Part 9 (1/2)

Jamie shot a look of desperate appeal at the Doctor but the little man just shrugged helplessly, raising his hands, palms upward.

'There's nothing to tell,' announced Jamie boldly. 'We're just... visiting.'

'Visiting?' spat the jailer. 'I say you're a deserter!'

'No!'

But the jailer pressed on. 'Couldn't stomach your nasty Scots friends making up with Parliament. That's it, isn't it?'

Jamie was angry now. 'No!' he bellowed. 'I'm no deserter!'

The watchman came forward, his chins wobbling excitedly, 'But you admit you're a soldier?'

'Look ' said the Doctor again.

'Silence!' screamed the jailer. He peered at Jamie. 'Are you a soldier?'

Jamie s.h.i.+fted his weight and looked down at his boots. 'I...

I was.'

'Oh Jamie,' said the Doctor sadly.

The jailer stood up straight and fixed Jamie with a penetrating stare. 'Was?'

Jamie shook his head. 'Och, it's too difficult to explain.

You'd never believe me, anyway.'

'That's for me to decide, my young buck,' said the jailer quietly.

The watchman took the knife from him and laid it against the bare flesh of Jamie's throat as though taking his turn at interrogation was part of the fun. 'You heard the gentleman.

Explain yourself!'

Jamie shot another desperate look at the Doctor. 'I '

The jailer spun round and glared at the Doctor. 'Get that little one out of here!' he roared. 'I want to talk to the Scotsman alone.'

The watchman began to bustle the protesting Doctor from the cell. The jailer turned back to Jamie and the young man recoiled from his sour breath. 'Now then?'

Jamie sighed. 'I fought... I was fighting for the Prince?'

'Which Prince? Prince Rupert?'

'No,' said Jamie carefully. 'Prince Charles.'

The jailer frowned, causing deep furrows to spring up on his pockmarked forehead. 'The King's son!' he said. 'Were you part of his lifeguard?'

Jamie shook his head wearily. 'No. You've got it all wrong. Another Prince Charles. One that... that hasn't been born yet.'

The jailer knew he should have had some smart retort to that one but all he could think to say was 'Eh?'

Te watchman, who had opened the door of the cell and was holding the Doctor by the scruff of the neck, turned.

'What did he say?'

The Doctor glanced at Jamie, gave a quick smile, and then extricated himself from the watchman's grip. With astonis.h.i.+ng speed, he raced across the room to stand by Jamie's side and began to speak rapidly in a bizarre Scandinavian accent.

'Ah! The secret is out, my boy,' he announced. 'We will have to tell them now!'

The jailer scowled. 'What secret?'

'The secret of second Sight,' cried the Doctor, warming to his theme. 'My friend, the McCrimmon of... er, Culloden, is a powerful seer. He can foretell the future. He can see how the winding pathways of the future may twist and turn!'

The watchman raised a fat, threatening fist. 'What are you on about?'

The Doctor stood behind Jamie and raised his arms above the young man's head. 'Do you not see, man?' he said appealingly. 'The McCrimmon can tell you what fate will befall this warring land of yours. He can tell you whether the forces of Parliament will ultimately be victorious. You must listen to him!'

He poked Jamie in the back. 'Isn't that right, McCrimmon?'

Jamie frowned. 'Eh? Oh. Aye.'

At once he a.s.sumed a gla.s.sy expression and moaned softly as though possessed. To add to the effect he raised his hands and began to wiggle his fingers.

The jailer moved closer again. 'What trickery is this?'

'Tell us something then,' said the watchman, folding his arms and grinning. 'If you're so clever.'

The Doctor cleared his throat and thought desperately of the little book concealed in his pocket. What had he seen there that might be useful?

He nodded to himself then bent his lips to Jamie's ear.

'Oh, great McCrimmon,' he whispered. 'Tell us! Tell us of the time to come!'

Jamie rolled his head from side to side and began to breathe in short, gulping rasps, the way he had once seen a wise woman in the Highlands behave. Finally, he whispered in the Doctor's ear and the little man straightened up, smiling.

'Well?' said the jailer.

The Doctor clasped his hands over his chest and spoke with as much gravitas as he could muster. 'The McCrimmon tells me that the King has been moved from his prison on the Isle of Wight and is to stand trial for treason.'

The watchman and the jailer exchanged shocked glances.

'n.o.body knows the King's been moved!' hissed the latter.