Chapter 12 – Inconspicuous and Unarmed
I trailed behind Norrington as he frog-marched Comstock through the streets of Port Royal. The town didn't seem so big at first, but as I followed Norrington, it started to feel like I was walking miles. The sun was rising fast and with it, the heat and humidity. My borrowed dress, which had seemed light enough when I put it on this morning, now felt like a fabric oven. I was sweating and panting, wondering why Norrington wasn't even breaking a sweat, despite the heavy wool layers of his Navy uniform and that wig. Not even Comstock's struggling and whining seemed to be exerting Norrington. He marched steadily on, head held high. I was starting to wilt like a lily.
Finally, Norrington stopped and turned around, looking down at me. "Take my arm."
"Huh?"
"You're falling behind and worse, you are conspicuous. Take my arm."
I took his arm and let him drag me along the street with Comstock. Finally, we encountered one of Norrington's men, standing in front of the bakery. I knew it was a bakery, not just from the amazing smell of freshly baked bread but also from the powdered sugar on the lips of the pudgy redcoat. I recognized him from last night but couldn't remember his name. He swallowed loudly and hastily as he tried to process the sight in front of him. I guessed it wasn't every day he saw Norrington dragging a prisoner and a bounty hunter through the streets.
Norrington, of course, could have been handing the guy a newspaper instead of a prisoner, for all the emotion he showed. "Mr. Murtogg."
"Sir." Murtogg drew himself up, his eyes flicking from Comstock to me and back to Norrington. I noticed Murtogg also had a dusting of powdered sugar on the front of his red uniform. Were there 17th Century pastries with powdered sugar?
"Take custody of Mr. Comstock and let him sample His Majesty's hospitality. I will be interrogating him later today." Norrington turned quickly and shot me a look that warned me not to ask any questions.
"Yessir!" Murtogg grabbed Comstock. "Come along, you."
"B-but I said I would talk," Comstock bleated.
"Oh, you'll talk alright," Murtogg told him, shoving him down the street, taking the mystery of the powdered sugar with him.
Norrington watched them leave and then turned his gaze down to me. "I find that time in a cell loosens a tongue quite effectively. Comstock will tell me everything and then some by the time I pay him a visit later."
"But he was going to talk."
"And most likely lie," Norrington sniffed, "in a pathetic attempt to cover up his own wrongdoings. You will see that my methods are quite effective."
"So while we wait for solitary to soften him up, are we going to check out the widow," I asked.
A small smile crossed his face. "I thought perhaps you might like to stop into the baker's. You seemed rather intrigued by the sugar that Murtogg was wearing."
"You confiscated my cake," I reminded him. With a pang, I realized it was still on his desk, unless Murtogg got to it already. "Besides, I haven't had breakfast."
"And, of course, you have no money."
"Well, I would if somebody didn't stiff me on a certain Dutchman."
Norrington smiled again. "Very well, since I've deprived you of your bounty and your breakfast, allow me to purchase a Countess cake for you."
"It's the least you can do," I agreed.
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I sat outside the bakery, eating my Countess cakes, waiting for Norrington to come back with our transportation. He'd been a little taken aback when I ordered three of the small sugar-covered cakes, but then sighed and ponied up the silver. I was beginning to appreciate a stiff upper lip in a man. At least I didn't get a lecture about what the cakes could do to my thighs. Or my teeth. Countess cakes, it turned out, were as hard as rocks.
I wiped the last of the sugar from my lips just as Norrington came up, riding a big, brown horse. I got to my feet and looked at the horse. The horse looked back at me with its big, brown horse eyes. As if by silent agreement, we both backed up a step.
"Unh-uh. No way," I told Norrington. "Forget it."
"It is the least conspicuous mode of transportation." He steadied the horse. "Besides, Sophie is quite gentle."
Sophie and I looked at each other. Very slowly, I reached out to pat her on the nose. Sophie bared her teeth and bit me.
"Owww! I thought you said she was gentle!"
"She is. Usually." With that, Norrington scooped me up onto the saddle in front of him.
I was about to complain that I was sitting all wrong when I realized that I was probably sitting side-saddle. I knew that reading Black Beauty and the Black Stallion books would come in handy some day. What the books didn't tell you was that horses smelled.
"Miss Plum, have you never been on a horse," Norrington asked, his lips at my ear.
"No. Well, I think maybe when I was three, at a petting zoo." I seemed to remember that horse biting me, too.
His arm tightened around my waist. "Then you shall have to trust me and do as I say or you will be quite sore."
Swell. I couldn't wait to see what the rest of the day was going to bring.
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The Widow Comstock didn't just have a house. She had a plantation and a great big, white mansion. I couldn't tell what she was growing on the plantation, but it looked like bananas were one of the crops.
Norrington slowed Sophie to a walk. "I don't like this."
I looked harder, trying to figure out what was so obvious to him. And then I realized that there were no workers in the field. "Maybe it's not planting or harvesting season?"
"Your future must be a strange place indeed," he said, softly. "You know nothing about horses or farming, do you?"
"Nope, but I know about guns and finding fugitives."
"Touche." I could hear the smile in his voice but I knew if I turned around to look, I was going to fall off the horse. "The fields should be abuzz with activity. This is most peculiar."
I had a sinking feeling what we were going to find in the mansion and something told me Norrington had the same feeling.
He guided Sophie under a tree and set me down before dismounting. "We'll go on foot."
I nodded. "Good idea."
"Are you armed," he asked me.
"I don't like guns."
"I didn't ask whether you like guns, Miss Plum. I asked whether you have one."
"It's at home, in my cookie jar."
"In the future."
"Right."
Norrington sighed. "You are a most worrisome creature, Miss Plum. If we encounter this Ring person, how do you expect to apprehend him?"
"I'll think of something. I usually do."
"I was afraid you were going to say that."
I trailed behind Norrington as he frog-marched Comstock through the streets of Port Royal. The town didn't seem so big at first, but as I followed Norrington, it started to feel like I was walking miles. The sun was rising fast and with it, the heat and humidity. My borrowed dress, which had seemed light enough when I put it on this morning, now felt like a fabric oven. I was sweating and panting, wondering why Norrington wasn't even breaking a sweat, despite the heavy wool layers of his Navy uniform and that wig. Not even Comstock's struggling and whining seemed to be exerting Norrington. He marched steadily on, head held high. I was starting to wilt like a lily.
Finally, Norrington stopped and turned around, looking down at me. "Take my arm."
"Huh?"
"You're falling behind and worse, you are conspicuous. Take my arm."
I took his arm and let him drag me along the street with Comstock. Finally, we encountered one of Norrington's men, standing in front of the bakery. I knew it was a bakery, not just from the amazing smell of freshly baked bread but also from the powdered sugar on the lips of the pudgy redcoat. I recognized him from last night but couldn't remember his name. He swallowed loudly and hastily as he tried to process the sight in front of him. I guessed it wasn't every day he saw Norrington dragging a prisoner and a bounty hunter through the streets.
Norrington, of course, could have been handing the guy a newspaper instead of a prisoner, for all the emotion he showed. "Mr. Murtogg."
"Sir." Murtogg drew himself up, his eyes flicking from Comstock to me and back to Norrington. I noticed Murtogg also had a dusting of powdered sugar on the front of his red uniform. Were there 17th Century pastries with powdered sugar?
"Take custody of Mr. Comstock and let him sample His Majesty's hospitality. I will be interrogating him later today." Norrington turned quickly and shot me a look that warned me not to ask any questions.
"Yessir!" Murtogg grabbed Comstock. "Come along, you."
"B-but I said I would talk," Comstock bleated.
"Oh, you'll talk alright," Murtogg told him, shoving him down the street, taking the mystery of the powdered sugar with him.
Norrington watched them leave and then turned his gaze down to me. "I find that time in a cell loosens a tongue quite effectively. Comstock will tell me everything and then some by the time I pay him a visit later."
"But he was going to talk."
"And most likely lie," Norrington sniffed, "in a pathetic attempt to cover up his own wrongdoings. You will see that my methods are quite effective."
"So while we wait for solitary to soften him up, are we going to check out the widow," I asked.
A small smile crossed his face. "I thought perhaps you might like to stop into the baker's. You seemed rather intrigued by the sugar that Murtogg was wearing."
"You confiscated my cake," I reminded him. With a pang, I realized it was still on his desk, unless Murtogg got to it already. "Besides, I haven't had breakfast."
"And, of course, you have no money."
"Well, I would if somebody didn't stiff me on a certain Dutchman."
Norrington smiled again. "Very well, since I've deprived you of your bounty and your breakfast, allow me to purchase a Countess cake for you."
"It's the least you can do," I agreed.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
I sat outside the bakery, eating my Countess cakes, waiting for Norrington to come back with our transportation. He'd been a little taken aback when I ordered three of the small sugar-covered cakes, but then sighed and ponied up the silver. I was beginning to appreciate a stiff upper lip in a man. At least I didn't get a lecture about what the cakes could do to my thighs. Or my teeth. Countess cakes, it turned out, were as hard as rocks.
I wiped the last of the sugar from my lips just as Norrington came up, riding a big, brown horse. I got to my feet and looked at the horse. The horse looked back at me with its big, brown horse eyes. As if by silent agreement, we both backed up a step.
"Unh-uh. No way," I told Norrington. "Forget it."
"It is the least conspicuous mode of transportation." He steadied the horse. "Besides, Sophie is quite gentle."
Sophie and I looked at each other. Very slowly, I reached out to pat her on the nose. Sophie bared her teeth and bit me.
"Owww! I thought you said she was gentle!"
"She is. Usually." With that, Norrington scooped me up onto the saddle in front of him.
I was about to complain that I was sitting all wrong when I realized that I was probably sitting side-saddle. I knew that reading Black Beauty and the Black Stallion books would come in handy some day. What the books didn't tell you was that horses smelled.
"Miss Plum, have you never been on a horse," Norrington asked, his lips at my ear.
"No. Well, I think maybe when I was three, at a petting zoo." I seemed to remember that horse biting me, too.
His arm tightened around my waist. "Then you shall have to trust me and do as I say or you will be quite sore."
Swell. I couldn't wait to see what the rest of the day was going to bring.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The Widow Comstock didn't just have a house. She had a plantation and a great big, white mansion. I couldn't tell what she was growing on the plantation, but it looked like bananas were one of the crops.
Norrington slowed Sophie to a walk. "I don't like this."
I looked harder, trying to figure out what was so obvious to him. And then I realized that there were no workers in the field. "Maybe it's not planting or harvesting season?"
"Your future must be a strange place indeed," he said, softly. "You know nothing about horses or farming, do you?"
"Nope, but I know about guns and finding fugitives."
"Touche." I could hear the smile in his voice but I knew if I turned around to look, I was going to fall off the horse. "The fields should be abuzz with activity. This is most peculiar."
I had a sinking feeling what we were going to find in the mansion and something told me Norrington had the same feeling.
He guided Sophie under a tree and set me down before dismounting. "We'll go on foot."
I nodded. "Good idea."
"Are you armed," he asked me.
"I don't like guns."
"I didn't ask whether you like guns, Miss Plum. I asked whether you have one."
"It's at home, in my cookie jar."
"In the future."
"Right."
Norrington sighed. "You are a most worrisome creature, Miss Plum. If we encounter this Ring person, how do you expect to apprehend him?"
"I'll think of something. I usually do."
"I was afraid you were going to say that."