Chapter 7: Tricksters
The wind was cool, almost chilly. It was a relief being so high up... Away from the chaos below.
Aurora was standing on the highest wall on the castle with her arms spread like a bird ready to fly. She was facing towards the sea. It was her only escape, to hear only the wind in her ears and feel the cool stone beneath her bare feet.
Her eyes were tightly closed, if she opened them then the trance would be broken, and she would see the rising tides and be weighed down once more by worry for her sister, worry that she would never see her family whole and happy again.
If she opened her eyes then reality would come back to her, and everything that she held tightly to her heart would drain away like it had never been.
She wished Emma had taken her too, and then at least she could know... Know if Hook really did kill Philip. She had seen him do it with her own eyes, it can't have been a trick... Or even an illusion. She recognised magic when she saw it, and that wasn't any spell.
Maybe she was just seeing the good in everyone. Even the killer of one of her friends.
Maybe she was wrong.
But still it continued...
He should have listened. He should have run.
She began to wonder if she was going mad, and all of her good senses had died along with Philip.
And maybe she was right.
Her fathers soldiers were searching the land for the runaway princess and Hook... There had been no sign of either of them. How was it possible that Emma wasn't found after the first hour of her disappearance? Maybe it was because she managed to sneak around unnoticed for years, it was something Aurora never could manage, and maybe that was why Emma didn't offer for her to come along.
It was logical, but still... She felt a sudden sadness that she wasn't told. It seemed like nobody whispered a word to her about anything that was going on, she was always known as the delicate frail girl who didn't understand things like sorrow, and death. She pretended that she oblivious to the fact that they were on the very brink of war. It was hard, and everything she did was becoming more and more like an act. Even though she didn't show it, she was as wild and brave as Emma, she just kept it inside all of her life... But now she wanted to come out of hiding, she wanted to spread her wings and fly.
She felt like it was possible just then. Possible to jump, and instead of falling to the ground, broken... She would fly free among the clouds.
It was impossible... But it still tempted her.
And as if the gods had heard her, there was a strong gust of wind... like they were encouraging her to try it. She was then knocked off-balance, and her eyes flew open. She was closer to the edge than she thought... She should have toppled over the brink, but instead... Arms seemed to have wrapped around her waist tightly, and a voice whispered in her ear.
"The time will come for you to fly away, little dove, it's just not now..."
She looked up, her hair waving wildly in the wind...
And then she smiled.
Nothing.
It was dark... And cold.
She shivered...
There was a pounding in her head, it kept in time with her heartbeat.
One. Two...
A flash of light and an unfamiliar voice.
...One. Two... One. Two...
Someone was pressing a wet cloth to her head.
She probably wasn't dead then. Was that even a good thing?
And she opened her eyes. A lot of memories hit her at once, all trying to get her attention. Only one was important enough to stick in her mind. Hook was getting away, and she was wasting time taking a nap!
"Where am I?" She tried to sit up, but was forced down again by a hand. She must have been pretty weak to collapse again. Darn it.
She looked around, and could just see that she was in a dark room lit by a single lantern. She was lying on a hammock in the corner of the room, and she appeared to be inspected by a weary looking old man. He was holding a cloth in his hand, and there was a bowel of murky water on the table by the lamp.
"You're in a ship..." He turned, stooping to pick up something off the floor. A tattered hat. "...And it's almost ready to take you home. Princess. We leave in the morning."
Oh.
She thought she had recognised the sway of the world around her. Or perhaps that was just her head playing tricks on her.
Emma sighed wearily. There was a bit of relief in it. Or a lot.
She was going to see her family again. After everything, she really was going to step into the castle, and hug her mother father, and sisters again. The corners of her mouth curled at the thought of what her punishment would be. Her father would have a hard time thinking of something worthy of her.
"Did my parents send you?" She tried to sit up again, and this time succeeded. Perhaps it wasn't such a good thing, because she felt ready to hurl. "How did they know I was here? I didn't even know myself until a couple of hours ago."
"They didn't send us. We were asked to take you home by a friend."
Emma deflated. She rested her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands. "Who?" It was muffled.
But she already suspected who did...
"Oh..." He seemed hesitant.
"Was it Hook?" She looked up. The name tasted bad in her mouth, and she said it with a poisonous sneer. "Was it!?"
He looked confused. "Hook?" He frowned, and then his face cleared. "Oh, you mean... Yes. It was him. "
Emma stood up, her jaw set. She only swayed a little on her feet. As much as she wanted to give up, she had come to close to success to let him go. Just because she failed this battle, it didn't mean she lost the war.
She ignored the fact that she was only alive because he let her go, and he had even taken the pains to get her home. But if he believed it would stop her, then he was not using his head.
"Where's my knife?" She said slowly, knowing it was pointless to ask.
"It is, of course, no use to you now..." He moved in front of the door, in an attempt to stop her from passing.
"I don't want to hurt you, old man. So move out of the way." She said through gritted teeth.
He laughed. "I don't want to hurt you."
"I'm not that weak."
"And neither am I..." He straightened up, and the way he stood was familiar. It was how Graham and her father positioned themselves when something was getting serious. Alert. Like they were getting ready for a fight, though they rarely needed to. He didn't seem so old anymore, and she realized that he had been chosen the escort her home for a reason.
She probably would never beat him, not even if she was at her healthiest. The last time she had a proper meal was before Philip died. She was was weak and tired. It didn't help that she had been sick for days on board the ship. That was good enough excuse to go with him, she needed her strength up.
She wanted to go home.
Emma was about to give in, and then something in his eyes changed. They grew brighter, and then he stepped out of the way.
"Funny how many times you get yourself into a fix." He said. And then he motioned for her to leave with a wave of his hand. "One might wonder if it was deliberate..."
She didn't give it a second thought, she was glad to leave.
One might wonder if it was deliberate...
But she felt cold, cold to the bone.
The ship was still docked and the gangplank was down. When Emma stepped onto the deck she was ignored by the crew. Nobody tried to stop her from leaving...
The moon lit up the ship and it looked ghostly and dark. It gave the sailors a hollow-eyed look.
Emma wandered the cold empty docks for some time, desperately hoping that he hadn't fled again. The silence was only broken by the sound of the waves pounding the shoreline. She should have been sick of the roar of water by now... But instead, she found it offered the only comfort in her life.
She shivered. Her head hurt, and she was so so...
So tired.
Emma stumbled, and kicked something in the darkness. She winced and bit her lip to hold in the yelp of pain. Her foot throbbed, and she wondered if she had broken her toe.
She felt around with trembling fingers in the darkness until she touched the side of something wooden. When the half moon came out again she realised it was a little lifeboat, probably not moved onto a ship yet. It had a chain tying it to the docks. A white sail was spread over and knotted down by thick ropes.
All Emma could think was that it looked just like her bed back home.
And then she began picking at the knots of the ropes until one gave way. There was enough room for her to wriggle and squeeze under the cover and into the little boat, landing on the bottom painfully. She tied it up again loosely so she had a way out. And then she curled up around a rather smelly blanket
She still struggled to breath, to calm the frantic beating of her heart and let loose the choking fear. Nothing had scared her as much as the look in the man's eyes and the sudden change of his harsh voice. He had no longer sounded like the worn out old man that was first apparent. The mocking, cold bright look in his eyes didn't seem quite... Human. Like he was possessed.
Eventually she let her mind relax a little, and she drifted off into an uneasy sleep which was always haunted by a pair of merciless blue eyes... She told herself she wasn't afraid.
Emma was never a great liar.
Several hours later Emma cracked an eyelid open. Her little boat was still covered, but light was shining through the thick oiled cloth.
Not good.
Her decision to take refugee in this exact place wasn't hanging too far from plain idiotic. So far all of her problems seemed to center around sailors. Perhaps she should have found a haystack and curled up there. At least it would have been softer place to relax. Obviously she hadn't been thinking straight.
She was literally jolted out of her thoughts when her tiny resting place was lurched off the ground.
The little boat was getting moved onto a bigger fishing boat, ready to set sail.
Get out, get out, get out! Her mind screamed.
Nothing happened. Maybe she went into shock, or more likely she was still half asleep. She clenched her fists, feeling her fingernails bite into her palms. While she was jostled about she couldn't help but catch snatches of a conversation.
"...heavier than the others?" A high pitched, slightly out of breath voice asked.
Another deeper voice grunted impatiently. "Don't complain, Trout. You want to go scrub the grime off the deck? Then be my guest... " There was a short pause while they dropped the boat down roughly. Emma's head banged the edge of the boat with a dull thud and a sharp rap of pain.
"...But if you want to cry about it like the girl we both know you are, then go to the Captain... You know how much he loves whimps like you."
There was a scuffling sound, and Emma assumed Trout was threatening to punch the other man.
"Hey! There's no need to get angry... It's only the plain truth, and you know it."
There was another pause, and then they tried the boat down quickly, both of them muttering under their breath. Emma didn't catch the rest of the argument, but she heard some very colourful swear words. She wanted to put them to use later, when she had the chance.
And then Trout spoke up again, this time with an edge to his voice. "You think I'm scared of him? I joined up to be rich, not scrape a living just like any honest sailor. I want to fight, to let my blade have the taste of blood. Thats what I came for. That's what I want."
Silence.
Emma knew right then that someone other than her had been listening to the conversation.
And then a deathly calm voice spoke, almost too quiet to hear. "You want the gold? Aye, I can understand that." The was a creak of floorboards. "You think you want to kill?" He didn't raise his voice, but all around Emma was silence. Everyone was listening... Afraid.
"...You think you would enjoy ending lives of men..."
Trout didn't speak, and perhaps that was a wise choice.
"...Woman..."
Emma bit her lip and held her breath.
"...and children? Any one of them could be your mother, father, brother or sister. Do you still want to feel their blood on your sword."
Eventually Trout stuttered out two words. "No...S-Sir."
"Wise answer, Trout. And remember, don't say things you don't mean. Especially not that." His voice sounded casual, businesslike. "Now back to work everybody! I want to have this cursed town out of sight before midday."
And then it was over.
Emma had recognized the voice as soon as he had spoken, and found that she had to struggle to keep hidden. She felt a sting and realized she had drawn blood while clenching her fists.
Now wasn't the time to reveal her hiding place. Later, when everything had died down, when the sun was setting again, preferably... Then, she would have her revenge.
If she wasn't slaughtered by the crew first. Or didn't starve. She was beginning to appreciate the feasts she used to have back home. It was torture to remember it, but she couldn't help to think of the roasted mutton, juicy and hot, with fat practicly dripping off the brown toasted meat.
No. She sighed, shifting her position as quietly as possible. Every inch of her body ached in response to the movement. She had to think of other things to pass the time. Like how she was going to beat Hook. Obviously he was a better fighter than her, hence their last incounter... But, she had the element of surprise.
And he had dozen or so men willing to fight for him.
She was probably the worst person for this. If she had Graham with her, Hook would be long dead, and she would already be back home gorging herself on hot buttery bread and meat...
Not again.
Ok, think of something else, something inedible.
And this was how Emma's entire day had passed. She didn't figure out how she was going to get to Hook, or how she was going to beat him... How she was going to bring herself to kill.
She didn't even manage to think of an escape plan for afterwards other than she would take the little boat and sail to land. If she figured out which direction to head for.
She had basically just dug her own grave, and was now waiting patiently for someone to come along and push her in. That was how much trouble she had brought on herself.
The thing that bothered her the most was that she never stopped to think before running away from home. Didn't even write a letter, didn't give her family any reason to think that she wasn't murdered by the same man who ended Philip.
Why didn't she just tell her parents where she suspected Hook fled to? He would be caught and brought as prisoner to the castle. She would watch his expression as the noose was tightened around his neck.
But that wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough. It was too impersonal. She wanted him to know what he had done, what he had taken from her. And what she was willing to do to avenge her betrothed.
She wasn't feeling so hungry anymore. Instead she resisted the urge to dry retch.
What had she become?
Graham cursed inwardly. He had never hated his job as much as he did now. The sky had opened up and it was pouring with rain, the amount of mud he had to trudge through to get from his tired horse to the inn door was overwhelming.
The air was thick and smoky inside, and the noise was incredible. It was crowded with both common drunks to wet travellers. The usual difference between them was not so apparent anymore. Everybody was having their fill of drink.
He scanned the room quickly, and it wasn't hard to find who he was looking for.
The captain of the Isabella stood out from the rest of the men. He was shouting something nonsensical that Graham didn't even bother to try and translate. It was no language known to man. He was drunk, and probably didn't even know himself the meaning of those garbled words.
In a moment Graham was across the room, none of the Captain's crew protested when he roughly grabbed the drunken man and pulled him to his feet.
"Sir!" Graham half shouted into the smiling man's face. "Are you the Captain of the Isabella?"
The Captain blinked slowly. "Who?" He swayed on his feet, looking slightly green.
Graham rolled his eyes, and then dragged the drunken man over to where the barmaid was serving drinks.
"Excuse me, miss... But do you have anywhere I can... Revive this poor man." He turned his face away in disgust. "Preferably a cold bath."
The barmaid blushed. "I'm sorry sir, but we don't at the moment... But if you waited-"
Graham was already out of earshot, and he found himself shoving roughly to get through the crowd. Anger was building up in him, and he kicked the door open. He wasn't going to waste any time being gentle.
His horse nickered loudly when Graham pushed the Captain outside. He landed with a splash in the puddle that had been filling up for the past few hours. It was still raining, but Graham didn't even bother to stand beneath the shelter the inn provided.
"Are you the Captain of the Isabella?" He repeated, stepping down into the mud with a splash, his leather boots were inches away from the man's muddy face. "Answer me!"
The drunken Captain swayed as he sat himself up, his eyes rolling in his head a little. "Aye, Thas' righ..." He hiccuped. "Who's lookin' for me?"
"I am," Graham knelt down, his eyes narrowed. "In this past week, did you have a young woman who goes by the name of Emma on your ship?"
The Captain squinted. "I don' remember names... I never have girls's on... On my ship anyway."
"You're sure?" He hesitated before continuing. "Very pretty, with pale gold hair and a... Ah, nice attitude." Anyone who had met Emma would know what he meant.
"Oh her!" The Captain laughed drunkenly, and began to climb out of his muddy puddle. "Don' know why you want to go finding her. Not a pleasant sort she was. Gave me the shivers..."
Graham growled and grabbed the man around the throat, his teeth bared. "WHAT did you do to her?"
"Nothing! We dropped her off where she wanted to go! That's all, I promise."
"Then why do you speak of the princess as though she is no longer living? Was, instead of is?"
"Princess...?" His eyes widened in shock. "I... I'm sorry."
Emma ducked through the low door. She clutched a knife which she had stolen from one of the sailors as he slept, oblivious. It was easier than she thought. She had even managed to swallow down a few mouthfuls of bread when she found half a loaf lying next to a empty bottle of rum. He wasn't going to wake in a hurry. Emma wondered what Hook would think of that... Probably not much. If luck was on her side, he would be in the same condition.
A loose floorboard creaked under her weight, and she froze, swearing silently.
There was silence except for the creak of the ship, and the occasional splash of fish in the sea.
She walked on tiptoes past several plain wooden doors. None of those seemed likely.
Further along, up a short stairway, was a dark wooden door, it had a knocker. That was the main difference that she noticed, but it was enough to make her pause.
Was this it? She reached out and turned the handle. It was well oiled, and nothing made a sound when she pushed it open. That was stupid of him. One thing she knew about people with lots of enemies or money, was to never have a silent door. The more warning you have before someone enters your room the better.
She carefully stepped inside, her knife at the ready and her breathing shallow.
This was his room, or one of them. She knew it.
A single oil lamp was hanging from the roof, and it lit up every corner. It was simpler than she would have expected. A large table was bolted to the floor, and it was cluttered with maps and quills. There was a single painting on the wall, but Emma didn't bother to inspect it.
Moonlight flooded through the large window, making strange patterns the rugs.
Silhouetted against the clear sky, was a man with a long black coat, and a hook replacing his left hand.
Thankfully his back was turned. But her relief was short lived, because he spoke after a short moment.
"You really can't stay away from me can you," He turned turned, and flashed a smile at her. "Princess."
"No." Was all she could manage. She wished she could charge him right then, but he could see her coming. Just wait until he turned away.
"I'm flattered. But," His brows came together. "I told them to keep you from escaping, and to take back home to your mummy and daddy." A hint of humour touched his words, though he still looked serious. "How did you get away from them? And more importantly... Who did you kill on the way?"
"Nobody. They let me go."
She could have sworn a shadow crossed his face at that moment. "Of course. I should have known..." And then it was gone as quick as it came.
An impossible choice was playing in his head. What should he do? Nowhere was safe for her... But his ship was the closest thing. He watched her with a tinge of curiosity. She was waiting for him to turn his back, and then she would attack. He could see her clutching a knife, one he recognized as Trout's. She reminded him oddly of a wild animal, beautiful... But wild nonetheless.
Quickly and silently he made his choice.
He could tell her of his decision, he could tell her everything. But something stopped him. He wanted her to suffer a little first, after all... She was responsible for the wound in his leg.
"I want you to know, Emma..." He said quietly. "That I am so sorry for the loss of Prince... Philip. More than you know." It was the first time he let himself remember, and grieve. It hurt.
It hurt her too.
And made her angry.
But before she had time to leap forwards and attack him... Out of the shadow came two of his men. They got behind the enraged princess silently, and pulled her arms behind her back... Disarming her in the process.
"Take her to the cellars." He ordered them sharply. "And don't forget to feed her. She looks half starved." He turned his back on them. But not before he saw her flashing eyes and bared teeth.
You will regret this. She mouthed to him.
He could see the moon from where he was standing. It was almost full. For some odd reason that thought made him feel dread. Something was going to happen... Not very long from now.
And he knew who was doing it.