He listened intently as he poured out a cup of tea identical to his own and passed it to Hornblower. With each minute detail dealt between the lines of his words, the more Bram’s interest piqued. Questions ran through his mind like the first drops of rain before a storm. He held his tongue with difficulty, promising himself that all would be revealed in time.
Bram could not help but let a whisper of a smile cross his lips as Hornblower mentioned his ineptitude in the world of politics. He could hardly blame the man, as he was neither bred nor groomed for it. That much had been nearly painfully apparent at their introductory operation together. Edrington, at the time, had brushed it off, for there would, most likely never be an account in which Hornblower was required to take up such a mantle. ( Though, as the sailor was proving at that very moment, one could never truly know a person, including their strengths and weaknesses. )
The great weight that Hornblower had placed on his tale and, therefore, the weight he placed upon Edrington’s advice made him feel legally uneasy. The smirk slipped slowly from his face and his lips straightened with thought. He felt as if he ought to have prepared a contract for this disclosure of such a sensitive topic. Or, at the very least, directed him to a professional lawyer. Edrington asked himself if whatever consequences could be born of this very conversation would be worth the price of Hornblower’s tale. His curiosity won out.
“I still hold you in the highest regard, Mister Hornblower, and so I will do what I can for you, advise you in the best way I see fit. However,” his tone darkened, “before I let you go on, I must say this: you know as well as I do that the greater good must be observed; I will use my best discretion. Do you understand?” Lord Edrington dictated clearly, holding Hornblower’s gaze.
Horatio found hope in that unexpected smile – finding himself seeking out memories of marches long past, from a time when he had belonged in this era of cold clarity and certain logic. The lobsters in their red coats, spilling out over the beach of Quiberon Bay as the dishevelled French royalists made forth with an attempt to restore their monarchy.
Leading a charge up through the south of Brittany and into the country proper – a mission doomed well before the ships had ever left the harbor. Horatio felt a quiet sense of displeasure as he recalled the admiralty’s demands upon Pellew to deliver them to a place no man of Britain had ever truly known welcome, least of all one of a military persuasion, all whilst knowing full well the chances of success had been all but nullified.
Still it was curious, how far away those memories had begun to seem. Years had passed since he had last reflected on those particular ones, though his mind did conjure up the sound of a guillotine to play chorus to his nightmares. For the most part thoughts of that miserable posting had not been consciously sought. Though he had considered the Earl of Edrington in the refined nature of other men – historical figures, in this time – it occured to Horatio now that he never saw the man on a smiling face.
He had known the man’s smile – a shockingly bright thing, and teasing in its lopsided nature – drawn out under misconception, and striking for the reminder of the man’s youthfulness brought to the fore by something so natural, propriety could not wholly steal it away. His memory had kept that unique to the man, though why, he could not entirely fathom.
The fading of that smile was what drew Horatio out of the past – both distant in memory and dangerously close to the fore – as it was indicative to him that business was at hand now, and he could only hope he had impressed enough importance upon his tale and what it entailed that he could trust the lord before him as he promised to do.
And so, when it was made clear to him that the major thought well enough of him to grant him this audience and assist in what ways that he could – but that the greater good would be attended to, regardless of what that might mean for Horatio ( for he could read between the lines well enough to discern that meaning ) he relaxed internally with the registration that he would be taken with proper seriousness.
“I understand you completely, my lord,” Horatio assured, tone at once respectful and steady in his certainty that he had made the right choice. There was a cold dread in him for the possibility of this going horrendously wrong – it would be within Edrington’s rights to arrest him, if not hang him personally – but he wished to believe the man to be more logical than that. He remembered Muzillac well enough to believe this was not a man who would operate on his emotions before the good of England – regardless of his personal feelings toward witchcraft, the threat Napoleon promised was too great to ignore on account of them.
Still, he was quiet a time – debating how best to begin – before finally settling with the very start of it. “The strangest first, then – and the threat at the last, along with the proof of my claims.” He offered, letting the major know there was a tale ahead, and that it needed to be said for the danger to be wholly understood.
“As I imagine to be rather clear from my visage, time has been most queer with me,” Horatio began flatly – well aware that his decade gone showed well upon his features. The length of his hair notwithstanding, there were lines no man of his prior youth would bear, and certainly not gain in the short months he had been missing in. They were particularly notable about the eyes and the edge of his lips where his own smiles hid themselves with craft and care. “In short, what took me from the Indefatigable – what dragged me from my men – was witchcraft of a most impressive and terrible sort.”
He knew it was a terrible accusation, and a wild claim to make. He also knew that there was no way those who witnessed his abduction had not spoken of it to any ear that would listen. Rather than wait to be interrupted, Horatio forged on, tone sharpening. “I found myself awake in the Caribbean. Which was frankly impossible considering we were in bloody Gibraltar at the time, but I swear to you – that is not the frightening part. Rather, it was what I came to discover some months after washing ashore and escaping the woman who found me. I was displaced entirely out of time – 1714, to be precise, and through to 1724 when at last matters aligned to return me to my proper place. What proof I have of that is not nearly so important as the proof I have of how I returned.”
Here, Horatio withdrew from his belt a simple ring, upon which was a most familiar insignia. Setting it into his palm, Horatio’s tone darkened. “Bonaparte has located something England is not prepared to fight against. Worse, he means to utilize it to waken things best left where they were hidden over fifty years ago.”
The ring glowed then, a deep and foreboding blue, and the sound of waves could be heard. Horatio’s expression was stern. “This ring can cast but one spell – but what he brought back can cast very many more, and there is no way that I know of that can prepare the men to face up against magic. I don’t even know where to start, but I can say this. I know this is not enough to make clear precisely how much danger we are in. What can, I will need open space to demonstrate.”
Ocean Archive 