Chapter Text
Tucked away in one of the nastier backstreets of Tortuga, in between a butcher shop and a public latrine, the Harlot’s Cutless might have made Spanish Jackie’s look like a luxury champagne and oyster bar but you couldn’t say it didn’t have character.
On the contrary, it had lots of them. Most were missing teeth and none of them looked very friendly.
It was a charming little pub really, once you looked past the gloom and the smells and the body rotting in the alleyway outside. The ale might be a bit warmer and well, thicker than Stede was used to, but it was cheap and while the waitstaff seemed to be carrying a lot of weapons they hadn’t actively brandished them yet.
“Right lads,” Stede says, clapping his hands together. “Next rounds on me, eh?”
There was a half hearted murmur of appreciation round the dimly lit table in the corner.
“Come on now, cheer up,” Stede says. “What are all these long faces about? We’re close now aren’t we! Calls for some celebration I think.”
Wee John clears his throat. “Well captain… it’s just that’s what you said in Santo Domingo too.”
“And St Kitts,” the Swede pipes up.
“And Gaudelope,” Roach says sourly. “ Four months ago.”
“It’s just..” Wee John says and then shares a look with Roach. “Some of us are wondering if the trail hasn’t gone a bit cold. All due respect but how can we be sure if the messages are from Jim? I mean, what are the chances they’re even ali-”
At this point, Olu’s tankard comes down on the tabletop with a bang, slopping dirty looking foam over the side. Stede jumps and a few of the the more unsavory customers stop talking and glance over their way.
“Erm,” he says. “Olu, how about you come give me a hand at the bar?”
Olu gets up, without breaking eye contact with Wee John and nods slowly.
“Same again everyone?” Stede asks. “Black Pete?”
Black Pete just sniffs, staring down into his untouched cup. He’s been getting very quiet these days and Stede makes a note to have give him a bit of a pep talk when they get back on the ship.
It’s not the first time he’s thought this but he’s just so busy these days. Every free moment he has where they aren’t trying to track down the Revenge seems to get taken up. Admittedly yes, sometimes by moping, but mostly just by having to learn things.
It turns out piracy is a lot easier when you have a large inheritance to draw from. Before it hadn’t really mattered if he wasn’t very good at plundering or naval warfare or even knowing what all the different ropes did. He had other people to do that stuff for him. But without the comfortable weekly salary being paid out, none of them could really afford to fuck about anymore, least of all Stede.
Not if they wanted to eat at least. Desperation does add a certain something to robbery on the high seas, even if Stede still tries to be as polite about it as possible.
He’s had to do a lot of learning on the job and quite honestly if it hadn’t been for the few skills he had picked up from watching Ed, he would have been dead five times over. But while Ed had taught him a lot about being a pirate, it turns out Stede didn’t even know much about being a sailor. Which is where the crew had come in. Buttons with his uncanny knowledge of wind patterns and tides, Roach with his knots and fishing, Olu’s ability to tell where they were just by the stars. The Swede even taught him how to whistle which wasn’t so useful but Stede had never managed to before so he was quite chuffed when he worked it out.
They hadn’t done too badly, even if Stede said so himself. They had started with a rowboat and managed to work their way up to a quite spiffy little galleon, pinched off the Spanish. Stede’s still not sure how they managed to get away with that. It had involved using some tricks that were unsporting at best and at worst downright dirty. Not to mention a sizable amount of gunpowder. Wee John’s eyebrows still hadn’t grown back all the way.
But with all this, it still felt like they weren’t getting any closer.
While the surly barmaid pours their drinks over at the bar, Stede puts a hand on Olu’s arm and leans in closer so the others don’t hear. “Listen Olu, between you and me, where do you think we’re at with all this?”
Olu looks over at him with a hurt expression. “Captain don’t tell me you-”
“No, no,” Stede says hurriedly. “I don’t think anything. Jim can take care of themselves, we all know that.”
“Yeah,” Olu relaxes slightly and nods. He hesitates for a moment and then says, “Lucius is probably dead though.”
“No!” Stede says and then frowns. “Really? You think so?”
“Well why would they keep him around? Black Pete says he went missing right before we all got stranded.”
Stede scowls. “That Izzy Hands…I’m going to have a few words for him when we catch up, let me tell you.”
Olu shoots him a look. “You think it was Izzy?”
“Well how else would it happen?” Stede says and then sees an image of red eyes above a dark beard, a flash of silver through smoke. He shakes his head to clear it and tries hard not to think about the stories they’ve heard over the past few months. The wreckage and bodies left floating in the water. Ships burning across the dark ocean.
Olu looks at him but says nothing and Stede feels horribly grateful.
“You think,” Stede says after a pause. “Black Pete knows?”
Olu looks like he’s thinking about it and then he shakes his head. “Nah. Something like that…people protect themselves from the truth.”
This hits a little too close to home and Stede clears his throat and changes the subject.
“Well what about the messages,” he says. “You’re sure they’re from Jim?”
“I would bet my life on it.”
“The last one did say Tortuga right? We’re sure it wasn’t Toronto?”
“Look captain, don’t worry. The next one will turn up. We always find them in the end.”
“It’s been three days,” Stede hisses. “I just can’t help but feel that the trail’s a bit on the cold side.”
Olu opens his mouth to reply but at that point the barmaid comes back and they both clam up.
They had been following the breadcrumb trail for months now.
It wasn’t as if it had been hard to find reports of Blackbeard. It seemed everyone had stories and none of them were particularly, well, nice . But the legends had him in every corner of the map, slaughtering armies and wasting cities and summoning sea monsters to do his dark bidding. One crusty old sea dog had swore blind that he was in the English channel wreaking havoc on the good people of Dover.
The only concrete evidence came from the knives.
They had found the first message all the way back in Guadeloupe, not long after capturing the galleon. Buttons had actually been the one to spot it while doing something mysterious involving barnacles down at the landing dock.
Captain have a look at this, he had said, crouching down on the jetty. Looks like some kind of weaponry. Left by a mermaid no doubt. Probably cursed.
Oh, good find, Stede had said at the time. Excellent scavenging Buttons.
It had been buried to the hilt in a wooden beam, high enough to avoid the water but hidden unless you stood in just the right place and looked down between the boards. Only Wee John had the strength to pull it out and not without a lot of grunting. After that there had been a spat about who got to keep it and it was just as the argument was turning nasty, Olu had let out a yelp, pushed forward saying, wait a minute, I know that knife.
They had given it up to him without argument and it had been hard watching the way Olu held it, like it was a kitten or a piece of fine jewelry and not a weapon. His fingers had been shaking a little as he touched the hilt and that was how he found it, the name carved into the leather.
St Kitts, Olu said, looking up with wide eyes. JIm’s telling us where to go.
And as ludicrous and unlikely as it seemed, for the first time since setting out in his rowboat, Stede had felt a wild surge of hope.
Four months later, standing in a grotty little tavern and no closer to finding the Revenge , Stede can feel his confidence flagging. It’s not that he’ll give up. He’s perfectly happy to keep chasing Ed around the ocean for the rest of his life if necessary but doesn’t know how much longer the crew will hold out. The fact they’ve stuck with him this long is touching, especially now he’s effectively penniless.
“Thank you my good lady,” he says to the barmaid when she drops his pitcher in front of him. “You have a fine establishment here.”
The barmaid, who has a head of frizzy red hair and a tattoo of what looks like a rat nestling in her sizable cleavage, grunts at him.
“Is that the uh, famed cutlass itself?” Stede says, gesturing at the mantelpiece.
“Yeh,” the barmaid says. “Elsie Plunkett killed five men with it.”
“A skilled swordswoman, no doubt.”
“Not really,” the barmaid says, grinning unpleasantly. “Cut their bits off in their sleep.”
Stede feels a little faint and he makes a noise of what he hopes is polite interest in the back of his throat.
“Listen,” Olu says. “Whats the word around town these days? Any interesting stories of…pirates maybe?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Ste-I meant Thomas. Captain Thomas,” Stede says. Besides him Olu sighs.
The crew had been the one to suggest using an alias, insisting it was a key part of faking your own death. Of course they had tried to get him to pick something a bit more bloodthirsty. Barry the Bludgeoner had been suggested along with Cannibal Steve and Red Hands Philip. But Stede had a pet rabbit as a child named Thomas he had been very fond of and in the end he had managed to stick to his guns.
“Alright Thomas, Captain Thomas,” the barmaid says. “I might ‘ave heard summat. Me memory needs a bit of help at times though.”
Stede bites the inside of his mouth and fishes for a silver coin. His pockets don’t jingle like they used to. This is the dregs of what they managed to find in the galleon’s hold.
She takes it and chews on it thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. “Well, they say the governors wife has been having it off with her daughters french tutor. And the price of fish has gone up again. And-
“What about pirates,” Stede says, cutting her off. “We’re looking for news of one in particular.”
She raises an eyebrow and Stede leans across the bar, lowering his voice. “Any news of Blackbeard?”
“Oh him,” the barmaid says, scowling. “Yeah. He’s about.”
Stede feels the blood drain from his face. “Really?”
“Yeah. Not far from here.”
Stede feels Olu’s hand rest on his shoulder. “Captain, hold on. We’ve heard a lot, yeah?”
“How do you know this?” Stede says through lips that suddenly feel numb.
The barmaid is beginning to look irritated and she glances down at the coin still in her hand. If she was going to ask for more then something about Stede’s face must put her off. “Heard a boy down at the market talking about it.”
Stede lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved that this is just another loose end. He’s so sick of this, constantly feeling just out of reach.
The barmaid is still going on. “Yeah, thought he should know as well. Educated lad, that’s why I got ‘im to write my signs for me. Though I wasn’t too sure at first when I saw his hand. Don’t know how he manages to hold the pen but it turned out pretty nice.”
She gestures proudly at the sign above the bar that reads, No thieves, no priests, no tomfoolery. Ask for credit and we will cut off your nose. Dogs welcome.
“Very smart,” Stede says despondently, thinking about having to go back to the ship. To his empty cabin. “Well, thank you for your time.”
“Wait a minute,” Olu says. “Hold on. What was wrong with his hand?”
The barmaid shrugs dismissively. “Well not the whole hand really. Just a finger. S’ made of wood.”
“The important thing,” Stede calls out in between panting breaths, “Is not to get your hopes up too much!”
If Black Pete hears him then he doesn’t stop, pushing ahead through the crowd. Stede is starting to develop a sharp pain in his side just chasing after him. He honestly had no idea that Black Pete was capable of this level of speed. He had certainly never employed it back on the ship when it came to swabbing the deck.
The rest of them are trying to keep up as best they can but it’s a busy day and they have to use a lot of elbows to get through. Roach is pushing Wee John ahead of him as a kind of icebreaker and they’ve already lost the Swede when he knocked over a little old lady two streets back and had to stop to get told off.
“God, sorry, sorry,” Stede says as he bounces off another cart, upsetting a pail of oranges. The shopkeeper yells after him but Stede is already off, trying to keep a sight of Black Pete’s bald head as it bobs through the crush of people. At least they seemed to have lost the barmaid now which is good because she looked like she was about to put that cutlass to good use. In his defense they hadn’t meant to run out without paying the bill, but when Olu had told them the news, Black Pete had taken off like he had bloodhounds nipping at his heels.
Stede manages to get close enough to grab a hold of his shirt just as they turn the corner to the main square. “Hold on a minute, you can’t just rush off blindly-”
Black Pete doesn’t answer, scanning the colorful stalls and breathing just as hard as Stede.
“Oh this place is a ruddy maze,” Stede says, looking around and Pete agrees with a heartfelt curse.
It’s the middle of the afternoon but the market is still heaving with people moving through the warren of carts and makeshift shopfronts. They seem to be selling everything on earth here, from chickens to curses, silks to spices, pastries to the kind of exotic leather goods that Stede has only ever seen in the pages of a rather lewd pamphlet possessed by one of his schoolmates.
“Right,” Stede says as the others finally catch up, wheezing and sweaty. “Let’s split into teams you lot. Everyone grab a buddy and we’ll divide into sections-”
“Is that him over there?” Roach says and points to the east wall of the square.
Stede squints against the sun and makes out a table crammed up against the side of a fishmongers stall where a bored looking man is sitting with his head resting on his chin.
Any doubt that it’s Lucius evaporates when he opens his mouth and they hear him calling out in a monotone, “Letters, get your letters here. Death threats, love confessions. Poems if you don’t mind the rhymes being a bit wonky.”
“Would you look at that,” Stede says and lets go of Pete, who yelps and makes a beeline for the stall.
“Why not write to your mother,” Lucius is saying in a flat voice. “You know she worries about- fuck !”
The table upends and paper flies everywhere as Black Pete bowls him over and out of his chair. Passing shoppers look alarmed and quickly clear a space.
“We should probably...” Olu says.
“Ah, yes,” Stede says, shaking himself out of it and hurrying over before they get the guards called on them.
Behind the table, Lucius looks up at them gobsmacked from the bear hug Black Pete has him in. He looks remarkably not dead. His hair is a bit ruffled but that could be from the tackling.
“Where the hell did you all-,” he starts and then squeaks, patting Black Pete on the back. “Having a bit of trouble breathing here sweetie.”
“You’re not dead,” Black Pete says and then bursts into tears.
“Yes, well it’s a long story,” Lucius says, patting him on the back.
“We all knew you were alive,” Wee John says, sounding a bit choked up.
“None of us doubted it for a second,” Stede agrees.
“I did. Thought ye was shark chum,” Buttons says and the Swede nods beside him.
A crowd of onlookers is starting to form and Olu nudges Stede and whispers,“Maybe we should continue this back at the ship?”
“Good idea,” Stede says, clapping his hands. “I think this situation calls for a good long chit chat over a spot of tea. And um, maybe a hasty exit.”
The galleon may not have all the amenities that Stede had so carefully set up on the Revenge but they’ve managed to pilfer a few home comforts here and there. One of their best finds was a large supply of cushions in various colorful prints, taken from a small trading ship they had run into a few days out of Montserrat. These were called into use as bedding sometimes (and occasionally forts) but their main advantage was that they could be used for circle time.
This was something new Stede had been working on to try and keep up morale in the difficult months on the chase and the crew had taken to it with surprising enthusiasm. Apart from a few outbreaks of violence over who got the speaking shell it was pretty much a qualified success as a form of conflict resolution.
The sun was low in the sky by the time they all sit down and even though the day’s still warm Lucius is wrapped up in a blanket at Black Pete’s insistence.
“I keep telling you I’m fine,” he says and frowns down at his teacup. “Is there rum in this?”
“No, just two sugars,” Stede says.
“Well, can there be?” Lucius says and holds it out. “I did just come back from the dead.”
“I thought you were fine,” Roach mutters but pulls out a bottle.
It passes around the circle as they listen to Lucius talk and by the time it comes to Stede, even he takes a swig. A year ago he wouldn’t have dreamed of doing something so uncouth but a lot’s happened since then and the last few months especially have made things like bacteria and table manners a lot less important.
“Honestly, it was a big surprise to find out I wasn’t dead,” Lucius tells them. “If it wasn’t for that bloody barnacle scraping bench I would be.”
“The what?” Black Pete scrunches up his nose.
“That swing thingy,” Lucius says. “Crashed into it when I was falling off the boat and took the whole thing down with me.”
“Did you pull yourself up by the rope?” the Swede asks.
Lucius snorts. “With my upper body strength? Are you joking? No I just held onto the wooden plank and bobbed around for ages till a ship picked me up. Bunch of Dutch merchants. Lovely people. Big on cheese.”
Stede clears his throat and holds up a hand. “Sorry, just to be clear. You’re definitely, one hundred percent sure you didn’t fall in by accident?”
There are a few groans. This isn’t the first time he’s asked this.
“Look, captain,” Lucius says, not un-gently. “I’ve spent quite a lot of time at sea. I know how to not fall off a boat.”
“But I just can’t see how Ed would-”
“I can,” Black Pete says, scowling. “You didn’t see what he was like after you dumped-”
“I think what Black Pete means,” Lucius says quickly. “Is that he wasn’t in the best place.”
There was a murmur of general agreement.
“Aye, we all heard the song,” Buttons says darkly and Lucius grimaces.
Stede feels something heavy and painful turning over in his chest. “Even so though… I mean, it just doesn’t seem like him.”
But then he thinks of Calico Jack and the burning ships, Ed saying, well technically, the fire killed those people . Ed saying, skin him first. And use the snail fork.
“Well I bet he feels just terrible about the whole thing,” Stede says firmly, shaking the thoughts away. “I’ll have a word with him about making it up to you Lucius.”
“What like a sorry for murdering you fruit basket?” Lucius asks, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean anyway? You’re not planning on seeing him again are you?”
“Well yes,” Stede says, blinking. “We’ve been chasing after the Revenge for months now haven’t we guys?”
The crew don’t look very happy about that fact. There are a few unenthusiastic grunts.
“Well me too,” Lucius says, voice getting a bit shrill. “But only because I thought you were all on it! In fact I know exactly where it is right now but I’m not going to tell you and you know why? Because the last thing you want to do is go anywhere near that lunatic!”
“Hey now,” Stede says, flustered. “That’s not very nice is it? Can’t go around calling people lunatics.”
“He tried. To. Kill . Me,” Lucius says, standing up and dropping the blanket. “Look captain I know what he was to you, believe me, but that person you knew isn’t there anymore. I mean you must have have heard about what he’s been doing.”
“People make up a lot of silly stories,” Stede says. He can’t seem to stop his voice sounding so small. “It’s just his reputation.”
“What do you mean you know where the Revenge is?” Olu interrupts. When Lucius sets his jaw, Olu sighs in frustration. “Look it’s not just Blackbeard we’re looking for. Jim’s on that ship too.”
“And Frenchie,” Wee John says.
“They’re probably dead,” Lucius says flatly. “I’m sorry but it’s true. If he did it to me he could do it to any of us.”
Olu’s face tightens but he stays silent.
“Even you Captain,” Lucius says, looking at Stede. “In fact, probably especially you.”
Lucius looks like he wants to say more but then he just slugs back the last of his tea and walks off. Black Pete scrambles up to his feet and heads off after him. A horrible silence is left in their wake.
“Maybe we should have used the speaking shell,” Wee Jim says after a moment.
Stede tries to think of something inspirational or cheering to say but he’s drawing a blank. After a while Roach and the Swede start talking about whats for dinner and Buttons gets back to whittling one of his charms. Stede thinks about saying something to Olu but he doesn’t look very chatty so after a while Stede just slips away back to his cabin. There he lies on his bed and looks up at the ceiling.
The light glances off the waves outside the window and makes strange patterns. Stede’s spent a lot of time recently watching them recently.
What’s Ed doing out there in the dark, Stede wonders, and then feels sick.
If he wanted to kill Lucius, he would be dead. Right? Stede has to believe that’s true.
Somewhere around midnight there’s a light knock at the door.
“Come in,” Stede calls out.
Lucius’ head pokes around the doorway, face lit up golden by the lantern in his hand.
“Sorry, are you sleeping?” he whispers.
“No, no just having a think,” Stede says. “You know. Making plans.”
“In the dark?” Lucius asks, in the same voice that Stede used to use with the children when they fell over.
“Do my best thinking in the dark,” Stede says. “No distractions.”
“Well um, do you mind if I come in? And maybe light some more candles?”
“Please. Be my guest,” Stede says and then blurts out, “I didn’t know it would hurt him so much.”
Lucius, who was still trying to hang the lantern on the hook, freezes. “Sorry?”
“I didn’t think I could make someone feel like,” Stede pauses. “Well, that. Especially not him. I mean, he’s… him you know and I’m just, well. Me.”
Lucius sits down heavily on the bed next to him. “He liked you a lot you know.”
“Yeah,” Stede says miserably.
“I mean, a lot . In fact I think he might have even lo-”
“Don’t,” Stede says quickly, closing his eyes and fighting the childish urge to clap his hands over his ears. “Please.”
After a moment the weight of the bed shifts and something that feels like a handkerchief is pressed into his hand.
“Thanks,” Stede says and sniffs. “You know what I’m like with my allergies.”
“You’re going to have to start facing up to the truth,” Lucius says sternly. “If you want to make things right.”
“I will,” Stede says. “I.. need to.”
“I’m going to regret this,” Lucius says, seemingly more to himself than anyone. “Just, ugh. Try not to get us all killed.”
“You have my word,” Stede says quickly, opening his eyes and sitting up. “On my life and honor as a gentleman I swear that I would never allow any harm to-”
“Okay, okay, don’t get mushy on me,” Lucius says, holding up his hands. “It’s Ocracoke Inlet alright? That’s where he’s headed. It’s one of his hiding spots- no need for hugging !”
“That’s only a few days from here!” Stede says, letting go of him and scrambling out of bed. “Where are my maps?”
“You don’t want to know what I had to do that find that out believe me.”
“Genius,” Stede says, barely listening now, too busy hopping around pulling on his boots. “Oh Lucius, I could kiss you!”
“I think I’ve been through enough,” Lucius says, standing up and backing out the room. “I’ll go erm, tell the guys yeah?”
“Oh god there’s so much to do,” Stede says, turning over the handkerchief in his hands and thinking fast. “We’ll have to get the sails up and the anchor and where did I put my bloody cravat? He’s going think I’ve turned into a slob. Did I see Buttons with it earlier? How am I going to get the fish smell…”
He trails off, looking down at what he’s holding.
“Lucius,” he calls out. “Where’d you get this?”
“The handkerchief?” Lucius asks, popping his head back in. “Won it in a card game from one of the Dutch gentlemen who picked me up. You can keep it though- not really my color.”
“Thanks,” Stede says, distracted and staring down at the fabric in his hands. Under the lamplight the red is as dark as blood.
The fabric feels a little more worn and the color is faded, but not by much. That’s the thing about silk. It’s stronger than it looks.
It couldn’t be the same one.
He folds it carefully anyway and puts it in his breast pocket. Just above the heart. For safekeeping.