The Tempest Within

Mini-Story Summary: Aboard a Pandorica-bearing ship en route to Rome, Rory guards the box he's bound to protect. But the fog rolling over the ship soon clouds people's minds and threatens to murder—or worse, enslave—everyone on board. Can Rory save the ship, and the Pandorica, from this elusive terror?

Note: This mini-story is currently incomplete. Don't worry, though, I'll soon finish it!

Six Weeks Later

Rory had spent the last month or so hiding in a forgotten corner of the ship, doing his best to remain undetected. Aside from having to dodge the occasional sailor fishing out rations from the hold, Rory endured the trip blissfully undisturbed. Every so often the ship would sway in the roiling storm seas, and Rory would brace himself against the hull and close his eyes, wishing he were somewhere else. Anywhere else.

On quiet nights, Rory sometimes stole out onto the top deck, where the Pandorica was strapped. He needed to make sure Amy was safe. Despite the relentless pounding of the elements, not a hint of weathering showed on the box's sleek faces. And, even when the planking was slick with seawater, not a drop dripped from the Pandorica. Through the slats, Rory heard whispers about the box. "The Anomaly," the soldiers called it—the thing that didn't belong in their universe. And it didn't; it was the final vestige of the universe Rory knew, the last relic of a better world.

This was one such night. The waves sparkled in the glow of the waning moon, the only light in the starless sky. Rory perched himself atop the Pandorica, legs swinging over a corner, and swayed in time with the peaceful rolling of the ship.

"Oy!" hollered a voice from the ship's prow, making Rory jump. "What're you doing? Geroff the box!"

"I'm sitting," protested Rory. "Big deal."

"That box is the property of the SPQR," said the soldier, lighting a torch and bringing it towards Rory. "Get off or I'll be forced to…do something."

"Well, do it then!" called Rory.

"Just get off the box."

"No."

"Now," said the soldier, waving a spear-point at Rory's throat. Rory gulped.

"Fine, no stabbing," said Rory. "My body doesn't need any more holes." And he hopped down.

The soldier brought the torch towards Rory's face. "You're not familiar. A stowaway, eh? Been nicking our rations, have you? Well, we can't afford to have another mouth on board." He hit his spear against the ship's bell. "Hey, boys! Get up here. We've got a man to throw to the fishes."

Half-woken men still throwing on their tunics began filing up from below deck. Two seized Rory's arms and pinned him to the floor, determined to tie his hands together.

"Over the side with him, then, Brutus?" said one of the men.

"Oh, most definitely," said Brutus.

As Rory was thoroughly incapacitated, he figured his best option was a fight. Well, actually, it was his only option.

"Hey! Brute-boy!" he tried his best to taunt. "It's three-to-one against me. I think you're scared of a fight."

Brutus looked genuinely surprised and a tad angry. "What did you say?"

Rory took the bait. "You…lily-livered…platypus," he fished around for insults. "D'you really need two men to pin me down? Fight me like a man, coward, and we'll see who sleeps on the seabed tonight."

Brutus smiled dangerously. He nodded to the men, who dropped Rory on the floor and backed away. Rory hoisted himself to his feet, his hands still tied.

The men formed a wide circle around the pair, eager for a fight. Rory chuckled. They were Romans, all right. Fighters through and through. But that didn't bode well for his chances of survival.

Brutus drew his sword and began advancing forward.

Rory grew nervous. "What, aren't you going to untie me?"

Brutus scratched his chin mockingly. "Y'know what? I don't think I will."

Rory ducked Brutus' first swing, and sidestepped past his second. Then the soldier lunged forward, sword-point extended, and Rory put his arms in front of him. The blade sliced neatly through his bonds.

The men cheered as the rope shreds fell to the floor.

"Now you've done it," growled Brutus.

Rory was ducking and dodging and jumping faster than before. Brutus, far from letting his anger make his swings wide and predictable, channeled his rage into speed, jabbing and lunging in almost invisible and wholly unpredictable blurs. Rory caught glimpses of the men's impressed, bewildered faces as he braved Brutus' blows with not so much as a scratch on him. But, more importantly, anger could fuel Brutus for only so long. The soldier was sweating, and panting, and the jabs were becoming sparser and less powerful. Brutus was tiring out.

Then, Brutus halfheartedly swung at Rory's feet, and, quite by accident, Rory jumped a tad too early and—whump—landed on Brutus' blade, pinning it underfoot. The hilt slid from Brutus' hands, leaving him weaponless. And Rory, who had yet to aim a blow Brutus' way, grabbed the soldier by the shoulders and shoved him against the mast.

Then, having subdued his opponent, Rory fixed him with a stare he never thought he could pull off: the glower of dominance. "It's over," he said. "I win."

The entire circle of men was deathly silent as Brutus conceded. "All right. Let me go."

Rory's hands remained firmly on Brutus' shoulders. "First, promise me I have a job aboard this ship. I'll work as hard as I have to…just don't try to kill me again, or…I'll do something."

Brutus' eyes narrowed, but he nodded nonetheless, and mumbled something.

"I'm sorry?" said Rory. "Say it loud and clear, now, so everyone can hear."

"I promise," said Brutus bitterly.

"Now, that's better," said Rory, releasing the soldier. "Now, what's my first task, Mr. Brutus?"

"Crow's nest. Now." Brutus grumbled. "So, Mr.—"

"Rory."

"—You're our new lookout."

"It's been two weeks, Amicus. Brutus's kept poor Rory on watch for two weeks straight. No food, no rest, not even bathroom breaks. I don't know how Rory's been doing it. People've been watching him, and nobody's sneaking him food, and he's not nodding off. Under the same circumstances, any one of us would be dead by now."

Amicus shrugged and sipped his water. "You know, Tacitus, Brutus holds grudges like nobody else. Rory humiliated him in front of his men. Now, Brutus is exacting some small revenge. It's a wonder Rory puts up with it."

Tacitus leaned closer. "Something about Rory just doesn't sit right. I inventoried our rations yesterday. Nothing was missing. So, what did Rory eat during the time he was a stowaway?"

"He could've brought his own food."

"Not likely," objected Tacitus. "How'd he sneak on board with six weeks of rations? Does he eat at all? And, during his fight with Brutus, he didn't tire, and he hasn't slept since. No, something's extremely unusual about that man."

"No kidding. Few people would dare stand up to Brutus. Even fewer could win."

"Yeah," said Tacitus, swinging in his hammock. He was silent for a moment. "You know what? I'm going to go top-deck and talk to him." He jumped to his feet.

"What? Seriously?" Amicus then lowered his voice. "Well, whatever happens, don't let Brutus see you doing it. He'll flay you alive."

"'Course not," said Tacitus, disappearing through the trapdoor.

Every trip to the crow's nest was a marvel. The ocean stretched for miles in every direction, with the coast merely a thin line to port, and the sky arched overhead. Or, at least, they normally did. Today, all Tacitus could see was the oppressive blankness of a foggy day.

"The sea never ceases to surprise me," said Tacitus. "An hour ago, I could swear the sky was clear from horizon to horizon."

"Yeah…funny," said Rory. Tacitus glanced in his direction. The man looked perfectly healthy, and, even more surprisingly, completely comfortable.

"You're a bit young to be aboard a ship, aren't you?" said Rory, surveying Tacitus' short frame.

"I'm old enough to do work," countered Tacitus, hurt.

Rory nodded. "I've seen you on duty before. Sorry, but I don't know your name."

"I'm Tacitus Junius Horatius. And you're Rory."

"Yes, I am," said Rory. "So, the crew's been talking about me, then?"

Tacitus nodded. "Nobody knows what to make of you."

"What do you make of me?"

"I don't think you're a bad person."

Rory smiled. "Well, I guess that's a start. But?"

Tacitus took a deep breath. "But you do all sorts of impossible things. The longest shift anybody's had up here is twenty-seven hours, and he needed a week in his hammock to recuperate. After so much time up here, people start to see things. But you look perfectly fine, two weeks later. It doesn't make sense."

Rory laughed. "The older you grow, the more you realize the whole world doesn't make sense. Everything's long since gone mad. When you're young and naive, you think that you're the only beacon of sanity in a crazy world. But then you get swept up in the madness too, and before you know it, you're as loony as everything else."

"Mr. Rory, are you loony?"

"Me? Well, I used to be the sanest person in the world."

"And then?"

"Then, I got swept up in the most absurd, impossible life anyone could possibly lead. And the craziness seems to have rubbed off on me."

"You seem perfectly sensible to me."

Rory grinned mischievously. "That's the worst kind of insanity."

Tacitus was quiet for a moment. "So, why'd you fight Brutus? Why'd you stow away? Most people I know grew up in Rome and then left. You seem to be doing the opposite."

"What, I don't look like an innocent tourist to you? No? Just as well. All right, I'll tell you. But first, promise you won't tell a soul."

Tacitus was an adventurous, curious teenager. Of course he'd promise. "Yes."

"I'm guarding the box."

Tacitus' eyes widened. "You mean the Anomaly? What do you know about it? I've heard whispers. People say it came from the sky, and that it contains a treasure. That's why they're taking it to Rome." Tacitus surveyed Rory's expression. "By the gods, you know what's inside it!"

Rory said nothing.

"Come on, give me a hint. Please?" Tacitus begged.

"Well, if Rome thinks it'll give the empire unrivaled riches, they're wrong. What's inside the box is valuable, sure, but only to me."

Tacitus looked crestfallen. "So…to Rome, the Pandorica's useless?"

"Pretty much."

"Great. Caesar won't be amused."

"Yeah, and Brutus'll be in a load of trouble," commented Rory.

That brightened Tacitus up. "Well, then, I can't wait to go back to Rome."

Rory nodded. "Firm ground and the chance to sit down would be nice. Not to mention…Rome! Imagine that, a chance to see an ancient city at the height of its power. See the triumphal arches being built…watch games at the Colosseum—no, scratch that. I don't want to go to the Colosseum. Too much gore."

Tacitus looked befuddled. "You speak as if you're visiting the past."

Rory was silent for some time. "Y'know, Brutus usually waddles by to gawk at me around this time. God knows he needs no more excuses to go ballistic."

Tacitus agreed. "'Til later, then, Mr. Rory." And he began working his way down the rigging.

That night was as long and dark as any other. Rory kept one eye on the coast, the other surveying the deck for signs of life. Every so often a curious soldier would sneak into the open to check if Rory was dozing. Of course, he never was, so he smiled and waved at the soldiers to prove he was paying attention and to snub Brutus further. So, when he heard drowsy footsteps shuffling across the planking, he turned and grinned, as per usual.

The smile quickly slid from his face.

The soldier named Amicus advanced slowly, inexorably, towards the starboard railing.

"Hey! You! Get back!" yelled Rory. No response. Amicus heaved a foot over the edge.

"Unbelievable," muttered Rory, and jumped the thirty feet to the deck.

Amicus had managed to get both of his legs over the railing by the time Rory landed.

"Amicus, stop!" he hollered, dashing towards the falling figure.

Just before the man's wrist fell from arm's reach, Rory grasped the railing with one hand and snagged the soldier's arm with the other. Rory grimaced through the strain, and hauled Amicus back on deck.

"What in the name of sanity did you think you were doing!" sputtered Rory.

Amicus didn't respond. He didn't even open his eyes. He just pulled himself to his feet and loped back to the trapdoor, leaving Rory alone and flabbergasted.

Was Amicus even awake?

Rory barely had enough time to formulate this question when none other than Brutus leapt onto deck, grinning maliciously.

"You're away from your post, soldier," declared Brutus. "Twenty lashes, now. Go stand against the mast."

Rory obeyed.

"Now, who's on duty? Oh, yes, our little Tacitus. C'MERE, BOY!" Brutus hollered. "NOW!"

Poor Tacitus clambered from the trapdoor and gave Brutus the obligatory salute. Then he saw Rory.

"Boy, fetch the whip," ordered Brutus. Tacitus reluctantly fished the weapon from its dreaded cubby-hole near the stern.

"Good. Now, give him twenty strokes, right between the shoulder blades."

Tacitus froze. "Who, me, sir? What did Rory do wrong?"

Brutus' eyes narrowed dangerously. "Neglecting his duties. Disobeying orders. You'll share the same fate if you fail to do as commanded."

Tacitus eyed Rory, looking for advice. Just do it, mouthed Rory. Don't want you hurt too.

So, with a look of suppressed horror on his face, Tacitus swung. Brutus smirked in maniacal glee. With the first few cracks of the whip, his grin grew wider. It dissolved just as quickly as the whipping failed to elicit so much as a twitch from Rory.

After sixteen ineffective lashes, Brutus' rage boiled over. "Give it here, boy. Can't even whip a man properly, can you? Well, I'll show you how." He yanked the weapon from Tacitus' hands and took aim.

Rory could feel the anger Brutus put into his lashes. Somewhere between trying to ignore the strokes of the whip, Rory realized that he had essentially become Brutus' stress ball.

And then, they stopped, leaving Rory thoroughly relieved and Brutus no less frustrated, but more exhausted, than before.

"Get below," barked Brutus, regaining his composure. "Both of you. You're suspended from duty. For now."

Rory took Tacitus' arm and steered him below deck before Brutus could devise another punishment.

Once they'd both sat in Tacitus' hammock, the boy took a deep breath. "You didn't flinch. Not once. Did that even hurt you?"

Rory shrugged. "It tingled. Sure, Brutus is out to skin my hide, but that's not what I'm worried about."

Tacitus looked confused. "What, then?"

"Look around. Something—or someone—is missing."

Tacitus's eyes combed the deck and landed on an empty hammock.

"Amicus," he said. "He's not in bed."

Rory nodded. "Thing is, he tried jumping over the edge tonight. I saved him and he went back below deck. But, he's not on this deck. And if he's not here, and not topside, then where is he?"

"He can't've just disappeared," protested Tacitus.

"Well, he didn't jump over the side. I made sure of that. And you can't escape from a deck that only has one exit, an exit I kept two eyes on while Brutus was busy turning me into a piñata."

"What's a piñata?" asked Tacitus.

"Never mind. Now, while you were down here, before being summoned by Brutus, did you see anything remotely unusual?"

"Well, I saw Amicus climb below deck. Think he was sleepwalking. But he just went back to his hammock as if nothing had happened. That's all I saw, I promise!"

"All right, then. So, sometime while Brutus was keeping us busy upstairs, Amicus…did…something."

"What?"

"I dunno," said Rory. "We'll just have to wait and find out."

Amicus didn't report for duty the next morning. Rory took advantage of his newfound freedom to scour every last corner of the ship for any traces of the soldier. Nothing. It was as if the man had simply evaporated. A man named Faustus took Rory's place as lookout for the day, and Rory eventually settled down in a hammock, swaying back and forth in time with the waves. Tacitus, similarly suspended from duty, paced the sleeping quarters for some time before sinking into his hammock in a deep sleep. Every so often Rory heard the boy's stomach rumble, which reminded him, with a pang of guilt, that with the loss of duties came the loss of rations. No work, no food; that was Brutus' policy.

That night, Rory took advantage of the quiet to steal onto the top deck. As always, the Pandorica was undisturbed. Except for Faustus in the crow's nest and the navigator at the wheel, the deck was deserted. Rory sidled up to the pilot.

"How're things tonight?" he asked casually.

The navigator shrugged. "No different than normal. A bank of fog rolled by earlier—gave me quite the scare—but we're clear of it now."

"Why? What's so dangerous about the fog?"

"Impedes navigation, of course! If we lose sight of the coast, we're lost forever."

"How so? Can't you just navigate with the stars, or the sun, or compasses or something?"

"Don't tell me you believe those fairytales," grumbled the man. "Stars don't exist. The sun's gone down—that's why they call it nighttime. And what on Earth is a 'compass'?"

"Never mind, then," said Rory. "So, at night, you have to keep the coast in sight at all times?"

"Yep. That's my job. If I fail, we all die. Simple as that."

"How comforting," said Rory. "Anyway, you may want to wake up your watchman. I can hear Faustus snoring in the crow's nest."

A look of alarm flashed on the navigator's face. "Oy! Faustus!"

No response.

Rory looked up.

Faustus had taken leave of the crow's nest and was now inching like a tightrope-walker along the yard. And his eyes were still closed.

"My gosh, he's sleepwalking too!" gasped Rory. Then he began racing up the rigging.

He was too slow. When Faustus reached the yard-tip, he plummeted past the sail, past Rory, past the railing.

But Rory couldn't hear a splash.

Instead, what drifted up from the spot Amicus had disappeared was a small, dense cloud of fog. It arced over Rory's head and then disappeared towards the starboard side.

Rory hung from the rigging in stunned silence.

"I don't believe it," muttered the navigator. "Poof! Gone. Not a trace."

"Just like Amicus," said Rory. "He simply…evaporated."

"It's odd, though," said the man. "The wind's at our backs."

"So?"

"So, why would fog, which always travels with the wind, suddenly decide to change direction and move perpendicularly?"

"It's not fog at all," gasped Rory. "Think about it. Two men, in their sleep, are suddenly possessed by the urge to jump into the water. Only Faustus never reached the water, did he? He burst into fog first."

The navigator shivered. "What are we dealing with, then?"

"Something sentient. And everywhere. You say you sailed through a fog bank earlier tonight?"

The crewman nodded.

"Wrong. You sailed through something that looked like a fog bank, but wasn't. Something that took possession of a sleeping member of the ship in order to…reproduce? Is that it?"

"I don't follow."

"Think about it. You're a gas-like organism, capable of being inhaled. You've got some mechanism to enter a person's body and travel to their brain. You wait 'til they're asleep and vulnerable, and then control their motor functions like a puppeteer. Now, we saw how Faustus turned into fog wisps. That means the fog used him to reproduce."

"I still don't understand," said the navigator.

"It's probably better that way," shrugged Rory, "because there's nothing I can do about it right now. Just…be prepared. Come tomorrow night, I'll be ready."

The next night, Rory snuck onto the top deck and took a seat in a dark, inconspicuous corner with an excellent vantage point. There, he kept an eye on the navigator, lookout, and trapdoor, looking for suspicious movement. Once in a while he thought he saw a shadow, or a figure, in the corner of his eye, which turned out to be an oddly-shaped barrel, or the rigging flapping in the breeze. But then—

"By the gods, it's the fog again!" said the navigator.

Rory looked glanced towards the bow. Not far beyond, racing towards them at impossible speeds, was an eerily opaque wall of clouds. But, before Rory so much as stood, the ship burrowed deep into the mist.

"Oh, we're in trouble now," said Rory.

Brutus clambered onto the deck. "Indeed we are," he said. "Or, at least, you are."

Rory sighed. "Now's not the time, Brutus."

"Brutus?" asked the soldier. "No. Brutus is sleeping. We are the Dreamwalkers."

Then Rory looked at Brutus. His eyes were still closed. Sound asleep. But his face was contorted in a forced smile.

"Where are you from? What do you want?" he asked the Dreamwalker.

"We come from the sea. We have always lived here. You trespass upon our territory. We want…repayment."

"What, and human life is your currency?" protested Rory.

"Indeed. The Dreamwalkers are few in number. Humans can…restore us." The soldier advanced closer.

"Well, I'd love to help, but…actually, I'd rather not."

"You have no choice," said the Dreamwalker flatly. "You will do our bidding, willingly or not."

"How?" asked Rory. "You can't do anything to me unless I'm sleeping. And, trust me, I'm very good at staying awake."

"There are many of us and one of you. We can break down your defenses, asleep or not."

Brutus grabbed Rory's tunic and hoisted him into the air.

"Let go of me, you brute!" shouted Rory, flailing his arms. Brutus didn't even flinch, and speedily hauled Rory to the bow of the ship.

Finally, one of Rory's fists connected with Brutus' chest. The man buckled over, dropping Rory to the floor, but before he could run, three more pairs of arms forced Rory's face against the railing. The fog flooded his mouth and nose.

"You will become like us," said a Dreamwalker in a familiar voice.

"Tacitus, not you too," choked Rory. He could feel the fog inside him, smothering him, and the pressure building up like he was a teapot about to boil. For a moment, he blacked out.

And then, he coughed. A stream of dust trickled from his nose and fell in a little heap onto the railing.

"They're dead? No. Impossible," muttered the Dreamwalker.

Rory looked back at the pile of dust, at the pile of dead Dreamwalkers. "Oh," he said. Then he decided to take advantage of their surprise.

"Yeah. Impossible. You know what else is impossible? This." And then, in a sudden blinding burst, he shot his hand-gun into the air.

The next thing he knew, the hands pinning him down were gone, and he crumpled on the planking to catch his breath. And Tacitus, Brutus, and the navigator were standing behind him, blinking, with befuddled expressions on their faces.

Rory jumped to his feet. "Sorry. You were all sleepwalking."

"All of us?" asked the navigator. "At the…same time?"

"I know. Bit of a coincidence, really," said Rory. "But, anyway, back to bed, I say." He led Brutus and Tacitus back to the trapdoor, and with a flourish, shut it behind them. Then he turned to find the navigator staring back at him.

"I wasn't sleeping," the crewman said bluntly. "I was on duty, wide awake. What actually happened? The last thing I remember…was the fog."

"Yes," said Rory. "Guess that'd make sense. You just fell under the control of a species known as the Dreamwalkers. And…you just tried to strangle me. More or less. But you're better now. Which is funny, though. You, Tacitus, and Brutus were all freed as soon as I fired my gun."

"Your what?"

"Never mind, just ignore me. Thinking out loud. So, a laser blast killed or scared off the Dreamwalkers inside of you, even though I didn't fire directly at you. So, what're my options? Sound? That gun makes quite a noise. But, no, I was shouting too, which didn't do a thing. Not sounds, then. Heat? Nah, wouldn't radiate far enough to fry anything. Adrenaline? Shocked people produce loads of adrenaline. Could flush out the Dreamwalkers. Oh, but wait! Faustus jumped off the yard, and I'd daresay that produced a lot of fear, a lot of adrenaline, whether he was awake or not. And the Dreamwalkers were still fine. So, last option: the laser itself. The Dreamwalkers hate the brightness."

"What does that mean?"

"That means we need more light. Mr. Navigator, fetch the kindling."

That night, the deck blazed with the two dozen barrel-fires Rory had lit. The fog receded a fair distance, but nevertheless lurked at the edge of view, far from the ship but ever close to mind. It was near dawn that the navigator, just released from duty, sidled up to Rory with a concerned expression on his face.

"Mr. Rory, sir, there's a problem. I was under the impression we had two stocks of wood. Last night we burnt through one of them. Problem is, I just went to check for the other stock. Apparently, it doesn't exist."

"So…"

"So, we're out of kindling."

"Not good. Not good at all. Tonight's a new moon, too. It'll be pitch-black. If the Dreamwalkers were to choose a night to take this ship, it'd be this one. And we're defenseless. I can't use my hand-gun too much. A big drain on power; and, plus, what good is one laser against an entire bank of fog? No, we need firelight, and lots of it. If only we had more kindling."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rory, but I checked. A few scraps of wood, nothing more. It'll stave the Dreamwalkers off for a few hours, maximum."

"We'll make it last, then," concluded Rory. "Get some rest now. You're going to need it."

Rory spent the day mechanically pacing back and forth on deck. The crewmen pretended not to notice the worried look on his face. Every so often he would throw a concerned glance at the sun as it sank ever lower in the sky. In turn, Brutus shot glares of suspicion at Rory's activities but said nothing. As the sun first kissed the horizon, Brutus disappeared below deck, and Tacitus took advantage of the opportunity to sneak to Rory's side. He said nothing, but his inquisitive expression told Rory enough.

"I think you should be topside tonight," said Rory.

"Why? Wouldn't below deck be safer?" asked Tacitus.

"No, not at all. In fact, I'm not letting anyone below tonight."

"Brutus won't take kindly to that."

"Oh, when he sees what I'm planning, he'll be just as eager to jump ship as everyone else."

"Jump ship? Mr. Rory, what on Earth are you planning to do?"

"Well, the navigator said we're out of kindling. He was wrong. We have as much kindling as we need."

"What are you talking ab—" and then Tacitus realized. "Oh! Tell me you're not going to—"

"Shh," hissed Rory. "Now, I have just a few minutes. We need to get all the men up here. Don't want to hurt them. So, your job is to tell them something, anything, that'll get them above deck. It's a shame we don't have any lifeboats. Not so much as a raft. But we'll make do."

"It's not going to be safe," said Tacitus.

"I know," answered Rory. "But we're less than a week's walk from Rome. I want us to be as close to port as possible when I do it. Safer territory, you see? But I've instructed the navigator to steer as close to the coast as possible. So, less than half a kilometer to swim. We'll have enough light to fend off the Dreamwalkers. Hopefully that'll give us enough time to get to shore. You think we can do it?"

"You're right," said Tacitus.

"I'm sorry?"

"You were right. You are insane."

"Yeah, but the real question is, is this crazy enough to work?"

"I hope so," said Tacitus.

Thirty minutes later, the sun had dipped below the horizon. Tacitus had spun a ridiculous tale involving a bet and mermaids, and the men had stolen onto top deck in a curious bid to hear more. As soon as they had all hurtled through the trapdoor, Rory kicked it shut. It slammed with an ominous bang.

"So, what's the story?" asked one crewmember.

"Sorry, no story!" said Rory. "Thanks for coming, though. Now, a bit short notice, but I need you all to jump in the water and swim to shore."

The men laughed. "You first," one called.

And then Brutus pushed his way through the crowd.

"WHAT IN THE GODS' NAMES IS THIS ABOUT?" He seized Rory by the scruff of the neck. "These men are on duty. Insubordination, is it? That's more than enough cause for a whipping. Or marooning. Which do you prefer?"

"Brutus, are you looking for another fight? Because this time you forgot to bring your sword. Are you even wearing armor?"

Brutus scowled. "Armor is unnecessary."

"Good! Just wanted to make sure," announced Rory. "Now, since you've got nothing to weigh you down, I've got no qualms about doing this."

In one smooth motion, he hoisted Brutus aloft and threw him overboard. The man made a satisfying splash. For a moment, Rory wondered if the soldier could swim, but then his fuming head broke the waves.

"You…you…" he spluttered.

"Don't even try to climb aboard," said Rory. "Your safest bet's to swim to shore. Don't worry, we'll all be following you soon enough. Trust me, I'm doing you a favor."

The crewmen looked uneasy.

"All right, here's the scoop," Rory addressed the men. "Night's falling, and we don't have any way of staving off the darkness. We can't let this ship get dark, because the fog will roll in and we will die. Take my word for it. So, we're going to swim for shore."

"Are you completely mental?" shouted one crewman. "Get this guy restrained before he kills us all!"

The crew began advancing. Rory's plan was falling apart, but maybe it was still salvageable. There was one sure-fire way of getting the men into the water. No pun intended. He met Tacitus' eyes, who nodded.

And then, Rory stepped back and let a laser burst arc into the wooden deck. In a magnificent whoosh, the planking exploded into flames.

"Now are you convinced?" he shouted. "Everyone overboard!"

Ten seconds later, the deck was empty and the ocean churned with panicked crewmen swimming for their lives.

Rory turned to Tacitus above the roaring of the flames. "You too!" he yelled. "I'll meet you at the shore!"

For a moment, Tacitus looked ready to argue. But then, he simply said, "I'll be waiting for you."

And then he was gone too.

Rory had only a few minutes before the entire ship went up in flames. He seized the wheel and spun it, and ever so slowly the bireme began turning towards the shore.

"Come on, come on," he muttered. "We're so close to land."

The ship didn't respond, but inched shoreward nevertheless.

The flames grew larger. The planking groaned.

Rory saw what was happening. "Oh."

And then the deck, weakened by the fire, gave way, and the Pandorica plummeted through the hull into the sea beneath.

Without hesitation, Rory dived in after it.

In the light of the burning wreckage, Tacitus panted as he pulled himself onto the beach. His fellow crewmen collapsed onto the pebbles in utter exhaustion, but Tacitus was relieved nevertheless to see that they had all made it to land. Well, all but one.

Rory was nowhere to be found.

As the men picked themselves from the rocks and began to make camp, Tacitus watched the last embers of the ship burn their way into the water. The crew had found some trees and started a campfire, which soon became the only light in the insufferable darkness. Straining his eyes against the blackness, Tacitus searched the sea—and the overlying fog—for any sign of Rory.

Although his fellow crew packed up and left for Rome the next morning, Tacitus stayed behind.

A week later, he left too.

One Fortnight Later

Even during the dead of night, Rome bustled with activity. Tasked with the governance of its ninety million subjects, the capital could not afford to sleep. Workers shuffled to and fro, carrying cargo between the port and the trading ships. Just like any other night.

But what the men failed to notice was a lone figure silhouetted against the silver moon emerging from the water. He strained against a taut rope, and ever so slowly, wrestled a massive cube from the waves.

Safe.

Author's Note: So, there you have it! As usual, thanks for reading. In the meantime, I'm going to watch tonight's episode while munching fish fingers and custard, a far different sort of adventure than the one I just finished writing! Please, if you enjoy these stories, subscribe and/or leave a review. I love hearing your input.

I've got some ideas for Rory's adventures in Rome, so never fear! The best is yet to come.

Allons-y!