"You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind." –Mahatma Ghandi
-o-
Jacqueline was not a person to become angry very fast. She liked to think she was cool-headed in the face of adversary. There was even a bit of relief she felt when she was too hoarse to scream at the agony anymore, because even that felt like losing.
The same could not be said for Charles Lee. The less she talked, the more irritated he became. Pacing, spittle flying, candles flickering and voices raised became the daily routine. Jacqueline didn't spit in his face when he tried to force the information out of her. That was probably even more infuriating to him. The climax of this constant patience came on a day like any other.
"Speak, woman!" Lee looked about ready to go into cardiac arrest. His sweating face was red and twisted with anger. She didn't blame him—the tiny room got to be like an oven. "You've nothing left! Tell us what you know!"
The lack of response she gave was the last straw. Lee pushed aside the Brute, who was standing by the bucket of coals, and snatched the solid iron fire tool from inside. Still burning hot, he swung it hard and made contact with her leg. The shin underneath the singed skin instantly snapped. The pain, so sudden and unexpected, caused a tiny, dry whimper to exit her open mouth like bats from a tunnel.
Later that day, she heard a commotion above her. That tipped her off that she was underground, if only in a basement. There was a lot of yelling and some gunfire. Something slammed into the door of her prison that sounded suspiciously like a person. Lee was talking on the other side, but she couldn't make out any words. He was angry. Very angry. A few moments passed before he entered her room with a candle.
"Who did you contact?" He snarled, bowing down to be at her level.
Jacqueline shook her head weakly, her mouth gaping open and closed like a fish. Lee slapped her, but it felt like being hit with a piece of cloth compared to the rest.
"That bloody savage Assassin got in here!" He roared. "Who did you contact?"
When she was yet physically unable to answer, he scoffed in disgust and stormed out. The slamming of the door was especially loud this time, but she managed to sustain a flicker of hope. Connor.
-o-
During this trying ordeal, Jacqueline often wondered why no one was coming to her rescue. It wasn't that she was being selfish, not at all. It would be nice not to wake up tied to chair for once, though. There were reasons, of course, why she was alone. She had no idea where she was being held. Maybe they thought she was dead and abandoned her. Perhaps there were too many people guarding wherever she was. The prison could be a tiny shed in the middle of nowhere, for all she knew, and they would never find her.
One day, she heard the locks of the door being opened as usual. This was not the systematic, businesslike calm of her relaxed torturers. This was frantic and pressed for time, and a couple times she heard little pings as lockpicks broke. It took only a couple minutes before the door was thrown open.
The person who entered was male; tall and hooded, armed and collected. "C-Connor…!" She wheezed, delusional beyond rational thought.
"No." He answered shortly. When he turned his head to speak to her, she could see his covered mouth and from where she was sitting, a quick glint of green eyes.
"You!" Jacqueline's exclamation made her double over from the effort to speak.
"Me." He took a wineskin from his belt and lightly nursed her the water inside.
"Where is Connor?" Blood dribbled from her bottom lip when she spoke, and her voice was little more than a weak cough. "Please…is he…okay?"
"Don't worry. He's safe, and currently devising some ill-fated scheme to heroically break you out, despite my warnings. It already failed the first time." The stranger took a cloth from his belt and dabbed her mouth of the pinkish spit. "You look absolutely terrible. I'm sorry it took this long, but you're being held in a high security fort. The prison was much easier to break in to. And there are several forts like this one, it took me forever to find the right one. It's been a busy couple weeks."
"Can't you…Connor knows you?"
There was a brief pause during which she could sense he was rolling his eyes. "That's a word for it, I suppose. We have a common interest. He's a little too…" The stalker shrugged a shoulder, searching for a word. "Patriotic. But he's foolishly determined to charge this fort with half a score of men, so I can give him credit for grand romantic gestures."
Jacqueline would have laughed if she had any humour left in her body. "Failed?"
"Yes, yesterday he single-handedly tried breaking you out. It failed, but he got away. Which is why I'm here now. Connor couldn't subterfuge his way out of a paper bag. Not the way I can." He paused to chuckle. "He doesn't exactly approve of the company I keep, but is willing to work with me for the advantages I bring in springing you from this hellhole. Right now I'm only here as a question-answerer, I guess."
"Can't you just…get me out…now?"
"Sorry, but no. A small army guards this fort. Even if I tried right now, we wouldn't get ten feet out the door. Besides, your foolish lover is intent on breaking you out himself. I wouldn't want to steal his lady."
"You are...very…" She coughed and winced at the fractured ribs stabbing agony through her insides. "Talkative."
"Right now it's my job to be talkative. The spying is only my cup of tea for so long. Sorry about all that, by the way. I needed to keep tabs on you."
Jacqueline frowned, trying to focus on his face. There was something about him…she thought she knew who he was. But it was impossible…right? "Who are you?"
He stopped wiping her face and tucked the cloth away. "A friend." Another glance over his shoulder. "I'm out of time."
Jacqueline hung her head, and when she looked up again he was gone. The locks of the door slid back into place, and once more, she was alone.
-o-
If and when she got out, she was going to eat so many oranges she got sick. Just the thought of them, juicy and bright and sweet, made her lament at her situation. She would give anything to eat another orange. It was ironic then that, thinking about food, she realised what her captors were doing. There had been no visits in quite some time. It felt like days, but after her French stranger's visit she must have gotten the time of her capture a bit jumbled. After thinking it over, she estimated it had been more like twelve hours since Connor apparently tried freeing her. Even so it was unusual, and their plan was now simple.
They were starving her out. Perhaps Lee thought it would make her talk to get another piece of maggoty bread. More likely, he came to the correct conclusion that she was not telling them anything, and they were letting her rot.
Whatever his motives, she needed to get out. A fresh wave of determination came over her, inspired by her visitor. It hurt a lot, but she clenched her teeth and started wriggling her fingers and wrists around. The ropes were tight, but her left hand was maybe giving slightly. There was a tiny bit of wiggle room. If she could just turn it to untie the knots…
Her wrist twisted a little too far and she hissed dryly in pain while she twisted it back the right way. She tried the same technique, only to get the same painful result. Her determination melted away, and she began to sob.
Jacqueline hadn't cried in a long time. The last time she remembered was when she had jumped the ship to the Colonies. But now she wept like never before. There wasn't enough moisture in her body to produce tears, but her dry, heaving sobs to the black room shook her body. If and when she got out, she wasn't going to cry at anything else, because nothing compared with this. So she wept and wept, hopeless and despairing, listening to the rats chittering about her feet.
-o-
"Don't be an idiot." The stranger scoffed. He was sitting in the manor's dining room, feet kicked up on the table—much to Connor's scorn—shining an apple on his shirt and watching Connor pacing in agitation.
"Then what do you suggest I do? Wait until she is killed?" Connor snapped back. This man's nonchalance was getting on his nerves.
"Of course not. But your brilliant plan to charge at them like a blind bull worked so well last time. You're lucky you weren't tossed into the same prison." The stranger crunched into his apple. "We need a solid plan."
Connor exhaled angrily, paced a few more lengths of the room and turned back to his ally. What other choice did he have? "What is your plan, then?"
"I understand you're a man of few words, so I'll be brief: let my people take care of her. You can go in with your lot and take out the fort, then we go in and whisk her away."
"Absolutely not."
"Why?" The guest stood. "Because you don't trust me? How shallow must you be that you would allow the woman you love to be tortured and killed for something so trivial as your pride?" He took another bite of apple, eyes narrowed at Connor, and sat back down. "I'm being reasonable. I ask for nothing in return because I care for Jacqueline in my own way."
"I never said I loved her…"
"Ha!" The man threw back his head and laughed. "Good one. Don't look at me like that! It's so obvious it's a little painful. Besides, she clearly cares for you too. I've never seen her act that way about anybody, so you treat that girl like the Queen."
Connor glanced away, contemplating this, when the stranger spoke again in a less joking tone. "You know, she thought you were the one coming to save her." He levelled his bright green eyes at him. "If and when she gets out of there safe, you best sweep her off her feet."
"May I ask why you're so interested in her safety?" Connor sat across from him.
The stranger shrugged and scratched at the blonde scruff on his chin. "That's really my own business, isn't it?" At his glare, the sneak sighed with exaggerated frustration. "If you really want to know, you're going to have to figure it out yourself."
The Assassin looked him up and down, thinking. "You are French."
"Observant."
"She recognised you when you were following her."
"I suppose she may have."
"You know her personally."
"That I do, my friend."
The stranger grinned mischievously, and some memory tickled in the back of Connor's mind. He remembered one day in his adolescent years, speaking with Jacqueline about their pasts. She had said something about a gang? Some gang of thieves she ran with, and their leader…
Connor sat up. "You're Georges."
Georges took another bite of apple. "The one and only. Now, I believe we were discussing a heroic rescue?"