"Hmph," Roberts scoffed. "It is the height of pride when one thinks to offer help to someone who doesn't need it. A high mind comes before a fall," Roberts added.
"And who's to say you aren't the one with the high mind?" Edward spat with a wave of his hand. "You can't even see that you'll just be betrayed again." Edward held up his hand. "My apologies, you only seem to understand when quoting scripture. How does it go…? Ah, yes, you aren't able to see the beam in your own eye, or something along those lines."
"You distort the meaning of the passage, and it just shows your own lack of awareness," Roberts seethed, his eyes wide and full of anger.
Edward rubbed his face, frustrated with the talk. "Could we perhaps move on? We have a battle to sail to, if you'll recall."
Roberts sat up straight in his chair and folded his arms in front of him. He stared at Edward for a moment which seemed like an eternity. Edward felt as if he were being scrutinized, judged, and found wanting.
"So, you will offer no apology for what you've done?"
Edward clenched his teeth once again, then licked his chapped lips. "I tell you again: I was trying to help you. If you don't want that help, that's not my issue. I've done nothing wrong."
Roberts stared at Edward again, his hands still folded, and eventually Edward groaned. "Fine, you want an apology? I apologise for trying to help you do something you should be doing yourself," he said in a mocking tone.
Roberts sighed. "I asked Walter Kennedy where the others were headed, and he said they would wait twenty nautical miles northwest of Providencia for the Spanish galleon. That seems to fall in line with the map Luis provided. You may have the Gallant so you are still able to fight in the coming battle." Roberts rose to leave.
Edward bolted from his seat; his chest felt like it had been knocked around. "Hold, hold. You are leaving? Over this?"
Roberts shook his head. "No, not just for this. You've changed, Edward. Or… perhaps I've simply been able to see you for who you are now that we've had some time together," Roberts said, scratching his chin. "There is some sort of darkness within you, and while I do not claim to be a saint, I have lived by a code. It may seem as if I've changed my ways here today, but I have only tempered myself in that code to come out stronger. Walter Kennedy wronged me, yes, but he doesn't deserve death." Roberts placed his hand on the chair, and looked Edward in the eyes. "You seem to live by the whims and changes of the tide. Every person who wrongs you and situation in which you are wronged turns you into a more angry, bitter man… I suppose that is a tempering in its own way, but it is a tempering I want no part of."
Roberts turned around and headed towards the door of the war room, leaving Edward standing speechless. He was reminded of another time a friend of his left him, the scene nearly mimicked in his head with Henry's back flashing into his mind. The same feelings welled inside him as well—confusion, fear, anger, and an overwhelming sense of guilt over what he'd done to Henry.
"I thought we were brothers," Edward said, the words forming without thought.
Roberts turned around. "We were," he said, pulling Edward back to reality and making him realise he had said that out loud. "But, like Cain and Abel, we find our beliefs at a crossroads. Our beliefs in what a pirate is, and what one should do to those who've wronged us. And… before one of us kills the other, we should part ways."
Unwittingly, Roberts struck a dagger in Edward's heart. The guilt of killing his best friend Henry Morgan overwhelmed him in that moment. He was Cain to Henry's Abel, as he could soon be to Bartholomew's.
"Despite this, I wish you and your wife well, Edward. I will hold the memory of marrying you two as precious for all my days," Roberts said, taking a moment to breathe and compose his shaking voice. "I hope this world doesn't sink you into its depths."
Roberts left the war room of the Queen Anne's Revenge and closed the door behind him. Edward fell back into his seat, slumping down and pressing on his temples as an ache surfaced on the sides of his head.
I am Cain… am I? Edward thought. He gazed at the door, the lingering thought of Henry's and Roberts' backs in his mind's eye. So be it.
19. Formations
"With the Gallant in our possession we have a fighting chance against the Spanish galleon and Kenneth Locke. I want to discuss the battle plan I have in mind," Edward said to his senior crew once they had gathered in the stern cabin.
Edward had summoned Anne, William, Herbert, and Christina to the room after Roberts left and the Fortune sailed away. Edward listened from the room as quick and confused goodbyes were given, then had a crewmate gather them for the meeting.
All eyes were on him now, and they all had similar expressions of shock on their faces.
"Are we not to discuss what just happened, Edward?" Anne asked, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
Edward shrugged his shoulders. "What is there to discuss? What's done is done."
"What's done is—" Anne looked away, her jaw rigid from her clenching her teeth. "Our greatest allies simply sail away without so much as an explanation, on the eve of what is sure to be one of our toughest battles, and you think this is nothing to talk about?" she said, annoyance replaced with anger.
Edward looked straight into his wife's eyes, took a silent breath, and tried to maintain a level tone. "Roberts was with us only until we helped him capture Walter Kennedy, as I'm sure you'll recall. Our contract with him is completed, and he's left. He was gracious enough to leave us the Gallant, and with the size of our crew we should have no issues manning both ships."
"So…" Christina started, before glancing to those sitting at the oval table, "you're saying he just… left?" She chuckled. "You'll have to do a bit better than that, Edward."
Edward stared daggers at Christina. "Watch your tongue, young lady," he said.
"Do not talk to my sister that way," Herbert warned.
"I will not tolerate disrespect," Edward said. "Tell her that."
"Am I not sitting in front of you?" Christina said. "You may tell me yourself if you have something to say."
The conversation continued to devolve into a slew of back-and-forth passive aggression between the three parties for a brief moment until—
"Enough!" Anne shouted. "As quartermaster I'll have you all thrown in the brig if you do not cease this inane bickering," she said, her arms folded in front of her chest. "Edward, we know Roberts' departure was due to your indiscretion. The crew demands answers, and they will not suffer your lies."
Edward looked at his wife, anger still coursing through him. His heart beat as quick as a storm whipping the waves, and he clenched his hands tighter than a rope knot. "They want answers, do they?" he said. "Fine, I'll give them answers."
Edward rose from his seat and stormed off to the stern cabin door. The four glanced warily at each other before quickly following behind him. They called to him, but he ignored them and opened the door to enter the weather deck.
The light of the sun shining down hurt Edward's eyes when he walked out of the stern cabin, but he didn't move to block the beams. "Men!" he called out. He walked to the stairs to the quarterdeck, and went up halfway. As he did, the crew gathered around him, whispering and watching. "Roberts has abandoned us," he declared.
The shock of the announcement was evident on all the crew's faces. Coming after the fight Roberts and he had had, they were reasonably sceptical, and angered that they were low on fighting power. Anne was right; he wouldn't be able to spin a lie this time.
"He was a coward who couldn't finish the job he was meant to do: get revenge. He abandoned us in our hour of need because of the creed you all swore to. This ship isn't called Queen Anne's Forgiveness, it's called Queen Anne's Revenge, and revenge is what we'll have." Edward paused for a moment to search the crowd. Even in that short speech he had said enough. The men no longer looked angered, and instead looked ready for a fight. "Who's with me?"
The crew shouted their answer, and stomped their feet to make the sole of the ship s
hake. Edward let it continue for a moment, the raucous nature spreading to each man as the noise and the shaking rose. He looked at Anne and the others, and raised his brow, asking in his head if this was what they had wanted. Anne gave a simple, curt bow of her head in response.
Edward raised his hand to cease the noise. "I need sixty men to man the Gallant for the coming battle. There also needs to be a helmsman, and a senior mate to lead the crew."
"I will be your helmsman," Christina blurted out before any other could speak up.
Edward looked at Christina, and then glanced at Herbert.
"Don't look at him!" she shouted as she stepped forward. "I am the most qualified to navigate a ship, and I'm not a child who needs her brother's permission to do something. Let me do this."
Edward looked Christina in the eyes, those wide, sky-blue eyes of hers. She had a twinge of a smile on her face, and she had her fists clenched. Edward nodded. "You'll be the helmsman for the Gallant," he said.
William took a few steps and held his hands behind his back. "If you'll permit it, Captain, I can lead the crew on the Gallant."
"This will be a difficult task with what I have in mind, and I know you're the best man for it. What say you, men? Do these two have what it takes to lead you?"
The crew shouted their agreement with a mix of laughter and pats on William's and Christina's backs. The two of them accepted the praise with grace, grinning and smiling at their crewmates and friends.
"Choose amongst yourselves who wishes to serve aboard the Gallant while we prepare a battle plan. We will not simply survive. We will win this fight."
…
"The Gallant is giving the signal," a mate from the crow's nest shouted. He was periodically focussing his gaze through a long spyglass.
"Good," Edward said aloud. He looked at the position of the sun, just coming down with several hours before it fell below the horizon. "Take us into position, Herbert," he said.
"Aye, Captain," Herbert replied. He turned the wheel of the ship slightly, then ordered a change in the sails to bring them circling around the faraway Gallant.
"You are certain your plan will work?" Edward asked Anne while looking through his own inferior spyglass. The muddied, scratched lens could only show him the position of the Gallant, but he wasn't able to make out anything other than its general shape. Beyond the Gallant he saw a blob barely the size of a speck nearby, which he wouldn't have been able to see if not for the signal from the other crew.
"From what the crew who helped Roberts mentioned, Kenneth Locke's spy arrived before us in the morning. If my counting is correct, and provided the galleon wasn't delayed, before the few hours of light we have are gone, the galleon should arrive. Locke will be too focussed on the coming battle to look closely at the Gallant's crew, or in our direction."
"Let's hope that Locke doesn't enjoy gazing directly at the sun."
"From what I knew of the man, he was not the most attentive."
"Mmm," Edward mumbled. He put his spyglass away and rubbed his eye where it had been.
"What leads you to be certain the galleon will even come this way still? We told them of the attack, it would be wiser to choose a different route."
"The captain of the galleon was a bold one. He challenged us when we met with him back in Panama, and I don't think he's one to back down from a fight. Also, if he was to take another route, why hire two sloops-of-war to assist as an escort?"
"It could have been a precaution," Anne said. "There's no guarantee that they will come, despite your assumptions."
Edward shrugged. "Well, if they don't, we still have the backup plan. We'll follow Locke back to land, and ambush them when we have the advantage."
Anne sighed. "I suppose that is an option," she said.
"Keep me informed of our situation, Quartermaster."
"Aye, Captain," she replied with a smile.
Edward went down the steps of the quarterdeck to the weather deck, which now stretched out all the way to the bow. He spoke with the crew, ensuring that the ship and their minds were prepared for the coming battle. There was a nervousness in the way the men spoke, and the perspiration dangling from their noses wasn't entirely from the heat of the day.
Edward noticed a noise coming from the bow, and when he looked over he could see Nassir there, half his body off the side as his knees held onto railings he had just fixed. He went over to see what the carpenter was working on.
When he approached and leaned over the side, he saw Nassir at it again with a hand plane, shaving off pieces of wood from the planks they had recently affixed. With each stroke of the large man's arms, bits of the Caribbean pine parted from the larger planks and fell into the ocean. Edward could see the pieces floating down the sea current with the waves like poor excuses for driftwood.
As Edward examined the bow, he noticed that Nassir was nearing the end of his work. "She looks good as new, Nassir!" Edward shouted over the sound of the waves.
Nassir jumped at Edward's voice, and almost dropped the hand plane into the sea. He gripped the tool close to his chest and then pulled himself back onto the deck. He was breathing heavily and looked startled. "Captain, you must watch what you are doing. My heart almost seized."
Edward chuckled. "Sorry, Nassir, I didn't mean to frighten you so."
Nassir took a few more breaths. "It is fine, Captain. Nothing was lost."
Edward reached down and offered his hand to help Nassir to his feet, which the carpenter accepted. "I only wanted to mention how the ship is looking well due to your skilled craftsmanship. You've done a fine job, and the ship is moving faster than she ever has because of it."
Nassir waved his hand. "You give me too much credit, sir," he said simply.
"Were there any troubles that I should be informed of?"
Nassir shook his head. "No, the work went smoothly. We were able to use the reclaimed wood, so there was little need for new pieces. The braces and the railings were simple enough, as the originals don't have nothing fancy to them. I made a new fife rail, with William's instruction," Nassir said, pointing to the fore mast. A rather large construction of wood went around the bottom of the mast with pegs at the top to hold the rigging. "They'll need some staining to match the look of the old wood though."
Edward looked at the new fife rail, and the bow railings, and there was a clear difference in the colour between the two. "Yes, I see that. The old girl is looking a bit weathered, it seems," he said, smacking the rails with a chuckle.
"She's been through much over the years," Nassir said, glancing around at the ship. He soon settled his gaze on the figurehead of Anne's likeness at the bow, an hourglass in one hand and a spear in the other.
Edward followed Nassir's gaze, looking at the flowing locks of hair and the robes covering the body of the figure. "Aye, she has," he said. "Hopefully, with your help, she'll have many more years ahead of her."
Nassir smirked. "Provided you stay out of trouble some of the time."
Edward chuckled. "I think we could manage some of the time."
Nassir returned to work, and Edward went over to starboard to gaze at the ocean. He was there only a moment before someone smacked him hard on the back. He had to take a step forward to steady himself before he could turn to see who it was. Pukuh was standing behind him, grinning.
"That bloody hurt, you bastard," Edward said as he rolled his shoulder, trying to remove the throbbing feeling.
"If the look on your face wasn't so sour I would not have to hit you. Come out of it, brother."
Edward folded his arms. "I'm doing just fine, and once this battle has concluded I'll be that much better," he replied. Edward looked over starboard, to where the Gallant was coming more into view. "What about you, brother? Are you well?"
"As well as ever," Pukuh said. "The phantoms of my right aches for a fight, while the left itches for it." Pukuh held up his left hand and clenched it into a fist. "It has been months since we had a proper battle."
Edward s
hook his head, but he had a grin on his face. "You pray for a battle? A strange thing indeed."
Pukuh wagged his finger at Edward. "Do not try to tell me you do not ask for the same. You've been wanting this for months as well."
Edward didn't want to think about it any more than he had to. He still felt a crippling dread when he thought of Kenneth Locke, and the only way to bring him out of it was the thought of crippling him. In one sense, he supposed he did want this, but in another sense he just wanted it to be over.
"Yes, it has been a long time coming," was all he could say.
Some crewmates called Pukuh over to help them with the trimming of the sails, and so Pukuh said a goodbye and headed over to work. Edward stayed behind, looking out over the ocean at the Gallant.
Somewhere, you're there, Edward thought. The pain gripped him again, and the throbbing wounds on his chest, his back, his legs, his arms, and his mind all cried out at once, but he silenced them. Soon, I'm going to kill you.
…
An hour after the Queen Anne's Revenge was in position in front of the setting sun, a call came from the crow's nest.
"Ship approaching south!" the man shouted.
Edward's ears perked and his eyes opened wide. He was on the quarterdeck with Anne and Herbert. He glanced off the starboard stern, but he couldn't see anything. "How many ships?"
The man in the crow's nest looked through his spyglass once more, moving side to side, but shook his head after a moment. "I can't tell."
Edward nodded. "Keep checking," he said. He glanced at Anne. "Do you think we should head over to the Gallant now, or wait?"
"I suppose the true question is, do we want to take the risk?"
Herbert looked off to port. "The sun's nearly gone now. We will have the same risk in waiting."
Edward stroked his beard as he thought over the options. "Take us in, Herbert. We need to be ready to take down one of those sloops as soon as they come into range."
Herbert gave the order to lower and trim the sails, then turned the wheel to starboard. The ship lurched forward, the wind only slightly in their favour. After a time, the speed built and the ship was under way.
Blackbeard's Justice (The Voyages of Queen Anne's Revenge Book 3) Page 23
