Never Shall We Die (1602 fanfiction)
So here it is! In honor of "Talk Like a Pirate" Day... the first chapter of the 1602 epic thingie I bitched about for a while there. lol Just so we are all on the same page, there are a few characters in here that didn't make it into the canon 1602 book (as far as I know) but I like them so they're there. And our heroine is based on one of the Mutant Sues from ginevra's brilliant Mutant Sue Virus (guess which one lol). So, here we go. :D
Title: Never Shall We Die
Universe: Marvel 1602
Characters/pairings: Umm... damn near all of them, and a OFC
Warnings: M/F eventually
Disclaimer: Marvel owns the recognizable characters and the world this is set in. I do not make any claim on any of them. I make no money from this little endeavor.
“But…” the diminutive sailor sputtered, wide eyed, “She’s mad, Sir Nicolas! She chases ghosts!” He looked around as if expecting the subject of the conversation to appear from nowhere. His voice dropped to a harsh, nearly frightened whisper. “I know a man sailed with her for a season. Said she’d stare out over the ocean for hours, talking to no one, and when she was done, she’d give a new course for the ship.” He gulped and fidgeted a little more. His voice was barely audible. “She’s a witch, Master, and at crazy one at that.”
Sir Nicolas continued to stare at the man, not concerned that the darkness around the pier did nothing to hide his distaste for the sailor’s judgments. He’d heard all the rumors before and he knew much more about the facts surrounding the woman he was seeking. The sailor gulped again, still checking over his shoulder every few seconds. Sir Nicolas sighed heavily. “I know all this. What I do not know is where I can find this murdering, thieving, crazy witch woman you fear so much.”
“The Trident was docked here til a few nights ago. She sailed north.”
Finally, some useful information. “Perfect.” Sir Nicolas shoved a few coins into the hand of the rat-like sailor before the smaller man turned and walked quickly back into the shadows from which he’d slunk. Sir Nicolas also found himself in a hurry. If he missed the Trident up north, then his plans would be in need of a good deal of revision.
The tavern was dark as taverns in unrespectable port towns were want to be. There was laughter from the drunks and the whores that accompanied them, and loud arguments coming from several card games through out the room, but one dark corner was curiously silent.
A tankard of ale sat before the captain untouched. The presence that crept up behind the single chair at the table also went unheeded. “I knew your father, and your husband.”
The solitary figure did not look up. “How nice for you.”
“I think we have some mutual friends as well.”
“If the masses are to be believed, I have no friends left in this world.” The voice was low, bitter.
“I think you do.” Sir Nicolas stepped a little closer. “Four at the very least.”
The captain’s eyes lifted slowly. A flash of anger made them almost glow in the low light. “Come to mock the crazy pirate woman, have you?” Her movement made it easier for him to get a good look at her. The eyes were the same emerald color they’d been when she was 14, her hair the same flaming red though now, instead of the ornate curls of court, it was twisted in a long braid, but her skin was still milky pale. She was still a beauty, no doubting that, but there was something hard about her now, be if from being sold into a loveless marriage, or sailing the world for four years hunting for her friends. He had almost been happy for her when her husband had died barely two years into the marriage, and happier still when… well, that was none of his business, and most of it rumor at best. The last time he’d seen her she had been the picture of the perfect lady, puffed sleeves and lacy collars. Now, he was fairly sure she was wearing a man’s shirt, dyed nearly blood red. A long, delicate golden chain hung around her neck, and if there was any charm on it, it hung too low under the shirt to see. A dark leather cinch around her waist left little doubt that she was a woman and he didn’t doubt that she had at least one dagger hidden under it.
He remembered hearing that when she’d started her little crusade, she’d masqueraded as a man. By the time the truth came to light, the name Lee Stone was one to be feared, so few challenged her place. He sighed. Her father would be horrified if he’d lived to see this. “Not at all.” He pulled a chair over from a nearby table and sat. His voice dropped to the same conspiratorial whisper that was so well suited to a man of his station, and his most clandestine dealings. “I am in need of a ship. And as I have said, I knew your father, and your husband and I trusted them both.”
“I am not my father.” She reached for the tankard and took a long drink from it. “And I am most certainly not my husband.”
Sir Nicolas ignored her statements. “I sail for Latveria.”
She actually laughed. “You may wish to check your maps. Last I saw, Latveria is landlocked.”
“Do not concern yourself with the how of it. Know that I need a ship, and I go to Latveria.” She sipped again from the tankard, studiously ignoring the man beside her. “I can pay you.”
“I have no need of your money.”
“I have information as well.”
“That is your trade, Sir Nicolas. I have no doubt you have much information on a great many things, none of them of any interest to me.”
“I know where they are, Hélène.” He watched as a faint glimmer of hope lit up her eyes again. “The Queen’s mystic has seen… something of them.” He went on to explain what little he knew. “Our interests coincide.” The hope changed to something darker.
“Von Doom?” Sir Nicolas nodded and was shocked to see something like humor, though a dark humor, pass over her. “The more I see of men, the more I admire dogs.” She stood, and he did his best not to stare. There were no skirts to hide the shape of her legs… just pants, tight and made of the same material that the cinch was. “When do you wish to leave?” She must have been used to the stares.
“First thing.” She nodded and moved off to tell her crew to get back to the ship and that they were leaving at first light. Sir Nicolas couldn’t help but smile. This was going to go far better than he’d planned. And Otto Von Doom would get a taste of the bile he’d spewed into the world. He was almost sure Hélène Stone would shove it down his throat personally. But before it came to that, he had to get the rest of their party here, and quickly.
She was resting, not really sleeping in her cabin. She never really got much sleep. There was always so much to consider, so much to plan. But tonight, there was so much to look forward to. She’d stopped doing that not long after she’d started her search. Her heart broke over and over again as rumors were proven false, or stories confessed to be made up. She’d cried alone so many nights in that first year. But Sir Nicolas would not lie about this. She remembered him from her childhood, a friend of her father. Her father… she’d thought so many times about what he’d think of her now. He’d be disgusted, that was certain. He may have simply have fallen over dead had he seen her manner of dress… not to mention the sword and daggers that were her only constant companions at this point.
Harold would have understood her need. Her dear brother could have saved her from all of this, had he been alive. No doubt he would have lobbied their father for a more suitable husband for his loving sister. Even in the darkness, the thought brought a blush to her cheeks. He had known, even at her young age of her dreams of finding someone that would love her, truly love her. But then he was gone. He and his family had died before her marriage. They got word of a plague in the area around the shipping house he was running for their father.
When her husband’s ship went down, it was a relief more than anything. She mourned as she was supposed to, but he had been a tyrant. Thankfully, an impotent one. She was his third wife, he had out lived the other two, and he was barely a man by the time she married him. But he was her father’s business partner, so the match was made. It was her duty. A duty she was very happy to have cut short.
Then she met him. What would he think of her now? He’d known her as a lady, though perhaps a touch less ladylike than she should have been. Her cheeks burned. No doubt that his sister had been her friend for years, and they had met many times before that. But with the freedom her husband’s death had afforded her, she could admit, if only to herself and perhaps to him that she felt something. That something poets write of and balladeers sings of, that so few people ever truly feel. She loved him, wholly, and he loved her. The day he left London he swore that when he returned, he would marry her. But he didn’t come back.
So she searched. No one knew the real reason. They all assumed it was friendship that drove her. But the four had other friends that had not gone off looking for them like she had. So she was called crazy, mad… any manner of names. But she would not go back until she knew, one way of the other what had happened to the four; what had happened to the man she loved.
“Captain, all is ready and it’s near sunrise.”
“Has Sir Nicolas returned with his people?” She opened the door and stared at her first mate, Logan.
He nodded. “They’re aboard,” He did not sound the least bit pleased about it. She wondered if it was because of Sir Nicolas or his guests. He stepped out of her way as she exited out onto the deck.
“So, Sir Nicolas now would be the time when you tell me how we sail to a landlocked country.” He smiled that all knowing smile he had and motioned to the bald man sitting behind him.
“Forgive me, Lady…”
She held her hand up. “There are no ladies on this boat, sir. Refer to me as captain if you must.”
This seemed to take him back a bit. “My apologies, Captain.” He looked at her again, almost as if he knew what she’d been thinking of in her cabin. It set her on guard to say the least. “My companion and I will remedy the problem of how to get the boat to Latveria.” He gestured to the person sitting next to him.
It was Hélène’s turn to smile knowingly, and she did so at the girl dressed as a boy. She’d spent far too long hiding what she was not to pick up on someone else doing the same thing. The two women nodded to one another, a silent understanding of the necessity of it all. “So, what’s the trick?”
Without a word, the girl… ‘boy’ closed her eyes and the ship began to tremble in a moment it was feet in the air and moving toward the land. Ah… witchbreed. Hélène smiled again. Something else to hide from the world, girl? Get used to it. She and her brother had hidden their gifts as well. She still did from nearly everyone. She wondered if even Sir Nicolas had a clue about her ability. For a time there had been stories of the statues in her garden coming to life at night. It hadn’t been the statues, it had been her. Her skin turned hard and the milky color of the marble the statues were made of. It was a handy trick. A gift from God, Harold had called it. And it was. Now, it helped her to keep up her reputation as a heartless mercenary. It was hard to stab a statue in the back, after all.
She looked over the railing of the ship. They were so high up! A flying ship… if anyone hadn’t believed her a witch before, they surely would now if the stories of this got out. She watched the land pass under them, trying to determine just how fast they were going. 30, maybe 40 miles an hour. She had to admit, the girl dressed as a boy was impressive. She and her teacher were seated on the deck, and their angel, for that was exactly what he looked like, was circling the ship, landing for a rest from time to time. The wind whipped at the deck and very few were above deck to see it, but the wind didn’t bother her. With only Javier, and his students near, she felt safe enough to employ her gift, and she was glad for it, for when would she ever get to fly like this again?
The thought brought her back to why she had agreed to this trip. Flight. She sighed heavily. John had shown her his gifts, and flight was one of them. It was impressive, and she had to confess, she envied that, perhaps now even more. Where ever he was, she had the feeling that Doom was not allowing that kind of joy to touch his ‘guests’. She gripped the railing until she heard it crack. She released it, checking to make sure she hadn’t ripped it off entirely. “You’re one of us, aren’t you?” The question frightened her, or rather a voice being so close to her without her noticing the approach frightened her.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her hand was on the hilt of her sword as she turned to face the one with the strange red band over his eyes… what had his name been… Scotius… something.
“You are witchbreed.”
“You are not as blind as you appear.” She resumed looking down at the ground, but did not take her hand off her sword. Something about this one made her nervous… on edge.
“Do the others know?”
“A few of my crew… and one other.” She didn’t lift her eyes. If he saw them now, he’d know her weakness. He may even figure out why she was on this mission.
“Is the other on board?”
“You ask too many questions, boy.” He may well have been older than she was, but she was captain of this ship and he was annoying her. It was time to remind him of his place.
He stood, staring at her for a moment, maybe tempted to challenge her. Without his gifts, maybe even with them, he didn’t stand a chance. Perhaps he figured that out. “My apologies… Captain.” He took a step back, hands clasped behind his back. “I was curious. I had heard of you.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “Many people have.”
“If I may… Captain, ask another question.”
“Only if you stop pausing before you call me ‘captain’.”
He smiled a little. “Again, my apologies.”
“I should think you would be used to a woman with power.” She grinned and glanced back at the redhead and their tutor. The man… this Scotius, frowned.
“How… can you also see inside a man’s mind?”
“No,” she shook her head. “I spent a long time hiding what I was. I was good at it, as she is. But when you are good at something like that, you get good at spotting others doing that same thing.”
He nodded. “My other question?” She motioned for him to continue. “They say you are searching for the Four from the Fantastick…”
“That is a statement, boy, not a question.”
“Why?”
“They are my friends.” He frowned, as did she. She was not about to tell this man why she was doing anything. It was not his business. “Do you not have other things to do? Or shall I assign you something to do?” She turned to face him for the first time.
“No, captain. I will find something to fill my time.” He turned and walked away, toward his companions.
A thought occurred to her. “Scotius! Find Sir Nicolas for me. Tell him I wish to speak with him if he has the time.” The man nodded and went below decks.
Her nerves were on edge and she slowly moved her hand off the hilt of her sword, taking a deep breath. She moved to her cabins, vaguely missing the slow rocking that a ship makes in the water. This flying vessel had none of the movement that she found relaxing. It was too still and try as she might, she could not get comfortable to get any sleep at all. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the trunk across the room. The one that held the last vestige of her old self. The gown in the trunk was still in wonderful condition, a deep blue color, trimmed in a lighter green and silver. She resisted the urge to open the trunk and take the dress out, holding onto the chain around her neck instead, letting her fingers play along the chain, not quite reaching the treasure that hung from it.
A knock on her door made her jump, jarring her from her memories. She opened the door and peaked out. “You asked for me?”
“Yes.” She opened the door wider and motioned him into the room. “Did the Queen’s mystic tell you anything specific? If it can be told…”
“You may ask him.” A spectral thing moved in the room, and her eyes grew wide as it formed the shape of a man, growing less and less transparent by the moment. “I know it is a touch… unnerving, my dear.” Sir Nicolas patted her shoulder and dropped a piece of parchment on her table as he moved for the door. “I will leave you to it.” He left before she had fully recovered herself.
“Mistress Stone, I am Doctor Stephen Strange.”
“There is no need for formality, Doctor. I have no title, especially not here.” She sat at the small table that served her for dinner and anything else she might need a table for, and offers the other chair to him. The still spectral doctor sat as if he were solid. “I… I am not sure how to ask for what I want, Doctor.”
“You do not have to, child.” He smiled. “My wife writes down my visions for me. More times than not, I do not remember what I see.” He pushed the neatly folded piece of parchment on the table closer to her, and she resisted the urge to ask how he was doing such things. “But something told me, you might want to know.”
She reached out, fingers hovering over it. “Do I really want to know?” Fear crept out through her voice.
The doctor reached forward, placing her hand on the parchment, and his hand on hers. She shivered at the strange sensation. “He’s alive, child.”
She slumped a little in her seat. For four years, she’d begged God to let her hear those words. Now, her prayers answered, she could just curl up and cry. Instead she picked up the paper and opened it. The words flew through her mind. The first real news she’d had in years. “This is it?” It seemed so ungrateful a thing to say, but she couldn’t stop the question.
“Yes,” He stood. “I am sorry, the visions are not always clear.” He bowed a little and moved toward the door.
“No, I am sorry, Doctor. That was rude of me. You have…” She looked up at him. “Your words are the answer to so many prayers, Sir. Thank you.”
He smiled. “You may have occasion to wear that dress yet.” He started to fade, as her jaw dropped.
“Wait… how…” He smiled again, and the fading stopped. She looked a little panicked, and he knew why. “How much do you know?”
“Enough to know not to say anything about it. The pain you felt must have been horrible. To lose so much so suddenly…” her brow crinkled. “To keep such a secret, child, is a burden I would not wish on anyone. But it may have been for the best. And before you ask, no one else knows as far as I am aware. Your aunt kept her word and took your secret to her grave.” He bowed again and faded from her sight, leaving her frightened and amazed.
She tried to rest again, but too many thoughts wandered her mind. Her dreams, once she found sleep were dark, and too real to be simple dreams. They were memories, many of which she had no want to see again. She woke with a start when one of her men came to tell her they were nearly to their destination.
It was a fortress. A building drawing strength from the rocks it was build on, and seemingly into. She swallowed hard as she looked down on it. Where to look? Doom’s men, or… whatever they were, weren’t firing the cannons yet. Waiting, it seemed to her, for them to get into range fully. While her cargo made their plans, a single rope fell from the starboard side of the boat, and a solitary figure crept down it. This battle was not her problem. Not yet anyway. She had other matters to deal with first.
As her feet hit the ground, she felt it shake and a loud booming noise echoed through the ravine. She smiled. Someone was trying to break out, and she knew who.
Title: Never Shall We Die
Universe: Marvel 1602
Characters/pairings: Umm... damn near all of them, and a OFC
Warnings: M/F eventually
Disclaimer: Marvel owns the recognizable characters and the world this is set in. I do not make any claim on any of them. I make no money from this little endeavor.
“But…” the diminutive sailor sputtered, wide eyed, “She’s mad, Sir Nicolas! She chases ghosts!” He looked around as if expecting the subject of the conversation to appear from nowhere. His voice dropped to a harsh, nearly frightened whisper. “I know a man sailed with her for a season. Said she’d stare out over the ocean for hours, talking to no one, and when she was done, she’d give a new course for the ship.” He gulped and fidgeted a little more. His voice was barely audible. “She’s a witch, Master, and at crazy one at that.”
Sir Nicolas continued to stare at the man, not concerned that the darkness around the pier did nothing to hide his distaste for the sailor’s judgments. He’d heard all the rumors before and he knew much more about the facts surrounding the woman he was seeking. The sailor gulped again, still checking over his shoulder every few seconds. Sir Nicolas sighed heavily. “I know all this. What I do not know is where I can find this murdering, thieving, crazy witch woman you fear so much.”
“The Trident was docked here til a few nights ago. She sailed north.”
Finally, some useful information. “Perfect.” Sir Nicolas shoved a few coins into the hand of the rat-like sailor before the smaller man turned and walked quickly back into the shadows from which he’d slunk. Sir Nicolas also found himself in a hurry. If he missed the Trident up north, then his plans would be in need of a good deal of revision.
The tavern was dark as taverns in unrespectable port towns were want to be. There was laughter from the drunks and the whores that accompanied them, and loud arguments coming from several card games through out the room, but one dark corner was curiously silent.
A tankard of ale sat before the captain untouched. The presence that crept up behind the single chair at the table also went unheeded. “I knew your father, and your husband.”
The solitary figure did not look up. “How nice for you.”
“I think we have some mutual friends as well.”
“If the masses are to be believed, I have no friends left in this world.” The voice was low, bitter.
“I think you do.” Sir Nicolas stepped a little closer. “Four at the very least.”
The captain’s eyes lifted slowly. A flash of anger made them almost glow in the low light. “Come to mock the crazy pirate woman, have you?” Her movement made it easier for him to get a good look at her. The eyes were the same emerald color they’d been when she was 14, her hair the same flaming red though now, instead of the ornate curls of court, it was twisted in a long braid, but her skin was still milky pale. She was still a beauty, no doubting that, but there was something hard about her now, be if from being sold into a loveless marriage, or sailing the world for four years hunting for her friends. He had almost been happy for her when her husband had died barely two years into the marriage, and happier still when… well, that was none of his business, and most of it rumor at best. The last time he’d seen her she had been the picture of the perfect lady, puffed sleeves and lacy collars. Now, he was fairly sure she was wearing a man’s shirt, dyed nearly blood red. A long, delicate golden chain hung around her neck, and if there was any charm on it, it hung too low under the shirt to see. A dark leather cinch around her waist left little doubt that she was a woman and he didn’t doubt that she had at least one dagger hidden under it.
He remembered hearing that when she’d started her little crusade, she’d masqueraded as a man. By the time the truth came to light, the name Lee Stone was one to be feared, so few challenged her place. He sighed. Her father would be horrified if he’d lived to see this. “Not at all.” He pulled a chair over from a nearby table and sat. His voice dropped to the same conspiratorial whisper that was so well suited to a man of his station, and his most clandestine dealings. “I am in need of a ship. And as I have said, I knew your father, and your husband and I trusted them both.”
“I am not my father.” She reached for the tankard and took a long drink from it. “And I am most certainly not my husband.”
Sir Nicolas ignored her statements. “I sail for Latveria.”
She actually laughed. “You may wish to check your maps. Last I saw, Latveria is landlocked.”
“Do not concern yourself with the how of it. Know that I need a ship, and I go to Latveria.” She sipped again from the tankard, studiously ignoring the man beside her. “I can pay you.”
“I have no need of your money.”
“I have information as well.”
“That is your trade, Sir Nicolas. I have no doubt you have much information on a great many things, none of them of any interest to me.”
“I know where they are, Hélène.” He watched as a faint glimmer of hope lit up her eyes again. “The Queen’s mystic has seen… something of them.” He went on to explain what little he knew. “Our interests coincide.” The hope changed to something darker.
“Von Doom?” Sir Nicolas nodded and was shocked to see something like humor, though a dark humor, pass over her. “The more I see of men, the more I admire dogs.” She stood, and he did his best not to stare. There were no skirts to hide the shape of her legs… just pants, tight and made of the same material that the cinch was. “When do you wish to leave?” She must have been used to the stares.
“First thing.” She nodded and moved off to tell her crew to get back to the ship and that they were leaving at first light. Sir Nicolas couldn’t help but smile. This was going to go far better than he’d planned. And Otto Von Doom would get a taste of the bile he’d spewed into the world. He was almost sure Hélène Stone would shove it down his throat personally. But before it came to that, he had to get the rest of their party here, and quickly.
She was resting, not really sleeping in her cabin. She never really got much sleep. There was always so much to consider, so much to plan. But tonight, there was so much to look forward to. She’d stopped doing that not long after she’d started her search. Her heart broke over and over again as rumors were proven false, or stories confessed to be made up. She’d cried alone so many nights in that first year. But Sir Nicolas would not lie about this. She remembered him from her childhood, a friend of her father. Her father… she’d thought so many times about what he’d think of her now. He’d be disgusted, that was certain. He may have simply have fallen over dead had he seen her manner of dress… not to mention the sword and daggers that were her only constant companions at this point.
Harold would have understood her need. Her dear brother could have saved her from all of this, had he been alive. No doubt he would have lobbied their father for a more suitable husband for his loving sister. Even in the darkness, the thought brought a blush to her cheeks. He had known, even at her young age of her dreams of finding someone that would love her, truly love her. But then he was gone. He and his family had died before her marriage. They got word of a plague in the area around the shipping house he was running for their father.
When her husband’s ship went down, it was a relief more than anything. She mourned as she was supposed to, but he had been a tyrant. Thankfully, an impotent one. She was his third wife, he had out lived the other two, and he was barely a man by the time she married him. But he was her father’s business partner, so the match was made. It was her duty. A duty she was very happy to have cut short.
Then she met him. What would he think of her now? He’d known her as a lady, though perhaps a touch less ladylike than she should have been. Her cheeks burned. No doubt that his sister had been her friend for years, and they had met many times before that. But with the freedom her husband’s death had afforded her, she could admit, if only to herself and perhaps to him that she felt something. That something poets write of and balladeers sings of, that so few people ever truly feel. She loved him, wholly, and he loved her. The day he left London he swore that when he returned, he would marry her. But he didn’t come back.
So she searched. No one knew the real reason. They all assumed it was friendship that drove her. But the four had other friends that had not gone off looking for them like she had. So she was called crazy, mad… any manner of names. But she would not go back until she knew, one way of the other what had happened to the four; what had happened to the man she loved.
“Captain, all is ready and it’s near sunrise.”
“Has Sir Nicolas returned with his people?” She opened the door and stared at her first mate, Logan.
He nodded. “They’re aboard,” He did not sound the least bit pleased about it. She wondered if it was because of Sir Nicolas or his guests. He stepped out of her way as she exited out onto the deck.
“So, Sir Nicolas now would be the time when you tell me how we sail to a landlocked country.” He smiled that all knowing smile he had and motioned to the bald man sitting behind him.
“Forgive me, Lady…”
She held her hand up. “There are no ladies on this boat, sir. Refer to me as captain if you must.”
This seemed to take him back a bit. “My apologies, Captain.” He looked at her again, almost as if he knew what she’d been thinking of in her cabin. It set her on guard to say the least. “My companion and I will remedy the problem of how to get the boat to Latveria.” He gestured to the person sitting next to him.
It was Hélène’s turn to smile knowingly, and she did so at the girl dressed as a boy. She’d spent far too long hiding what she was not to pick up on someone else doing the same thing. The two women nodded to one another, a silent understanding of the necessity of it all. “So, what’s the trick?”
Without a word, the girl… ‘boy’ closed her eyes and the ship began to tremble in a moment it was feet in the air and moving toward the land. Ah… witchbreed. Hélène smiled again. Something else to hide from the world, girl? Get used to it. She and her brother had hidden their gifts as well. She still did from nearly everyone. She wondered if even Sir Nicolas had a clue about her ability. For a time there had been stories of the statues in her garden coming to life at night. It hadn’t been the statues, it had been her. Her skin turned hard and the milky color of the marble the statues were made of. It was a handy trick. A gift from God, Harold had called it. And it was. Now, it helped her to keep up her reputation as a heartless mercenary. It was hard to stab a statue in the back, after all.
She looked over the railing of the ship. They were so high up! A flying ship… if anyone hadn’t believed her a witch before, they surely would now if the stories of this got out. She watched the land pass under them, trying to determine just how fast they were going. 30, maybe 40 miles an hour. She had to admit, the girl dressed as a boy was impressive. She and her teacher were seated on the deck, and their angel, for that was exactly what he looked like, was circling the ship, landing for a rest from time to time. The wind whipped at the deck and very few were above deck to see it, but the wind didn’t bother her. With only Javier, and his students near, she felt safe enough to employ her gift, and she was glad for it, for when would she ever get to fly like this again?
The thought brought her back to why she had agreed to this trip. Flight. She sighed heavily. John had shown her his gifts, and flight was one of them. It was impressive, and she had to confess, she envied that, perhaps now even more. Where ever he was, she had the feeling that Doom was not allowing that kind of joy to touch his ‘guests’. She gripped the railing until she heard it crack. She released it, checking to make sure she hadn’t ripped it off entirely. “You’re one of us, aren’t you?” The question frightened her, or rather a voice being so close to her without her noticing the approach frightened her.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her hand was on the hilt of her sword as she turned to face the one with the strange red band over his eyes… what had his name been… Scotius… something.
“You are witchbreed.”
“You are not as blind as you appear.” She resumed looking down at the ground, but did not take her hand off her sword. Something about this one made her nervous… on edge.
“Do the others know?”
“A few of my crew… and one other.” She didn’t lift her eyes. If he saw them now, he’d know her weakness. He may even figure out why she was on this mission.
“Is the other on board?”
“You ask too many questions, boy.” He may well have been older than she was, but she was captain of this ship and he was annoying her. It was time to remind him of his place.
He stood, staring at her for a moment, maybe tempted to challenge her. Without his gifts, maybe even with them, he didn’t stand a chance. Perhaps he figured that out. “My apologies… Captain.” He took a step back, hands clasped behind his back. “I was curious. I had heard of you.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “Many people have.”
“If I may… Captain, ask another question.”
“Only if you stop pausing before you call me ‘captain’.”
He smiled a little. “Again, my apologies.”
“I should think you would be used to a woman with power.” She grinned and glanced back at the redhead and their tutor. The man… this Scotius, frowned.
“How… can you also see inside a man’s mind?”
“No,” she shook her head. “I spent a long time hiding what I was. I was good at it, as she is. But when you are good at something like that, you get good at spotting others doing that same thing.”
He nodded. “My other question?” She motioned for him to continue. “They say you are searching for the Four from the Fantastick…”
“That is a statement, boy, not a question.”
“Why?”
“They are my friends.” He frowned, as did she. She was not about to tell this man why she was doing anything. It was not his business. “Do you not have other things to do? Or shall I assign you something to do?” She turned to face him for the first time.
“No, captain. I will find something to fill my time.” He turned and walked away, toward his companions.
A thought occurred to her. “Scotius! Find Sir Nicolas for me. Tell him I wish to speak with him if he has the time.” The man nodded and went below decks.
Her nerves were on edge and she slowly moved her hand off the hilt of her sword, taking a deep breath. She moved to her cabins, vaguely missing the slow rocking that a ship makes in the water. This flying vessel had none of the movement that she found relaxing. It was too still and try as she might, she could not get comfortable to get any sleep at all. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the trunk across the room. The one that held the last vestige of her old self. The gown in the trunk was still in wonderful condition, a deep blue color, trimmed in a lighter green and silver. She resisted the urge to open the trunk and take the dress out, holding onto the chain around her neck instead, letting her fingers play along the chain, not quite reaching the treasure that hung from it.
A knock on her door made her jump, jarring her from her memories. She opened the door and peaked out. “You asked for me?”
“Yes.” She opened the door wider and motioned him into the room. “Did the Queen’s mystic tell you anything specific? If it can be told…”
“You may ask him.” A spectral thing moved in the room, and her eyes grew wide as it formed the shape of a man, growing less and less transparent by the moment. “I know it is a touch… unnerving, my dear.” Sir Nicolas patted her shoulder and dropped a piece of parchment on her table as he moved for the door. “I will leave you to it.” He left before she had fully recovered herself.
“Mistress Stone, I am Doctor Stephen Strange.”
“There is no need for formality, Doctor. I have no title, especially not here.” She sat at the small table that served her for dinner and anything else she might need a table for, and offers the other chair to him. The still spectral doctor sat as if he were solid. “I… I am not sure how to ask for what I want, Doctor.”
“You do not have to, child.” He smiled. “My wife writes down my visions for me. More times than not, I do not remember what I see.” He pushed the neatly folded piece of parchment on the table closer to her, and she resisted the urge to ask how he was doing such things. “But something told me, you might want to know.”
She reached out, fingers hovering over it. “Do I really want to know?” Fear crept out through her voice.
The doctor reached forward, placing her hand on the parchment, and his hand on hers. She shivered at the strange sensation. “He’s alive, child.”
She slumped a little in her seat. For four years, she’d begged God to let her hear those words. Now, her prayers answered, she could just curl up and cry. Instead she picked up the paper and opened it. The words flew through her mind. The first real news she’d had in years. “This is it?” It seemed so ungrateful a thing to say, but she couldn’t stop the question.
“Yes,” He stood. “I am sorry, the visions are not always clear.” He bowed a little and moved toward the door.
“No, I am sorry, Doctor. That was rude of me. You have…” She looked up at him. “Your words are the answer to so many prayers, Sir. Thank you.”
He smiled. “You may have occasion to wear that dress yet.” He started to fade, as her jaw dropped.
“Wait… how…” He smiled again, and the fading stopped. She looked a little panicked, and he knew why. “How much do you know?”
“Enough to know not to say anything about it. The pain you felt must have been horrible. To lose so much so suddenly…” her brow crinkled. “To keep such a secret, child, is a burden I would not wish on anyone. But it may have been for the best. And before you ask, no one else knows as far as I am aware. Your aunt kept her word and took your secret to her grave.” He bowed again and faded from her sight, leaving her frightened and amazed.
She tried to rest again, but too many thoughts wandered her mind. Her dreams, once she found sleep were dark, and too real to be simple dreams. They were memories, many of which she had no want to see again. She woke with a start when one of her men came to tell her they were nearly to their destination.
It was a fortress. A building drawing strength from the rocks it was build on, and seemingly into. She swallowed hard as she looked down on it. Where to look? Doom’s men, or… whatever they were, weren’t firing the cannons yet. Waiting, it seemed to her, for them to get into range fully. While her cargo made their plans, a single rope fell from the starboard side of the boat, and a solitary figure crept down it. This battle was not her problem. Not yet anyway. She had other matters to deal with first.
As her feet hit the ground, she felt it shake and a loud booming noise echoed through the ravine. She smiled. Someone was trying to break out, and she knew who.