Chapter 17

I was flying. Never before had I ran so lightly; so quickly. My hair rippled lazily behind me in the pre-dawn air, and the bag slung across my shoulders was weightless and perfectly snug where it curled beneath my arm. I was dressed in the clothes of a marine; smuggled from the barracks when the guards were fleetingly distracted by a particularly fearsome stray cat.

The fading stars twinkled vapidly down on me when I reached the fort gaol. A sleepy, bored young marine was slumped by the door. He stared at me in alarm.

"You're the-" Clunk. Thump. The butt of my pistol hit his head with delightfully pleasing accuracy, and after grabbing the ridiculously large set of cumbersome keys from his wrist, I stepped over his motionless form and hurried through the gate.

It clanged shut behind me. I was not prepared for the airlessness, and reeled back against the wall, choking. Dim orange light flickered from a lone sconce above my head, but aside from its greasy glow, the place lay in thick, intangible blackness. The stench was that of death, yet it seemed to have a life of its own. Stepping out to greet me, it squeezed down my throat and into my lungs. I wheezed uneasily, slowly beginning to detect other sounds of life.

"Hello there sweet'art."

"Let's…yeah…give the keys, the keys!"

I ignored the voices, and began to walk unsteadily down the row.

"Will?" His name hung quavering in the air.

There was a shuffling sound from the far end of the darkness.

"I knew you'd come." His reply was short, worn and laconic; the sound of swollen defeat. Two dull eyes caught the rays of the flaming sconce, and widened with sparkling recognition. I knelt against the bars, feeling his breath a foot or so from me, and wept silently for a moment.

And then, a flood of words.

"He kept the letters, I found them in the study, oh Will, my love, he's scum- a liar-"

All meaningless.

Instead, it was the warmth of his hand by my cheek that said all; the fearful hesitancy seemed to ask my permission, and I froze at the thought.

"It's still the same. Only my name changed, you know that."

He nodded dolefully, and I began to fumble through the keys.

They clanked loudly, and made me ever more aware of the oppressive silence between us.

"How have you…"

How have you been? The state of the place answered the question well enough. Again, the living smell seemed to settle herself beside me, voicing everything that Will felt meaningless to say. Yes, we missed each other. No need to say it aloud, surely?

Surely, surely. Yes, naturally.

And yet I still found myself avoiding his eye.

*

James paced quietly, his face puckered in anger and footsteps resonating with muted fury.

"I knew what she was doing," he muttered to Gillette, who sat quietly in the thick wooden chair, staring fixedly at the fraying carpet ends in order to avoid his superior's eye. The atmosphere in the Fort's office was sweating with angst, seeming to recoil from the Admiral's regular surges of silent seething. They washed over every few minutes, causing every living thing –and non living- to contract nervously. Gillette stood up, pushing his sticky hair back under his wig. Again, he addressed the miserable brown map on the desk. It was pitted in marks where James had attacked it with the pincer things (find out real name!) a little too enthusiastically; Olvira bay was obscured by a grim rip straight down the centre.

"We should start out here. Lt. Jacobs said they headed east after the Sylph was commandeered…Sir?"

James had moved over to the window, his hands and forehead pressed to the glass with a melancholic purposefulness.

"Perhaps we shouldn't…" he tapped at the latch. "She was like a bird. I kept her too close, didn't let her fly…"

Gillette blanched, recognising that characteristic loss of spirit that his comrade was painfully prone to in times of romantic failure.

"Might I be so bold as to remind you that this if your wife we are discussing, Sir. Not some idle poppet you have developed a vague, fleeting fancy for. A bird indeed; she is your wife, and she has gone gallivanting off with some…some…"

"Pirate? Blacksmith?" James finished for him wearily. Gillette heaved his shoulders dejectedly.

"Just give the order, Sir. I dare say we'll have her back by sunset," he said quietly. James waved a distracted hand, which Gillette took to mean yes. He gathered his hat and coat and left the office.