Everything is a Choice

Chapter 8

Previously...

“You’re defending him?” John says, incredulous.

“No, I’m just saying.”

I can feel myself becoming inexplicably angry.  I don’t know why.  These are my friends, friends who have only my best interests at heart.  But they don’t understand.  Hell, I don’t understand.  And I want to. I want to make some sense of it all – some sense of what’s happening to me.   

“Robin, you cannot—”

“I’m tired, John, all right.” It’s not entirely a lie.  However, the moment both Allan and John leave the cabin, I’m on my feet.  My arm is still throbbing painfully and my head feels as though it’s going to split down the middle, but, apart from that, I don’t think I’m faring too badly.  Just two small steps and I will be out of this stifling cabin.

One step, and I know I’m not going to make it.

Chapter 8

“Where have you been? It’s been nearly a week.”

Gisborne crawls over to the bars of the cage.

“I’ve been sick,” I tell him.

“Sick?”

“My arm got infected. I took a fever.  I’ve been pretty much out of it.”

“Lucky you.”  Guy throws down the bread he is holding. “This is like eating a piece of the ship’s mainsail.”

“Try dipping it in your broth,” I suggest. I squat in front of his cage. The broth smells much like the poultice Salim had slapped on my arm. I try not to think about it.

Gisborne grunts and does so. “So, why are you here?” He wipes a dribble of greasy liquid off his unshaven chin with the back of his hand.

“A moment ago you were having a go at me for neglecting you, now you sound as though you’d rather I weren’t here.” I get to my feet.

“No,” he says. “Don’t go.  I haven’t spoken to anyone for days.  It’s doing my head in.”

“Oh, so that’s it, is it?  You just want someone to talk to.  I thought I’d be the last person—”

“You’re better than nothing.”

I hesitate, and then sit cross-legged on the floor. “Marian—”

“I thought we were done with that,” Gisborne cuts across me.

“We’ll never be done with it,” I tell him.

“Look,” he says. “I’ve said all I’ve got to say.  I said sorry.”

“That was big of you.”

“What more do you want?”

He turns away from me, hugs his knees to his chest, much as I did when I was the one locked in the cage.

“You’re right,” I say.  “I don’t know why I’m talking to you.  In fact, I don’t even know why I’m within a hundred yards of you.  You murdered Marian, the woman I loved.  I should have killed you long ago.”

“Why don’t you then.” He swivels round to face me. “I’m here, trapped in a cage. You have a knife, no doubt. Or you could just grab that chain.” He points to the length of iron links previously used to restrain him. “You could wrap it around my neck and pull.”

“What, and make it easy for you.”

He wraps his long slim fingers around the bars. “So you do want me to suffer?”