out of reach.
It was all too soon before the sky began to darken with the encroach of night and an impending storm on the horizon. Whilst Andraste and her company prepared themselves for a damp night, Commodore Norrington and Lieutenant Gillette were sharing a meal in relative comfort at the Fort Charles barracks. They were chatting softly about the storm heading their way; it looked to be a hurricane.
"What are we going to do about the ships, sir?" asked Gillette softly. He idly pushed some beef around his plate with his fork, not in the least bit interested in eating it.
"Now, now, Gillette, you should know better than to play with your food," said James with a tone of mock scorn. In all respect, he wasn't that hungry either.
Ceasing his stalling, Richard cut a sliver of the beef and placed it in his mouth. He chewed it a few times and swallowed with an over dramatic grimace. He could see James's face twitch several times as he tried to suppress a smile. After the exciting day they had had, it was nice to relax. Both officers were technically off duty, but they didn't dare touch the wine that had been given out. If there was an attack during the night, as they were often so ready to believe, both men wanted to be at their very best and not under the influence of alcohol.
"With this storm, we may not get to hang those pirates by tomorrow," commented Norrington as he placed his knife and fork down upon his plate. "We'll have to do them later."
Gillette hadn't really thought about the delays the hurricane would bring. The HMS Moore's upgrades would have to wait, as well as the repairs to the seaside buildings of Port Royale. "That does slow us down."
"Yes, but we could always shoot the bastards and get it over with," Norrington let out a small chuckle.
"Sir!"
"Pardon?"
Time for Gillette to get his own back, "that's no way for a gentleman to speak."
Raising a dark eyebrow, James gave a rakish grin, something that Gillette had never seen him do. "Oh I don't know about that. Who was it that cursed to me in three different languages when he learned that Captain Jack Sparrow had eluded him?"
"Sir, I know only two languages, French and English."
Another laugh. "Well I'd love to know what it was you were saying in the dreadful accent."
"I know a little Dutch," admitted Richard. "But I don't remember ever speaking to you in it, Commodore."
"You don't remember because you were stark raving mad!"
"I was never mad, sir." Gillette took a moment to change his voice into that of Norrington's, "I feel insulted that you might imply such a thing."
"Mimicking a superior officer?" Norrington placed his crossest expression on his face. "I could hang you upside down from the forward rigging for that."
Gillette blanched. "My apologies, sir!"
James saw the reverse in moods and rested a softer gaze upon the younger man, "Mr. Gillette, don't be daft, I didn't mean it."
The lieutenant let out his breath and tried to calm himself. Before his time in Port Royale, he had been a midshipman on a strict ship with very creative punishments, most of which were not idle threats. He had lived with the fear of God about his captain (who incidentally acted like one), and was immensely pleased when he had been assigned to the Caribbean. It had been six years since his arrival and he had enjoyed his stay thus far. Mostly it was all to do with James's doing, as he had been captain of the Dauntless when he had boarded. Their relationship at first had been timid; Gillette had done all he could to avoid him. Yet over time he had come to see that not all captains were as self-serving as others and after being placed in battle next to the Commodore they had developed a sort of brotherly bond. James had brought back the confidence he had lost aboard his time on the HMS Edward.
"Of course, sir. Just remembering my times aboard the Edward. It's hard to forget them."
"Yes, some captains rule their ships with a hard heart, paranoia and beatings to spare. Beatings only teach a man one thing, Gillette, how to turn his back."
"Aye, sir," agreed Richard. "But there's no trouble here as far I can see."
James cocked his head to one side, a thoughtful smile spread across his face. "Yes, yes, Richard, I do hope you're right."
Gillette returned the smile, "I know I'm right, sir."
~~~
A/N: If you could spot the Sharpe reference, then you get bonus points ^^,