Chapter Text
They watch it for most of the day, keeping pace with a loose, lazy zigzag as it drifts with the ocean current. Something isn’t right.
It was Black Pete who had seen it first and alerted the co-captains - well, alerted Ed, but Stede was standing nearby. It seemed at first glance to be fairly standard; a vessel to pillage, off to starboard in the middle distance. Looked to be an average mercantile 2-masted sloop.
It was Buttons who alerted Stede to a prickling feeling at the back of his neck as they approached, first dismissed as Buttons doing his thing, and then later reviewed with some caution as they drew close enough to see the vessel wasn’t sailing but drifting, rocking in the low waves. Through the spyglass, even Stede could tell there were multiple errors in the rigging - some sails loose, some furled, with no pattern to them which would make any sense. Faded lettering on the hull named the ship the Keynvor, which didn’t ring a bell with anyone as either a ship they had heard of, or even a word that they knew.
The first thought was a trick, a trap. Ed pointed out that Stede had taken the very same approach of appearing abandoned to lure the dutch seamen aboard only a few weeks ago. Stede pointed out that even for that, he hadn’t gone so far as to rip his own sails or to tear parts of the rigging and leave ropes drifting in the water. And that it was a rather original idea, in his estimation.
There was an argument - caution versus curiosity. Ed wanted to board, confident that any trap set would be one they could fight their way through anyhow. Stede agreed, though less due to confidence in raiding ability (his own, obviously, he had every confidence in Ed’s) and more because he felt sure that his idea to appear abandoned to lure people aboard had been unique and avant-garde.
Buttons demanded caution, on the basis that he could taste something unpleasant in the air, which wasn’t a wholly compelling argument. The air was often unpleasant; not all of the crew bathed as often as they should, despite Stede outfitting the Revenge with a number of washrooms. But Buttons rallied the crew to express their superstitions and soon there was a cacophony of yelling about demons and sea monsters and, according to Frenchie, a particular kind of unpleasant, fanged, spiny mermaid whose precise modus operandi was to lure sailors aboard empty ships and drink their blood. He was rather graphic and annoyingly confident in his description.
So, Stede found himself without a willing crew to take exploring, and he acceded to a compromise. They would keep pace with the ship for a day, observe her from a distance, and if no signs of demons, mermaids, or otherwise unearthly phenomena were spotted, they would revisit the possibility of the crew doing the job for which they were paid. Ed said he was being too soft on them, and on this occasion Stede more or less agreed, but there was no rush, and it seemed a wiser political decision to ensure the crew felt heard. He had known after all that sailors can be a superstitious bunch; he and Ed could always pull rank a little more firmly tomorrow if they needed to.
Ed may have complained about the slowness of the plan, but he also quite happily set up a space for him and Stede for a cosy, above-deck sleepover of sorts, which was a rather fun idea to allow them to ‘keep watch’ of the drifting ship, to assuage the crew’s concerns. And so here they find themselves, Stede listening to Buttons and Frenchie earnestly explaining the signs of unnatural beings he should be looking out for, Ed going back and forth taking armfuls of stuff up to the maintop to prepare for their evening. All the while, the Keynvor lists in the waves, lonesome and quiet as she bobs across the gentle surf.
It has been a really glorious day, sunny and bright, and Stede is looking forward to an evening sat on the maintop with Ed, chatting and looking at the water. It reminds Stede of their first night together - or, the first one for which Stede was conscious rather than wrapped in fever dreams - when they had stayed high on the mast all night after seeing off the Spanish. His blossoming friendship with Ed in these past few weeks has been a joy he had not anticipated when he decided to take up piracy. Their time together feels precious to Stede, and he is often too busy to make the most of it. Even if it is for a silly reason today, Stede is happy about it.
Stede supposes Ed may feel the same way, given he stopped grumbling about insubordination from the crew as soon as Stede suggested they keep an eye on the Keynvor together. It always makes Stede bloom a little when it seems Ed enjoys spending time with him; that is not an especially common experience for Stede, all told. Having a real friend - a co-captain no less - is truly lovely.
After dinner, Stede reads a brief story to the crew; nothing too stimulating, they have all had enough excitement for the day in his opinion, and he doesn’t want to inspire any nightmares. Buttons and Ed negotiate at the helm to establish a safe distance from the Keynvor at which to drop anchor for the night, where there is little risk that the current would bring the drifting vessel within crashing distance, but close enough that Ed and Stede will be able to see the ship in sufficient detail through the spyglass to satisfy suspicious minds. Finally, everyone is happy enough and settled down for sleep, and Stede and Ed proceed up the rigging for their night watch.
“Oh, Ed, how lovely!” Stede says when he pulls himself onto the platform and sees what Ed has set up. There is a pile of blankets and pillows and cushions, a neat little corner stack of bread and jam, biscuits, some slivers of Roach’s spicy coconut jerked fish, and a nearly-full bottle of brandy.
“Figured we might as well be comfy while we’re wasting our time up here,” Ed says, with the kind of shrug Stede has noticed Ed tends to employ when he doesn't know how to respond to a compliment.
“Very smart thinking, it did rather do my back in last time we spent the night up here. Mind, I had just been stabbed, so that might’ve been part of the issue,” Stede says. He starts arranging the pile of pillows and blankets. Stede layers some pillows against the hardwood to make soft seating which will allow them to lean back against the mast, facing out towards the Keynvor. He plonks himself down cross-legged and pulls one of the blankets over his knees, then taps the cushions next to him.
Ed sits down right next to him and stretches his legs out straight. Stede is always a little surprised, even after weeks together, that Ed is so comfortable with touch. He leans his shoulder against Stede’s seemingly automatically, with such a casual kinship which has been foreign to Stede for, oh, his entire life.
“Brandy?” Ed suggests with a smile.
“Please.”
Ed pours two large glasses. Stede clinks the rim of his glass against Ed’s and takes a swig, feeling the warmth spread pleasantly down his throat and through his chest.
“So,” Stede asks, “What do you really think is going on with that ship?”
“Oh, most probably nothing. We’ve been close to it for hours, if it was some sort of fuckery they’d have got bored by now and just raided us. I reckon it’s been hit by some other pirates and then left to drift.”
“Hm. That’s not terribly exciting,” Stede says, a little disappointed.
“Would you prefer it if it was a bunch of ghosts or demons or whatever, like they seem to think?” Ed jokes, nodding down towards the crew settling in to sleep on the deck below them.
“I always thought it would be nice to see a ghost.”
Ed laughs, and it is a very lovely sound to Stede’s ears. “Ha, that’s a fucking interesting take, mate, it would be nice to see a ghost?”
“Well, it would confirm that death isn’t final, don’t you think? You see a ghost and then you know for the rest of your life that when you shuffle off that’s not the end of you, there’d still be more time, maybe a chance to fix your mistakes.”
“Huh. Suppose I never thought of it like that.”
The sun has set and a bit of a chill is creeping into the air. The stars are starting to rise though and Stede has always thought the stars look so much more beautiful from sea than from land. He grabs another blanket, a soft, woven wool in purples and blues, and tosses it over his legs and Ed’s.
“I reckon I’d be shit fuckin’ scared if I saw a ghost,” Ed declares.
“Pfft. No you wouldn’t, don’t be ludicrous. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
“Nah. Well, yeah, I probably am. But if the dead can rise, there’s a fair few dead folks who might hold a bit of a grudge against Blackbeard, y’know? I don’t fancy the idea of them all ganging up on me.”
“I would protect you,” Stede says with faux-solemnity and Ed snorts. “Is it weird that if the dead could come back, I can’t think of a single one who would care enough to come bother me? I feel sort of jealous of your vengeful hoards. At least you make an impact.”
“What about that British navy guy you knew in school? The one you stabbed in the face?” Ed suggests. “Made a pretty big impact on his skull from what I hear.”
“Oh, Nigel?” Stede winces at the memory, then shrugs. “I imagine he’d be a little annoyed with me, but you know, I still don’t think he’d consider me important enough to visit if it was at all out of his way.”
Ed cracks a most delightful grin and puts his hand on his heart. “Tell you what, if I die before you, promise I’ll come back and haunt the fuck outta you, mate.”
“That would be absolutely lovely. Thank you.”
Ed laughs again and Stede watches his face light up. His eyes are adjusting to the dark, and he can see the outline of Ed’s features again, and can catch the flash of white teeth. Stede could swear that when Ed tosses his head laughing, the faint light from the moon and stars flows like water through the silver in his hair.
Ed really is an astonishingly good-looking man. Oh, yes, Stede is well aware he has been developing some less than honourable feelings in that regard, the sort that might complicate a friendship and a co-captaincy rather irrevocably. It is such a ridiculous flight of fancy to even entertain the possibility of Ed returning his interest that Stede is more than content to simply enjoy their friendship, their closeness.
Still, there are moments where he finds it very difficult not to let his mind get caught like a fish on a hook, thinking about just how incredibly pretty Ed is. It’s only natural, he supposes, to have these warm feelings bubbling away inside of him when the man who is in all honesty his first real friend also happens to look like a sculptor's rendering of divine beauty. Must be careful not to stare though, he reminds himself.
“How would you haunt me?” Stede asks, instead of tracing the lines of Ed’s face with his eyes.
“I dunno, depends where you are. Haunting’s a specific thing like, where d’you reckon you’ll be?”
Stede finds that the idea of imagining a future where Ed has died, even for a silly joke, feels sort of sticky inside his mind, like a blank slate covered by glue that he can’t progress through. “Still at sea, I suppose, in the very unlikely scenario that I somehow survive longer than you do. I don’t see going back to land in my future.”
“Hmm.” Ed scratches his chin in a mime of thinking carefully. “Then I’d use up all your marmalade stores to write messages on your cabin walls.”
“That’s not very scary,” Stede says.
“The words’ll be scary,” Ed promises. “And that stuff is really fuckin’ sticky, it’d be a nightmare to get clean.”
“True, I suppose. Perhaps we can agree on a signal, so I know it’s you haunting me and not some other ghost?”
“Oh I see, I see, a minute ago you had no one who would care enough to haunt you, you sweet-talk ol’ Edward Teach into going to the effort of leaving his watery grave to write you messages and suddenly you’ve got a whole gaggle of ghosties banging down your door?” Ed pouts at him in mock-indignation.
“I might make more enemies before you die!” Stede says.
“We aren’t having a secret signal. If anyone else haunts you, I’ll just kill their ghost. I’m the only one who's gonna be writing on your walls.”
“Can you kill a ghost?”
“I fucking can,” Ed says, with confidence.
“How?”
Ed waves his hands, palms up, like Stede has asked something embarrassingly obvious. “Easy. Ghost knife.”
“Ghost knife. Of course, how silly of me.”
They laugh together. Ed leans forward, a proper belly laugh, and slaps his hand on Stede’s thigh; Stede feels a little shiver at the contact despite their skin being separated by his breeches, two blankets, and Ed’s gloves. Stede nudges his shoulder into Ed’s, and notices Ed is not moving his hand away from his thigh, he’s just left it there. It feels nice that their friendship can include so much casual touch, such camaraderie. Stede feels an almost unbearable lightness in his chest, like his lungs have expanded beyond their capacity. He really is dreadfully lucky to have met Ed, he thinks, to get to experience this warm, fun, closeness his life had been lacking for so long.
When they get their giggles under control, Stede asks Ed, “Do you believe in any of it?”
“Ghosts and stuff? Nope, not real. Thought I saw a siren once but it was just some dead fella with nice hair washed up on a rock.”
“Afterlife? God?”
“Nah. I mean, my mum used to tell me stories, sometimes, when I was a kid. Stuff from her people, y’know? S’nice, what I can remember of it, but I don’t think I ever believed it in like a religious way. Dunno if she did, it was sort of like it was taken from her, y’know, when they took her from her land.”
Stede has learned little snatches here and there of Ed’s mother’s story, and each piece is punctuated with loss. Another reason seeing a ghost would be good news; Ed’s mother deserves to see how wonderful her son grew up to be. “I’m sorry,” Stede says, quietly. He knows Ed won’t want to linger in this part of the conversation.
Ed shrugs. “She used to talk about your god a fair bit as well.”
Stede chuckles, let’s Ed move things on. “I’m not sure I have a god.”
Ed rolls his eyes. “White people’s god, whatever. I thought your lot went in for that.”
“My lot?”
“Yeah. Posh blokes. Going to church in their Sunday best and all that.”
“It’s not really for me.” Stede wrinkles his nose. “I followed all the rules for most of my life and it was rather miserable. I’ve actually tried not to think about it much recently. I doubt he would be very happy with me now.”
“Aw, c’mon, you don’t do anything that bad. You’re nice to everyone. You’ve only killed that Nigel guy and he sounded like a dickhead. Basically self-defence when someone’s an asshole.”
“I do steal quite a lot of things these days, being a pirate. That’s frowned upon. And I did, uh, promise various things before God regarding my marriage and I’m not really keeping up with those vows now, am I?”
Ed huffs. “This God guy sounds like a right picky fucker to me.”
“He rather is, I’m afraid,” Stede agrees.
Ed hums and they drift into companionable silence, occasionally nibbling snacks and topping up their brandy. The chill in the air grows, and Ed wraps a further blanket around their shoulders, shuffling in a bit closer, in a way which makes Stede feel very warm indeed. Instead of returning his hand to its resting place on Stede’s thigh, over the blankets, Ed slips his hand under. Ed’s little finger slowly brushes against Stede’s beneath the mess of soft wool and cashmere, and Stede is fairly certain he will never feel cold again.
He’s reluctant to say anything which will break the warm, comfortable peace of sitting quietly together above the rest of the world, but Stede has to admit to himself he’s been rather lax in his duty to the crew so far this evening. The stars are making their slow path across the night sky and it’s been a good 2 hours since either of them last had a proper look at the Keynvor.
“Here, give me the glass, I did promise Frenchie I’d keep a close eye,” Stede says.
Ed makes a vague grumbling noise and presses the spyglass into Stede’s free hand. Stede raises it to his eye and scans the dark form of the vessel in question. She’s drifted a touch closer, a diagonal southward path taking her in the current, bringing her a little closer to them but thankfully still far from a collision course.
It’s a bright enough night that Stede can make out the shapes of the ripped sails, moonlight glinting on the white cloth with dark, unilluminated gashes where they’re damaged. Stede scans the deck once, twice and sees no signs of life. It’s rather creepy, Stede feels, watching an empty ship drifting free and silent in the night. It feels like a dead thing.
It’s when Stede’s just about to look away, casting a last glance across the damage to the sails before lowering the glass, that his chest seizes and muscles jump. The Keynvor has a matching maintop, and a man sits there, softly lit by a lantern, looking straight at Stede through a spyglass of his own. Stede’s hand flexes, grasps, under the blanket and he entangles his fingers with Ed’s in a panic.
“Do you see that?” Stede says in a light, reedy voice. “Maintop.” He shoves the spyglass at Ed. He doesn’t want to say exactly what he saw, doesn’t want to put an idea in Ed’s head in case his eyes play tricks in the dark, or in case Ed sees nothing and thinks he’s mad.
Ed takes the spyglass in one hand and squeezes Stede’s hand with the other. Stede can see him scan across the ship a few times before he finally says, “What am I looking for here, mate, what did you see?”
“I, uh, I don’t know, I thought - did you look at the maintop?”
“Yeah, can’t see anything.” Ed does keep looking through the glass though, and Stede is grateful he’s not being dismissed out of hand, though he has a sinking feeling that Ed will see nothing, and Stede has made a fool of himself. That would be both embarrassing and a tremendous relief.
“I thought I saw someone sitting there, like us. He had a lantern and a spyglass, and he was looking this way.”
Ed looks for a few more seconds, then lowers the spyglass. “Sorry, mate, I can’t see a thing. No lights, no blokes, no nothing.”
Stede lets out a shaky laugh. “Oh god, that’s so embarrassing.” He rubs his free hand over his face, noting that Ed hasn’t let his other hand go yet. “I thought - this is mortifying - I thought he was some sort of ah, apparition like the crew had been talking about. I thought he looked burned . I’m as bad as the rest of them! God, how silly.”
Ed laughs then, but it’s a fond sound, and he squeezes Stede’s hand again to make sure he knows it. Stede is very, very thankful that it is too dark for Ed to see how red his cheeks have turned; he can feel his face colouring.
“Mate, it’s easy for the eyes to play tricks in the dark. You’re knackered, and we’ve had a fair bit of brandy. Tell you what, why don’t you close your eyes for a couple hours? I’ll keep up the watch.”
Stede is exhausted, now he thinks about it. He was up with the dawn today - yesterday, now - and they can’t be more than a few hours off the next. Stede can’t remember the last time he stayed up all night; not since he was a much, much younger man.
“I don’t want the crew to know I begged off,” Stede says. “They’ll just cause more fuss in the morning.”
“They don’t have to know, mate. Just sleep up here. These are all the blankets and pillows I could find in your room anyway, so not much point going inside.”
Stede tries and fails to stifle a yawn. “Alright. A little nap. But wake me in a bit and we’ll switch so it’s fair.”
“Deal,” Ed says. “Get some kip.”
Before Stede can start arranging himself, Ed has grabbed a spare pillow and set it against his own thigh. He taps it, and it takes Stede a few seconds to process that Ed is offering for Stede to lay his head there. He’s really so much kinder and gentler than people give him credit for, Stede thinks. There’s a small voice in Stede’s head which suggests this may be too intimate, given his little crush, but he’s tired and more than a touch rattled, so he shifts down and settles his head on the pillow in Ed’s lap.
“Thank you,” Stede mumbles, his eyes growing immediately heavy. As he drifts to sleep, he thinks he might feel Ed pulling the blankets up over his shoulders, tucking them tightly around him, but it’s probably just his mind playing sleep-deprived tricks. As is, certainly, the cracked, charred, and blackened face of the man from the maintop, which flickers behind his closed eyelids.
Stede wakes naturally as light begins to crest over the horizon, casting a soft, pink-orange glow. He’s still tired and before he recalls where he is, he snuggles down into his pillow as though to return to sleep. Everything is hazy and soft, and there’s a warm hand stroking through his hair. Stede murmurs happily.
The hand in his hair is snatched away, and he murmurs again, this time a grumpy noise of protest.
“Hey, good morning,” says Ed, quietly.
“Hmm?” Then Stede realises where he is, sleeping with his head in Ed’s lap, 30 feet above the deck of their ship. He shoots upright. “You were supposed to wake me, so you could get some sleep as well!”
“You looked like you needed it. I’m alright.”
“No,” Stede says. “Absolutely not.” He takes the pillow from Ed’s lap and sets it on his own. “I will not have you running on no sleep at all! Nap, at least one hour, now.” He punctuates it by patting the pillow.
Ed laughs lightly, almost a giggle, and says, “You can’t give me orders when your hair’s all skew-whiff like that mate, it undercuts your authority.”
“Hush,” Stede says, but his hands fly to his hair and he starts trying to tug his curls into their proper arrangement without the assistance of a mirror. “No one will be awake for at least an hour yet; it’s the perfect time for a little doze. You’ll thank me for it later, we’ve got a busy day exploring - unless you saw something?”
Ed rolls his eyes, but slips the leather band out of his hair and stretches out, settling his head on the pillow as directed so he’s lying on his back, looking straight up at Stede, his long, lean figure splayed out elegantly.
“I didn’t see anything. No pirates, no navy, no spooks. It’s all clear,” Ed says.
“Good,” Stede says, both to Ed’s report of the night and to him apparently accepting that he needs some rest. Stede is feeling a little captured by the sight of Ed’s hair, loose and fanned out, puddled across Stede’s thighs and knees. His fingers itch. Ed is really so very pretty, with those dark, expressive eyes and the sharp line of his high cheekbones; Stede wonders if anyone has ever told him that.
Stede moves tentatively and hovers his hand at Ed’s temple, asking for silent permission. Ed nods, just a tiny movement, but a definite one nonetheless, and Stede slips his hand gently into Ed’s hair, letting the long strands flow like silk between his fingers.
Ed’s eyes close. “Jus’ a little power nap. Then we can brief the crew and go have a look round.”
“Mmhmm. Power nap, breakfast , then brief the crew,” Stede corrects, looking down at Ed’s face in comfortable repose, lit by the dawn’s velvet light.
“Perfect,” Ed says. Before long, his breathing turns soft and slow.
Stede watches him sleep, and doesn’t once pick up the spyglass to check on the Keynvor .
Ed wakes to piercing sunlight in his eyes, the sound of the crew bustling down below, and the much closer sound of Stede quietly snoring. Bit of a speared feeling in his head; probably polished off more than his fair share of the brandy last night. Stede’s fingers are still curled in his hair though and thank fuck that wasn’t a dream.
And oh, shit, he blinks against the sunlight and realises that also very much not a dream was the part where he fell asleep in Stede’s lap, his face a few inches from his dick. Smart fuckin’ move there, Edward, that’s not gonna drive you fucking crazy, nah. It had seemed romantic when he had encouraged Stede to fall asleep on him, tapping into this weird sort of urge to treat the man like a fancy kitten. Then, Stede had offered the same in return, and Ed couldn’t refuse without giving away that there was something intimate about the head-lap-sleep-hair-stroke continuum he’d set going, and so here he is, waking up nuzzling-distance away from Stede’s crotch.
Well, fuck. It’s incomprehensible and it pisses Ed off something fierce that Stede hasn’t had the experience of close friendships - or more - in his life, but the benefit is that in situations like this he can be pretty clueless, and Ed can pilfer little pieces of affection here and there.
It’s probably not hugely ethical, but fuck it, eh? Ed’s a pirate, he steals stuff, that’s the whole thing. Stede is bloody brilliant and strangely hot with his fancy shoes and bright colours and curls, but he’s not shown the slightest crumb of interest in anything beyond friendship, so stealing romance it is. Nothing wrong with a little fantasy, even if it does make Ed ache quite uncomfortably in his belly sometimes.
Kinda devastating, really, if Ed thinks about it too much. He usually manages not to, but then he doesn’t normally wake up in this position.
Anyway, there’s shit needs doing today. Ed sighs and sits up, little whisper of loss across his scalp as Stede’s hand drops out of his hair.
“Mate,” Ed says, and he gives Stede a little poke on the shoulder. “Wakey wakey.”
Stede jolts then blinks slowly - like a fucking kitten, he knew it - and gives Ed this goofy-cute little guilty look. “I - ah - resting my eyes for a few minutes there may have been a little bit of an error. Sorry!”
Ed would probably be a bit irritated at him if it had been a proper watch they were doing, but as it stands this was an exercise in pointlessness, keeping an eye on an empty, abandoned ship to capitulate to the superstitions of the crew. Ed only agreed because it sounded nice to hang out under the stars with Stede for a bit. Truth be told, he looked at the ship properly only once, when Stede got a bit freaked out from being overtired. Apart from that, he took a glance now and then to make sure it wasn’t gonna drift into them, and otherwise ignored it in favour of his primary plan to look at the stars, and at Stede.
“Eh,” Ed shrugs. “No harm done. We’ll tell that lot that we were up all night being very diligent, alright? There’s nothing happening on that boat.”
“An excellent plan,” Stede confirms, with a conspiratorial smile. “Up for some exploring today then?”
“Totally. Reckon I was promised brekkie first though.”
Stede slaps Ed on his shoulder, says “good man,” which does something to Ed, then struggles out of the pile of blankets and starts climbing down. Ed follows; he’ll follow him down onto the deck, and he’d follow him onto a ship full of those creepy fucking vampire-mermaids Frenchie was talking about if it meant hanging out with him all day.
Stede does his “Hi, all!” cheerful captain routine and reassures the crew like a pro. Ed contributes by glowering over his shoulder. Stede’s a pretty good liar, and Ed gets a little thrill from listening to him pretend they were working hard all-night instead of having a slumber party, like they’re a couple of naughty kids. Ed catches Stede tensing when Frenchie presses him on whether there were any signs of anything creepy though, and makes a mental note of it. Stede must be a bit rattled, he figures, by whatever weird brain-misfire made him imagine some dude up the ropes.
Ed’s seen plenty of weird shit on night watches. If you peer into the dark for long enough, your eyes make stuff up just to have something to look at. Add a bit of booze, some spooky stories, and staying up past bedtime, and it’s pretty much a perfect recipe getting yourself worked up over nothing. Ed’ll keep an eye on him.
He decides not to prod him about it over breakfast. Knowing Stede, and Ed does feel like he knows him pretty well, really well, like they’ve been friends for decades rather than a few weeks, which is a bit odd now he thinks about it, but anyway, Stede’s probably embarrassed. But today is gonna be about fun.
They take their meal in Stede’s cabin, which has become their usual routine by now. Roach lays on a good spread as always.
“I’m pretty hyped about this ship, man,” Ed says.
“You are?” Stede asks, after politely swallowing a mouthful of fruit.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be sweet. Either they abandoned ship for some weird-ass reason, or they got raided, killed or kidnapped, but not scuttled or stolen. I know it happens but I’ve never, ever gone to look round a proper drifting empty.”
“Well, a first both for me and for you! That doesn’t happen much now, does it?”
Ed briefly wonders if there’s some sort of flirty innuendo about first times he can slip in there, but actually, he twigs that Stede has a point. Their dynamic has been Stede introducing Ed to fancy stuff, and Ed introducing Stede to piracy. That they’ll be doing something new together makes it seem even more fun.
“Right? I wanna poke through all their stuff and try to figure out who they were and what happened. Have a good nose ‘round, y’know.”
“Solve the mystery of the Keynvor!” Stede beams, and then he starts bubbling away with excited chatter about detective stories, and then how one should dress for a bit of clue-hunting.
Sounds fun as fuck. Ed loves this shit, it’s so bloody nice to be around someone who just enjoys stuff, without trying to be cool about it or whatever. Ed was mostly blowing smoke to help Stede put his little seeing things episode out of his mind, but damn if he’s not getting into it now.
When breakfast is finished, Ed helps Stede potter about in his wardrobe trying to pick appropriate attire for a detective mission. Ed’s help mostly consists of touching all the softest stuff and fiddling with the cool little trinkets in there while Stede rambles about fashions and pattern-matching and the importance of keeping clean lines. Still, he’s noticed Stede seems to make a decision a bit faster when Ed is there to say ‘yes’ to any outfit suggestions (and he does just say ‘yes’ to all of them, because the worst Stede can possibly look is cute as fuck - except for the wigs, one day he’s going to toss all those fucking wigs overboard) so he considers it part of co-captain duties.
Stede’s first suggestion is a deep forest green waistcoat and matching frock coat. It seems a bit darker and more plain - nice as the colour is - than Stede’s usual fair, which Ed presumes is something to do with the detective theme, somehow. Ed approves the outfit immediately, as he always does. Once Stede is dressed, Ed notices delicate light green vines and leaves embroidered along the cuffs and seams. It accentuates the green flecks in his hazel eyes and makes his hair shine. Nice choice. Still fuck all to do with detectives as far as Ed can figure, but nice choice.
Next on the docket is a proper briefing with the crew, to hand out tasks and make a cursory effort at planning their approach. It’s not exactly a big deal when it comes to an abandoned ship - not like anyone can fuck it up too badly - but in principle, this crew still very much needs to learn good practice in boarding and raiding. Good opportunity to have a run at it without there being anyone on the other side to kill ‘em if they screw it up.
Ed lets Stede walk ahead of him onto the deck and he calls for a ‘chat circle’. It makes Ed smile, because it’s a stupid fucking name, and also because he knows Stede’s been killing himself trying to think of a better one. “Planning polygon” and “raid round” have been floated in private; alliteration seems to be important apparently. Ed feels unbearably fond when he sees Stede wrinkle his nose after hearing himself say “chat circle” out loud. That’s definitely not gonna be the one.
Ed has suggested a “do as you’re fucking told donut” but Stede thought that wasn’t quite the vibe. Better than a chat circle though. Ed seats himself on the deck next to Stede, wincing a bit as his knee protests - he’s getting old and creaky, goddamn.
The chat circle is a fucking disaster. Too many of the crew are still unsettled. Even for pirates, this lot are a bit over the top on the superstitions. Buttons insists that he can feel - and taste, and smell, and another sense which is apparently called ‘sinlew’ - the presence of evil. They get side-tracked for a while as Pete and John try to get Buttons to define ‘sinlew’.
Ed has found that usually he can count on Oluwande as a sensible voice from within the crew to get people to chill the fuck out. But Oluwande has been a grumpy fucker since Jim stayed back on St Augustine. Kinda annoying really; losing Jim is a bit of a blow to the crew, them being by far the best fighter amongst them, and now the voice of reason is too fucking depressed about it to be helpful either.
Lucius sometimes does well in that way, but he’s a fucking wildcard and has chosen chaos today, apparently - he keeps asking Frenchie questions about the paranormal, every answer is fucking bizarre yet not without internal logic, and Lucius is sat there biting his thumb to hold back giggles and has the goddamn audacity to wink at Ed about it.
He’s been far too confident since his little match-maker speech during the snake-filled hell that was their field-trip on St Augustine. And it’s bloody unjustified, because Stede is very clearly not seeking anything further than friendship, no matter what Lucius thought was going on; it is painfully fucking obvious in Ed’s estimation that it isn’t even on Stede’s mind. Something would’ve happened by now if it was. It’s not like Ed has been overly subtle. Stede’s either not interested or not ready to be interested after his strange, posh, repressed life, and Ed isn’t going to push it, so Lucius has absolutely not earned the right to be smug and over-familiar.
Ugh, this is off topic. But the crew are all still fucking talking shite and the clammer is starting to give Ed a headache. Retreating into his own ricocheting thoughts probably isn’t good form though; they are, after all, co-captains now, so he should really help Stede out with getting this under control.
Or, y’know, not. Ed leans over to Stede and whispers in his ear, “What about calling it a ‘whinging wedge’?”
Stede huffs to contain a laugh and taps two fingers briskly on Ed’s knee, like a little telling off. Ed tries again, “A ‘bloody onerous oval’? A ‘trying my fucking patience trapezoid’?”
Stede presses his lips together in a thin, white line and his shoulders shake as he tries to remain composed and captainly. Ed doesn’t think his own jokes were that good, but Stede is trying really hard not to laugh and for some reason that’s fucking sending him. Stede sort of hiccup-squeak-laughs when he can’t hold it back any more and Ed is gone, collapsing against him and cracking up.
The burst of laughter from their captains seems to chill people out, or at least confuse them enough that they shut the hell up. Ed lost a few minutes where he was leaning into Stede and Stede was leaning into him and they were laughing like kids, but by the time he pulls himself together the crew has stopped their chatter.
“Right!” Ed says, aiming for a commanding tone, even though there’s still a wheeze to it from laughing so hard, “Stede and I will be exploring that ship today. Anyone who wants to come will get to pick any two items left aboard of their choice to keep for themselves. Show of hands who is joining us?”
As suspected, the bribery gets things moving a bit. Roach, Pete and Wee John immediately raise their hands, shortly followed by Lucius, Oluwande and the Swede, who appear less enthusiastic but hey, who doesn’t like new stuff? Frenchie makes a dramatic show of sitting on his hands.
Buttons ominously informs them that, “If ya steal from spirits, the spirits will take their due 10-fold, mark my words.”
“Fabulous!” Stede declares. “Buttons and Frenchie can hold the fort here, thank you to you both for volunteering.”
“Not gonna be saving you if you get eaten or whatever, but you do you, I guess, Captain,” Frenchie shrugs.
Before the chatter can get too out of hand once again, Ed divvies up some tasks - tying on to the other ship, above and below deck search and secure, store checks, damage inventory, the basics. He and Stede can handle the mystery-solving (being nosy).
After oversleeping on the maintop and the amount of time it’s taken to wrangle this bunch, it’s bloody lunch-time, so the mission is relegated to the afternoon. Wouldn’t want to go exploring on an empty tum, Stede informs him. Ed chews through some hardtack and cheese up on deck. It affords him a good opportunity to properly check out this other ship, since he, y’know, shirked his duties last night in favour of constructing a romantic fantasy around his best friend. Only friend. Friend, whatever.
It’s just a normal ship. Fucking wild, totally normal ship just drifting all the way out here. Weird damage on its sails and ropes, but otherwise tip fucking top condition, as far as he can see. Wee John is guiding them in closer, since Buttons was getting a bit too vocal about his displeasure as they drew near. Not a scratch on a single plank of wood, which is strange as shit when the rigging’s all screwed to hell.
He really hopes it isn’t full of bodies below deck. Ed’s feeling buzzy and hyped, and it would kinda sour the fun if he runs straight into a bunch of dead, rotting blokes. Can’t smell anything yet, so that’s a good sign.
Roach does a pretty decent job of getting the ships roped together, Ed thinks. Surgeon/chef’s fingers, makes him quick and precise. He’s gonna remember that, too many people focus on strength and overlook dexterity, in his experience. It’s why he was always underestimated in fights as a skinny beanpole kid, when he first went to sea. Got the upper-hand a fair few times just ‘cause no one thought about how fast he could move.
They fucking finally get on board the Keynvor . The crew scatter to their assigned work. Stede decides that he and Ed should split up to ‘cover more ground’ and regroup to share their findings in the Captain’s cabin when they’re done. Ed’s a tad disappointed that they aren’t going to be investigating together in this game of theirs, but he is a fan of having a little rendezvous to look forward to, so it balances out.
Ed could tell the second his boots touched the deck that this ship was fully abandoned. It feels cold, absent, empty. A working ship is like a living creature; it bustles and breathes with the crew, becomes its own being - this is just a bunch of wood and beams and cavities. A husk. He remembers finding the carcass of a beached whale once, all bleached bones. He walked through the cage of its ribs and it felt like this.
He’s pleasantly surprised that no one seems to be finding any dead folk. Ed does a quick circuit of the deck before going down-below for the cool stuff. It is kinda creepy actually; the air is so still and dry it makes his skin feel itchy at the back of his neck.
Ed takes the aft, Stede explores the fore. Room after room is empty of life, aside from a bug or two. Not empty of stuff though - the place is overflowing with stuff, lived in stuff, scattered in the sort of way where you can basically hear someone grunting that they’ll put it away properly later. A broken flick-knife tossed on a shelf, beds unmade, clothes balled up on the floor for laundry.
It’s freaky, it’s like snooping in someone’s bedroom. Well, he is snooping in someone’s bedroom, except that he doesn’t think it really belongs to them anymore. Ed gets a bit fascinated. He’s in a room that’s small but nice enough; probably belonged to the first mate. He sits on the bed and bounces the mattress; it’s shit, still got a dip in the middle where the bloke must’ve laid night after night. Top dresser drawer is full of crap, bits and pieces, a ring, thread and needles and a quill, three drawings of the same woman, one drawing of a young man with arresting dark eyes, scraps of clothes, a little bottle of oil. Ed’s not above wondering if the oil belongs with the pictures of the woman or the man, or both.
It’s just some dude’s life laid out. Ed’s known enough sailors to read the room; he imagines a rough, weather-beaten man pushing middle age. Probably has trouble with cracked calluses on his fingers, and will have pulled at least one of his own teeth out. He’d have stories about avoiding his grave by seconds in harsh weather, and he’d get a wistful look when he thinks of good weather - the days when the wind catches just right, your ship skims the waves, and you feel like you could actually sail right through the horizon and into a new ocean altogether.
Ed’s thoughts are interrupted by pounding, running footsteps above him. “Oi! Take it fucking easy!” he shouts up through the boards, to no response. It’s caught him by surprise, but he’s got a feeling like this place should be treated with respect.
He’s not gonna examine that too much, because more sailors have died because of him than he could put a number to, leaving behind full rooms and unmapped lives, so there’s no particular reason to care about these ones. He kinda does though. It must be the weird atmosphere, something about how she’s been left drifting.
Ed continues his meandering through the ship. There’s something pushing at his mind, like a little splinter in his brain; things that don’t quite track. The kitchen is a bit of a scene. It looks in use but is stone cold. There’s a pot over the dead fire, boiled dry and blackened. A large knife rests precisely against the edge of a chopping board in a clean, parallel line, like someone had been setting up just before making dinner. There’s a pile of plates and cutlery out at the end of the counter-top. The cupboards are full of dry stuff, so he can’t make a decent guess as to how long it’s been there. Or what was gonna get chopped up for dinner. Rats haven’t gotten into anything; it’s either the only boat in the Caribbean without rats hitching a lift, or it’s not been long at all.
Abandoned is definitely the right word, Ed thinks. Like they just up and left one day. There’s no damage, no blood, no weapons. He heads to the fore of the ship to find the Captain’s cabin.
Stede is already in there when Ed finds it. “Bloody weird, right?” Ed says.
“Yes!” Stede says, practically twinkling with excitement. “It’s like they just popped out for lunch!”
“I don’t think this was a raid. Nothing’s broken, nothings been taken - I bumped into John, he says there’s a load of munitions in good nick, there’s food in the cupboards, people’s stuff just everywhere.”
“Same on my searches! I found a whole store room full of spices, and a bit of indigo. That must be what they’re transporting for sale. And, there’s some lovely things in here, especially. Clothes and jewellery and oh! Look at this!” Stede passes Ed a beautiful, weighty knife, the handle engraved in intricate filigree. It’s not just a show-off piece either; Ed tosses it in his hand and the balance is excellent.
“No way someone woulda left all this behind. It looks like nothing’s been touched.”
“Agreed. Therefore, they must have left of their own accord,” Stede says, and raises his eyebrows. “But why? So intriguing.”
Ed has a bit of a pace and pokes around the room while he thinks aloud. “Doesn’t make sense. The only damage is on the sails and ropes, it’s not like they were about to go down. Hull’s fine. Nothing’s tossed about like it would be in a storm. Why wouldn’t they take their stuff with them?”
“Maybe they took the important things. We just can’t know what they were, because they’re not here.”
There’s logic to it, but it doesn’t click right in Ed’s brain. He thinks of the drawings in that man’s empty room. “Yeah, but. Dunno, doesn’t feel right.”
Ed continues combing through shelves and drawers. There’s a rumble of wind picking up outside, a patter of rain kicks in, and Ed notes it absentmindedly, can’t remember if he left all Stede’s blankets out or not. Hopefully they’re not gonna get drenched; it was all clear skies this morning.
“Hmm, I know. It’s like they had to leave in an awful hurry, but with no sign of why.”
Ed turns back to Stede and grins. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
“It’s a proper mystery! What else do we know?”
He is bouncing on the balls of his feet and swinging his arms as he thinks, and it’s cute as hell. There’s such good fucking energy to him, Ed thinks to himself. Fun. No one has fucking fun anymore, but Stede does. Everyone he used to run with would be plundering the shit outta this place, hauling it all back onto their ship and fucking off to sell it. Stede’s bouncing around like a fuckin’ labrador, having a great day and sharing it with Ed.
What a fucking way to live, eh? Is it weird for someone to give you the same feeling as washing your face? That’s weird. But. If you don’t wash your face for a couple of days and then finally get some decent soap and clean, cool water on your skin, it makes you feel like a new person in Ed’s opinion. Nearly the same as you always were, but fresher, clearer. Stede makes him feel like that. He’ll probably think of a better way of putting it if he ever tells him.
“I clocked a couple of dinghies when we first came over,” Ed says as he realises it. “So if they went willingly, they didn’t have time to get all their boats down.”
“How many dinghies would you expect on a ship this size?”
Ed furrows his brow as he thinks about the question. “Never known a ship this size with more than two, to be hon- Fuck!”
Ed is cut off by the crash of what must’ve been a motherfucking huge wave smashing into the side of the ship. The entire room lurches, the floor tilts at a fucking alarming angle, as the ship rolls.
“Ed?!” Stede is barely on his feet, grabbing hold of the table he was standing next to, his eyes wide with alarm.
The ship rolls back, and Ed with a life-time of sea legs still nearly loses his fucking balance, has to take a few stumbling steps to steady himself with the heave of it. Furniture scrapes the floor.
“What the absolute fucking fuck!?” When you swear as much as Ed does, there’s not really anywhere to go when shit gets real. What the fucking fuckity fuck is happening, they’ve been here no more than an hour, Jesus Christ, and there was no sign of a storm coming, none at fucking all. Ed has never known something to hit like that out of nowhere.
Ed makes a dash across the room before the next wave hits. He grabs Stede’s arm when he reaches him, and tries to brace him. “We need to go.”
Jesus, they’re going to crack right into the fucking side of the Revenge. They’re tied on and the waves are going to push the ships into each other and one of ‘em will have to give. Shit, it better be this one. There’s a deafening crack of thunder that sounds like the sky splitting in two, and Ed can’t fucking think. This came from nowhere, from fucking nowhere, how does that happen? He knows the weather like his own goddamn skin, there was no sign.
Another wave hits and they both go tumbling. It’s so fierce; Ed’s breath is punched out of him as he hits the floor, and he’s dragged Stede down with him. He catches a glimpse as he falls of a wall of water against the cabin windows, completely engulfing them.
Stede’s hands are on him, checking his head and shoulders and arms for injuries while Ed lies there panting and winded and freaked the fuck out. As soon as he manages to heave in a proper breath, he repeats, “We need to go.”
Stede nods, keeps hold of his arm, and instead of trying to get back on their feet they just crawl, hands and knees, skittering across the floor being tossed about like bugs. Shit’s flying off the shelves and Stede gets beamed right in the fucking forehead by some piece of shit candle stick. He streams with blood - head wounds always do, even if they’re superficial, Ed reminds himself, and even his inner voice sounds panicked as fuck. Ed tries to put his hand over it on some sort of stupid instinct to tend to him, gets his hand slick with blood and doesn’t help Stede in the fucking slightest.
Thunder rips through the air again and Ed can feel his bones shake.
They manage to stumble-crawl and drag each other out of the cabin and into the hall. Stede starts shouting for the crew, dread clear as day in the way his voice catches, and Ed yanks him forward to the stairs. There’s no time for a bloody search party. Ed can hear wood creaking and splintering somewhere beneath them, between the thunder and his own fervent repetitions of Stede’s name, trying to get the bloody man to move faster.
Getting up the stairs is chaos. The ship swings and lurches, and Ed and Stede get tossed into one wall then the next, clinging on by fingernails to the steps and to each other as they scramble upwards. Half of Stede’s face is bloody so he can’t see properly, and Ed’s hands are slippery as fuck.
Finally they reach the top and Ed bodily shoves Stede through the door, launching himself at him and following him through and.
And.
It’s sunny. And quiet. And Black Pete and Lucius are staring at them with shock and confusion written over their faces. And Ed can’t fucking breathe, from scrabbling and panicking and feeling fucking scared that they wouldn’t get out in time, he wouldn’t get Stede out in time.
The sea is perfectly calm.