Blackbeard's Family

by Jeremy McLean

  John, Herbert, and he all ate a hearty meal and were given a brief rest before they returned to the weather deck. John had informed Edward that he managed to sleep through another shift, and given that they had returned early due to the previous incident, Edward estimated he had gotten a full five or six hours of sleep. It was the most uninterrupted sleep he had had in some time, and though he hoped for more, he feared it would be the last for another great while.

  Edward and Herbert continued taking double shifts while getting only the barest amount of sleep as the crew pushed Edward to the brink of collapse each time.

  After the second full four hours, Edward's nausea from the constant work took over, and he vomited over the side of the ship. He managed to keep silent and out of sight as he tilted his head over the side by making it look as though he was on his knees swabbing the deck near the starboard rails.

  He cursed himself for his weakness. His body felt hollow and leaden at the same time, and his throat and temples throbbed continuously with each beat of his pounding heart.

  That momentary weakness, hidden from the crew's eyes, was the lowest point for him. After that, the situation aboard improved, and not merely because he no longer felt nauseated.

  The mood aboard the ship seemed to shift with each passing hour, and with each change of the crew. Perhaps due to pity, respect, or perhaps the words of warning from the crew involved in the earlier incident—Edward could not know which—the crew of the Black Blood stopped their attempts to break him. The feet trying to trip him, the 'accidents' meant to make his job harder, as well as the other crewmates not working as he broke his back slowly trickled away until none in the crew seemed to go out of their way to make his life more difficult.

  After three days of the routine, the crewmates were treating him with a mild indifference rather than the overt contempt they had been expressing earlier.

  And, to Edward's surprise, he had gotten used to the extra labour. His body began healing and growing stronger from the effort, and after his nausea had lessened, he worked with John to acquire more foodstuff so he could maintain his energy and not run himself ragged.

  Afternoon on the third day, the Black Blood landed at the harbour of an island unfamiliar to him and to John. Edward felt it useless to ask others in the crew where they were as they too may not know the answer or would refuse to answer.

  After they secured the ship, Grace gathered a landing party and issued orders to keep the ship ready to sail. After a moment of searching, Grace's eyes met Edward's, and she motioned for him to join her, her hands rock-solid against her hips, and her straight back and stern eyes brooking no argument—not that Edward wished to arouse her ire by attempting refusal.

  Edward, his body still stiff and his muscles radiating heat, casually walked over to Grace and the two senior officers making up her landing party.

  "I want ya with me. Be good ta see how we do things on this crew."

  "And what exactly is it we're about to do?"

  Grace scrutinized Edward like she had when they first met, but this time it was less an appraisal of his worth and more a search of his person. She leaned to the side to look beyond Edward's massive body. "Did none of you bastards give him any weapons? Someone bring him a sword and pistol before I start asking more questions."

  A mate nearby rushed to a reserve of weapons and brought Edward what Grace asked as he avoided her gaze. Edward put the cutlass at his side and hid the pistol under the front of his shirt, secured in the loop of his belt.

  "Does that answer yer question, or do ye have any more?"

  Judging Grace's tone to be annoyance, Edward didn't reply.

  "Hmph," she scoffed, to which Edward thought he had made an error in not standing up to her. "To shore, you lot."

  Grace led the way, followed by her senior officers, and Edward trailed behind them, trying to match their pace.

  The town they had landed in seemed an unlikely locale for brigands and pirates, being barely big enough to call for a harbour for docking ships. The most wealth it appeared to have were its farmland Edward could see off in the distance.

  So, that means it's a hiding place? But for whom?

  Edward placed his hand on the cutlass at his side, and he thought the answer to his question was meaningless. Whoever was hiding here wouldn't be hiding for much longer, he supposed.

  As Edward, Grace, and the two crewmates strode forward, Edward could feel the air growing thick as eyes followed them. Everyone in that small town was watching them. The hair on Edward's arm prickled under the gazes of the unseen men and women behind closed curtains and shuttered windows.

  "Don't mind 'em," Grace said over her shoulder. "We're about ta do this town a favour."

  The excitement coming from Grace made Edward uneasy. For the first time since Edward's moment of pure exhaustion three days prior, he felt a creeping turmoil bubbling up in his gut.

  Edward reached for the flask but stopped himself short. Instead, he tried to grab hold of the feeling of floating from before. He tried to still his mind and push down the hollow gravity just beneath his ribs.

  For a moment, a meagre few ticks of a clock's second hand, Edward held fast to that feeling and then lost it to the ether. Edward imbibed once more to still the trembling.

  The four of them entered a local tavern and inn, and to Edward's astonishment the establishment was filled to the brim with merriment, a stark contrast to the rest of the quiet town.

  With each slam of Grace's copper greaves, the room fell quieter until there was a hush in which one could hear a pin drop. She took a seat out from a table and sat down with that same casual nature she'd had just before she killed Nigel.

  "Bring him ta me." In that hush, Grace's voice filled the room just as boisterously as the din that had preceded it.

  There was a moment of stillness where none made a move, and all eyes stared at Grace. The brigands whom Edward supposed they were here for all seemed to know who Grace was and, judging by the terror in their eyes, the knowledge momentarily locked them in place.

  The townsfolk, the owner and the tavern wenches who all looked injured in some way or another, didn't seem sure what to make of the newcomers. They, too, had a look of terror in their eyes, but there was a bit of relief in their faces, as though they hoped the newcomers would soon relieve their town of the brigands occupying it.

  Grace turned her gaze to one of the men and then pointed to him before snapping her fingers. The man interpreted the message, and he ran up to the second storey to one of the rooms of the inn.

  "Blackstad, sit down. Those idle hands of yers are gonna get ya killed."

  It took a moment for Edward to remember the name they were using aboard the Black Blood, and then another moment to realize he was gripping his cutlass as though he were about to unsheathe it. He relaxed his hand and took a seat on the other side of the small table, leaving enough room for whoever was about to join them.

  After another moment, the door of one of the rooms upstairs burst open, and a tall, lanky man with a greasy mess of a beard and equally messy long hair came out. He was pulling up his trousers as he took note of where Grace was. A few seconds later, after the man who had gone to get his comrade exited, a half-naked woman ran out and into another room.

  Edward noticed that the woman was bloody and bruised, and he thought he could see tears streaming down her face as she ran by.

  The man lazily fixed his trousers and strutted down to the first floor, his casual and cocksure attitude on full display. He didn't match his comrades' moods in the slightest, and by the time he stepped to the first floor and took a chair, sitting backwards on it with his arms resting on the back, his men relaxed a bit.

  For every bit that the other men relaxed, Edward tensed. It felt as though he was the only sane person of the lot and the only one who was sure of what was about to happen. He had to restrain himself from pulling out his pistol and cutlass right then to put an end to it all.

  The man glanced from
Grace to Edward, to her men, and then to his own men, and back. He grinned. "It's been a long while, Grace."

  "Cut it, you know what we're here for."

  "Aww, Grace, you wound me," the man said, his words dripping with sarcasm. "We're old friends, ain't we? What happened to civility? Is there no honour amongst us thieves?"

  "We're pirates." Grace tilted her head. "You're the thief."

  The man appeared taken aback. "Some would say we're the same, you and I."

  "Enough. Save me some trouble and return what ye stole."

  Though Grace was doing her best, her commanding tone had little effect on this man. Whatever relationship they had had, the man underestimated her. Or, for all Edward knew, it was plain stupidity. Whatever the case, it was not going to end well, of that Edward was sure.

  The man adopted a confused, amused expression. "If a pirate claims ownership of something and a thief steals it, is it still a crime?" He held his palm open as though he were pondering the question. "I suppose a few lawyers could settle the matter, given enough time."

  Grace ignored the fool's ruminations. "I've asked ye nicely, I'll not ask again."

  The man cocked his brow. "Oh, threats now? You're outgunned, Grace. And I've got a stable full of horses rested and ready to take us to the opposite shore before the men on your ship know what's happened." The man leaned forward. "So why not just pack up and leave before my men and I pump your pretty face full of lead?"

  Upon the escalation of events, the thieves became emboldened once more. They joined in with their leader's declaration, and some even pulled out their weapons to bolster the intimidation.

  Grace simply sat there, staring down the leader with her cold, calm expression. Her officers didn't seem intimidated by the thieves' threats either, and they stood there with arms folded, staring at the other men in the room.

  Grace waited for a full minute until the thieves' words died away and there was minimal murmur of activity and threatening gestures. As soon as it was quiet enough, she spoke again. "You know what the difference between a pirate and a thief is?"

  The sudden change in subject brought him and his compatriots up short. He turned to them and flashed a wry smile before gazing back at Grace. "No, what?"

  Grace leaned forward, and Edward's hair stood on end for the second time that night. "Thieves are weak."

  Grace slammed her boots to the floor, grabbed hold of a hidden apparatus and pulled a string. The sound of several shots of gunfire rang out. Lead shots burst into the leader of the thieves' chest. He was dead in an instant, blood pouring from several wounds.

  Grace's copper greaves for which she was famous held some mechanism inside them to fire bullets. It was seemingly a well-kept secret to those not in her crew, as the thieves had no idea what had happened or from where Grace had shot their leader.

  Grace's senior officers, before she had even fired her secret weapon, drew their own weapons and attacked the rest of the thieves. The other men failed to react in time, and three of their comrades were dead almost instantly.

  The thieves still living reached for their weapons, and Edward pulled out his cutlass and stabbed one of them. This drew the attention of more than a few of those remaining. Edward pulled his loaded pistol from his belt and fired. The bullet hit the last enemy in the head.

  The leader of the men, so bold previously, lay there bleeding out. Grace's secret attack had made a gory mess of his chest and legs.

  Grace hadn't moved from her seat since her secret weapon's firing that had started the conflict. She glanced from side to side, looked Edward up and down, then got to her feet as smoke still rose from the holes in her copper greaves.

  She searched the dead man's pockets and found the item they had come for, but Edward couldn't see what it was. Grace pocketed the thing as quickly as she snatched it.

  "We're done here. Back to the ship."

  9. Smoke

  "You thought I wus dead?" Sam Bellamy bellowed before bursting out in his old hyena's laugh that was equal parts nostalgic and unsettling.

  Anne had taken Sam into the captain's quarters, partially to show him the room he had never seen before owing to his departure prior to it being opened, and also to speak with him privately.

  Anne shrugged. "We had no way to confirm Cache-Hand's claim, but we hadn't heard about your recent promotions."

  "Can't say I blames ye. I thought I killed ol' Ed." Sam's face grew dark as he looked to the floorboards of that once familiar ship. "Cache-Hand beat 'im bloody, then cut him to ribbons before they poisoned 'is food and tossed him in that Irish lake. I tried to keep him safe, tried to get him out, but there was no way." Sam looked up at Anne, pain in his eyes. "Ye got ta believe me, I tried."

  Anne tried her best to smile back at Sam. The memory of that time, how thin and ragged and… broken Edward had looked made it difficult. "No one blames you, Sam," she said before reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "You did what you had to to survive. And, besides, he survived. I'm sure you played a part in that."

  Sam seemed genuinely relieved by Anne's absolution. After a moment, his eyes went down to the golden ring on Anne's hand. He pointed at it, at first bemused, and after a moment, amused.

  "Yes, it was done after we opened this room, and the ship was renamed."

  Sam leaned back and let out a sigh. "Too bad I missed that. Musta been an event. A bloody princess marrying a pirate? Never thought I'd see the day, though I suppose I still didn't."

  "I am a princess no longer. However, perhaps when this is all over, I shall be a Pirate Queen given how most speak of Calico Jack."

  "Then when we reunite," Sam began, affecting a mocking posh English accent, "I suppose I must give a toast to my new Queen." He gave a brief bow in his seat before grinning up at Anne.

  She smiled and then laughed, a real moment of levity with an old friend. After that, she poured them both a drink from a nearby cabinet, and they sipped on the spirits.

  "Speakin' of that. You mentioned he and Herbert went off somewhere. What's gotten into them?"

  "Well, the fools went off to kill Calico Jack on their own. Some sense of duty which they alone can fix."

  "What's Edward got duty in all this? Herbert I can square away, but Edward?"

  Anne leaned back as she recalled. "I suppose you wouldn't be privy to that bit of information," she muttered softly. "Have you met Calico Jack? Have you seen him in the flesh?"

  Sam nodded and then looked off to the side as he took to remembering. "Aye, I met him once."

  "Did he look at all… familiar to you?"

  Sam looked impatient. "What're ye on about here? I never took you fer a dancin lady."

  Anne paused another moment before shaking her head and falling back to her blunt nature. "Calico Jack is Edward's father, and formerly he was Benjamin Hornigold, the one who gave Edward this ship."

  Sam sat stunned for a moment, his mouth slack. "You must be mad. There's no…" Sam's expression changed, and he looked away in thought once again. "The eyes…" he muttered to himself. "But that would mean…" Sam held a hand to his mouth as he ran through it all in his head. Then when he looked up at Anne, she simply nodded her head, and he took a big gulp of the drink in front of him.

  "Needless to say, that is why Edward wishes to do this alone," Anne said before taking a drink herself. "So, you haven't said much about yourself. Tell me how you came to be the captain of such a fine sloop?"

  Sam nodded in the direction of his ship through the window of the captain's quarters off the stern. It listed lazily behind them, as though it were aimless without their captain aboard. "Aye, she's a fine ship, you speak it true. Made some friends in Cache-Hand's crew, convinced them to take it for ourselves. Left Cache-Hand with half his crew and none of his spoils the night after capturing it."

  Anne chuckled. "How long ago was that?"

  "Not three quarters of a year after leaving the captain for dead."

  Anne shook her head. "What poor timing. That would no
t have been long before we met with him, and Edward killed him." She waved her hand. "No matter. Tell me more. How did you come to be in Calico Jack's crew?"

  "Ran a few ships aground in his territory and had a little fun redistributing the wealth back to the common folk. Musta caught his eye after the pups started calling me Robin Hood."

  "You still breathe, so it was a positive encounter, I presume?"

  Sam snorted. "Not if ye call owing him all the money spent a boon."

  Anne nodded. "Yes, I see. So, it won't take much convincing to have your crew switching sides, I have it?"

  Sam shook his head. "Nah, they see 'em as another Cache-Hand, just one that we can't run from. Havin' you here and Edward there changes things. Might just be able to convince 'em if we have some support." Sam fell silent for a moment, uncharacteristically contemplative.

  Anne smiled. "Less than two years and already being a captain has changed you."

  Sam's mouth opened, an instinct to chime back with some witty remark, but instead he leaned back in his chair. "My last captain commanded me to live. Fool captains die quick on these seas." Another moment of silence took hold as Anne and Sam let the weight of his words settle in the air. Sam broke that silence. "So, what's the plan to save our fool?" he said, smirking like the old Sam she knew.

  "Perhaps you can help with that," Anne replied. "What are the defences like for Silver Eyes' village?"

  Sam's brow cocked strangely, and he shook his head as though he couldn't comprehend what he had just heard. "What are you on about? Ed ain't here. That means he's headed to Nassau. We should be going there now as soon as I convince me men."