Chapter Text
The two men returned to the dining room, everyone had returned to eating in silence, a terrified expression on all of their faces. Most of them weren't eating, just playing with the food on their fork.
"Mrs. Rodgers is in her room now." Armstrong said, assuring Thomas, who had gone very pale.
"Oh thank you, truly. Oh dear..."
Blore stood next to Armstrong, looking at everyone.
He took a deep breath, "Something here is happening, that is a fact. Odd things have been...occurring. To put the facts out there, we were all apparently invited here for different reasons that must not be real; None of us know who was the man who had invited us here, and we all are being told and accused of some sort of murder. Those are the facts."
The other guests broke out by yelling and explaining.
"Silence!" Justice Wargrave set his fork down, glaring, "We don't solve anything by yelling. We shall work it out like civilized people."
Everyone looked at each other, nodding.
Emily turned and glared at Philip, a harsh expression on her face, "‘Philip Lombard, that upon a date in February, 1932, you were guilty of the death of twenty-one men, members of an East African tribe.' What is the meaning of this? All of us were accused of one or two murders but you? That's twenty-one men. Explain yourself."
Lombard had an almost bored look on his face, as if it was nothing to concern himself with.
"Yeah....I did." He said unapologetically, "But hey, what was I supposed to do? They were basically dead anyway."
"Disgusting!" Emily scolded, "You killed them? Why the-"
"It was either me or them. I just...ran off...with all their supplies," He chuckled, looking at Emily with a lopsided grin, "Does that offend you somehow?"
"You are a killer!"
"What was yours? Feel free to explain it to us all? Who..." Lombard reaches and grabs the envelope, reading the name, "Who is Beatrice Taylor?"
Emily scoffed.
"I didn't kill her, her foolishness did. She was unholy in the eyes of God so I fired her. Then she committed the crime against God, and killed herself. I won't ever let an unholy girl in my life. That's not murder it's common sense." Emily said.
"Tch...Still. You probably did more than that," Lombard threw the letter back onto the table, scoffing.
Armstrong groaned, watching the argument go back and forth.
"Everyone....EVERYONE- Can you be quiet for a moment. Thank you. None of us are killing each other so there is no reason to fight. We don't have to like each other and we can turn Lombard into the police or whatever the hell you want when we get back to the mainland. Now. We need to find a way to leave."
That got people to simmer down, which was perfect.
Blore nodded, picking up his glass, taking a sip of it, calming himself with cold water. "At least we-"
The lights shut off.
Commotion immediately set in. Vera let out a shriek and Blore gripped onto Armstrong, but was embarrassed and let go.
In the commotion Armstrong moved away from Blore, leaving him in the dark, gripping his glass, which he was gripping tightly. He wouldn't ever admit it, but he was terrified of the dark.
Blore felt as if someone ran into him, stumbling against the wall, glass in his hand cracking and shattering into his hand, he let out a yell; He hit the wall with a slam.
The lights flickered back on, leaving everyone disoriented and confused.
Blore hissed, grabbing his glass pricked hand, "O-ow....shit..."
Mr. Rodgers looked around, dazed, "What the hell? What happened?!"
Emily: "Oh my, dear are you alright? You are bleeding." Emily looked down over at Blore, a look of concern on her face.
Lombard came over to the man, helping him up, "Whatever happened to the lights?!"
They all looked around to see if anything had happened, to see a figure in the middle of the table. It had ten little china soldiers, all standing in a circle. It was small, but large enough to be seen by them all.
"What is the meaning of this?" Anthony said, inspecting it.
Armstrong rushed over to Blore, grabbing his hand and taking out something from his pockets, "You are bleeding. What happened?"
They held eye contact for a moment before Blore answered, "I- Someone just ran into me. I just crushed some glass that's it." Armstrong nodded, removing the glass slowly and grabbing one of the bottles from his coat and pouring it onto a cotton pad, pressing it to the cuts. Blore winced and let out some shaky 'ow's.
"It's alright, just a bit of stinging..." He bandaged Blore's hands, before turning back to the group.
MacArthur grabbed something from the china figure and looked at it oddly.
"What is it?" Justice asked, taking his eyes from the light to look at the other man.
"A poem it appears. Ten Little Soldier Boys. Hm...I'm familiar with it."
Anthony scoffed, "A stupid poem? Nobody has time for such nonsense."
Vera ignored him and turned to MacArthur, "Would you read it for us? Maybe it is some sort of...er...clue! A clue as to what is happening."
MacArthur nodded, glad to have some use, and read;
"Ten Little Soldier Boys went out to Dine,
One choked his little self and then there were nine.
Nine Little Soldier Boys stayed up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight.
Eight Little Soldier Boys travelling in Devon;
One said he’d stay there and then there were seven.
Seven Little Soldier Boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.
Six Little Soldier Boys playing with a hive;
A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.
Five little soldier boys going in for law;
One got into Chancery and then there were four."
Four Little Soldier Boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.
Three Little Soldier Boys walking in the zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were two.
Two Little Soldier Boys sitting in the sun;
One got frizzled up and then there was One.
One Little Soldier Boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself and then there were none."
He finished the poem, looking up from the paper to see their reactions.
"See! I told you! Stupid poetry." Anthony said, rolling his eyes.
Emily glared at him, "Mind your tone."
Mr. Rodgers finally composed himself and spoke, "That is hanging up in all the bedrooms. Speaking of bedrooms...it's getting late." They all glanced at the clock, reading close to ten pm, "The boat doesn't arrive until tomorrow. I know you are all itching to leave so I thought I would inform you. There is no other way to leave until then."
All of the guests looked between each other and thought to themselves grimly.
"Well," Blore started, already striding to the door, "I have had enough excitement for the day."
A echo of agreement was from behind him, all getting their things and heading off to the rooms.
***
Blore walked into his room, hanging his jacket on the door hook on the inside of his room. He locked his door, safety first of course, and walked in to take a look.
It was a very modest room, which Blore enjoyed, it had a well made bed and a closet. The dresser next to the bed had two drawers but after trying, only one of them was unlocked. No matter. He opened his bag, took out sleepwear, and changed. He walked into his bathroom, looking in the mirror.
He looked down from himself to his hand.
All he could picture was Edward.
The way he-
No. Nope.
Blore shoved those feelings to the back of his head, paying them no mind. This was not the place for scandal nor scandalized thinking. Blore was to get off the island and never think of the tall, handsome, doctor ever again.
He stood there for a few moments before walking to his bed.
At least they could get this over with tomorrow.
***
It was around eight am when a loud scream came from downstairs. Armstrong rubbed his eyes and groaned.
He woke up more as he got dressed quickly, throwing on clothes as fast as he could and throwing his slept in ones into his bag.
He put his tie on as he ran the stairs, seeing what the fuss was. The second he saw it; he knew why he had heard screams.
Justice Wargrave was sitting there with the others crowded around him. There was barbed wire tied tightly around his throat.
He took a step back, looking at the gory scene in front of him. Wargrave was blue in the face with blood dried that looked to have been dripping a lot.
"Doctor- what happened to him?" Ethel said, turning towards him.
Armstrong blinked a few times before hearing Anthony's voice, "Clearly he was killed. That's barbed wire. Thomas, is your wife slow?"
Armstrong got to the dead man, and checked him.
"He...seems to be dead for some time now. This tragedy happened around...midnight I should say..."
"Who would do such a thing?!" Emily said, finishing praying to herself, "One of these people in front of me is possessed by the devil himself. God oh-" Emily Brent continued praying, everyone turning away.
The sight of Wargrave's rolled and bloodshot eyes was enough to make most of the them queasy.
The thunder roared in the background as they all started in silence, half respect and half fear.
Later that day after they had carried the old man to his bedroom to stay, they would find one of the Soldiers gone from the figure.