William took his chair and pulled it closer so he could sit next to Anne. He sat a moment, staring off at nothing, then looked Anne in the eyes again.
"I remember meeting you when you were twelve," he said. "I was a new kingsguard then, just a few years before your uncle-in-law's death. You didn't scowl, but you never smiled. You smiled in the way that they trained you to, but you never truly smiled. Except once, when you were with the ladies in the kitchen, and you started a fight with the food they were preparing." William took Anne's hand in his. "If you would have stayed royalty, I have no doubts you would have made a wonderful ruler, a wonderful queen. I'll admit that that was what I had hoped would happen at first. I hoped I might bring you back to take your place in the palace, but I realized you belong here with these people. This is where you are you and not what someone else told you to be. This is where your family is."
There was another moment as William's words sank in, then Anne spoke. Then she squeezed his hand. "And your family too, I hope?"
William couldn't help but smile. "Yes. You and this ship have given me a new purpose."
The sound of boots slamming against wood above them took them away from their reminiscing. After a moment, Alexandre, Victoria, and Christina all entered the room.
Alexandre and Victoria wasted no time in preparing to treat Anne's wound. Alexandre first grabbed scissors and went to Anne's injured leg.
"And how is le patiente?"
Anne lifted the gin bottle in the air. "Excellent," she said before taking another drink.
"I see you've started already. How thoughtful."
Alexandre began by cutting away Anne's clothes from the wound. Using a deft hand, he cleared the area around the wound and then took away the pieces that had became stuck to the skin as the blood dried. After a few careful minutes, however, Alexandre stopped and stepped back slightly.
"What is it?" William asked.
Alexandre stayed still in thought. His face scrunched and deadly serious. "Victoria, prepare for amputation."
The words sent a wave of shock through William's system. Anne and Christina both looked just as shocked as he.
Christina, already in hysterics over being entranced, looked ready to burst into tears again. "Why?" was all she could muster.
"The damage is too severe. Bone fragments entered her muscle. It is impossible to remove them all. They will, at best, cause paralysis. At worst, rot."
Alexandre retrieved a sizeable curved knife and a thick piece of wood. He handed the wood to William. Victoria was shuffling around the small room, gathering things they would need after the amputation was complete.
There was no way around this, so William steeled himself. Alexandre was a consummate professional, unparalleled in the study of medicine. If he said they needed to amputate Anne's leg, there was no use arguing. Anne would survive this, there was no way she wouldn't.
William looked down at Anne. "Take another drink, Captain."
Anne, she too nearing tears, took a long drink of the gin, then handed the bottle to William. William set the bottle aside and placed the piece of wood in her mouth.
"Hold her steady, all of you."
Christina and Victoria both came to the table and put all their weight down on top of Anne to hold her still during the surgery. William placed his hands on her shoulders as he stared down at her.
Deep in her eyes, he could see fear. It was rare for her to be afraid, let alone show it, and if he were honest with himself, he too was afraid. She needed strength now more than anything else.
She lifted her head up and looked at her injured leg, part of which she was about to lose. "No, Anne," he whispered softly. "Look into my eyes." She laid her head back down, and tears streaked her face. "It's going to be all right."
16. Nassau
Edward hadn't slept properly in days. His body felt heavy, as though he were thirty feet below the sea. Moving, breathing, just existing, was gruelling and painful. He wanted it to end. And so, Edward did the one thing that helped him sleep and made him feel less pain, less leaden, less everything: he drank.
It didn't matter when; Edward drank all hours of the day, and it showed. His speech slurred from time to time, he lost his sea legs, and the cloud the booze gave him sapped his strength.
Strangely enough, his fighting ability had improved. Because of various blunders during his shifts, as well as a few misunderstandings on Edward's part, he brawled with a few of the crew. The drink helped him withstand even more punishment than he already could and made his movements unpredictable. His opponents hadn't known how to handle him under normal circumstances, and the drunkenness only made him more dangerous.
Herbert caught Edward after he had taken a rest. He was still dealing with the effects of having drunk the night before but was no longer intoxicated.
"Edward, this must stop," Herbert said.
Edward's head pounded in his ears, and his stomach lurched with each movement. "This is far too early for such talk, Herbert. Let me eat and drink, then we shall discuss whatever it is that must stop."
Herbert scowled. "It is precisely the drinking that I am referring to," he said. He glanced around him, then moved his chair closer to Edward before speaking in a whisper. "I know that you are mourning the loss of John. I know you two were… closer than you previously thought, but if you continue this, then—"
"What? I won't be in well enough shape to kill more of my family?"
Herbert's face went stark white and his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Keep your voice down, you fool!" he whispered harshly.
Edward didn't feel the same urgency as Herbert's tone called for, but he didn't say anything else. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his flask.
Herbert reached over and swiped the flask out of his hand. Edward tried to grab it back, but Herbert kept it out of reach. He put it in the secret compartment of his wheelchair.
"Give that back," Edward said.
"That's going to get us both killed."
Edward, his head still pounding, tired, body aching, was like a packed cannon, and Herbert was the linstock. It only took a touch for him to explode.
He reared back and punched Herbert square in the jaw. Herbert spilled out of his chair and tumbled to the deck.
Edward picked up the wheelchair, not bothering to check if Herbert was all right, and tried to open the secret compartment. "How do you work this thing?" he muttered to himself.
Herbert punched Edward on the side of the knee. He collapsed and fell to his knees, grimacing in pain. Herbert pounced and wrapped his arm around Edward's neck to choke him. Edward pulled against Herbert's arm, but Herbert's grip was secure.
"There's lead balls ready to fire from that thing, you idiot!" Herbert's words came out in haste from the strain, but he managed to be only loud enough for Edward to hear.
The other crewmates of the Black Blood noticed the fight and cheered the combatants on. The two of them rolled and tumbled on the floorboards as hoots and hollers goaded them to continue.
"You think you can beat me in a fight, you bastard?" Edward poured his all into pulling back Herbert's arm.
Herbert brought his other arm up and locked his grip. "Just because I don't handle rigging all day doesn't mean I'm weak."
Edward's neck was in a vice, and he couldn't breathe. Pulling Herbert's arm was useless as he had superior upper body strength and a better position. So, Edward pulled his arm up, then slammed his elbow into Herbert's ribs. Herbert grunted, and his grip wavered. Edward brought his arm up repeatedly, smashing his elbow on Herbert's bones. Though each blow loosened Herbert's hold, it provided no chance to breathe or escape.
"By these copper legs o' mine, you boys better stop yer fightin' else I'll shoot the lot of ye."
Grace O'Malley stormed through the crowd that had gathered, looking down on the two she thought were brothers having a squabble.
Herbert released Edward from his hold, and Edward rolled off him, sputtering and cough
ing to catch his breath. Herbert went to his chair and got in it.
"We're about ta land in Nassau and you boys're about ta meet Calico Jack. If ye want ta survive the experience, I suggest ye stop fuckin' about." Her hands were on her hips, and her expression daunting. "Herbert, get ta the weather deck. The helmsman needs relief."
"Aye, Captain," he replied as he pushed himself forward to the ladder.
"As fer you," she continued, looking at Edward, who was sitting on the deck and rubbing his sore neck, "ye've been useless of late. If ye want me ta put in a good word, take stock and get ta work. Otherwise, take yer chances overboard. Ye'll 'ave better luck with the sharks than with Jack, I can tell ye that much." The other crewmates chuckled, and some muttered agreements. Then she turned her attention to them. "Did I ask any of ye ta say somethin'? Back to work!"
Grace and the other crewmates dispersed at once, leaving Edward alone on the sole of the deck in the crew's quarters.
Edward's body still ached, but now he also felt the red flush of embarrassment join with it. He gritted his teeth, slammed his fist on the floorboards, and went to the weather deck.
Herbert was already at the helm, so either he'd carried his wheelchair himself or someone else had helped him. He glanced Edward's way when he appeared, then turned his attention back to steering the ship.
Off the bow of the ship, Edward could see the dark shadow of their destination, Nassau. It wouldn't be long before they arrived. It wouldn't be long before he had to kill again; not long before he had to kill more of his family.
Edward, without the numbing effects of the rum, decided to pour himself into the work aboard the ship. He tried to distract himself from the arresting thoughts his mind wouldn't let go of—thoughts of killing his best friend, Henry Morgan, his stepbrother John, and the countless people young and old he had ended over the years.
Haunting him too were the faces of those he had let die through his own weakness. His old quartermaster, John, returned to him. If he had just killed Kenneth Locke instead of leaving him to die, then John might have lived.
John's last words came back to him again as they had the last time he'd thought about the man. 'Your father is in the Caribbean, Edward.' As Edward thought over the words and what they had meant, something itched in his mind.
If John knew my father was alive and he knew that he took the name of Calico Jack, then he knew what my father wanted all this time. He was the one who handed me the first clue to finding the keys of the Queen Anne's Revenge. John was trying to protect me, guide me, and push me to pass the tests. Was he also sending my father letters, telling him of my progress?
Edward's head hurt, but now for a different reason.
No, that can't be. Calico Jack attacked Bodden Town after we got all the keys. If he was to be the final test, then he couldn't have done it any sooner, and John died before we got the last key. It was someone else. Someone else in the crew must have told him we finished. Could it have been Victoria? No, she joined in Port Royal after I acquired the ship. Unless that too was a lie. She and John could have co-ordinated together to… Edward shook his head violently and regretted it just afterwards. It's no use thinking of that now. Focus on the work. The work, man!
Edward returned to his duties, trying to clear his mind in the endless repetition afforded him by the menial labour. With considerable effort, he was able to clear his mind enough to relieve his need for the booze. Before he knew it, the ship had its sails furled and coasted into the harbour towards a nearby port.
The Black Blood, being a brigantine, loomed over the smaller sloops and even smaller ships in the harbour. There were very few that matched the Black Blood's size, and only one that Edward could see that surpassed it. If his ship had been there, it would have been out of place in the harbour, as it often was. The Queen Anne's Revenge was an anomaly amongst pirate vessels, being a three-masted light frigate.
Herbert guided the ship into port, where the crew were ready to secure it to the mooring of the wharf.
Edward took in his surroundings. The town of Nassau wasn't large, but it was bustling with activity. From the many ships in the harbour coming and going to the noise in the town itself, Edward could tell it was a hub for trade.
The buildings were centred around the main wharf they had settled into, where several larger ships were also moored. Many of the buildings close to the wharf were well built and well established, made of hardwoods and atop cleared ground. Further out, the buildings were shabbier, fashioned with inferior cuts of wood and straw roofs overhead. A few smaller piers where longboats could unload smaller cargo saw better housing or business for trade, but only a few.
The swaying palms dotted the landscape, with some poking out above the taller buildings in front of the wharf and progressively becoming denser the farther one looked. Beyond the buildings, Edward could see forested vegetation with pockets of clear-cutting for roads and the homes around them.
To his left, west of town atop a slight hill, he could see an old fort with two high walls overlooking the harbour. It could be a deterrent for attacking ships at that elevation, but beyond it was even taller hills that would make inland defence impossible. Edward noticed cracks in the foundation and holes in the walls from cannon fire. He would be surprised if it were still in use.
The crew lowered the gangplank, and a swarm of hawkers came down the pier to sell their goods. Before they even set foot on the gangplank, Grace was standing there looking down at them. Without a word, the hawkers backed away and left.
After they left, Grace spoke to her senior officers, then called Edward over. "Before I introduce ye ta Jack, I'll be headin' over ta tell him what happened ta John. Ye won't want ta be anywhere near him then. Stay aboard the ship, I'll come back ta get ye if the time is right. Otherwise, we may need ta leave in a hurry."
Edward tried to hold back his anger. Would his father be so incensed if he died? Considering the many times his father, either directly or indirectly, had attempted to kill him, he doubted it.
Grace took Edward's silence as affirmation he'd heard her, and she left the ship. The two senior officers, stoic and quiet as ever, both stayed aboard and blocked the gangplank access. When some of the crew approached, trying to leave for shore, they stopped them.
Edward went to the quarterdeck, where Herbert had been watching. The crew had abandoned their duties now that the ship was moored, and the two were alone.
"We need to get off the ship, but Grace ordered everyone to stay aboard."
Herbert's anger was evident, but he looked past Edward to the two men guarding the gangplank against the horde of crewmates. Though they outnumbered the two senior officers by twenty to one, with even more below deck, the crew were only making a play at trying to leave. None dared to take it as far as to attack the senior officers. So complete was Grace's intimidating force that it was there even when she was not.
Herbert let out a deep breath. "We could try to convince the crew to go ashore, but looking at them now, I don't think they have the spine in them to go against Grace."
"So, a distraction, then?"
Herbert nodded and stroked his chin. "But what kind of distraction would pull both of them away from their post?"
Edward mulled it over, he too reaching up to his chin before his lack of a giant beard made the physical act of ruminating somehow more distracting. After another moment, he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm just going to start a fire," Edward said finally.
"Wait, what?"
"Stay here, I'll not be long."
Edward heard Herbert stumble to say something else as he walked down to the weather deck. He didn't have time for further debate. They needed to get off the ship one way or the other, and he didn't care if he destroyed Grace's ship in the process.
Edward went below deck and found two lanterns filled with oil. He spread some of the oil in one of the corners of the ship, then over some other cargo, and lit it on fire when no one was looking. H
e chose a few other spots where the fire could spread but not be put out quickly. It was just enough fire to cause a panic but not enough to burn the whole ship down. Or, at least he thought it wasn't.
Before anyone could see the fires beginning to engulf the ship, Edward went above to the quarterdeck again.
"We should probably stay back so they don't see us waiting around," Edward said, pointing to the stern.
Herbert pulled his wheelchair back from the edge of the quarterdeck, and Edward followed before crouching down to be out of sight from the senior crewmates. They waited a few minutes until they head shouting below them.
The shouting, indistinct and scattered, continued for another moment longer before a few crewmates ran above deck. "Fire!" one man shouted. "Fires below deck. It's spreading."
The crewmates above deck answered the call and rushed below, but not all left to investigate. Ten crewmates, and the two senior guards, all stayed behind. Edward cursed under his breath, thinking he should have lit more fires.
Another minute more and smoke began rising through the opening to the deck below and through the grated hatch covers near the ladder. The shouting grew louder and calls for aid filtered through the noise.
Edward watched as the crewmates who'd stayed behind changed from being complacent to concerned until they went into action. The guards, too, looked at each other and rushed to help the rest of the crew below deck.
Herbert wheeled himself forward to the edge of the quarterdeck as black smoke billowed up from below. "Edward… how many fires did you set?"
"No time for that, we have to leave."
Edward picked up Herbert's chair, with Herbert still in it, and took him down the quarterdeck steps as far from the ladder and grates as he could. The effort put pressure on his head, making it pound again. He let Herbert back down on the gangplank before pushing the wheelchair at top speed. There was no point in stealth given the level of noise below deck. In no time, the two were off the Black Blood and onto the wharf where a crowd was gathering towards the sight of the smoke.
Blackbeard's Family Page 20
