True to his word, the masked stranger cuts Ed free. "I must have your word that you will not try to escape, he says. "A gentleman's word."
"I'm no gentleman. But OK." Ed sticks out his hand.
The stranger does not take it. He shrinks back a little, even, as if afraid Ed is infectious. Rude. But also weird. "Nails!" the man cries. "Mooney!"
Two of the sailors who tied up Jim and Izzy come forward. They are grey-haired men, but appear highly competent.
"Take charge of this vessel," commands the stranger. "Pick one of the crew to show you it all. You there!" pointing at Frenchie. "Assist my men in all that they ask."
Ed gives Frenchie the nod.
"Now take me to the hold," says the stranger to Ed.
"There's no gold," says Ed. "The galleon was already empty when we found it."
"I know," says the stranger. "I emptied it."
It's hard to tell with the mask and the beard, but Ed thinks the guy is grinning. Well, why not? "Fair play," says Ed. He climbs down the ladder into the first of the lower decks with the stranger close behind. They walk to the next ladder, their steps echoing; the crew are up in the sunlight. "You might be disappointed," Ed says.
The stranger does not reply, just ushers him ahead. Wise move, keeping himself and his blade at Ed's back. This is clearly not his first raid. Although he's not a pirate. Not a pirate pirate. The Spanish crew are alive. The gold is gone (how? Where is this guy's boat?) and Mr No-Name here actually lit a beacon on the deck to attract attention.
He's a pirate, and yet not one. A real puzzle.
"This is it," says Ed. They have reached the cargo hold - not the stinking belly of the ship, filled with grain and ballast, but a more fragrant deck just above, where their fresh water lives in barrels and giant coiled ropes lurk in every corner. There are no portholes here, below the waterline, and the gratings provide the merest smattering of light.
Ed picks up a shielded lantern and lights it. He leads the stranger to a large enclosed hutch in the centre of the ship. It's built like the passenger hutches on a merchant vessel, but without vents for light or air, and with a stout door.
The stranger tilts his head quizzically.
Ed fishes inside his shirt for the key, which is kept on a chain about his neck. He glances at the stranger, but the man's expression is impossible to read in this dim light. Ed shrugs, and unlocks the door.
"The key," instructs the stranger. Ed reluctantly hands it over. "Thank you. Now, please, after you."
Ed grimaces - the stranger and his blade are forever at his back! - and steps inside. Ed raises the lantern to cast light on the room's contents.
The stranger lurks in the doorway. "Good grief," he says, in a voice so much like Stede's that Ed jumps.
But Stede is dead. Three times dead.
Ed shakes himself.
"This, sir, is a fine cargo indeed." The stranger's voice is low and thrilling like before. Ed clearly had some kind of shock-related episode. The man is nothing like Stede, except, perhaps, for being impressed by this room. "Is all this - silk?"
Ed can't keep a note of pride from his voice. "The best silk this side of the Atlantic," he says. He gestures at the tall bolts of cloth standing against every wall. "Linen. Finest weave. This here is silk velvet. This is sprigged muslin. This whole section is Dutch lace. And this - he runs his fingertips along the edge of the farthest roll - "is mulberry silk."
The stranger stares at it. "I ... Had no idea. You have travelled to Europe?"
"And China."
"China! You've been through the Magellan Straits? Drake's Passage?"
The man clearly knows his shipping routes. "No," says Ed, "I travelled around the Cape."
"The Cape... That is a perilous journey, sir."
Ed nods, shrugs. The stranger's awe is gratifying. He seems genuinely impressed. "I was in the mood for that kind of thing. Did you know that there are penguins as tall as this?" He holds his hand at his thigh.
"Good grief."
"Seals too, whopping great beasts, fat as whales, lying on the ice. Half the crew thought they were mermaids."
"And all in this ship," breathes the stranger in his odd voice.
Not this ship, thinks Ed, but does not correct the man. No need to give away all the details. Stede, of course, would have loved this. That mulberry silk - some hidden part of Ed knows that he got it for Stede. For a coat, perhaps, or breeches. It's the colour of English roses, a deep pink with a tantalising lustre.
"Well," says the stranger. "I'm not disappointed at all. And now- "
He slams the door shut on Ed. Lost in his reveries, Ed has forgotten that he is in the most secure part of the ship, and the most remote. "Hey!" He batters his shoulder against the door, but he built this store to keep thieves out and has accidentally created a prison.
"I have my reasons," says the stranger. "It is important to my plan that you be, temporarily, my prisoner."
"Why? Why not just shoot me? Are you selling me out?" Ed drums on the door.
"No! Don't worry, everything is in hand."
"Captain!" comes a voice. Feet clatter down the ladder into the hold.
"What is it, man? I'm mid-plan!" snaps the stranger.
"It's the Spanish," says the sailor, one of the stranger's crew, Ed presumes. Stuck in this room without windows, he cannot see anything outside. "A ship's coming at us, out of the sunset. We've only just spotted it."
"Dammit."
"They're approaching fast. We'd never get away. And the tide is carrying them to us."
"Dammit," says the stranger again.
"We're going to die!" exclaims the sailor.
"Captain." Frenchie's voice. "It's not one Spanish ship. It's three. There's nowhere to hide if we run. The nearest land is Bridgetown itself." He adds cheerfully, "We're definitely going to die."
Ed thinks rapidly. He imagines the plundered Spanish galleon, the position of this ship and the newcomer, fast approaching. "Let me help," he shouts through the locked door. "Let me out and I can get us out of this."
A pause.
Then Ed hears the key in the lock. The stranger stands aside to let him out.
"Thanks," says Ed.
"Not much of a choice," says the stranger. "Now, what's your plan?"
"Let's get on deck and take a proper look at the situation," says Ed. He holds out his hand for the key.
The stranger hesitates.
"No key, no plan," says Ed.
A minute later they are all on deck, blinking into the afternoon sun.
"I must not be caught by the Spanish," says the stranger. "I am... Somewhat known to them."
"Yeah. Me too." Ed glances around, taking in the sky, the waves, the complete lack of anywhere you could hide a fleeing pirate ship.
"We can't outgun them," the stranger goes on. "Even with the galleon and this ship. Three of them and two of us, it would be suicide to try."
"Hmmn. Maybe." As recently as this morning Ed has wondered if death would be so bad.
"What then?" cries the stranger.
Ed is looking past him, at the sky, where the sun casts a blazing glare in the direction of the advancing fleet. The silhouette of the raided galleon looms black close by. He raises one eyebrow at the stranger. "Are you very attached to that galleon?"
"Increasingly less so."
Ed laughs. "Are you attached to the Spanish crew you have locked down in the hold?"
"To be honest they've been getting on my nerves."
"Pick your least favourite," says Ed darkly. "I've got an idea."
From the rear deck of Ed's ship they watch as the galleon, now distant, approaches the two Spanish ships. If Ed's hearing hadn't been wrecked by twenty years of close cannon fire, maybe he would have heard the terrified crew, yelling for help from their comrades.
Maybe not. The galleon is pretty much ablaze now, and the two Spanish warships cannot retreat from her path - the tide is sweeping them directly towards her, and feeding the flames which rage in her mainsail and masts.
"Fire ship," says Ed shortly. "A very effective way to put a fleet into disarray."
Ed's ship, with the masked stranger's crew aboard, is escaping into the gathering darkness, hidden from immediate view by the galleon and her plume of smoke. Ed sails straight, a clean path such as only he can make. They are gone before the two Spaniards get near enough to be sure it has happened.
"That was genius," says the stranger. "Absolutely amazing."
They are in the captain's quarters - Ed's quarters - once Stede's, and now presumably being claimed by the stranger. Frenchie has gone to fetch rum.
"Leaving the Spanish crew on board was a nice touch," Ed says. "I would have put them in boats."
"Mercy," muses the stranger.
"Nah. The ships would be distracted by trying to rescue them as well as saving their own crews."
"I see! Your fearsome reputation is well earned, I see."
Frenchie arrives with a tray, and two crystal tumblers.
"Very nice," comments the stranger.
"I'm not a total barbarian." Ed indicates the little covered sofa with gilt legs. "Take a seat. Assuming you're not going to lock me up again."
"After you," says the other man, a little warily.
Ed perches firmly on his desk, dislodging some papers. "I'm good here." He watches as the stranger, seeming to judge Ed a safe distance away, settles on the sofa.
Frenchie pours rum, and hands out the glasses. Ed and the stranger knock back the first tot, eyes locked. Without breaking the stare, Ed holds out his hand for a refill.
"Wait," says the stranger. "I have a little something you might like. By way of a peace offering." He reaches for a small leather flask at his hip. "Not rum, but rather potent."
Ed eyes the offered flask. "What is it?"
"Honestly I have no idea. Pleasant though."
Ed pours a little into his glass, and returns the flask. He takes the rum bottle for good measure, and waves Frenchie away.
The stranger pours himself a measure too. "To… cessation of hostilities." He raises his glass.
Ed puts the crystal tumbler to his lips. The glass holds a spirit of some kind, citrusy and with enough alcohol that the very breath of it would fell a buffalo. "We'll see," he says, and knocks it back.
"Listen," says the stranger. "We're heading to Bridgetown. I've some business to attend to there."
"You can't put this ship into port," says Ed, appalled. "Not there."
"Fear not. I need only be nearby." He pours Ed another measure from the flask.
"Then what?" says Ed. "I watch as you run my ship for me? Haven't you got anything better to do?"
"As it happens, no." The stranger's eyes gleam.
The cabin glows with the soft light of a dozen real wax candles. It is sparse in there, but homey. There's the table, a wooden chair, the little sofa and a Chinese rug. Ed's bed is concealed behind a curtain, in the rear window of the ship - a cot like the other sailors', but comfortably laden with coverlet and cushions. There are also a number of books - a dozen or so, but it's a dozen more than you might think to find in a pirate captain's ship. And of course, there's a side cupboard, jangling with weapons. Ed likes things to be practical.
It's not that practical on the edge of a table. Ed levers himself off and drops onto the sofa.
The stranger leaps up and crosses swiftly to the other side of the room.
"I don't bite," says Ed.
"I do not like close company," the stranger says haughtily.
"Suit yourself." Ed puts his feet up into the vacated space.
"But I do enjoy a drink in civilised company."
"Civilised. Ha!" Ed holds out his glass.
The stranger sloshes in more spirit from the flask.
Ed drinks.