Chapter Three
"What is the meaning of this? You boys think you can do whatever you like while others are trying to sleep after a long day's work? Explain yourselves!"
The two boys were looking at the face of First Lieutenant Orfell, with several others fast approaching from behind him.
Panicking, James rose swiftly to his feet, forgetting any necessary greetings.
"Please, sir! It is not our fault! Sinclair was chased out of the boys' cabins by Robert! He was being attacked, and ran for it. I merely followed to see if he was alright! Don't blame him! H—he doesn't even speak English, sir!"
Orfell did not look sympathetic whatsoever.
"Quit your blubbering, Norrington." He turned to a marine "Run get Robert Arlow from downstairs!"
He turned back to James and glowered, as he was wont to do.
"Now, we'll have this settled as quickly as possible so we can all get back to sleep."
"Yessir," mumbled James, his head bowed slightly. From that angle he could see Sinclair on the ground next to him, and berated himself for forgetting his new friend's condition. James whipped his head up to face Orfell.
"I was having a thought, sir."
"Do I care?"
"Sinclair is very much injured and perhaps ill. Could any questions please wait until tomorrow?"
Well aware ofhow inappropriate and out of place the question was, James waited nonetheless for an answer.
"Tell me, Norrington, if he doesn't speak English, how on Earth do you know what he's saying?"
"My family has often travelled to France, sir. My father always thought it best that I learned the language."
"I see. And Sinclair is his name?"
"Sinclair Thibeault Gillette, sir."
"Gillette?" Orfell paused and rubbed at his chin "The name strikes a chord, but I cannot place it."
None of the other lieutenants said anything, but several looked as though they too had heard such a name before. James gave it no thought. It was not a rare or complicated name. Orfell could well know someone the name Gillette.
Tapping feet were heard on deck. The marine had returned with Robert and, not surprisingly, Theodore in tow. Orfell grumbled in impatience.
"Groves! You were not called for!"
The marine spoke
"No, sir. But he claims to have been witness to the whole thing. He insists he be allowed to give his side of the story."
"I was awake even before James, sir," Theodore said, as politely as possible in the presence of the First Lieutenant, "Please let me explain."
"Very well, but I would like to hear from Arlow first."
Robert looked squint-eyed at Theodore. He knew the latter would only tell the truth, but he also knew that if he were blamed for waking most of the ship up, the result would be lashes. However, if well-directed, he could not only avoid them, but put the blame on the French rat.
Robert looked Orfell in the eye
"He woke me up. He's trying to put his influence on the others, and he's invadin' our territory. A French person shouldn't be put in with us!"
In his relatively short life, James had never heard such a lame excuse for anything. What influence?
Unfortunately, Orfell seemed to know what this 'influence' constituted, and nodded knowingly at Robert's testimony. Theodore gawped. Orfell swung around to face Gillette, who had his back to the lieutenant, as he was still on the ground.
"Stand up, boy!" he barked, then paused, obviously remembering that the 'boy' couldn't understand him. In fact, Sinclair hadn't turned; he didn't even know Orfell was talking to him. James took his uninjured arm gently.
"Le Lieutenant veut parler avec toi."
Sinclair rose unsteadily and turned to face Orfell.
"Ask him why he what he was doing when he woke Robert up."
"Actually sir, both Groves and I were awake at that time. We could tell you."
"You and Groves are also best friends. Whatever one says, the other repeats. I want to hear his story, with no mistranslations! Lieutenant Saunders," he barked to a man behind him, "You speak French, don't you?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"Then why don't you translate, just to be sure."
"Very well, sir."
Lieutenant Saunders, probably the kindest man on the ship, stepped forward to stand next to Sinclair and James. Although quite slim, he had a rounded face, giving him a child-like look that reflected his personality. Saunders also spoke several languages; English (obviously), French, German and Italian. He was so well-educated that he had been offered high-paying jobs at three of Europe's most prestigious universities, only to turn them down for a life at sea; though no one, save him, knew why.
Lieutenant Orfell began his 'interrogation' by taking a deep breath, making his already wide torso expand. He rested his hands on his hips and looked Sinclair straight in the eyes.
"So, you woke my men up, did yo—"
James whipped around just in time to see Sinclair's eyelids flutter. The latter toppled over backwards and landed on deck with a thud. Not a sound was made he was completely unconscious.
"Dear Lord," whispered Saunders, bending down.
"Hmph." Orfell narrowed his eyes at Sinclair. "It's just a ploy, Lieutenant. He can't possibly have fallen unconscious so conveniently."
Orfell however, was stopped dead in his tracks yet again by the unsettlingly large pool of blood spreading out from underneath the unconscious boy. The other Lieutenants, plus several marines, rushed forward and dropped to their knees, pushing a worried and disappointed James to the side.
"What? What?" demanded an anxious Theodore, "I can't see anything!"
"He's bleeding really badly," replied James in a shaken voice.
"There! An open wound!" cried one of the Lieutenants.
"The stitches must have broken!"
"No, look, sir. It was never stitched in the first place."
"His sheets must be covered in blood!"
"Why was this not checked earlier?!" roared Lieutenant Orfell, who – surprisingly to James – seemed genuinely concerned.
"James!" yelled Saunders, "Run get the surgeon! Now!"
James Norrington ran like the Devil was after him. He tripped once and almost a second time, but made it to the surgeon's room without injury.
"Sir! Sir!" he cried, expecting the man to be awake.
"What the bloody--?" Toby Linger jerked awake, "What do you want, boy? I'll have you flogged-!"
"Lieutenant Orfell wants you immediately! Sinclair – the French boy, is injured, badly! He needs you right away!"
"Good Lord!" In a rapid change of attitude, Linger threw on his nearest clothing and grabbed his supplies "Come along, boy! We must hurry!"
"Follow me, sir!" James rushed ahead of the surgeon, who was surprisingly quick-footed for a man past 50 years. They were on deck in less than two minutes.
Sinclair Gillette was laughing. His hands hovered in front of his face, but for the most part they made no contact.
James Norrington sat next to Sinclair, with Theodore Groves somewhat behind him. They were eyeing Sinclair with a mixture of confusion and worry. The latter had been laughing for close to twenty minutes. It wasn't a loud or harsh laugh, slightly more than a giggle, but it sounded maniacal. James worried that blood loss had brought his new friend to the borders of sanity.
The whole thing had started more than twenty minutes earlier though. It had started about five hours earlier
After collapsing on deck and having his wounds stitched – a nasty cut had also been found on his upper leg – he had remained unconscious for slightly over half an hour. James had been by his bedside in the doctor's cabin for his awakening, but had not been recognized. Rather, Sinclair had assumed i him /i the doctor and questioned James on the whereabouts of – James assumed – friends of his from the sunken French ship. After a few embarrassing minutes of not being able to answer any of Sinclair's questions, James was rather grateful when Sinclair drifted back into sleep.
His next awakening had been almost two and a half hours later, and James was all too ready for it. Sinclair still assumed James the doctor, but he seemed to remember where he was and made a bit of a spectacle out of himself by attempting to speak to James in English. It was a wholehearted attempt gone terribly wrong. Even worse, Theodore had wandered in after about fifteen minutes wearing a rather thick overcoat (which looked suspiciously like Lieutenant Saunders'), and had been assumed the Priest by Sinclair. James quickly explained the situation to his confused – and amused – friend. Sinclair, who of course could not understand a word, had looked James in the eye and asked "Am I like to die, sir?. James had reassured him that he was on the mend, and Sinclair had accepted the answer gratefully. Nonetheless, he still insisted on speaking with 'the Priest'.
It was then that James and Theodore had found out – to their utmost dismay – that Sinclair was Catholic.
A while later, when the redhead had drifted back into painless oblivion, James had buried his face in his hands and sighed loudly.
"I should have known! Or at least guessed!" he had lamented loudly.
"How would you have known?" Theodore had swung an arm around James' shoulders in an attempt to calm him.
"All of France is Catholic!"
"Oh."
"Well, not all of it, naturally. But most of it is. Anyone loyal to the crown is Catholic."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I went to school too."
"Sorry."
"I wasn't offended."
"Oh."
But by far the most unnerving conversation had come about an hour later, when Sinclair Gillette had awoken in perhaps his most delirious state yet, despite the fact that the colour was coming back into his cheeks at a healthy pace.
Theodore had left the room twenty-five minutes earlier on account of a rumbling stomach, though there was no guarantee he would get any food. James had watched patiently as Sinclair's hazy eyes roamed the ceiling before settling on him, and wondered who he would have to act the part of this time.
"Am I flying?"
"No. What makes you think that?"
"Just the sensation. Where am I then?"
"On a boat. The 'Everlasting', to be precise."
'Everlasting'…Then I am no doubt on my way to Heaven?"
"What? No! You are very much alive."
"Oh. I must be very lucky then. I thought I was dead for sure, and was on my way to the Lord."
"What made you so sure of that?"
"Well, you are an angel, are you not?"
James had been taken aback at the question, though not insulted.
"I'm not an angel, not me, no…"
"Really?" Sinclair had sounded disbelieving, "You look like one."
"I…uh…" James had then been at a complete loss for words, French or English. Sinclair responded by laughing slightly. A moment later James had thought he had heard and rustling sound; it turned out to be Sinclair, who was lifting his arm out from under the blanket.
James had watched, in a slight state of shock, as a heavily freckled hand rose through the air and pressed itself against his cheek. The back of Sinclair's hand ran down James' face, though whether it was meant as a stroke or Sinclair simply didn't have the strength to hold it up had been debatable. All he knew for sure was that despite the fact that he had felt himself grimace slightly, Sinclair had smiled and retracted his hand.
"Good night, angel," Sinclair said, and for the first time seemed to notice when he was drifting off.
James had sat wringing his hands for a good ten minutes before Theodore returned.
"Did he wake up?" Theodore asked happily. He had obviously eaten.
"No."
"Hmm…..hopefully he'll soon be back to himself. No that it isn't kind of funny to see where he thinks he is next, eh?"
"Oh? Oh, yes, quite." James managed to chuckle along with Theodore for a few seconds.
Now Sinclair had regained full consciousness, and James knew the current situation was partly his fault. Sinclair had inquired as to the state of the other two Frenchmen on board. James knew nothing of them, except that one of them had woken up for some time a few hours after being rescued. Theodore had volunteered to check up on them.
Upon returning, he broke the news. Yes, one was alive and eating on his own, in fact. The other had passed away from a rather serious burn during the night. Sinclair laughed bitterly. It had to be the Devil's doing, he said, that only he and "that pig, Ruskin" had been left alive.
Ruskin, apparently, was a whorer and a drunkard. The only one like that aboard.
And to Sinclair's dismay – no, more than that; terror – they were indeed the only ones found alive on the remains of the Valeur.
Now he cried. From what James had gathered, there had been six other boys like himself on the boat. Four had been childhood friends.
Dead.
Two of the lieutenants had been good friends of Sinclair's father. Another was his uncle, on his mother's side.
Dead.
The cat that had once shared their cabin after having snuck on board in search of better lodgings, and had been a friendly companion to everyone on the ship.
Dead.
James hadn't translated a thing for Theodore, who, incidentally, hadn't asked.
"I don't want to know," he had explained simply.Without warning, Sinclair seemed to regain some dignity, though not all would callit that, and began to sob. Now he buried his hands completely into his face, not that it helped. The blanket draped over his knees was soaking within a minute.
Whirling his head around, James could tell that the only thing keeping Theodore in the room was guilt. What would be thought of him if he left?
That thought however, was banished from James' mind when Theo stood up and moved himself over to thebedside to sit down at Sinclair's feet.
"Say something, James," he murmured, "Anything."
James thought desperately. Everything he could think of, no matter how comforting, always seemed to have some double meaning, that could come back and bite him in the rear, or at the least hurt Sinclair's feelings. But something had to be done.
He remembered one of Sinclair's delusional ramblings, and leaned down to his ear with one hand on the redhead's shoulder.
"Peut être, ceci est un effet de Dieu. Hm? Peut être tu es spécial, comme un ange."
Maybe you're special, like an angel.
Sinclair turned and looked him straight in the eyes. He seemed to have stopped breathing. His eyes searched James' face, looking for something. James felt a bit…odd…
Those were the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen, locked onto his face.
"Oui…" Sinclair seemed out of it. In fact, he seemed to believe everything James had just said, "Oui…comme un ange."
One hand moved from in front of Sinclair's face to his neck, patting his collarbone. Theo eyed him with a raised eyebrow, until the former let out a strangled cry.
"Ma croix! Où est ma croix?!" he was beside himself. Throwing off the covers – into Theo's face – Sinclair rolled onto the floor and tried to kneel on unsteady knees to search the floor, rather frantically.
"As-tu le vu?" he yelled to James, who was searching the mattress.
"What's he looking for?" yelled a ruffled Theodore.
"His cross!"
"What?"
"His cross! Like the ones rich folk wear to church!"
"Oh! Right," Theo automatically dropped next to Sinclair and slid his hand under the bed, moving it back and forth. His helpful nature always kicked in at the right moments.
"I can't find it anywhere," exclaimed James moments later, "It's not in the bed at all!"
"'S not under it either," replied Theo.
Sinclair looked at them nervously.
"L'as-tu trouvé?" he asked tentatively.
"Non," James mumbled. Sinclair turned to Theodore, who shook his head apologetically. The latter turned to James.
"If it had distinctive Catholic qualitives, one of the lieutenants probably has it."
James gasped. Oh dear! This did not bode well for either Frenchman aboard the Everlasting.
And behind the worried face, James could see that Sinclair was not just going to give up the search.
TBC
Author's Notes:
Thanks again to –M for beta-ing!
Oh, I put that one conversation between James and Sinclair in italics for a reason. That reason being they're speaking French, but I couldn't be bothered to write it out. I'll only use it when there's no one else around and/or for really long conversations where it would be pointless to translate everything.