#billy bones

Flint had missed the mark that day, which forced us into a fight and led me to my first kill. It had also cost my friend Jean his life. This was a lesson I never forgot: surrender is never a certainty, no matter how well we time the hoisting of our flag or how scary we make ourselves look. Sooner or later, someone will make a stand and fight. And I would lose someone close to me as a consequence.

From my position at the port side bow, I wrung my rifle in my hands and bit my lip whilst I examined our prize. Thirty guns. Three masts. British colors. Had we been sailing on the Walrus, they would be evenly matched. Perhaps then the men would at least think twice before approaching her. As it were... she was comparatively small next to our stolen warship.

Behind me, the order to raise the black was given. Just to be sure, I checked that my rifle was loaded and then positioned it on the forecastle railing. Sweat beaded on my forehead and rolled into my eyes. God, I was so nervous. I hadn't felt this jittery since my first time. Please let them strike their colors, please let them strike their colors, please, please, please...

Without really meaning to, I sucked in as much air as I could through my nose and let it out through my mouth. Didn't help with the nerves, but at least my hands stopped shaking.

The seconds ticked on by... and...

I sighed with relief when I saw the British flag descend from its line.

Triumphant, the men cheered and patted each other in the back before moving to steer the ship into an approach. I shouldered my rifle and traded it for the pistols and cutlass. With a bit of luck, I wouldn't have to use them. Hopefully.

When the ships were lined up and the planks put in place, I accompanied Dufresne aboard alongside with Joji. Like his personal body guards, we stood behind him while he spoke to the captain. He was an old man, with weary lines on his face and the weight of age in his eyes, but one look at him and I could divinate a sharp mind and a brave heart behind them. He watched us as we came down the plank, armed to the teeth, with a healthy amount of fear, but also with defiance. Like it was taking all of his self-control not to take up arms and forcefully remove us from his ship.

I tightened my hold on my pistols and tried to even my breathing. Again, that voice of anxiety chanted in my head, just as it had on the Andromache.

Something is going to go wrong.

Dufresne stopped in front of the captain and held his gaze. "You're in command here, yes?"

The captain lowered his head. "I am."

"You were wise not to fight." Dufresne looked around the surface and gundecks. "Are there any men lying in wait below? Answer truthfully... or the consequences will be severe."

The other didn't immediately reply. I could see the gears in his head turning, working things out, trying to find any manner in which he might salvage the situation with his hide intact. I took in the men closest to us, how they stood alert and how quickly I could dispatch them in case they decided to defend themselves. My stare found one of them, a man about my age with a scar across his nose. He narrowed his eyes at me before dropping them to my chest, to the pistols in each of my hands, then back at my face with this little smirk.

I traded a look with Joji, who nodded firmly, hand on his katana. Him. If something happened, he would be the first I would shoot while Joji cut down the captain. Then we retreated to the warship.

"It is as you see it," the old captain finally relented with a resigned shrug of his shoulders.

Dufresne turned to our men who had set up a perimeter and kept the captive crew in line at gun point. "Sweep the hold. Start at the bow." He spared the commander a glance, then turned his back on him to oversee the operation.

Bad move, Dufresne, I thought, my mouth twisted into a sour line. The captain remained where he was and I could see no weapons on him, but that didn't mean a thing. His head swiveled back and forth, watching everything, every detail, running the odds in his mind and weighting his options.

Joji patrolled the deck, silent as a leaf in the wind, while I lurked by the quarterdeck. Deliberately, I walked behind the sailor with the scar, who followed every one of my steps with a sneer. There were at least two more by the helm, besides him and the captain. The rest of the crew sat in the gundeck, waiting, but they looked nothing like the cowering, quivering men I had come to expect during the surrender of a prize. These men were tough. They were used to hardship and they knew how to fight. Looking upon their angry faces, I got the impression that the only reason they were sitting quietly was because their captain ordered them so.

"Are you him?"

I snapped my gaze up at the captain. He was talking to Dufresne, who leaned over the rail overlooking the gundeck. Dufresne furrowed his brow as he turned. "Beg your pardon?"

"I said, are you him?" The captain repeated louder, more insistently. Less fearfully. "Are you Captain Flint?"

A violent chin crawled down the skin of my arms, numbed out my legs. I looked to the warship, where I spotted Flint and Silver on the highcastle, watching everything, then to Dufresne, who, to his credit, mastered his expression into a cold neutrality that allowed no one to perceive his true emotions. He took a couple of menacing steps toward the captain.

"I assure you, Sir--" He warned with a lowered voice. "You do not want to test us."

But the other man, graced with far more years of experience at sea than our poor quartermaster, wasn't convinced. He was starting to realize the truth of our crew. That we flew Flint's banner, but Flint himself wasn't present. That although we sailed a Spanish warship, our numbers were not enough to effectively maneuver her. That we were fearsome pirates who could, in theory, kill every single one of them, but chose not to... because our strength was merely an illusion.

I raised my pistol the same instant that the captain let out a sharp whistle.

In the span of a single heartbeat, all hell broke loose. I shot down the man with the scar before he had time to swerve around, then the one immediately at my left. Absently, I saw Joji kill the captain with a single strike of his katana, in plain view of his crew, but it mattered not. The gundeck was a writhing mass of men as they brawled, pushed, punched. The air grew thick with pistol smoke, everywhere I heard metal clashing, men shouting, bodies dropping. Theirs... and ours.

The one sailor remaining at the quarterdeck took advantage of my distraction to rush me and landed a blow on my left cheek. I staggered into the rail, saw stars swimming in my vision for a moment, then pulled out my cutlass and sliced the air with it. From the startled grunt I heard, I figured I must have nicked him. When my sight recovered, I saw him bend over himself, hands on his thigh from which blood flowed like a raging waterfall. He looked up from the wound, snarled, started toward me - but not two steps later, he was on toppling onto his hands and knees with an expression of shock, skin white as a sheets. When I ran past him to get to the planks, he was already lying face down in a pool of his own blood.

"Retreat!" Someone ordered. Others soon followed, a series of calls that sent our men scurrying across the planks while shooting over their shoulders blindly.

"Retreat!!" I shrieked over the noise. Grabbing a fistful of his clothes, I shoved Dufresne forward and got him to cross to safety. "Go, go, go!"

I followed close behind him, climbing aboard like a rat, without ever stopping to look back. It was only at the warship, whilst on the rails, that I finally turned to assess the damage. My jaw went slack with horror when I realized how many of our crewmen had fallen. Too many to count. No... No, no, no. My face twisted up into a frown, gazing upon that carnage. I had failed them. Again. God, when would this end?

Suddenly, my left arm caught fire. I brought my hand to it with a yelp and felt my eyes bulge when I saw blood. Half panicked, half confused, I jumped onto the deck and stumbled into the main mast, wondering if I had been shot. Thank goodness, when I pulled away my hand, all I found was a nasty looking gash, the flesh at the edges of it singed from the bullet that had grazed me. I had been lucky, all things considered. I wished the same could be said of those who had stayed behind and would never reach Nassau again.

"I want muskets in the rigging to suppress their front line!" Dufresne yelled a few feet from me. Under normal circumstances, being among the best shooters in the crew, I would be climbing up the shrouds already. As it were, with my arm injured and my spirit so thoroughly crushed, there was nothing I could do but clutch my wound and hang my head.

"Mr. Dufresne, we have lost the day," I heard de Groot state.

"Muskets!" Dufresne insisted.

"We must disengage!" de Groot shouted.

Up came Logan, who stopped between the two. "What are we waiting for? Why aren't we moving?"

"Give the order, Mr. Dufresne."

Through the haze of tears, I saw the men on the other ship form lines and shoot mercilessly at anything that moved. Our own returned fire however they could, but they were disorganized, rudderless. One after the other, they fell like flies when they should be taking cover. The pain of watching my brothers die became so great, I was sure I would soon faint.

"We do not have the manpower to retake that ship," de Groot insisted, ever more frantic. "We must get underway!"

“Why the fuck are we waiting for him?!" Logan roared.

"Because he's in charge here!"

"No one is in fucking charge here!"

Jesus Christ. I had to do something. Anything. Anything except standing around waiting while our ranking superiors wasted time squabbling over who to give the order.

"All hands, cut us lose!" I screamed, putting as much strength and command into my voice as I could muster. "Get us underway!"

But no one obeyed. No one heard, or if they did, they were ignoring me.

"You have to sink her."

While de Groot and Logan yelled at each other, Flint appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He stood directly in front of Dufresne, as calm and composed as I remembered him being, that old iron mask of control returned to those cold eyes. "You cannot just escape, you have to sink that ship. For if a single one of those men lives to tell the tale, no one will ever surrender before that flag again."

Dufresne stared at him, lost, frightened, unable to speak. I waited, heart hammering in my throat, for him to come to his senses and tell him to fuck off and order us to sail away. I waited for him to grow a spine and deny that vile snake. I waited... But all he did was stand there, mute. For all his growth in the past days, I'd forgotten that in the end, Dufresne was still just a boy who ascended too fast and now looked desperately for someone older, more experienced, to come fix his mistakes.

I watched, clear as day, as Flint's spell took hold yet again. He snapped his mismatched eyes to Logan. "Cut us loose, get us underway."

There was a short moment of hesitation while he pondered his options. Our men were dying. The prize was lost and so was what was left of our dignity. Dufresne couldn't lead us anymore. There was no one else to call the shots and there was no more time to delay. So, he did the only thing he could do.

"Cut us loose!" He barked. "Get us underway!"

Unable to do a thing except passively observe what remained of my crew rush to carry out their orders, I slumped against the ladder, holding onto my arm as a poisonous mixture of anger and sorrow turned my heart to stone. Just like that, Flint was captain once more.

"Gun crews at the ready," he commanded, and after another brief pause, Joshua repeated the order. I heard the cannons being pulled into position and loaded.

“Two-six, heave! Two-six, heave!”

Across from us, aboard our would-be prize, those men fought to defend themselves, no matter the cost. They had no idea they were all dead already.

Flint stood by the rails without a drop of remorse in his face. "Fire!"

I shut my eyes just as the guns went off, one after the other. In a matter of minutes, that ship and her crew were reduced to splinters and screams that would haunt me to my dying day. All that death and destruction could have been avoided. It should have been avoided. My chest filled up with a blind fury, white hot and all-consuming. And it wasn't all directed at Flint.

As my eyelids opened, my glare clashed with Dufresne's remorseful frown as he fully understood what had just happened. This time, I could conjure no sympathy for him, nor forgiveness.

I fucking warned you, I thought bitterly.

He seemed to have divinated exactly what I was feeling, for after only a few seconds looking at me, he let his gaze fall and hung his head in deep shame.

With a shake of my head, I turned away and dragged myself below decks, away from that carnage.

*** That night, a new vote was made. For the first time in my life, I chose to abstain. I would die before I voted for Flint and I was too angry with Dufresne to vote for him.

Even so, of fucking course Flint won. After Dufresne's very public failure at winning a prize, and given the lack of options, it was the only possible result, no matter how much we all hated him. We needed a captain, period. Additionally, confronted with the fact there was literally no one else besides Flint who could take up the captaincy, it also became painfully clear how much we had lost. If only Gates was still alive...

There was no celebration aboard the warship. No cheers. No songs. No games. Only drink, a lot of it, and a heavy silence across the decks. After Howell patched up my arm, I sneaked onto the beakhead and sat there, hearing the keel cut through the waves, but not even the salt spray could ease my mind. I thought about how this whole tragedy had begun, where this crew was headed. I didn't like it. Wherever I looked, all I could see was more death and I had no idea how to prevent it. Protecting the crew meant following Flint and I wasn't sure I had it in me to submit to his authority.

Unfortunately, it was undeniable that he wouldn't be going anywhere. Which meant... it was time for he and I to have a little chat.

It was well past midnight when I found myself at the great cabin's door. The emotions roiling in me were so many that in fact, I felt nothing at all. My pulse was a sharp ticking against my sternum - steady, yet uncomfortable. My fingers had gone numb. Even as I raised my hand to knock three times, I hardly acknowledge my knuckles hitting the wood.

I swear to God, that man had to be in league with the Devil. Maybe Turk's wild tales about him had a pinch of truth after all. I grabbed the handle, twisted it and slowly pushed my way inside.

Flint was sitting at the desk with a chart, navigation instruments spread about its surface. His fingers were interlocked, elbows resting on the desk as he studied the lines on the parchment. He didn't look up to acknowledge me.

"How did you know it was me?" I asked in a dry tone, refusing to add the respectful "sir" at the end as was required by any deckhand.

"No one else aboard this ship has any motive to come speak to me at this hour." At last, he sat up straight and looked me in the eyes. "Shut the door, please."

Deliberately, I let a few moments pass before complying, never letting my stare wander from his. I wanted to make it clear through my actions rather than my words that, though he may be captain, I had no intention of blindly obeying his every command.

He didn't invite me to sit. Didn't offer tea and biscuits, like last time. He sat and he watched as I took my time coming forth. There were no weapons I could discern in the dark cabin, but judging from the way he kept one hand under the desk, I was willing to bet he had a pistol stashed somewhere. He needn't worry for his safety, however. I had left my own guns and blades in my hammock precisely to avoid the temptation to end his life. All I wanted was to talk.

And if temptation still proved too strong to resist, well... I was perfectly capable of killing him with my bared hands.

I stopped at the chair across from him. Flint still said nothing. Locked in a silent battle, I evaluated this man whose name alone struck fear into the hearts of grown men and found that... I was no longer afraid of him. He had already taken everything I held dear from me. What else had I to lose? My life? These days, it was hardly worth anything. Letting out a long sigh, I slumped onto the chair.

"What can I do for you, Miss Tilly?" He inquired.

I narrowed my eyes at his change of address. Good to know he was aware we were no longer on agreeable terms, nor would we be for a while. Maybe never again. I would never forget what he did, so never again would I be his loyal little soldier. I rested back against my seat, let my eyes wander to the side as I pondered on what had brought me to his presence. God knew I had a lot to say to him, so much so that I scarcely knew where to begin. I let out a huff and smiled without any feeling.

"There are so many things I wanted to say to you. I had them rehearsed in my mind, like a script. But now that I'm here, sitting face-to-face with you... I find that I don't really care to have you hear them. Why bother? They will just fall on deaf ears." I shrugged.

Flint furrowed his already perpetually tense brow. "Then why are you here?" He calmly asked, as if we were discussing the fucking weather. As if he hadn't thoroughly destroyed me.

My hands gripped the chair arms whilst I stared at him, my face twisting and contorting from trying to hold back the wave of emotions threatening to burst out of me. My voice struggled to come out of my clogged throat. "There are no words to describe what I am feeling. It's not something as incinerating as anger, it's not something as insidious as hate. It's not even something as debilitating as grief. This... feeling transcends all that. The day we took this warship, I could have killed you where you stood. It would have been easy. You were distracted. I had a loaded rifle in my hands and a clear line of sight. And yet... I didn't."

He remained impassive. "Why not?"

Another shrug. "I don't know." Pause. I did know, at least in part: because I knew he wouldn't put up a fight and I wanted him to. I needed him to fight me so I would know he deserved it, that he was remorseless. If he refused, that would mean he knew exactly what he had done to me and accepted whatever punishment I deemed fit for his crimes. And I would have to live the rest of my life knowing I had murdered a man who might have redeemed himself.

But hell if I would allow him to know any of that.

"I would have been within my right, wouldn't I? You took more from me than I can describe. Any man with the same motivations I have would jump at the opportunity to end your life." And then... it dawned on me. "I suppose it's because... I want to know why." I took in a shaky breath. "Why...? What was all this for? The Urca, the lies, the distrust, the deaths? I know it can't have been to save Nassau's independence because that would require a degree of care you simply do not possess. You don't care about the people of Nassau Town. You don't care about this crew. Hell, you didn't even care about the one person who was arguably your best friend! So why?!"

Before I knew it, I was on my feet and smashed my palms on the desk, which made several instruments rattle and the ink well topple, spreading black all over the map.

"I want to know!" I yelled. "I have the right to know! Why? Why...?"

To my great disappointment, Flint didn't react to my explosion. Didn't move an inch. He sat, and watched, and waited while I regained control of my heavy breathing and my frayed nerves. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to cry. I wanted to take up a quill and stab him in the eyes. I wanted him to say something.

I scoffed. "Who am I kidding... Even if you told me, it would probably be another lie, as well. God... What am I doing here? This is pointless." I pushed off the desk and spun around, meaning to leave, find myself a large tankard and drink until I fell asleep.

"What you and Billy shared..."

My hand froze on the handle.

Flint's voice sounded... strange. Hollow, grave. Almost human. "It wasn't just love. It wasn't just affection. It was unique. A genuine bond. The linking of two souls, forged by forces beyond the comprehension of mere mortal minds, meant to find each other in any life. Any fool with a functioning pair of eyes could see it."

Slowly, I turned around until I faced him once more, even knowing he would see me tearing up. "Why are you telling me this...?"

A shadow that had nothing to do with the dim lights in the room was cast over every line of his features until he looked impossibly old. "Because once upon a time, I too shared such a bond with another person."

To say I was utterly in shock was a great understatement. Flint... in love? Not only that, but Flint knowing the kind of intimacy I'd had with Billy, where we could almost hear each other's thoughts and hid nothing from each other? It sounded preposterous. It sounded un-fucking-believable, in fact. I had to force myself to reel in and consider the possibility he was lying, that he was making this up to garner sympathy and understanding, but the more I searched for a sign of falsehood, the more I believed he was being truthful. I had seen that haunted look on his face long before all of this had started, several times. Usually when I caught him watching Billy and I trading sweet words, or embracing, staring into each other's eyes.

My fingers slipped from the door handle as I returned to the chair and sat in it, waiting.

Flint tilted down his chin to look at his hands, crossed on his lap, rather than me. "A long time ago, that person and I were united in the goal of liberating Nassau of the pirate scourge." A ghost of a smile graced his lips when my eyes widened. "Shocking, I know. But we believed in the dream of her promise. We believed we could bring her back from the abyss and make it prosper beyond all expectations regardless of her history, or the corruption and incompetence that ailed her governance. We had a plan to achieve this impossible task, but in order to put it into place, we required the unconditional pardoning of all crimes committed by any and all pirate who would seek it. And England could not simply abide by that."

While he took a short break I recalled a time, years before I had joined, when there had been talk in Parliament about pardoning the pirates of New Providence and make them lawful English citizens once more. My Father and his friends had mocked the man who'd conceived such notions ceaselessly, a Lord Hamilton or something. Then he was institutionalized due to a sex scandal involving his wife and closest friend, eventually ended his own life, and the bill for the pardons was forgotten.

"For daring to propose such a forgiving course of action, my partner was killed and I was forced to flee. I could have gone anywhere I liked and lived comfortably to the end of my days. Instead... I came here. I plotted, waited, sacrificed all I could afford to lose so that I could make certain England would never have Nassau, that no matter how many ships she sent, how many troops came upon our shores, how much blood they spilled, they would never take a single grain of sand from that island, our island. That has been my life's work for the past decade."

"For daring to propose such a forgiving course of action, my partner was killed and I was forced to flee. I could have gone anywhere I liked and lived comfortably to the end of my days. Instead... I came here. I plotted, waited, sacrificed all I could afford to lose so that I could make certain England would never have Nassau, that no matter how many ships she sent, how many troops came upon our shores, how much blood they spilled, they would never take a single grain of sand from that island, our island. That has been my life's work for the past decade." Flint raised his head to look at me with newfound defiance, as if daring me to contest his reasons. "That is the "why" of it all."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Jesus Christ... That's what this is about? Revenge? You want to use the Urca gold to arm Nassau and risk countless lives in the process... for revenge?"

His nose wrinkled into a barely contained snarl. "Are you really going to condemn me for this, Miss Tilly? Can you? I saw it in your eyes, how tempted you were to shoot me down that day. You may not have pulled the trigger, but you wanted it. In that regard, whether you want to admit it or not, you and I are more alike than you think."

That was such an abhorrent idea, it felt as if he had prodded my side with an incandescent spike. "I did want to pull the trigger. I did want to make you pay. Yet I condemn you all the same because if I had killed you out of revenge, it would have stopped there." I leaned forward so he would still hear me when I lowered my voice to a murmur. "If I were to cut your throat this instant and the crew marched in here with the intent to string me up for it, that would have been fine. That would be justice. You, on the other hand, have dragged them into your plot under false pretenses and you would see all of Nassau burn to the ground if you thought that's what it would take to achieve your goals."

His eyes glinted with a mad fury I had never seen in him. "My enemy isn't one man, or even a single governing body! It's an empire. All of it. The same one that shipped you across an ocean to marry into wealth so your family and your would-be husband's family could profit off of your misery. The same one that packs people into cargo holes under squalid conditions to be sold like chattel. The same one that press ganged Billy and countless other boys into military service." Then, once the outburst had run its course, all the rage washed away and left only the madness - the obsession - behind. "Don't you see? I'm trying to deny a hungry beast that would consume us all to remain standing, but I can't slay it on my own. I need help to make it possible. I need those men. I need you."

"You had my help!" God, the gall of that bastard. He really thought he could hurt me the way he did and I would still support him. He was truly insane, if so. "You could still have it now if you had told us the truth, if you had trusted us from the start! Why couldn't you do that, instead? What are you so afraid of that you felt you couldn't tell anyone your true motivations?"

Flint was the one scoffing now. "I refuse to believe you are that naive, but very well. Let's imagine for a moment that I had exposed myself that way in front of dozens of hardened sailors who value strength above all else. Let us say that they wouldn't immediately write me off as weak and depose me after hearing my reasons. Let's pretend, just for a moment, that this band of greedy bastards is able to think of someone other than themselves and muster a minimum measure of sympathy for my cause. Do you really think any of them would be willing to risk their lives for my personal vendetta? Would you?"

Incapable of a reply, I pressed my mouth into a hard line and turned my gaze away from his.

"There you have it," he said.

"That doesn't excuse the fact you used us," I retorted. "We trusted you. Looked up to you. And you... used us."

For that, there was no compelling argument he could make that he hadn't already presented, so he stayed silent.

I bit my lip while I twisted my rings around my fingers. There was a question at the tip of my tongue that was difficult to bring to light because of how scared I was of the answer, but I couldn't ignore it anymore. "I already know you murdered Singleton and Gates. What about Billy? Did you push him overboard? Did you kill him?"

He hesitated. For the briefest of flashes, I thought I saw panic in his eyes, but it was so quick that I half wondered of I'd imagined it. He turned to his left and swallowed dry. "When we were struck... The shudder from the impact made him lose his balance. I remember reaching out to catch him. I had his hand in mine." He held up his hand, like he was recalling the feel of his grip on Billy's. "It was dark and slippery. One moment I had him... the next, I didn't."

It didn't escape my notice that he hadn't explicitly confirmed nor denied that he had tried to save him. "Did you know he had found a letter written by Mrs. Barlow in Bryson's cabin?"

"I did," he admitted.

"Did you know what its contents were?"

A long moment passed while he carefully thought about his answer. He looked around the cabin. Licked his lips. Smoothed down his beard. One could almost say he was squirming. I suppose he was debating with himself on his options. Probably thinking, “if I lie, she will know and I lose any chance of earning her support. If I don't, she'll assume I did let Billy fall to his death because I had a motive. And I will still lose any chance of earning her support.” Any other person would see those two options and conclude there was no way out of that conundrum. But Flint, being no ordinary man, always found a third way out.

"What you need to understand,” he said. “Is that I had no knowledge of the letter's existence until that night. I had no idea Mrs. Barlow was plotting to seek a pardon for me so we could leave. I had no intention whatsoever to betray the men."

I had to smile, hearing those words. Intention. Everybody intends something when they choose to act a certain way. I was trying to protect you. I wanted to make you rich, make you strong. I wanted to make sure your future would be safe. What I had come to learn from that whole ordeal was that, ultimately, intention did not matter. Only consequences.

"You did betray the men," I whispered softly, almost gently. "Every day you lied was a betrayal. Every attempt you made to keep your secret and remain captain was a betrayal. I'm willing to concede you didn't have to bare your soul to us. Still... All you had to do was tell us what you were after the second it started. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything, but at least we would have gone into it knowing it was a choice we made freely, not because we were coerced. Instead, you chose to lie and kill your way through this enterprise and what's worse, you lured Gates, Billy and I into your schemes. You made us deceive the men for you. And what have any of us got to show for it...? They're both dead and I am stuck in this purgatory, bound to this crew and to you, unable to escape. And as for you... You have no one left to stand by your side after the gold is recovered except a cowardly turncoat who will run with his share of the treasure at the earliest opportunity. So again, tell me... What was it all for?"

For once, he had no answers for me. Perhaps not even for himself. He sank into his seat, looking more tired and lost than ever.

Again, I stood up and made my way toward the door, but before leaving, I stopped and looked back at him to say:

"You know... I pity you, Flint. I really do. To drink from this poisoned chalice every day, every waking moment, expecting a result other than your own misery and destruction... What a sad existence that must be. I will stay. Call you captain, if that's what the crew wants. But know that every time I feel those men are being led into danger unnecessarily, I will do everything within my power to frustrate you. I made a promise that I would live to protect them. Especially from you. And tonight, after I pray for the souls of those who remain, I will thank God for giving me the strength to choose not to drink from that chalice anymore. I will not become a slave to vengeance. You can drown in it, for all I care. Just leave me and my brothers out of it."

Him, I didn't mind as much. Not that we had suddenly become friends, far from it, we simply made no effort to socialize, though we treated each other with courtesy. I suppose the best term to describe our relationship was "co-existing."

After a couple of weeks at sea, we found ourselves only a day or so from Nassau. I could almost smell it from where we were, so eager I was to return. My first order of business would be to get the proper forms in order to buy the Andromache captives' freedom and inform Mr. Scott of the good news. Next, while Dufresne and de Groot plotted a way to return for the gold and bring it over, I would go see the house Billy had willed me, just to satisfy my curiosity, then I would decide if I wanted to keep it or not. I was inclined so; Gates had told me it was close to the beach, which was my main demand for a house of my own. Depending on the state it was in... Well, Billy had bought it for us. It felt right to refurnish it and turn it into a real home, even if I would be the only one to enjoy it.

It was around this time that things finally went sideways. We had been losing the wind for a while despite Mr. de Groot's best efforts, which meant it was costing us precious time. Our stores were sufficient for us to hold out at least another week, but no one wanted to spend a single day more than they had to at sea. I was on my way to the great cabin to report our lack of success to Dufresne in regaining that lost time when I saw Flint leaving the room. We both staggered upon noticing each other, but he only offered a short nod of a greeting and walked past me without a word. I didn't like that he had been alone with Dufresne. Didn't trust him not to get into his head and put undesirable worms in there. With a sense of profound unease prickling at my heart, I knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Dufresne call from the other side.

I let myself inside and shut the door after me. "Just spoke to de Groot. Still no luck with the winds. At this pace, it will be at least one more day than predicted to make landfall."

Dufresne let out a breath and removed his spectacles to rub his eyes. "Let him keep trying. If nothing changes... Well, I suppose we could always have a match night to let the men blow off their frustrations, couldn't we?"

"As long as no one challenges me, be my guest." I approached the desk, set my hands on the back of the chair on my side and I drummed my fingers on the lacquered wood. "Saw Flint leaving shortly before I arrived. May I ask what he wanted?"

He sat back, arms resting on his lap as he stared to the side with a faraway look. Dufresne was a smart man, I knew that. Smart enough, I hoped, to see through any manipulation Flint might present him with. Even so, I worried. Our former captain was nothing if not a cunning son of a bitch.

I dropped my gaze to the desk and hummed, hating that I was forced to agree with Flint. The crew was exhausted, wounded, barely able to maneuver the ship home, let alone in battle. Had we still the numbers we had initially sailed out of Nassau with, certainly; but we had lost half of them. Not that it would stop them from wanting to take a prize. After the humiliating defeat they'd suffered, the men were in desperate need to reassert themselves, prove they were still strong. Best to avoid temptation, lest they were consumed by it.

"He also said..." Dufresne paused and gave me a cautious glance. "That he is tormented by what he did to Gates. That's why he came to talk to me. Said he hoped to do a bit of penance for it by supporting me."

To that I bristled, fingernails digging into the chair I held onto. "Oh, he's tormented by it, is he..." Some nerve he had. Using Gates to scheme his way into Dufresne's good graces. How dare he? "It's a load of shit, you know that, don't you? He's just trying to weasel his way back into the crew."

"Of course I know that." He put his glasses back on. "I wouldn't expect anything else. I just don't see how telling me not to engage in a hunt will achieve that. If anything..."

"He would encourage you to do it," I finished for him. "And hope you would fumble it so thoroughly that he could just swoop in and take charge."

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "He thinks I don't have it in me to lead."

The way he said it... Almost like he agreed and loathed himself for it...

I watched him most carefully and felt a twinge of apprehension. I didn't know him to be a proud individual, but if there was one thing men liked to do more than anything else, it was showing off. I worried Dufresne would take this as a challenge and ignored common sense just to spite Flint, which could be dangerous to us all.

"You do have it in you to lead,” I told him as I walked around the chair and sat on it. “Or else we wouldn't have voted you in as quartermaster. But Dufresne... this is not the time to prove yourself. I can't believe I'm saying this--" I rolled back my eyes with a sneer. "But Flint is right, at least on the part concerning the men. We don't have the numbers to steer this ship into battle, even if they think they do. Tack east, if you want to. God knows I'm more than ready to go home. But if we happen upon prey, do not engage. I'll convince the men to get off your back if they start pushing too much, but do not let them pressure you into an attack, all right?"

He listened to me without speaking, one hand rubbing at his chin. I could see it in his eyes he was frustrated, maybe even insulted by Flint's lack of faith in him. However, he must have seen reason because he nodded in agreement to my words. My shoulders sagged with relief.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, he said: "Can I ask you something, Constance?"

I straightened up. "Of course."

Dufresne leaned on the desk, arms crossed on top of it. "Why didn't you vote to execute Flint and Silver? Out of the whole crew, you were the one with the most reason to want to see them both hang from the t'gallant yard. What changed your mind?"

I shrugged. "It's as O'Neill said: Silver tried to aid our men after the Spaniards returned fire. He helped us save Luca. I wouldn't feel good about myself if he was killed alongside Flint. Besides..." I sighed. "Maybe it's better this way. There's something... satisfying, knowing he won't get to collect the fruits of his lies. Living with that failure seems like the more appropriate punishment. And if he really is regretful for murdering Mr. Gates, all the better for it. Let it corrode him until his dying breath."

*** I sat with Thierry and Dooley at mess that day. Randall had prepared us this corn and crab stew that wasn't half bad, but it honestly looked like he was trying to feed us... well. I was stirring my spoon around in it, watching with a grimace as that viscous substance dripped back onto the bowl, when I caught movement from the corner of my eye.

Silver stood at the far end of the hall with a piece of paper in his hand. My mates hadn't noticed him yet, but I watched intently with a furrowed brow while he took us in, eating.

What the fuck is he doing now? I thought.

"An account of goings-on!" He announced loud and clear, immediately gaining every man's attention as they sat up straight and stretched out their necks to see what he was on about. "Volume the first on this 13th day in June, 1715 in the year of our Lord. The weather is fair. Fresh topsail gale, north by northeast."

I traded a confused look with the others, who shrugged. "First item." He stomped his right foot twice. "A certain member of this crew -- who shall remain nameless -- was seen dozing during the night watch."

Paxton, one of our gunners and tall as a tree, stood from his bench and marched straight toward Silver. I saw a nervous flash cross his face, but he was undeterred.

"Another member of the same watch," he continued. "Took the opportunity to take three pieces from his pocket-- Oof!"

Paxton shoved his fist into Silver's stomach. He was forcefully bent forward with a breathless choke and dropped face down on the floor. A few of us winced and hummed in sympathy, for Paxton had a wicked right hook.

"Shut the fuck up," he growled over Silver's crumpled body. "We're eating."

I watched Paxton return to his seat and traded little snickers with his friends, then Silver as he struggled to get up, hand to his belly. There was blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Idiot," Thierry snorted after he staggered away to the galley. "The fuck was he expecting?"

"No idea," Dooley replied with a shake of his curly head. "But I gotta admit that was entertaining."

They clinked their cups with a laugh and returned to their meal. I lingered on Silver, baffled and only a little worried. Although... considering his current standing with the crew, he was basically asking for it, wasn't he? Not a single soul on board liked him, not even Randall, not after learning he was a thieving little weasel. Hopefully, Paxton's warning stung clear enough for him to back down and re-evaluate his life choices. The others might enjoy a good old fashioned blood sport, but I hadn't developed a particular taste for it. Especially after Cutthroat Fred.

A few minutes later, as I pushed away my unfinished stew, something else got my attention, something much more preoccupying.

Three men were assembled at the galley stove: Randall, wild eyed and perpetually distracted; Silver, spitting blood into a bowl; and Flint, talking to him. From my table, I couldn't make out what they were saying, but I didn't like the idea of those two conspiring with each other. Perhaps my own warning had been too mild for Silver's understanding.

I scrapped the last of the crab from my bowl, finished my ale and stood up to bring my dishes to the galley. Upon my arrival, Randall stopped what he was doing to take them from my hands and even offered me a timid smile.

"Thank you, Randall." I returned his smile with my own. "It was delicious."

Far from it, but now that the cook's attitude toward me had completely transformed, I made it a point to be as kind to him as possible.

"Saved the best bits for you," he whispered, so no one else would hear it. "Don't tell anyone."

"Mate, that's not fair," I scolded him, even if it was hard to hold back a grin. "No one gets special treatment, remember?"

In response, he waved me off and left to go take care of the dishes. I turned to Silver, sitting on the corner with his small ream of notes, and loomed over him. "You all right?"

He looked up and smiled, unconcerned. "Ah, fine. Believe it or not, this isn't the first time someone has come up to punch me in the guts."

"I believe it," came my immediate retort, but he only chuckled.

"I suppose I deserved that. Still, it's nice to know at least one person in the world is concerned for my well-being. Am I growing on you, I wonder?"

My eyes rolled so far back I could almost see the top of my skull. "I only asked out of common courtesy. Actually, I'm here to remind you of that little conversation we had on the highcastle the other night." I pulled my lips into a grin to bare him my teeth. "Y'know. The one where I threatened to kill you if you put my men in danger with your lies and your schemes?"

His smile didn't falter. In fact, he didn't so much as shudder. "I haven't forgotten. You have absolutely nothing to worry about."

"While you and Flint are confined together in this ship, I have plenty to worry about. So don't push your luck." With that, I turned on my heels to go back to the deck and get some rest before the next watch.

As I prepared my hammock by the main mast, I watched Silver make a second attempt at his new "gossip column". Just like the first time, before he could finish the tale, someone (likely the guilty party) stood up to pummel him across the cheek. It was a sad sight, in all honesty. Silver wasn't particularly burly - in fact he was the same height as I was and lean, built more for running than fighting. Even if he had wanted to defend himself, I doubted he would stand a chance.

Well... then again, I was also quite lithe and athletic, yet I could make men twice my size walk away with a limp and a bloody nose. Point being, he didn't even try to put up resistance. I had absolutely no clue why he was submitting to such abuse, but I had to confess I was too curious myself to put an end to it. So I would leave Silver to his own devices, for the moment.

I climbed into my new hammock and pulled out Billy's shirt, that I'd salvaged from the Walrus, from beneath my covers to use as a pillow. His scent was starting to fade away. Soon, he would be truly gone from the world, without a trace left behind. The thought of losing this last little piece of him was almost enough to make me want to throw myself in the sea, were it not for how tired I was. Shortly after I closed my eyes, I nodded off and began to dream.

***

When I startled awake again, my face was wet with tears that I wiped on my sleeve. Every day, I dreamed about him. Sometimes he was by the house with a pink bougainvillea, staring out at the ocean. Other times, he was hanging by the hands from the beakhead and he would call for me to help him, but as I rushed to his aid, Flint would appear out of nowhere and step on his fingers to make him fall, or simply shove him before I could reach them. I wasn't sure which was worse: the nightmares in which he died and I couldn't save him, or the sweet dreams where he was alive only for me to wake and be reminded that he was still dead.

I raised my head from my pillow and looked around. It seemed I had only dozed off for an hour or so, given that Thierry and Dooley were still sitting at their table, playing cards. Other crew had come down to eat as well, so the mess hall was full. Flint was nowhere to be seen anymore, but Silver staggered out of the galley. I noticed he looked considerably worse than before, with a swelling eye and several bruises blooming around his jaw. Again, he stood at the far end with his notes and addressed the men.

"Goings-on! Volume the fourth. Light breeze, west-southwest. Sunset in roughly three hours. First item." Two stomps. "A certain member of the rigging crew, who shall remain nameless, was moving his bowels over the side. He was spotted considering the stick and its unacceptable state of being, and instead chose to wipe with the bare palm of his hand."

With a twist of my stomach, I watched as Dooley got up, socked him across the cheek, which knocked him on his back, then crouched down to rub his hand on his face, earning a laugh from the rest.

Jesus, how long had this been going on for? What was Silver thinking? If he kept it up, he would get himself killed before the day was done.

And still, the fool got back up, hair in disarray, took a deep breath and continued the act.

"Next item." Another two stomps. "A member of the third watch, who shall remain nameless, entered the pen late last night some time after three bells."

A man named Müller, twice Silver's height might I add, left his seat and started toward him. I threw my legs over the side and seriously contemplated dragging Silver away and locking him up in the hold for his own safety.

"Though no one actually saw him enter or exit, evidence of his presence was clear, as upon inspection... the dairy goat's anus was irritated from overuse--" Again, he was on the floor, and received a kick to the stomach to accompany the punch Müller had given him.

This time however, I couldn't pay him any attention, given what he'd just revealed. And I wasn't the only one staring at Müller with disgust.

"You fucked the dairy goat?" Joshua accused with a glare amidst the silence in the mess hall.

Müller tried to shrug and appear nonchalant, yet we could all see the spark of anxiety in his eyes as he realized he was being judged.

Joshua got up from where he sat, took two carefully measured steps toward Müller... And BAM! Hit him square on the jaw. The hall exploded into an uproar of cheers.

"The dairy goat!" Joshua cackled right before Müller launched himself at him. "They know who fucked the dairy goat!"

For once, I felt I had to join the chorus of screaming men. That poor goat! Later that night, I would go down to the pen and offer her a parcel of fruit as compensation for the abuse she'd endured.

"Get him, Joshua!" I shouted in support, my fist waving in the air. It was the most energetic I'd felt since we'd left for the Urca. When I saw blood oozing from Müller's nose as Joshua got the upper hand and pummeled him mercilessly, I even found the will to laugh along with the others.

Then...

"Sail!"

All noise came to a stop as we looked up through the hatch, then ran up the ladder to reach the surface.

"Starboard bow!" The lookout hailed from the crow's nest.

I rushed to the rails to get a proper look, but it was useless. Whatever that ship was, she was still too far out on the horizon for us to properly see her. I glanced over my shoulder to search for Dufresne and found him at the top of the highcastle, peering into his spyglass. I was quite certain he would be wise enough not to engage, but the men were eager to know what he was seeing. They wanted to hunt and here was their chance. Peer pressure was a powerful thing. Even so, I held out hope that our quartermaster would use his head and order the crew to stick their course, let their potential prey go. The last thing I wanted was to see more of my men die.

Mr. de Groot approached Dufresne. From so far away, near the bow, I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I didn't like the way the latter smirked, all excited. Certainly he wouldn't give in to temptation himself. Certainly he would do the smart thing and move on. Certainly, he would heed my warning from earlier that morning.

Dufresne looked out onto the deck to address the expectant crew. "Anyone up for a little hunting?!"

While the men roared their approval, my stomach plunged into the floorboards. Goddammit!

Immediately, I pushed my way to the stern, weaving around the others as they ran to take their posts and change course to engage. At the quarterdeck ladder, I grabbed onto the rails and hissed: "What the hell are you doing?!"

Dufresne peered down at me, overtly confident, almost arrogant. "Proving Flint wrong. We're going to show him we don't need his command to take a prize, that we don't need him at all. Imagine the look on his face when we capture that prize without firing a single shot and arrive in Nassau with thousands of dollars worth of sugar."

"Dufresne, don't be foolish. There will be a time for you to show your quality as a leader, but this is not it! They're not up for a fight on this ship!"

"There won't be a fight, Constance!" He climbed down the ladder so we were at the same level and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "We're sailing a Spanish warship with hundreds of guns. As soon as we raise the black, do you really think they will be stupid enough to try and repel us? They will take one look at us, at our flag, and they won't have another choice but to surrender."

"That's never a sure thing," I insisted. "What if you're wrong? What if their captain decides he's more afraid of his proprietors than us? Don't take useless risks just to spite Flint. Please, tell them to stay our course home!"

But all he did as give me a little tap, said: "Everything is going to be alright. We got this." And then he was off to give the order to approach our prize.

Stunned and honestly a little frightened, I looked around me and desperately tried to think of a way to make them stop. I saw de Groot at the main mast instructing our riggers and rushed to his side. If there was one person Dufresne might listen to, it was him.

"Mr. de Groot! Mr. de Groot, you have to convince Dufresne not to attack! He's going to get us all killed!"

"Nonsense," he replied. "A small merchant ship again a Spanish man-of-war? They would have to be out of their minds to try and engage us in combat."

I felt as if someone had thrown ice cold water down my head. "You can't be serious. You're going to let him attack?"

"Of course I will." He glanced at me, serious as ever, then up again. "The crew's morale took a heavy hit in Division Bay. They need to remind themselves they are still strong, no matter how bad things may have gone. This is the perfect opportunity to restore their dignity."

Grunting in frustration, I tried to appeal to someone, anyone at all, yet I was ignored at every turn. As I watched the merchant ship get closer and closer, unable to stop the fight that was coming, I thought about how Flint had promised having this warship would make us invincible. Fucking hell, was this all part of his plan to take back captaincy?