Colónia do Sacramento
"Your cases, Senhor?" the young man he had hired to help him at the docks had gently reminded him, bringing his mind back to the present.
"Aqui, por favor," he answered. "Neste lugar." He dismounted and tethered his horse, and together they unloaded the few things he had taken with him up the front steps to the house - a large, heavy trunk, a smaller one, and a leather satchel, which he took and slung over his shoulder, carrying it himself - into the tiled hallway; and he showed the young man where to leave them.
The horse was worth every bit of gold he'd paid for him in beauty alone, and, according to the Moorish sailors he'd sailed with from time to time over the years, a gift to mankind from Heaven.
He still carried his silver-mounted flintlock pistol at his belt, and his cutlass was strapped to his horse's saddle. He wasn't foolish enough to think he wouldn't still need them, with gangs of thieves and bandeirantes still roaming the countryside.
"Obrigado," he then said, thanking the young man for his help, and he paid him well for his trouble, as the road was rough and the travelling a bit difficult. The young man nodded his thanks in return and went about his way in the mule-drawn wagon.
In this place. It was a humble little place, their new home, at least for now, until they settled in and decided how they wanted to live together. He hoped Stede would be happy with it.
A cool breeze wafted in from the coast while he stood in the doorway, quietly absorbed in his surroundings. Rain coming, possibly. From the coastline to the Pampas.
He thought of the Volta do Mar, the sailing route meaning turn of the sea, but also return from the sea.
It was a rustic little farmhouse of stone and stucco with a red clay tile roof, in need of some repair but structurally sound, with a small acreage. He'd paid cash on the nail for it, from the means that he had accumulated over his years of piracy, much more than it was worth to ensure that they would have it, to the old farmer and his wife who could no longer keep up with it and were happy to sell. He'd always known that one day he'd leave his old life behind; he had just been waiting for the right time. He'd bought himself a good horse as well. He'd learned enough of the languages over the years to get by fairly well, and Stede was a quick study.
He'd changed his appearance somewhat too; trimmed his beard and hair, which he now wore pulled back in a low tail, tied with a black ribbon. There was more silver in his beard now, and he smiled at that.
The ribbon colour may have been the only allusion to his former life now, and unintentional, but it was not because he'd had any regrets; quite the contrary. Just that it was time for a new life, a different life.
When he had first heard about Stede Bonnet, his curiosity had been piqued. The Gentleman Pirate? He had to have been either a complete fool or most courageous, to give up a comfortable life, everything, for the unknown. The man had no idea what obstacles he would have to face, or what he would be up against. It was almost maddening. Just who did he think he was? Hark at he! And he had scoffed in derision about him, laughing with Izzy and the crew of his ship. Ed had to see for himself. He sent Iz over, as a sort of emissary, to set up a meeting with Blackbeard. And then this 'gentleman pirate' had the damned cheek to refuse to meet with him! He was to find out that Stede Bonnet was the latter.
He thought of the night of the fancy soirée on the French ship, both of them a little tipsy on Champagne and each other.
That night, dressed in their evening finery and after the party, that silly, pretentious party, he thought now, out on the deck of the ship - Stede had told Ed, you wear fine things well. As if it were something he deserved, fine things. And he'd said it with such a quiet confidence and sincerity, such gentle strength and kindness, that he had almost convinced Edward of it himself. Without guile, and he wasn't used to that. It had reached something inside Ed, a forgotten place, or one he tried to forget, a painful place that had touched old wounds, and it confused him, at first.
Stede had asked politely if he could have it, in his refined, respectful way, and Ed had given him the piece of red silk fabric he had been turning over in his hands and that he always carried with him, as some kind of symbol, it must have been, he realized, of what he thought he could never have. He'd called it an old, tatty thing when he'd reluctantly given it to him, a little self-consciously; but the silk still shone with the same lustre as it did when he'd first found it.
But in Stede's hands, it had been transformed, like a magic, into a decorative pocket handkerchief, which he'd tucked into the breast pocket of Ed's waistcoat then, nodding his approval of how it looked when he was finished. It was beautiful, always was beautiful, and in the moonlight it shone bright red against the dark purple of his waistcoat. He wondered if Stede had even realized then how much it had meant to him, what he'd said, or why it should mean anything at all. Sweet, lovable fool, he thought, and with great affection.
The tables had turned, all in that moment, as to who was the fool and who was the brave - and when he looked into Stede's handsome face, eyes shining there in the moon's light, Edward had thought that this was a someone who he wanted to be near, needed to be near. And now, as they had grown closer, it had all come to this.
Now he was convinced. He deserved happiness. He'd bet all he had on it. He had been going to toss it away, into the wind, that ragged-edged old piece of red silk, but he found that he could not part with it. He still kept it.
They had not yet consummated their feelings for each other but for impassioned kisses, and it excited and thrilled Ed that it could be here, where they became lovers. He realized that ironically, he too had given up a predictable life for the unknown, and he couldn't be happier about it. He knew that even if everything fell through, he would still be happy.
Stede would be tired when he finally arrived, so he would reserve a room for a night or two so they could rest before they continued on to the house, and they could have a good meal; the last part of their journey. He would go to the port of São Vicente in the territory of São Paulo and stay at one of the inns there, watch for the incoming ships and leave a message, just as he'd told Stede, maybe visit with his old friend the Jesuit. He softly chuckled. No doubt he still thought that he could save old Blackbeard's soul, even after all this time, and while Ed did not believe in or follow religion himself, it made for enjoyable conversation over an ale or two. He did not need saving.
He knelt and began to make a fire in the small, arched and brick-trimmed fireplace in the far stuccoed wall of the great room for the evening, as the sky grew darker. He lit the candles in the pierced tin lanterns and sconces.
And when Stede's ship docked in the next few days, Ed would be there, waiting for him.
