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The ship was fucking useless.
It sat low in the water when there wasn’t anything in the holds apart from the most basic provisions, barely had any fucking guns and most of the space was given over to useless rooms. Even with a good wind and smooth sea, how the fuck Thomas got anywhere was beyond Ben. The sails were fucking atrocious, some kind of frilly cloth all stitched to fuck and barely held the wind.
“He’d replaced them,” Fang – one of Blackbeard’s old boys – had explained. “When they went through the hurricane his normal sails were ripped to shit. These were the only ones he had left. We never had a chance to get to port to get things all fixed up.”
Made sense, but a pain in the arse nonetheless. Fucking useless fucks.
The sooner he got paid for Ned, the sooner he could dump this wreck of a ship in the nearest port and replace it with something with speed and guns and get back to his fucking job.
To make things worse, the supplies his lads had brought on with them had gone bad. Half a dozen of the crew were down with the shits. It happened sometimes, but he was starting to think the fucking ship was jinxed.
Especially when – on the second day out – they picked up a tail.
Not close, not yet, but his lad on the nest had spotted it. Spanish, from the looks of it. Fast too. Could have been a coincidence since they were on the shipping lanes, but when they tacked east-north-east, the ship did the same.
That was always the trouble when you sailed with a ship the looked like it was weighed down with cargo: some motherfucking brigand could mark you as an easy target. He’d’ve done the same if he’d seen the Revenge limping along like it was now.
Any other time, any other ship, Ben would’ve turned round and blasted the fucker to kingdom come, but this useless piece-of-shit ship was barely enough to keep them moving.
Only choice was to keep going, heading for the meeting point where the fleet would meet him for the prisoner handover. No stops. No breaks. No respite. If this fancy Spanish fuck wanted to chase him down, he could chase him straight into the teeth of the Navy fleet.
The crew knew better than to complain. They’d gone hard before and they would again, knowing it would be worth it for the prize on the other end. Knowing they’d get another better ship, something to replace the Ranger , instead of hitching rides around the Caribbean on merchant vessels. They knew the prize that he had locked in the hold and trusted him on the back of it.
“This ship,” he informed that prize in the depths of the night, “is the worst ship I’ve ever sailed in.”
Ned didn’t reply, pressed in the darkest corner of the brig, temple resting against the wall. Fucker looked like he’d passed out there, legs splayed on the floor, hands limp in his lap. The boys really had done a number on him when they took the ship, beating him bloody when he tried to fight them off. Jacket was off – and laid over Izzy’s head and body, like he could hide what he’d done – and shirt ripped to fuck, strips of it clumsily tied around his left arm like bandages.
“How the fuck did you come to this, eh? This shitty ship. That useless fuck.”
Ned rolled his head away from the wall, eyes opening, blood-shot and blazing in the gloom. “Fuck you.”
Ben thumbed some tobacco into his pipe. “I’m curious, Ned. That’s all.”
“The fuck you are.”
Snapping his tinder box to spark the tobacco, Ben shook his head gravely. “This isn’t how I trained you, you stupid shit. Thought you were better than this. No fucking vulnerabilities, wasn’t that the first fucking lesson I beat into that thick skull of yours?”
Ned chuffed a sharp, pained laugh. “Didn’t take.”
“And how did that work out for you?” Ben stepped into the brig and leaned against the bars of the cell. “Having ‘friends’? This fucker’s loyalty didn’t count for much, did it?” He looked down at the body on the floor – it was already starting to stink – and chuckled when Ned averted his face, pressing his brow into the wall again, his whole fucking body curling in on itself. Just like the old days when he watched Jack getting the shit kicked out of him for something Ned had done. “Like I told you, giving a shit makes you fucking weak.”
“Fuck you, Bennie.”
Ben watched him, puffing on his pipe, thick clouds of smoke curling around him. “You never asked about the kid.”
Ned knocked his temple against the wall again. “The fuck does she matter now?” he muttered, pulling his knees up against his chest, making himself smaller, like he could fold in and disappear.
“She stopped screaming,” Ben said, tapping the bell of the pipe against one of the bars to loosen up the leaf. “Acted like no one had ever smacked the shit out of her before.”
Ned’s head snapped around, the fire back again.
Ben grinned at him. “What the fuck does she matter now?” he echoed, raising his eyebrows. “Isn’t that what you just said, you sentimental shit?”
“You’re a sick fucking cunt,” Ned spat at him. “Beating up little girls? The fuck’s wrong with you, man?”
“Me?” Ben smiled, peering into his pipe. “I do what the fuck I want.” He pushed off from the bars. “You want me to drag her down here? Want to see her scared little face? Know that you and her dad left her for me to play with?”
Ned didn’t move, staring at him with flat hard eyes. “You’re going to fucking die ,” he said quietly. “I promise you that. And it’s going to fucking hurt.”
“You first, Neddie.” He reached through the bars, spilling the ashes from his pipe over Izzy’s body. “After him, of course.”
Turning on his heel, he stalked back out into the belly of the ship.
___________________________________
“It seems to be coming towards us, sir.”
Neville Hornberry liked to believe he was a good captain and a bold one, but when one was hunting pirates, it did come as a bit of a surprise when one of the cheeky blighters decided to come directly towards you instead of nipping away across the ocean.
“Really?” he inquired, holding out a hand for the telescope. “That seems a little... unorthodox, doesn’t it?”
All the same, when he peered through the glass, it did seem to be true.
Perhaps they were trying to take advantage of the coming dusk, assuming they would be able to dash away in the darkness afterwards.
He frowned, squinting at it. They didn’t seem to be flying a flag that he could spot yet, but something about the shape of it looked familiar, though from the front it was quite hard to tell. He steadied his elbow against his Lieutenant’s shoulder, following the lines of the mast and the shape of the rigging.
“It can’t be,” he murmured.
“Sir?” Wilmot inquired.
“Fetch me that notice from my cabin,” he snapped. “Quickly.”
Some underling or other dashed away at once.
“Is it the ship we’re looking for, Captain?”
It was hard to say. The colour was different and the figurehead seemed to be some kind of crowned figure, not a unicorn anymore. But then they had done considerable damage to the ship when they took it all those months ago.
“It’s possible,” he allowed, “but there’s a description on the notice. I want to be sure.”
A moment later, the lad came dashing back up, holding out the Widow Bonnet’s helpful notice. Though it didn’t have a drawing of the ship on it, it had a good description of the form and colouring, and by God, it seemed they had finally found the rogue.
“Sir!” A shout from the top made him glance up. “There’s a flag on their main! It must’ve just run up!”
Neville tilted his scope up, beyond the tip of the foremast. A figure in the crow’s nest was tussling with the cloth and a flare of black caught his eye, a flag blooming open above the billowing patchwork sails: a skeleton armed with a spear, skewering a bloody heart. It whipped out in the wind, threat and warning all at once, then tore free from the rigging and whirled off out over the sea.
“My God,” Neville breathed. “It is him.”
“Him, sir?”
“Blackbeard!” Neville exclaimed, flapping a hand to get the Lieutenant’s attention. “Quick, quick, fire a warning shot, let him know we’re not about to brook any nonsense!”
The order passed down the line to the gunners and the boom of the cannon ripped across the waves. Across the waves, the Revenge – as was – veered starboard, showing their side but also their guns. Out of range, thank God, but the threat was clear enough.
From the side, Neville could recognise the ship at once. The colours were different, certainly, but he hadn’t spent weeks tied to that mast to be unfamiliar with every curve and line of the rails and the sweeping staircase to the helm.
He peered through his scope, spotting the formidable bearded figure storming about on the deck. Freedom had been both unkind and generous to him, his long hair more grey than Neville remembered, but he had clearly eaten well in the months since they had crossed paths. It was hard to get a clear shot of him when the man wouldn’t stop moving.
“They seem to be preparing a white flag, sir,” one of the younger ensigns called out eagerly. “I can see them down at the main!”
Surrender again? Well, wouldn’t that be marvellous to bring him in tw–
That was when a cannon fired from the lower deck of the once- Revenge , smoke blooming out of one of the gun ports, followed by a frantic surge of activity on the deck of the ship.
“He’s... attacking?” Wilmot sounded as surprised as Neville felt, in view of the white flag. “Sir?”
Gosh. Oh gosh. Well. Ah. Yes.
“I suppose we attack, then,” Neville exclaimed. “Everyone to your positions! We outgun and outman them! Come about to port and when we’re broadside, let’s give them a volley!”
The crew dashed off to their positions with a hubbub of chatter. Neville had to admit it was quite exciting! He’d never commanded an action before, only stood shortly behind Captain Badminton or the Admiral and let them do their business. His promotion on the back of the Act had barely been authorised before the fleet was dispatched.
“Sir!” Wilmot, again! Good Lord, the man was excitable. “There’s another ship!”
Oh bloody hell!
“Where?”
“Coming up from the south-south-west! Spanish! Just spotted her against the sun!”
What on earth?
“Sir!” The cry from the top made him glance up. “She’s coming about! The... the shooty ship! I think she’s going to run!”
“Oh!” Neville squeaked. “Right. Um.”
Two ships! One a known threat, the other an unknown but potentially greater danger. Dusk falling, the sun already dipping below the horizon, night on its way.
“Keep on the tail of the... the...”
He squinted at the ship closest to them, to be absolutely sure it was the right one as it veered around, turning sharply with the current. And there it was, the back of the vessel and the new name etched boldly in bright scarlet letters to disparage good King George: Royal James .
“That treasonous ship!” Neville shouted excitedly. “It’s definitely Blackbeard! We can’t let him get away!”
“We won’t be able to keep track of him after nightfall,” Wilmot exclaimed. “And with the Spaniard coming on hard behind him, we might well collide!”
“We can’t lose him again,” Neville insisted. “We pursue as much as we possibly can. Have lookouts put on all sides to keep eyes on them!”
Even as he said it, Neville could see the dusk’s fog rolling in, the heat of the day and the cooling of the sea unfurling in pale billows. Dear God, he thought, if they lost him again after finding him, there would be the devil to pay.
_____________________________________
"What the fucking hell was that?” Hornigold bellowed.
At the wheel, Fang kept his eyes fixed on the fog-smudged horizon, trying to keep his expression blank, showing nothing, giving nothing away. He’d been told to keep the ship pointed forward since he was the only one who seemed to know how it worked best and he was going to do it and no one could say anything else.
They’d got away from the English but only because Hornigold was a fucking brilliant bastard, using the change in weather, the descending fog and the ship that had been chasing them for two days as a distraction to slip away in a different direction.
Only now that they were a safe distance away, out of sight, earshot and range, he could have a go at every member of his crew.
“Who the fuck,” Hornigold continued, storming up and down the length of the deck, his face purple with rage, “fired that shot?”
“We were all on deck, captain.”
Fang winced as the poor bugger took a punch to the head and another to the belly.
“Someone,” the captain snarled, wheeling around, “was below deck and fired that shot. Admit it now and you get a clean fucking death. Make me track you down and I will peel the fucking skin from your bones and feed it to you.”
He turned slowly on the spot, looking from face to sweating face.
Course none of them could say they did it, Fang knew, because none of them had . Only Hornigold didn’t know there were ghosts running around in his ship, poisoning the provisions and sabotaging the lines and peeling off the painted-up boards that covered the ship’s new name.
“Captain,” the first mate said. “Every one of these boys was on deck. I saw them all. We was waiting to meet up with the English. Why would any of us fire on them?”
“I don’t fucking know, Evans,” Hornigold growled, low and dangerous, “but someone fucking did.” He glanced towards the hold, then took off running down the steps, vanishing down into the dark.
From the deck, Ivan picked his way up to the helm.
“You all right?” he muttered, going to the stern as if to look back for the English.
“Mm.” Fang kept his eyes forward. “Captain got us out of there nice and quick.”
“Yeah.” Ivan knocked his knuckles on the rail. “Thank fuck he didn’t notice the flag.”
Fang glanced back at him with a crooked grin. It had only flown for a few seconds before the second shot. Before they ran. How the hell Ivan managed to get it up there without anyone seeing, Fang didn’t know, but he’d managed it. “Useful, you being up in the nest and all that.”
“Happy fucking coincidence,” Ivan agreed. He turned back around, meandering back over to Fang’s side by the wheel. “Bet he thinks Blackbeard did it all. Beaten to shit and two fucking guards on the door and he still thinks he could break out that cage and do it.”
They exchanged knowing looks.
Because Blackbeard had done it. Maybe not with his own hands, but every fucking thing happening on the ship was happening because their captain was better than this fucking dick.
“They started dropping the barrels?”
Ivan moved to take Fang’s place at the wheel. “Go take a look.”
Fang let him take control of the wheel and retreated to the back of the ship, making a big show of taking out his scope and peering at the horizon, as if to check if their enemies were after them. Instead, he looked down at the water, the waves choppy and dark under the night sky.
And there, he saw one at first. A barrel bobbing on the surface, falling away as the ship surged forward, then a long stretch of rope, more and more, then the quietest of splashes and another barrel, another length of rope, barely visible unless you were looking for it.
Other Captain had called it Theseus’s ball of string, which made no sense to Fang, but then Captain said that kind of stuff a lot.
“Hsst!”
Fang turned sharply and hurried back over to take the wheel back from Ivan. Hornigold was back on deck again and he still looked fucking pissed.
“You got rid of the flag?” Fang muttered to Ivan.
Ivan gave him a look like he was fucking stupid. “Do I look like I have a death wish?” He smacked Fang warmly on the shoulder. “Keep us steady, yeah?”
Thinking of the trail of barrels and rope bobbing behind the ship Fang nodded. “Course.”
___________________________________________
“Shouldn’t we be moving?”
Stede shook his head. “We’re not going any further,” he said.
Mary eyed him doubtfully. “But we were catching up with them.”
“This is where we need to be,” he replied, waving out over the side of the ship.
They were currently anchored in a lagoon at the edge of a convenient cluster of islands, a well-known retreat and hiding spot of buccaneers on the run. Ed had been over the moon when he realised how close they would come to them, waxing lyrical about their defensive position and the criss-crossing channels that made it impossible for someone to pursue them there.
“You’ve used it before?” Stede had asked, as if he really needed to.
“Oh yeah.” Ed had clambered up on the rail. “There aren’t many places like this left anymore. Too many villages and settlements, but this one? No bugger wants to have to navigate the channels.” He squatted down on the rail, balancing like a cat. “See there? Where the water is darker? Killer riptides. I’ve seen coracles pulled under.”
“What about over there?” Stede had pointed out a path that looked clearer. “It's not so dark.”
“You'd think that’s be better, yeah?”
That night, as they lay in bed, Ed had taught him more about different elements of the sea than any of the books he’d read. It had been fascinating and slightly terrifying all at once.
Once more, Stede was glad to have Buttons back, since he seemed to know all the same details and problems and hazards that Ed could spot from fifty paces. When he’d said to drop anchor at this point in the lagoon, Stede hadn’t questioned it.
“You can’t be sure he’ll come back here, though,” Mary said, staring out at the islands. “Maybe he’d go to another port to hide.”
“Not if he wants to hide quickly,” Stede countered. “Based on the route he took and the likely point where they’d cross over, there aren’t any other islands nearby. I know we had to change things around quite a bit–”
“Quite a bit?” she echoed, staring at him in the lamplight. “Stede, you roped in the man who abducted our child!”
He wrinkled his nose. “Well, you brought in the Navy, including the man who arrested me, so I don’t think you’re in any position to cast aspersions.” They stared at each other, then both laughed. “Gosh, we have an odd relationship, don’t we?”
She leaned into his side. “Yeah.”
Stede hesitated, then cautiously put an arm around her shoulder. “I am glad you’re here, you know,” he said quietly. “I’ve been– it's been hard. Not that it hasn’t been hard for you, but it’s– I think it helps, both of us being here. Working together.”
“Mm.” She shivered. “Is there going to be a big fight? With cannons and things?”
“Ah.” Stede winced. “Yes. Technically, there will be some cannon fire and what have you, but Alma will be safe.”
She turned her head to stare at him. “They’re going to shoot at us?”
“Me,” he corrected, pressing his hand to his chest. “I’m afraid I’m going to properly piss Hornigold off when he realises I’m alive. He only wanted a few things out of our encounters: my ship, me dead and Ed captured. He thought he had all three.” He gave her a playful squeeze. “It’s amazing how many people want to kill me when they find out I’m not as dead as they thought.”
“You are very good at it,” she agreed. “The pissing people off bit.”
He chuckled, then gave her a squeeze. “You should get back inside. It’s getting a bit chilly tonight.”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around her middle as she hurried towards the staircase that led down into the galley. Most of the crew were down there, Roach baking up some treats, and he could hear Frenchie’s singing drifting up through the grating.
It wasn’t that he wouldn’t have been welcome to join them as well, but he had a feeling he might kill the mood with his fretting. Mary understood part of it at least, but she couldn’t know what it felt like knowing that you might have sent the man you loved to his death. If Hornigold realised a moment too soon, Ed’s life would be forfeit and if that happened–
“Captain?”
He startled at Olu’s voice so close by. “Oh!” Clearing his throat, he turned, smiling quickly. “Something the matter, Olu?”
“Just wanted to check you were okay.” Olu raised his eyebrows. “Are you? I mean, there’s a lot happening.”
“Ah.” Stede rapped his knuckles on the railing. “Well. I’m as well as I can be, given the circumstances.”
Olu nodded. “If it’s any comfort,” he said, “Not six months ago, I was where you are now: Jim a prisoner on a mad bastard’s ship.”
“Olu!” Stede said reproachfully. “I know it was bad then, but he’s still my husband.”
“I’m just saying,” Olu said with a crooked grin, “Jim. Blackbeard. They’re bloody good at surviving whatever shit life throws at them. If you think Blackbeard’s just going to sit there and let that arsehole kill him, you’ve got another thing coming.”
He had a point. “You could call him Ed,” he said.
“Right now,” Olu countered, “we need Blackbeard, yeah?”
That was true, even if Blackbeard was Ed and Ed was Blackbeard. The name, the reputation, that was important.
“You should come below,” Olu added. “Stop you worrying about things for a bit.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s possible.” Stede managed a tired smile. “But thank you. For checking.”
Olu hesitated, then reached out and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Get some rest, okay? We’ll keep an eye on things.”
It was a kind thought, Stede thought as he watched the young man head below. Impossible, but very kind all the same. He turned back to the rail, folding his arms on it as he gazed out over the dark silver-edged waves.
____________________________________________
Thank fuck the fog had cleared enough to see the night sky and chart a course off the stars.
Between some fucker on the ship playing silly buggers with the cannons, the English turning about to come after them like he was a fucking enemy and the fucking Spaniard, Ben was having a hell of a time believing in coincidences.
He’d had a couple of the boys, ones who had been with him for the longest, go over every fucking inch of the ship to see if any of Thomas’s crew had stowed aboard somewhere. Nothing and fucking no one. Ned was useless, still pinned down in his cage with a pair of guards at the door at all times to make sure no one went in or out. Even Ned’s boys who’d signed on with him when he took the ship hadn’t been anywhere near the lower decks when the gun went off.
But they hadn’t docked anywhere. There was nowhere any of Thomas’s people could have come aboard and even if they did, how the fuck could they have known about the plan to deliver the prisoners to the English fleet? If they had half a brain between them, they would have fucked off out of the fleet’s path.
Trouble was this wasn’t the fleet. This was a solo motherfucking ship. Was it part of the fleet? Didn’t it know to expect him? Or maybe they had been expecting the Ranger and turning up in the Thomas and Blackbeard tub had thrown them off.
Christ, nothing was making any kind of sense.
Stalking from one end of the ship to the other, Ben couldn’t scratch the itch, the feeling that something was off, something wasn’t fucking right about the thing. It was more than the shitty sails and the fact the whole ship needed some repairs to stop up whatever damage was making it ride so low and slow, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Inevitably, he ended up back in the fucking brig with fucking Ned.
Bastard had barely moved from the corner of the room, curled in tight on himself. The temptation to kick in a few more of his ribs was growing by the fucking minute.
“What,” Ned breathed, “the fuck do you want now?”
Ben glared in at him. “You and yours knew about the English fleet.”
Ned sighed and rolled his head to the side to look up at him. “You knew that.” His gaze flicked to the stinking carcass on the floor, a flicker of some fucking emotion on his face. “He told you, right?” With effort, he straightened up against the wall. “We were going to avoid them.”
“Is that so?”
Ned rolled his eyes, his head lolling back against the wall. “Fucking yes, dickfuck.” He laughed, then winced. “Whaddya think I was gonna do? Roll up to four fucking English ships, most wanted fucking renegade in the Caribbean and have a spot of fucking tea?” He uncurled one hand, drawing a line in the air. “We were gonna get the kid, fuck off west and go north around the island until some fucker ruined that plan.”
The smart choice if they wanted to get the kid free and clear, which still didn’t explain the lone fucking ship and why it turned hostile so fast.
“Why?” Ned’s hooded eyes came back to his face, curious as a fucking cat. “Is that who was shooting at you earlier?” He rubbed at his ribs, flexing his fingertips. “Sounded like a 42-pounder. Not the kind you have on this ship. Felt like you made a fucking quick exit.”
Trust him to notice that, even stuck down here in this hole.
Must’ve taken Ben’s silence as confirmation because he grinned wryly. “Looks like you’re stuck with me a bit longer, eh, Bennie?”
God, it was tempting to step into that cell and carve lumps out of him. He slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering the key. But that was the trouble with Ned. Even battered to shit, there was every chance he was just playing it up, looking weak and helpless to bait a fucking trap. He’d been stripped of his weapons, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous.
“Not much longer,” Ben replied, letting go of the key and heading back out of the brig.
He emerged onto the deck into the pre-dawn light, the edge of the turning gold at their back. He’d had Fang head on a straight course and ahead of them, he could see the outline of the cluster of islands, not much more than a few spiky outcrops of rock, but not somewhere that Navy ship could navigate.
“Captain?”
Ben rubbed at his eyes, fucking exhausted beyond the telling. “What the fuck now?”
“There’s a ship there,” the lookout on the bow called down.
“What?” He clambered up the ladder to join McKenny at the prow, snatching his telescope from his hand.
“It’s anchored just to the south of the inlet,” McKenny said, pointing. “It looks like–”
Ben’s heart leapt. Oh thank fuck. “ The Providence. ” He jerked a thumb. “Go and let the helmsman know to tack towards it.”
The boy ran and Ben breathed out slowly. Thank fuck for some small piece of luck.
Thank fuck Jo was the cautious kind, and if he thought his ship’s name was compromised, he was the type to lay low for a bit. This was as good a place as any. They’d used it back in the day. The lads had learned harsh lessons about the cruelty of the sea in the narrow inlets around the islands, but they'd learned to use them. They’d learned to find the safety in them.
He straightened up, bracing his hands on the rails as the ship began to turn, breathing in deeply, the morning air fresh and crisp and clear.
“Captain!”
The shout from the stern came in the same instant as he spotted movement on the fo’castle of the Providence . He glanced back and saw McKenny racing down the stupid staircase from the helm, face twisted up in panic.
Shit.
“Yoohoo!” The voice rang out across the waves and Ben froze where he was. “I believe you have someone that belongs with me.”
Spinning like the ship’s wheel in a gale, Ben rotated back around to stare across the water at the other ship. At the man waving enthusiastically from the prow of the Providence. The golden-haired man he'd last seen in a bright blue suit all covered in blood and gore.
“Captain!” McKenny slammed up beside him, panting hard. “Captain, the English are behind us! The fucking English followed us! And the Spanish ship is with them.”
Stede fucking Bonnet cupped his hands around his mouth. “You’re right on time!” he yelled. “Welcome to my ambush!”