The loose equipment aboard the ship rolled and fell from one end to the other, cascading down and bouncing off the deck before being flung into the ocean below. Men lost their footing and tumbled backwards toward the starboard side. Edward could hear loud bangs and crashes within the ship as well. The large iron cannons, with nothing but their own weight to hold them in place, rolled to the other side of the ship, further speeding the ship's tilt. Just before the ship's side collided with the dark ocean below, Edward heard the sound of wood cracking open, and several small splashes preceding the larger one.
The ship hit the water with a thunderous crash. Seawater surged up the weather deck beneath Edward's feet and covered him in an icy chill all over again. The main mast and the fore sail both hit the pirate sloops, which were also sinking. The spars of the masts had broken through the decks of the sloops, joining the ships together in their destiny to sink to the bottom of the ocean. There was no possible saving the lot of them.
Edward looked down and could see his crew swimming in the ocean, trying to avoid the sinking masts and rigging. He couldn't take a count, but with the rough look he estimated most of them had survived.
Edward looked to his right, and could see Locke dangling off the port railing just as he was. They locked eyes, and Locke scrambled to pull himself up. Edward moved to do the same, and climbed over the side of the railing to the port hull of the galleon.
In the dark waters off the side, Edward could see many men swimming their way, and others standing on the sinking side of the ship. Even then, some of the men still continued to fight, whether out of anger or blindness, he could not tell.
Locke came at Edward with everything he had, wildly swinging his one weapon at him. Edward knew his every move by heart. Locke moved the same as he had those months ago in Ireland. He hadn't grown, he hadn't gotten stronger, he hadn't improved himself as Edward had. Locke was no match for the Edward of today, the Edward he let live because he couldn't finish the job the right way.
There was one problem: the galleon was still sinking. In a few moments, the ship would be under water, and their fight wouldn't be able to continue.
No, no, I still need to question him about Sam. I have to get him to the Queen Anne's Revenge before I kill him. The words of Edward's wife filtered into his head once again. If you want to knock a man off balance and get behind him, use his own attacks against him.
Locke kept swinging his chest arm like a wild man, trying to hit Edward's head over and over. His right arm had grown strong over the years, and he had much more stamina than before, which meant he could keep fighting for some time.
Edward backed up a few steps, and baited Locke by leaning his head forward. Locke, too frustrated or foolish to care, swung at Edward all the same. Edward pulled back to avoid the blow, then placed his hands on the back of the heavy chest and pushed it with all his strength. Locke continued his arc further than expected and the weight of the chest turned him around. The man lost his balance and dropped to his knees. Edward pounced on Locke, wrapped his arms around the pirate's throat, and squeezed.
Locke tried to get up off his knees, but Edward pushed forward and placed his boot on top of the chest, effectively pinning Locke where he was. Locke pulled against Edward's arms as he pulled in stifled breaths. As the seconds passed and he began to lose himself, Locke clawed at Edward's arm, then elbowed him in the gut, but Edward never released his grip.
After a moment of the struggle, Locke's hand fell to his side, limp. Edward continued to hold the pressure for another few seconds, and then let go. Locke fell to the galleon's hull, his legs and body contorted unnaturally.
Edward stood up and caught his breath. The cold air filled his lungs, but it had never felt sweeter than in that moment. He had won the battle of three in the Caribbean Sea.
He didn't have time to celebrate, as the water touching his feet told him. He lifted Locke up and placed him over his shoulder. The man was a heavy load, but nothing Edward couldn't handle.
He searched for the Queen Anne's Revenge and saw it floating around where the bow of the galleon was pointing. It wasn't far, but between it and him were a few dozen people from all sides of the battle.
Edward looked behind him to see his crew there, swimming towards him, and not far towards the stern of the galleon he saw two longboats still intact. He walked over to the nearest one and tossed Locke inside.
He pointed to the second longboat and commanded his crew to fetch it. With the little surface left on the side of the galleon, he leapt from it into the longboat.
His crew swam to the boats and boarded them, while at the same time defending them from the Spanish and the pirates. For simple longboats, they were massive. The two were enough to fit the remainder of his crew inside with ease.
William and Victoria were in the longboat with Edward, and they looked worse than he'd first thought, but not on the edge of death at least.
William was bleeding from a wound on his arm and breathing heavily, which was unusual. Edward figured it was his previous injuries and being bedridden for so long.
Victoria's face and chest were covered in blood, and she too was taking in deep breaths. She didn't appear to have any visible wounds, but her fatigue was evident.
"Are you both well?" Edward asked.
The two of them nodded, but didn't answer, which was good enough for him considering the circumstances.
The crew removed oars at the sides, and paddled their way towards their ship. As they moved, Edward looked down to the dim, murky waters of the sea, and the galleon which was being swallowed by its depths. All that wealth, treasure, and history was lost to Davey Jones, and it had all been done in a matter of hours.
The crew repelled those still alive trying to steal the boat from them, killing many in the process. None of the swimmers' guns would work, and the only choice was coming in close to attempt taking the longboats from their occupants. After a few lost fingers or their lives, the rest didn't dare attempt to board.
On the decks of the Queen Anne's Revenge, those same pirates and Spanish were trying to board. After having spent their proper weapons, they were no match for the crew still holding muskets and pistols and manning cannons.
Edward and company rowed the boats up next to their ship, and climbed aboard with ease. All the while, muskets still cracked with their burning explosions, and cannons still boomed with their bursts of iron death.
Edward slung Locke over his shoulder once more, and climbed up to his home. He dropped his enemy onto the weather deck, and jumped over the side to join his family.
As soon as he did, Anne rushed over to embrace him and kiss his forehead.
"I knew you would be safe," she said.
Edward chuckled. "You say that, but your voice sounded worried."
Anne smiled at him and embraced him again. The two stood there for a moment, warming each other with their love, until Edward stepped back.
"It's almost over," he said. "There's just one thing left to do." Edward stepped over to the port side and made sure that his crew were aboard, then turned back around to face the helm.
He saw a man not of his crew board at the stern, only to have Christina and Tala appear out of nowhere and attack him. Christina cut the man's chest open, and Tala tore his throat out.
Edward nodded with a devilish grin on his face at the sight. "Get us out of here, Herbert," he said.
Herbert smiled. "Aye, Captain."
"Someone bring me a pistol," Edward said.
After a moment, one of the crew brought Edward a loaded pistol. Edward thanked the man, then fired it at Locke's leg. The bullet pierced the man's thigh straight through.
Locke woke with a loud scream of pain, clutching his leg. Blood pooled beneath the wound and spilled over his pantaloons and hand. Locke's face contorted in pain, changing from clenched teeth to a rapid breathing and back again, all the while accompanied by another cry of agony.
Edward bent down to get to eye level with Locke. "Whe
re… is… Sam?"
"I already bleedin' told ya, I don't know who yer talkin' about," he replied between his stifled cries.
Edward sighed and glanced over his shoulder. "Sam had taken a false name before joining Locke's crew. Does anyone remember what it was?"
Anne folded her arms. "James, I believe."
Edward nodded and turned back around to Locke. "He may have gone by the name James while he was with your crew. Black hair, foul mouth."
Locke's expression seemed to change as he glanced from Edward to Anne and to the others in his crew who were watching. "W-why would ya want to know about that sod?" He continued looking back and forth at the people gathered, and his expression changed again, this time into a sweat-soaked, uneasy smirk. "Ah, I gets it now. He was part of yer crew. No wonder he looked so familiar." Locke convulsed into a sickening fit of laughter.
Edward rose to his full towering height. "What happened to him?"
Locke was still laughing, but he stopped just long enough to say, "I killed the bastard," with a smug look in his eyes as he stared at Edward. "I killed him just like I killed that old fool Jo—"
Edward slammed his cutlass down on Locke's shoulder, severing the arm that had the chest attached to it. Locke's laughter turned into a sharp cry of anguish. He pulled his severed arm close to his chest as blood gushed from the wound. His body shook as he tried to close the wound with his good hand, but it was no use.
Edward dropped his cutlass to the sole with a loud clang, and then jumped on top of Locke, his massive body pinning the much smaller man down. He wrapped his hands around Locke's bloody throat and pushed down as hard as he could.
"You never got it, did you?" Edward shouted. "You never had the power between us. You should have bowed to me!"
Locke struggled with his stump and his fist and his legs, but nothing could stop Edward from choking the life out of him. His mouth opened in a pathetic attempt to draw air, and all he could do was croak as his throat tried to bring him life again. His eyes bulged and his face turned a garish shade of red.
"Not laughing now, are you?" Edward seethed, but of course Locke couldn't answer him. "Laugh," he screamed as he shook Locke by his neck. "Laugh, I said!"
But the man couldn't laugh even if he'd wanted to. After a moment, Locke's arms went limp once more, and he could no longer even try to resist the force on top of him. Edward squeezed tighter and tighter and tighter still, and there was a small pop.
Edward took a breath, released his grip on Locke's neck, then grabbed the man's severed arm and the chest which had been his companion for so many years. He lifted the chest above his head and smashed it down on Kenneth Locke's head. The heavy chest broke Locke's face, caving it in and sending a wave of blood out from it. Edward didn't stop there. He lifted the chest once again, the blood dripping from it on top of his head. He slammed it down on Locke's face again and again and again until there was nothing left of Locke but a red mess on the planks of the weather deck.
Edward dropped the chest in front of him, arms burning and chest heaving. He got up from his knees and to his feet once again. He was covered in blood from head to toe, and the whole business gave his own crew pause; they stared at him, wide-eyed and silent in their shock.
"This," Edward said, pointing to what was left of Locke, "is justice."
21. The Storm
Unable to sleep, Edward leaned back in a chair in his captain's cabin and stared out the stern windows to the night sky and sea. The water below churned and spiralled away from the ship, waves dancing in its wake.
After a quick funeral for those that had died during the battle—thirteen, to be exact—the injured were patched up and the crew took some much-needed rest.
Edward held a glass of rum in his hands, watching it for a moment before he downed the contents in one great gulp. It burned as it went down, and the heat filled his cheeks and lingered for a long while.
The scenes of the battle repeated in his head over and over. The feeling of drowning, both in the bottom of the ship and when he saw Kenneth Locke, was as present as ever, and it made Edward furious. Locke's face was burned into his mind, and wouldn't go away.
Edward took another drink, and another, and another, and soon his head was light and Locke's face left his mind. The dark sky, full of bright stars, swirled like the water below, and mixed with the windows and the planks of the ship into a sea of dull colours. He had to close his eyes to stop the spinning.
Edward put down the glass and got up from his seat. His legs wobbled and his balance was precarious. He took a few steps, placed his hand on the windows, and used it to guide him around the cabin towards his bed. The rocking of the ship was no aid as he stepped forward, but he succeeded after a time.
He flopped into the bed, shaking it with his weight, and his wife stirred at his side. "Can you not sleep, Edward?"
Edward shuffled and got underneath the covers. "I was celebrating," he said, a slight slur in his words.
There was a pause, then Anne said, "Try to sleep, your injuries need to heal."
Anne's words were lost on him in the haze of his mind. As the drink took over, he calmed and sleep soon washed over him. This time, a more welcome darkness enveloped him, and all thoughts of Locke dissipated into the ether.
…
Knocking at Edward's door woke him from his slumber. His eyes opened in an instant and he took in a sharp breath through his nose. Sweat covered his face, chest, and back, neither cold nor warm on his body. His head pounded with each movement, and the light of day hurt his eyes.
He looked at the bed, and Anne wasn't there. As his eyes adjusted, he turned to look at the room, but she wasn't there either.
The knocking came again. "A moment, if you please," he shouted, but he had to press on his temple afterwards.
He got up and clothed himself, making himself look a slight bit presentable, and then went to open the door. Herbert was in front of the door, and he had a wide smile on his face and a bottle of something in his lap.
"Good day to you, Captain," he said. "I thought we could share a drink to celebrate now that you've had some time to rest."
Edward's head still throbbed, and when he looked at the bottle in Herbert's lap it nearly made him sick, but he pushed aside the feeling. He stepped aside and held the door open. "Certainly. Please, enter."
Herbert wheeled himself into Edward's cabin and up to the table at the back of the room. He placed the bottle on the table in front of him as Edward acquired glasses for the both of them.
"So, what's this you have?" Edward asked, gesturing at the bottle.
Herbert grinned. "I bought this a few months back from the Bodden brothers," he said. "It's a highland scotch from their hometown. A rare vintage, from what they told me. For special occasions such as these, I believe it necessary."
Edward chuckled. "Better with us than where they are now," he said.
"Hear, hear." Herbert popped the cork and poured each of them a drink.
Edward took one of the glasses and sipped the scotch. He was pleasantly surprised by how smooth the drink was, nothing like the sharp and harsh rum he had had the night before. It had notes of toasted nuts and something almost sweet to it.
Hebert too had taken a sip of the scotch, and he smiled yet raised his brow at the same time. "Dad damn, that's good."
"You can say that again," Edward replied. "You made a good choice."
Herbert lifted his glass. "To your revenge."
Edward paused for a moment, his hand gripping the glass hard. He recovered a moment later and clinked his glass with Herbert's. "Revenge." He pulled back the glass and downed the drink in one gulp.
Herbert frowned, but smiled soon after. "Now, now, Captain. This drink is to be savoured."
Edward nodded, but didn't say anything. Herbert filled his cup once more, and Edward decided not to offend his generosity by trying to hold back.
"So, Captain… how do you feel?"
Edward stared at Herbert for a mom
ent, not sure of what he was truly asking. "I'm well," he said.
Herbert frowned. "Come now, Captain, you must tell me more. You've just gotten revenge on Kenneth Locke. How does it feel?" There was a moment of silence as Edward contemplated the question. "You're… you're not still upset with me, are you?"
Edward shook his head. "No, no, of course not," he replied. "Truth be told, I thought you might have wanted to take Locke for yourself, given that he was one of Calico Jack's men."
Herbert looked surprised. "No, he was yours to kill. He wasn't one of Calico Jack's men when I was part of the crew."
Edward nodded and took a swig of the scotch. The smooth taste was still there, but a hint of smokiness bit the back of his tongue. "After you killed Gregory Dunn, you said you felt content. Does that still hold true?"
Herbert looked down at the glass in his hands, staring at the drink for a long while. "I don't know… It's been so long. I've grown cold to the memory. Calico Jack's officers no longer hold any appeal to me. I believe only the man himself could quell the burning inside me now."
"Then perhaps we should be more direct in our aspirations," Edward said. "We should sail straight for him… No more beating against the wind, as it were."
Herbert raised his brow and his jaw dropped. "You cannot believe that is the best course for us."
Edward set his cup down. "And why not? He wouldn't see us coming if we planned our actions right."
"The very notion is suicide, Captain," Herbert replied. "He has more men on his side than we do, more ships, more… everything. We have to do what he did to us: remove his support and then attack him head-on on even ground." Herbert took a drink and then placed his cup down as well. "This is especially the case now that we've… lost Roberts."
Edward leaned back in his chair. "You may be right."
Blackbeard's Justice (The Voyages of Queen Anne's Revenge Book 3) Page 27
