"Contradictions 6 - Deny", Part 4
Nov. 29th, 2004 10:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_richThis is a continuation of a fic. See Part 1 for disclaimers, description, etc.
Opening his eyes didn’t reveal too great a change in the scenery. Wherever he was was a dark, slightly humid place, and Will began mentally taking stock of his various parts, beginning with his feet, wriggling his toes. It was a habit learned from his mother, to take his mind off fear of the dark, and he supposed the circumstances were dire enough to distract his mind from the pure terror of not knowing … anything.
Other than he did seem to still be alive. And in one relatively unmolested piece.
Will put his fingers to the spot behind his ear, beginning to throb again gently, and jerked them away before pressing the pads more slowly to the spot, working beneath layers of fine hair to caress a tender lump. It was warm from swelling – only after he’d pinpointed that pain did he realize his shoulders ached something fierce. He rolled them, experimenting, figuring he’d been dragged into his prison while being held underneath his arms. “Bastard,” he muttered, nostrils flaring as he tested his surrounds. “Who’s in here?”
No answer. He sat up, realizing he seemed to be on a bed. Body inventory continued as he swung his legs sideways and mentally tested his knees, moving up to flanks and hips. Nothing there hurt; on to abdomen, sucked in a bit to test whether he’d been sucker-punched in the gut (he hadn’t), and a deep few breaths into his lungs reassured him his chest was also in good shape. But his shoulders … “Dammit to hell,” Will spoke out loud, surprised Jack had allowed this to happen.
He froze, mid-motion. “Jack?” The pirate hadn’t even entered his head until now and he was more than a little abashed. “You here, Jack?” Silence greeted him, and fear began eating at his gut. “Um … Jack? If you’re awake, just say so.”
Figuring he would learn nothing by staying rooted to the cot … bed, whatever it was, Will stood, taking his time, testing his legs. Aside from being a bit wobbly from not having eaten in hours, they seemed in working order. He took baby steps, shuffling his feet to avoid tripping, bending with hands out to test for waist-high obstacles; luckily, the room was small and he didn’t have to do it for long.
He found his cot, of course; a washstand, a low bureau with nothing on it, a small nightstand by the cot, and an empty wooden trunk. What he didn’t find was a pirate captain, nor any other signs of habitation or human life, save the muffled voices and sounds of work filtering in from the deck. Judging the angle of the sounds, Will deduced he was just below deck, perhaps even near an entryway leading up top – but, of course, his door was bolted from the outside. “Great news in case of fire,” he muttered, feeling his way back to the cot to sit and evaluate his situation.
In a tight spot, both life and Jack had taught Will valuable things to consider:
Is there an escape route? He glanced back at the two portholes facing the ocean, barely large enough for him to stick his head out if he wished. Scratch that.
Do you have access to water to stay alive? In Jack’s case, he’d likely subsist on rummy dregs if need be, but Will knew most humans needed the water; clean, preferably. There didn’t seem to be any, though the blacksmith prayed it would be forthcoming.
What is your probability of danger? Fairly high, Will calculated. Not like I’m here for the spring social.
Can you charm your way past the guard to get out? Will was reasonably certain he could sweet-talk the doorknob and brass bolt the livelong day and they still wouldn’t magically turn and click open for him.
Finally, What can you use at hand for weapons? Whoever put him in this place was smart enough not to leave any small, concealable objects lying about; the drawers were even empty. What was there was largely nailed or bolted down, and short of a chair, Will wasn’t sure how furniture would play to his favor should ten people storm in to attack him at once.
“Think,” he muttered, sitting on the lid of the trunk. “Come up with something … even if it’s not very inspired, it just has to do the job.” Such had been young Will’s thinking all those years ago after his mum died and he wondered how he would make ends meet. He had to hammer out some sort of plan, even if it wasn’t brilliant.
A heavy creaking at the door interrupted his thoughts, and Will tensed as it swung open. He recognized Francois’s silhouette even in the dark of night, but not the two lieutenants coming in behind to set a tray on the nightstand and fit a large bowl on the washstand. They didn’t leave, but took up position behind their captain as he stepped closer to where Will stood. “Some victuals to keep ye alive,” he said. “Not enough t’ do ye much good in escapin’; ye’ll find I’m not so stupid as t’ make the same mistake twice.”
Will debated keeping his mouth shut, but worry won out over pride. “Where is Captain Sparrow?”
“He’s not been shoved off in th’ briny drink, that’s what ye wan’ know.” He paused, humor touching his voice when he spoke further. “Apparently I’m not so smart, either, as to hoist th’ source of my troubles over the rail once I track ‘im down again.”
“Where’re you holding him?” Will would not relax with his sudden relief.
“You’re awful curious ‘bout someone else, to be in as much shite as you’re facin’,” Francois countered.
“I just want to know he’s safe.” Recalling what happened earlier when he lost his temper, Will modulated his speech and kept his fists at his sides, hidden in the short folds of his vest. “It’s my job to look out for my captain and shipmates; surely you can appreciate that.”
“Right now, ye’d best look out for yourself.” The captain nodded toward the tray and pitcher. “Nobody’s gon’ rescue ye, and I’ll not be lettin’ ye go ‘til I’m satisfied some other way.”
Will almost let him out the door before raising his voice again. “What are you seeking satisfaction for?” he asked. “Surely not our earlier skirmish; you won, and the Pearl retreated. There’s no further vindication needed with victory, I’d think.”
Francois paused, not turning around. “Common misconception of th’ loser, I’m sure.”
“I know this is about something other than that.”
A low chuckle. “Least you’re not as stupid as ye are comely, I’ll give ye that. Bit simple, maybe.” Still chortling in that deep rumble, Francois ushered the two helpers out before him, pulling the door shut in his wake.
Will panicked. “How long before someone’ll be back?” he called, running for the door. Nobody answered, and he pounded it a couple of times. “Hey! When will someone be back?”
They ignored him, and he stepped backward. He wasn’t sure from where the blind anxiety had come; since his first adventure with Jack, being scolded as a stupid child, he’d tried conscientiously to curb his temper and think things through before acting. He was better prepared to handle problems now, but he doubted he’d ever fully be rid of his impulsive streak.
Rubbing his face, Will went to the washstand and tested his fingertips in the water, sniffing them before washing off his hands. He wasn’t certain what they could put in it or what effect it could possibly have, but he put nothing past the Spaniard. Same with the food; he sniffed and nibbled the dried fruits and meats a little at a time to test his reactions before daring to tear off bites with his teeth. There wasn’t much, admittedly, with which to poison him had it been laced, and Will guessed this was what Francois meant by not giving him help to escape again. Last time, he, Jack, and David had gotten away partially thanks to being able to put back part of their meals over a period of time.
After his meager repast, Will peeled off stockings and shoes to walk about slowly barefoot, to test the floor for loose boards or strange indentations that might spell an escape route. He felt somewhat foolish – had Jack been here, this is something he’d probably be doing, and Will would be sitting in the shadows rolling his eyes. The one good part to being by himself was never having to admit to such as this.
Eventually, Will paused by a porthole and closed his eyes, letting the slight breeze that hit it every so often caress his face. He yawned twice, sighing as he realized he’d have to give up for the night – at least for a few hours – to get some rest. Being clubbed unconscious for the afternoon wasn’t his idea of decent sleep, and his head still pounded fiercely.
Will’s next day was much like his first evening in solitary confinement – lonely, boring, and maddening. He was given no more to eat than the night before, and only two instead of the three meals he usually devoured on a daily basis. He spent a good deal of time keeping very quiet and listening at the wall closest to deck, hoping to glean information about their bearing, the ship’s construction, shift changes, possible weapons – anything.
Late in the night, unable to sleep, he took stock of his cabin more carefully. Anything could be a weapon; he had to be open to passive suggestion. Picking a corner, he reached up, just able to brush the ceiling with his fingertips, and started feeling, creeping along the wall until he reached the opposite end of the small cabin. He kept on this way until he’d made a complete circuit, then dropped his hand and reversed course, patting the wall, running his fingers beneath crossboards, muttering to himself. At one point, he paused, noticing he’d started responding heatedly to his own vague accusations, and wondered if this was what it was like to be Jack Sparrow.
No fixtures on the walls. No hooks in the boards, not so much as an oversized splinter to break off. This was Will’s inventory when he made it back to his original corner on his knees a long time later. He was dripping with sweat, breathing heavily from concentration and the slow, maddening pace he’d adopted so as not to miss anything. And yet, miss he had; he was no closer to an idea than before he’d started this filthy, exhaustive expedition.
Leaning back on his heels, Will spat into one hand and rubbed it into the other, working off some of the grime. He wiped his palms and fingers along his breeches as he closed his eyes and let his tired mind wander. For all the good it did, he was trying to let his brain dictate the answer, rather than the other way around. If God only helped those who helped themselves, He at least offered some inspiration from time to time to those willing to listen for it.
After another few minutes on his knees, he stood to stretch, pulling his shirt off – too hot for bed. He’d turned his back to the wall, and his knuckles scraped the wood as he arched back with the motion. One scratched over something sharp and metallic, and Will yanked his hand away, tangling the shirt around his head as he yelped. Hastily, he peeled the linen off, tossing it at the bed and lifting his knuckle to his lips reflexively, sucking at the coppery wound.
He turned, squinting at the wall, and reached up to carefully trace it again, the bit of shine catching in the moonlight. “Nail,” he muttered around the wound, sucking thoughtfully. His pain – for the moment – was forgotten.
On to Part 5 ...
Opening his eyes didn’t reveal too great a change in the scenery. Wherever he was was a dark, slightly humid place, and Will began mentally taking stock of his various parts, beginning with his feet, wriggling his toes. It was a habit learned from his mother, to take his mind off fear of the dark, and he supposed the circumstances were dire enough to distract his mind from the pure terror of not knowing … anything.
Other than he did seem to still be alive. And in one relatively unmolested piece.
Will put his fingers to the spot behind his ear, beginning to throb again gently, and jerked them away before pressing the pads more slowly to the spot, working beneath layers of fine hair to caress a tender lump. It was warm from swelling – only after he’d pinpointed that pain did he realize his shoulders ached something fierce. He rolled them, experimenting, figuring he’d been dragged into his prison while being held underneath his arms. “Bastard,” he muttered, nostrils flaring as he tested his surrounds. “Who’s in here?”
No answer. He sat up, realizing he seemed to be on a bed. Body inventory continued as he swung his legs sideways and mentally tested his knees, moving up to flanks and hips. Nothing there hurt; on to abdomen, sucked in a bit to test whether he’d been sucker-punched in the gut (he hadn’t), and a deep few breaths into his lungs reassured him his chest was also in good shape. But his shoulders … “Dammit to hell,” Will spoke out loud, surprised Jack had allowed this to happen.
He froze, mid-motion. “Jack?” The pirate hadn’t even entered his head until now and he was more than a little abashed. “You here, Jack?” Silence greeted him, and fear began eating at his gut. “Um … Jack? If you’re awake, just say so.”
Figuring he would learn nothing by staying rooted to the cot … bed, whatever it was, Will stood, taking his time, testing his legs. Aside from being a bit wobbly from not having eaten in hours, they seemed in working order. He took baby steps, shuffling his feet to avoid tripping, bending with hands out to test for waist-high obstacles; luckily, the room was small and he didn’t have to do it for long.
He found his cot, of course; a washstand, a low bureau with nothing on it, a small nightstand by the cot, and an empty wooden trunk. What he didn’t find was a pirate captain, nor any other signs of habitation or human life, save the muffled voices and sounds of work filtering in from the deck. Judging the angle of the sounds, Will deduced he was just below deck, perhaps even near an entryway leading up top – but, of course, his door was bolted from the outside. “Great news in case of fire,” he muttered, feeling his way back to the cot to sit and evaluate his situation.
In a tight spot, both life and Jack had taught Will valuable things to consider:
Is there an escape route? He glanced back at the two portholes facing the ocean, barely large enough for him to stick his head out if he wished. Scratch that.
Do you have access to water to stay alive? In Jack’s case, he’d likely subsist on rummy dregs if need be, but Will knew most humans needed the water; clean, preferably. There didn’t seem to be any, though the blacksmith prayed it would be forthcoming.
What is your probability of danger? Fairly high, Will calculated. Not like I’m here for the spring social.
Can you charm your way past the guard to get out? Will was reasonably certain he could sweet-talk the doorknob and brass bolt the livelong day and they still wouldn’t magically turn and click open for him.
Finally, What can you use at hand for weapons? Whoever put him in this place was smart enough not to leave any small, concealable objects lying about; the drawers were even empty. What was there was largely nailed or bolted down, and short of a chair, Will wasn’t sure how furniture would play to his favor should ten people storm in to attack him at once.
“Think,” he muttered, sitting on the lid of the trunk. “Come up with something … even if it’s not very inspired, it just has to do the job.” Such had been young Will’s thinking all those years ago after his mum died and he wondered how he would make ends meet. He had to hammer out some sort of plan, even if it wasn’t brilliant.
A heavy creaking at the door interrupted his thoughts, and Will tensed as it swung open. He recognized Francois’s silhouette even in the dark of night, but not the two lieutenants coming in behind to set a tray on the nightstand and fit a large bowl on the washstand. They didn’t leave, but took up position behind their captain as he stepped closer to where Will stood. “Some victuals to keep ye alive,” he said. “Not enough t’ do ye much good in escapin’; ye’ll find I’m not so stupid as t’ make the same mistake twice.”
Will debated keeping his mouth shut, but worry won out over pride. “Where is Captain Sparrow?”
“He’s not been shoved off in th’ briny drink, that’s what ye wan’ know.” He paused, humor touching his voice when he spoke further. “Apparently I’m not so smart, either, as to hoist th’ source of my troubles over the rail once I track ‘im down again.”
“Where’re you holding him?” Will would not relax with his sudden relief.
“You’re awful curious ‘bout someone else, to be in as much shite as you’re facin’,” Francois countered.
“I just want to know he’s safe.” Recalling what happened earlier when he lost his temper, Will modulated his speech and kept his fists at his sides, hidden in the short folds of his vest. “It’s my job to look out for my captain and shipmates; surely you can appreciate that.”
“Right now, ye’d best look out for yourself.” The captain nodded toward the tray and pitcher. “Nobody’s gon’ rescue ye, and I’ll not be lettin’ ye go ‘til I’m satisfied some other way.”
Will almost let him out the door before raising his voice again. “What are you seeking satisfaction for?” he asked. “Surely not our earlier skirmish; you won, and the Pearl retreated. There’s no further vindication needed with victory, I’d think.”
Francois paused, not turning around. “Common misconception of th’ loser, I’m sure.”
“I know this is about something other than that.”
A low chuckle. “Least you’re not as stupid as ye are comely, I’ll give ye that. Bit simple, maybe.” Still chortling in that deep rumble, Francois ushered the two helpers out before him, pulling the door shut in his wake.
Will panicked. “How long before someone’ll be back?” he called, running for the door. Nobody answered, and he pounded it a couple of times. “Hey! When will someone be back?”
They ignored him, and he stepped backward. He wasn’t sure from where the blind anxiety had come; since his first adventure with Jack, being scolded as a stupid child, he’d tried conscientiously to curb his temper and think things through before acting. He was better prepared to handle problems now, but he doubted he’d ever fully be rid of his impulsive streak.
Rubbing his face, Will went to the washstand and tested his fingertips in the water, sniffing them before washing off his hands. He wasn’t certain what they could put in it or what effect it could possibly have, but he put nothing past the Spaniard. Same with the food; he sniffed and nibbled the dried fruits and meats a little at a time to test his reactions before daring to tear off bites with his teeth. There wasn’t much, admittedly, with which to poison him had it been laced, and Will guessed this was what Francois meant by not giving him help to escape again. Last time, he, Jack, and David had gotten away partially thanks to being able to put back part of their meals over a period of time.
After his meager repast, Will peeled off stockings and shoes to walk about slowly barefoot, to test the floor for loose boards or strange indentations that might spell an escape route. He felt somewhat foolish – had Jack been here, this is something he’d probably be doing, and Will would be sitting in the shadows rolling his eyes. The one good part to being by himself was never having to admit to such as this.
Eventually, Will paused by a porthole and closed his eyes, letting the slight breeze that hit it every so often caress his face. He yawned twice, sighing as he realized he’d have to give up for the night – at least for a few hours – to get some rest. Being clubbed unconscious for the afternoon wasn’t his idea of decent sleep, and his head still pounded fiercely.
Will’s next day was much like his first evening in solitary confinement – lonely, boring, and maddening. He was given no more to eat than the night before, and only two instead of the three meals he usually devoured on a daily basis. He spent a good deal of time keeping very quiet and listening at the wall closest to deck, hoping to glean information about their bearing, the ship’s construction, shift changes, possible weapons – anything.
Late in the night, unable to sleep, he took stock of his cabin more carefully. Anything could be a weapon; he had to be open to passive suggestion. Picking a corner, he reached up, just able to brush the ceiling with his fingertips, and started feeling, creeping along the wall until he reached the opposite end of the small cabin. He kept on this way until he’d made a complete circuit, then dropped his hand and reversed course, patting the wall, running his fingers beneath crossboards, muttering to himself. At one point, he paused, noticing he’d started responding heatedly to his own vague accusations, and wondered if this was what it was like to be Jack Sparrow.
No fixtures on the walls. No hooks in the boards, not so much as an oversized splinter to break off. This was Will’s inventory when he made it back to his original corner on his knees a long time later. He was dripping with sweat, breathing heavily from concentration and the slow, maddening pace he’d adopted so as not to miss anything. And yet, miss he had; he was no closer to an idea than before he’d started this filthy, exhaustive expedition.
Leaning back on his heels, Will spat into one hand and rubbed it into the other, working off some of the grime. He wiped his palms and fingers along his breeches as he closed his eyes and let his tired mind wander. For all the good it did, he was trying to let his brain dictate the answer, rather than the other way around. If God only helped those who helped themselves, He at least offered some inspiration from time to time to those willing to listen for it.
After another few minutes on his knees, he stood to stretch, pulling his shirt off – too hot for bed. He’d turned his back to the wall, and his knuckles scraped the wood as he arched back with the motion. One scratched over something sharp and metallic, and Will yanked his hand away, tangling the shirt around his head as he yelped. Hastily, he peeled the linen off, tossing it at the bed and lifting his knuckle to his lips reflexively, sucking at the coppery wound.
He turned, squinting at the wall, and reached up to carefully trace it again, the bit of shine catching in the moonlight. “Nail,” he muttered around the wound, sucking thoughtfully. His pain – for the moment – was forgotten.
On to Part 5 ...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-12-01 12:19 am (UTC)*pouts*
Oh well...onward!
no subject
Date: 2005-01-06 05:18 am (UTC)- mercutio