Chapter Two:
By the time Martha and The Doctor had been flung into the brig, it was getting light. Naturally, the brig was in the bowels of the ship and its dankness reflected this fact but the Flying Dutchman was not a ship that had been well looked after. In spite of the rather grim outlook of the situation, the literal outlook was full of generous gashes in the wood surrounding the rusted cage of the brig. Faint light filtered through rotting panels, lighting up isolated areas of the uneven floor that was littered with mounds of various sea life. Martha had been violently shoved into the brig by a creature she aptly named "Shell-Head" and The Doctor followed before the cage door was slammed shut with an unhealthy groan of corroded metal. Apart from a guard at the exit the rest of the crew quickly left, and Martha began to run over the past few moments in her mind, which mostly consisted of giving the crew hilarious names. They were the worst captors she had ever encountered; nobody had bothered to introduce himself. Apart from Davy Jones and that weird coral creature, Martha didn't catch any other names.
Unable to bear standing up any longer, Martha reluctantly sank to the floor. Her clothes were sodden from The Doctor's little prank earlier and so she concluded there was no point worrying about her £50 jeans, even though she was soaked through to the skin and movement was quite restricted. She instantly regretted her decision to sit when she placed her hand in something that reminded her of wet cardboard. In the half-light, she lifted the same hand to her face and gagged at the unidentifiable black sludge that covered her palm. Looking away, she wiped her hand against a coral formation at the back of her temporary (she hoped) prison. She then remembered the presence of The Doctor and looked towards him, hoping to see that he was already formulating an escape plan. Disappointingly, he simply stood sideways on about a pace away from the bars, staring at nothing in particular with crease lines on his forehead.
"You'll have to sit down eventually," said Martha, his eyes didn't even flicker in acknowledgement "no point keeping your suit clean now you've got tentacle slime all over it…" she continued, feeling awkward in the silence that followed. The Doctor blinked once and continued his staring contest with the rocks at the opposite end of the cage. Martha sighed and hugged her knees against her chest, thinking of everything she was currently missing, such as a warm bed and a change of clothes. She was just about to drift off to sleep when The Doctor finally moved, his trainers squelching against the carpet of seaweed beneath his feet. He was closer to Martha now, but still refusing to sit, instead he leaned against the very back of the brig; arms folded and crossed one leg over the other.
"I know you think you can't get us out of here without your sonic screwdriver, but I'm sure you'll find a way," Martha smiled, looking up at him "you always do," she added, but her expression drooped back into a frown after The Doctor didn't answer again. Martha shivered. The combination of wet clothes and genuine fear was making it extremely difficult to reap the benefits of the rising temperature. Martha had never imagined a trip to the Caribbean being like this.
"I'm sorry," he remarked rather suddenly. He then slipped his coat off his shoulders and held it by the lapels, shuffling over to Martha.
"Why?" she asked as he knelt behind her and gently placed his coat over her. She forgot to thank him but he didn't think anything of it, she was clearly quite cold and her instant reflex in closing the coat around her was enough for an unspoken expression of gratitude. He crouched, clasping his hands together and resting them between his knees.
"Because, I honestly don't know how to get us out of this," he replied very matter of fact.
"You'll find a way, you can talk your way out of anything" Martha said with another smile, more half-hearted this time. She had a pleading look in her eyes that almost broke The Doctor's hearts, how could he answer without indicating that he truly did not know what to do? He let out a heavy sigh and began turning phrases over in his thoughts, contemplating the best way to sugar coat his explanation and also avoid alerting the attentions of the guard. Unfortunately, some tact was lost when he finally spoke out aloud.
"Oh I don't think I can talk my way out of this, Davy Jones isn't the bargaining sort unless there's a very heavy price involved, we're stuck here for the duration,"
"Surely even something so…monstrous, can feel compassion?" Martha asked, that look of hope still flickering in her eyes.
"You'd need a heart for that," replied The Doctor through gritted teeth. This was not the direction he wanted to take the conversation.
"Well, surely he has one?" Martha enquired, genuinely intrigued whether or not The Doctor was implying what she thought he was implying. He sucked in a breath noisily, and Martha tried not to giggle imagining he was about to tell her that her boiler would cost £500 to replace.
"He doesn't," stated The Doctor, dropping his head slightly.
"What?" Martha's mouth appropriately fell open like that of a fish.
"Carved it out…"
"Maybe that's why he threw us in here," said Martha, a wicked glint in her eyes "maybe he's after one of your spares!" she scoffed, trying to inject some humour into their predicament. Unfortunately, The Doctor lifted his head and seemed quite un-amused. Martha's spine became rigid and she cleared her throat "sorry. Anyway, why would you do that?"
"Ah you know…" replied The Doctor, ignoring her little faux pas and also using a tone of voice that suggested he was about to skip all the delicate details. "The usual reason, forfeiting humanity to achieve immortality, that sort of thing," he moved to sit down properly and crossed his legs.
"But why?" asked Martha, realising that she was probably pushing him too far. The Doctor sighed again, he wasn't going to get out of this.
"The pain of lost love was too much to bear," he whispered, eyes flicking in the opposite direction away from Martha "so he cut out his heart, hoping never to feel such agony, such…loss, ever again,"
"Is that what you felt like doing?" quipped Martha without thinking. The Doctor's glare could have burned holes in her flesh, "don't go there" she noted.
"He allowed himself to become cruel, allowed himself to transform, to be one with the ocean, that which he both loved and despised," said The Doctor flatly, a definite indication that Martha's attempt at comparison was uncalled for and had overstepped the mark.
"Well, he's cold and slimy enough to be like the ocean," Martha remarked, pulling the coat tighter around her at the memory of tentacles creeping over her skin. The Doctor stayed silent this time and she decided it was best not to ask him any more questions. With a sigh, Martha dropped her head so that it was resting upon his shoulder. The last thing she could remember before sleep claimed her was being soothed by the steady rise and fall of The Doctor's chest.
It was broad daylight and the temperature soaring by the time the crewman whom Martha had named "Boils" stormed into the brig area. He was perhaps one of the more human looking members of the crew, his face was an odd shape but the only affliction he appeared to suffer was several mussel shells clinging to his face like a severe case of acne. He also had seaweed for hair.
"On your feet, scum," he said in a gruff voice, hammering the bars of the cage to rouse the sleeping Martha. She blinked, feeling disorientated as she had temporarily forgotten her location, while The Doctor had apparently not moved at all since she fell asleep. He was sitting in the same position, staring at the bars in front of them. "On your feet!" barked the creature again.
"Oi, alright, girl's got to sleep!" snapped Martha, rising up with a squint as it was still gloomy in the brig but the shafts of light breaking through the ship walls were quite punishing. The Doctor stood without a word, and slipped his hands in his pockets giving what Martha had dubbed his classic defensive stance, which also included a slightly stuck-out bottom lip. The being on the opposite side of the bars eyed The Doctor suspiciously.
"You," it pointed at The Doctor "Cap'n Jones wants to see you," it turned a key in the brig lock and roughly opened the door, bringing strain upon the hinges. The Doctor didn't move. "NOW!" yelled the creature, using his now keyless hand to finger the chain held at his side. More out of concern for Martha than his own well being, The Doctor stepped forward and took up a position beside this bossy hybrid between man and sea. As soon as it rolled the cage door back into place and attached the keys to its belt, Martha rushed up to the bars and gripped them tightly.
"Be careful!" she called as The Doctor was led to the exit. He glanced over his shoulder and gave a subtle nod. The creature did not see the nod, but it noticed The Doctor's steady pace and turned to him with a snarl.
"Hurry up!" it growled, lifting the ball and chain into full view. Knowing that a shot put to the head would be far from pleasant, The Doctor had no choice but to keep walking. However, there was no fear present within him, in fact he was secretly smirking.
As The Doctor was led across the deck, he noticed many familiar faces from the previous night on their haunches, obediently scrubbing the wood. Their efforts only seemed to slow the process of marine life creeping across the decks but it appeared to be more of an exercise in discipline. A fish faced being with a fin upon his back was standing over the crew as they worked, a whip permanently in his grasp. It wasn't long before The Doctor's educated guess was confirmed, one unfortunate soul began to put less effort into his scrubbing but was soon spurred on by a very audible crack of the whip. The scene was now behind The Doctor but the pained yelp that sounded immediately after meant that there were no warning shots, only instantaneous punishment.
The Doctor was led up to the entrance to what he guessed would be the main cabin and was abruptly pushed through the open door. He turned to protest but the door in question was quickly closed, cutting him off from the crew and more importantly access to Martha. He was suddenly feeling very alone but he had to admit that the scene in front of him was quite breath taking. He knew that the Flying Dutchman was, according to legend, a thing of decadent and organic beauty, but this was definitely the room that confirmed it. A long, sparsely decorated stretch of floor led towards a magnificent pipe organ, the highest pipes threatening to burst through the ceiling and appearing so very alive in their composition. Not since the construction of a TARDIS had The Doctor witnessed such a perfect fusion between man made technology and living organism. He could almost hear the organ growing, he could feel its moods without a single note being played. Davy Jones sitting on the barnacle-encrusted bench was the last thing The Doctor noticed, and it seemed Jones had not heard the door for his back was turned.
Feeling a little impatient, The Doctor cleared his throat and Jones stiffened before standing slowly. As Jones performed an elegant about face, The Doctor noticed that his captor's other hand was relatively human, albeit blighted with sucker pads and a tentacled index finger wrapped twice around the rest of the wrist. Jones didn't speak as he approached The Doctor, the increasingly familiar thud…pause being the only soundtrack so far to this particular meeting. The Doctor found himself in a similar position to just a few hours beforehand; head raised as the two non-humans stood barely a foot apart just observing one another.
"Do you fear death?" Jones literally spat. The Doctor didn't even twitch.
"That won't work on me Jones," he replied coolly. Jones bared his teeth and made an unsatisfied watery grunt. He paced around The Doctor, never taking his eyes off his latest prisoner, who defiantly continued to gaze at the pipe organ.
"And what sort of demon spawn be ye who possesses twice the heartbeat of mortal souls and has plenty of those to spare too?" demanded Jones, lunging forward on the next step and pausing. The Doctor looked to his right and grinned.
"What indeed," he mused, returning his attentions to the pipe organ. Jones growled again and stomped over to the cabin door, opening it with violent force.
"Clanker!" he yelled, The Doctor's rather rude escort reappeared instantly.
"Cap'n?"
"Show him!" replied Jones, suggesting some predetermined understanding between Captain and crewman. Clanker grabbed The Doctor roughly by the arm and forced him onto the deck outside the cabin. It gave a very advantageous view of the entire main deck from cabin right towards the bow, and The Doctor could watch every last crewmember that was on deck as they moved to lift the ancient grate covering the cargo hold. The Doctor was overcome with concern once he realised that he had observed some grating above his head in the area where the TARDIS had landed last night, "this is extremely bad" he thought, swallowing hard. A pulley constructed from seaweed, rope and assorted shells was swung over to the gaping hole and swiftly lowered. Mere seconds later, the crew formed a line and heaved the seaweed rope, gradually pulling the TARDIS from the lower parts of the ship. A creature with a starfish above his right eye tethered the rope to an iron hook and "Shark-Head" gave the order for another rope to be pulled, swinging the TARDIS over the edge of the starboard side.
"Yer not from around these parts, are ye?" hissed Jones in The Doctor's ear. The Doctor sighed, unable to tear his eyes away from the helpless position of his beloved ship. "To the depths!" snarled Jones.
"No don't!" The Doctor cried out, gripping the rail in front of him until his knuckles turned white. The crew froze, keeping hold of the rope but gawping at their captain, unable to gage his impending reaction. Surprisingly, he didn't raise his voice or even order that The Doctor receive twenty lashes for speaking out, instead he chuckled. "I'll do anything, just don't do that, again…"
"Yer little box means more tae ye than that writing implement" Jones observed. "What price would you be willing to pay I wonder?"
"I know that the East India Company has your heart…" Jones widened his eyes in disbelief.
"And how would ye know such a thing?" he asked, jabbing his claw into The Doctor's chest.
"Oh I know my history, or in this case…mythology" said The Doctor. He faced Jones, mouth curling into a half-smile as he believed the upper hand was now with him. "Believe me, if you want me to help you get your heart back, I'll need that box kept safe," Jones made a thoughtful popping sound and his tentacles writhed, as he appeared to be pondering something.
"I'm quite tempted to accept that offer," he said, lifting a tentacle and ruthlessly wrapping it around The Doctor's throat without warning, "tis a pity I don't quite trust ye!" snapped Jones, jerking The Doctor's body as he turned to Clanker. "Bring me the girl! And ready her to go overboard…"