Blackbeard's Family

by Jeremy McLean

  "My apologies, ma'am," he said after a moment. "I seem to be lost. Could you point me towards the main road?"

  Anne let out a sigh, partially from the relief of tension, partly from what was two steps forward and one step back in their plans. There was only one way to make sure.

  "Sir, are you well?" she asked, throwing as much sincerity into her words as she could muster. "We were just talking about the price of some of your town's produce when you suddenly went stark white, and now you appear confused."

  The man now appeared shocked and recoiled. "Oh my! Perhaps I've come down with a fever. Well, no matter, I have my wits about me now." Anne couldn't help but scoff at the remark, but the man seemed not to acknowledge it. "Now let me think, for a ten-pound sack of potatoes that would be zero pieces of eight, we have some fresh zucchini you might like for zero pieces of eight, and…"

  The man rattled on down a list of different vegetables and fruit, giving the same price for each as though it were a standard amount.

  Anne once more cursed under her breath. "Alexandre," she called. "See what you can do."

  Alexandre and Victoria came over, and Alexandre began his own hypnosis to lull the man into a waking slumber. Anne walked over to William and Pukuh nearby.

  "I am at fault for not keeping the man's attention, my captain," William said as he bowed his head. Old habits from the days he was in service to the crown were hard to break even now.

  "It is no one's fault save Silver Eyes and his abhorrent treatment of these people. And whatever madness drove him to create this hellish island is our misfortune. We must change our plans as we know now we cannot ask these people for help."

  "So, we will leave them here, yes?" Pukuh asked.

  "No, we can't risk leaving them at our backs like this when we don't know exactly what drives them. Silver Eyes could have instilled a fail-safe whereupon if none come to take them out of the trance, they come inland." Anne looked over her shoulder at Alexandre and Victoria tending to the man as the other crewmates watched them with a mix of fascination and horror on their faces. "Perhaps with a bit more time, Alexandre will find a means for them to join us in the fight."

  "So, what do you propose, my captain?"

  "I'll need more time. For now, we proceed as planned in freeing the people and dismantling the bell towers. We know that there's a limited range even with the bell towers, otherwise they would only need one, so we can take the people with us at a distance."

  "Aye, Captain," the two said in unison.

  Throughout the next hours, they continued luring the men and women from the hamlet to them and using the bell to free them from the hollow trance they were in. Some required more than one strike of the handbell, which Alexandre thought possible, but they didn't have to use the last resort technique he had taught everyone.

  As a test, Anne used it on one of the children as they were the easiest to control, but it didn't have an effect. Alexandre believed that they were too deep in a trance at that time for it to work. Anne hoped that Sam was right that Silver Eyes' crew were not in as deep a trance, as that technique could be their secret weapon.

  None of the men and women seemed to revert to their original state, however. All, even the children, were still in that strange trance that robbed them of their right minds and agency. The only beneficial part of it was that they were compliant and didn't protest even when there was no good reasoning behind a request. Anne simply had to ask them to stay where they were, and they did as told.

  "Is that everyone?" Anne asked. All told, they had gotten almost sixty people before the sun was at its peak.

  William, peering through a spyglass over every inch of the small hamlet, replied without taking his attention away. "I cannot see any left, though this is not the best vantage point."

  "Then we proceed with caution," Anne said, loudly enough for the crew to hear. "Begin by taking down that bell tower, but be sure not to let it ring. If you see anyone still in a trance, keep your distance and call out to me, understood?"

  In unison, the crew responded affirmatively, then went to work. Some remained behind to secure the men and women in case the worst happened and the bell was struck again, and the rest left to secure the bell.

  "One down, three to go."

  12. You Know What They Say About Dead Men?

  Edward refused to talk with Herbert after they were forced to go below deck. He had too much on his mind and needed time to think.

  The foremost thought on his mind was that of the driftwood seashell-shaped necklace that Grace had retrieved. His mother's necklace. He had forgotten all about it, and almost all about her until that moment.

  Edward had never actually known his mother—she had died during his tender years, and he only ever learned of her through rosy retellings from his father.

  He couldn't picture her face; his only real memory of her was her hair, black and glossy like onyx, just as his own, rolling over her shoulders with waves like the summer sea.

  Outside of that, the only memory that stuck with him was after she was gone, when it had been just Edward and his father. His father trying his best to keep it together in the aftermath, then throwing himself into his work before leaving Edward behind. Leaving him behind with the Hughes, a family that loathed him. Leaving him behind to become a pirate.

  What made the memory of the necklace worse was that, according to his father, he had been the one to pick up the driftwood and give it to his mother. His father had carved it into the seashell shape, and it had been hers before it became his.

  A thief stole it, and he must have known its value given it was simple driftwood, and Edward's father had sent Grace to retrieve it for him. Did his father value it as a memento of his lover, his son, or both?

  As Edward ruminated, a few hours must have passed. He felt the ship beginning to sway harder and harder with the increasing swell of waves crashing against it. As Herbert had predicted, they were heading into a storm. It was only a matter of time until the rain began, and then there would be no way out but through.

  "Edward, we need to talk. Enough sulking."

  Edward gritted his teeth and bit his tongue lest he say something he regretted. Instead, he rose from his hammock and joined Herbert. They passed by a few other crewmates avoiding work and headed towards the cargo hold.

  Herbert left his wheelchair on the gun deck, strapping it to a full barrel with a rope, and descended a ladder to the cargo hold below. Edward followed soon after, grabbing a lantern along the way, then the two went into the maze of barrels, boxes, and bags haphazardly left in the hold. When they felt certain their voices wouldn't carry to the deck above them, they made themselves comfortable.

  Herbert levelled a glare at Edward. "So, what did you do?"

  Edward scoffed. "What did I do? You're the one who insulted Grace's helmsman, and by extension herself as well." He did his best not to think about what had happened in Grace's cabin and to deflect blame, but he could feel the heat of shame filling his cheeks. The little stubble he had grown back did little to hide it.

  Herbert folded his arms, and his mouth was a line. If Edward didn't know any better, he had been practicing to look as emotionless as William.

  Edward rubbed his face before letting out an exasperated grunt. "She tried to lay we me, and I said no. What was I supposed to do?"

  Herbert's mouth went agape for a moment, unable to formulate words, but he recovered after a moment. "Sleep with her, that should be obvious." His arms were still folded, but his voice rose a touch.

  Now, Edward was at a loss for words. "I won't do that to Anne," he said as he looked away from Herbert's gaze.

  Herbert paused for a moment, and his tone softened. "We're in enemy territory. She would understand."

  "Yes, you're probably right," Edward conceded. "But it would cause her pain nonetheless. I refuse to put her through that."

  Edward looked at his left hand and the ring that adorned it. He touched the strange metal as he thought about the
ceremony that had preceded his donning it. The sea air, the feeling of the sun on his neck, the grains of his ship's deck underfoot, even Jack's pleasant tune from his violin from that day felt somehow different than any time before or after. It was as though the strange pull of nostalgia had lifted that day's most mundane things and elevated them in his mind.

  Anne's dress, her hair, the taste of her lips; even at that moment, in the hold of the Black Blood, he could picture them, feel them, as though he were in that moment.

  He ached for Anne. His heart pulled at his core, begging for her embrace, for the touch of her lips pressed against his. He felt hollow without her near. How could he, even for a second, think of another woman's features as pleasing to his eyes?

  "I don't mean to interrupt… whatever it is you're thinking about right now, but if you were going to refuse her, you could have let her down easy."

  Edward came out of his mental anguish over his shortcomings to scoff. "I don't think easy is in Grace's vocabulary," Edward said, which Herbert laughed at and nodded. "Besides, I had a lot on my mind at the time."

  "What happened?"

  Edward scratched his head, debating whether to share with Herbert the most recent revelation, and the subtle implications that came with it.

  "Ed, we're in this together, remember? We are brothers, after all, and I don't just mean because of our fake names."

  Edward chuckled and then nodded. "You are right, brother." He readjusted himself on the box he was sitting on, thinking of how to go about telling Herbert. "The day we went on that island and fought those men, Grace was there to retrieve a necklace." Herbert looked confused but said nothing. "The necklace belonged to my mother. My father sent her there to retrieve it."

  Herbert whistled low and long. "No wonder you weren't in the mood."

  Edward clenched his teeth. "This is no time for jesting."

  "Sorry, sorry," he replied swiftly. "So, your mother…"

  "Dead," Edward replied. "When I was just a lad. I barely remember her, but she was a light in my father's life. I do know that. Whenever he would tell stories about her, his face would glow."

  Edward's gaze dropped to the bottom of the deck of the dark hold. He wished that he had been able to remember her, to know her beyond the stories, to share in her laughter he had been told could put a smile on the sourest, to hear her voice that could quell the storm in the most raging of hearts.

  "What was her name?"

  Edward looked up at Herbert for a moment before he returned to his gloom. "Areia. Areia Thatch."

  Herbert's brow rose, and he scratched his chin. "Is that Greek? I'm not much for languages."

  "I'm not sure. My father wasn't forthcoming with my mother's family line. I think the closest he ever came was when he told me that my mother was never meant for this world, whatever that means."

  Herbert nodded, and after a moment said, "He must have loved her."

  "More than anything else in this world," Edward replied. "Maybe that's why after she died, he… he became Calico Jack."

  "Having second thoughts?"

  Edward looked up at Herbert. In his eyes, he couldn't see any emotion, except maybe pity. "No, it doesn't change anything. I still want to talk to him, ask him why, but if he wants me to kill him, then I'll give him what he wants. It's the only way to end this."

  A sudden noise came from behind them—a box shifting and the unmistakable thump of a boot. Someone was there, someone had snuck up on them, someone had been listening. Edward leapt from his seat and pounced on the person. He threw him over towards Herbert and into the light of the lantern.

  It was John. He scrambled to right himself after Edward's toss and held his arms up in front of him. "Please, please wait, Edward," he cried.

  "What are you doing here? What did you hear?" Edward rose as high as he could above John, but the low ceiling of the hold didn't allow much vantage. Thankfully John was still on his back, so Edward was able to tower over him.

  "I came to get you. The captain is calling you two back above," John sputtered, and the words came in a jumble. He was trembling with fear and backing away from Edward as much as he could in the confined space. "I heard what you were saying about Calico Jack, about him being your father, about how you're going to kill him. Edward, I'm your—"

  Edward had already pulled out a knife from his belt. He thrust it into John's neck, silencing him at once. Blood poured from the wound even before Edward pulled out the knife, and afterwards, it flowed like water from a burst dam.

  John clutched his neck, desperate to stop the torrent. He reached out towards Edward as he writhed in pain, tears streaking his face and mixing with the blood on the sole. He tried to call out for help, but he could only mouth the words as a limp, weak, gurgled noise escaped his lips before he sputtered blood. His movements became sluggish, his hands fell to the deck, and his eyes fell and opened to the rhythm of a fading heartbeat. Another few twitches and John's life left him.

  The kind young man who had shared with Edward his cup and his bread was no more. The one person aboard the ship who had been kind to Edward and Herbert was dead. If only he hadn't snuck up on them to listen, he would have lived another day.

  Whatever it was John was about to say to try and gain back their trust after spying on them, Edward couldn't take the chance of him telling Grace of their plan. Or at least that was the justification Edward used for lashing out on instinct born of fear. Instinct born of dozens of battles, a year in prison, and weeks of torture. It did little to quell his shaking hands, or from wondering if he made the right decision, or the bubbling bile in his stomach.

  "We need to throw his body overboard," Herbert said after some time.

  "Through the portholes on the gun deck. The waves and the storm will cover the noise."

  The two nodded and went to work. Edward took John's shirt and tied it around the open wound to limit the blood dripping before he picked up the body. Herbert did his best to soak up the blood using some nearby rags. Their only bit of fortune was the darkness of the hold, and the usual rankness of the bilge just beneath them that would cover the smell. Herbert moved some of the cargo overtop of what remained of the blood and joined Edward near the ladder.

  "You head up first and check for any remaining crewmates."

  Herbert nodded and climbed up to the next deck. After a moment, Herbert called Edward up. Edward flung John's body over his shoulder and climbed the ladder. He trusted Herbert, but before coming all the way up, he glanced over the deck before he finished the climb.

  Herbert went over to the nearest porthole with a cannon nearby at the ready. He pulled on a rope to the side, which opened the port. The noise of the frantic crew above was able to filter in, and it sent a wave of urgency into Edward's mind. The sound could draw attention, and it wasn't what they needed right now.

  Edward lifted John's body to the small hole. Water from the crashing waves and the fresh beginnings of rain flew into the ship and splashed Edward as he pushed the young man's lifeless body through the hole. Inch by inch, he shoved and twisted and moved the body through. Herbert also did his best to help while he kept a lookout.

  "Hurry, Ed."

  "I'm going as fast as I can. These weren't meant for bodies."

  Edward felt sweat dripping from his brow, and with each shove, he glanced over his shoulder towards the bow of the ship.

  "Almost there," Herbert called, forcing Edward's attention back to the task.

  With one final push, the body fell out of the porthole. Herbert tossed out the bloody rags he'd taken with him from the hold, then Edward and Herbert both craned their necks to listen for the splash of the body, but heard none. Edward poked his head out, but couldn't see the body, which meant he was gone, lost in the waves of the storm.

  Edward pulled himself in, let out a sigh, and sat down with his back against the wall of the deck. Herbert closed the porthole, and he too let out a sigh as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

  After a moment to catch his b
reath, Edward tensed up again, and he checked his surroundings.

  "What?" Herbert asked, anxious.

  Edward saw no one nearby, and no eyes on them. "Nothing, just checking. It's over."

  "No… it's not," Herbert said, his expression serious. Edward looked at him, still catching his breath. "We need to get above deck, and we can't leave it like this. No one else is below deck anymore. If we head above deck but Grace doesn't see John with us and then he's missing after the storm what do you think Grace will believe happened? Remember what happened to Nigel when he only attempted to kill us?"

  "What do we do about it then?" Edward asked, but he had a sinking feeling he knew the answer already.

  Herbert leaned over, his head underneath the tip of the cannon. "You need to kill some of the other crewmates during the storm. Otherwise, we'll be the ones joining Davey Jones."

  Edward looked away from Herbert. He'd barely had enough time to process how he'd just killed John over a presumption that the young man would tell their tale to Grace. He hadn't even thought about it before the blade had been in his hands. Now, he had to kill again.

  The storm outside had already begun, but there was another storm brewing inside, and despite the warning signs, there was no changing course to avoid it.

  13. Striking Down the Bell of Death

  "There it is," Victoria said as she peered through the spyglass.

  Anne took out her own spyglass. On the other end of that magnified view, she could see the main town where Silver Eyes waited. It was like a small fort with wooden walls stretching the length to form a stockade and battlements on the top where she could see cannons as well as soldiers manning them. The entrance was in the centre of the stockade, lining up with the main road, judging by the marks in the earth where the wooden beams would swing open.

  Judging by the size of the stockade's beams, it would be no easy task for their own cannons to make a dent, let alone break through. Calico Jack's crew were no fools, and Anne guessed that behind those massive beams were slats of iron holding them together.