Chapter Eleven
Vera
Idon’t like leaving James behind, but I can’t very well bring him with me after he just assaulted the prince. That would be a bit hard to explain away and we aren’t going to defeat the plot if we both get thrown in jail. So, I leave him on the pier to head back to check on Frederick and Naia.
I need to figure out a plan before tonight. In the script, Moira smuggles Hook to the merchant’s ball. I have to figure out what I’m doing before then.
I worry that if I don’t bring James with me then he might just appear in the middle of the room. No, we need to break the plot but subtly. We can’t be openly defiant; we need to trick the plot into thinking that we are going along. It tries to gently guide us at first, like how I couldn’t findany clothes except on board the Jolly Roger. It was when James and I spent too long talking and we didn’t fight that it took control of James with that siren’s song.
With the song now sitting at the bottom of the harbor, I don’t know what other tricks it could use to control us, but honestly, I don’t want to test it. Watching James completely lose control was scary enough.
No, we need to be clever, we need to be crafty, and we need to make the plot think we are going along and then change it at the last possible second in a completely irreversible way.
As I’m pondering this, I suddenly hear a voice. “Moira!” I straighten when I realize that’s supposed to mean me. I blink and look up just in time to see a blur of brown and purple as a form throws itself into me.
“I’m so glad you’re all right, I was so worried,” Naia cries as she buries her face into my shoulder.
I hesitate a second before I reach up, patting her on the shoulder. “I’m okay. It’s okay. Please don’t cry.”
Naia’s sobs do something to stir my heart. It makes me wonder how Moira can be so heartless to plot against her defenseless cousin, but I guess she thinks she loves Frederick. So, she decides to throw away the only love she has to try to attain the unattainable.
I glance over Naia’s shoulder to see Mr. Unattainable himself come up, holding his arm and still looking a bit sheepish over the butt kicking that James gave him. I’ll admit, it is a bit embarrassing. James might have a half an inch on Frederick, but Fredrick is way buffer. He should have won that fight.
Indeed, he probably would have if he weren’t doomed by the narrative.
That’s tough, buddy, but at least your version of being doomed by the narrative is getting elbowed a couple of times. I’m going to get turned into a pin cushion by my producer. We are not the same.
As I look at him and think about my options, a plan pops in my head. I’m a little appalled at first thought because it’s not something that I would have expected myself to come up with. I’ve been walking in Moira’s blood-soaked shoes for too long.
But… it is exactly what I was looking for. A way out.
I pull away, patting Naia’s hand as I keep my eyes locked on Frederick. He is the plot’s device. Moira’s whole reason for doing anything, Naia’s too for that matter. With him out of the way… I shake my head, trying to dislodge that thought.
But I just can’t seem to.
According to the story, tonight Moira smuggles Hook into the merchant’s ball with the intention of having him kill Naia. I don’t want any harm to befall Naia, but what if James has a different target?
In the story, the prince saves Naia. But if James aims his dagger to the left and takes out the prince instead… the plot wouldn’t be able to proceed. It would have no reason to hold us here.
We might even be able to go home if the plot is broken. But more importantly, we don’t have to die. No, the only person who would need to die is Frederick. But he’s just a character, an NPC, a bunch of words on a piece of paper. Isn’t that a worthy sacrifice to be made for two living, breathing human beings with families, jobs, hopes, and aspirations?
I press my hand against my throat feeling a bit of bile rise up. I don’t like the plan, and yet, I can’t deny it isn’t the perfect plan.
I remind myself that this isn’t just for me either. Maybe I don’t have it in me to be selfish for selfishness’s sake, but what about James? He doesn’t deserve to be eaten by a crocodile any more than I deserve to get stabbed.
The thought of that horror befalling my mild-mannered producer is enough to help me make up my mind.
I ball my hand into a fist as I silently promise him that I’ll save him.
I’m a screen writer, killing characters is what I do. I just need to see it as that. That’s all Fredrick is after all, a character I made up. It won’t be murder. I’ll just be rewriting the ending in one very significant way.
Tonight, the prince has to die.
