Chapter Four: Truth and Lies
"God-fucking-dammit!"
Jack twitched slightly upon hearing those words. He glanced at the young woman who had just said them, amazed that someone like her would be able to swear as fluently as any of his men. She was currently sitting in a chair, her feet propped up as Stephen carefully removed the grit and dirt that had accrued to her cut and bleeding soles when she had left the tent where Stephen had treated her for her heatstroke. She had turned her head away from what Stephen was doing, and instead gripped the edge of the stool with all her might.
"I am almost done," Stephen murmured as he dipped his tweezers into a nearby bowl of water, which was now a bright red in shade, instead of the normal clear color. "Not much longer now."
The young woman snarled a response in Italian, and whatever it had been Stephen merely ignored it. And then she added, in a somewhat softer voice, though still laden with as much venom as her first words: "I could sue you for malpractice, Dr. Maturin - if there are such things as malpractice suits in this day and age."
"I am sure you would, my dear." Stephen finally set aside the tweezers, and picked up a small jar. Dipping his fingers into it, he pulled up a glob of some foul-looking stuff that he slathered onto the raw - but clean - wounds. After he did so, he picked up a long strip of gauze, and wrapped that around the young woman's feet. "There now, all finished."
The woman looked at her feet, and then raised her gaze to look at Stephen. Her eyes were narrowed almost to slits, and Jack could not mistake the suspicion in them. "What was that shit you put on my feet?"
Jack had to admire the man's patience, because the good doctor merely quirked a small smile. "I do not think that you would want to know. Nevertheless, it will help your skin heal more quickly, and, as long as you keep off your feet for the next two days, you will be well enough to walk on the third."
The woman groaned. "I don't know what's worse: the fact that I can hardly feel my feet right now - though that's probably a good thing - or the fact that I'll be sitting here doing nothing."
"And would that be such a bad thing?" Jack inquired mildly, causing the woman to turn her gaze to him. "I had assumed that you would enjoy merely lying in bed."
The woman's eyebrow twitched in irritation. "Excuse me, but I don't remember asking for your opinion."
Jack narrowed his own eyes right back at her. "I will not take such disrespectful talk from you, madam."
Much to his surprise, the young woman simply sighed wearily, and allowed her shoulders to slump. "Sorry about that," she muttered. "I just hate feeling pain, you know? It makes my temper rise right to the rafters."
"Indeed." Jack had to agree - she did have a very volatile temper. Much like my own, in fact, he thought, and suppressed the smile that attempted to make its presence known.
He cleared his throat, signaling a change of topic, and said: "Well then, now that the doctor has treated you and seen to your injuries, I think that explanations are in order." He glanced at one of the Marines, who stood nearby. "Please call Mr. Pullings, Mr. Mowett, Mr. Howard and Mr. Allen. Tell them that I require their presence here immediately."
As the Marine moved to obey his order, he crossed to the other end of the tent, and pulled up a stool. He placed it directly in front of the young woman, who was in the process of accepting a cup of water from Stephen.
As the doctor told his patient what she should and should not do in the coming days, Jack took this time to observe her. Now that she had calmed down somewhat and was no longer swearing like a she-devil, he noticed that she was probably one of the most assertive women he had ever met in his life. It was obvious, from the way she moved and talked, that she was used to dealing with men on equal footing - perhaps even talking down to them, on occasion. Her movements were easy and assured, showing that she was comfortable being around others, and did not have a shy bone in her body - or if she did, it was very well hidden.
He also noticed that, underneath the body-hugging clothes that she wore, her muscles were well toned and somewhat defined, though not in the same way as the muscles of a man would be pronounced. Her build was athletic rather than muscular, reminding him of the sculptures of Spartan women, or perhaps statues of the goddess Diana. This told him that she could hold her own in a fight, though how far was something he was not so certain of.
She was sure of herself, and, so he believed, quite intelligent, because confidence like hers did not come to those who were dull and uneducated.
What puzzled him, however, was the fact that while most of these qualities were admirable in a woman, she seemed to have a rather inordinate amount of them in her personality.
Just then, the other officers filed into the tent. They cast suspicious and wary glances at the young woman, before moving to stand around Jack.
The woman eyed the officers, and smirked. "What's the goon squad for? To scare me into submission or something?"
Stephen cast a withering gaze at her. "I wish that you would not think us so wicked as to 'scare you into submission,' madam."
She shrugged, and responded to Stephen's statement, though she did not take her eyes off Jack: "Hey, when you're in my line of business, it's always a good idea to be prepared for anything."
"Which brings us to the matter at hand," Jack stated then. He leaned forward slightly. "I will be blunt, madam. We would like to know who you are, where you are from, and what your business is in this area."
The woman raised an eyebrow, and leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she did so. "Ah. Those." She paused thoughtfully. "You know, under normal circumstances, it'd take a lot more than a simple verbal demand to get such sensitive information out of me."
"And why would such information be sensitive?" Jack asked.
"Simply because." She sighed, and shook her head. "But since these are extraordinary circumstances, I think that it will be okay to tell you." She breathed in, exhaled slowly, and then looked up. "My name is Mercia Stella Fiammeta di Salmileri. I am a free agent, working for an organization that strives to safeguard the world by working in the shadows. My mission is classified."
Jack raised an eyebrow. The way she responded clearly indicated that she was from the military, or, at the very least, military-trained. The business-like way that she gave her name and her status all showed that she had undergone training, but most likely not in the Navy.
Stephen spoke up then. "What do you mean, your mission is 'classified'?"
"It means that I am not to give anyone the details of my mission unless they have the proper clearance - clearance that you don't have, I'm sure." She tilted her head slightly. "It's one thing to know my name and line of work; it's an entirely different thing to know what exactly I am supposed to do."
Jack smirked. "Unfortunately, madam, I do not think that is an option for you at the moment." He leaned forward slightly. "We are in the middle of a war, madam."
"Yes, I know. Against Napoleon."
"Indeed. Now then, since you seem to have some understanding of how the military works, I can assume that you are not completely unaware of what is done to spies." His eyes narrowed slightly, almost wickedly, at her. "You may not tell us what your mission is, and we will be forced to assume that you are a spy against England - an accusation that most people will not take lightly, and which may make life very difficult for you."
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't work for any government. I'm a free agent - that means I work for no one except my superior."
"That, madam, does not count for much in your situation, I am afraid," Jack told her, allowing himself to tinge his voice with amusement, as he continued: "On the other hand you may tell us what your business is here, and if we are so inclined, we may even go out of our way to help you." He leaned back, and smiled. "Now then, it is up to you to decide what it is you wish to do."
Mercy glared at Jack Aubrey, not liking this situation at all. She had been in similar situations before, and she had always been able to get out before they had gotten any information out of her, but this was an entirely different pickle. First of all, she wouldn't be able to leave the island, since as far as she could remember, the mainland wasn't very near to the Galapagos, and that meant swimming from the island to the mainland was completely out of the question. And even if she did find a way to get herself to the mainland safely, where would she go? The time warp device was still with Romelien, and, if her assumptions were correct, he should still be on the island.
On the other hand, she could be going completely against protocol if she told these people her mission. As she said, it was one thing to say her name and her job, but it was another thing to tell them what she had come for. She felt that, even if she told them what she was supposed to do, they weren't going to believe her anyway. Her chances of being locked up in the bottom of their ship because they considered her crazy were the same as her chances of them helping her. But that would still mean telling them what she had come for.
I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't, she thought with a grimace, recalling Alec's favorite phrase when it came to dealing with her and his fiancée and Mercy's best friend, Ami Tejada. While she was in no mood to be using any of Alec's words, the situation at the moment called for it.
She sighed. I might as well take a chance and hope for the best, she thought as she looked up at Aubrey. "Let's make a deal, okay?" She slapped her hands against her lap. "Lamesa (1)."
Jack blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Lamesa. It means 'table'. Whatever I say to you people, none of it leaves the table."
One of the lieutenants - a rather tall, handsome fellow with dark hair, green eyes, and a scar across his face - blinked at her. "But madam, there is no table."
Mercy rolled her eyes irritably, and glared at him. "What I meant was, whatever I say here and now does not get mentioned to anyone else except for those who are currently present. Nothing leaves the four walls of this tent. Do you get that?"
"Mr. Pullings understands your terms," Jack assured her then, sparing a momentary glance at the lieutenant, who blushed and looked away, ashamed. "And now that you have our assurance that we shall never mention whatever is said here and now, will you tell us why you are here?"
Mercy sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose gently, knowing that a headache was imminent. "Well, it's a long story, but as they say, the best place to start a long story is at the beginning. So, here's how it all started..."
And so she told them. She told them how her brother, Alec Marvail, sent her to track down Dr. Jacques Romelien, a French doctor and spy who had stolen a newly developed machine that allowed anyone to go back in time, at any point in history, with a push of a button. She told them what had happened, how she had lured Romelien into her cabin on the cruise ship Hecuba, and had planned to make him give her the machine, or kill him and then take it, before he did something very stupid. And then she told them, much to her chagrin, how Romelien had jumped out the window, and how she had followed him, only to watch, helpless, as he pushed the button on the machine.
"And that is how I got here," she finished. "Now I have to find Romelien, take the damned device off of him, and send the both of us back to our time. I assume that he's still on this island, and if that's the case, then that means I can still catch him, take that device off of him, and then send the both of us back to our time."
A long, long silence followed her words. The men were now staring at her as if she had gone completely crazy. She sighed, and closed her eyes. Why was she not surprised?
"Impossible."
She opened her eyes, and glanced at the Jack. "Huh? You said something?"
"I said that it was impossible," Jack replied as he got up, and began pacing whatever length of floor there was in front of her. "What you speak of - this concept of 'time travel' or whatever it is that you are saying - is nothing more than fanciful hogwash." He smirked at her. "Have you ever considered becoming a writer, Lady di Salmileri? You have a very lively imagination."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't expect you to believe me right away. All I'm saying is that that is how I got here, and that there is no other way I could have gotten here except that."
"But just how exactly-"
She raised her hand, indicating that Jack should stop. "I can't tell you everything, since I don't understand anything more than the basic premises of quantum physics. I'll just say that it is all in the mathematics - well, most of it anyway. And in chemistry too, now that I really think about it."
Just then, a man in his late thirties to early forties and dressed in the red coat that marked him as a member of the Royal Marines, asked: "If you are from the future, as you claim to be, will you tell us whether Napoleon shall win the war or not?"
"I can't tell you that either," she replied. "Sure, I know who will win this war, but I'm not going to tell you, because I will be doing more harm than good."
"And why not?" The man who said this was a rather sweet-faced one in his late twenties or so, and who reminded Mercy of a teddy bear she used to own when she was a little girl. "Imagine the number of lives you would spare by telling us the outcome."
She shook her head. These people simply did not get it, did they? "No one deserves to die. I'll agree on that point, especially if it is an innocent person. But speaking as one who comes from the future, these people are supposed to die. One small change in the course of events, and that could mean disaster for everyone - both for those people in this time and in mine. So while I do not mean to be cold, I am not telling you anything about the events that are to come, and I am not going to stop anyone from dying."
Dr. Maturin sighed then. "She's right, Mr. Mowett." He glanced at her, and offered a small smile. "I do not truly understand how you could have gotten here through the vastness of time and space, and I would certainly like to know how you did it. It would prove many of the vague theories that have appeared in some scientific journals."
Mercy flashed a small, half-smile at the doctor in gratitude. It was only then that she remembered how much verbal abuse she had been giving him. She would thank him, and apologize - later.
"Now then, I think it would be a good thing to let the young lady rest." Dr. Maturin made a gesture, indicating that everyone should leave the tent. When Jack did not move, he frowned. "You too Jack."
Jack made a small sound of assent, and lifted his hands, indicating that he was surrendering to the good doctor's request. With a smile at the doctor and a nod at her, he exited the tent.
Mercy sighed, and closed her eyes, rubbing them with her fingers. There was nothing to be done now: she had told them the truth, and all she could do was wait for them to actually decide on what their course of action would be.
"They seem to have tired you out."
Mercy shifted her fingers, and peered between them at Dr. Maturin. "You said something?"
The doctor smiled at her as he sat down in the stool that Jack had occupied earlier. "I said: we seem to have tired you out." He nodded towards the exit of the tent. "Forgive Jack. He is a naturally stubborn man. You cannot imagine how difficult it is to deal with him at times."
Mercy chortled. "Yeah, I think I can." She lowered her hands, and looked at the doctor straight in the eye. "Dr. Maturin-"
"Call me Stephen, please."
"Alright then. Stephen, I'd like to apologize for being so difficult and rude." She offered a small, sheepish smile. "I can get like that when I'm in pain. And I guess, me wanting to avoid getting hurt has made me good at what I do."
Dr. Maturin - Stephen - nodded. "I suppose I can understand that. Various people have various ways of dealing with pain, whether physical or otherwise." He smiled at her. "And do not worry about the things you have said and done. I have dealt with far worse, I assure you."
She allowed herself to laugh at that. "Alright, if you say so."
Stephen nodded, and then stood up, moving towards her. "Come along, then. It is time that I put you to bed."
"Hey, I'm not a little girl, you know," Mercy sniffed, putting on an offended air, though she knew that he knew she as just teasing. She tried to stand up, but was unable to do so because of the lack of feeling in her feet.
"Let me remind you that I am the doctor here, and thus know better." He helped her to her feet, and supported her as he led her, hobbling, to the nearby cot.
She stuck her tongue out at him, but grinned right after as she sat down on the cot. It was a little hard, by her standards, but who was she to complain? She had had to make do without a bed before. At least, this was better than sleeping outside.
Stephen smiled satisfactorily as he gently lifted her legs, and placed them on the cot. "There. Now then, I suggest that you go and get some sleep. You seem to have had precious little of it, considering everything that has happened to you, and you do need your rest in order to recuperate. If you sleep through until supper, I will come here myself and bring you some food, or if I cannot, I will send someone else to do so."
Mercy nodded, knowing that either way, she wouldn't be able to argue. "Okay, that's fine by me."
Stephen smiled, and nodded one last time before he exited the tent.
Left alone, Mercy sighed, and lay down on the cot, resting her head against the somewhat lumpy pillow. She stared up at the ceiling of the tent, and wondered just what she had gotten herself into when she told these people practically everything that had to do with the mission - information that was not supposed to get out.
In the end, she mentally shrugged, and turned over so that she was lying on her side. There was nothing she could do now; everything was completely out of her hands. The only thing she could do, was wait, and cross her fingers.
(1) - This is a Pilipino word, and means, "table," as Mercy has translated. As some people who have some knowledge of Spanish will notice, the word "lamesa" is actually a composite of "la mesa," which means "the table" in Spanish. This is not surprising, since the Philippines was once a Spanish colony, and was held as such for more than three hundred years, and hence, as often happens in countries that were once colonies of other countries, the colonizers' language is bastardized and adapted to suit the needs of the those who have been colonized.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
Bean02 – I am glad that you are enjoying my story thus far. Yes, Mercy does indeed swear in multiple languages: English (since that seems to be the general language spoken in most countries nowadays), Italian (her father's language), and Pilipino (her mother's language). And yes, we must indeed pity Stephen's ears. It must have been torture for him that he could understand a greater majority of Mercy's speech in Italian, since she can say some very unpleasant things in the language. I am relatively glad that he does not understand Pilipino, since Mercy can say some extremely foul things in that language too.
ArcherofDarkness – I thank you for thinking that my original character is well rounded, and for thinking that the story has great detail. I try to put in as much detail as is humanly possible without making it seem overdone, since I am a fan of detail as well. And I thank you very, very much for adding my story to your favorites' list.
Belphegor – I will have to agree with your assessment of Stephen on all points. I do not put it past him to know as many languages as he does, and to have read literature that focuses on the humanist ideal.
As for the languages, Mercy speaks Pilipino, which is the national language of the Philippines, my country. It is a hybrid of Spanish and Tagalog, one of the major dialects spoken here in my country (there are eight or nine more major dialects, which branch out into hundreds more). Given that this is the early 1800s, I highly doubt that Stephen would know Pilipino, since it did not exist as an official language until the early 1900s, and during this time, the Philippines was still under Spanish rule, though the seeds of revolution were already beginning to sprout.
I am not the type of author who asks what I should do next, and never have been. I feel that asking other people what sort of direction the story should take only adds to more confusion, and I may end up writing a story that is no longer completely "mine." While I do value other people's opinions, and I do enjoy hearing them speculate, I will write this story (and my other stories) as I see fit. I may not see the end, but I do see how this story should go up to a certain point, and I will work on the rest of it when I get there.
As for historical accuracy, I must say that I am always conscious of it, and I will certainly demand it in the literature that I read, or in the movies that I see. History is a pleasure to me, and I much prefer getting historical details right. When I see a slip-up – or several, as I saw in Troy – I begin to nitpick, and when I nitpick, I will take everything and look at each and every detail under the microscope.
Which is why I am girding myself for when Alexander comes out, since I am almost certain that Hollywood will have botched it up somewhere. I will be only too happy if they prove me wrong.
Miss Flossy – Thank you for finding the reference to Pirates of the Caribbean funny. Since there is already news of a sequel to the first one, I imagined that, if the first two continue to be successful, we will see more of Pirates…perhaps they would even shoot Part Four. Who knows?
I do have to agree with what you mentioned about swearing in German. I have heard some of the International Studies professors at my university do it, and while I cannot understand a word of what they are saying, just listening to them makes me wince.
As for what the boys have said, well… Mercy would like to say this:
For fucking crying out loud, could youplease get your hormones under control?! And that goes for all of you!
Well, please get that message out to them. In the meantime, she will be hiding in her room. If the boys are smart, they will not dare approach, since I saw her take in a sniper rifle with her, and she is not afraid to use it.