|
Shortly after he had given up pacing back and
forwards in his cell, McKay heard a sound from outside the door. Two
voices both male were exchanging words in French. He could only catch
the basic drift of the conversation. The voices stopped and the guard
unlocked the door and it sung open heavily revealing the guard and a
‘guest’. McKay did not recognise the man in his expensive garb and
powdered wig, but from his attire he guessed the visitor was quite
important.
“Se lever! Se lever pour le commandant!” Shouted
the guard gesturing to McKay to stand up. McKay reluctantly dragged
himself to his feet. The ‘commandant’ was clearly unaffected by the
cold dressed in his lavish clothes and fur lined cloak.
“Cette ferra toute. Laisser nous!” said the
commandant to the guard, who promptly obeyed orders closing the cell
door. The commandant turned to McKay, “Welcome monsieur lieutenant to
my ‘umble abode. It is most accommodating non?”
“It’s rather chilly actually, sir.” Replied McKay a
shivering with cold. Then just in case the commandant didn’t
understand him he added, “Il fait froid.”
“I cannot ‘elp the weather. It is not my fault you
got yourself captured in winter. I can assure you the place is quite
pleasant in the summer.” The commandant noticed the plate with the
untouched bread and cheese on it. “You did not like your meal,
monsieur?”
McKay would have usually been quite timid
confronted with a person with authority, but he was cold, tired and
hungry, and he was in no mood to exchange pleasantries.
“I am appalled, sir. The conditions I have had to
endure are despicable. The food is, inedible, and the accommodation
inadequate!”
“Monsieur. I am not obliged to provide luxury
accommodation for prisoners of war, and it is your own countries fault
for the lack of food. Your blockades force us to bring supplies by
land which takes longer, thus your food is already rotten when it gets
‘ere! So do not criticise my ‘ospitality!” before McKay could reply
the commandant said a curt, “Goodbye!” called to the guard to open the
door and walked out. McKay ran to the open door but it slammed shut in
front of him. McKay banged the door with his fists in frustration. The
guard on the other side shouted “Arrêter cette! Arrêter claquer cet
vian!” McKay stopped the banging. It wasn’t helping the situation in
any way. Instead he went back and sat on the bed.
McKay sat there for a while in a kind of half
waking daze, but he soon became bored; even counting the bricks in his
cell offered no escape from this tedium. Eventually McKay got up and
walked across to the door. He looked through the little barred window;
he could see the guard standing to attention. McKay called out to the
guard using his inadequate knowledge of French interspersed with
English, “Guard! Excusieme moi Guard!”
The guard turned and came closer to the door,
“Comment?”
“Je parle avec Mr Catt?” Stuck for words he said it
in English, “I want to talk to the other officer.”
“Pardon? Je ne comprehends
pas. Je ne parle Anglaise.”
McKay noticed Gabrielle
walking past behind the guard and called over to her, “Could you help
me please. I can’t get the guard to understand me.” She turned and
approached them.
“What is the problem?”
“I want to go and speak with
one of my officers, Mr Catt.”
“I will see what I can do.” Gabrielle turned to the
guard and proceeded to translate what McKay wanted, “I ‘ave asked ‘im
and ‘e say’s that you can see Mr Catt but only for a short time.”
“Thank you.” Said McKay to Gabrielle through the
small-bared window.
“Au revoir Monsieur!” said Gabrielle as she walked
off continuing on her journey.
“Aller revenir!” demanded the guard. Then opened
the door. McKay walked out of the cell the guard keeping a keen eye on
him at all times. McKay was directed towards the cell next to his own.
The guard shouted for the inhabitant to get back from the door then he
unlocked it and gestured for McKay to enter. He walked in and the
guard slammed the door behind him.
The cell he was inside was exactly the same as his
own cell. Except in the corner was Mr Catt who had been captured along
with McKay. The midshipman was kneeling and appeared to be praying. On
hearing the door slam shut the young man looked up and saw McKay.
“Hello, sir.” Said Catt looking rather surprised by
McKay’s presence.
“I hope I am not disturbing you Mr Catt.”
“No, sir. I was just praying for Deliverance, sir.”
“I want to get out of here to.”
“Deliverance is the name of my fiancé, sir.”
“Oh. I see.” Said McKay feeling embarrassed by his
mistake, “How have they been treating you?”
“As amicable as can be expected, sir.”
“Indeed. How have you been finding the food?”
“Not exactly up to the standard of the ships cook,
but the girl who brings it is pleasant, sir.”
“Indeed. Pleases keep those
opinions to yourself.” Said McKay feeling a trifle protective of the
girl.
“Sorry, sir.”
“Given any thoughts about
escaping Mr Catt?”
“The place looks pretty well
impossible to escape from but give me enough time and I will find a
chink in their armour, sir.”
“Good. Any suggestions would
be welcome.”
There was some banging on the
door. McKay turned round and the guard shouted something at him. He
didn’t quite catch the meaning but the guard opened the door and
gestured for him to move outside. McKay was ushered swiftly into his
cell by the guard. He begrudgingly complied. The door slammed shut
behind him. McKay sat back down on the bed.
The dark was drawing in and
Gabrielle entered the cell with the evening meal. She placed it on a
plate and gave it to McKay.
“Volia! Today’s chef’s special, Rôti de Souris.”
McKay looked at the meal placed before him. It
consisted of in descript chunks of roasted meat, “Sounds interesting.”
“Well it’s certainly unusual.”
“What do you mean unusual?” said McKay tentively
taking a bite of one of the pieces.
|
