John's hand and face relaxed in tandem as Edward backtracked. "So, what does this mean?"
Edward shook his head. The rum was beginning to make him hot, or perhaps it was the slight twinge of embarrassment. "I suppose it means I owe you an apology for my outburst." John appeared taken aback at the comment but accepted the apology. "And it means we need to be more cautious around our new captain." This time Edward glanced over towards Herbert, the words meaning more for him than what he was letting on in front of John. Herbert understood the message and gave Edward a nod.
There was another moment of silence as the group reflected on what had just happened, as well as the tense conversation. Each of them seemed shaken by how close they had come to be a splatter of gore on the deck of the ship.
John looked at Edward, a small smirk on his face now that he had calmed down. "If nothing else, this will make quite the story. First day on board and you got someone killed. That must be an accomplishment somewhere."
It was Edward's turn to be taken aback this time, and he was shocked into a different kind of silence for a moment. He glanced over at Herbert, who had what felt like the same dumbfounded expression on his face as well. Then the two burst out laughing, and John joined in.
"I suppose that is true," Edward said through the laughter. "On a pirate ship perhaps less so, but I shall see it as an accomplishment nonetheless." Edward, for the first time in a long while, laughed sincerely and with genuine mirth. It forced him to rise to his feet and clap John on the shoulder.
After another moment of laughter, and a sharing of Edward's flask, the three compatriots, now in better spirits, headed back to the crew quarters.
Now that supper had officially ended for the first shift, and the evening shift had broken their fast, the crew slung hammocks in the cramped space. With the numbers they had, as well as the small size of the quarters, each row of hammocks was stacked three high. The bottom one would have one's posterior scraping the sole of the deck, the middle gave no room to move without touching the mate above, and the top ran the risk of smacking one's head on the overhead.
Herbert chose the middle as it allowed him ease of sliding into and out of his chair. John went to the top as he was smaller than Edward, and it forced Edward to the bottom. His bigger frame and heavier build meant that he was touching the floor more than the average crewmate. Instead of just a light scraping with the sway of the ship that could be ignored, his hip struck the sole hard with each swing. He tried to tighten the hammock, and it provided some relief in exchange for more rigidity, and so instead of no sleep, he was left with little sleep.
Not that his dreams would allow him much more regardless. The rum mitigated the deeper sleep that brings with it images both pleasant or harrowing familiar to most folk, but it couldn't stop them completely.
Two times in the night, Edward awoke with a start, stopping himself just shy of hitting Herbert's backside with his face. As with most dreams, whether joyful or distressful, he lost all knowledge of it upon his waking. All he had was a fog of dread arresting his thoughts and a tremble of the fingers that wasn't from a cool breeze. He had no way to know for sure, but from the way his sleeping mind and body reacted, the dreams couldn't have been pleasant ones.
Edward had been paralyzed by similar dreams for nights on end, long enough that he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full night's sleep.
After a few hours of fitful slumber, the beat of a drum and a young man shouting orders to wake and relieve the other crewmates forced Edward awake.
Edward's body ached more than it had before he'd tried to sleep. His tired limbs were slow to act, and pressure in his head pushed from the back, increasing the fog and exhaustion he felt. He resorted to rubbing his eyes and slapping his face to wake himself, and taking another drink from his ever-emptying flask to stave off the pain.
Herbert, though forced to journey as a passenger, also rose and entered his chair to join Edward on the weather deck. He looked a touch more refreshed than Edward did, but it was clear that he too had trouble sleeping on the foreign ship.
John jumped down to the sole of the deck, fresh and ready to go with energy only youth could muster. Even with only a few hours of sleep, he seemed to not need any more. Though if Edward could place a wager, he had a feeling that before long, John would lag behind the more experienced crewmates.
The three headed towards the ladder leading to the weather deck, and Herbert and Edward went into motion with a practiced efficiency of long years together. Herbert jumped off his chair and climbed up the ladder as swift as a snake. Edward, after a few breaths and repositioning to not reopen his wounds, and declining help from John, lifted the chair overhead. Balancing it with one hand, and with the other holding to a rope leading up the steep ladder, he climbed to the weather deck. After another moment's respite to catch his breath, he took the chair further up some steps to the quarterdeck where guests were meant to stay.
After gingerly placing the chair down, Herbert climbed in. "Are you well?" he asked Edward, keeping his voice low.
Edward nodded, though he knew his breathing would say otherwise. He also caught himself leaning on the handle of Herbert's chair for support and stopped himself.
"You haven't been sleeping well, I notice." Herbert left a second question unuttered.
Edward decided to sidestep Herbert's undertone with a retort. "Neither have you," he said, not looking at Herbert directly.
Herbert frowned. "Come now, we're in…" Herbert's gaze flitted to the other crewmates already on watch, and the closest few near the helm. He lowered his volume again. "We're alone here. We need to be together here more than ever. If you need help, you need to tell me."
Edward's everything itched at the conversation. He wanted to be away from it more than anything. He clenched his fist and levelled a steely gaze at Herbert. "And how exactly can you help me here?" he snarled. "How can you when you can't even rig a ship in that chair of yours?" Edward rose to his full height as Herbert's expression turned from brows raised to furrowed, with a side of clenched jaw.
"That was unnecessary," Herbert replied with bared teeth.
Edward knew that what he'd said was wrong, but he was too tired for remorse. "I'm sorry," he said hastily, too hastily for sincerity, "but I can handle myself, and it would behoove you not to place more of a burden on me with your incessant questions." Edward rubbed the sleep from his eyes, hoping to catch some of the frustration in between his thumb and forefinger at the same time. "I've got work to do," he said as he walked away.
Throughout the night, Edward was tasked with securing rigging, keeping watch and relaying navigational information to the helmsman, making minor repairs to the spare sails in the quarterdeck cabin, and when that was exhausted, he had to swab the deck.
All the while, the crew were taking every opportunity to make his job harder than it had to be. From outstretched feet trying to send him tumbling to 'accidental' drops of tools to the sole of the deck, to creating the messes they forced him to clean, the crew united in a passive-aggressive battle to break him.
And, to make it just that much worse, when Edward had a chance to look up from his work and wipe the sweat from his brow, he took notice of the other crewmates on night watch lounging and not even working a third as hard as he.
If this were any other ship, he would have taken issue with the disparity, and at that moment, as irritable as he was, he felt such rage over it he could have slit someone's throat. On this ship, and with the smirks the other crewmates were giving him, his hardship was by design, the silent architects of his misfortune being the captain's declaration that he does the work of several men to make up for Herbert's presence, and upheld by the mate in charge and the crew.
At the end of several hours of that backbreaking work, and the leering crew watching, it was finally time for a change of crew on deck. Herbert told Edward he would stay on deck to observe for the rest of the night, so Edward headed towards the ladder below deck.
&
nbsp; The mate in charge stopped him. "Hold there," he said. "You're to stay working."
Edward's hand twitched, the itch to grab the man by the throat almost overpowering his reason. He said nothing, just stared down at the man while breathing hard from the exertion.
Something about Edward's silence, his towering height above the mate, and his crazed look seemed to give the man pause, and he backed up half a step. "Captain's orders," he stammered.
Edward felt too exhausted to even speak a response. He simply grunted as he pushed past the mate and went to the quarterdeck, all the way to the stern behind some rigging and storage, to rest before the new crewmates arrived to start working again.
John was on Edward's heels just as he turned around to flop onto the deck. "What happened?"
Edward took several deep breaths before answering. "It seems," he paused for another breath, "I am to do the work of several men in the most literal of senses. Not only am I working while others gawk like some beggar freak in the street, but I cannot even rest as a normal crewmate would." John didn't know how to respond and stammered a few words, which Edward paid little attention to. The stammering reminded Edward of his dead crewmate with the same name. "Get out of here before I take out my frustration on you."
John looked like he had been slapped in the face. He took a few steps back, turned about, and was quickly out of sight.
Edward closed his eyes and draped his forearm over them to rest as much as he could, but through all the layers, he could still feel Herbert's gaze on him. "If you've some witty comment to say, just be done with it so I can rest what little amount possible."
"Hmph," Herbert scoffed. "You know you're quite skilled at pushing allies away? Does it come naturally, or is it from your father?"
Edward's hand clenched, and his breathing caught in his throat, but he didn't move his arm away nor open his eyes. After a moment, he could hear Herbert's wheelchair scraping against the wood of the ship as he turned around and let Edward be.
Edward lay there motionless as the rocking of the ship swayed him in all directions. The frigid night breeze pulled away his heat, both from exertion and anger, and when he had calmed, he opened his eyes to the pale waxing sliver of the moon.
A gift from my father? I wonder.
Edward rose to his shaky feet and gave himself another moment to muster the strength he needed to continue. After that tenuous moment, he went back to work with the new set of crewmates who looked much more full of vigour than he.
That extra vigour didn't change their attitude towards him, and the new mate in charge continued the work of the last. They conspired in pushing Edward beyond his limits while letting the other crewmates be. Since Nigel's untimely end, those meagre few who had seemed to be of a better calibre, who had helped him in the morning, were either gone or no longer sympathetic to his plight.
The thought only served to irritate Edward further, and incidentally bestowed him with a bit more wind in his sails.
Edward worked, and pushed, and pulled, and ripped every last ounce of strength he had. He had been going with practically no rest for nearly a whole day, and he felt it in his bones.
The sounds of the mate shouting orders, the wind whipping the sails, the waves lapping against the ship, and even the creaking of the vessel itself washed away. He only felt his heart beating up around his ears and the breath in his chest.
The cool sea air felt crisp and alive as he took it in and made it a part of him over and over. It made him feel strange at that moment, though. Coupled with the exhaustion, he felt as though he were floating in that wind surrounding his body. He was no longer himself, but he was the sea and the air.
Before, it had always been in battle, but now the only battle was against himself and his own body. He told himself to take stock of this feeling, whatever it may be, and hold it within. Through the fog of his mind at that moment, he knew this was important.
Edward looked around the ship with new eyes, as though seeing it for the first time. The crew around him were inconsequential, just statues atop a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.
After a moment to take in all he felt and memorize it, he noticed the statues moving on the quarterdeck in a peculiar pattern.
The crew had bunched up on the quarterdeck, several of them surrounding Herbert. They had trapped Herbert between them all, and he couldn't get away.
Edward kept hold of his state of mind, the floating feeling between the sky and sea, where he could see everything clearly. He glided over to the statues, the crewmates who were not his crew, the many faces he cared not to take stock of.
On the quarterdeck, two of the statues moved to stop him, and Edward understood better then why they reminded him of statues. Their movements looked unnaturally slow and stiff at that moment.
Using the lessons Anne, William, Pukuh, and countless battles had taught him, he grabbed the men and used their own momentum and limbs against them. With the most minimal effort on his part, Edward pushed one of the men over the side of the railing of the quarterdeck, where he fell to the deck below, and the other tripped and dashed down the ladder behind Edward.
The other men surrounding Herbert took notice of Edward approaching and said words to him, but he couldn't hear them. He was floating too far above everyone for the words to reach him. The sea air would not carry the words to him across its sweet notes.
He walked forward on legs so far beyond numb that it felt as though he were gliding across the deck. Judging by the faces of the men in front of him, he must have looked like a spectre coming towards them. They pulled back at his gaze and moved out of his way without a touch, each of them turning pale when they looked up at him.
Next to Herbert, two of the men, stouter or stupider than the others, it would be hard to say, stayed put. They made threatening gestures and appeared to shout obscenities, a possible plea for him to stop his advance.
Edward stopped, but not because of anything they said. He bore his gaze down on the first man who had the gall to take a step forward and before long, the man's threatening words caught in his throat. He coughed and stepped aside.
The other man had hands on Herbert, and though he looked confusedly back and forth from his comrades to Edward, his brow was slick with sweat, and his lips trembled.
Edward stared into the man's eyes and then recalled a saying that the eyes were the window to the soul. He pictured himself bashing the man's head into the fife rail of the nearby mast and the man's body twitching before it went limp. As he imagined it in his own mind's eye, he slowly pulled his massive fist into a ball.
The final crewmate received the message in his core. The tremble in his lips extended to the rest of his body as he let go of Herbert and backed away. His body involuntarily hunched in deference as Edward's gaze followed him to the fife rail, where the wooden railing appearing behind him caused him to jump.
Edward took the last step towards Herbert and looked him in the eyes next. He didn't conjure any image in his mind, nor did he think he looked at him with any malice, but in Herbert's eyes, Edward could tell he looked crazed.
He felt of two minds at that moment. On one side, he was free from all his exhaustion and pain over the last hours, and it also gave him the respite from the arresting thoughts that plagued him of late. On the other, he felt a different pain from the look in Herbert's eyes: the look of fear mixed with the look one would give a stranger together told Edward he wasn't himself.
His mind split into the two thoughts broke the spell he was under, and he could once more hear the whispers and movement of the men surrounding them.
"We're done for the night," he said as he looked at Herbert, but loudly enough for those around him to hear. He turned around and faced the night crew. "Any objections?"
…
"So, what were they on about up there?" Edward asked when they were below deck.
Herbert paused for a moment, not looking at Edward as he pushed his chair forward towards the crew quarters. "They took issu
e with some notes I had taken."
"Notes?"
Herbert stopped his advance and reached into his jacket pocket, then passed a small booklet to Edward. He didn't explain any further, and Edward expected he was to find the answer himself.
Edward flipped through the pages of the booklet, taking note of small drawn charts and numbers he was able to recognize as calculations of wind speed and orders issued by a helmsman. As he went further, he took notice of names and designs relating to the brigantine they found themselves on. At the front few pages were a list of corrections and errors on the part of the helmsman and lower-ranking officers in charge of the Black Blood. He also noticed a few attributed to the captain, Grace O'Malley herself.
Edward chuckled as he closed the booklet and handed it back to Herbert. "Well, pray they've learned their lesson today."
Herbert cocked his brow. "To tell it true, I didn't know what to expect, but that's not how I thought you would react."
"Just keep that thing hidden. It may prove useful." Edward leaned closer to Herbert to whisper. "And perhaps with your eyes, you can make a list of those who are loyal to Grace O'Malley and keep a tally of their faults. That, too, could prove useful should we lose favour with our dear captain even more."
Herbert nodded, and instead of returning the booklet to his pocket, he placed it in the hidden compartment in his wheelchair.
Edward and Herbert returned to the crew quarters and back to their hammocks. John was fast asleep, swaying overhead. Edward was last in his hammock, and he lumbered in as the pain began coming back to his conscious mind. He fell into the hammock and closed his eyes and mercifully fell into a deep sleep reserved for the genuinely spent.
Just as instantly as he had fallen asleep, Edward awoke from John slapping his arm. Edward looked about in a half-dazed state. He rolled out of the hammock and rose slowly to his feet.
The slight pain he'd experienced just before falling into his dead sleep hit him in full, and across every inch of his body. He was slower now, and there was little he could do about it save push past. He recalled the floating feeling he had experienced before and tried to channel it, but it was just beyond his grasp. If he had been flying on the weather deck before, now he was simply jumping a few inches off the ground. He could hold it for the briefest moment before it turned to sand between his fingers.
Blackbeard's Family Page 12
