|Sequel to "Tómas"
Overall rating: PG-13
Category: slash, adventure, humour
Other characters appearing: Lord George Cutler Beckett, Lt. Greitzer, Lt. Groves, Will Turner plus cameos by Prince Frederick of Prussia and Voltaire
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.
"I just love family reunions". Cutler Beckett reached for a fishcake. "A fairy, a will-o'-the-wisp and two leprechauns are having tea. That sounds almost like a bad joke, doesn't it?"
Voltaire, changed back into his normal form and nibbling on dried seaweed, thought that any joke involving a fairy could only be bad. Just like Gillette, he avoided any dealings with the fairy folk. Some fairies were just playing harmless pranks, but more than one poor leprechaun had found himself into serious trouble after encountering one of those sneaky little gits. And Robert the accountant with his pointed ears and cold eyes wasn't a very confidence inspiring representative of his kind.
"It must be a joke told among lower class leprechauns then, my lord," Robert said with a sourly smile. "One that peasants might enjoy."
Gillette's ears turned red, a signal warning of an imminent verbal explosion.
"Indeed, Master Robert, for peasants have a good sense of humour. Do you know the one of the fairy who got stuck on flypaper and had to cut off his wings to escape?"
Now it was Robert's turn to get angry.
"First: fairies don't have wings. Or do you see any wings here?" He turned and showed the back of his coat. "See? No wings. Second: humans won't invent flypaper until 1846. Lamentable lack of education in the bogs, I see."
Gillette gave Robert his most arrogant glare, the kind reserved for obstinate midshipmen and admirals. "At least we in the bogs don't get stuck in daffodils with our arses," Gillette snapped. "And that aside, I-"
"Friends! Cousins! Countrymen!" Cutler Beckett interrupted the two squabblers. "We shouldn't waste our time with arguments; let's find a way to rescue me."
"And me," Robert added slightly offended.
"Oh - yes, yes, of course. You as well. Now, what is your plan, Tómas?"
Gillette leaned back in his seat.
"I have no plan yet. Tell me first why I find you here, eating sardines with a fairy."
Cutler Beckett sighed dramatically.
"You're so terribly, terribly old-fashioned, Tómas. Or maybe you've just spent too much time in the navy. A leprechaun's place is where the business is, and where could there be better business than in the Honourable East India Company? There is gold, cousin, so much gold! We have to go with the times. Trade is the future of our kind. But as you can imagine, I'm very busy, so I needed a secretary and accountant to keep an eye on my fortune. And who would be better suited for such a task than a fairy?"
"Indeed," Robert said. "I'm proud to say that I'm completely without compassion and conscience, but blessed with impeccable manners and excellent fashion sense."
"How interesting." Voltaire wrinkled his nose. "In that coat, you look like a bloody potato beetle."
"But now tell me how you ended up with the mermaids, Seoirse", Gillette hastened to ask, and glared at Voltaire.
"Ah - a disastrous combination of unfortunate circumstances. We were attacked by barbaric, unwashed pirates and that insolent Will Turner. When the Endeavour went down, my pot of gold fell into the sea, and I had to rescue it, of course. And what do I see? Two mermaids! Holding my pot and playing with my gold! But just when I wanted to chase them off, a rainbow appeared in the sky. Cursed things, they have terrible timing. So here I am, at the mercy of a species with little to no business sense."
"You're treated well for a servant." Gillette looked around. "Not bad for somebody who's supposed to be at the mermaids every beck and call."
"Shhh," Cutler Beckett hissed. "Will you tone it down, please? They don't know I have to grant them three wishes."
Voltaire dropped the seaweed he held in his hand.
"But - Seoirse! That's against the law!"
"As expected, you are wrong," Robert said. He snipped his fingers, and a huge book bound in green leather appeared in his hands. He began to leaf through the heavy tome until he found what he'd been looking for.
"Here. § 45, article 78 et seq. of the Law concerning the Rules of Conduct for Leprechauns clearly states that a leprechaun whose pot is found at the end of the rainbow is condemned to grant the man who found it three wishes."
He closed the book. "I think even a will-o'-the-wisp should be able to tell the difference between a man and a mermaid. It's a clear-cut case."
Voltaire gave Robert a smug smile. "Well, if that's the case, why is his imperial highness here not simply taking his pot and leaves, eh? Maybe not so clear-cut, after all."
"Unfortunately, I'm trapped here, though the law is on my side," Cutler Beckett said. "I'm a victim of miscarriage of justice! It's terrible. Sardines day in, day out. Not one business deal in ten years. I wish I were dead. But now you're here, and I've decided that you'll save me."
Gillette shifted uncomfortably on his seat.
"To be honest, that's not what brought me here."
"No? Why not? My well-being should take priority over your business, shouldn't it?"
"I'm not here for business, either. I'm looking for James Norrington."
"James - what?" Cutler Beckett groaned. "James Norrington? Why on earth would you want to look for James Norrington?"
"He's very dear to me," Gillette said simply. "And I need to find him. You know where he is, don't you?"
Cutler Beckett crossed his arms over his chest, looking very much like a petulant child.
"Yes, I know. But I won't tell you."
"No, I won't. Not unless you save me from the mermaids. That's my condition. No liberty, no Norrington."
"Of course. What did you expect? That I'd help you for free?"
Cutler Beckett and Robert looked at each other, then they broke out in laughter.
"That was a good one, my lord," Robert chuckled. "For free! Who do they think you are - St. Patrick?"
"Tómas, I think we should go for a walk and see if we can find some sardines," Voltaire suggested, and stood up. He grabbed his cousin by the arm and dragged him away; Cutler Beckett would be of no use to them if Gillette should yield to temptation and turn him into an anchovy.
* * *
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|THE FLYING SCOTSMAN 8/18
by Molly Joyful