Chapter Text
“Do you trust me?”
“With my life,” Stede replies without hesitation, and something like relief briefly appears on Ed’s face, before he clenches his jaw, nods, and all that remains is a singular determination.
“Good. Okay. Because I’m going to do something incredibly stupid, and you’re going to let me. Then you make it back to our ship, and you get the fuck out of here. You-” Edward stabs a finger at Izzy, who doesn’t even protest, only stares, slightly dumbfounded, “make sure he gets there. That they all get there.”
“Edward-” Stede protests feebly, the sudden magnanimity of the situation only dawning on him slowly.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Anne adds. “Maybe if we just fucking sit down and think about this-”
“There’s no time.”
It’s probably what Ed wanted to say, but it comes from Izzy instead, not arguing for once, looking, if anything, annoyed that he has to be the one to say it, that he can’t do anything about the inevitable outcome of this all.
Ed doesn’t look at him, either, his eyes instead glued to Stede’s.
“Surely we can think of something else-”
“Stede.”
“Maybe if we get back into town in time, warn people...”
“Stede.”
“I mean, they need time to set this thing up, right? It looks like they need time.”
“Stede.”
“Yeah.”
Suddenly, it’s just the two of them again, the entire rest of the world quickly fading into the background, and Ed is smiling at him, why on earth is he smiling? None of this is making sense, some slightly childish part of Stede protests. It’s not making sense.
“It’s fine,” Edward says. “I’ll be fine. It’s not forever.”
“You don’t know that,” Stede pouts, a tad childishly. “If he hurts you-”
“But he won’t,” Ed smiles. “He’s obsessed with me.”
“Fucking hell,” Anne rolls her eyes.
“It’s true! I’m his one bargaining chip. I’m what he’s after. And this, he won’t expect. He’ll be headed for Havana anyway, after today. I’ll just make sure no more innocent people get caught in the crossfire before that happens. I’ll see you again.”
That last sentence is meant for Stede only, very directly, Ed grabbing both his hands, forcing him to look at him. Stede almost doesn’t want to. If he does, this is official. If he does, he’s acknowledging that letting Ed go, letting him put himself in danger again, is the only sensible course of action, and they’ve been so good at doing everything but that up until now, they’ve been so good at subverting everybody’s expectations, most of all their own...
But then he’s never been very good at saying no to Edward, is the thing. And they know each other so well at this point, that Ed knew Stede wouldn’t. That in the end, he’d understand.
It’s bittersweet, how that part of loving another person so thoroughly can come back around to bite you.
“Please remember we’re supposed to die together,” he mumbles, hanging his head, and Ed grins at him.
“And sail off into the fucking sunset. I remember. I remember.”
The kiss is too quick, too chaste, too light, never enough to possibly be their last, so it won’t be.
“I love you,” Edward murmurs, in that very last second that they share air. “I’ll see you soon.”
And then he’s gone, takes off down the beach, and Stede has to wall up his heart quick, or it will simply burst apart.
He doesn’t know how he ever makes it away from there. How he ever manages to stay quiet as Ed trots up to the mass of soldiers and they almost, almost run him through right where he stands, before Hornigold takes notice.
He doesn’t know how his feet carry him away, and into the forest, and past the ponds, and all the way back to his own ship. He never notices how The Revenge even makes it out of port - logically, he knows it’s his mouth saying the orders, his voice carrying above everyone else’s, but it’s as if someone else is controlling his body, moving his legs and arms and mouth for him, and that someone knows with absolute certainty that if that little remaining part of Stede, frightened, anxious, anguished, were to take over right now, it would all crumble into dust.
Edward and him haven’t been apart for more than a couple of hours for... as long as he can remember now, and the absence of him is like a hollow, howling, horrible cold spot where there once was something solid and warm, and Stede doesn’t even know if Ed’s alright, surely he should at least be able to sense that somehow...
“You’re going to get us all killed if you don’t slow the fuck down.”
That is enough to jolt him out of his reverie a little bit, but the reality he re-enters isn’t currently all that agreeable - Izzy has followed him all the way to his cabin, and Stede has half a mind to grab him by the scruff of his neck and kick him right back out.
“Do you mind?” he groans, moving past him to get himself a drink, and Izzy watches him like he expected nothing less.
“You can’t just point this ship straight at Havana and hope you don’t get shot down along the way,” he seems to want to express his opinion anyway, and Stede rolls his eyes, downing his very early first glass of brandy that day quickly enough so that it almost doesn’t burn his throat.
“And you can’t just expect to step foot back here like nothing ever happened, and act like you’re in charge,” he replies sternly, which is Izzy’s cue to scowl and scoff.
“I don’t care about who’s in charge. Hell, I don’t even care about you sorry bunch beyond hitching a ride with you to where I need to go. But if there’s to be a plan-”
“There is a plan,” Stede retorts. “There’s always been a plan, it just never included you. So if you want to hitch a ride anywhere, you will make sure to behave, or it’ll be my crew choosing a sandbar to abandon you on, this time around.”
The ice cold anger in his own voice surprises even him, but Izzy appears downright offended, glaring at him hard enough to set him ablaze, were he a weaker man - but Stede has long since had bigger things to worry about than Izzy fucking Hands, and being stuck with him right now, again, is the least of his problems.
“If Edward were here-”
“But Edward isn’t here,” Stede snarls - closes the distance between them in one long stride, grabbing a fistful of the front of Izzy’s shirt, yanking him forward, a fury powerful enough to fuel him in spite of all the rest of him wanting to give up where he stands. “I am. And you can either play along and help me, or I’ll make doubly, triply sure you end up right where you started. And unless you haven’t noticed, nobody really cares where that is, least of all me. So you will earn your place on this ship, or you’re off it the very next time we drop anchor. Are we understood?”
Izzy continues glaring, but this time, Stede is certain he got through, and it’s only a matter of who blinks first. Izzy ends up losing that fight, and attempts to regain some dignity as Stede shoves him away, smoothing down the front of his shirt.
“Glad to see you’re still the same lunatic you’ve always been,” he snorts. “Might just help keep you alive. When you want to actually figure out how to come out on top, you just let me know.”
“Get the fuck out of my cabin,” is Stede’s saccharine response to that, and fortunately, Izzy obliges.
Not a moment too soon, it turns out, because the second he’s alone again, Stede’s legs finally, finally give out, and he ends up in a miserable heap on the ottoman, running his hands down his face, sapped of any and all energy to go on, to cry, to scream, to even whimper.
The truth is, there is a plan, or the vague outlines of one, anyway, but it never included this. Oh, they might have made some space for contingencies, for surprises and nasty shocks, even, but it’s as if Stede has completely forgotten how to implement any of that.
Looking to his side and not seeing Edward there feels like missing a limb, and he doesn’t know how to compensate.
And so he retreats into the only spot that currently makes sense, the door to the auxiliary wardrobe opening near soundlessly, inviting him in, and he closes it behind him, closes himself away from the real world for a few precious moments.
When he steps out of here minutes later, he will be able to talk to his crew some more, devise plans some more, hell, probably even ask Izzy what exactly he knows about Hornigold’s, but right now, he sits curled up on the ground, half hidden in his own summer linens, and when he closes his eyes, he can almost, almost feel it.
All the times Edward and him have spent here, all the quiet conversations or no conversations at all, that horrible couple of days when this was the only place they could be together, Ed hiding away after Tortuga had been taken by the Governor’s men...
And long, long before that, what he only knows to be true because Ed told him - how he’d sit here, too, Ed would, at the end of his rope, playing his part outside this door, miserable, alone and missing Stede any time he stepped in here.
The old pink velvet robe hangs nearby, frankly kind of battered at this point, but Stede rests his cheek on the soft fabric and, where no one can see him and no one will ever know, he embraces the heavy bulk of it, gathering it up with all its memories of grief and storms, and happiness and morning after lazy morning, the scent of lavender and orange, Ed and Stede both.
“I don’t know how to do this without you,” he confesses, quiet and slightly pathetic, if he’s any judge of that, his voice wavering on those couple of words, and receives no answer whatsoever, beyond the inevitable, always present ‘But somehow, you’re going to have to.’
“Can’t imagine doing this without you.”
“Shut up,” Edward rolls his eyes. “Let’s just get down to business.”
Every single move he makes here feels uncomfortable, like he’s been left hung out to dry, like he’s abandoned at some fancy fucking party again, wearing clothes that don’t fit him, attempting to wrestle customs and cutlery and secrets he knows fuck-all about, and he’s sure Hornigold wanted it that way - his cabin is fairly small, definitely less opulent, less lived-in, than Stede and Ed’s own, but he’s had a truly lavish fucking dinner prepared, the table between them straining under the weight of plate after plate piled up sky high with delicacies he had to pay through his teeth to get his hands on...
All to make Edward uncomfortable. To make him waver.
Easier said than done, these days.
“Just sit down,” Hornigold beckons him, sounding almost tired in his fake-ass kindness. “When’s the last time you ate properly?”
Just yesterday, actually, when Stede hand fed me some grapes, Ed wants to sneer, but he doesn’t. Can’t. Can’t even think of Stede for longer than a second while he’s aboard this godforsaken ship, because Hornigold is just waiting for that to happen.
No, he’s going to have to play along, carefully, and hope it doesn’t ruin him before he can find his way back to Stede again.
Therefore, he sits. Therefore, he gets his hand on the closest leg of chicken, and eats it unceremoniously with his hands, glaring at Hornigold all the while. Placate him. Make him believe he’s got the upper hand, that Edward really is this childish, this guarded-unguarded when he’s with him, and maybe, just maybe, there will be an opening.
There has to be an opening, sooner or later, because if not, he might just have to burn this shitty sloop to the ground. He’s itching with the absence of Stede, of their ship and their crew, and it’s not a comfortable spot to be in.
“Good,” Hornigold exhales, leaning back in his chair, pleased. “Now, you want to tell me why you’re actually here?”
“Oh, you know,” Ed mumbles, mouth still full, gesturing with his chicken bone. “I thought I’d check out the competition.”
“Right.” Hornigold’s eyes narrow. “And what exactly is it that we’re competing for?”
“You tell me,” Ed smirks. “I’m not the one who’s been playing nice with the Navy for, what, over a decade now? You can’t expect me to believe you really want a peaceful retirement on some little island somewhere. You fucking hate houses.”
By this time, The Revenge must have made it out of harbor. Stede’s safe on board, probably losing his marbles a little louder than Ed himself, but he is, he’s safe, and they will see each other again. Edward never even allows himself to consider otherwise.
“Fifteen years we haven’t seen each other,” Hornigold shrugs. “A lot can change in fifteen years. We both got older. Which, don’t get me wrong, I consider a personal success, with how you left me the last time we met.”
For dead. Edward left him for dead, his ship burning down, his gut bleeding, life slowly leaking out of him - he’d almost looked grateful.
“You know as well as I do that that’s a privilege in this fucking world. To grow old. You don’t get to do it without leaving a whole fucking pile of bastards who never got that lucky in your wake. I don’t want to ruin your retirement, Edward, and I certainly don’t want to ruin mine. I’ve worked hard enough for it, which is something we’ve got in common, I’m sure. If anything, I want to help you.”
I care about you.
“Yeah, you said that once before,” Ed huffs, managing not to shudder at the memory. There won’t be no jumping out of any windows this time around. “Still fail to see how, exactly.”
“Alright,” Hornigold nods, leaning back in, like the discussion is only just beginning now. “So let me ask you this - what do you think will be left, after the Navy has its way with pirates? We’ve already established it’s going to happen, one way or another. They’re going to win. Sure, some might get lucky enough to escape, or just plain be stupid enough to try and resist in whatever inconsequential little ways they think might matter.”
“Hell, the Crown might even keep some of you, on a tight enough leash - a little bit of trouble has always been good for business. It’s working out already. You wouldn’t believe how many privateers they’ve signed on, happy enough to sink enemy ships under a vague enough banner, but for good enough money. That is the future. Not the British, or the Spanish. Not politics. Business.”
Something like the very beginnings of a realization starts forming at the back of Edward’s mind, like slow bubbles in mud, like connecting dots he didn’t even know were there.
All this time, he thought Hornigold was stupid enough to hitch his name to the actual Navy, but underestimating him has never served anyone well.
“Once the dust settles,” old Ben continues, evidently pleased as punch with himself, “it won’t matter who sits on what throne. Everybody only wants one thing in the end, and that’s for the gold to keep flowing. Business never rests, and it will outlast every single king, legitimate, pirate, or otherwise.”
As if drawn to it by some incomprehensible force, Edward reaches for a can on the table. It looks like it doesn’t belong, like its contents should be laid out in some tiny little fucking bowl all fancy-like - a ramekin, the part of him that’s now firmly in tune with Stede for the rest of his life supplies swiftly - and when he turns it over, he understands why he thought to pick it up in the first place.
The three-way cross with the bold letters stares at him like it’s saying, did you really expect something, anything else?, and before Edward knows it, he’s laughing. It tastes bitter on his tongue.
“You fucking idiot,” he exhales. “You really went and sold your soul to the East India Trading Company. Holy shit.”
“You don’t sell your soul to them,” Hornigold waves his hand dismissively, like he’s scolding a child. “That’s the fucking difference between them, and whatever crown you might want to pledge allegiance to. Instead, you make a deal. You sign your name, and you do a job. If you do it well, you get paid. Well.”
“I’m sure that’s what the Devil would have you believe, too,” Edward scoffs, leaning back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the table, ramekins and glasses and, and tureens be damned.
“Where have you been, these past couple of years?” Hornigold sneers. “They used to be a trading company. Now they’re the biggest fleet out there. They’ve got eyes and ears everywhere. They’ve got more people than the official Navies combined.”
“Case in point, huh?” Edward points at him.
“You might have gotten older,” Hornigold shakes his head, “but you ain’t gotten a whole lot smarter, it seems. The age of pirates is done for, but so’s the age that comes after that, and the one after that. I’m giving you a chance here, Edward. The only chance there is to survive all of it.”
“A business chance, is it? A deal, another line to sign my name?”
“You can’t go on as you are right now. They will make an example out of Blackbeard, because they need one. But if you become one of ours, it’s immunity for life. For you, and... whosoever you choose to associate with.”
That is calibrated to perfection, but Ed doesn’t give him the pleasure of flinching an inch.
“It’s just business,” Hornigold finishes, as if it’s some grand closing argument, as if it’s supposed to be enough.
“Funny,” Ed scoffs. “Here I thought it was about freedom, once upon a time. Signing yourself over to the service of a bunch of wealthy fuckers who have never stepped foot on a ship, that your idea of it?”
And Hornigold never stops smiling. Ever since he was twenty years old, Edward has known to expect trouble at that smile. But there’s an entire sea between him and the sweet promise of escape, and he will have to play along a while longer, if he ever wants to see that sunset by Stede’s side.
Outside, someone hollers for anchors up - the ship is leaving, and with it, the very last hope Ed has of repeating his getaway from a couple of weeks ago, and jumping through the nearest window and into the water.
“I’ll show you freedom,” Hornigold grins, and Ed can’t quite fight a shudder.
“You could stand to be a little nicer, you know.”
His immediate initial reaction is to roll his eyes, but then he recognizes it’s Mary approaching him, and stops himself halfway. She sees right through him anyway, even after all this time apart, and so he steels himself for the upcoming discomfort.
“Why?” he shrugs. “I’m not particularly thrilled to be here, and the crew all hate my guts anyway. Energy saved.”
She doesn’t offer a response to that, only settles down next to him, the narrow staircase leading up to the quarterdeck almost too tight a fit for the two of them. She stuffs her pipe in silence, and offers him her tobacco in silence, which he refuses.
“Suit yourself,” she scoffs, and mouths along the first experimental puffs until she gets the thing going, settling with a satisfied huff.
Izzy doesn’t ask her, does Edward still smoke? He doesn’t actually want to know.
“Why are you here?” he asks instead, and when she narrows her eyes at him, he adds: “You know what I mean. You and Anne. You’d actually done it, you’d managed to retire, for fuck’s sakes.”
“Mm. Yeah. So we did. Didn’t take.”
“What did he promise you? Did he tell Anne that Vane is still alive? Hell, he probably wants to use her as a bargaining chip, doesn’t he. Did he discuss that with you, before he invited you on his ship...?”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” Mary says, kindly but firmly. “Neither one of us would have agreed to come with him if he’d been in any way dishonest with us. We both know exactly why we’re here. Do you?”
“No,” Izzy spits, and it isn’t even a difficult answer. “I don’t. I have no fucking clue why I keep getting dragged into this. I could be half a world away by now-”
“You could,” she nods. “And yet.”
“And yet,” he concedes, leaning back on his elbow with a sigh, pretending he doesn’t see the amused smirk she’s watching him with.
“You’re here because you want to be,” she offers. “Just like all the rest of us.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Yeah, right. I’ve heard it all. Selling him to the British. Nabbing his ship, only to almost get it sunk again. Staying behind with that Governor, and Hornigold, to give him time to escape. You could be half a world away by now, but you don’t want to be.”
Izzy glares. Whatever he might want to say right now, he runs the risk of making himself sound even more ridiculous, it feels like. Mary, on the other hand, seems to be having the time of her life.
“Look, the more things change, the more they stay the same,” she continues, evidently pleased with her own ability to deliver thinly veiled life advice. “You’ve been the same, all these years that I’ve known you. Never leaving his side. It’s sweet, but it’s not going to last you much longer, you have to know that-”
“Oh, give me a fucking break,” he groans. “You weren’t there. I was, when Stede fucking Bonnet came crashing into all of our fucking lives. I had to watch Edward turn away from everything he ever knew, change his entire fucking game for him. I thought it might be temporary, once upon a time, and here we are now, what? A year later? Feels like a decade to me. So when I say I don’t want to be here, I mean it, believe me.”
Mary watches him wordlessly now, smoke rising around her face with each puff of her pipe like building storm clouds.
“I don’t want to be here,” Izzy repeats himself, feels the inexplicable need to. “But before I go, I...”
Silent still, she offers him her pipe, and this time, he takes it, inhaling a long, painful drag, only managing not to choke on it because he swallows the fire whole, lets the smoke escape through his nose.
“I have to make sure I’m not leaving him to his death, at least.”
“Good enough,” Mary concedes.
It’s got to be.
He doesn’t even know how they make it anywhere near Havana without, as Izzy so aptly put it, being shot down. Even through his haze of worry and incessant, nagging stress, Stede can see that something is different - where ship movements used to be somewhat predictable, the biggest trading routes easy to follow, it’s all erratic now, like no one really knows where to go to be safe.
They come across patrols, both British and Spanish, that ignore them completely, and merchant ships that hail them for help and then inexplicably start moving away when The Revenge sails closer. There’s unmarked ships, not pirates, not the Navy, that only remember to fly some sort of a flag when they’re within firing range, and those, too, Stede and crew decide to give a wide berth to.
All in all, there’s a fear at sea, everywhere they turn, and it makes him wonder what they’ll happen upon when they finally turn the corner around Cuba, and enter the Caribbean proper.
And throughout all of that, Stede barely sleeps.
He spends his nights tossing and turning in his suddenly-too-empty bed, and often chooses to forgo sleep altogether, in favor of relieving someone from their unfortunate dead-of-the-night watch. Often, he’s not alone.
Oluwande, who suffers from much the same affliction, much the same quiet, lingering hopelessness, joins him here and there, for the lack of a better thing to do, as he says, but as they sit side by side on deck or in Stede’s cabin, drinking or not, very rarely sharing anything beyond a couple of words, Stede figures he understands.
Understands how torturous the not knowing is, yes, but also, simply by virtue of having been there since the beginning - however many new beginnings they’ve had at this point - where Stede’s thoughts inevitably wander.
Once upon a time, he was hopeless like this, alone like this, out at sea, almost frantic in his search for Edward, and even though he never would have voiced those worries out loud, there were times when he was convinced he’d only meet with failure. They really did spend more time failing, rather than getting anywhere, and the fact that they did, in the end, manage to get out at sea, that they did find Edward, seems like a ridiculous miracle of chances, coincidences and sheer dumb luck, looking back.
Stede is much better now, at telling where the sea might take him, but he’s also... he’s also in possession of so much more to lose. And yet again, he’s alone. Yet again, he doesn’t know where Ed might be right now, if he’s healthy, if he’s safe. Yet again, if he isn’t careful, the panic about all of that will set in, and render him utterly useless.
Fortunately for his state of mind and his failing heart, things soon start happening that provide a suitable distraction.
For all his prickly charm and unapproachable-by-design attitude, Izzy happens to have some helpful insights into the Hornigold side of things - the man is not exactly predictable, no, not by a long shot, but he does seem to have a destination in mind, one that only so happens to align with Stede’s.
It seems that he’s been going all over town, so to speak, trying to find out more about, well, Edward first, but all the rest of the pirates who might have survived Tortuga second. All this time, nobody has really heard from Vane aside from the vague and most certainly highly embellished rumor here and there - some say he’s almost definitely dead by now, some say he sold out and is actually a privateer, some just downright call him the devil, but nobody knows, and in that, too, there is hope.
Blackbeard and him both are still more of a fairy tale in people’s minds than a real, tangible thing, and that’s where the crux of the matter lies - if they manage to stay that way, just a little while longer, they might just make it all the way to Nassau.
But first, Havana. Stede only knows what Ed told him - a somewhat neutral port, on account of its strategic trading importance for both the English and the Spanish, large enough so that a handful of meetings might go unnoticed if executed carefully enough, lots of spots to anchor your ship that isn’t the main harbor, excellent rum, apparently...
All of that was true weeks ago, of course.
Right now, after their stint in Anne and Mary’s corner of the world, there’s no telling how much has changed on the other side of Cuba - their little stop on Treasure Island didn’t provide them as much in the way of intel as they’d hoped, and so now they’re really running blind.
Exactly three days and four nights since Edward and him have seen each other last, The Revenge slowly advances on the landmass of Cuba, about to hug its shore all the way to Havana, and already, the traffic is disconcertingly high. They fly their British flag now, some of the crew even donning at least partial uniforms, because they certainly won’t be the only ones pulling out their spyglasses to check out the company - technically speaking, Stede and company have the right to be in these waters, without the need for inspection.
Technically speaking, they also abandoned their orders about... six, seven weeks ago now, and disappeared off all the main routes, seemingly never to be seen again, and someone is definitely looking for them. Must be.
So it’s really only a matter of time before someone starts asking the really uncomfortable questions, and Stede will have to find Vane, or at least the faintest hint of him, before he runs out of answers.
“He’ll be expecting Edward to show up,” Izzy points out the obvious. “And like it or not, the two of you aren’t the same person just yet.”
“Shrewdly observed,” Stede rolls his eyes, and offers his spyglass to Anne next to him.
“It’s going to be fine,” Mary says with surprising confidence. “Assuming Vane hasn’t changed a bit - and going on recent experience with all the rest of you-” one pointed glare at Izzy, which he aptly ignores, “he hasn’t, he won’t be able to resist making a fool of himself. Preferably loudly, where people can see.”
“I don’t know,” Stede counters. “He’s been in forced hiding for ages now. He hasn’t eluded the Navy this long by being loud.”
“Maybe so, but you’ve heard the way people speak of him. He loves a bit of gossip, and if he’s anywhere nearby, there will be nothing but gossip.”
“But there’s also the issue of him gathering help,” Stede fusses, fiddling with the buttons of his overcoat - it’s been a while since he’s dressed up for anything beyond blending in, or crawling up the ratlines. “He was supposed to use that damn seal to get as many people as possible on our side. So either he’s succeeded, and he’s hiding his little flotilla somewhere very far from here, or he’s failed, and all we’re getting is a measly one extra ship-”
“Relax,” Mary clasps his shoulder firmly, not for the first time and definitely not for the last, these past couple of tense days. “We’ll just go into town first, see what’s what. Sit at a couple of pubs, stay quiet. It’s worked before.”
Ed was here before, Stede really, really wants to say, but knows what she’d say to that, because she’s said the same thing every time she found him sitting alone careening towards a nervous breakdown these past couple of days - he isn’t here now, but he will be again. And he’s counting on you, the same way you’re counting on him, to see this through.
So let’s see it through.
And all in all, at the beginning at least, it’s fairly simple - they approach the harbor in one piece. They present their papers, and remain in one piece, allowed to dock, allowed to exist here, until someone takes a closer look at them, anyway.
And the stories Edward told him weren’t exaggerated in the least - Havana is massive. It’s an entire living breathing city which just happens to be part harbor, and just the docks alone are sprawling and almost impossible to navigate. Dozens of ships are swaying on the gentle waves, British, Spanish, French, Dutch, so many different flags in one place that it simply boggles the mind that there’s no fighting going on, no fires in the streets.
“It’s technically Spanish territory,” Anne explains what Stede already knows, sticking by his side along with Oluwande. “But it kinda looks like someone else is starting to take over. Look.”
They step aside alongside the rest of the crowd as a good half a dozen wagons roll down the cobblestone street, all piled up high with crates with a very distinctive symbol on them.
“But they’re the East India Trading Company,” Stede hisses. “This isn’t exactly their territory.”
“That’s never stopped them before,” Olu grumbles.
“Once you have a monopoly on one part of the world, you kind of start wanting all of it,” Anne speculates. “Who knows. We should ask people how they feel about Company presence here, though-”
“Edwards! Captain Edwards!”
Stede completely underreacts at first, on account of also completely forgetting that that used to be his nom de guerre, what now feels like a lifetime ago.
“That’s you,” Anne elbows him in the ribs.
“Ah. Right. Shit,” Stede attempts to regain all of his composure within the span of about two seconds, before the three of them simply have to start looking a bit presentable, to greet the person approaching them.
It’s a far-too-young soldier, looking about twice as nervous at the sight of them as they are to see him, but he seems to regain his confidence somewhat, and announces, with a voice that almost doesn’t waver: “Captain Thomas Edwards? Your presence is requested at Port Command. If you would please follow me.”
“Do we follow him?” Oluwande hisses.
“I don’t see that we have a choice,” Stede utters, as if the man isn’t standing right there, listening to their every word, and then, gesturing magnanimously to the poor sod: “Lead the way, then, young man.”
“What the hell is Port Command?” Anne doesn’t seem to be done speculating. “That’s no official authority I’ve ever heard of.”
“I know. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
And they don’t have to wait a whole lot longer - their escort leads the way through the crowd somewhere deeper into the city, then past a gate flung wide open into the backyard of an unassuming looking building, but really, it only takes one look at all the hubbub going on there, apparently the very same crates they passed on the street earlier being unloaded, the East India Company logo covering seemingly every single inch of the place, to understand.
“Ah,” Anne wiggles her eyebrows. “Port Command.”
“Do we...?” Stede says helplessly, hoping for some sort of an idea to coalesce, as people are starting to notice their arrival, most of them downright glaring for a second or two before returning to their work.
“I say we play it dumb,” Oluwande offers.
“The man’s right,” Anne hisses, all the more urgently the closer to their final destination they probably are. “Our dealings are with the British Navy. The Company is technically in service of the Crown, too, but they’re not really supposed to be here. We don’t know why they’re here. I’d be very surprised if the Spanish liked it very much. So we play dumb, and maybe ask an uncomfortable question or two.”
“Alright, fine, yes,” Stede attempts to regain some determination, straightening out his coat for about the hundredth time just today. “Uncomfortable questions. I can do that.”
Even the inside of the building is surprisingly busy, like it’s only just being set up, people hurrying to and fro, most of them carrying something of, probably, high importance, tables piled high with crates of all kinds, no rhyme or reason to it that Stede can ascertain. The young soldier leads them up a flight of stairs to the second floor, where the hubbub recedes somewhat, and they pass several open doors, like empty offices only waiting to be claimed, until they arrive at a closed one.
The soldier knocks loudly, and at a “Yes?” from the inside, hollers: “Captain Edwards, sir!”, opens the door for them when he hears a “Send him in!”, and flees.
“Oh, that’s a good sign,” Oluwande grumbles.
The door leads them into a spacious room - if it also weren’t overflowing with crates and books and other knicknacks waiting to be unpacked and placed - and there, behind a large desk, a man sits in an even larger chair, turned away from them and looking out the window. All that they can see of him is the overly fancy tricorn hat, and yet, Stede falters, then squints. It can’t be-
“Captain Edwards. Took you long enough.”
That tone of voice, Stede definitely recognizes, and he knows even before the man finally rotates around in his chair, and looks him in the eye.
“Oh, fuck me,” Oluwande rolls his eyes.
“Vane?! What the hell are you doing here?” Stede demands, but the relief he actually feels at the sight of him is immeasurable. Ironically enough.
“I’m here because I’m supposed to be here. Fucking hell. It’s been months. Where the fuck is Edward? And where’s Anne?”
“Ah,” Stede exhales, still reconciling the sight of him wearing an approximation of a uniform, although not without his usual kitschy flair added on top, and sitting here out in the open, like he’s not currently being hunted just like all the rest of them. “Long story. He’ll be back shortly. And Anne is right...”
Right here, by his side, or at least she was, up until ten seconds ago. Stede flounders. Oluwande shrugs, still tense.
“Well, she’s with us, I can promise you that,” Stede goes for a smooth save. “Back at the ship. Laying low, which is what you were supposed to do-”
“Close the fucking door, for god’s sakes,” Vane gestures, annoyed, and Stede leaps to it without thinking, his heart racing. This is good. This means they’re getting somewhere, surely...?
“You do realize,” Vane stands up, walking around the table, away from the window, as if he’s afraid someone might be watching them, “that all that fucker told me was ‘meet me in Havana come spring’. That means fucking nothing to me! So here I am, waiting for him like a needy mistress, and Havana might be good to hide for a while, but not forever. Jesus Christ. I had to improvise, alright?”
“So, what?” Stede squints at him. “You’re a privateer now?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Vane actually spits. “Never. You were happy enough to sign the Act of Grace, I heard, you and your entire crew.”
“We had to improvise,” Oluwande pipes up bitterly.
“Yeah, I’ll fucking bet. And you’ll tell me all about it, just not here. Not now. I’m coming over to your ship later. Official inspection, and whatnot. You’d better look appropriately scared, alright? You’d better have some brandy ready, too.”
Stede’s head is pounding, trying to keep up, but it’s not all that difficult, in the end. They’ve all had to improvise.
“Fine,” he sighs. “And this will be a, uh... A Company inspection, then?”
“You catch on quick,” Vane taps the side of his nose. “Run along now. And stay out of trouble at least until the evening, I’m fucking begging you.”
She waits for Stede and Oluwande to walk away, then waits some more, listening in - it’s quiet in Vane’s office, and even thinking of it as an office is mildly ridiculous. He doesn’t do offices. Anne feels her curiosity warring with her disgust at facing the man again after all these years, but just as she’s about to pump herself up enough to walk in and do exactly that, another soldier comes knocking, and Vane invites him in, the door left mercifully half ajar, for her to eavesdrop.
“They’re ready for you at the harbor, sir.”
“Very good. The Spanish...?”
“Sent a ship Captain of theirs. Apparently he’s important enough.”
“Ha!” Vane guffaws. “We’ll just have to see about that. Make sure people know where I’m headed.”
“Would you like some men to accompany you...?”
“No need. If anyone here really wanted me dead, I’d be dead already. See to it that everything proceeds smoothly here. I want a furnished office by the time I’m back. Which will be soon.”
That’s Anne’s cue to press herself flat into the little nook she’s found for herself, until the soldier walks away, followed closely by Vane - followed closely by her. She’s getting a bit too old for sneaking around, but if she keeps a safe distance, she’ll be able to blend in with the crowds outside, no problem.
Besides, Vane and her both have over a decade more of wrinkles on them by now - maybe he won’t even recognize her if she does decide to knife him in a back alley.
For now, though, he unknowingly leads her through the main avenues instead - and she’d marvel at the fact, at how he seems to have just fit in here, no doubt playing every single soul in this town, but she has to concentrate on actually keeping up with his stupid over the top feathered tricorn, marching surprisingly quickly towards his unnamed destination.
Their shared journey winds through the busiest part of the docks, today’s market in full swing, and Anne soon begins losing him despite her best efforts, having to bodily shove her way through people - at one point, there’s at least three hats that look like his, and she’s almost sure it’s that one, to the left and towards the water...
She dances around a woman with a wailing child in her arms, and he’s gone, all three of him.
“Fuck,” she hisses.
They’re ready for you at the docks, the soldier had said, though, and Anne can guess at what that might mean - if Vane really is as temporarily important here as he appears to be, he will no doubt be meeting some equally important people, and it will likely happen on one of the fancier ships, the Spanish, perhaps, since they sent a Captain...?
She’s momentarily so lost in her speculating, and trying to navigate the ever-shifting crowd, that she missteps, doesn’t notice, and before she knows it, there’s an iron clasp at her arm, and she’s being pulled around a corner and unceremoniously pressed against a wall.
“Fuck-!” she exclaims, making for the knife hidden at her hip, but then there’s, shockingly, room to breathe, and no one immediately trying to murder her - although the very close proximity of Charles Vane all up in her face isn’t exactly synonymous with relief.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says almost magnanimously, and when she attempts to kick him in the jewels, he jumps back surprisingly quickly for a man his size, raising his hands in a gesture of preemptive defeat.
“Hey, hey, no harm no foul. Forgive a man for being excited over seeing a long lost friend again.”
“Excited,” she spits. “We’re not friends, Charles.”
“Aw, come on now. Bygones, and all that. I’m mostly just surprised Bonnet wasn’t lying. He actually found you. Look at you...”
And he approaches Anne again, hand outstretched as if he means to gently cradle her face, and her stomach turns, and she slaps his hand away, raising her finger at him.
“No. Fuck off. I should have cut off more than just your pinky, back then. You want to tell me what’s going on here? Why you’re playing nice with the Company?”
“God, I missed you!” he cackles, clearly only amused by her anger. “How about I just show you?”
“If I find out we came all this way only for you to fuck us over, I’m taking a knife to your prick, just so you know.”
“Ooh!” he hisses playfully, as if burned, and she really, genuinely considers gutting him right where he stands.
“I can’t believe I walked away from a peaceful retirement for this, ” she sighs. “Let’s just go.”
“I promise you won’t regret it,” he waggles his eyebrows at her.
“I highly doubt that.”
She regrets it almost instantly.
He tries to recall when’s the last time anything genuinely repulsed him, but finds that, not counting his own reflection in the mirror back when he was Stede-less and miserable, it usually used to take a lot.
A couple days by Hornigold’s side, though, and he’s ready to reevaluate.
The man moves across the sea with the same cocksure arrogance Edward remembers from his youth, but where he used to care for the men under his command with the same fierce passion with which he sank every single Navy ship he came across, there’s something ice cold and hardened to him now - he’s only in it for himself, no matter how diligently he tries to convince Edward otherwise.
There’s no swapping of war stories, no reminiscing about the good old times, because there’s simply no dropping their guard around each other - Hornigold would have him believe that he actually cares, that he wants Ed to be happy, have a future, whatever drivel he spouts every evening over a bottle, but Ed knows it’s all bullshit and charade.
It only takes one proper look in the man’s eyes - there’s no life there, and it’s chilling. No passion.
All that’s left for Edward to find out, then, is what it is that he’s actually after, what he actually wants, before it’s too late for all of them.
Fortunately for him - although it’s a term he uses highly ironically - Hornigold really does seem to want to play the magnanimous father to Edward’s clueless son, and takes him with, wherever they go. I’ll show you freedom, he’d told him, and he aims to do just that, in his own way - they stay on Treasure Island one more day, up front in the actual harbor this time around, and Hornigold holds a meeting in the only acceptable tavern in town which can only be described as bizarre, and just a teensy bit fucking worrying.
The English and Spanish are there, of course, but so’s someone who looks suspiciously Dutch, and then people Ed recognizes, and wishes with all his might - but probably foolishly - that they don’t recognize him - all former pirates, far more of them than Ed would call in any way healthy, all working for the Crown now as privateers...
All of them very happy to listen to Hornigold as he details what the East India Company can do for them, if they only choose to be wise instead of reactionary, choose whatever passes for peace instead of feeding into the war that’s already raging everywhere else.
You can’t believe he’s actually serious, Edward wants to shout in their faces, but they all seem, if anything, intrigued, and intrigued is dangerous. Here, at least, he can see what Ben’s trying to do, and what the entire Company is trying to do through him - everybody only wants one thing in the end, and that’s for the gold to keep flowing. At the end of the day, an offer of a steady influx of money always wins out when compared to the endless grind of war, of politics.
It makes him sick. It used to be that they didn’t give a single flying fuck about any of it - they took money wherever they could, and they made their own politics. But that’s ultimately the glaring difference between huge incomprehensible hulking entities like the Company, and pirates - only one of them wants to own the entire world. The others just want to sail it freely.
But deep down, Edward knows that’s not really true either, not anymore - he’s been at this for decades, and what was true ten years ago, is no longer true now. Freedom mattered, once. So did the Code, and the seal, and the King. There was a flair to it, something almost fanciful, something that bound all of them together and gave them a purpose - now, the world is speeding up so fast barely any of them can keep up, and many have stopped trying. There’s far more privateers than pirates these days, he doesn’t need to see the actual numbers to realize that, and hell, he himself, once the stuff of legend, just wants out.
The age of pirates really is coming to an end, and if Blackbeard is allowed to wish for one last thing, it’s to be there when it all goes bang.
He’s going to have to survive himself first, though. Hornigold’s sloop makes for Havana straight after his dealings are done on Treasure Island, but Edward doesn’t miss the entire entourage that accompanies them - the Spanish, far enough away to be mistaken as simply just following the same course by chance, but immediately Ed smells trouble.
He stands by Hornigold’s side, glaring towards the horizon trying to discern what the old man’s seeing through the spyglass he won’t share - a storm building, that’s for sure, but far enough away not to cause any trouble if carefully avoided...
Something tells him Hornigold doesn’t want to carefully avoid it.
The sky is a boiling cauldron of dark clouds, but so far away, so quiet it almost looks like a painting, and he can see the specks of white, the sails of all the ships that are much closer to it, no doubt plotting to turn away already.
Hornigold never orders a change of course. Instead, Edward watches as he signals his men completely silently with a gesture he doesn’t recognize, and more sails go down, the sloop lurching forward as they catch the building wind, and the flag... The British flag goes down.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he utters, and Ben grins at him.
“Here’s where it gets interesting. Follow me.”
And Edward does, because he doesn’t really have much of a choice on this ship - they go back inside, back into the Captain’s cabin, and there’s a man there now, arranging something on a mannequin, a dress form, and it takes Ed only about a second to realize what he’s looking at...
Storm be damned, he really considers his chances of actually jumping overboard and surviving until someone more normal finds him.
“What the fuck is this?” he exhales, his voice coming out much weaker than he’d fancy.
“Did I get it wrong?” Hornigold says innocently. “I only had a couple of drawings to go on. Well, that, and a terrified second-hand account here and there...”
Ed thinks he might be sick. It’s dark in the cabin, probably purposefully so, and the leathers are arranged on the dress form in such a way that if he squints, it’s almost as if Blackbeard himself actually is standing before him. Beckoning him closer. It’s a far more fanciful outfit than Ed would ever have put on himself, much more... flair, so many more fucking belts and studs, and for a moment, he just stares at it, speechless.
“You gotta be out of your fucking mind if you think I’ll be putting this on any time soon.”
“Well, now,” Hornigold chuckles fondly, as if they’re just having the best of times, “I like to see you squirm, but not this much. No, no, this is all for show. As much for you as it is for me. Now where’s my Blackbeard lookalike...?”
“Right here, boss.”
The man who walks into the cabin looks nothing like Edward, easily twice his size in every direction, but nobody knows that, at the end of the day - he’s got the long hair, and the beard... The very same beard that Ed was so happy to cut off once upon a time, his kept purposefully short and comfortable these days, while this guy’s is positively shaggy.
Add the leathers, and if you squint, if you’ve never seen Blackbeard with your own eyes before, the image is there.
Edward’s stomach turns violently, and he’s never been one for unsteady feet, not even in the wildest of storms, but the floor sways underneath him now, and he has to back away a step or half a dozen, blindly searching for some kind of a support, the edge of some piece of furniture to lean on.
“Please tell me you’re fucking kidding,” he exhales weakly, not even trying to mask his disgust, his downright nausea. “This has to be a joke.”
“Just give it a moment,” Hornigold is grinning still, like they’re just having the best of times. “Like I said, it’s all for show.”
Edward turns away, his feet carrying him on their own, and he bursts out of the cabin into fresh air, gasping for it - nobody comes after him for now, and nobody on board pays him any attention. He supports himself on the nearest railing and stares into the angry white of the building waves, wishing for the sea to swallow him whole...
If he closes his eyes, he can see it - he can see himself, weeks when Stede wasn’t there, at the mercy of whatever his mind would conjure up, at the mercy of that great big terrifying beast that would take over any time he needed it to, anytime he didn’t want to live with the pain.
He can almost see himself wishing for it now, for the Kraken to rise up and eat all of them whole, but the truth remains the same it’s always been - he is the Kraken. He is Blackbeard, and the beast, and the man behind the beast, and what do you do when a story becomes bigger than yourself? When you can feel it slipping through your fingers, when the man wants to be just that, but the beast is not done feasting?
Everybody wants a piece of Blackbeard, even now, even after all this time - the myth, the head of smoke, the painting in the storybooks, the devil himself. Hornigold does, too, Ed can feel it, that Blackbeard as a symbol is far more valuable to him than Edward the actual person, case in point this entire charade...
As if to underscore that very point, the ship changes, as if by magic, but Edward’s been at this long enough to recognize even the very best parlor tricks. Smoke starts enveloping the decks, and he licks his lips, tasting the air - too much sulfur, you idiots. He doesn’t have to look to see, but he watches anyway, as the new flag goes up, in place of the harmless British one, and he almost laughs at the sight of it - it’s his old one, just the devil with his trident, no bleeding heart anywhere to be seen, and what had Hornigold said...? This is all for show?
“Pretty good, right?”
That’s old Ben again, standing next to him now, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, surveying a job well done, and Ed can smell the storm in the air now, feel it on his skin, like lightning in a bottle - it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and today, he welcomes the sensation.
“You have no idea what you’re playing with,” he says pleasantly, and Hornigold guffaws.
“That might work on legitimately anyone else but me. Come on, Edward.”
“Come on, Ben,” Ed retaliates, and it’s almost frustratingly easy - he gets a grip on the front of Hornigold’s jacket, pulls him close until they’re almost breaking each other’s nose. “He’s going to cost you.”
Hornigold appears almost offended at that unprecedented turn of events.
“Who? Oh, the legend of Blackbeard, you mean? Easily emulated, it turns out, and not all that scary when you’re behind the curtain for a change, hm?”
“You really think that’s all there is to it, don’t you, mate,” it’s Edward’s turn to laugh. “A bit of smoke and mirrors, some fancy fucking leathers, a bloke with a big beard. No one ever told you about the monster at the heart of it, then?”
“Let’s not get overly dramatic now-”
But it is, it’s sufficiently dramatic now, the storm building up, the smoke rising in big billowing curls all around them, and they think they know what they’re doing, Hornigold and his men, but it’s been a long damn time since he was last a proper pirate. Long damn time since he was the King of them, as well.
“It’s me,” Ed snarls quietly. “I’m the monster, Ben. I’m the fucking Kraken, and there’s no Blackbeard without me.”
And through the air of light amusement, Edward can see it in Hornigold’s face, for a split second, nothing but a flicker of a moment out of time - surprise, and a distant worry.
Which is all he really needs, at the end of the day, to know that he can win this.
“Look, it’s all just one big play, alright. If I’m being honest, I didn’t think at first, beyond surviving one more day, and then, eventually, securing myself a safe passage through the seas. Which is what the Company can give us - is giving us, right the fuck now. Safe passage. As to what we use that for? When and why we end up betraying their trust? That’s really up to us.”
It’s a good story.
It’s a good story, and Vane tells it with just enough charm to back it up, but they haven’t seen each other in months, and the last time they did, he was more than happy to barter with Stede’s life to suit his own needs...
Instead of him, Stede focuses on Anne, arms folded, thin-lipped, and she catches his gaze and shrugs - only shrugs, in place of a proper opinion, but Stede doesn’t need to hear it to know.
They’ve only got one shot at this, and getting stabbed in the back is not exactly something they can reasonably survive.
“Look, I know, I know,” Vane raises his hands. “It’s a bit of a tall tale, I get it. It’s difficult to believe, I get it. But I’ve got this-” and he pulls out the seal, the misshapen piece of metal catching the light like it means to remind them that it actually continues to be important, “and it’s far more valuable to me than all the gold the Company is shoveling my way. And that’s a lot of gold.”
“You’re so full of shit,” Izzy pipes up, and for once, Stede is inclined to agree with him. “The seal means fuck all now.”
“You think?” Vane guffaws. “I’ve got almost a dozen ships in this harbor sworn to follow me wherever I go, because they got a glimpse of it. Fucking hell, people. Edward and I had a deal. We’re on the losing side right now, true, but being a pirate never was about winning ‘em all, or long-term profit, or whatever bullshit they’d have you believe. Fuck, it was once about taking your ship, pointing it at the nearest well-to-do little town, and ruining all their damn lives in one fell swoop. Now, I don’t know how much has changed for him these past couple of months, but I still want to sail for Nassau, and remind the fuckers that we won’t be bartered with, or persuaded, or signed into service. No proper pirate will.”
It’s a nice sentiment - lovely, even, in a roundabout sort of way. The Stede of ages past who’d read every single book about pirate exploits he could find, would certainly appreciate it. The Stede of right here, right now, thinks of all the people on his ship, his friends, his found and nurtured little family, and he wavers.
“You want this too, don’t you?” Vane turns directly to him now, like he’s reading his damn mind.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You need this, right? You and Edward? One last big fancy battle to appear in, probably die all dramatic-like, and disappear right after?”
Stede opens his mouth, closes it again.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Vane all but giggles. “Was that plan private? Because it’s clear as day to me, buttercup.”
“Play nice, Charles,” Anne spits, and immediately, he pivots to her - ever since the two of them came here side by side, it’s been a bit fascinating, and a bit worrying to watch just how much sway she has over him.
Stede remembers the stories Mary and her had told him. He’s more than ready to go with ‘worrying’ and kick him somewhere sensitive if he gets even a bit too cozy.
“Look, I’m tired of this,” Vane spreads his arms. “I’m tired of waiting, and of playing nice with the posh fucking people here. I want to start burning shit down. I want to take our ships, and point them at Nassau, and break off the fucking rudder! Who’s with me?”
Silence reigns supreme. Izzy rolls his eyes. Anne and Mary exchange a glance. Stede sighs.
“Give us a minute before you start doing all that, will you?” he says, and Vane opens his mouth to protest, but it’s Anne, again, who stops him.
“Go wait outside, Charles. Proceed with your little Company inspection. Let us talk.”
“But-” he wants to protest, but her firmly raised finger stops him in his tracks. “Fine!”
And he’s out the door, and Stede finally allows himself a moment’s respite, slumping into the nearest armchair.
“Am I the only one who thinks he’s compensating for something?” he comments wearily, and it’s Mary and, shockingly, Izzy, who chuckle at that.
“Oh, he’s definitely compensating,” Anne says grimly, pouring them all a fresh glass of brandy. “But look, I saw those ships. I heard the way he talked to all of those people. There’s some that really are on his side, no matter what. Some others, he’s definitely playing, but the amount of once-pirates I saw...”
“So, what?” Izzy gestures. “He’s somehow managed to secure himself a cushy Company spot here, and build an army while no one was looking? I don’t know. He’s not that fucking smart. It stinks.”
“You want to think he’s not that smart,” Mary points out. “But he’s survived this long, just like all the rest of us. And like it or not, he might be our ticket out of here, and into Nassau.”
“I hope you’re right,” Stede grumbles, and that’s when the world turns upside down.
They hear the tolling of the harbor bells as nothing but a distant backdrop at first, but then those are accompanied by some ruckus, shouting and hollering, and just when Stede has decided to go get some fresh air and figure out what’s going on, the door to his cabin bursts open, revealing Lucius with an expression so wildly shocked it gives all of them pause.
“What?” Stede demands. “What is it?!”
Lucius opens his mouth as if to respond, but no words seem to want to come out.
“Just...” he gestures weakly towards whatever’s happening outside.
“Let’s go,” Anne decides for all of them, and before he knows it, Stede’s feet are carrying him out on deck.
It’s not immediately too easy to discern what’s going on - the bells are tolling loud enough to deafen, and people are pouring away from their ships and stalls and deeper into the city, but as for the reason...
“Probably an execution,” Izzy observes. “Has to be someone important...”
“Come on!” someone hollers from dry land. “They’ve got him!”
“Got who?!” Anne has the presence of mind to shout back, leaning over the railing.
“It’s Blackbeard! They’ve captured fucking Blackbeard!”
Stede’s legs give out from under him, and far too many things happen in very quick succession. Someone holds him up. Someone urges him to go, let’s fucking go. Vane is there, Izzy in his face, I know nothing, I swear, fucking hell!
‘Blackbeard, they’ve got Blackbeard!’ echoes through the docks, and Stede’s back on his feet and running, elbowing his way through the crowd, not even checking if anyone’s following, his heart hammering out a frantic staccato, it can’t be, it can’t be, not like this, not here, not yet-
“It’s gonna be in front of the town hall. This way.”
That’s Izzy, again, when did he have time to see the sights...? But Stede is so out of it he just follows him, stumbling over his feet, and realizes only belatedly that the man has drawn his sword. Fuck, the sword, the gun, he left it all back on the ship...
“Here. Come on.”
That’s Anne, pressing one of her impressive blunderbusses into his hand, and he fumbles for it and almost drops it at first, but then he sees it in her eyes - the same grim determination he’s feeling, underneath the layers of fear. They’re really doing this, they’re running in there and burning the city to the ground before they let anyone put a hand on Edward...
“Wait,” Izzy orders, his arm coming up before Stede’s chest so suddenly he collides with it, but it still stops him in his tracks.
“Oh, fuck off, let’s go-” he protests, but then he manages to actually stop for a second or two, and look, and see.
The square before the town hall is already swarming with people, but a lot of those people are soldiers, corralling onlookers into somewhat orderly lines, bodily pressing them back from the main stage of the event, the raised platform of the gallows.
Stede forces his legs not to give out on him again, but his stomach might not be quite as solid.
“What do we- what do we do? What do we do?” he demands, breathless.
“Where the fuck is Vane?” Izzy wonders, pointlessly to Stede’s terrified one-track mind.
“I think I saw him up there,” Anne utters urgently. “Come on, let’s try and get closer.”
And she gets a grip on Stede’s arm, hooking their elbows while Mary does the same on the other side, and he’s almost sure he could walk without them, but he still lets them lead him through the crowd, and, indeed, closer.
“Vane should be able to stop it,” Mary mutters in his ear. “Postpone it, at least. He can definitely interfere...”
They watch as he does just that, as he invites himself into the fray of the soldiers and beyond, where important people are congregating on the other side of the gallows, and he’s asking questions, he’s laughing, he’s looking appropriately interested... For a second, his face falls, but he schools it back into some sort of an appreciative grimace, slapping some man’s shoulder, before urging him on as he climbs the gallows...
A hush passes over the crowd, slowly, reluctantly, like they’d much rather keep hollering at the top of their lungs, is it really him?! Show him to us!... But the soldier now at the center of attention calms them down efficiently, until he’s allowed to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen, good people of Havana!” He announces, his voice carrying far and wide now. “It’s true what you’ve heard - the Spanish have managed to apprehend the pirate known as Blackbeard!”
Victorious, exhilarated shouts drown out all other words of his, but the noise turns into a formless hum to Stede’s ears, and he doesn’t realize he’s swaying on his feet again until he feels both Anne and Mary gripping him tighter.
“Now, usually how these things go is, we let the court of law decide a pirate’s fate-”
Exhilarated shouting is immediately replaced with vicarious booing.
“But there’s simply no excusing the lifetime of crimes against not only the British Crown, but the Spanish, Dutch, French, and innumerable others Blackbeard has terrorized. It is therefore the decision of the Havana Port Command that he will hang today!”
The veritable mass of sound washes over Stede like a tidal wave, and he opens his mouth to scream, cry out, anything, but not a single word comes out.
“Breathe,” Mary is reminding him, but her voice, too, is coming to him as if from a great distance.
On the other side of the square, people are being shoved and shouted into submission, an entire procession of brightly dressed Spanish uniforms making their way towards the gallows, and the jeering and whistling can only mean one thing - Ed must be at the heart of all that...
“It’s not him.”
He doesn’t know where it comes from at first, frantically looking around for the source of the voice, but there’s no one familiar around except for Mary and Anne, just another soldier nearby, the red and gold of the Spanish Navy gleaming unnaturally bright...
But then they turn around, and Stede recognizes that profile immediately.
“Jim-?!”
“Shut up,” Jim hisses. “Relax. It’s not him, okay? Just watch.”
“But-” Stede attempts to find out more, but Jim then transforms into their current chosen role, pushing away from him through the crowd, frighteningly good at elbowing their way through people.
“Was that...?” Anne squints.
“Yeah,” Stede exhales, his heart never really calming down from its mad gallop. “They said it’s not him...”
“I heard. Let’s just watch.”
And so they watch.
It’s not Edward. Stede knows immediately when he catches the first glimpse of the man the Spanish are leading tied up tighter than a thing of beef in between them - even though there’s a dark cloth over his head, Stede knows, because the entire body is wrong, too tall, too broad, wearing clothes Edward never would have touched with a ten-foot pole, as if someone attempted to draw a poor caricature of Blackbeard from all the stories mothers tell their children to keep them in line. Eyes red, head of smoke...
Absolute terror is replaced with total relief, then quickly transmuted into endless curiosity, and it all leaves Stede feeling a bit light-headed, but now he simply has to know - do the Spanish believe they have the real, actual Blackbeard? Or is this all just someone’s sick idea of a joke?
Out of the corner of his eye, he also keeps watching Jim, successfully having melded with the other soldiers now, and attempts to approach them again - but when “Blackbeard” makes it up the stairs onto the gallows, the ebb and flow of the overexcited crowd makes it impossible, and so Stede stays put.
‘Shoot him where he stands! Make him suffer! Cut his head off!’ The people’s suggestions are so violent, it’s a relief Edward isn’t actually here. If he were... No. It doesn’t bear thinking about.
“Are they actually going to execute him...?” Mary wonders quietly.
“Behold, the dread pirate Blackbeard!” the man in charge of the entire shebang then calls out as they pull the bag off the lookalike’s head, thus answering that question, probably.
For a second, Stede’s heart still stops, expecting Edward to somehow be there underneath the black cloth, but the face is completely unrecognizable, completely different - long hair, long beard, both impressive and shaggy, almost like Edward had looked the first time Stede met him... Almost.
“Hey. Look. Look.” That’s Anne, bringing their attention away from the gallows, and towards one of the side alleys - just another soldier standing there turns out to be Jim, attempting to get their attention.
Elbowing their way through the crowd in the wrong direction is a bit of an ordeal, but nobody pays them any mind, too interested in the execution, and they make it into their designated dark corner in one piece.
“What the fuck is going on?!” Izzy hisses, and Jim opens their mouth to respond, but then narrows their eyes at him.
“The hell are you doing here? Nevermind. It’s fucking Hornigold, alright? All of this, it’s his game. I was on a Spanish ship, minding my own business trying to figure out how to shank the Captain in his sleep-”
“Oh?” Anne’s eyebrows arch sky high.
“Later. Anyway, here we are, sailing into the storm of all storms, because apparently Blackbeard is there. And he was there, smoking ship and all, only it was real easy to capture him. Too fucking easy. Took one look at him to know.”
“But why?” Stede asks desperately.
“Beats me, man. All I know is, we were three ships against one, and still we didn’t sink it. Just banged it up a little bit, and next thing I know, fucking Hornigold’s on board, congratulating our Captain on a job well done. I tried to eavesdrop, but nothing.”
“Where’s Edward?” Stede pleads.
“He was right there, by Hornigold’s side, like he was supposed to see it, or something, like it was all done just to torture him a bit. I don’t know. I didn’t even get a chance to get close, let alone talk to him. Before I knew it, we were celebrating having Blackbeard in our brig, and heading straight for Havana.”
“So Hornigold’s here somewhere?” Anne speculates. “Edward, too?”
An array of whooping and hollering comes from the town square, and they all turn around to watch for a moment as an incredibly mean-looking hangman steps up to “Blackbeard” and puts a noose around his neck.
“I’m sure he’s one of Hornigold’s,” Jim tosses their head towards the poor sod about to be executed. “I got myself on brig duty, to talk to him and try and find out more, and he kept playing the part, even when I doubted him.”
“And now Hornigold is just going to let one of his own get executed?” Mary squints.
“This fucking stinks. Something doesn’t add up,” Izzy observes.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Stede sighs. “Let’s get back to the ship. I don’t know about you all, but I’m not too eager to watch a random man get executed. Oluwande will be so relieved you’ve returned to us, Jim-”
“No,” they say so quickly, so sternly, it gives all of them pause. “I’m not done. Don’t tell him you saw me. You’ve got to promise me, Captain.”
“Ah, but-” Stede falters at the intensity of their glare.
“Swear to me. I’ll find him again when I’m finished here. I will. I just- fuck. I don’t want him following me into hell.”
“Jim, I think you’ll find that sometimes-”
“I don’t want your relationship advice, man,” Jim snaps. “It’s not always so easy for the rest of us, alright? Just go find Ed, and don’t mention me. It’s that simple. See you.”
And with that, they quite literally disappear into the crowd again, soon becoming one with the mass of other uniforms, and Stede is left staring.
“Come on, then,” Anne sighs. “Let’s get back.”
It’s infinitely easier, at least physically speaking, going back to the docks - they’re almost empty now, everyone far too invested in seeing “Blackbeard” hang - but Stede and company simply have far too much speculating to do.
“Captain! Stede!”
Some of the crew followed them into the madness, which Stede didn’t even stop to notice, but some others stayed with the ship, and are expecting the news.
“It wasn’t him,” Stede announces, sitting down heavily on the nearest crate, as they all surround him.
“Say what now?” Fang squints.
“Did they get some other guy, then?” Ivan wonders. “Did they mistake someone for him, or...?”
“That’s just the thing,” Stede drags his hands down his face, still not quite able to get any sense of the situation. “The whole of Havana believes it is Blackbeard. I don’t know why. They-”
“We think Hornigold’s behind it,” Anne takes over smoothly. “We thought we spotted some of his men. His ship.”
“What? That makes no sense,” Oluwande raises the obvious concern. “Why the fuck would he want people believing someone else is Blackbeard now?”
“Aye, I’m sensing a real fuckery startin’ to rot,” Buttons declares ominously.
“You’re sure it wasn’t him?” Pete insists.
“Saw him with our own eyes,” Mary nods. “It wasn’t him.”
“Where is he, then?”
“Ain’t that the question.”
“Uh, Captain?”
“All we know right now,” Stede settles down somewhat, surrounded by familiar faces, finally getting a moment’s respite to just breathe after all that, “is that Hornigold might be here. And someone’s definitely playing a game here, but as to the purpose of it? Who’s to say.”
“Captain!”
“I mean, if anything, this might buy us some time, when you think about it,” Oluwande speculates. “Isn’t it good that Blackbeard gets executed so publicly? No one’s gonna expect to see him alive, then.”
“Captain!”
“Bonnet!”
“What?!” Stede snaps, Izzy’s usual way of somehow making his very name sound like an insult finally getting his attention.
He follows where the man’s pointing, and as willing as he was to finally sit down, his legs propel him upwards at the sight - Lucius is standing in the door to his cabin, and several things are immediately obvious by the look of him. One, he’s very clearly terrified, which isn’t a very frequent grimace of his these days. Two, he’s holding his hands up, as if to calm them down, or as if...
As if a gun’s pointed directly at his head from behind, which brings the total of the signs something is very wrong to three.
“What-” Stede manages, before the situation becomes very clear as an unassuming old man steps out from behind Lucius, smiling almost apologetically as he points the gun at the boy’s temple now.
The crew react immediately, pulling whatever constitutes as weaponry for each one of them and forming a tight circle around the little showdown, and it’s as quietly terrifying as it was the first time Stede realized what he was looking at, weeks, months, lifetimes ago, when Hornigold first identified himself in front of him - how one wolfish grin can transform the man’s face from almost pleasant, to downright terrifying.
“Hello all,” he says calmly. “I think it’s high time we talked.”