11Hey all, sorry for the slight wait; school work ran away with me, and I had a deadline for a submission to Org Infinitus. I've also been drowning in a creative writing class that is EATING MY LIFE.
Chapter Nine: The Serpent in the Garden
"You know, I really hate wearing dresses and being all dolled up," she complained to James as she regarded herself in the glass. She turned to him. "Am I 'pretty'? Is this what 'pretty' is supposed to be?"
Having never seen her in a dress, James was quite at a loss. "This is the most feminine I have ever seen you—and it suits you," he added earnestly.
She pursed her lips. "Yuck. I'll take casual and dowdy any day. At least Jack did a nice job with the make-up. How's my hair?"
"Clean. Jack who?"
"Sorry; Mr. Harkness, the man who was attending me."
"The captain's steward, I suppose."
"I guess." And she knew he was one more person who would rebel if necessary. "Speaking of which," she rounded on him, "you might've warned me I would be getting a bath from another man! I don't think I've ever been so embarrassed in my life!"
James ducked his head. "I—er —oops."
"And do you know what? He was flirting with me! I never been flirted with in my life, I've got no idea what you're supposed to do."
"He didn't behave too untowardly, I hope?" her guardian asked with concern.
"He didn't try anything. I think he was just having a laugh at my expense."
"Well, he's done a decent job of cleaning you up; at least there is that."
"Too bad they didn't take into account that I haven't got any shoes."
"Yes. What a shame not to have the complete outfit."
"I've got boots—I could wear those."
"No, don't. Don't do that."
"Well what should I do? Go barefoot?"
"Not at all! How entirely inappropriate. You'd best borrow a pair off of a midshipman."
"All right." She couldn't stop thinking about how awkward things were bound to be—and if there was one thing she was afraid of, it was awkward moments. Thus, an air of uneasiness spread about her. "You know," she attempted humour, "if it was anyone else, I'd take it as an opportunity to mess with them a little bit. But the captain is so—I dunno, funless. I don't think I'd get any reaction out of him."
"And besides that, messing with him could mess things up for us."
"So you keep saying," she dismissed his concern. "He might have done some rotten things in the past, but I live in the now, and right now I see no reason not to trust him. Yeah, he whipped you, but that was standard procedure after the lip you gave him—some of the boys told me what you said to him. I'm sorry I missed it—I would've payed to see it. But anyway, as far as I've seen, Mandel's only been doing his job and there's nothing wrong with that."
"But Amy, he's dangerous," he hissed.
"So are you. Technically. The only danger we've ever known him to be is in the past. That's not how I work; I can't judge a person for who they were; I need to judge them for who they are."
"And I admire that in you, but your penchant for seeing the good in people is blinding you to what may really be going on."
"Look. I understand where you're coming from. I'm not a completely oblivious person—you said it yourself back at the Faithful Bride; if something's not right, I'll know. But until I do, I'm not gonna go around thinking people are out to get me." She sighed unexpectedly. "You're probably right—don't assume I think you're a lunatic and don't trust your judgement. But I want to be able to make my own judgements."
"Why the sudden change of heart? Yesterday, you seemed so sure that he was a threat—you feared him—but now, you're defending him."
"Because I really don't want you to be right."
"I—don't understand."
"We keep looking for reasons for this assumption to be right—its really not something you want to be right about. I mean, yeah, I'll keep my guard up—I always have my guard up. It's not like, just because I'm not suspicious of him, I'll flash it around about my magic. I'm not an idiot. But neither am I going to assume he's out to get me."
James sighed. "All right."
"I don't know what's got you like this. It's just supper. One evening."
"Completely alone behind a closed door—"
"Not really; Groves said there would be others."
"—and me locked up in here; I wouldn't be able to protect you." He shifted to nurse his arm, which was throbbing. "Besides me being helpless myself as it is."
He would get pulled into one of his black moods if she didn't stop him. With a nod of understanding, she countered. "One: you can free yourself just as easily as I can—you know I enchanted them to snap when you kick hard enough. B—no—Two: I can take care of myself. You've been training me to fight. You've been tutor and mentor to me and my sword nonstop, and I know I've been getting better. Three, or C: you are not helpless. You're ambidextrous, you're quick, and you're clevah. That's all you need. And, coming in at a very low four, or D, or that little 'iv' in brackets they put in footnotes: Bye!" As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.
"Here to escort the Miss to the Captain's cabin," the officer announced, introducing himself as Whitby, master's mate.
"Thank you, sir," she replied promptly, businesslike, taking his proffered arm. "See you later, James. Much love. Wish me luck."
"Good luck, love." The door closed. "You may need it."
Acting quickly, Amy was able to borrow a pair of shoes from one of the tinier midshipmen, but even then they were two sizes too big and felt like they flopped and dragged with every step. She felt like a clown clomping around in them, and, afraid she might trip and make the night even more awkward, she slowly made them shrink as she walked. Nobody would notice her shoes, anyway, as long as she didn't draw attention to them. Once topside again, for all her Norrington-like composure, she couldn't help her heartbeat accelerating as they neared the foreboding door atop the quarterdeck. Upon reaching it, Mr. Whitby raised his fist and rapped smartly against the wood. There was a ready "Enter," and the master's mate turned the handle.
"Presenting Miss Norrington, sir," he announced with a salute.
"Welcome, Miss Norrington," Captain Mandel greeted her, and for half a moment he looked pleasant. She paused to take in the company. There was a lieutenant junior to Groves, the master, the captain of the marines, a pair of midshipmen, and of course, Whitby. "Come, child, have a seat," said Mandel, pulling out the chair across from him. There would be no escaping his notice among friendlier faces.
"Thank you, Captain, and good evening," she replied British-ly as she gathered her skirts. And so it began.
As the food would still be several minutes, the company fell to stiff and formal conversations, aware of their captain's presence, and bound by custom not to speak unless spoken to. At the moment, the Captain, lieutenant, and master were deep into a conversation about the best conditions for studding sails and sky sails, and debating the usefulness of moonrakers and kites, occasionally shooting a comment, explanation, or question at the others.
The cabin door swung open and Jack Harkness, as the steward, entered with the tray of food. She felt something warm and furry curl up at her feet and realized the demon must be underneath the table. At least she wasn't alone anymore. Although with Jack here... she could only hope he wouldn't be flirtatious now of all times. He set the meat pie and steak-and-kidney pudding on the table and everyone set to eating. It smelled delicious, and Amy's stomach growled, but she knew she would have to eat slowly and daintily and politely and not stuff her face. It was infuriating.
"I must say, that dress is very nice, miss," the Captain commented when the pie had finished, regarding her over his wineglass. "It becomes you. Don't it, lads?" The sailors agreed, some because they were bound by custom to agree with their captain, and a few with real appreciation. "Purely out of curiosity, I must ask: how did you come by it?—surely you didn't bring it aboard?"
"No, sir. As soon as James heard I was to come to dine, he decided that I should have a dress and sent for one to be made." She thought that might be it—maybe they would go back to talking boringly about their sails.
"You and Mr. Norrington are related, I hear?" Mandel went on.
"I never knew he had family," put in the master.
"Distantly," the lass replied evenly. "But he looks after me."
"Should it not be the other way around?"
"Sir?"
"Most madmen themselves require looking after."
She bit her lip uneasily. Everyone was looking at her expectantly. "It's never happened before. Not until he was flogged." And he hasn't been mad since, she was tempted to add.
"Then an unfortunate chance of events. But a flogging like that would not be enough to break any man, much less an iron-will like him. Something must have driven him over the edge some time ago." Vaguely, she felt a sense of danger. But surely, even if Mandel was after her, he wouldn't try anything in the company of other men?
"Well I can only imagine what," she answered carefully, though competently, looking into each sailor's face as she spoke. "It's a wonder that any man who is on the constant lookout for danger and who has been in as many fights and battles hasn't gone mad."
The feeling was still there. "Perhaps. This life has been known to push many to paranoia, and yes, even to madness. But he had the stuffs of a man unaffected." There were murmurs of agreement from around the table. Perhaps they all knew James' reputation. "Would it, do you think, have anything to do with his mysterious disappearance nearly two years past?" Heads snapped up.
Amy's brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know anything about that. I only met him in the last year. And in the time I've known him, he has always been perfectly sane."
"Is that so. And you know nothing about his disappearance?"
"I hadn't been aware that he had disappeared until just now, sir."
"Of course you weren't." Something inside her clicked, and a wave of apprehension swept over her; it had gone in the next moment. "What do you think of my ship, my dear?"
"She is quite lovely, sir. Beautiful, powerful, not to mention spacious."
This seemed to satisfy him. "Yes, miss. And for all her size, she moves quickly."
"Like a horse, if you don't mind my comparison."
"How so?"
"Horses look like great lumbering creatures at first sight, but they are swift, graceful, and noble."
Mandel smiled—it was the first smile she'd seen, and she didn't know whether to be pleased. "Quite so, Miss Norrington."
"And how cavernous a cabin! Any other captain's cabins I've been in were half as large at the most." Amy didn't like how the subject had been centered on her these last few minutes. She hoped piling compliments would save her from conversations too personal until the food arrived.
"Other cabins such as that of the Black Pearl, am I correct?" It had been too much to hope. "If you will excuse my asking; I know very little about who you are." Without waiting for her consent, he went on. "I have heard of your association with Sparrow? How did you meet?"
"He saved me from the sea, and sort of took it onto himself to keep me safe."
"How did you come to be in the open water?"
"Shipwreck, sir," she lied. "It was how I got separated from my parents."
"And he took responsibility, did he? Spontaneously, without getting to know you first? How very unlike a pirate."
"Even Jack Sparrow has a conscience, sir."
"He never used to. Tell me, how did he propose to protect you in such a dangerous profession as his?"
"He was going to drop me off in Port Royal to stay with friends of his while he went out pirating."
"Yet despite his efforts, danger still found you."
Her spine stiffened. "Sir?"
"Rumour has it you were very nearly burned at the stake. They thought you a witch?"
"Crazy, isn't it?" she replied with a nervous laugh. Whitby and a few others laughed with her.
"It is. Will you tell us about it?"
"Now, sir, look how pale you've made her. Imagine, making the poor girl remember something like that," sympathized the master.
"It is a simple enough question, I hope."
"It's all right," Amy forced herself to say. "What do you want to know?"
"How did you survive?" The other sailors were looking at her with real interest. She was suddenly more than dainty female company.
"Jack and James saved me."
"They worked together to save you? Two sworn enemies? How very curious."
"It's amazing what love can do, sir. It changes people."
"And I suppose it was love that changed the minds of everyone in the rumoured angry mob in an instant?"
"No, sir, I believe it was respect for James that quelled them."
"And yet you feel safe to return to Port Royal?" Mandel continued with a look of well-meant concern. "Does anyone still think you are guilty?"
"No," she replied immediately. Then, realizing she had answered too abruptly, added, "Well, no one has ever come after me since. The removal of Mr. Welsh was all that was needed."
"And how was he removed?"
"James had him arrested."
There was a short beat of silence before Mandel opened his mouth to say something else. But he was interrupted by the return of his steward with the food. To herself, Amy sighed a breath of relief. They had stayed on that subject much too long, and he had been asking too many, albeit harmless, questions.
"Dinner is served," he announced, fake Welsh accent back in place, as he and his assistants set the shoulder of mutton and various other dishes on the table.
Thank God, she thought with relief.
"Were you expecting something else to eat, Miss Norrington?" Mandel asked, eyeing her relief critically.
"I'm just glad it isn't horse, sir."
"And why is that?"
"I like horses, sir. The alive kind." Some of the men smiled—even Jack was smiling to himself as he began to carve and serve the meat.
To go with the sheep, there were potatoes, pease pudding, and a smattering of mixed vegetables, seasoned and etc. Amy looked at the carrots and the squash and the asparagus with dread, knowing she could not be polite and picky about her food at the same time. Jack produced a bottle of wine. "Madeira, '31."
"Capital, capital year," Mandel approved. "Refill every glass." Uh-oh. Amy hadn't touched her wine. If there was one thing she despised, it was the taste of the wine. Jack went around the table, refilling the sailors' glasses. The captain was bound to notice if Jack skipped her because she had refused to drink decent wine. Casually, she lifted the wine to her lips and pretended to drink. The level went down a little. The demon, sensing mischief, sank his claws into her ankle. She discreetly nudged him away and put her glass down, noticeably emptier. Jack had come around to refill it, giving her a wink as he did.
"If it's not too bold to ask," she forced herself to pipe up as he was heading for the door, "may I also please have some water?"
"O' course, Miss Norrington," he replied with one of his charming smiles, not bothering to look to his captain for permission. It was an innocent enough request.
"How about a toast, Miss?"
"I—I don't know anything about giving toasts, sir, but—Good health to the King, long may he live."
"Here here," Mandel and the men raised their glasses and drank. Amy herself joined in, again pretending to take a sip. For all its good smell, she knew it'd taste horrible.
And so they attacked their meals with well-refined gusto. It was her first time having mutton, and she rather enjoyed it. She only wished she could enjoy it less daintily. And, for all her disdain of the vegetables present, she managed to down them without making a face. Still, there was a problem. At any meal, she usually drank as much as she ate. As thirst began to clawr at her throat, she cast about for something to drink. Not the wine. Anything but the wine. Lucky for her, Harkness returned just then with her water. And with relief, she dared to relax a little.
She still wasn't quite sure how to cut her meat without sawing at it like a child, and she felt Mandel and her neighbors watching her critically. Self consciously, she made the meat separate beheath her knife. Again the cat swatted at her with his claws. Stop that, she thought frustratedly at him.
I will when you do.
When the mutton was finished, Jack returned with bowls of the cook's famous chowder. It would go down nicely after that mutton. At least this time she knew which spoon to use.
"So the miss likes horses," Mandel began as they blew on the hot soup. "Might that have anything to do with Jack Sparrow?"
"Sir?" asked one of the men, not seeing the connection.
"Din't you 'ear? Which 'e got 'imself cursed again. Turns into an 'orse now, don't 'e," another supplied.
"Did his strange enchantment spur your interest, if you'll pardon the pun?" Bound by custom, a few of the men chuckled.
"No, although it was a rather interesting coincidence."
"I suppose you are referring to the fact that he did not become cursed until you met him."
Her spine stiffened; this was too close to an accusation. The demon put his paw on her foot again, this time not in disapproval, but in warning. "Yes sir, although I can assure you it had nothing to do with my presence. I was merely cast into his life at the same time that whatever 'enchanting' event took place." That wasn't quite how she'd meant to phrase it, but there was hardly any better way. "I mean—."
"I understand, Miss Norrington," Mandel replied with what seemed like a sincere smile. The demon removed his paw. Amy stirred her soup and watched the steam rise. "Have you heard about his death?"
She deflated. "Jack's? I've heard very little, and it saddened me so."
"No one knows how he died; only that there is one less pest on these waters."
"A pest, perhaps, but like family nonetheless, sir."
"It is a curious thing," Mandel went on, ignoring the remark, "how something so subtle as to remain unknown could spell the demise of a man even the Navy could not detain."
"I only wish I could have been with him to say goodbye." But soon I'll be saying 'hello', you ignorant—
"What do you suppose killed him?" She looked up, alarmed that he was asking her; but he had directed it at the table and was inviting speculation from the men. Conversation turned to more petty things after that, and she began to feel safe again—not that she hadn't as it was, she mused, but...
Dessert was soon served; spotted dick. "You look uncertain, Miss," he commented as she stared at the wobbly mass before her. "Have you not had pudding before?"
"Not this kind, sir. I tend to avoid food that moves on its own." This earned a laugh from the men.
"A glass of wine with you, Miss," said Whitby with mirth, and she had to bow to him and pretend to drink. Much relieved now that the tension had dispersed, she tasted a spoonful of the pudding. It was a lot better than she had been expecting. But what could it be made of? Definitely fruit in it, of course. James had said something about suet. She didn't want to know what that was.
"Are you aware of what will happen upon your arrival in Port Royal, Miss Norrington?"
"I know that James will stand trial."
"And upon being found guilty, he will be hung."
"Now, sir, surely that is a conversation best left for another time," protested the lieutenant. There were nods of agreement all round. Amy blinked gratefully. Perhaps they were not afraid to disagree with their captain? More likely, he was beginning to get drunk and they were covering up for him.
Dismissing the subject, Mandel went on. "You said you knew nothing of his disappearance two years ago. What of his disappearance a few months ago, near the beginning of this year?" Her spine stiffened, and the demon's paw was back. Shoot! "If my memory is not too wine-addled, you said you met him a year ago."
"How did he disappear?" she asked, stalling for time to think up a good cover. Mandel encouraged the captain of the marines, who had apparently been there, to explain.
"In Port Royal, Sparrow showed up. Mr Norrington allowed him to escape, and deserted almost immediately when he tried to escape punishment. Pursuit led the search to a half-collapsed barn, which all had seen him enter. However, upon investigation, there was no sign of him. The building was empty. And further searches proved he was not on the island, which is why we took to the sea. He simply vanished."
The rational part of her mind told her that he had every right to be curious—any man would seek answers to a mystery like that—and she allowed herself to relax just a little. Don't worry, she thought to the demon, who stubbornly kept a warning paw on her foot. "Perhaps he escaped and put on some distance while the marines were checking the building." Mandel nodded, as though he were beginning to understand. "I mean, the more time the men spent searching, the bigger a head start James would have gained." The captain sat back, seeming to be satisfied with this answer. They returned to their neglected pudding.
Amy was almost giddy with relief—supper was nearly over, and nothing had gone wrong. The only problem was that what remained to do was drinking wine. "A glass of wine with you, sir." "A glass of wine with you, Lieutenant." "The bottle stands by you, Mr Whitby."
"Shall—shall I take my leave, then?" she forced herself to ask, beginning to rise. She had read that the women left meals early so the men could be men.
"Already? The evening is young, miss, and you're the guest of honour! Why not have some wine?"
"My goodness, I'm so full. I haven't got room for anything more."
Mandel leaned forward in his chair, his face flushed like so many others at the table. "Won't you at least have one glass, Miss? You've barely touched it all night—and it is such good wine, too. What do you say to the first glass out of this new bottle? Capital year."
"Of course, sir." With a pleasant smile, she lifted the glass for him to fill, and pretended to drink. When she put it down it was empty. A few drops coated her lips and, not wanting to stain her napkin, she ran her tongue over them. A little wouldn't kill her. Why, this isn't wine at all; it's grape juice. But it tastes weird. Different sugar?Whoa. For a moment, she felt dizzy. Isn't grape juice either. Almost tastes like candy. She had a real shock. Wine didn't taste like candy, and neither did grape juice. Even as her head swam, her mind raced. Tincture of opium! Had he been trying to get her to talk, or knock her out?
She could not hide her surprise fast enough. That feeling of danger returned, as Mandel rose from his seat. "Please, Miss, won't you have another drink?" he asked in mocking tones, and she knew he definitely was not drunk. "It's rude to leave a quality drink unfinished." Amy jumped up from her seat and ran for the door. She flung it open and raced out into the dimming daylight, darting around sailors and an odd pile of wood. "Stop her!" she heard Mandel shout, and she felt hands grabbing for her. She had to get to James. But enough men were chasing after her, and she was soon caught. Help me! she thought to him frantically as she was dragged back, kicking and struggling, to the captain—but her nephew's mind was otherwise occupied, and she wasn't sure he'd heard her.
"Sir," she heard Theodore behind her. "What is going on?" She tried to turn around to look at him, but the marines holding her arms would not allow it. And without the use of her arms, she could not magic.
"This girl is guilty of several crimes, among which is the performance of witchcraft. Chips! Is it ready?"
"Aye, sir." And she realized that the pile of wood to starboard had a purpose: it was a stake and platform, much like the one back at Port Royal, all those months ago. No, no, no, no, no!
"That's preposterous!" Cries of disagreement rang out. "There's no such thing!"
"I heard her speak it with my own ears." Silence on the ship. "She will stand trial immediately." The crew assembled around them. "Over the course of our conversations in my cabin, I have inferred her responsibility for several crimes, all of which are related to witchcraft. In chronological order: she sank whatever ship she had been traveling on, drowning everyone aboard—whether or not her parents really were aboard as she says is debatable. She then proceeded to enchant Jack Sparrow to her will, which is the reason the Black Pearl landed in Port Royal, and also the reason for his horse-related curse. The Miss has stated that she likes horses very much. Another man saw through her innocent facade and attempted to bring her to justice at the stake. But this time she enchanted someone of stature; someone of power: Commodore Norrington, who, with the already enchanted Jack Sparrow, came to her rescue. Whether the mob quieted out of respect for either of these men remains to be seen; but that an entire town of mobbing citizens would drop their aggression immediately and never speak of it again reeks of suspicion."
"And can you explain any of these accusations, sir?" Groves interrupted cautiously.
"Yes I can. Of my first points: This girl had barely met Jack Sparrow before he fell victim to his strange equine curse. And do you not think it strange that, of all the ships that might have come upon her, the ship claimed to be the fastest in all the Caribbean was the one that picked her up? The ship that always seemed to evade justice? Of the latter points: how many people have been set afire at the stake and survived? I understand that the occasional innocent may have lost her life to the flames; but it is the ones who survive who surely must have black magic on their side. Lieutenant Groves told me himself that our dear former-Commodore seemed content to watch her burn before suddenly jumping in to play the hero." Amy's head shot up to glare accusingly at Theodore, but he avoided her gaze. "And," Mandel went on, "for all the time that Sparrow remained in Port Royal after then, no one came after him; it is rumoured he even stayed in the Governor's mansion. How could this be?" A pause to let all of this sink in. "Do the officers have any evidence to refute this?" Silence from the lieutenants, although Mr. Whitby was looking appropriately pissed off at his captain. "Do the witnesses have anything to say?"
It was a few moments before Theodore realized everyone was looking at him. "Er—James never looked content to watch her die. He just seemed to be struggling to make a decision that, once made, had to be acted upon quickly. Aside from that, sir, I do not think his honour would allow him to let a young woman die, guilty or not—especially one related to him. And he does not believe in witches."
Actually you're wrong there, Teddy, she thought ruefully. He does now.
"Can you find fault with the rest of the proof examined?"
"Well, sir, it's not really proof. We don't know what really went on." The other officers suddenly didn't look so sure.
"I understand that, Lieutenant. I merely bring up these points to make you all think—and think very hard. How could so many 'lucky coincidences' be allotted one ordinary, insignificant girl?" The other lieutenants looked really unsure now—even Whitby was looking thoughtful. "Perhaps I shall bring up further points to persuade you."
Don't do anything yet, Ames told herself. Give them a chance. She could get out of here right quick—but that would only prove Mandel right. She would wait and see if the crew would rebel—but it would be really close. Rebellions like these never happened till the last minute.
"Mr. Norrington," the captain went on self-assuredly, "very recently betrayed the Navy by allowing his worst enemy to escape on the claim that they were brothers. Hatred like theirs does not just disintegrate into brotherly love instantaneously—and to add to the crime, he deserted on the spot. You can see the unlikelihood of all this; we all know the sacrifices he is willing to make to keep his commision. We all know what it means to him. James Norrington would not give it up for the world, much less for Jack Sparrow, unless enchanted. And to top off that day of uncanny experiences, he vanished into thin air. The girl claims he found an exit; but the building, as I know it, was surrounded."
"I didn't claim it; jes' suggested it," she corrected him indignantly.
"Yes, but you seemed very certain." She certainly did not like that gleam in his eyes. "Now, James Norrington is a strong man, I'll give him that. Strong in body, strong in mind, and strong in will. He is not the sort of man to be broken, nor is he weak enough to succumb to whatever enchantments that have been placed upon him. Inside his soul, he has been fighting her spells until it drove him mad. I'm sure you all noticed that she was the only one who could calm him when he lost control." He shot her an accusing look.
"He cares about me, that's all," she replied haughtily. "If it had been Elizabeth Swann instead of me, the same thing would have happened."
"Would it? I dare say Mrs. Turner would have been certain enough of her own safety to embrace a madman who is pointing a gun at her!"
"But I didn't feel safe at all—I was scared out of my mind."
"Then why did you not run?"
"I care about him too much. I could never leave him like that."
"Of course, he is much too valuable a minion to lose." He turned back to the assembly. "He vanished out of Port Royal, and the next time we see him, months later, he is a different man, like a caged animal; unpredictable; unstable. I do not know what happened the first time he disappeared, years ago, but I will venture to guess that she was responsible for that as well."
"She was not," Theodore piped up. "I was there. Even if what you say is true, there is no way she could have been involved."
"And how can you know that?"
"What happened then was between him and God."
That shut him up. "Very well. Thank you, Mr Groves."
"Sir."
"With all of this that has been inferred, I would even venture to say that she is somehow related to the cause of Jack Sparrow's death. But I will not hold that against her, for in that case she did us a favour. However, no deed, however helpful, can be considered a good deed if it was done with black magic."
She heard a few murmurs in the crowd. Were they agreeing? Was Mandel succeeding? She couldn't tell, but it was starting to look like this wouldn't turn out so well. She consulted her famous intuition, but could sense nothing. Great, just when I need it most, she grumbled to herself.
"Even this very day I ran afoul of more evidence against her case." He rounded on her. "Where did your shoes come from?"
She glared into his face. "I told you, I borrowed them—"
"—From a midshipman, yes. Now, who here can bring me a midshipman with feet as small as these? No one? Then why do these shoes fit her so perfectly?"
"Please, sir, they're mine," said the midshipman who had been thoughtful enough to spare them.
"Come, put them on then. and see if they fit."
"They wouldn't, sir," the boy replied cautiously. Everyone jerked round to stare. Was he siding with the captain?
"And why not?" Mandel asked encouragingly.
"They were the smallest pair I had, sir. I'd grown out of them some time ago." How could he be so certain they didn't fit? Was he trying to cover up for her?
"We have not been at sea above a month. You cannot have grown that much in that time."
"No, sir. I brought them as spares in case someone needed them."
"Tell me, then, why are you wearing your best shoes today?" Amy's eyes flitted down to his polished shoes. He had loaned her his day-to-day ones.
"These are my only other pair, sir."
"Aha! He is lying. She has enchanted him as well." A few of the more superstitious sailors around the midshipman withdrew. "What would a witch want on our ship, men? Think about it. We are aboard the HMS Oblivion, the most powerful ship out of England—and thus, the world. She is here, trying to take control. Her intent all along, I believe, was to enchant us—to control us! She was spellweaving at my very dinnertable."
This was where the crew had had enough, and they cried out how ridiculous it was. What about the men who had been in there with them? Wouldn't they have agreed that something was amiss?
"Very good point. Mr Whitby," he turned accusingly to the master's mate. "You were seated beside her. Did you ever see her lips touch her wine?"
"I—I dunno, sir," he replied falteringly. "It's not the sort of thing I look for."
"Did you notice whether she licked her lips or dabbed them after drinking."
"She didn't, sir, I don't think."
Mandel turned to the captain of the marines. "What about you? Did her lips touch her wine?"
"They, er, didn't seem to, sir. I reckoned she was mighty graceful to be drinking like that."
"And yet her wine always disappeared, did it not?"
"Yes, sir."
He turned to the master. "While you and the other men were getting red in the face, did you ever notice a flush in the girl's face?"
"No, sir."
"Even though she matched us glass for glass?"
"I—don't know how many she had, sir."
"And what of her mutton? She barely had to touch the blade of her knife to it before it came away, like our own skin under the Doctor's scalpel."
"Maybe she is just graceful, sir."
"No urchin possesses grace enough to cut tough meat without a bone saw. No urchin is graceful enough to walk about in shoes much too large without tripping up or stepping wrong. No urchin keeps her head after half a dozen glasses of wine." There was a collective 'Hmmm' of discontent from the men—many of them had been considered urchins, and they regarded their own manners as decent enough. Mandel failed to hear this. "And, she knew—she knew—to ask for water when she was served wine. She drank a glassful from an unopened bottle and suffered no effects because she hadn't drunk any at all. She knew, without ever having a sip, that I had mixed tincture of opium into the new bottle to loosen up her lips a little." That got the crew riled up. The captain and his officers shouted themselves hoarse to maintain order as the sailors yelled their dissent.
"Aha," smirked the lass, despite her restraints. "That's where the real dishonesty is revealed. You betrayed the trust of an innocent girl like me by slipping a drug into her drink—all because you are a suspicious, bitter old man." Mandel scowled, and before he could retort, she went on: "D'you know what's wrong with all your 'evidence', Captain? Do you? It's based entirely on the assumption that a lot of good luck and coincidences make me a witch. Look at Uncle Sparrow, will you? He runs into many strange coincidences, and his good luck is legendary. And yet, no one accuses him of witchcraft."
"You know, she has a point there," someone in the crowd yelled, and there were nods of agreement all around.
"You mustn't listen to what she says. Her words only convince you because she is enchanting you. Do not hear them."
"You're going to make these men suspicious of every person they trust, you idiot man," she protested. "If you won't hear my words, then hear their meaning. This is not an age where we burn people based on primitive suspicions, nor where we define the unexplainable as supernatural. This is an age where we begin to move forward."
"You see how easily she changes your mind! Tie her to the stake; she shall burn!"
"Sir, I really don't think—."
"I am the judge here, as you well know, and I deem her guilty. Tie her. Now, unless you want a court marshal, by God!"
Darnit, James was right. She was hauled up onto the platform, which she learned was hollow, and tied securely to the stake. Not once did she get the chance to move her arms or legs to magic—but she was still waiting for the crew to make their move.
"Sir, a fire on this ship would be catastrophic," the lieutenants had resorted to other means of reasoning. If not for the preservation of human life, then for the preservation of the precious Oblivion.
"It is a good job I thought of that. Haul her up!" And she was hoisted up by a system of pulleys attached to the stake until the contraption was dangling over the water, hanging from the end of a yardarm. "The ropes will burn through, and it will fall into the water, you see? If she does now burn to death first, then she will drown." Struggling to keep her balance—and her dinner—Amy looked out over the men. The crew were getting ready. She saw a few marines priming their guns at the back of the crowd. And she did not fail to notice Jack Harkness reaching into his coat for what was surely a weapon of some sort. He gave her a huge wink and a suppressed grin.
"You know, sir, I believe I've found another flaw in your court: you never gave me a chance to defend myself."
"Nothing you can say will cloud my judgement. I know the truth."
"So I'm defenseless. A defenseless girl of sixteen." A few murmurs among the crowd.
"I was told you were fifteen."
"Is that so? Then you would've been willing to kill me even younger?"
"Any witch deserves death, no matter the age. Your black magic has corrupted your youth and stolen your innocence. Therefore, I condemn you to burn for eternity."
"Captain, maybe we should refrain—," Lt Richards began, but Mandel cut him off.
"Refrain? She is a threat to the lives of others. It is our duty to eradicate such threats."
"It is your duty," came a voice, and all heads turned to see James striding through the crowd, shirtless once more, a bloody bandage wrapped about his elbow, "to protect and preserve life; Not condone its end."
Mandel's face was a mix of shock and fury. "What are you doing up here? How did you get out of your bonds?"
"I've broken through chains before; did you think mere rope could hold me?" he answered vaguely. "Stop this, Mandel. Let her go."
"How could you have known what is happening here? You cannot hear anything from those sickbay cabins."
"Well when your surgeon attempted to bleed me to death, I figured something was up." And here, several crew looked skyward in confusion. Ames would have smiled if she were not being sentenced to death.
Instead, she glared accusingly at Mandel. "'You've been planning this from the beginning. Ever since you learned my name,'" in her best Will voice.
"I did as I saw fit. Now, burn for eternity, witch, and may God curse thy soul." And he raised his pistol to point it at her—although for the life of her, she couldn't figure how that would light the stake. And she wouldn't find out just yet, as the sounds of hundreds of guns being cocked swept over the ship. "What is the meaning of this mutiny!" Mandel cried, furious, when he saw the crew—marines and sailors alike—aiming all manner of firearms at him. It seemed one of the lieutenants had 'accidentally' unlocked the arms case.
"Did it ever occur to you that you might be wrong?" James asked, almost mockingly, taking a challenging step toward him. "They certainly think you are. They've been against your judgement from the beginning." He continued still nearer with the silent challenge, the crew surrounding both. If it came to a duel, there would be very little room. "It would seem that witch-hunting doesn't receive the support it once had." Mandel accepted the challenge with a few carefully placed steps toward his adversary, gun still aimed at the wooden platform hanging from the yardarm.
"Enchantment. This entire ship is enchanted with her. Otherwise they would not defend her with mutiny."
"Or perhaps they just like her. She is rather likeable, after all." They drew nearer to one another. "You need to get out of the last century and into this one, you old lizard. Killing a witch is still considered murder, no matter how you phrase it." They stopped, eye to eye, nose to nose, glaring fatally at one another.
"In defense of a stranger, they will act," the captain said with a twisted smile. "But if they want to defend their own, they must not act." The gun shifted from Amy to rest on one of the crew—the youngest ship's boy aboard, of an infantile nine years of age. Silence on the ship. "Drop your weapons, or the boy dies." To the dismay of James and Amy (not to mention the demon, Theodore, Jack, and others), several crew dropped their guns on the spot.
James addressed them. "The men of this navy have already been led to kill children once. You men, who have vowed to right those wrongs and protect justice: will you allow that nightmare to come alive a second time?" This was a dangerous place to be in. Many of the crew were now weighing their options, frozen with uncertainty. It could go either way. Amy herself thought she understood: she couldn't ask them to choose her, a strange stranger, over one of their own. "Will you ever allow that memory to die? Or shall an innocent girl be the one to die instead? Listen to me: your captain is not right in the head—that is to say, he is worse off than I am. You cannot indulge his fantasy. You cannot—." He broke off, stiffening. He had taken his eyes off Mandel to look imploringly at the crew, and in that time the captain had taken a knife and stabbed it into his side.
"JAMES!" His surprise had hardly registered on his face before he crumpled to the deck.
Assured that he no longer a threat, and taking advantage of his crew's distraction, a handful rushing out to the fallen commander, he turned his gun to Amy and pulled the trigger. There was a loud crack! as it fired. She barely had time to realize that he had missed her before there was an explosion beneath her, and the platform burst into flame. The hollow space under her feet had been filled with gunpowder. As vermillion flames rose before her, she knew it was time to magic her way out. All she needed was to take a deep breath and she could blow it out. But the smoke choked her, and she couldn't breathe, and more importantly, couldn't sing—just like in her vision in the sailmaker's store. It had been her only option and it was gone. With her hands and feet tied so tightly, she couldn't make the graceful sweeping motions to summon the water, nor the dance-like moves to summon the wind. She couldn't magic! Perhaps one day she would be advanced enough to flick a finger and control the elements, but as it was, she still needed a lot of training. It was hot. She couldn't breathe. The flames danced around her, and it felt like she was on the surface of the sun. They snatched at her skin. She tried to scream, and choked on more smoke.
James found himself surrounded by a handful mixed of sailors and marines upon drowsily coming to. The wound, though deep and still with knife in, was not fatal; it had merely hit a pressure point, knocking him into a dead faint. A couple of sailors cried out in surprise as he abruptly came back to life, but he was unaware. The fuzziness in his mind only allowed him to focus on one thing, and we all know what that was. He motioned for a pistol and one was handed to him. The huddle around him parted to give him a clear shot, and with very careful aim, he fired.
Amy heard the second shot, instantly assuming that Mandel had been too impatient to let her burn. Instead, she felt herself falling—the rope that had held her up been severed by the shot—to plunge into the sea, flames quenched instantly with a loud hiss of protest. That was all well and dandy, except that now she was floating ten feet below the surface tied to the stake and what remained of the platform, with no way of getting to the surface. She struggled against her bonds with her waning strength, but could not get free. This was it then. As her vision darkened, she prayed her final prayer and succumbed herself to death.