The Time Capsule

Chapter 11: Of Beasts and Men

Chapter 11: Of Beasts and Men

 James Sparrow was never worse for wear. Even with this fancy new suit, his brown hair was stil tousled around his head and he was being lead directly to his death in a gladiator tournament. The man had never lifted a sword in his life, for crying out loud. The only time he'd even remotely touched a weapon was when Mrs. Sparrow had insisted they all go try an archery arena to see what it was like. James hated it, he never wanted to cause harm to an innocent creature, but he would do what it took to survive. 

That was the only reason he had agreed to his current predicament. He could only imagine the blood spilled on the floor from Morgan's horrible jousting tournaments that the locals feared above all else. Any one of them could be next. Every year, he put on the spectator event only for sport, and humiliation. The arena changed to whatever he saw fit, and he could control the beasts within with a click of his fingers. And he was always backstage, his black, beady eyes were darting around the room at the new arrival. 

"Have you no humility?" James burst out as he was shoved to the ground. "Why do you keep throwing me everywhere? I *can* walk, you know." 

"Dead bodies require no humility," the guard next to him smirked. "Which is where you'e headed if you face the big guy. Rumor has it, our boss has you lined up for the worst." 

"And...dare I ask what the worst is?" James trembled as he raised his head, brown hair falling in his eyes. 

"'Dare you ask,'" the guard mimicked. "Jesus, you even still talk like a rebel. Old fashioned language and the like. Thought it was only rumors that they were still alive. 

"No, good sir," James growled. "The liberation is very much alive and well, and will coninue to flaunt intellectual prowess until they are incapable of doing so." 

"Not much use where you're headed, mate," the guard shoved him into the changing room. "Don't need the brains where you're headed, need the brawns!" 

"Clearly..." James muttered. 

The changing room was uniquely elaborate for a jousting contest. Curtains of midnight purple covered in gold stars hung from the ceiling. They looked like they were transported here from the middle east, James realized as he ran his hands through the soft fabric. The dark moors of Scotland were quite a long way from here. Morgan must have had more control of Europe than he thought. The guard slammed the wooden door behind him, and just as he thought he might make a run for it, he heard the bolt being slid across the opposite side. No such luck.

He looked around at the particularly nasty objects, shields to protect oneself carrying spikes on the outside to jam into the flesh of an enemy if it got too close, emblazoned with the crest of Morgan's horrible face. Double ended spears lined the walls, dripping with something that looked horribly like poison bottles and the last rack held swords of all shapes and sizes and colors, but were all equally polished until they gleamed threateningly in the evening sun. 

"Do you like them?" a voice cut through the silence. 

A tinkling, beautiful voice that set the hairs on the back of James' neck on end. He whipped around and came face to face with a goddess. A beautiful girl sat on the bed, which he had now realized filled the other half of the room with draping red sheets held together by a gold canopy.

"Do you like the weapons, Mr. James Sparrow?" 

"Do you like them?" a voice cut through the silence.

Her beautiful face turned into an inquisitive glance and her perfect mouth frowned. mr. Sparrow found that he was staring for far too long and quickly tried to gather himself, brushing his hair back in effort to look somewhat presentable. It was clear she was some kind of mystical force, a siren, and one not to be messed with at all. Her beautiful, draping outfit fit just right around her body, meant to sway men into her grip.