Blackbeard's Family

by Jeremy McLean

  Edward kept pushing Herbert forward and through the crowd towards Nassau. He rushed onto the main road, a large dirt and mud track wide enough for carts, ignored the terrible odours emanating from every person and every corner, and entered the nearest tavern.

  Inside, Edward finally stopped running and looked down to see Herbert breathing heavy and holding onto his wheelchair like driftwood in a storm.

  "Are you well, Herbert?" he asked.

  "No thanks to you. I know we needed to get away from there, but once we were in the crowd, you could have slowed down." Edward grinned and shrugged. After Herbert caught his breath, he took in his surroundings. "What are we doing here?"

  Edward stepped up to the bar in the tavern and ordered two glasses of whiskey. After taking the drinks in hand, he answered Herbert's question by lifting them up into full view. He motioned for Herbert to follow him, and the two went to a corner of the bar out of view of the windows and entrance.

  The two sat in silence, slowly drinking the whiskey as they calmed their nerves. Edward hoped that none had seen him lighting the fires and that the crew were able to put it out. Earlier, he didn't care, but now that it was done, he would regret it if the ship burned down. They'd managed to keep their identities hidden so it wouldn't do to have Grace and her crew looking for them because they torched her ship.

  After a few moments, Herbert spoke. "This was a mistake, coming here."

  The comment took Edward aback, and he didn't know how to respond. "What?" was all he managed.

  "Us coming here was a mistake," Herbert said. "Because of me, you killed your brother, and who knows how things are going with our crew. How are we to even find them again? And then we're supposed to kill your father, without a plan, without help, with no way to escape."

  Edward gripped his glass harder. "You mean me coming here was a mistake."

  It was Herbert's turn to be confused. "What?"

  "Look, I—" The words choked in Edward's throat. "I know I'm messed in the head, but I meant what I said. My father has done horrible things, and he wants me to kill him. Some twisted final test of his I'll never understand. So, I'm here to end it before he hurts anyone else I care about." Edward took another drink from his whiskey, letting the burn take over his mind.

  "He… he wasn't all bad."

  Edward looked up from his glass at Herbert, who was staring into his own glass intently. He had a small smile on his face.

  "When I was young, before my accident, he was the first one to show me how to read clouds, how to man the helm, how to read a map. It was all basics, but for me, it meant a lot." Herbert took a long drink of his whiskey. "He has done horrible things, but he wasn't evil." He looked up at Edward, pain in his eyes. "Was he?"

  Edward couldn't think of what to say. Calico Jack had always been Herbert's entire world. Revenge had been his reason for taking to the seas. It had once caused him to steal away the Queen Anne's Revenge in pursuit of Jack and leave Edward behind. For him to say the man wasn't evil felt strange.

  "And you know what the worst part of it is?" Herbert's voice cracked, and he had tears in his eyes. "I don't even know if I was right this whole time."

  "About what?"

  "Gregory Dunn, the one you got that gold from to make your sword and rings, said that I was his favourite. And I remember that I used to get money sent regularly to me by someone, but then it suddenly stopped. Sometime after I left, Dunn became Jack's Gold Division Commander. They're the ones in charge of the money."

  Edward was putting the pieces together. "You think he… stole it? Stole the money my father sent to you?"

  Herbert shook his head. "I don't know. But what if he did? Then it means your father didn't really abandon me because he thought I was useless. All I've had since I lost my legs was hate, and when you came along, I had hope again. What if the reason for that hope is a lie?"

  Edward gritted his teeth. "And what if it's not?" he seethed. "What if that money was from someone else? What if you don't remember things right? He still left me when I was ten; he still became Calico Jack." Edward was nearly shouting. It took everything he had to hold back his anger and keep his voice low. "Grace told you her story, the bodies piled up, the girls taken, hell, even Grace herself. You must have known about it already, you were there." Edward took the last drink and slammed the glass down. "I don't care if he wants us to do it, he needs to die."

  Herbert nodded and looked defeated. Perhaps the drink was hitting him harder than he'd thought it would. "I know. We're in too deep to swim back to shore now." There was another moment of silence before Herbert took the flask out from his chair and threw it across the table to Edward. "Look at us. Pathetic, aren't we? We're about to kill your father, a man we both loved and hate, and here we are trying to find the courage to do the deed at the bottom of a bottle."

  Edward let out a dark chuckle as he pocketed the flask. "Lately it seems to be the only way I can find it." He rubbed his eyes and slapped his face. "Apologies for my outburst earlier. I'll not drink anymore until the deed is done."

  Herbert nodded. "I'm sorry as well. I could have handled that better. And," he added with a wide grin, "I too promise not to drink anymore until the deed is done."

  Edward and Herbert both laughed together, the first time that they had in a long while.

  "Well, I see ye both're gettin' along well enough without me."

  A familiar voice drew the two men's attention, and when they looked up, they saw a ghost in the flesh. Edward rose half from his seat at the sight of the man in front of them.

  "S—Sam!" the two of them said in unison.

  "I heard ye bastards thought I was dead. Don't ye know ye can't kill a man what looks this good? Why, just think of the ladies whose hearts would break."

  "Sam!" Edward said again as he ran in to embrace his long-lost crewmate, Samuel Bellamy.

  "Whoa, whoa, Captain, ease yourself. Don't bring any attention this way. As I understand it, you're here to kill the big man. Wouldn't do ta ruin the surprise now."

  Edward pulled away from Sam. "How do you know what we're here for?"

  Sam walked over to one side of the table and sat down. Edward joined him and sat back down to hear Sam's story.

  "I met yer wife nearabouts a week past. She got me up ta speed with what you ran off ta do, and I agreed to come help."

  The news that Anne knew where Edward was, and that Sam had come in her stead, was almost as shocking as the revelation that Sam was alive.

  "I know," Sam said. "I had the same dumb look on me face. She's facin' off against Silver Eyes ta save the island he took over and keep him distracted. If ye ask me, she made the wrong move, but the woman's got standards, that much is true."

  Edward nodded. If the people on that island needed her help, Anne wasn't the type to let them die, nor leave a job half-finished. As much as he yearned to see her again, this was probably her way of telling him to finish things as well.

  "So, what about you? What happened after I escaped Cache-Hand?"

  Sam waved his hand. "We got no time fer that. We'll small-talk later. Right now, we need to take care of yer pa," he said. "So, what's the plan?"

  Edward and Herbert looked at each other, then back at Sam. "We don't have one. We just got here."

  "I thought we might scout his villa and come up with a plan from there."

  Sam chuckled. "Are… are ye boys tellin' true? Ye have no plan?" Sam shook his head and rubbed his face. "Well, there ain't no chance of ye getting ta him in his home. Too heavily guarded, so best leave that out. Ye need ta strike when he's outside. Me crew and I can help ye with an ambush, we jus have ta find the right time."

  "You have a crew?" Edward asked. Sam gave him a stern look of disapproval. "Right, focus," he said. "That won't work, we don't have the time. Grace O'Malley will be looking for us soon, so it's now or never."

  Sam's eyes bulged nearly out of their sockets. "Grace fuckin' O'Malley'll be lookin fer ye? The hell did you boys do?"

 
"We joined her crew to get here, and we're supposed to go meet Jack soon as new crew members," Herbert explained. "And could you not call us boys anymore? We're older than you."

  Sam ignored Herbert's comment. "Wait, you're supposed to meet Jack?" Edward and Herbert both nodded. Sam looked at them both as though the next trail of thought were self-evident.

  Edward shook his head. "No, it's too dangerous. You said yourself, his home is well guarded. As soon as he sees either of us, it's over. Our only opportunity is a surprise."

  "I'll handle the guards. I'll have me crew start a small riot o' sorts, something he won't be able to ignore. You use that chance ta finish him off and get outa there, head ta me ship the Whydah and we'll head back to yer wife. Done and done."

  Edward hunched over in his seat, thinking it over in his head. He looked at Herbert, who also seemed to be testing the plan in his mind. Herbert saw Edward looking at him, and he shrugged his shoulders.

  "I suppose it will bring us directly to him, rather than us waiting for him to come to us."

  "Aye, it's the best plan we got," Sam said before standing as though it were settled. "Ye better get back to Grace's ship, she's not a woman ta be left waitin'."

  "Tch," Edward spat. "You don't know the half of it." He held out his hand to Sam. "Good to have you back, Sam. We'll be counting on you."

  Sam shook Edward's hand. "As it always was." Edward and Herbert both went to leave, but Sam stopped them. "Almost forgot this," he said as he took his cutlass off his belt and handed it to Edward. The hilt was covered in cloth, but once Sam pulled it out from its sheath, he saw the familiar golden gleam of his cutlass shining out.

  Edward reached for his blade, the familiar gold that was not gold calling to him, but he pushed it back towards Sam. "I can't. If any saw it, they would know something was wrong. You hold onto it for me."

  Sam nodded and put the cutlass back on his belt. "Don't die, Captain."

  "Same to you, Sam."

  Edward and Herbert headed back to the Black Blood, still moored to the wharf. The crowd that had been gathering before was gone, and the ship looked, at least on the outside, undamaged. As they approached, however, they saw Grace on the weather deck, and she looked quite displeased.

  When they came closer, a crewmate pointed at them, and Grace turned around. She seemed surprised, but her expression changed at once, so it was hard for Edward to tell if he'd read her right.

  "Ye boys have fun in town disobeying orders?"

  Edward and Herbert stayed at the bottom of the gangplank. "We were thirsty, so we thought we'd grab a drink in town," Edward said.

  Grace nodded, her usual calm feeling strange to Edward at that moment. "Aye, and what of the fire on my ship? Ye wouldn't know anything about that now, would ye?"

  Edward glanced at Herbert. "We were above deck when it started. And the other crewmates seemed capable of handling it, so we let them take all the glory."

  Edward knew he was playing a dangerous game, but it was all he could think of at the moment. He was hoping their imminent meeting with Calico Jack would be more important than them leaving the ship during a crisis.

  If Grace was angry, she didn't show it outwardly. "We'll discuss this later. Now, you need to meet Jack." She marched down the gangplank and joined them on the pier. "Come," she said as she walked past them.

  Edward took a few silent breaths at the narrow escape, and he and Herbert followed Grace into town once again. She led them down the main road, past the many houses, taverns, brothels, inns, and various businesses of the town before stopping in front of a gated two-storey villa.

  With its wrought-iron fence, open lawn, pure whitewashed wooden exterior, and two floors, the villa looked like the home of a wealthy magistrate. It reminded Edward of the home of the Bodden Brothers in their town Edward had taken over—the town his father as Calico Jack had attacked, setting this series of events in motion.

  The main difference here was the level of security. There were five guards Edward could see at the front of the property, two at the gate, two at the door, and another on a balcony on the second floor. Edward guessed there were more both outside and inside.

  Is my father not supposed to be a king here? Why does he need so many guards? Is he simply paranoid?

  Edward had no time to think about it, as Grace led them inside the gate. She didn't take them to the front door and instead led them to the side of the villa. There was another entrance there, with a lone guard stationed at the ready. When he noticed her, he opened the door for her, and she headed inside.

  Edward and Herbert followed her, and it was then that Edward realized why Grace had been acting slightly strange. Inside the room, a half-dozen men had muskets trained on the two of them. At the back of the room, there was a cell with an open door.

  Edward raised his hands in the air, and someone threw Herbert to the ground beside him before the door was closed behind. The guard from outside had his weapon out and trained on them now as well. There was no escape.

  "Inside," Grace commanded, gesturing to the cell.

  Edward walked forward, his hands still in the air, and entered the cell. Herbert crawled into the cell beside him, and they closed and locked the doors shut.

  "Not the welcome I expected," Edward said.

  "Cut the shit," Grace spat. "I know who you are, Thatch. And you, Blackwood."

  Edward glanced down at Herbert, who was sitting at the bottom of the cell looking up at him. "What gave us away?"

  "A six-foot-two behemoth with Jack's eyes and a cripple helmsman. It weren't that difficult to piece together, even after giving yerself a shave." Grace stepped closer to the cell. "Now tell me true. Did ye kill my John?"

  Edward didn't answer. He gritted his teeth and lowered his head. "I didn't know he was your son."

  Edward saw Grace's hand ball into a fist. She slammed it against the bars of the cell, and the iron rang out. She pointed a shaking finger at Edward. "He was a good boy. He was yer brother! He didn't deserve that."

  "I know."

  "You know what I know? I know it's gonna kill Jack that ye weren't up ta snuff, but I'll enjoy seeing you hang. That much is sure, Thatch." Grace looked on the verge of tears, from anger and from a future relief she was envisioning, Edward thought.

  The sound of gunfire rang out outside of the villa's prison. Judging from the volume, it was nearby. Sam's crew were implementing the distraction as planned, unaware Edward and Herbert weren't anywhere near Calico Jack.

  Grace looked daggers his way. "Is this your doing?"

  "We just arrived here, how would we have had the time?" Edward said, thinking on his feet. "You have a town full of pirates, and none of them fight?" Edward sat down on a hard chair in the cell with a loud thump. "This must be a paradise if you manage that."

  Grace's jaw flexed with anger, and she stormed out of the prison. One guard stayed behind to watch them, and the rest left with Grace to handle the situation outside.

  Edward leaned back, resting his head against the stone wall at the back of their cell, and closed his eyes. The sounds of more gunfire and fighting filtered in through a window at the ceiling near the door.

  "Now what?" Herbert asked, frustration clear in his tone.

  Edward opened his eyes and folded his arms. "We're pirates, right?"

  Herbert nodded but looked confused.

  "We'll just have to steal this victory back from them."

  17. Breaking Point

  Anne had been in a daze of high fever, the time passing without her knowledge. She could only half-way remember the rare bits of clarity through the haze. The sun and the moon through a window. Movement at her periphery. Many muddled faces visiting her, helping her eat, changing her bandages. A young girl—Christina, Anne thought—sobbing as she held Anne's hand and apologized. For what, Anne was too delirious to remember.

  When the fever broke, she woke in a cold sweat, both famished and thirsty. At her bedside waiting for her was bread and water, which she devoure
d. Her head still ached, and her whole body was weak. Even her jaw muscles strained to chew the bread.

  She took in her surroundings as she gathered her strength. She was lying in her bed aboard the Queen Anne's Revenge in the captain's cabin. It was the same as it always was—table and chairs, dresser and bookshelf, Edward's clothes hanging on a rack on the wall. The only new thing was two crutches near the foot of the bed, and some of Alexandre's medical supplies on a bedside table.

  Then Anne remembered why she was there lying in her bed weak from fever for God knows how long. Her leg. She didn't want to look at it, as though the longer she went without seeing it, the less real it was. As though if she never looked down, it had never happened. But real life didn't work that way. Not looking at a problem doesn't make it go away.

  Anne pulled her blanket away in one swift motion to get it over with, and there it was. Covered thick with cloth tied tight was a wound just beneath her knee. There was no blood, which was both a good and bad sign. It meant that it had healed enough that it no longer needed frequent changes, but that also meant some time had passed in her delirium.

  She knew that someday soon, she would feel hollow without her right foot, but for now it remained a curiosity. A painful, ugly curiosity.

  But more than anything, it made her angry. Angry at her momentary lapse that had allowed the injury to happen. Angry at herself for killing Tala, Christina's poor wolf, who hadn't known any better and had died for it. Angry at Silver Eyes and his wicked skill that turned her comrades and friends into enemies. Angry that she'd chosen to stay here out of some foolish sense of duty, and what that foolish sense had brought her.

  Anne pulled herself up, her hands shaking to keep her body steady. A painful minute later, and she had her upper body slumped forward. Even with that little movement, she was sweating and felt dizzy. After catching her breath and waiting for the room to stop spinning, she turned her body sideways and placed her left leg on the deck.

  The cold of the wood beneath her foot felt pleasant, as her body still felt hot, especially her wound—another reminder of her loss, her weakness, her enemy. More anger arose to fuel her weakened muscles.