Chapter Text
“Alright, is everyone clear on the plan?” Stede whispers.
His crew looks blankly back at him, their faces lit by the flickering lamplight. It’s a cool, misty night, and rainwater drips off a bush and down the back of Stede’s neck. All of the crew, old members and new recruits alike, have crouched down underneath the brush close to the docks. Only a few ships are moored at the little port town tonight.
“The what?” someone mutters.
“The plan,” Stede repeats, a little disheartened. “Maybe we should go through it again, you know, just in case. Pete? Thomasin?”
Thomasin grins excitedly. She had been a barmaid until Oluwande caught her pickpocketing half of the (extremely drunk) crew. She was aggressively enthusiastic about the opportunity to become a pirate and had even offered to stab one of the bar patrons as an audition. It had not been necessary.
“First, I’ll walk up the dock and distract any guards,” Thomasin says proudly.
“Good,” Stede nods. “Pete?”
“And I’ll distract any guards that aren’t very distracted by her,” Black Pete says, waggling his eyebrows.
“And then?”
“Kill them!” Thomasin growls, as Black Pete says, “Knock them out.”
Stede looks at Thomasin, concerned.
“Now, these men are just doing their jobs guarding their ship, you know, ” he says, “they probably don’t want to be out on guard duty on a cold, rainy night like this. So we aren’t going to kill them, we’re just going to knock them out and, uh, leave them tied up on the dock.”
“We’re not even going to take hostages?” the Swede asks in confusion.
“Nope, no hostages,” Stede confirms. “Moving on. What will we do once the coast is clear...?”
“I will crow like a peacock,” Pete says.
Stede sighs. “I said, call like a dove.”
“But I don’t know how to call like a dove,” Black Pete whines. “I can call like a peacock, though.”
“I don’t know what a peacock sounds like,” Wee John admits.
“I’ve eaten a peacock,” Roach says.
“Guys, guys, hold on,” Stede says, holding his hands up in the air to silence them. The crew quiets until Stede can hear the sound of the waves and crickets again. “Alright, Pete, what other birds can you call like?”
Black Pete hesitates for a moment, thinking. “I do a mean rooster,” he suggests.
“Alright, there we have it,” Stede says. “Crow like a rooster when the coast is clear and then we’ll all board the ship.”
“Me and Red and the Swede will all check below deck for anyone else,” Wee John says confidently.
“I’ll take the helm,” Buttons says, saluting.
“Captain and I will check the cabin,” Oluwande says.
“And Young Angus and I will stay on deck,” Roach finishes. Young Angus, a gray-haired man covered in age-worn tattoos, just grunts in agreement.
“Good,” Stede says. “And when I give the all-clear, we’ll leave any captives on the dock and take off with the ship. Any questions?”
Wee John raises his hand. Stede points at him.
“Yes, Wee John, what is it?”
“Can I have Roach on my team?” he asks awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Stede shrugs. “I guess I don’t see why not,” he says. “Roach, Swede, would you mind swapping places?”
“You don’t want me on your team?” the Swede asks, tears welling up in his eyes.
“Oh, it’s not that, I love having you on my team,” Wee John says, patting him on the back. “I just never get any quality time with Roach, you know.”
Roach blushes, and a few of the others awww at them both. Young Angus looks between them with a scowl.
“Yer all mad,” he mutters to himself.
Black Pete smirks at him. “You’ll get used to it,” he shrugs.
“A-hem!” Stede clears his throat until he has the attention of his crew. “Now, if everyone’s clear on the plan, let’s --”
But Thomasin is already on her way out of the bush, swinging the lamp and swishing her skirts around herself flirtatiously. She has even procured a basket of baked goods from somewhere, presumably on the pretense of selling them to the guards. Stede would be worried about her if she wasn’t absolutely terrifying.
Black Pete follows her a minute later. Oluwande keeps watch for any soldiers or sailors passing down the path. The rest of the crew waits in silence, listening. The wind blows and rustles the leaves and palms, sending more water dripping down Stede’s neck.
Cruk-a-do-dooo!
“Well, that was fast,” Stede mutters. The crew rushes from the bushes. They holler all the way down down the dock, waving their swords in the air at the promise of a fight.
At the end of the wooden dock, next to the ship, Thomasin and Pete are still standing with the guards by the gangway. Thomasin is caught mid-giggle, twirling her hair around a finger. Black Pete has one arm wrapped around a tall guard’s neck, still whispering in the ear of another. Stede’s crew comes to a halt before them.
When Thomasin sees the crew, she pulls a knife from out of nowhere and grabs her guard, pressing the knife to his throat. The other guards stare at her in shock.
“Why’d you give the signal?” Stede asks.
“I didn’t!” Black Pete glares, throwing his hands into the air.
Behind him on the ship, they hear a crystal clear crowing from a rooster: Cruk-a-doooo! Cruk-a-doo-ooo!
“Oh, shit,” Stede swears, and the guards raise their muskets.
*
“Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?
Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O?
Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?
Came ye by Killicrankie, O?”
Ed has a raging headache. It might be the shitty rum that Jack had brought, or the smoke from the bonfire, or maybe it’s the folk songs and shanties that Frenchie has taught Vane’s crew. Or maybe it’s that he’s been on land for too long and his brain is turning into rock.
“Want me to shut them up, Edward?” Izzy asks, in that quiet voice that carries even over shouting and singing. Ed looks up from the crackling coals of the fire and looks over at the pirates singing on the beach.
“An ye had been whare I hae been,
Ye wadna been sae cantie, O.
An ye had seen what I hae seen,
I' the braes o' Killicrankie, O!”
Vane’s crew has been teaching Frenchie a new song, leading the chanting and drinking so loudly that Ed can’t even hear Frenchie’s lute over their racket. To Ed’s surprise, his own crew has joined in. Even Jim is tapping their foot.
“Nah, leave ‘em be,” Ed says to Izzy. Their spirits have been low, and they deserve to carouse on the beach for a few nights.
Part of him, the part he’s been trying to ignore lately, wishes he could join in. Instead, Ed sits by the fire with the other captains, above the joy and banter of the crew, occasionally taking a swig of rum and trying not to wince at the bad taste. If he drinks enough, it won’t matter anymore.
In the fire, a log shifts, sending sparks flying up into the starry sky. He feels sleepy and sore and still not drunk.
Calico Jack is being an ass, bragging about the miserable crew he’s managed to wrangle and some woman he’s trying to woo. Ed hates him for making it out unscathed from the English attack. Jack and Vane are swapping stories, tall tales of ships they probably never raided and loot they probably will never see. Izzy’s annoyance is palpable. He’s the only first mate sat around their fire, but then again, he’s the only first mate who acts like he’s the captain sometimes.
Ed wonders if this had been Izzy’s idea to begin with. Vane is an old friend, like Jack, all three of them the last of Hornigold’s recruits. They had their first blisters together, crossed the equator together, took turns lying to their captain’s face to save one another from a flogging.
Jack had greeted Ed like an absent friend. He’s still pretending that he hasn’t seen Blackbeard in a year or more. For all Ed is concerned, he hasn’t. Not really.
“I faught at land, I faught at sea,
At hame I faught my auntie, O.”
Ed takes another swig from the bottle. The men are obnoxious, but they’re drowning out his thoughts. That’s what he wants tonight, for the little Ed voice inside his head to shut up.
He wishes they’d drown out the sound of his fellow captains gossiping. His ears prick up when he hears a familiar name uttered from across the campfire.
“And the bastard Bonnet got run over by a wild tiger chasing some horses, they said, crushed him to a pulp,” Jack laughs.
Ed just rolls his eyes. He’s heard the story about five times now, and every time it’s different: mauled by tigers, kicked in the head by a wild stallion, murdered by a piano player. Izzy had shared every rumor he’d heard with gusto until Ed had offered to use him to reenact them all on Izzy, if he was so fond of the story.
“Is that true, Blackie?” Vane asks, with his cursory sneer of boredom.
“No,” Blackbeard chuckles, “seeing as I shot him myself.” Izzy glances over and throws Ed an unimpressed look.
“You did not,” Vane laughs, “you’re joking.”
“It’s a lot more believable than him being mauled by a tiger,” Ed points out. “Tigers aren’t native to the island, you’re more likely to find an ocelot. And they’re, you know, tiny little bastards, go after rodents and birds and, and,” Ed gestures vaguely, but trails off, realizing the other pirate captains are staring at him.
“I think what the boss means to say,” Izzy says, voice icy cold, “is that only an idiot could manage to get mauled to death by a tiger on Barbados.”
“There you have it, then,” Vane says, laughing uproariously. Jack joins him and Izzy sneers at them both. Blackbeard raises the corners of his mouth, but he doesn’t smile.
“The new rumor, though, is that he took out that idiot Admiral before he escaped the English,” Jack says, still drunk, still trying to torment Ed. Ed files this news away for later.
“Good. Someone put that bastard out of his misery,” Izzy says, spitting into the fire in honor of the man’s memory.
Vane stomps in agreement. “Just proves my whole point about the fucking English navy --”
Ed looks up at the stars. It’s a little cloudy, but the waxing moon in the sky tells him it’s past midnight, perhaps by an hour or two.
He gets to his feet on the pretense of going to take a piss. His feet lead him away from the beach and the sound of crashing waves, towards the sand dunes and the gentle scrub brush growing there.
“An ye had been whare I hae been,
Ye wadna been sae cantie, O.”
As he leaves behind the singing men, Ed can hear the chorus of crickets and frogs begin to rise. The island where they’ve camped is long and skinny, shaped almost like a rapier stretching out into the ocean. If Ed stands on a tall enough dune, he can see waves beating down on them from either side of the blade. There’s a small town where the hilt would be. It’s far enough away that he can barely make out the few lights in the distance.
Ed resists the urge to stand out in the open, though, choosing instead to sneak through the brush. He stops underneath a large tree and looks around.
Hesitantly, a head pops around a bush and frowns at him.
“I thought you was s’posed to have a big beard,” the head says. It belongs to a young boy, probably eleven or so by Ed’s reckoning.
“I thought it was past your bedtime,” Ed says with a scowl. “What are you doing here, Johnny? Where’s Charlie?”
“Got some work on a ship. Left in the spring,” Johnny says, strolling proudly from the bush. “That’s John to you. I’m the man of the house, now.”
“I bet you are,” Ed says skeptically, looking him up and down. His clothes are worn and mended, and he has a head of curly black hair tangled with leaves and twigs from the brush. “How’d you find my message?”
“Charlie showed me where to check, if anyone heard about any pirates camped ‘round the island. Said it was very important. Super top secret. And that you’d give me gold doubloons,” Johnny says hopefully, his eyes lighting up.
“Uh huh,” Ed snorts. “Sadly, all I’ve got is a shilling.”
The boy considers this. He holds his hand out for Ed to shake. “Deal,” he says, and they shake on it. Seemingly satisfied, Johnny pulls a roll of papers from his trousers. He’s got a fistful of newspaper clippings, all wrinkled and water stained. He starts to offer them to Ed, but Ed crosses his arms.
“Christ, so your mum’s teaching you how to read?” Ed asks. Izzy always wrote the notes for Charlie, even if Ed hid them himself.
Johnny turns bright red in the moonlight. “So what if she is?” he says guardedly.
“Go ahead, show me.”
The boy opens one of the papers and reads: “Gov’nor Rogers has issued, this 31st day of August, a pardon for Benjamin Honey - Hona -”
“Hornigold,” Ed says.
“Yeah, that. Regarding crimes of piracy on the seas, and henk - hens -”
“Skip that word, would you?”
“Will reno, um, re-known-se? his crimes and -- look, is that enough?” Johnny asks, shoving the paper back in his trouser pocket.
“I suppose so,” Ed says. “Alright, what else you got for me?”
“The Spanish sunk a ship off the coast of Florida for piracy... Um, Captain Thomas wanted for stealing a ship in Babard - Bab --”
“Barbados?”
“Yeah. Reward is two hundred pounds. And there’s a paragraph here about the death of wanted pirate Steady Bonnet.”
“Stede,” Ed corrects automatically.
“He was eaten by a herd of wild mustangs.”
He pauses. Ed moves to stroke his beard thoughtfully, but his hand meets empty air. He scratches his chin instead, but it’s not the same.
“Can I have my shilling now?”
Ed reaches into his pocket and hands the kid a coin. Johnny stows it away in a pouch around his neck, glancing furtively at Ed as though he’s going to demand it back.
“Do you want me to read you the rest?” Johnny asks, but Ed shakes his head. Johnny takes the paper clippings and folds them away into his pocket.
“Hey,” Ed says softly, as the boy has turned to go. “You know where your mum keeps her money box?” he asks. Johnny frowns suspiciously. “Sneak a couple of these in there when she’s not home, would you? Our secret.” Ed hands him a few coins. The boy nods wordlessly and takes them.
Ed takes his time walking back to camp, staring up at the bright moon. It makes the sand look white and cold and sends the beach into strange midnight shadows. Ed melts into one and collapses onto his knees in the sand. He buries his face in his hands.
*
“Um, Captain, are you in here?”
Stede jumps and turns around. It’s Oluwande, standing in the door frame with a cautiously withheld expression.
“Oh!” Stede says, “It’s just you. I thought you were Roach. Close the door behind you.”
“Um,” Oluwande says as he enters the room, clearly wondering if he even wants to get involved. “Are you hiding from Roach?”
“Well, it’s the chickens. He keeps saying he’s going to cook them,” Stede says. He’s holding one of the chickens now, a light brown hen with reds and blacks speckled throughout her feathers. She looks oddly content to be cradled in his arms. “But then we wouldn’t have any eggs, would we, Emily?”
Oluwande very carefully does not say a word. Stede wonders briefly if Roach has sent him here as a spy. He gently sets the chicken into the coop with the others. Emily clucks and disappears into her nest.
“Are you taking to the new ship, then?” Oluwande asks. Stede busies himself by reaching into an empty nesting box. He pulls out a brown egg, still warm, and wipes it clean with an old handkerchief he’d brought just for the occasion.
“She’s a little small, but she’s suitable,” Stede says cheerfully. “And the chickens are a nice perk! Never thought that my days of piracy would lead me to pirating a flock a chickens, but here we are. Maybe we should try to raid a ship that has goats next, I’ve always liked goats.”
“I was actually going to ask you about that, Captain,” Oluwande says, pretending to be casual and failing. “Yeah. Well. We’ve been heading north for a few weeks, but no one’s actually sure what the plan is.”
“The plan?”
“You know, to retake the Revenge?” Oluwande prompts.
Stede bites his lip. “Actually, uh, I wouldn’t say that that’s the plan at all,” he says, screwing his face up. “I was thinking we could just continue to be pirates! We’ve got the Royal James now, and we can always take another ship if a better one comes our way. As it were, I’ve no other way to pay your wages if we change tack. I don’t know if taking the Revenge would be worth the, uh, time investment.”
“Oh,” Oluwande says. “Well, the crew’s been talking, and I suppose we all just figured --”
“Yes, well, I have decided that we should cut our losses with the Revenge,” Stede interrupts.
“What about Jim? And Lucius, and Frenchie?” Oluwande blurts out. “Do you think they abandoned us? Or that they were kidnapped?” Stede would think he was just asking for his captain’s opinion, if he didn’t see Oluwande’s lip quivering.
“I’ll admit, I’ve wondered the same,” Stede says, shrugging his shoulders. “Perhaps they moved on to better opportunities and joined Blackbeard’s crew. I can’t pretend that I’ve run the most conventional pirate ship. But when I thought about it, Lucius would have never left Pete like that. And Jim’s too in love with you.”
He watches Oluwande’s mouth turn up in a small smile.
“And Frenchie?” Oluwande asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, Frenchie might have betrayed us,” Stede considers. Oluwande snorts.
“So we’re just going to leave them to their fate?” he asks, probing in a way that makes Stede question who’s really the captain here. “We’re not going to try to rescue them?”
Stede swallows. He knows the easy choice, but becoming a pirate was never about easy choices.
“If we go after them, we might be killed,” Stede says.
“If we don’t, they might be,” Oluwande points out.
Stede looks at the egg in his hand. It’s so delicate and perfect, with a round bottom and a pointed peak. As the warmth begins to cool away in his hands, he cradles it between them, as though he wishes he could keep it there.
He doesn’t want to go after the Revenge. He doesn’t want to have to face Ed again. But Stede is beginning to realize that what he wants isn’t the most important thing in the world.
“Let’s talk it through,” Stede says reluctantly. “With the crew.”
*
“Mrrrrow. Mrrrrow. Mrrrow.”
Edward jolts awake from his dream and reaches for his knife. He jumps out of bed and freezes when he sees what awoke him.
It’s a cat. In his cabin. A fucking black cat, sitting on the floor and making loud, angry cat noises.
“How the hell did you get on my ship?” Ed growls to the cat, half expecting it to speak to him and reveal that it’s a drunken hallucination. But he’s not hungover, no, just sore from their most recent battle with a navy ship that had tried to tail them. It had been a hard fight.
The cat blinks at him and opens its mouth again. “Mrrrrow!” it yells again. It takes a step forward and Ed jumps back in the bed. Now that it’s closer, he sees that the cat isn’t all black, but has stripes and specks of orange through its coat
For a moment, the fearsome captain Blackbeard is about ready to scoop up the cat by the ruff of its neck, haul it to the deck, and scream for the owner to come forward. But then the cat dips its head down and he sees it’s wearing a pink collar. The collar is delicate, with a floral pattern stamped into the leather and a tag hanging from it that he’s sure has the cat’s name engraved. Ed knows whose cat it is.
“Mrow,” she says pleadingly.
“Okay, okay, what do you want?” he asks, holding his hands up. The cat gets up and starts to pace the wooden floor, her tail twitching back and forth. She’s a skinny little thing and she doesn’t fight when he scoops her up in his arms. “What’s your name, then?” he asks, pulling at the tag on her collar, but there’s just a letter stamped on it.
The cat claws at his arm and he drops her.
“Okay, you stupid fucking cat,” Edward mutters. “Why are you bothering me, then? Where’ve you been hiding all this time?”
“Meoooow,” she says loudly, looking up at him.
“Shh,” Ed says, “keep it down, would you? I’ve got a strict ‘no pets’ rule, okay?”
The cat ignores him, still mewing and rubbing against his legs. She pads over to the table, where the rest of last night’s dinner is sitting underneath a serving platter lid to keep the flies off. The cat jumps up onto the table and noses the platter. It’s part of a set of fancy silver tableware that St --
“Mrroow!” the cat yowls pointedly.
“Okay, be quiet! Are you hungry?” Ed says, lifting the platter lid and picking out a half-eaten chicken drumstick. He sets it on the table. The cat sniffs it gently before licking the skin. It’s stupid to waste food, especially on a cat, but he doesn’t want the whole crew hearing her.
As the cat starts to feast on the drumstick, Ed realizes just how hungry she is. Well, the ship wasn’t exactly crawling with rats and mice, now, was it? Were they enough to keep a cat sated, or is she a poor hunter? She’s so small and skinny. Ed reaches out to absently run a hand over her head. She doesn’t have fleas, which is good. Ships shouldn’t have fleas. Lots of them have cats, though...
“Hey!” Ed yelps when the cat suddenly jumps from the table carrying the drumstick in her jaws. She’s a black shape under the table, darting to the old library and disappearing somewhere in the dark cabin. Ed ducks under the table to try to follow her.
“Edward?” a voice calls, and the door opens. It’s Izzy, his face drawn into a scowl (as usual). “What are you doing?” he asks. Edward catches himself crawling on his hands and knees and looks up awkwardly at Izzy.
“Dropped an earring,” Ed says, reaching down and pretending to grab something off the ground. “Ha, ha, there it is. Found it!” He gets to his feet.
Izzy just stares at him. “Er, boss,” he starts, still staring. Ed makes a mental note to pierce one of his ears later.
“What do you want?” Ed growls impatiently. “Spit it out.”
“I’ve got bad news, Edward.”
“Bad news? All I ever get in the morning is bad news. Why can’t it ever be breakfast, for once?” Ed mutters. Izzy sighs.
“Well, at least you’re in a good mood,” he says. “I’ve been up all night torturing those fucking mercinaries we captured.”
“Right, the captives,” Ed says, not remembering taking any captives the other night, and unsure what Izzy means by a ‘good mood.’ He tries to act natural, hoping that the cat doesn’t appear again. “Was it a good, er, torture? Cut off any ears, noses, anything like that? They still alive?”
Izzy blinks slowly. “I didn’t kill them yet. Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of starting a nose jar, now, too?”
“What an excellent idea,” Ed says, forcing a chuckle. He admired Spanish Jackie, but jars of severed limbs weren’t quite his aesthetic. He preferred, like, leather and furs and stuff. Maybe some exotic taxidermy. But god, a couple cases of forced autocannibalism and now everyone thought you were into severed limbs.
“Anyways,” Izzy says, strolling over to the captain’s desk, a quite heavy piece of furniture made from red oak. Ed follows him and watches as he pulls a pistol from his pocket and drops it on the desk. “One of the men had this -- a little trophy he picked up from a pirate. Says he helped bring the man in and they offered him a nice little contract and a bag of gold.”
“Shit,” Ed says, picking up the pistol and looking at the initials carved into the handle. “This was Nicky’s.”
“They hung him in Nassau a month ago,” Izzy says. Ed can hear his heart pounding in his ears. Nicky Woodall was young, not seasoned or well known. He even had a reputation for being a bit of a heartbreaker. He would’ve taken the king’s pardon if he had been offered it, wouldn’t he? Or would he have laughed it in the face, like Vane?
Ed checks to see if the pistol is loaded. Izzy isn’t stupid; it’s empty. It’s even been well cleaned and polished. He opens up the desk, searching for a box.
“How high was the bounty?”
“A hundred pounds,” Izzy says. “Why, you thinking about turning in Ivan for a quick buck?”
Ed pulls out the box. Powder, ball, flint, ramrod. Izzy watches as Ed loads the gun.
Ed feels like the ball jammed into the end of the gun, the powder at his back, waiting for the spark. He is filled with so much grief and sadness that he doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s easier not to think about it, to pull the trigger and let the fire ignite.
“I’m thinking the crew needs to see what happens to pirate hunters,” Blackbeard says.
*
The sound of rolling wheels draws most of the crew from their duties to the Royal James’ deck. Stede is pulling something behind him from the captain’s cabin. It looks like a large, black square sign on wheels.
“What is that supposed to be?” Black Pete asks. Stede pushes it right to the middle of the deck and pulls a piece of chalk from his pocket, grinning wildly.
“It’s a blackboard!” Stede explains. “Everyone, gather round, please!”
The crew gathers around the blackboard, the three new crew members sending each other confused looks. Slowly, they’ve begun to realize that Stede doesn’t exactly run a typical pirate ship. It’s not the same without the amenities on the Revenge, but Stede has tried to make the place hospitable. He’s been learning a lot about chicken rearing, for one. Even without his library or his wardrobe, he’s found things to keep him busy.
Stede imagines the Revenge in his mind’s eye. The crew had told him what happened to it, their strange mismatch of stories painting a horrible picture for him. Scrubbed clean and sparkling, the crew put to busywork, the ship filled with the same uneasy silence that precedes a gathering storm. His books, destroyed. Trinkets, smashed. His clothes had probably been thrown in a pile and burned by the light of the full moon.
Stede takes the chalk and sketches a quick outline of the Revenge on the blackboard, trying not to imagine that the ship has gone up in flames without him.
“I’m sorry, I’m not a very good artist,” he says apologetically.
“It’s beautiful,” the Swede comments.
“Looks like a banana,” Buttons mutters.
Stede clears his throat. “So, a few months ago, a group of pirates took possession of our ship,” he says for the benefit of the new crewmembers. “What would you say to taking it back?”
The newcomers eye Stede skeptically, but his old crewmembers even more so.
“Um,” Wee John says, raising his hand like he’s in a classroom. “Captain. Are you sure you want to go after another pirate crew? Why not merchant ships or something with less...guns?” A few of the others nod in agreement.
“I am asking this: why does it have to be that ship that we take?” the Swede asks.
“Good question,” Stede says. “The Revenge was my ship. I paid for her. She was faster and better, and more importantly, she was home.”
“There are bigger ships out there,” Buttons says. “Huge ships, with great masts. Massive, thick masts. Bigger than the Revenge’s.”
“Yeah, Captain, there are plenty of ships in the sea,” Black Pete says consolingly.
“You can do much better. Raise your standards!”
“There’s a wine merchant that comes through to Fort Royal every six months or so. Got a brilliant ship, he has,” Thomasin adds cheerfully. She’s already made herself home with the old crew. When they had finally set out to sea, it had suddenly occurred to the rest of the crew that she was a woman. Thomasin had pointed out that she was only sixteen, and wouldn’t count as a woman for at least another few years, which seemed to soothe everyone’s mind except Stede’s.
“I appreciate your input,” Stede says patiently. He starts writing something on the board in white chalk. Wee John raises his hand again. “Would you like to say something?” Stede asks.
“Well, only that none of us can read, so I was going to ask you to read it for us,” Wee John says.
Stede looks at the board, where he’s drawn up a ‘Pros’ and ‘Cons’ list.
“Ah, yes,” he says. “It’s a list of pros and cons, the good and the bad of retaking the Revenge. Anyone have any ideas for pros?”
The crew sits silently for a moment. When no one moves to make a suggestion, Stede scribbles something on the board.
“What does that say?”
“It says ‘marmalade,’ Pete. I had quite the stash, you know,” Stede says. He’s lying. It says ‘Edward is there.’
“You used to read to us from your library,” Wee John says wistfully. Stede adds ‘library’ to the list, even though he knows his books are gone.
“We had vacations back then,” the Swede says, “it’s been a long time since we had a vacation.”
“I left my lucky fish eye,” Buttons says.
“My hammock. I saved up for a hammock that soft, you know.”
“There was always music.”
“Lucius,” Pete says in a murmur.
“Jim,” Oluwande sighs. He’s been quiet, but Stede knows where he stands.
“They might not have gone far,” Stede says, trying to comfort them, trying to reassure himself.
Roach stamps his foot. “What about Frenchie?” he says. “Or have you all lost your minds? They aren’t lost at sea! They were either kidnapped, or killed, or they abandoned us to die!”
“Thank you for your input, Roach,” Stede says tetchily. He reads aloud as he writes on the board: “Cons: crewmembers possibly dead or captured. Anyone else?”
“That man with the little voice,” the Swede says. “He gives me the creeps.”
Stede writes ‘Izzy Hands,’ something he’d been trying very hard not to think about.
“Aye, and they’ve got more cannons than us,” Buttons points out. “More artillery. Probably a full crew by now, too.”
‘Firepower’ goes up on the board.
“We’ll probably die trying to take them,” Black Pete says nonchalantly.
“Oh, definitely.”
“For sure.”
“Absolutely.”
Stede resists the urge to bury his face in his hands.
“Well, what’s stopping us, then?” Oluwande says. The crew stares at him silently. Oluwande chews on his lip when he feels everyone’s eyes on him. “I mean, how’s that any different than any other raid on a ship? You might live, you might die. But if you never take the risk to board another ship to get what you want, how can you call yourself a pirate?”
Stede looks at what he’s written on the blackboard. He realizes that on both lists, he’s put ‘Edward’ at the very top. He sets his chalk down. He wishes Oluwande would have talked him out of it.
“Shall we vote on it?” Stede asks.
*