Jessamy Beech Ch. 01: Tobermory

"Sir?" Maria sounded nervous, Jessamy thought. Not at all like she'd sounded earlier. After the row over the shoes they hadn't spoken again and had marched through the castle's draughty corridors up here to the top floor in complete silence. Wolf whistles from soldiers, both Fodders and Preens had followed them all the way.

"Thank you Maria, that will be all," the man's voice was deep and gravelly, sounding somehow 'damaged' to Jessamy's ears as if the speaker had suffered some trauma that had permanently affected his speech.

"Colo..."

"I SAID THAT WILL BE ALL, WOMAN! LEAVE US!" Beaconsfield whirled around to face them, bellowing inches from Maria's face. Maria hurried from the room and closed the heavy wooden door softly behind her.

Jessamy didn't know what to do. Should she leave as well? Or try to speak to the colonel? The man strode over to his desk and took out two whisky tumblers and a squat green bottle from a drawer, "Sit down girl," he murmured.

She placed the uncomfortable shoes on the floor and perched nervously on the edge of the sofa, feeling the cold leather against her bare buttocks and thighs. Beaconsfield seemed normal enough she thought, not the monster she'd imagined at all, apart from his quick temper. His face was deeply lined, with receding grey hair. An unremarkable face of a man in his mind fifties, with steely blue grey eyes.

Beaconsfield handed her one of the tumblers, two fingers of amber fluid sloshing around at the bottom, "Here, drink this... slowly. Savour it."

"What is it?" Jessamy asked in a quiet voice.

"Liquid gold," said Beaconsfield and took a sip from his own glass.

Jessamy sniffed her drink. A sharp, spicy smell that somehow managed to crawl up inside her nose and make her eyes water. Potent, whatever it was. She took a small sip.

It was like drinking fire. The liquid burned across her tongue and continued its fiery way down her throat, warming as it went. She coughed violently.

"Tobermory. Ten year old single malt whisky from your own distillery. Not as smooth as a Scapa or Bunnahabhain and not as distinctive as a Laphroaig or Clynelish, but a good wee dram nevertheless," he held his glass up to the light and studied the swirling liquid.

Jessamy guessed that she'd been inside the castle for hours and she'd only just noticed the lights. Not lanterns or flaming torches but proper electric lights. Once she'd finished discussing her departure with the colonel, she'd have to ask him about that. She hadn't seen real electric lights for years. A fuzzy warm feeling was slowly spreading out through her limbs and head so she leaned back against the overstuffed cushions.

The colonel drained his glass and came to sit beside her, "What's your name young lady?"

Jessamy had never been called young lady before, and certainly not by someone as important as Colonel Beaconsfield. She felt small and vulnerable, sitting there half naked cradling her whisky glass, "Jessamy..." then she remembered how Maria had addressed him and added, "... sir."

"And how old are you Jessica?"

Jessamy didn't bother to correct his mistake, "Ei... sixteen sir."

"Do you know why you're here today?"

She turned to face him, looking him in the eye for the first time, "I've come to ask p-permission to l-leave the island sir."

"Haha... well Jessica who's sixteen, you'll have to do something for me first."

Beaconsfield was looking at her in the same the way that Angus looked at her. His eyes roved over her body, her breasts bunched uncomfortably together and spilling out of the tight corset, her pale thighs clenched tightly together in the ridiculous stocking things.

The colonel leant towards her and placed a hand on her bare thigh above the stocking, beginning slowly to caress it, his fingers leaving a trail of goosepimples as they inched closer to her satin clad groin. Jessamy knew that she really should object to the intrusion and shy away from his touch, but it seemed the whisky had robbed her of the ability to control her limbs.

Besides, the old man's rough fingers were creating a lovely tingling sensation on her delicate flesh. Was this what Angus had had in mind? If it was, she wondered why she'd not surrendered to his advances sooner. It was actually quite nice. Jessamy shuffled closer to Beaconsfield and leaned her head on his shoulder, lifting her thigh so that it rested across his lap, affording him easier access.

The colonel turned his head, and suddenly covered her lips with his own, just as his fingers finally reached her mound. Jessamy opened her mouth to let out a gasp of pure delight and at once Beaconsfield's tongue slid between her parted teeth and into her mouth. Was this what the croft workers in the warehouse did to each other at night, huddled under their blankets? She sensed a yearning emptiness deep inside her as she kissed the colonel, as if part of her wanted something more.

Beaconsfield's questing fingers pressed under the damp material of the thong and parted her folds, pushing at the entrance to her sex. Jessamy immediately yelped and sat upright, "Wh-what are you doing?"

The colonel looked mildly annoyed, "What the fuck do you think I'm doing? I'm getting you wet you stupid girl. Lay back..."

Jessamy looked into Beaconsfield's cold grey eyes for a moment, then drained her whisky and laid back as she was told. As she'd already seen, it wouldn't do to annoy the colonel. Most of what he'd been doing, the way he'd been touching her, was nice. But she wasn't sure about having his fingers... inside.

Beaconsfield hooked his fingers into the waistband of her tiny thong and began wriggling it down over her hips. Jessamy desperately pinched the tiny scrap of material in her fingertips, "Please, no."

But the colonel just ignored her and yanked the flimsy garment off with a ripping sound that set her teeth on edge. Beaconsfield knelt in front of her and despite her every effort, pushed her thighs apart and buried his face in the slippery heat of her vulva.

For a few seconds she pushed ineffectively at his shoulders, filled with shame and embarrassment, "Please... sir. Don't. I..."

Then the colonel's tongue started lapping away at her, teasing the hard little button of her clitoris, and the shame was replaced first with surprise, then with something else, "Aah... I... Oh, that feels good..."

Beaconsfield lifted her ankles over his shoulders and began to circle her entrance, her damp labia and her perineum in slow, teasing motions until Jessamy's moans prompted him to concentrate on her clitoris once more. She tensed as his lips surrounded it, his tongue pushing back its protective hood while he greedily sucked on it.

Fuelled by whisky, ripples of ecstasy radiated out from her clitoris. The sensations the colonel's actions were creating were completely unlike anything her own attempts at satisfaction had produced. She twisted, grasping at the sofa's upholstery, her breath coming in short, harsh grunts as an orgasm burst deep within her, making her jerk and shake wildly within Beaconsfield's grasp.

The colonel lifted his head and stared up at her, his face shining with her tangy juices in the firelight, "Did you enjoy that Jessica who's sixteen?"

Jessica couldn't answer. Her brain was temporarily unable to form words or any coherent thought. Beaconsfield meanwhile unbuckled his belt and pushed his MTP trousers down over his hips, then crawled forward to hover over her again, "Now you've had your fun, I think it's only fair that I have some. Don't you... Jessica who's sixteen?"

Jessamy's mouth went dry as she set eyes on the colonel's penis for the first time, thrusting towards her from its bed of wiry chestnut curls, the firelight playing on its thick veined shaft and bloated purple glans, highlighting the pearlescent bead of moisture oozing from the tip.

The effects of the whisky were suddenly washed away by a wave of adrenaline as she tried to cover her nudity with her hands, suddenly wishing that she hadn't gone along with this so easily. She felt the cool rush of air on her breasts as Beaconsfield roughly tugged the front of her corset down, appraising her body with eyes filled with lust. His cock drizzled its slimy excitement onto her hands and stockinged thighs, "You want this, don't you, Jessica who's sixteen?"

Jessamy tried to draw up her knees in an effort to obstruct him and retain some modesty, but Beaconsfield simply grabbed her ankles and tugged them towards him. She clenched her fists and punched him about the shoulders, "Let me go!"

"That's what I like," he laughed, "a girl with some fight!"

He crawled on top of her, his cock prodding the smooth surface of her belly, "Calm down and open your fucking legs," he grabbed at her breasts and lowered his head, his tongue immediately going to work on the taut nipples.

"Please, no," Jessamy gasped. After seeing what little effect her punches had, she groped around for something to use as a weapon, her hand trailing over the arm of the sofa.

"I am going to fuck you so hard, Jessica who's sixteen," Beaconsfield lined up his cock with the mouth of Jessamy's vagina. She could feel the engorged head parting her labia as he pushed himself slowly forward...

THWACK!

"NO!" she swung the stiletto as hard as she could at the side of his head, the shock of impact reverberating through her hand as the heel embedded itself in the colonel's scalp.

As he clutched his bleeding head, Jessamy pushed the dazed colonel off of her and hit him again, even harder this time now that she had better leverage, "MY NAME'S JESSAMY! AND I'M EIGHTEEN!"

Beaconsfield rolled onto his side, groaning as blood poured from the two head wounds. Jessamy glanced around, adrenaline coursing through her body. She had to escape but there was no way she could go running around the castle naked from the waist down. She squeezed her breasts back into the corset as best she could and snatched an MTP Goretex jacket from a peg beside the door. Obviously the colonel's, and several sizes too big for her.

Jessamy shrugged into the camouflaged jacket and glanced back. Beaconsfield was still writhing on the carpet, struggling to rise. She'd have to escape the castle before he regained his senses enough to raise the alarm or call for help. She cautiously opened the door a crack and peered out.

The corridor looked deserted. Even if she escaped the castle, Jessamy had no idea what she'd do then. She would still be on an island. And no doubt soon to be on the run from Beaconsfield's Preens as well.

But if she didn't at least make an effort, she'd have no idea what she was capable of. She stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind her.

"HALT! Who the fuck are you?"

Already? Jessamy's blood turned to ice water as she turned, to see two Preens walking towards her raising their weapons. Her escape was over before it had even begun.

"INCOMING!" screamed another voice from the opposite direction. A Fodder charged down the corridor towards them in a blind panic.

A moment later, the passageway was filled with blinding light and dust as the ceiling and one wall exploded. Jessamy threw herself down and covered her head as the two Preens were crushed by falling masonry. Snowflakes fluttered down through a gaping hole in the castle's roof, as above, bolts of bright orange light shrieked across the overcast late afternoon sky.

Another strike. A big one...

Jessamy staggered to her feet, noticing blood on her knees, and stumbled towards the nearest staircase leading down. The castle shook and vibrated around her as impact after impact tore huge holes in seemingly impervious walls that had stood for centuries. Preens, Fodders and civilians jostled past her, too panicked to care who she was as she rushed down the narrow spiral staircase.

She emerged into the open near the pig pens just as something glowing an incandescent red slammed violently into the castle's fields. An enormous plume of mud, crops and unfortunate workers' body parts fountained up into the air - the shockwave knocking Jessamy off her feet - then rained down on the survivors, sprinting frantically away from the castle in the direction of Craignure, "Get to the ferry! The ferry's coming!" one shouted.

Jessamy squinted through the roiling clouds of smoke and dust out into the Sound of Mull. Sure enough, just offshore a large black and white vessel with a red funnel was sailing towards Craignure. The Loch Striven - the monthly ferry. Not as large as the rusting hulk lying in the shallows off Tobermory but still plenty big enough to take her across to the mainland. She just prayed that the crew wouldn't have second thoughts about landing in the middle of a strike, then charged after the others.

Deafening explosions of silt and water rose high into the air as more superheated matter slammed into the choppy grey waves of the sound, sending charred fish and bladderwrack raining down on the burning landscape amid clouds of scalding brine. A loud rumble made Jessamy turn, just in time to see Torosay Castle's highest tower disintegrate and come tumbling down in a chaos of fractured rubble. If the stunned Beaconsfield was still inside he wouldn't stand a chance, she thought grimly.

...

As the meteorite strikes began to peter out, Jessamy finally arrived at the ferry terminal. Tears had made clear tracks through the dust and grime on her cheeks and her bare feet were covered in cuts. She was freezing, despite Beaconsfield's thick jacket. The ferry, with its enormous bow door still open had finished unloading and was apparently ready to take on passengers.

"Papers ready. Form a line," shouted a Preen officer nervously looking at the sky. A line of armed Fodders formed a cordon in front of the covered gangway, holding back the desperate survivors from Torosay Castle.

Desperate to escape the threat of further meteorite strikes and take their chances on the ferry, many of the workers pleaded and begged to be allowed on board. But the Preen stood firm, closely examining the yellow chits that were waved under his nose by the very few authorised to travel. In a more civilised age, the ferry would be taking survivors away from the island and the soldiers providing humanitarian aid. But with dwindling resources, and a chain of command where the slightest deviation from orders was met with brutal punishment, the survivors from Torosay Castle would have to fend for themselves.

This was hopeless, thought Jessamy. The way on to the ferry was too well guarded. She skulked into the shadows behind a pile of rotting crates and sank to the ground to rest awhile, hungry, tired and extremely cold. She could no longer feel her legs or the pain in her feet.

One or two explosions high on the slopes of Ben More triggered landslides as the last meteorites of the strike tore into the mountainside's boulder fields. Less than twelve hours before, Jessamy's future had been mapped out in her head - get to the mainland and do what she'd dreamt of doing for the last ten years.

"Check behind those crates, make sure there's nobody hiding," shouted a voice, "if there is, shoot them."

Jessamy squeezed back into the shadows as far as she could as the weak beam of an electric torch waivered across the oily tarmac near her feet. She concentrated on the sound of footsteps clomping closer, the loud din from the checkpoint pushed to the back of her mind for the moment. Military boots. The torch beam scanning left and right...

"Come on out," said a voice. The sound she'd been dreading.

Jessamy looked up fearfully. She'd been discovered. The orangy yellow beam of a torch powered by batteries on their last legs shone in her face for a few seconds, then lowered. Then a gloved hand reached down to help her up...

"Please," Jessamy begged, "don't send me back to Tobermory."

"Ssh, I'm not going to send you back anywhere."

Jessamy scrambled to her feet, watching the fodder who'd found her warily. All she could see were his eyes. Familiar eyes. As if realising that she didn't have a clue who he was, the fodder lowered his scarf. It was the red haired guard from Tobermory, "I'll help you," he whispered, "get on board, hide yourself in one of the old luggage areas. Don't be seen. If they find you, you found your own way on board, got it?"

Jessamy nodded, "What about the other soldiers?"

"I'll create a diversion. Good luck... Jessamy Beech."

"You remembered my name," she said, pleasantly surprised.

He raised an eyebrow, "I was hoping to get to know you better."

"What's yours?"

"Seoras. Now... stay there until it's time."

"How will I know it's time... Seoras?"

Seoras smiled grimly, "You'll know."

Then he was gone, leaving Jessamy alone again. As the sky grew darker, the ferry's bow door was closed in preparation for departure. What was keeping Seoras so long? The rest of the authorised passengers had hurried past barely fifteen feet away and walked straight on board.

"IN THE WATER! THEY'RE TRYING TO GET ON BOARD!" shouted a voice from the edge of the cordon. At once, automatic weapons fire and torch beams strafed the shallows between Craignure and the ferry. Jessamy raised her head to watch as most of the soldiers rushed over to see what Seoras was shouting about.

"I can't see anyone!"

"Are you sure there's anyone there?"

Without looking back, Jessamy used the commotion to duck under the barrier and run up the gangway onto the ferry, her bare feet slap slapping on the cold, wet metal.

"My mistake," Seoras shouted, "must've been a seal or an otter..."

"Otters are extinct you twat. Now save your ammunition or you can go back to your fuckin' crossbow!"

There was a tense moment as Jessamy stepped on board the ferry. She squeezed behind a bulkhead as two civilians walked past her to slam and lock the outer door, "Looks like the Butcher's having himself a spot of bother," said one, no doubt watching the flames engulfing the remains of Torosay Castle, thought Jessamy.

"Whaddaya mean? I hear Fort William was wiped out last night too," said the other, "just a lot of fucking big craters between Banavie and Corran Ferry."

"I wondered what the noise was," laughed the first. The annihilation of entire towns and villages had become so commonplace that the events were regarded more as nuisances rather than disasters. Jessamy waited until they were gone, then found the luggage area just a few feet away. She wedged herself underneath the broad bottom shelf in the dark corner at the back and tugged a dusty tarp in to cover her cold legs.

With a blast of the ferry's whistle, the Loch Striven reversed out into the Sound of Mull, churning the debris littered water into dirty foam. Whatever the future had in store for Jessamy Beech, it wouldn't be on the island.

THE END OF CHAPTER ONE

"Wow," said Hamnavoe, "cool story JB. Ye should write it down - how a skinny wee girl from Mull became the legendary Jessamy Beech."

"I'm not from Mull, I'm Cornish. Weren't you listening?"

"Sorry JB."

"Don't call me that," Jessamy snapped. She picked as much meat as she could from the squirrel carcass and divided it roughly into two.

"I cannae believe ye were almost screwed by Butcher Beaconsfield himself though," Hamnavoe shook his head in disbelief.

Jessamy huffed, "Butcher Beaconsfield... who used to feed prisoners to his pigs, so the methane they produced would power his electric lights. Who used to handpick the prettiest girls then turn them over to his troops when he was finished with them. I should've gone back, to make sure he was actually dead..."

"I am so fuckin' glad we don't have strikes like that anymore," Hamnavoe interrupted, watching her intently as she prepared the food, "we were pretty safe up on Orkney but I heard they had it real bad down south..."