Late "Christmas" fic Continues to be Late
Holy hell in a hand basket on the front of a bike. I had meant to finish this sooner but, uh, it didn't happen. Obviously. And I'm still not done. Looks to be a three part fic. Such is life!
Title: Jurassic Hall Red Rose Hall. 2/3
Characters: Norrington, Beckett, Mercer, Barbossa, Elizabeth, and Gov. Swann.
Pairings: Meh, none really. Implied Meckett if you want it. If you don't want it it's just Mercer and Beckett bickering like an old, drunk, married couple.
Rating: PG maybe PG13.
Summary: The above mentioned characters are back in England heading to the old Norrington manor house in order to retrieve a much needed map. While there they get snowed in and strange things begin to happen. Oh, and Mercer and Beckett spend most of their time there helping themselves to Norrington's extensive liquor collection.
Notes: It's really just my excuse to write Mercer and Beckett drunk. And taking the piss out of everyone. Also, I know cheese on toast didn't exist back then, or most likely didn't exist, but I don't really give a flying fuck now do I?
It's Disney - historical accuracy died a slow painful death years ago.
Also. Part one was prettty punny if I do say so myself.
Part I
Barbossa trails along down a few halls before giving up lead to Beckett and Mercer - don't know these houses. He says. 'Ye'd 'ave better luck than me in findin' the kitchens.'
A tucked away staircase at the end of the hall leads them down into the servants' quarters. They feel their way along, candles having been blown out by a breeze coming up the stairs.
'Ghost?' Barbossa whispers. Beckett shakes his head, no, it's always cooler downstairs. Kitchen have stone slab floors, keep food fresh for longer, and with narrow halls the breezes are normal.
The quarters are quiet, empty, and dark. Rooms long abandoned have dust settled on sinking beds, fading curtains. Old candles, burned down and wax sealed to their holders. Mercer looks about, notes the butler's pantry then says, If this house was built with any sense the kitchens'll be this way. The only sound is their shoes on the tiled floors, they stop every so often, peek their heads into rooms. Pick up yellowing books, rifle through abandoned drawers.
'You married?' Beckett asks Barbossa as the silence becomes too much. Mercer is a few paces ahead of them, intent on something and Beckett reasons it's more than his drunk food-fix. There is a thick layer of dust everywhere, even on the floor, and no signs of life.
'Occasionally. I'm always on the look out for the new ex Mrs Barbossa.' A crude laugh and Beckett gives a weak smile. Eventually they come to a halt at the end of the hall, the walls had been painted an off-yellow but are now a more faded brown-yellow as the wood shows through thinning paint and stains linger, un-washed. Mercer pushes open the kitchen door, motions for them to stay. He ducks into the room, a knife sliding out of his boot as he disappears. Beckett waits for a minute before following him into the room.
'Do you think we should have gone with them?' Governor Swann asks as he and Norrington pile through the clothes of the Admiral's late father. 'I don't think we should be separated.' A new shirt is handed to him, then waist coat and frock. Another minute of searching turns up a pair of breeches and stalkings.
'They'll be all right,' the younger man says with conviction. 'And if they're not, well they are my three least favourite people at the moment. I think those ought to fit you, there's a screen by the desk.'
The governor gives a bow of gratitude before going behind the chinese silk. Norrington sits on the bed, fingering the shreds of the governor's former coat. 'What happened, exactly?'
'Went dark,' the old shirt was tossed over. 'Our candles were blown out. Then it felt like something was breathing on my neck. But it was a cold breath. Not like a person, something else. And I think Lord Beckett felt it as well. He seemed frightened.' Breeches were tossed over to a corner. 'Next thing I know they're running down the hall, the clerk practically dragging Lord Beckett, and Beckett yelling at him to slow down. But in much ruder language.'
'Sounds about right for them.'
Governor Swann steps out and hands back the frock-coat, 'too small, but thank you for everything else.'
'My pleasure. And I ought to be the one apologising. It's my house that is apparently possessed.' He frowned. Flopped back on the bed and sighed. 'You know, I never believed in ghosts as a lad.'
'I never did either. Until yesterday. I have scratch marks from it,' the man took a seat on the edge of the bed. 'Three, down my back and another set on my arms.'
'Feels like a dream.' He looks over to Swann, motions for him to continue. 'What happened then, after they ran off?'
'I tried to follow, but it was dark. Too dark for the time of day. I must have gotten lost. I ended up in my room somehow, the door bared. I saw them again, later. Lord Beckett that is. Oh, I passed by the billiard room, and a study.'
A knock on the door brings Elizabeth in looking concerned. She lights another candle and says, something's happened, something's gone wrong. They should be back already.
Her father reaches out, pets her hand and smiles, 'it's just a delay, I'm sure they're fine.' She shakes her head, no. I'm going to get them back. You're right, father. We shouldn't be split up here. It's too dangerous.
Norrington sits back up, rolls his shoulders, feels the air the room shift. They all freeze. A candle blows out. Then another. Then another. Then it's dark.
'I think they're fine,' he whispers. 'It's us I'm worried about.'
The kitchen smells when Barbossa follows Beckett in. There is a fire in the hearth and it's too warm. The scent of something hits him when he stands in the centre of the room. His stomach coils in on itself, his throat flexing, he tries not to gag. Beckett walks over with a spare handkerchief, he takes it with a nod and covers his mouth. A moment passes, he regains equilibrium. 'What the fuck happened in here?'
Mercer is kneeling at the other end of the room, there is a small pool of blood on the floor and nothing else. The walls are the same off yellow as the hallway and the room is shadowed. And empty. It occurs to Barbossa that he had never seen any other member of staff except the butler and the maid.
'I think this was the butler,' Mercer says, he holds up a piece of fabric from the pool. It's a cravat, was a cravat and shredded. Beckett is by the hearth, in it there is something burning in the too hot fire.
'I think this was too,' he mutters.
Barbossa wanders towards the icebox, it's empty. No meat, no bodies, nothing. 'Where's the maid?' He asks. No answer, he turns around and Mercer is looking concerned for the first time in days.
'Mr Mercer.' Beckett's voice is empty.
'Sir?'
'I don't think I need to sober up anymore.'
'Me neither, sir.' Mercer moves closer, he's trying to shake off the feeling of being watched. There's no one in the kitchen but them, that is evident. It is empty. Empty, empty, empty, empty. 'We should go back up stairs,' he murmurs. Beckett and Barbossa nod, anxious. 'Now.'
The halls seem longer in the night, and as always it's dark. They had tried lighting candles but they wouldn't stay lit. Norrington even tried putting one in a proper holder, with a glass box. It had flickered, grown long and thin, then went out. The glass had been charred. The candle refused to be lit.
'I hate living in a world lit by fire,' Norrington had muttered after it. 'When is someone going to invent something more reliable?'
They keep close to the windows for the light of the moon. It's pale and soft and beautiful. Elizabeth lingers for a moment by one, she looks out and can see the edge of the forest. An ink stain against a white horizon. She watches it, knowing that there's something watching her back. They're coming from the forest, she thinks. They must be. Houses don't breed demons on their own.
'Who says it's demons?' Norrington asks as he turns to look at her. His eyes are soft, they remind her of Jamaica and she wishes they wouldn't. The distance between them is miles, now. Miles and miles. She turns away, back to the snow. The foreign cold land that had never been her home. Her father had often spoken of England with fondness, he would smile something distant and say, it's a charming land. A tamed land. Patchwork quilt of stone walls. Old Roman roads. Apple trees. Sheep. So many sheep. The sun is gentle in England, the land is mild and welcoming, if a little distant.
She had asked, then, if her mother had loved England as much as he did. Her father had looked at her and not answered. Her governess later said, of course she did. Why do you think he's running away?
'Then what are they?' She finally asks as her father joins them by the windows.
'I have no idea.'
Voices are carrying down from a room at the end of the hall. The ball room, Norrington indicates. There's someone in there. They tread closer, feet somehow managing silence on wooden floors. Norrington motions for them to hang back, he approaches, gently opens the door and steps through.
'Jesus fuck, Admiral.' The pirate's voice is unmistakable. 'Warn a man next time.'
Elizabeth can't hear Norrington's reply, then there's another voice. Beckett's, lilting up and down on vowels and consonants.
'I think we're alone, now.' Beckett is saying when she and her father enter the room. 'The maid and the butler are,' he frowns. Shrugs. 'Gone, I suppose.'
'Gone?'
'We found blood, the butler's cravat, something meat-like burning in the fire place and nothing else.'
The admiral turns to Mercer, gives him a look that says, You're sensible in these matters, what the fuck happened to my servants?
The clerk glances to Beckett then back, 'no servant had been down there in months, if not years.'
'How do you know?'
'Beds were not touched, candles weren't replaced. They were burned low and left in the holders. It was too dusty, as well. If the maid wasn't tending to other parts of the house she would at least be expected to keep those quarters in a reasonable state.'
'And there was no food,' Barbossa chimed.
Silence. They are all distinctly not looking at each other.
Finally Norrington clears his throat, 'then what have we been eating?'
'I don't know,' Mercer says. Pauses. Then, 'but I do think we're the first living things in here in years. And admiral, why hasn't your family been back in so long?'
The younger man sighs. He looks at their faces, says he wishes he had more to tell them than - something happened my mother wouldn't speak of, my father disappeared, my cousin cannot speak anymore, and I know nothing about it. 'There was an old story,' he nods to the door. 'But we should go back to the music room. At least there's a fire there.'
He hears Mercer whisper to Beckett, 'that's what I don't get, sir. The fire in the kitchen, why?' Beckett murmurs back, 'maybe they didn't make it. Maybe the butler did.'
'That blood wasn't fresh.'
'The thing burning was.'
The fire is low in the music room and Mercer begins a quest for wood, finding none he asks, 'which chairs are you least attached to?'
'All of them,' Norrington answers. 'But leave at least one or two.'
'Books, Admiral?'
'Oh lord, I'd rather you wouldn't.'
Mercer shrugs, picks up a dusty tomb, 'Fox's book of Martyrs,' he reads. 'This isn't rare, you can always get another copy.'
'The woodcuts in that one are unique.' It was more a whine than Norrington would have wished. He can feel the older man's blank stare.
'Fine,' Mercer rips out a few pages, crumples them up. 'I won't burn the pictures.' Beckett laughs, it's forced and a little manic. He says, I think, Mr Mercer, the admiral wanted to save that book. But never mind, now.
They settle in around the fire, huddle close and watching as sparks pop around what used to be a beautifully carved chair. Outside the wind picks up, battering snow against the windows. Norrington moves to close the curtains but Barbossa stops him, 'I want to be able to see what's out there.'
The doors to the hall are closed, a chair wedged under them. Governor Swann had insisted, even when Elizabeth had said, father, I think that will be as useful as a fire poker.
'So, Admiral,' Beckett drawls. He's using Mercer as a back rest, the older man is facing the window having said that if Miss Swann is right, and they're coming from the forest, then it stands to reason at least one of us should watch it. 'Tell us the story.'
Norrington shifts closer to the fire, he stares at it for a moment, arranging thoughts. 'It was my mother, my cousin Mary, and my aunt Harriet. My father was there as well. They went up one summer, up here to visit and for shooting. I was eleven and left in town with my uncle. I don't remember why, I just remember they were supposed to be here for a month or two. My father was going to spend half his time up here and half in town. They went up and a week and a half later they came back down. My mother, Mary, and aunt Harriet. They said nothing for a few days. Then my mother sort of threw my father's coat at me, it was shredded but no blood. She said he wasn't coming back.
My cousin never spoke again. Ever. And my aunt Harriet just kept saying that it needs to be burned. That's all she said for three days, it needs to be burned, we must burn it down, burn it, burn it, burn it. And my mother, bless her, rallied around and told me that something had happened, that father was gone now, but don't worry, because we weren't going back so we'll be all right. I never heard anything more about it.'
They are silent. Beckett feels Mercer move, shifting weight. The clerk hisses softly, 'they're by the trees. I can see them moving.'
They all look out the window but it's shadows on snow and a stark, empty sky with a white moon. Mercer says, look into the shadows, don't look at them, look into them. There's something there.
'So, knowing this,' Barbossa chimes. 'Ye still thought it'd be a good idea ta come up here fer this map.'
'It was years ago, and I had sort of forgotten about it.'
Elizabeth curls her knees up to her chest, staring into the fire. 'Still remains a question,' she says softly. 'What are they?'
No one answers, Mercer mutters, more to Beckett than anyone, does it matter? We don't know how to kill them, so does it matter if we know what they are?
'Names are powerful,' Elizabeth says. 'They say if you know the name of a god and call it, they will come and you can see their face in the fire.'
'Voodoo,' Barbossa all but spits the word. 'I don't care for that sort o' thing. Can't be trusted.'
'But cursed aztec gold can be?'
'Different, Miss Swann. We didn't know it was cursed, now did we? And lots 'o things are cursed but not truly cursed. There be a place in Scotland, in the highlands and they say it be cursed. But I've been and it ain't. Aye, curses. They be an uncertain thing.'
Beckett nods in agreement. He is watching the fire and the door. Sometimes he thinks he can see something standing on the other side, its shadow against the bottom crack. At times he thinks it's what his mind wants him to see. 'What annoys me is that we live in a modern world. An age of technology and reason. This,' a vague hand motion to the room. 'This should be happening in the dark ages. Not here. Not now.'
'I still want ta know what we've been eating.' Barbossa says it absently. He plays with his cuff. 'No food in the kitchen at all.'
Governor Swann makes a noise, a cough caught in his throat. He declares he'd rather not think about it, thank you very much.
'I still want my cheese on toast,' Mercer sounds merose. Beckett nudges him and says, if you find a way to get us out of here alive I'll buy you all the cheese on toast in the world. And all the hot mustard you want. What else do you like to eat? 'Curry, sir. But that's hardly necessary, I only want one piece. Would you let me put a tomato on it?'
'Of course.'
'Then I might be tempted to find a solution, sir.'
Food. That is the issue, Barbossa says. We need food. And damn if I'm going ta -
A knock on the music room door. They stop, stare at the door. Mercer is up a second later followed by Norrington and Barbossa.
The admiral clears his throat, 'yes?'
'Sir, I believe it's tea time.' The butler's voice came from the other side soft and gentle. Mercer motions to the crack under the door. No shadow, he mouths. No one moves.
'I think we'll pass on tea.'
'Sir, You haven't eaten recently. I'm worried.'
They exchange glances. The pirate shakes his head, no, no, no. Beckett is still seated on the floor by the fire, his hand is absently reaching for the poker. Elizabeth is doing the same.
'It's all right. We're fine. Thank you.'
A pause.
'When shall I ready supper for, then?'
Barbossa is still shaking his head. Norrington moves a little closer to the door. 'I think we're all fine for the evening.'
'Sir, I must insist.' The voice is a little more rough. Mercer scowls, reaches for a knife. 'There is food that will go bad other wise.'
'Like hell,' Barbossa whispers. Governor Swann hisses - shush.
'It's all right, we'll eat tomorrow.'
Shifting on the other side of the door. Something shifting against - against the wood? They couldn't tell. There was a muffled, if you say so. Then gone.
No one spoke for a minute. Elizabeth finally says, 'what was that?'
An hour of quiet passes. Barbossa is playing rummy with Governor Swann and is in the lead. Mercer is napping, with head lolling on Beckett's shoulder. The lord is trying to do the same but finds himself staring out the window instead. Sometimes he thinks he sees movement in the snow, the shadows stretching long on white ground. Sometimes he thinks it's just his eyes playing tricks on him.
He remembers his old friend, Sam Taggart, saying that people always see human shapes and faces in things. He said he would wager his faith that the human brain likes to see faces in things. Why do you think we see so many faces of Christ and the Madonna in wood work and on toast? So Beckett wonders, watching the dark shift and move in the forest, if this is one of those cases. Where the mind is playing tricks, fooling them into thinking things were there when really it's nothing. Maybe a moving tree. A deer coming to the edge of the forest. An owl hiding in branches. The winter breeze kicking up snow.
Barbossa is the first to stir from the revere of cards playing. He says to the Governor, good game but I think we need ta do some'tin' about all this here.
He stands, 'I'm goin' ta go find supplies. Then we're leavin'. Hear me?'
'Supplies?” Norrington staggers up as well, knees stiff.
'Clothes, blankets, weapons maybe. I'm leavin'. Don't know about the rest of ye. If we stay, aye we'll be outta luck.'
'Don't you mean extinct?' Beckett says with a sneer.
'Aye, that too.' He pulls his sword out and carefully takes the chair away from the doors. 'If I'm not back in half an hour, come look for me.'
'And if we don't?' Norrington asks.
'Then fuck if I know.' He's gone through the door in seconds. It closes softly and the governor leaps to shove the chair back under handles. He gives a sheepish smile that says, just in case. You know? Doesn't hurt, does it?
Norrington sits down with a sigh, 'god help us,' he mutters. 'We're in the hands of a pirate.'
Night has fully settled in when they finally decide they ought to search out Barbossa. It had been more than two hours and no one was keen on leaving the room. Mercer said something about his having done a fair share of “living dangerously” for the meantime. Elizabeth just said that the retrieval group needed to be more than one person, 'that's where we went wrong. We let him go on his own.'
'To be fair,' Norrington says. 'He didn't ask for company.'
'Still. We shouldn't be alone here.'
There is silence. Beckett mutters that he'd rather not die, thank you very much. Governor Swann just stares into the fire and Norrington fidgets with his coat. Elizabeth finally sighs and stands up, 'I can't wait anymore. Something went wrong. I'm going to go get Barbossa back.' Her father makes a noise of protest followed by Norrington.
'You can't just stroll down the hallway, you know,' Mercer says, picking up his sword. 'I'm going with you.'
'All right.'
Beckett glances at the clock, 'I'll give you forty five minutes.' Mercer nods, glances to Elizabeth who agrees. Norrington scowls, he says that he ought to be the one going and Mercer growls - oh shut up, and closes the door.
The hall is quiet as they walk down. No wind against window panes, no floor boards settling into place. Mercer pauses for a moment, listens to the darkness but hears nothing. 'Stick to my heels,' he whispers. Elizabeth nods, her hands trembling as she pulls out a dagger.
'And don't shake like a leaf, you'll hurt yourself.'
She glares but doesn't respond. They move forward. They pass by the hall that leads to their rooms, then another hall. Then the doors to the ballroom when they hear a soft moan. A pause by the doors before Mercer pushes them slowly open. The room is dark, high windows covered with thick drapery blocks out the limited moon light. On the floor is Barbossa, seemingly unconscious. His leg is covered in blood and there are smears of it on the floor. Elizabeth runs over, kneeling down and inspecting the damage. Behind her Mercer follows the blood stains to the staircase leading down the servants quarters.
'You think it's coming from the forest, Miss Swann?' He asks as he glances down the darkened stair case.
'Yes. Though I suppose they could come from anywhere.'
'Hm, regardless, I think it must enter through the servants quarters. The blood trail goes off this way.'
She hums a response, looks back, 'I think he'll make it.'
Barbossa groans again, his eyes cracking open. He gives a manic smile, 'remind me,' he gasps. 'To thank Norrington for this lovely weekend.'
'Do we chance moving him?' She asks.
A breeze coasted through the room. Brushing up from the stair case past Mercer and around the two on the floor. Barbossa manages to prop himself up, 'Please chance it.'
Beckett hears them before he sees them. Mercer's familiar boots on wood, the sound a person being dragged, Miss Swann's panting gasps of 'oh God, oh God, oh God'. He levers himself up and opens the door as the three burst in. Or, rather, Mercer and Elizabeth burst in dragging Barbossa behind them. Something moves in the shadows of the hall. Beckett doesn't stare for too long and quickly slams and locks the doors.
'It'd be worse if they figure out how to pick locks,' Mercer mutters as he leans over Barbossa's leg. 'Good, he put a tourniquet on it. Probably saved his life.' The wounded man gave a groan and attempted to sit up but was pushed back down. 'No, it'll do you no good to move about. Save the energy till you need it.'
'Which could be soon,' Norrington says as he strides over. He takes Elizabeth by her arms, looks at her closely. Are you hurt? Are you all right? Nothing got to you?
'No, no, I'm fine. We found him in the ballroom. He had a sack of food with him but was as you see.' She is shaken and takes a seat, looking around for the bag. Beckett frowns, he asks, Where did he find the food. Mercer looks up from the pirate's leg.
'Miss Swann, there was no bag. He didn't have a bag.'
She shakes her head. 'Yes he did. I found it when you went to the stairs to follow the blood. I swear I had it when we ran in here.'
The group grows still. Mercer stands up, pulls Beckett near him and mutters that he best not leave his side. The lord asks, are we following the first rule of survival? Be able to outrun at least one person? Mercer shakes his head. Too late for that, sir. They're in here and out there.
Someone screams when the lights are blown out. Beckett thinks it's Norrington, maybe Barbossa. Maybe the Governor. It was a man, regardless. Then Elizabeth screams, shrieks, cries out - Oh Jesus Fuck Me Bloody Holly Hell. Governor Swann says, Elizabeth, Elizabeth are you all right? And watch your language - oh dear.
Then there's silence. Beckett can feel Mercer's hand wrapped around his wrist. Or, at least, he hopes it's Mercer's hand. He's pulled forward, there's a curse under him from Barbossa.
'Sorry,' he mutters.
'S'was my bloody hand ye tosser.'
Something is brushing against the back of his neck. He leans in further towards his clerk. 'Can you feel them?' He whispers. Mercer doesn't respond. A minute passes. He feels it again. 'Mercer?' His voice is a little more panicked.
'Sir?' The response is from the other side of the room. The hand on his wrist his tighter. 'Sir, where are you?'
'Mercer?'
A voice closer to him says, 'Stay here, sir. They're playing games I think.'
'Games?' He whispers it. There's a hand on his face, gloved. He can't remember if Mercer was wearing them or had he lost them or did he give them away. Oh lord he can't remember. He can't remember. His head jerks back, he tries to pull his arm away. There's another muttered curse from Barbossa below.
'Sir,' hissed, soft, near him. A hand is on his cheek again. 'I never let go of your wrist, sir. Think about it. I never let go. I never let go.'
And suddenly someone is screaming. Beckett thinks it's Norrington and Elizabeth is in hysterics. The door opens. Shadows from the moonlight poor in. Framing them in as if in a scene from Caravaggio. Then movement and a figure breaks the still formation. Norrington is staring at them in horror, there is something wet dripping down his face, his neck, over his hands. He shivers, turns and runs out, down the hall.
'He left us! He left us!' Elizabeth's cries turn to a dull wail. 'He left us. He left us.'
A match hisses and Mercer is in front of him, the dull flame between them. Beckett thinks, thank God he's alive. Then he sees the blood. The pattered three scratches down his face. Mercer frowns as the match putters out.
'You're hurt, sir.'
'So are you.'
'He left us. He left us.'
'Oy, posh toff Beckett, gerrof my fingers.'
'He left us. He left us. He left us.'
Another hiss and a candle is lit. Governor Swann holds it and looks about the room. Books are shredded, clothes ripped, furniture broken and blood. All he can say is, It's very red in here.
'Bloody hell,' Barbossa mutters. Mercer gives a dry coughing laugh. 'How'd they get in?'
'The bag, I think.' Mercer whispers. Beckett reaches up and traces a cut that runs from temple to jaw. 'You've the same, sir.'
'They sounded like you.' He thought about it. 'Except not.'
Barbossa pulls himself up on the remnants of the settee and settles his eyes on the trail left by Norrington. It goes down the hall, bloody footsteps. Then swishes of blood. Something following him. A trail following a trail. 'Right,' he says. 'Who wants to leave cause I am. Right now. Mercer, be useful, let go of your lover-boy and get us out of here.'
Mercer nods and looks to the window. 'We're breaking it,' he declares.
It takes work. A book breaks a pane. Then another is shattered. Finally the clerk gets impatient and has Beckett help him toss a chair through it. The heavy fire side suede chair. With its lion pawed feet, its high backed wings. It lands in the snow and sinks in, soft, desolate. Outside the sun is rising. Somewhere in the house is a creak, a gasp, a cry, a scream. Mercer looks to Beckett and says, 'right, sir. You're out first.'
Elizabeth is brought back to her senses enough to help heave Barbossa out the window and between her, Becket and Mercer they manage to carry him a few meters from the house.
'Why didn't we think of that earlier?' She mutters. Hands slipping as she tries to hold the pirate up. 'And James?'
No one says a word. Her father gives a little sigh. It was a beautiful house. Such a shame. The house stares back at them. Jutting up, dark a looming from pale, perfect snow. The sun catches in the glass windows. Some have been shaped in their frames to reflect the sun like diamonds. Ionic pillars are graceful, the oak doors inviting. Something tugs at Elizabeth. She looks to the group then to the house.
'Should we go back?' Her lips are dry as she licks them. 'We can't just leave James there.'
Silence. Then Barbossa whacks her upside the head.
'Are ye mad? Ye must be! Come on, let's get to a town.'
They etch their way along the road, a slight depression they can barely make out in the snow. Governor Swann claims he remembers seeing a small village when they first road by. About a mile, he says, beyond this rise.
They stagger and stumble, shift and pull and push their way through. After an hour Mercer declares a break and they collapse into the snow. Barbossa is pale, shivering. His eyes have gone listless and he doesn't respond to their questions. Beckett takes a look at his leg and grimaces. He needs a doctor soon or he's going to lose it. Mercer joins his master and takes it a step further. Doesn't matter if he had a doctor right now, sir. He's losing that leg.
'I'll be damned,' it was slurred between barely parted lips. Barbossa peaks at them with a half-lidded gaze. 'I'll be damned if I lose this leg...lose it and I'll take up company colours...'
It's a brief, easy laugh shared that dies out quickly when the sound of snow crunching can be heard. Elizabeth stands, sword draw. Mercer and Beckett soon follow. They stare out at the snow and Beckett marvels at the whiteness of it. So very white. White and white and white and white. And silent. Silence upon silence upon silence. He remembers Mercer saying that men, in the New World, would go mad with the silence of the northern winters. He had laughed at the time. He can believe it now.
He remembers also hearing about creatures that lurked in the snow. That looked like the snow and would possess men's hearts and minds and make them go mad with lust for ice and the cold. They had been just fairy tales at the time but now he understands the superstitions of his fellow Englishmen.
'I think it's James,' Elizabeth whispers. Her voice is hopeful, her eyes are wary.
The figure approaches slowly, staggering. There's blood behind him. Or it could be their own trail. It's hard to tell. Thank the lord, Beckett thinks, all the wolves of England are dead. Or at least most of the wolves of England are dead. His mind stutters around the thought, eventually it lands on the idea of - at least we're not in France or the German lands.
'James?' Elizabeth calls out. The figure stops, looks up, haggard and worn. He smiles and gives a little wave. Relief floods through Elizabeth's shoulders and she charges forward. Becket shrugs, lucky him I guess. Mercer mutters, I'm not sure about this.
'If you're mother offered you free pudding on Christmas you wouldn't be sure about it,' Beckett retorts.
'Of course not, sir. She probably poisoned it.' Mercer responds to Beckett's glare with a glare. Governor Swann mutters that he's surrounded by children. 'Just seems too convenient is all.'
Beckett shrugs, Doesn't matter does it? We'll be back in civilisation soon enough. Away from it all. We can pretend it didn't happen.
It's dusk when they stumble into the small village and find themselves at the only inn/pub in town. Beckett does his best to clean himself up and declares he will be the one doing the speaking. The rest just wait. Somewhere unobtrusive preferably.
When he finds the master of the house he gives a cursary explination of what happened. Rose Hall, he says. We were returning from it when we were set upon by cut throats. Got away with our lives, a bit of coin, but not much else. Could you put us up for the night? We can pay.
The inn keeper nods, asks to see the coin and declares it good. Ye need some bandages and water too, by the looks of ye, love.
'That would be appreciated, thank you.' Another bit of coinage handed over and Mercer approaches, wincing as he walks.
'Cuts on my legs,' he explains to Beckett's confused look. 'We'll need some whiskey as well. And a doctor,' he glances back to Barbossa passed out in front of the fire. 'Sooner would be better.'
'The doctor's a town over. I'll send a rider out for him but like as not he won't get here till tomorrow.' He pauses in thought. 'We have a horse doctor if that'll do?'
Mercer and Beckett exchange looks and shrug. 'We'll take both,' Mercer says. 'Worth a try. His leg needs to go, I think.'
The inn keeper nods. Right, he says. I'll get the whiskey. Ye looks as if everyone needs a dram of it. And by the by, what was the manor called again?
'Red Rose Hall.' Beckett murmurs. Mercer is pulling him towards the fire.
'Where's that? I never heard of it before.'
But neither of them heard him and so he shrugged and called to his lad to saddle up. Take some bread and a flask, his father says to the boy. There's a long night ahead of ye.
---tbc---
Now I have to figure out how I'm going to end it.
And again, kudos for finding movie quotes/references. So many in this update!
Title: Jurassic Hall Red Rose Hall. 2/3
Characters: Norrington, Beckett, Mercer, Barbossa, Elizabeth, and Gov. Swann.
Pairings: Meh, none really. Implied Meckett if you want it. If you don't want it it's just Mercer and Beckett bickering like an old, drunk, married couple.
Rating: PG maybe PG13.
Summary: The above mentioned characters are back in England heading to the old Norrington manor house in order to retrieve a much needed map. While there they get snowed in and strange things begin to happen. Oh, and Mercer and Beckett spend most of their time there helping themselves to Norrington's extensive liquor collection.
Notes: It's really just my excuse to write Mercer and Beckett drunk. And taking the piss out of everyone. Also, I know cheese on toast didn't exist back then, or most likely didn't exist, but I don't really give a flying fuck now do I?
It's Disney - historical accuracy died a slow painful death years ago.
Also. Part one was prettty punny if I do say so myself.
Part I
Barbossa trails along down a few halls before giving up lead to Beckett and Mercer - don't know these houses. He says. 'Ye'd 'ave better luck than me in findin' the kitchens.'
A tucked away staircase at the end of the hall leads them down into the servants' quarters. They feel their way along, candles having been blown out by a breeze coming up the stairs.
'Ghost?' Barbossa whispers. Beckett shakes his head, no, it's always cooler downstairs. Kitchen have stone slab floors, keep food fresh for longer, and with narrow halls the breezes are normal.
The quarters are quiet, empty, and dark. Rooms long abandoned have dust settled on sinking beds, fading curtains. Old candles, burned down and wax sealed to their holders. Mercer looks about, notes the butler's pantry then says, If this house was built with any sense the kitchens'll be this way. The only sound is their shoes on the tiled floors, they stop every so often, peek their heads into rooms. Pick up yellowing books, rifle through abandoned drawers.
'You married?' Beckett asks Barbossa as the silence becomes too much. Mercer is a few paces ahead of them, intent on something and Beckett reasons it's more than his drunk food-fix. There is a thick layer of dust everywhere, even on the floor, and no signs of life.
'Occasionally. I'm always on the look out for the new ex Mrs Barbossa.' A crude laugh and Beckett gives a weak smile. Eventually they come to a halt at the end of the hall, the walls had been painted an off-yellow but are now a more faded brown-yellow as the wood shows through thinning paint and stains linger, un-washed. Mercer pushes open the kitchen door, motions for them to stay. He ducks into the room, a knife sliding out of his boot as he disappears. Beckett waits for a minute before following him into the room.
'Do you think we should have gone with them?' Governor Swann asks as he and Norrington pile through the clothes of the Admiral's late father. 'I don't think we should be separated.' A new shirt is handed to him, then waist coat and frock. Another minute of searching turns up a pair of breeches and stalkings.
'They'll be all right,' the younger man says with conviction. 'And if they're not, well they are my three least favourite people at the moment. I think those ought to fit you, there's a screen by the desk.'
The governor gives a bow of gratitude before going behind the chinese silk. Norrington sits on the bed, fingering the shreds of the governor's former coat. 'What happened, exactly?'
'Went dark,' the old shirt was tossed over. 'Our candles were blown out. Then it felt like something was breathing on my neck. But it was a cold breath. Not like a person, something else. And I think Lord Beckett felt it as well. He seemed frightened.' Breeches were tossed over to a corner. 'Next thing I know they're running down the hall, the clerk practically dragging Lord Beckett, and Beckett yelling at him to slow down. But in much ruder language.'
'Sounds about right for them.'
Governor Swann steps out and hands back the frock-coat, 'too small, but thank you for everything else.'
'My pleasure. And I ought to be the one apologising. It's my house that is apparently possessed.' He frowned. Flopped back on the bed and sighed. 'You know, I never believed in ghosts as a lad.'
'I never did either. Until yesterday. I have scratch marks from it,' the man took a seat on the edge of the bed. 'Three, down my back and another set on my arms.'
'Feels like a dream.' He looks over to Swann, motions for him to continue. 'What happened then, after they ran off?'
'I tried to follow, but it was dark. Too dark for the time of day. I must have gotten lost. I ended up in my room somehow, the door bared. I saw them again, later. Lord Beckett that is. Oh, I passed by the billiard room, and a study.'
A knock on the door brings Elizabeth in looking concerned. She lights another candle and says, something's happened, something's gone wrong. They should be back already.
Her father reaches out, pets her hand and smiles, 'it's just a delay, I'm sure they're fine.' She shakes her head, no. I'm going to get them back. You're right, father. We shouldn't be split up here. It's too dangerous.
Norrington sits back up, rolls his shoulders, feels the air the room shift. They all freeze. A candle blows out. Then another. Then another. Then it's dark.
'I think they're fine,' he whispers. 'It's us I'm worried about.'
The kitchen smells when Barbossa follows Beckett in. There is a fire in the hearth and it's too warm. The scent of something hits him when he stands in the centre of the room. His stomach coils in on itself, his throat flexing, he tries not to gag. Beckett walks over with a spare handkerchief, he takes it with a nod and covers his mouth. A moment passes, he regains equilibrium. 'What the fuck happened in here?'
Mercer is kneeling at the other end of the room, there is a small pool of blood on the floor and nothing else. The walls are the same off yellow as the hallway and the room is shadowed. And empty. It occurs to Barbossa that he had never seen any other member of staff except the butler and the maid.
'I think this was the butler,' Mercer says, he holds up a piece of fabric from the pool. It's a cravat, was a cravat and shredded. Beckett is by the hearth, in it there is something burning in the too hot fire.
'I think this was too,' he mutters.
Barbossa wanders towards the icebox, it's empty. No meat, no bodies, nothing. 'Where's the maid?' He asks. No answer, he turns around and Mercer is looking concerned for the first time in days.
'Mr Mercer.' Beckett's voice is empty.
'Sir?'
'I don't think I need to sober up anymore.'
'Me neither, sir.' Mercer moves closer, he's trying to shake off the feeling of being watched. There's no one in the kitchen but them, that is evident. It is empty. Empty, empty, empty, empty. 'We should go back up stairs,' he murmurs. Beckett and Barbossa nod, anxious. 'Now.'
The halls seem longer in the night, and as always it's dark. They had tried lighting candles but they wouldn't stay lit. Norrington even tried putting one in a proper holder, with a glass box. It had flickered, grown long and thin, then went out. The glass had been charred. The candle refused to be lit.
'I hate living in a world lit by fire,' Norrington had muttered after it. 'When is someone going to invent something more reliable?'
They keep close to the windows for the light of the moon. It's pale and soft and beautiful. Elizabeth lingers for a moment by one, she looks out and can see the edge of the forest. An ink stain against a white horizon. She watches it, knowing that there's something watching her back. They're coming from the forest, she thinks. They must be. Houses don't breed demons on their own.
'Who says it's demons?' Norrington asks as he turns to look at her. His eyes are soft, they remind her of Jamaica and she wishes they wouldn't. The distance between them is miles, now. Miles and miles. She turns away, back to the snow. The foreign cold land that had never been her home. Her father had often spoken of England with fondness, he would smile something distant and say, it's a charming land. A tamed land. Patchwork quilt of stone walls. Old Roman roads. Apple trees. Sheep. So many sheep. The sun is gentle in England, the land is mild and welcoming, if a little distant.
She had asked, then, if her mother had loved England as much as he did. Her father had looked at her and not answered. Her governess later said, of course she did. Why do you think he's running away?
'Then what are they?' She finally asks as her father joins them by the windows.
'I have no idea.'
Voices are carrying down from a room at the end of the hall. The ball room, Norrington indicates. There's someone in there. They tread closer, feet somehow managing silence on wooden floors. Norrington motions for them to hang back, he approaches, gently opens the door and steps through.
'Jesus fuck, Admiral.' The pirate's voice is unmistakable. 'Warn a man next time.'
Elizabeth can't hear Norrington's reply, then there's another voice. Beckett's, lilting up and down on vowels and consonants.
'I think we're alone, now.' Beckett is saying when she and her father enter the room. 'The maid and the butler are,' he frowns. Shrugs. 'Gone, I suppose.'
'Gone?'
'We found blood, the butler's cravat, something meat-like burning in the fire place and nothing else.'
The admiral turns to Mercer, gives him a look that says, You're sensible in these matters, what the fuck happened to my servants?
The clerk glances to Beckett then back, 'no servant had been down there in months, if not years.'
'How do you know?'
'Beds were not touched, candles weren't replaced. They were burned low and left in the holders. It was too dusty, as well. If the maid wasn't tending to other parts of the house she would at least be expected to keep those quarters in a reasonable state.'
'And there was no food,' Barbossa chimed.
Silence. They are all distinctly not looking at each other.
Finally Norrington clears his throat, 'then what have we been eating?'
'I don't know,' Mercer says. Pauses. Then, 'but I do think we're the first living things in here in years. And admiral, why hasn't your family been back in so long?'
The younger man sighs. He looks at their faces, says he wishes he had more to tell them than - something happened my mother wouldn't speak of, my father disappeared, my cousin cannot speak anymore, and I know nothing about it. 'There was an old story,' he nods to the door. 'But we should go back to the music room. At least there's a fire there.'
He hears Mercer whisper to Beckett, 'that's what I don't get, sir. The fire in the kitchen, why?' Beckett murmurs back, 'maybe they didn't make it. Maybe the butler did.'
'That blood wasn't fresh.'
'The thing burning was.'
The fire is low in the music room and Mercer begins a quest for wood, finding none he asks, 'which chairs are you least attached to?'
'All of them,' Norrington answers. 'But leave at least one or two.'
'Books, Admiral?'
'Oh lord, I'd rather you wouldn't.'
Mercer shrugs, picks up a dusty tomb, 'Fox's book of Martyrs,' he reads. 'This isn't rare, you can always get another copy.'
'The woodcuts in that one are unique.' It was more a whine than Norrington would have wished. He can feel the older man's blank stare.
'Fine,' Mercer rips out a few pages, crumples them up. 'I won't burn the pictures.' Beckett laughs, it's forced and a little manic. He says, I think, Mr Mercer, the admiral wanted to save that book. But never mind, now.
They settle in around the fire, huddle close and watching as sparks pop around what used to be a beautifully carved chair. Outside the wind picks up, battering snow against the windows. Norrington moves to close the curtains but Barbossa stops him, 'I want to be able to see what's out there.'
The doors to the hall are closed, a chair wedged under them. Governor Swann had insisted, even when Elizabeth had said, father, I think that will be as useful as a fire poker.
'So, Admiral,' Beckett drawls. He's using Mercer as a back rest, the older man is facing the window having said that if Miss Swann is right, and they're coming from the forest, then it stands to reason at least one of us should watch it. 'Tell us the story.'
Norrington shifts closer to the fire, he stares at it for a moment, arranging thoughts. 'It was my mother, my cousin Mary, and my aunt Harriet. My father was there as well. They went up one summer, up here to visit and for shooting. I was eleven and left in town with my uncle. I don't remember why, I just remember they were supposed to be here for a month or two. My father was going to spend half his time up here and half in town. They went up and a week and a half later they came back down. My mother, Mary, and aunt Harriet. They said nothing for a few days. Then my mother sort of threw my father's coat at me, it was shredded but no blood. She said he wasn't coming back.
My cousin never spoke again. Ever. And my aunt Harriet just kept saying that it needs to be burned. That's all she said for three days, it needs to be burned, we must burn it down, burn it, burn it, burn it. And my mother, bless her, rallied around and told me that something had happened, that father was gone now, but don't worry, because we weren't going back so we'll be all right. I never heard anything more about it.'
They are silent. Beckett feels Mercer move, shifting weight. The clerk hisses softly, 'they're by the trees. I can see them moving.'
They all look out the window but it's shadows on snow and a stark, empty sky with a white moon. Mercer says, look into the shadows, don't look at them, look into them. There's something there.
'So, knowing this,' Barbossa chimes. 'Ye still thought it'd be a good idea ta come up here fer this map.'
'It was years ago, and I had sort of forgotten about it.'
Elizabeth curls her knees up to her chest, staring into the fire. 'Still remains a question,' she says softly. 'What are they?'
No one answers, Mercer mutters, more to Beckett than anyone, does it matter? We don't know how to kill them, so does it matter if we know what they are?
'Names are powerful,' Elizabeth says. 'They say if you know the name of a god and call it, they will come and you can see their face in the fire.'
'Voodoo,' Barbossa all but spits the word. 'I don't care for that sort o' thing. Can't be trusted.'
'But cursed aztec gold can be?'
'Different, Miss Swann. We didn't know it was cursed, now did we? And lots 'o things are cursed but not truly cursed. There be a place in Scotland, in the highlands and they say it be cursed. But I've been and it ain't. Aye, curses. They be an uncertain thing.'
Beckett nods in agreement. He is watching the fire and the door. Sometimes he thinks he can see something standing on the other side, its shadow against the bottom crack. At times he thinks it's what his mind wants him to see. 'What annoys me is that we live in a modern world. An age of technology and reason. This,' a vague hand motion to the room. 'This should be happening in the dark ages. Not here. Not now.'
'I still want ta know what we've been eating.' Barbossa says it absently. He plays with his cuff. 'No food in the kitchen at all.'
Governor Swann makes a noise, a cough caught in his throat. He declares he'd rather not think about it, thank you very much.
'I still want my cheese on toast,' Mercer sounds merose. Beckett nudges him and says, if you find a way to get us out of here alive I'll buy you all the cheese on toast in the world. And all the hot mustard you want. What else do you like to eat? 'Curry, sir. But that's hardly necessary, I only want one piece. Would you let me put a tomato on it?'
'Of course.'
'Then I might be tempted to find a solution, sir.'
Food. That is the issue, Barbossa says. We need food. And damn if I'm going ta -
A knock on the music room door. They stop, stare at the door. Mercer is up a second later followed by Norrington and Barbossa.
The admiral clears his throat, 'yes?'
'Sir, I believe it's tea time.' The butler's voice came from the other side soft and gentle. Mercer motions to the crack under the door. No shadow, he mouths. No one moves.
'I think we'll pass on tea.'
'Sir, You haven't eaten recently. I'm worried.'
They exchange glances. The pirate shakes his head, no, no, no. Beckett is still seated on the floor by the fire, his hand is absently reaching for the poker. Elizabeth is doing the same.
'It's all right. We're fine. Thank you.'
A pause.
'When shall I ready supper for, then?'
Barbossa is still shaking his head. Norrington moves a little closer to the door. 'I think we're all fine for the evening.'
'Sir, I must insist.' The voice is a little more rough. Mercer scowls, reaches for a knife. 'There is food that will go bad other wise.'
'Like hell,' Barbossa whispers. Governor Swann hisses - shush.
'It's all right, we'll eat tomorrow.'
Shifting on the other side of the door. Something shifting against - against the wood? They couldn't tell. There was a muffled, if you say so. Then gone.
No one spoke for a minute. Elizabeth finally says, 'what was that?'
An hour of quiet passes. Barbossa is playing rummy with Governor Swann and is in the lead. Mercer is napping, with head lolling on Beckett's shoulder. The lord is trying to do the same but finds himself staring out the window instead. Sometimes he thinks he sees movement in the snow, the shadows stretching long on white ground. Sometimes he thinks it's just his eyes playing tricks on him.
He remembers his old friend, Sam Taggart, saying that people always see human shapes and faces in things. He said he would wager his faith that the human brain likes to see faces in things. Why do you think we see so many faces of Christ and the Madonna in wood work and on toast? So Beckett wonders, watching the dark shift and move in the forest, if this is one of those cases. Where the mind is playing tricks, fooling them into thinking things were there when really it's nothing. Maybe a moving tree. A deer coming to the edge of the forest. An owl hiding in branches. The winter breeze kicking up snow.
Barbossa is the first to stir from the revere of cards playing. He says to the Governor, good game but I think we need ta do some'tin' about all this here.
He stands, 'I'm goin' ta go find supplies. Then we're leavin'. Hear me?'
'Supplies?” Norrington staggers up as well, knees stiff.
'Clothes, blankets, weapons maybe. I'm leavin'. Don't know about the rest of ye. If we stay, aye we'll be outta luck.'
'Don't you mean extinct?' Beckett says with a sneer.
'Aye, that too.' He pulls his sword out and carefully takes the chair away from the doors. 'If I'm not back in half an hour, come look for me.'
'And if we don't?' Norrington asks.
'Then fuck if I know.' He's gone through the door in seconds. It closes softly and the governor leaps to shove the chair back under handles. He gives a sheepish smile that says, just in case. You know? Doesn't hurt, does it?
Norrington sits down with a sigh, 'god help us,' he mutters. 'We're in the hands of a pirate.'
Night has fully settled in when they finally decide they ought to search out Barbossa. It had been more than two hours and no one was keen on leaving the room. Mercer said something about his having done a fair share of “living dangerously” for the meantime. Elizabeth just said that the retrieval group needed to be more than one person, 'that's where we went wrong. We let him go on his own.'
'To be fair,' Norrington says. 'He didn't ask for company.'
'Still. We shouldn't be alone here.'
There is silence. Beckett mutters that he'd rather not die, thank you very much. Governor Swann just stares into the fire and Norrington fidgets with his coat. Elizabeth finally sighs and stands up, 'I can't wait anymore. Something went wrong. I'm going to go get Barbossa back.' Her father makes a noise of protest followed by Norrington.
'You can't just stroll down the hallway, you know,' Mercer says, picking up his sword. 'I'm going with you.'
'All right.'
Beckett glances at the clock, 'I'll give you forty five minutes.' Mercer nods, glances to Elizabeth who agrees. Norrington scowls, he says that he ought to be the one going and Mercer growls - oh shut up, and closes the door.
The hall is quiet as they walk down. No wind against window panes, no floor boards settling into place. Mercer pauses for a moment, listens to the darkness but hears nothing. 'Stick to my heels,' he whispers. Elizabeth nods, her hands trembling as she pulls out a dagger.
'And don't shake like a leaf, you'll hurt yourself.'
She glares but doesn't respond. They move forward. They pass by the hall that leads to their rooms, then another hall. Then the doors to the ballroom when they hear a soft moan. A pause by the doors before Mercer pushes them slowly open. The room is dark, high windows covered with thick drapery blocks out the limited moon light. On the floor is Barbossa, seemingly unconscious. His leg is covered in blood and there are smears of it on the floor. Elizabeth runs over, kneeling down and inspecting the damage. Behind her Mercer follows the blood stains to the staircase leading down the servants quarters.
'You think it's coming from the forest, Miss Swann?' He asks as he glances down the darkened stair case.
'Yes. Though I suppose they could come from anywhere.'
'Hm, regardless, I think it must enter through the servants quarters. The blood trail goes off this way.'
She hums a response, looks back, 'I think he'll make it.'
Barbossa groans again, his eyes cracking open. He gives a manic smile, 'remind me,' he gasps. 'To thank Norrington for this lovely weekend.'
'Do we chance moving him?' She asks.
A breeze coasted through the room. Brushing up from the stair case past Mercer and around the two on the floor. Barbossa manages to prop himself up, 'Please chance it.'
Beckett hears them before he sees them. Mercer's familiar boots on wood, the sound a person being dragged, Miss Swann's panting gasps of 'oh God, oh God, oh God'. He levers himself up and opens the door as the three burst in. Or, rather, Mercer and Elizabeth burst in dragging Barbossa behind them. Something moves in the shadows of the hall. Beckett doesn't stare for too long and quickly slams and locks the doors.
'It'd be worse if they figure out how to pick locks,' Mercer mutters as he leans over Barbossa's leg. 'Good, he put a tourniquet on it. Probably saved his life.' The wounded man gave a groan and attempted to sit up but was pushed back down. 'No, it'll do you no good to move about. Save the energy till you need it.'
'Which could be soon,' Norrington says as he strides over. He takes Elizabeth by her arms, looks at her closely. Are you hurt? Are you all right? Nothing got to you?
'No, no, I'm fine. We found him in the ballroom. He had a sack of food with him but was as you see.' She is shaken and takes a seat, looking around for the bag. Beckett frowns, he asks, Where did he find the food. Mercer looks up from the pirate's leg.
'Miss Swann, there was no bag. He didn't have a bag.'
She shakes her head. 'Yes he did. I found it when you went to the stairs to follow the blood. I swear I had it when we ran in here.'
The group grows still. Mercer stands up, pulls Beckett near him and mutters that he best not leave his side. The lord asks, are we following the first rule of survival? Be able to outrun at least one person? Mercer shakes his head. Too late for that, sir. They're in here and out there.
Someone screams when the lights are blown out. Beckett thinks it's Norrington, maybe Barbossa. Maybe the Governor. It was a man, regardless. Then Elizabeth screams, shrieks, cries out - Oh Jesus Fuck Me Bloody Holly Hell. Governor Swann says, Elizabeth, Elizabeth are you all right? And watch your language - oh dear.
Then there's silence. Beckett can feel Mercer's hand wrapped around his wrist. Or, at least, he hopes it's Mercer's hand. He's pulled forward, there's a curse under him from Barbossa.
'Sorry,' he mutters.
'S'was my bloody hand ye tosser.'
Something is brushing against the back of his neck. He leans in further towards his clerk. 'Can you feel them?' He whispers. Mercer doesn't respond. A minute passes. He feels it again. 'Mercer?' His voice is a little more panicked.
'Sir?' The response is from the other side of the room. The hand on his wrist his tighter. 'Sir, where are you?'
'Mercer?'
A voice closer to him says, 'Stay here, sir. They're playing games I think.'
'Games?' He whispers it. There's a hand on his face, gloved. He can't remember if Mercer was wearing them or had he lost them or did he give them away. Oh lord he can't remember. He can't remember. His head jerks back, he tries to pull his arm away. There's another muttered curse from Barbossa below.
'Sir,' hissed, soft, near him. A hand is on his cheek again. 'I never let go of your wrist, sir. Think about it. I never let go. I never let go.'
And suddenly someone is screaming. Beckett thinks it's Norrington and Elizabeth is in hysterics. The door opens. Shadows from the moonlight poor in. Framing them in as if in a scene from Caravaggio. Then movement and a figure breaks the still formation. Norrington is staring at them in horror, there is something wet dripping down his face, his neck, over his hands. He shivers, turns and runs out, down the hall.
'He left us! He left us!' Elizabeth's cries turn to a dull wail. 'He left us. He left us.'
A match hisses and Mercer is in front of him, the dull flame between them. Beckett thinks, thank God he's alive. Then he sees the blood. The pattered three scratches down his face. Mercer frowns as the match putters out.
'You're hurt, sir.'
'So are you.'
'He left us. He left us.'
'Oy, posh toff Beckett, gerrof my fingers.'
'He left us. He left us. He left us.'
Another hiss and a candle is lit. Governor Swann holds it and looks about the room. Books are shredded, clothes ripped, furniture broken and blood. All he can say is, It's very red in here.
'Bloody hell,' Barbossa mutters. Mercer gives a dry coughing laugh. 'How'd they get in?'
'The bag, I think.' Mercer whispers. Beckett reaches up and traces a cut that runs from temple to jaw. 'You've the same, sir.'
'They sounded like you.' He thought about it. 'Except not.'
Barbossa pulls himself up on the remnants of the settee and settles his eyes on the trail left by Norrington. It goes down the hall, bloody footsteps. Then swishes of blood. Something following him. A trail following a trail. 'Right,' he says. 'Who wants to leave cause I am. Right now. Mercer, be useful, let go of your lover-boy and get us out of here.'
Mercer nods and looks to the window. 'We're breaking it,' he declares.
It takes work. A book breaks a pane. Then another is shattered. Finally the clerk gets impatient and has Beckett help him toss a chair through it. The heavy fire side suede chair. With its lion pawed feet, its high backed wings. It lands in the snow and sinks in, soft, desolate. Outside the sun is rising. Somewhere in the house is a creak, a gasp, a cry, a scream. Mercer looks to Beckett and says, 'right, sir. You're out first.'
Elizabeth is brought back to her senses enough to help heave Barbossa out the window and between her, Becket and Mercer they manage to carry him a few meters from the house.
'Why didn't we think of that earlier?' She mutters. Hands slipping as she tries to hold the pirate up. 'And James?'
No one says a word. Her father gives a little sigh. It was a beautiful house. Such a shame. The house stares back at them. Jutting up, dark a looming from pale, perfect snow. The sun catches in the glass windows. Some have been shaped in their frames to reflect the sun like diamonds. Ionic pillars are graceful, the oak doors inviting. Something tugs at Elizabeth. She looks to the group then to the house.
'Should we go back?' Her lips are dry as she licks them. 'We can't just leave James there.'
Silence. Then Barbossa whacks her upside the head.
'Are ye mad? Ye must be! Come on, let's get to a town.'
They etch their way along the road, a slight depression they can barely make out in the snow. Governor Swann claims he remembers seeing a small village when they first road by. About a mile, he says, beyond this rise.
They stagger and stumble, shift and pull and push their way through. After an hour Mercer declares a break and they collapse into the snow. Barbossa is pale, shivering. His eyes have gone listless and he doesn't respond to their questions. Beckett takes a look at his leg and grimaces. He needs a doctor soon or he's going to lose it. Mercer joins his master and takes it a step further. Doesn't matter if he had a doctor right now, sir. He's losing that leg.
'I'll be damned,' it was slurred between barely parted lips. Barbossa peaks at them with a half-lidded gaze. 'I'll be damned if I lose this leg...lose it and I'll take up company colours...'
It's a brief, easy laugh shared that dies out quickly when the sound of snow crunching can be heard. Elizabeth stands, sword draw. Mercer and Beckett soon follow. They stare out at the snow and Beckett marvels at the whiteness of it. So very white. White and white and white and white. And silent. Silence upon silence upon silence. He remembers Mercer saying that men, in the New World, would go mad with the silence of the northern winters. He had laughed at the time. He can believe it now.
He remembers also hearing about creatures that lurked in the snow. That looked like the snow and would possess men's hearts and minds and make them go mad with lust for ice and the cold. They had been just fairy tales at the time but now he understands the superstitions of his fellow Englishmen.
'I think it's James,' Elizabeth whispers. Her voice is hopeful, her eyes are wary.
The figure approaches slowly, staggering. There's blood behind him. Or it could be their own trail. It's hard to tell. Thank the lord, Beckett thinks, all the wolves of England are dead. Or at least most of the wolves of England are dead. His mind stutters around the thought, eventually it lands on the idea of - at least we're not in France or the German lands.
'James?' Elizabeth calls out. The figure stops, looks up, haggard and worn. He smiles and gives a little wave. Relief floods through Elizabeth's shoulders and she charges forward. Becket shrugs, lucky him I guess. Mercer mutters, I'm not sure about this.
'If you're mother offered you free pudding on Christmas you wouldn't be sure about it,' Beckett retorts.
'Of course not, sir. She probably poisoned it.' Mercer responds to Beckett's glare with a glare. Governor Swann mutters that he's surrounded by children. 'Just seems too convenient is all.'
Beckett shrugs, Doesn't matter does it? We'll be back in civilisation soon enough. Away from it all. We can pretend it didn't happen.
It's dusk when they stumble into the small village and find themselves at the only inn/pub in town. Beckett does his best to clean himself up and declares he will be the one doing the speaking. The rest just wait. Somewhere unobtrusive preferably.
When he finds the master of the house he gives a cursary explination of what happened. Rose Hall, he says. We were returning from it when we were set upon by cut throats. Got away with our lives, a bit of coin, but not much else. Could you put us up for the night? We can pay.
The inn keeper nods, asks to see the coin and declares it good. Ye need some bandages and water too, by the looks of ye, love.
'That would be appreciated, thank you.' Another bit of coinage handed over and Mercer approaches, wincing as he walks.
'Cuts on my legs,' he explains to Beckett's confused look. 'We'll need some whiskey as well. And a doctor,' he glances back to Barbossa passed out in front of the fire. 'Sooner would be better.'
'The doctor's a town over. I'll send a rider out for him but like as not he won't get here till tomorrow.' He pauses in thought. 'We have a horse doctor if that'll do?'
Mercer and Beckett exchange looks and shrug. 'We'll take both,' Mercer says. 'Worth a try. His leg needs to go, I think.'
The inn keeper nods. Right, he says. I'll get the whiskey. Ye looks as if everyone needs a dram of it. And by the by, what was the manor called again?
'Red Rose Hall.' Beckett murmurs. Mercer is pulling him towards the fire.
'Where's that? I never heard of it before.'
But neither of them heard him and so he shrugged and called to his lad to saddle up. Take some bread and a flask, his father says to the boy. There's a long night ahead of ye.
---tbc---
Now I have to figure out how I'm going to end it.
And again, kudos for finding movie quotes/references. So many in this update!