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Sequel to "Tómas" Overall rating: PG-13 Category: slash, adventure, humour Pairing: Norrington/Gillette Other characters appearing: Lord George Cutler Beckett, Lt. Greitzer, Lt. Groves, Will Turner plus cameos by Prince Frederick of Prussia and Voltaire Warnings: none Feedback: very welcome. Good or bad. Author's note: I thought that "Tómas" was the weirdest story I've ever written. Well, I was wrong. Summary: There is nothing that a Leprechaun wouldn't do for his treasure, so all is not lost for James Norrington. Finding an intruder in his bedroom long past bedtime was one thing; seeing said intruder sitting on the fragile writing desk and reading the draft of his book quite another. The young man chuckled while leafing through the pages of his precious manuscript, a sight which infuriated Frederick greatly. For a moment he considered calling the guards, but he didn't feel threatened by the visitor, found the situation more embarrassing than dangerous and finally, curiosity won over caution. "Wer ist er? Und was hat er hier zu suchen? Sollte er unseren Tod wünschen, so sei er versichert, dass-" "Yes, yes, I know. Then you'll fight heroically to the end," the young man said, obviously not impressed. He was dressed to the latest fashion in a suit of dark green velvet, and his shoes were decorated with the biggest silver buckles Frederick had ever seen. He wore no wig; the red, unpowdered hair was held back in a simple pigtail. "Your 'Anti-Machiavel' isn't bad," he said, giving Frederick a charming smile. "To be honest, I'd expected worse, despite dear Voltaire's praise. Of course, the text needs some editing, and you really have to work on your syntax, but all things considered, Your Royal Highness does have a talent for writing. Ah, bloody titles, far too complicated. I'll call you Frederick." Prince Frederick, future King of Prussia, sat up in his bed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I could almost admire you for your brazenness," he said. "Would you now please put my manuscript aside and explain who you are, what you want and how you managed to get past my guards? And even more important: what do you mean by saying that you've 'expect worse'? And what business do you have with Voltaire?" "Ah, the priorities of the artist..." The young man hinted a bow and put the manuscript carefully aside. "My apologies. My visit must be quite confusing. You see, it's against my principles to beg for an audience; I prefer a more informal approach. As for your questions: I came in by coming in, Voltaire is a distant cousin of mine, I've expected worse because the last member of a royal household writing anything that made sense was Elizabeth I, and I'm here because I'm looking for Mr. Greitzer. Oh, and my name is Thomas Gillette. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance." Frederick's head was spinning, and not only because of Gillette's stream of words. Only now, with his eyes getting accustomed to the dark, he could see that his visitor was actually not sitting on the desk, but hovering about an inch above it in the air. "You - are not of this world," Frederick gasped. Gillette shrugged. "That depends on your point of view. We live in the same world, but not in the same place. I'm afraid it's too difficult to explain, my friend. I'm a leprechaun." "A - what?" Frederick couldn't help it, he had to laugh. "A leprechaun? That's ridiculous! Leprechauns are-" "A word of warning, Frederick: if you should try to educate me now that I'm supposed to be a small gnome with a red beard, spending my days mending shoes, I'll set your manuscript on fire." Frederick looked from manuscript to Gillette and then back again, swallowed hard and decided it wasn't worth the risk. "Let's assume for a moment that I'm not suffering from a hallucination. You claim to be my dear friend Voltaire's cousin? With all due respect, I've never heard of a French leprechaun!" Gillette waved him off. "I said he was a distant cousin. Good grief, even a mermaid could tell he's not a leprechaun! He's an Ignis Fatuus, or, more commonly known, a Will-o'-the-Wisp. They're very amusing, but have absolutely no sense of direction. Anyway, we're not here to talk about him. You have a man called Paul Greitzer serving in your guard, I understand?" Frederick pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you have any idea how many soldiers serve in my guards? How on earth could I know each of them?" "I would do my best to know every man on whom my life could depend if I were you," Gillette said sternly. "You might take that into consideration for your future career." Frederick thought about it for a moment. "You do have a point there, Mr. Gillette. I have no idea why I feel I have to help you, but I will order my servant to look for Mr. Greitzer. Please come back tomorrow night, I'll hopefully know more by then. However, I'd be curious to learn why one of my guards would be of such importance for you?" Gillette drummed his fingers on the desk. "It's a very long and complicated story. I have a cousin - not Voltaire - named Seoirse. George in your language. Lord George Cutler Beckett, to be more precise. Dear George caused a lot of trouble; he almost managed to get half of the ships of the fleet destroyed. As an officer of the Royal Navy, this quite naturally upset me greatly. And he-" "There are leprechauns serving in the Royal Navy?" Frederick scratched his head. "Well. That explains a lot. So you think Mr. Greitzer can help you to find your cousin?" "Indeed. Or rather, he might tell me what happened to George. He's served under him in the Right Honourable East India Trading Company, and was with him when their flagship went down. I have to find George, because George can tell me what happened to my captain." "I fear I'm beginning to lose track of all involved in this drama," Frederick said. "What captain?" "James Norrington. My captain ." The wistful look on Gillette's face didn't escape Frederick; he'd seen that expression all too often, usually when looking into the mirror. "Your captain? I see." Gillette looked a little embarrassed, and straightened out the cuffs of his coat to keep his hands busy. "James Norrington died aboard a cursed ship, the Flying Dutchman. It's very simple: I need to find Mr. Greitzer who will help me to find George who will help me to find the Flying Scotsman where I'll hopefully find my captain." "Flying Dutchman," Frederick corrected. "Pardon?" "It's Flying Dutchman, Mr. Gillette. You said Flying Scotsman." "Oh, she's Flying Scotsman now," Gillette assured. "She's sailing under a new command, you see." * * * next chapter |
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| THE FLYING SCOTSMAN 1/? by Molly Joyful |