Dark was the night. Only a few lanterns cast an eerie green glow on the ramparts. The fort was quiet save for the soft swish of the swaying, empty noose swinging from the gallows. Even the prisoners awaiting that certain fate had long since quieted down to attempt sleep in their cells. In the dank passage of the lowest level of the gaol, snores shuddered through the silence.
It had been a long day for Murtogg and Mullroy. First, they'd had the misfortune of being assigned to docks duty. While there was nothing unusual about the task itself, it had proved a most unusual day at the docks. There had been several mishaps, all of which leant heavily upon the two redcoats and least of which was not the veritable menagerie of the farmer Dockett's new shipment. Murtogg's rear end had had the distinct displeasure of making acquaintance with the unforgiving horns of an ornery ram. Mullroy did not make off much better, for a whole group of goats had taken a liking to the taste of his coat's skirt. Twice did the both of them step foot in something that they found, to their dismay, was not mud. As men had packed Dockett's carts with crates of chickens, one squawking bird had got loose and flew straight for Murtogg's wig. Mullroy had unfortunately picked that moment to turn to speak to his comrade and so it was that Murtogg's wig had been spared—Mullroy, though, had had to spend several hours in the infirmary having sharp feathers removed from his reddened cheeks.
When finally the Doctor had proclaimedMullroy free of feathers, Murtogg had appeared with the news that they'd been reassigned to accompany the Commodore to the Governor's mansion. This in itself was usually a fancied affair for the two—Swann was a gracious host and they usually enjoyed, upon their visits to his home, a healthy sampling of jam tarts or pastries while their superior officers spoke of business and of duty with the Governor. This day, though, Swann had called the Commodore to complain verily of his daughter having gone missing for quite some time. As the Commodore had not the answers that the Governor wished to hear, Murtogg and Mullroy had been sent to fetch the Admiral—just as the butler had swept by with a tray of goodies. Grumbling, the two Navymen had gone off to grab their commander from his newly appointed office.
They hadbeen promptly reassigned to hold a party of prisoners in the infirmary. It had been with heavy hearts that they'd resigned themselves to their fates of not this day tasting one of the Governor's tasty treats. It had been with heavy hearts that they'd stood still and silent in the stench of the infirmary. It had been with heavy hearts that they'd realized too late that the stench came from the prisoners—who had apparently been apprehended for public drunkenness, as one or two of them would invariably shout madness then spout vomit.
Mullroy had, at one point, been standing too close to the one of them that spouted up and the red wool of his coat had been spattered with rancid stench. Murtogg had snickered his sympathies until the other drunk had gargled up his gut all over the redcoat's shoe. When the Admiral had returned he had been disgusted and ordered the two men out to sup. Both stinking, though, Murtogg and Mullroy hadn't the appetite to eat. They'd both gone their separate ways to their separate homes to rid themselves of the sick smell they'd suffered smelling. It wasn't long before a currier had come running for the both of them with new orders: they would have the pleasure of feeding Will Turner's mulish beast.
Mullroy had not been at all surprised to hear that his comrade was thrilled with the reassignment. Murtogg was, afterall, obsessed with the pirate Jack Sparrow. Turner being one of the scoundrel's closest friends made for a chance of finding something of Sparrow's hiding away in the smithy. Murtogg seemed determined to make a snoop of himself—until they discovered that the only thing Sparrow had left in the smithy was an ornery mule. There had been rumors of his encounter with the beast on his first foray into Port Royal, but the two redcoats had thought it conjecture. When Murtogg lifted a blade from the cold ash of the fire, though, and the mule stormed him down into the dirt, the two soldiers came to the conclusion that the story had not been so much a story as an account. It had taken Mullroy near on an hour to separate Murtogg and the mule; he had had some success early on but Murtogg kept making the same mistake of lifting that same blade from what would normally be the forge's fire. Finally, after insisting Murtogg leave the thing where it lay, they had been able to calm the beast and feed it well enough. They'd been nearly done when the Commodore stormed the smithy with news that old Missus Waverly required their assistance.
Old Missus Waverly, a widow who lived at the edge of town, was exactly what her name implied: old and wavering. So wavering was she that it was usually difficult to tell what she was saying. So old she was that it was usually difficult for her to puzzle out what it was she wanted to say. Between the two conditions, she was what Mullroy perceived to be a bloody nuisance. Murtogg was equally fond of her and, unfortunately for he and Mullroy, Old Missus Waverly was extremely enamoured by the both of them. Whenever she sent her harried houseboys to beg help, she specifically requested the assistance of Murtogg and Mullroy. Being men of morals, both redcoats could not admit to the other that they wished Old Missus Waverly would get too old to live any longer.
That day, she had wanted men to move her piano out onto the balcony. Or so Mullroy had thought—until a rainstorm had come upon them and soaked the instrument in a deluge of rain as Old Missus Waverly shook in horror. Murtogg's attempt to remedy the situation had left deep gouges in the tiled floor. In the end, the two men had had to dry the innards of the instrument and then move Pete, the parrot, to his new upstairs perch: the task that had been meant for them afterall. Pete the parrot took an instant liking to the buttons on Murtogg's coat. Mullroy had had a delightful time tearing the bloody bird from his comrade's person, nearly being beaked to death in the process. When finally they'd managed, though, they'd said their goodbyes(hopefully their last!) to Old Missus Waverly and ran to their waiting carriage. It had taken them back to the fort where the Admiral had assigned them to a watch. It was their snores disturbing the silence, much to the irritation of the sleepy prisoners stuck in their cells.
"Ey you," shouted one, "cut out that snoring or I'll cut out yer tongue for ye!"
Murtogg and Mullroy, though, had had a long day and so they slumped in their stools at opposite ends of the passageway, jaws slack as they slumbered. Mullroy gave a great snort of a snore. Air whistled through Murtogg's nose.
"Ey, we're tryin to sleep in 'ere!"
"Get sleep on yer own time, ye lazy arses!"
"Listen to the one—he's soundin like a pig!"
Indeed, Mullroy sounded like a pig as he slept, oblivious to the men threatening his very life.
Murtogg was as clueless.
"This a-one's a teakettle!"
The prisoners, irritated as they were, all shut their mouths when they heard a strange rumble ripple its way in from the windows facing the sea. It was followed by the rumble of a man's voice. A man's terribly angry, terribly loud voice.
WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING!
Murtogg and Mullroy woke with a start.
"What was that?"
"Sounded like Jack Sparrow."
"How could that have been Jack Sparrow?"
Murtogg shrugged. "Dream?" he suggested.
"Oh yeah," Mullroy agreed sleepily. "Right."
