Never Shall We Die

by Tresdem

After murdering his father, 13-year-old Edward Teach has nowhere to go but the life of a pirate on the open seas. Working under Captain Benjamin Hornigold is never easy. It can be bloody and brutal, but also fun and daring with adventure and freedom, wild joy and crushing despair, friends and enemies. Told through four chapters of his life at 13, 15, 17 and 19.

7. The Sea-Dog and the Walrus

Once again, he is up to his elbows in shit. Ed curses from where he's crouching on the main deck, scrubbing his hands and forearms with sea water he had hauled up from the side. The shit smell still lingers. It seems to be ingrained in him now, on his skin, in his hair, on his shirt and stupid striped trousers, all stained and stinking. He's been on The Walrus for three days and already wants to burn the whole fucking thing down to the keel.

The fucking ship is crawling with animals. Aside from Neptune, Flint's Boarhound, there are two other dogs on the ship, small bitchy yappy things that like to try to sink their teeth into his ankle. Ratters, Mr. Grottle calls them with pride, big moist eyes going in different directions as if to look at both of them at once, best dogs there is, ratters.

The dogs look more like actual rats to him and stink just as bad as if they belong in the bilge. There's also a cat, seventeen chickens, and a goat called Cromwell that everyone thinks is hilarious. And they all shit. Big long shits, small stinking shits, brown smears with fluffy white on top, pellets that look like berries. Ed hasn't found the cat shit yet, but he's seen it vomit a blot of wet fur onto a freshly scrubbed deck and had resisted throwing a bucket at it.

There are two other swabbies on the Walrus of course, a man Feliciano's age and an old man with no teeth and a face like a beaten turnip. Ed doesn't know their names and doesn't much give a fuck as they liked to call his attention to the next pile of crap and stand over him to make sure he cleaned it right.

But they don't touch him. In fact no one does, which is still the weirdest thing. They seem to come close, a hair's breadth from a punch or a kick. And they threaten to often enough- or else do the stupid thing where they trail off into silence like Ed is supposed to be afraid of shit they haven't even done yet. But no one's so much as tries to actually throw a punch.

He wishes they would. He can tell they want to, by the way their muscles bunch and hands flex and smirks rise then fade on their faces. He's the shortest for now on board and the youngest and they are itching to put him in his place, but they do nothing. As if they're held back or stopped by something. It's like one of those heavy pressing days, waiting for a storm to break, and you can't tell for sure if it ever will.

Well whatever the fuck is stopping them he wishes they'd either ignore it so Ed can hit them back or stop treating him like a baby who is going to piss himself over the threat of a little beating.

With a sigh, Ed dumps the bucket back over the side, then rests his forearms against the smooth wood of the railing. The Ranger bobs not too far away, well within cannon range, anchored for the night. Her sails are furled and the warm yellow light from the windows of Hornigold's cabin is gone, leaving a coal gray. He can see the slender form of Gilead Thorpe, curled up against the foremast, and just below, Long Bob on watch. He's usually on dog's watch, seeming to not need sleep as much as everyone else or any at all.

He wishes he could be over there with them. It would be nice to sit the dog's watch or to hang out in the crow's nest and gaze at the stars, or even just lay in the cabin listening to the snores of the others. Maybe soon. Hopefully fucking soon. Ed resists the urge to call out to Long Bob and pushes away from the railing.

Ed stretches until his spine pops in a satisfying way, then glances up to say good night to Ana-nia. She's shining proudly tonight in a clear sky- though a low smudge on the south west holds the potential for a damp morning if the wind changes. A jaw cracking yawn overtakes him and he rubs his suddenly sandy eyes with the heel of his hand. With heavy feet he trods down deck to where Feliciano is lying in the hammock just under the narrow jutting eave of the forecastle.

Feliciano is already sleeping, caught mostly in shadow but a soft brush of tired moonlight across his face. He looks so… strange lying there. Ed has seen Feliciano sleep a lot, so there shouldn't be anything odd about it, but there is in a way that Ed can't figure out. Not bad strange but…strange. Maybe it's the way his hair falls over his forehead or the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. Or maybe it's just that Ed's getting sick because his stomach flutters like they're riding down a steep swell in a raging storm. If it was a storm he'd understand. If there was wind and rain and lighting, that he'd get it. But it's large waves on a quiet sea and Ed swallows past a dry throat.

There is a small movement as Feliciano opens an eye then blinks and sits up, hair wild on one side, hammock swaying with the movement.

"Ed? Algo está errado? " He rubs his hair and mutters something under his breath. "All is fine?"

"Yeah." Ed shrugs, feeling himself flush for no stupid reason. Feliciano looks around as if searching for hidden trouble, then yawns and pats the hammock.

"Venha. Venha ."

Ed hesitates. Though he's scrubbed off as best he can, the smell is still there lingering on the edges of his senses and that close he's sure Feliciano can smell it too.

"I stink," he mutters. "I can sleep on the deck."

"Life stink." Feliciano shrugs. "It is cold. Venha , Ed."

Ed venha s, flopping on the hammock and bumping into Feliciano a little harder than he needs to. Feliciano grunts and then yawns and wraps an arm around him. It is not new. Sometimes when it gets chilly on the Ranger they throw all the blankets and shit on the floor and fight to be the one to get closest to Long Bob who is a fucking stove of a man. Ed has woken up lots of times in tangles of arms and legs and Jack drooling on his face.

It's not new… but…

"I was grown at a…a place for forgotten boys," says Feliciano, his sleep rough voice stirring Ed's hair. "The ah…holy men watched over us and we watched over peppers and chickens and pigs and goats and three burro. They should beat us if we left our duties unless we were quick and cunning- and no one was quick and cunning like myself. Still I did not always escape." He yawns and sighs. "I too had life stink."

"You were forgotten?" Ed murmurs, wondering who the hell could forget him ?

"Mm. Mamãe was the most beautiful índios of the jungles, said the holy men. She grew this beautiful flower and left to sing with the anjos . Pai was a strong fighter for the king, but he has forgotten or is perhaps dead." His arm shifts in a shrug. "Life." And then. "You?"

"I forget," Ed mutters, cheeks stinging as he ducks his head. He doesn't want to talk about Mother and Father or their small, cracked house or the small cracked street they lived on. It was forever ago now and far away.

"Hm," Feliciano says.

The hammock sways gently in the swells. Ed can feel Feliciano's deepening breathing against his back, he closes his eyes and lets himself be pulled into the tide- only to hear not a moment later, a step on the forecastle above. The watch is changing.

Feliciano's hand tightens slightly against his stomach and Ed slips a hand under the pillow to touch the reassuring wooden hilt of Feliciano's knife. A shadow passes through the lattice of the stairs. The footsteps come closer and a man with peeling reddish feet comes down them, yawning and heading below decks.

The stone faced man named Dirk is the one coming toward them to take his place. He's a man to watch, big and lean and craggy like a cliffside washed by the waves, complete with pox scars like clinging limpets, climbing up the right side of his face and down across his neck. His arms are roped with tight muscle and he moves as gracefully as a cat. He's lean and hungry and dangerous, even without the two fuck off knives and a pistol jammed into his belt.

Dirk gives a lazy wave to his departing crewmate, then continues to approach, a smirk crawling across his face as he gets closer. Closer. Too close. He comes to stand beside the stairs, resting a hand on the narrow ledge, blocking out the moonlight so he becomes nothing more than a shadow, an ink blot. Ed tightens his fingers against the dagger, and Feliciano's hand relaxes slightly against his stomach, as if he is speaking to Ed, as if he is warning him.

"Sweet dreams, chickadees," Dirk says with a sea snarled voice, the knife blade of a threat in his words. But he doesn't so much as reach for one of the knife blades or run his fingers over the flintlock. Like just words are going to terrify them. Who the fuck gives a shit about words? Dirk chuckles, low and grumbling as he mounts the stairs, passing over the deck above them.

"Why the fuck doesn't he just stab us," Ed murmurs when the footsteps fade. "What is everyone waiting for? They can't be afraid of Hornigold."

"Someone has told them not to," Feliciano says.

"Who?" Not Flint, he doesn't think. Flint doesn't seem to give a shit about him. He hasn't even really seen Flint since Carlotta's. It's not even a rabbit situation either, because he's only seen Bill Bones, Flint's first, from a distance. If not them, then who? Who has that much sway?

"And why," Feliciano adds. Then yawns again and pats his stomach. "But that is a question not for tonight. Let us enjoy our miracle and sleep. Tomorrow we will watch and wait and see what is to be done."

Ed nods, head heavy, Feliciano's yawn and sleep warm voice catching. He finds himself drifting off into the hazy deeps, lulled by soft breathing and the swing of the hammock.

xxxxx

Rain comes in the morning as Ed thought it might, washing down the decks, but by the early afternoon it's long since fucked off and left only a few pale puffy clouds in the cheerful blue sky. Ed's arms are aching a bit from the morning chores, mostly a lot of fucking scrubbing, and his ankle itches a little where from one of the ratters nipped at him while he passed, but he feels better now.

He and Feliciano are sitting side by side, an orange split between them, as they work on patching a sail. Beside them and a little ahead, the Ranger skips on the waves, and on the Ranger's other side, the Siren pulls steadily in her course. She's a slightly smaller ship than the Walrus but not by much, and seems newer and sleeker, but not as pretty as the Ranger.

Ed reaches to snag an orange slice, listening absently as Feliciano tells the story of how he fought a jaguar bare handed to rescue a fair lady who was tied up fetchingly in a nest of vines. Feliciano seemed to fight a lot of creatures barehanded to rescue fair lady or gentleman who was tied up in vines or ropes or seaweed. Ed has always liked the fighting part more than the actual rescue part where he saves the fair whomever who is grateful enough to shower him with kisses, but now he finds himself oddly looking forward to that part for some reason.

Right now though Feliciano has suffered a swipe by the jaguar's paw that had raked a huge gash across his chest and he is on his last legs. Though Feliciano always ends up on his last legs. Jack had once said that Feliciano must be a fucking centipede but everyone ignored him.

As Ed listens to Feliciano lament of his own fading life and a beautiful star gone from the heavens, he waits and watches. The Walrus isn't that much different from the Ranger, only more. As usual the captain and the mate stick to the stern of the ship, though when Bill Bones moves among the crew they watch and pull into themselves a little, annoyed and sullen and hesitant. When Flint walks among them, they get the fuck out of the way, or look like they really want to. Ed can't tell if it's because of Flint or the ever present Neptune that seems to like to click his teeth at men he passes.

Otherwise there's the helmsman who stands apart, and a doctor so old he doesn't have a single black hair on his head. Dirk is the lead gunner, which makes sense, but he doesn't stay on the stern with the helmsman and doctor as Aconi might have done. The strangest thing is there is no one like the Executioner. No one stands before the stern, legs braced, arms folded and gives orders. There are no punishments. Few fights. Barely even an argument.

It doesn't feel right. It's not natural, but he can almost understand it. He can almost see what's happening or who and almost why, though the why is a vague thing, like the memory of a taste on the back of his tongue.

He watches a knot slowly begins to form in the eddy and flow of men working on deck. There are five men in all in the knot, among them Pew, a man called Black Dog who looks more like a Pink Pig with a face like a bloated egg and accident prone Job Anderson who is picking splinters out of his fingertips. All of them have threatened Ed at least once or twice. Ed has also seen Dirk hang around them, but not for long and not happily as if he can't stand to be in their presence for longer than he has to.

Who is the bolt ring that they're secured to? Who and why. He runs his tongue along the edges of his teeth behind closed lips as he thinks. Are there any other knots around? Not that he can see. There is no shadow of Bill Bones watching from the quarterdeck, or anyone else even really interested, despite the fact they are at full sail. The Executioner would have busted heads open for anyone not actively working at full sail, but these men don't even seem afraid.

Though Black Dog keeps looking up, over the head of Job Anderson, close to the starboard prow, though there is no one there but Silver, winding rope with his brawny arms. Their eyes seem to meet. Black Dog drops his head and Ed finds himself under the quick gaze of Black Dog's small dark close-set eyes and the men huddle closer together.

"Wind is shifting," Ed says, popping the orange slice in his mouth and leaning back on the heel of his hands to enjoy it.

"So I see," says Feliciano. "We will watch and wait, hm? It is a bigger wind than before and I wonder…" He's regarding Ed now, lips pursed in thought. Ed widens his eyes and sticks his tongue out at him like Kupe would do and Feliciano grins, teeth glinting.

"Sim , demônio . You are very good at terror. But I wonder if you could act the opposite."

"Opposite?" Ed says, idly drumming his heels against the cask he's sitting on.

"Act as they suppose. As they want to make you. Afraid."

"Fucking afraid." Ed wrinkles his nose. "Afraid of them ?" Seagulls are scarier.

"Sometimes to bait a trap you have to put out the honey." He pricks Ed's shoulder with the needle.

"Ow!" Ed says reflexively, rubbing the spot though it doesn't hurt.

"Try. And see what comes."

"Yeah, sure, fine," Ed grumbles even if he doesn't like it. Even if the thought of it makes him feel stupid.

"Thanks you. Now, where did I end?"

"The stars were crying out for their lost brother."

"And so they should," says Feliciano. "For I was nearly dead where I lay, the last drops of my blood falling like precious rubies to the green forest floor. The fair donzela , ah, to hear her weeping would have broken your heart as it did mine! And I knew that I must gather my strength for she was believing in me and longing for me as the sea longs for the shore…"

But the men are approaching them now and Feliciano switches stories to talk about plans for the upkeep of the cabin, which Ed is glad for. It'd be hard to pretend to be afraid if he's annoyed that these assholes are interrupting the longing part.

All five men come to stand in front of them, casting shadows over he and Feliciano as they stand in a semi-circle, crowding them against the railing. Feliciano has his knife though at his right side and sword at his left. Neither of them have a flintlock whereas these bastards have three among them and two knives and a sword, but it wouldn't be very difficult to steal a flintlock if he needs to since they're just wearing them in their belts and not even out of arm's reach. Dumbasses.

Except he's supposed to be scared of them.

"Hello, lads," says Pew. "We've been talking, me maties and I, and been thinking ye aren't very friendly. That's well understood for the ship ye come from, ye must think ye are better."

"Yeah, no shit," Ed says. Feliciano clears his throat and Ed remembers that he's supposed to act afraid. He leans back instead, widens his eyes, acts like he's afraid that the punch of someone like Black Dog is actually going to hurt.

"We think ye need some softenin' of the mouth a bit," says Pew after a moment, and the group snickers. Job Anderson, long and lean and wispy about the hair, licks his knife and then curses, holding his fingers against his bleeding tongue. It's really really hard not to laugh and Ed clenches his hands into fists to stop himself.

"What do ye have to say to that?" says Pew.

Good question. What the fuck does he have to say to that? Ed thinks.

"Don't…hurt me?"

The men stare at him, look at each other, Feliciano groans.

"Mas que coisa , what do you call that?"

"What? I told them not to hurt me! The fuck else am I supposed to say!"

"You need to put more life. For instance-"

"Maties-" says Pew.

"Cala-se ," says Feliciano. "I am teaching. For instance, you could say: Ai !" Feliciano puts the back of his hand to his forehead and drops back against the railing as if in a faint. "Please do not use your hard fists on my tender body."

"Fuck off I'm not saying that."

"We're really going to maul ye…"

"Well think of what you could say," says Feliciano. "Or at least say it convincingly. Perhaps raise your voice high."

"How." It just did it on its own at stupid times.

"Pretend as if you are embarrassed."

"It's going to be a brutal- Ye won't survive it."

"I'm embarrassed even pretending to be afraid of them."

"I didn't think we were going to kill them," says Black Dog.

"Shh!"

"See?" Ed gestures. "They're morons."

"Listen, ye little shit."

"Pew, Pew, Mary and Joseph, Pew my tongue won't stop bleedin'."

"Avast, bilge rats! What kind of nonsense is happening over here?" Silver's voice comes drifting through the air and Ed can just see him approaching around Job Anderson's side.

"It's Silver!" cries Pew, loudly. "Scatter, men!"

"But my tongue! My tongue!" cries Job Anderson through freckles of blood.

"Will ye come on?!" Pew grabs the man by the arm and the men scatter to the rigging like frightened pigeons. Ed watches Silver approach. He's another man to watch. Unlike Dirk, his expression is fluid, changing. Right now his eyes are narrowed in anger at the fleeing men and his fists are clenched at his sides, but his bird doesn't seem at all bothered by it and Ed isn't buying it. Silver is barely trying to sell it. It's like he's trying to get them to buy a pot and he thinks they're too stupid to see the big fuckass hole in the bottom.

"Amateurs," Ed mutters, another Jack word that fits just right. Feliciano elbows him and he presses his lips together, unsure if he's supposed to be afraid of this guy or not. He definitely doesn't trust him. Silver's anger fades into a smile and he spreads his broad hands, palms up as he approaches. He carries nothing but a small knife in his belt and a flintlock, but at the back and walks too easily for a man that can scare five others up the rigging.

"Please excuse my mates," Silver says. "They're good men, save for that they're sons of the sea, as are we all. They're not used to guests, you see, or to men on loan, as you might say. And I'm sorry to say that a fresh faced lad like you sticks under their skin a bit, as you can well understand."

"So is the blessing and curse of Feliciano Gabriel Duerte de Ranger!" Feliciano sighs. Shaking his head. "There are many who have lost their very minds at the sight of my face and slender yet powerful body. There is no shame in love."

Silver has an expression a moment as if he's just realized he's stepped in dogshit, but then the easy smile is back on his face and a laugh too.

"Well there is that, I admit, I admit. No fire like the fire of the loins, says I, and there's a lack of good looks on this ship saving yourself. The young fresh ones are on the Siren and so all these men with shoe leather for faces, well, they're a little envious, as you can imagine. But they mean no harm."

Which is bullshit firstly, and secondly, no one lasting more than two days on a ship like this is ever going to believe a line like that. Pirates always mean harm. That's the whole fucking point of it.

"I appreciate that you came to our rescue before harm could come," says Feliciano.

"Yeah, and we weren't even tied up," Ed puts in just to hear Feliciano choke. Silver chuckles too as if he's in on the joke, his eyes going squinty even.

"To be sure, and so you won't be, I can assure you of that. But for right now, I wonder if I can borrow young Eddie here."

"Edward," Ed says, just to see what will happen. Silver's smile never wavers, but his eyes go hard around the edges.

"Young Edward then," Silver says easily and gestures as if wanting to guide Ed somewhere else. Ed leaves Feliciano the rest of the orange and carefully sets the bit of sail to the side so it won't tug out of the man's grip before hopping off the barrel.

"Take this with you," says Feliciano, taking the knife from his belt and handing it over. Ed takes it, feeling his breath catch a little and the weight of it. He's not sure why getting to hold Feliciano's knife feels cool as fuck, but it does. He tucks it in his own belt just a moment before Silver's thick arm settles across his shoulders. Ed sets his teeth together.

"I can promise you no harm will be done," says Silver.

"It will if you do not remove your hand," Feliciano replies, voice like a blade. Silver tenses then lets out a slow breath through his nose, soft as if not meant to be heard, but Ed is too close to miss it.

"To be sure, to be sure." Silver's arm drops away and Ed rolls his shoulders. "Come along, Eddi- Edward."

Ed follows him down the deck, noting some of the men from before staring at him down from the rigging. As soon as they catch him watching though they scuttle away.

"It's good of the old captain to allow you a mate aboard," says Silver. "He's protection for your tender self, no doubt. And your captain thinks of you as a lad still, I wager, a little boy- which I don't believe you are," says Silver. "And you should forgive old Silver for saying that, trying to keep the peace, you understand, but a lad- a young man like you, doesn't need protection."

No, he doesn't, not really. But he does like Feliciano being here. It means he can get some fucking sleep for one thing and…it would be a lot harder to watch the Ranger otherwise. Like the sea longing for the shore, except it would have hit a reef instead or some fucking thing.

Hornigold thinking of him as a little boy though is strange. He doubts Hornigold ever thinks of anyone as a little anything. He is too hard a man for that.

Ed realizes suddenly that Silver seems to be expecting him to say something, but he's not sure what he's expected to say, so he shrugs instead.

"It be true. I've seen many a young man in my day, and you would hold your own against any of these sea dogs."

No shit he could. There were a few that would give him trouble but he could take them all on if he wanted.

"Now if you were on the Siren, that's another kettle of fish. Oh, she is an unforgiving ship and a worse crew and you robbed them of their mate- no least to say their commander isn't happy with you for doing such. Not that Davenport didn't have it coming, no, I think you were right saying as you were, but it's still a hard thing to say. Cap'n Flint was going to put you there first, but I talked him out of it because it would be a waste of a lad with such potential like yourself."

Would Flint have put him on the Siren? Maybe. It seems stupid for Flint not to keep Ed in arm's length, but on the other hand, it would be a good way to show he didn't give a fuck. Could he afford to show that though?

"In fact," says Silver opening the door to the galley and ushering him inside. "I've done a lot of work keeping you safe and sound, you and your mate too, it is hard work, but I am happy to do it for a guest- and a friend."

"Oh," Ed says, realizing finally what Silver is expecting. "Thanks, man." And he is grateful in a sense because even if he's figured out the who, it's nice to have it confirmed that everyone was just listening to Silver and not being super weird about hitting him.

"No need to get on bended knee, Eddie," says Silver in a dry voice. There's danger in that too but it's interesting.

"Edward," Ed says. "And don't worry, I won't."

Silver's cheerful smile goes taut and he looks as biting down on words that he doesn't want to say. Then a smile as smooth as butter comes over his face and he chuckles. It's an amused sound as if Ed had done something to please him, but not in a way Ed likes. He could feel a sort of warning prickling down his spine.

"I've forgotten how sharp a boy you were, Eddie lad," says Silver, seeming deliberate this time. He moves around Ed to the galley proper, setting the bird on the back of a chair

It settles and whistles softly.

"Teaching her to talk, I am, slowly. I got her from a cage oh, a decade or more ago, before you were even born, a filthy cramped thing it was and most of her fellows were dead. You've never seen a sadder creature than Flint here."

"I thought you said her name was Polly," says Ed and then regrets it because Silver looks up from where he was rooting in a chest and smirks, a little glint in his eye.

"So I did. And oft times I call her that. But it's Flint sure enough because it gets under the old man's skin like sand to an oyster." He sets a beaten tin tray on the table and goes to attend a pot over the fire where water has started to burble.

"And he is a man worthy of his name to be sure, keen of eye and strong of spirit, striking up sparks as he goes. He would plunder these seas for all they are worth and move on to the Indies. Rob the world of every last scrap of gold it had in it, the old pinch penny, and jewels, and ropes of pearls long enough to go round even the thickest necks half a dozen times- but spices, no- no man has a blander tongue than our Flint and will have his gruel and bread and strong tea."

"He's not my Flint," says Ed, wondering what Silver is getting at. The man sets a chipped teacup on the tray and a worn tankard. The first he fills with the hot water and tea, the second, rum straight from the bottle.

"So he's not. Leastwise not yet. And may not at all if your captain keeps his wits about him. But Flint is a hard man and a grasping one and won't likely share the spoils he gets. Nor will your captain allow him his spoils, says I, if your captain is a smart man, and I think he is. After all, he sent you. Though I can't help but ask myself why."

A bowl of Brazil nuts goes on the tray as well as a lump of bread and soft cheese. Ed absently reaches out to touch the bird with a finger, jerking his hand back as it snaps at him and instead folds his arms.

Why is a good question. What exactly does Hornigold want him to do here? Or not do? Or is this just some kind of punishment? And if Hornigold does want him to do something, what is he going to do if Ed screws it up.

"Well, I don't blame you for keeping it to yourself," says Silver into the silence. "A smart boy you are, smart enough to see the writing on the wall. We sons of the devil don't lightly join hands …and we keep them held light enough when we do, with the other crossed behind our backs. So let us enter into a pact, you and I, for we have a common enough enemy in Flint."

"Flint is your enemy?" he's surprised enough to say it aloud.

"All captains are enemies of their crew in the end, because they want the glory for themselves, and no one wants to divvy up their shares. I look after the crew, am their voice in the captain's ear. Of course, the devil takes his own share, to be sure, but little enough and looks after the demons in his keep. They know this and don't bite the hand that feeds them, as the good book says." Silver strokes the bird's side with a finger and its dark eyes close. "But I need to know where the food is coming from, where the course is taking us, what Flint will not say to the likes of me, but he may say around the likes of you; for he wants to see you and I'm to send you. But for keeping a close eye and a ready ear for me, I'll offer you my protection in return." Silver smiles. "And not only for yourself, but your matey above deck, all alone."

Ed's heart jerks in an ugly way and ice crackles down his spine. Feliciano is alone up there with a sword and a needle and a bad leg. Ed wants to charge up there right away and protect him, but he can't. Maybe against the five idiots that had threatened them, but Dirk would be a problem and maybe there were others that Ed didn't know about. He couldn't fight them all off at once.

Anyone could be an enemy.

Anyone could be a threat.

He half wants to throw Feliciano in a dinghy and shove him back to the Ranger where at least he'll be safe. But Hornigold will probably send him back.

It's on Ed's lips to agree right away though the thought makes him feel young and stupid, and trapped- just like the bird in a filthy cage. But he stops himself. Closes his mouth. Considers. Silver might not just stop at spying. He might ask other things. Ed can see it building and building until there is no way out- and he won't do that. He fucking refuses.

What had Kupe said? Think. To use things to his advantage. But what does he have other than himself? Though maybe that's all he needs, Ed thinks, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart. Because it's not straightforward. It's more tangled than that.

It's about needs and wants and fears. That's what it is. Flint needs Hornigold, why exactly, Ed doesn't know. Bait, yes, but more than that. Silver needs Ed, at least a little, though Ed doesn't know why yet either. Or rather he can guess why, a spy on the outside is more trustworthy than a spy already on the crew who is more easily brought by Flint or has more to lose. But the question is, is Silver looking for something in particular? And if so, what?

Ed considers.

"I'm not interested in protection." It's a dangerous wild thing he says and he can feel the fragile flame of Feliciano's life in his hand. Silver's smile goes sharp.

"Are you sure about that, Eddie boy."

"Yeah, I'm sure. If Feliciano dies, then I'll tell Flint what you said."

"And maybe you'll follow your matey before you get a chance."

"And then Flint will lose Hornigold, and both of them will know who was behind it."

It's a guess, but given the smile dropping off Silver's face, it's a good one.

"Then what are you interested in?"

A good question, though it only takes him a moment to come up with something.

"A favor one to one," Ed says. "I tell you what you want to hear, you help me get what I want."

"And what sort of favor would that be?"

Ed shrugs. "I don't know yet."

"And what if it's not a favor I can give?"

Ed thinks of this too.

"We'll negotiate." It's a bigger word than he's used to using, but he's glad of the way it comes out of his mouth, deeper, mature, manly. "And when you agree to the favor, I tell you what I heard. You take it back, I go right to Flint."

Silver blows out a breath and then draws himself up.

"You're a smart lad alright, Eddie."

"Edward."

"Is that a favor you're asking?"

"No." Ed lifts his chin. "I'm not your Eddie. Or anyone's." Except Polly's but she's different. And…well if Feliciano ever wanted to call him that then…then maybe…

"Edward," says Silver. "I suppose I can go along with that. Shake on it?" Silver bows a little and holds out his hand, the other held elegantly behind his back.

"Hide your hand and I hide mine," Ed says and Silver laughs, straightening and holds both hands out in front of him before extending his right hand again, the other clearly visible. Ed takes Silver's hand. It's hard and callused and his grip is strong, but not tight. They are not kids after all proving who is stronger but men striking a bargain.

"Let's get on with you then," Silver says when their hands have dropped. "Cap'n will be expecting you."

"I guess I'm bringing that to them?" Ed points to the tray.

"Aye, so he ordered. The last cabin boy was put down for nosing where he didn't belong, so old Flint's been on his own for a fortnight or so."

Good to know.

"Okay. I will tell you what they say for my favor."

"And what's this to be then?"

"Protection," Ed says with a grin and Silver laughs again, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You have it then. I swear by all that's in me you'll either die young or live to terrorize us all."

xxxxx

And once again Ed is a cabin boy, but he finds he doesn't mind it so much. It's familiar by now, like an old shirt he doesn't have any more. Carry the tray of drinks and food across the deck and stand there while the captain and the mate make plans or discuss the day or brood in vinegary silence.

This time it's a little different of course.

He's almost in a good mood, casting a wave at Feliciano as he crosses the main deck.

"Aww, lookee there, Black Dog," says Pew from the rigging. "Cap'n's little boy."

"Better captain's boy than Silver's bitch," Ed calls back, flicking the man off. Black Dog barks a laugh then claps both hands over his face and goes the color of a boiled lobster. Ed smirks and tosses his hair from his face as he continues toward the steps.

He may be captain's boy- almost captain's man- but he's Hornigold's and he has Feliciano's knife in his belt. Just with that alone, he's cooler than half this ship put together. He tries not to look so pleased with himself though as he approaches Flint's cabin since he doesn't really want to start anything. He works his mouth until it feels like a flat line and straightens his shoulders a bit. Then he shifts the tray to his other hand, knocking on the door twice before stepping in.

Flint's cabin is much larger than Hornigold's, yes because it's a bigger ship, but there's more stuff in it. There's a giant window casting in freckles of light over walnut desk which Flint and Bill Bones are bent over, studying a map. In a little alcove to his right there is a curtained bed like Hornigold's, a sea chest and a table for sitting two people. To his left there are all sorts of things hung on the wall. There are crossed sabers and a long rifle, the jaws and teeth of some big fucking fish, maybe even a shark, hung with ropes, and a painting- of what he doesn't know. It's like a seal except big and fat and gray with a mustache and long sharp fangs that almost reach the wave soaked rock it's sitting on.

A low growl fills the room, reminding him of the big fuck off dog and he can see it by the bed now, hackles raised. Ed takes a half a step back, then freezes.

What in blazes-" says Flint, turning toward him, and stops, light catching in his icy blue eyes and paling them even more. "Well now," says Flint.

Billy Bones turns too. Flint's first is nothing like the rabbit. He is tall with rounded shoulders, a square jaw that's beardless but looks like it should have something. His eyes are dark, his arms large beneath his coat and his hands thick fingered and scarred. His expression is as flat and cold as his captains. He has no flintlock on him, but an admittedly cool black hilted cutlass with a white skull etched on it hangs at his side.

They both watch Ed while the dog growls and advances slowly, lips pulled back from sharp white teeth. Ed wants to stare back to show he's not afraid, but he also doesn't want to get fucking bitten by that thing.

"Who the hell is that?" says Bones.

The dog lunges and Ed startles, dancing back a foot or two, somehow miraculously not spilling anything but a slosh of tea that sends searing heat over his arm. Son of a bitch.

"That boy of Hornigold's ye great sot, pay attention when I speak," says Flint. And then to the dog in a stern voice. "Down."

The dog flops down on its belly, puffing out a breath through its nose and Ed tries not to look relieved.

"Come closer, boy, so we may have a look at ye."

Ed obeys, making sure to skirt the dog's snout just in case. They are both big men, taller than Hornigold, and Ed has to crane his neck to look up at them.

"Not much to him is there," says Bill Bones. Ed tries to stand taller, lifts his head, squares his shoulders. He might be short, but he's got plenty fucking to him thank you.

"Aye, a scrap of a lad he be." Flint takes the tea cup and swirls its contents around "And is he to the old beggar, I wonder."

"Probably his get with a grass skirt and a string of beads," says Bill Bones and Ed can only stare at him. He understands the words but he can't get them to make sense. Flint snickers which annoys Ed but he can't place why. Partly it's because captains don't snicker. They're not moved by anything unless something surprises them enough to laugh. The fuck is Flint even playing at?

"I can't see that man even bothering with a muslin one." Flint peers at him. "Why did your captain send you, boy?"

Ed shrugs. "I don't know." He can't understand why Hornigold does anything half the time.

"Light between the ears, Hornigold's men, eh?" says Flint. Ed flushes, stung. He can't even say they're not light between the ears some of them. But he's not. He's got more between the ears than anyone else on this tub.

"Here, boy, where's the rest of it," says Bill Bones, frowning into his tankard. "You didn't take a sip or two did you?" The man glowers at him. "Answer me straight or I'll crush your skull like a melon."

It's a familiar phrase in a familiar tone and makes hot bile rise in Ed's throat.

"I didn't touch your fucking grog," he snaps. It's the wrong thing to say and the wrong way to say it. He realizes that a second before Bones' fist comes flying. The next thing he knows he's on the ground, the tray fallen with a crash, bread lost somewhere and soft cheese splattered a bit against the wall. His jaw throbs where Bones had punched him and he can feel blood on his lip which he wipes off with an impatient hand. Fuck. He's out of practice. He hadn't even braced for that.

"And so ye will learn to mind your tongue," says Flint mildly. "And you, William Bones, your temper, or I will have you keelhauled, I swear it. The Leviathan is not a small prize, nor easily won, and we will need to keep our cur at heel, and his filthy pup is the way to do it. He is not yours to bludgeon as you please, and you'll not kill again without my order." Flint's cold blue eyes meet Ed's briefly, then look away. "Starting tomorrow, you're to come twice a day, and be clean when ye do. Grime is not acceptable, boy. Now clean up your mess and get out of my sight."

Ed wants to tell him to fuck off. To throw the tray at his head. To drive his fist into Bones' teeth. Instead he slowly picks up the food, using the bread to scrape the cheese off the wall, disgusted with himself for the way his hands tremble. What does he care about Bill Bones? Words are just words.

Already Flint and Bones have turned back toward the table, their backs toward him and it stings- Ed would love to plant Feliciano's blade in their spines, but knows no one can save them if he does that. So instead he rises, tray in hand, trying to keep it from rattling.

"Like I said, we need a decision, captain. We've five days, maybe six depending on the wind, we have to know what we're doing before we get there."

"And so we will." And then. " Out, boy."

Ed leaves, pushing through the door.

It is too bright outside, the sky above feels hard, the sun even harder and he feels as if everyone is watching him. Eyes from the rigging. Eyes from the deck. Ed grips the tray and hunches his shoulders, wanting not to be seen, to blend in with the shadows only there aren't many just close to noon.

"Capn's boy not so happy now, is he?" Pew says, landing beside him and Ed punches him hard in the face, pleased to feel a tooth give under his knuckle. It only makes him feel a little better though, even as the man rises with a snarl and points a flintlock at him. He can't fire it. He won't. But for a moment his hand shakes as if he will.

Ed stops and stares at him, watches his face twist from anger to confusion to something like fear. Worthless shit. With a grumble Pew puts it away and says:

"Don't let it happen again. I'll spare you now but-"

His words are lost to the wind or maybe the thudding pulse in Ed's ears as he moves away from him, still gripping the tray with one hand, the raised edge digging against the soft joint of his thumb. Feliciano is still by the railing, sail spread over his lap- talking to the younger swabbie. Not just talking, but smiling , dipping his head, eyes warm and inviting, hair tossed by the wind. The swabbie gestures and Feliciano's smile is suddenly white and brilliant.

Ed wants to shove the swabbie over the side, or kick him in the balls, or headbutt him so hard he puts a dent in his forehead. And then what? Sit beside Feliciano? Bruised like a stupid kid, thumbs slicked in slimy cheese and grime?

Feliciano looks up and spots him, straightening. Ed looks away pretending he hasn't seen and hurries back toward the galley to give back the tray and tell Silver what happened. The man is waiting there as if he'd never left, talking to someone who Ed assumes is the cook. Ed for a moment is hidden in the shadows and almost wants to stay there but Silver looks up too easily.

"I'll be right back," Silver tells the cook with a smile and rises. Ed keeps both hands on the tray so he won't knife Silver if he touches him or says something sarcastic or annoyingly obvious. Though if he has to talk about it now he might want to do something anyway. If he has to listen to Silver's voice he might do something anyway or have to listen to him speak and speak as if his words meant anything. But Feliciano has to be protected.

"So, you're back," says Silver. "That was quick. Why don't we-"

"I'll tell you later," Ed says.

"What? Listen, lad."

" Later ," Ed snarls. "Tonight. I promise." He shoves the tray in his hands before Silver can say anymore, can do anymore. And instead of going back out into the sunlight, he moves down instead into the ship. There's cat shit somewhere down here and he still has to find it. Even if not that he'll find something to scrub or clean or mend. Something for his hands to do until his knuckles are red and the shadow tangled in his ribs is chased away.

xxxxx

Sunset is leaking its way through the sky by the time Ed has to stop. He doesn't want to but hunger and thirst drive him on deck where food is being handed out by one of Silver's men. Ed sighs and leans his forearms on the railing, watching the Ranger where she floats in her usual place, just anchored for the evening, though more distant than last night. She's well within range of the Siren though and he can still see the others on her deck, preparing for their dinner.

There is Vance and Morgenstern, arguing as usual. Aconi is on the quarterdeck, talking to Hornigold and the rabbit. Jack is there too, leaning up, arms folded and looking up at the mast, the red sunlight on his hair. He looks cool too with his sleeves rolled up. Ed wants to be standing beside him, watching the Walrus, glad that he's not there.

Jack would probably do okay here, Ed thinks. He probably wouldn't get punched by fucking Bones because he's smart enough to stand there and just be mature about it. He doesn't have a big stupid mouth…at least not when it comes to Hornigold or the rabbit or Aconi. He probably wouldn't have to clean up shit either. He'd probably just convince someone else to do it. Ed wishes he could be more like him.

After a while, Ed watches a dark haired figure emerge from the Ranger's galley and come into the light, approaching Jack from behind. It takes Ed a moment to realize that it's Davenport. He straightens as Jack doesn't need to notice, filling his lungs to shout across the water. But it's too late, Davenport says something and Jack turns-

And they start having a conversation. Not angry or shouting or pissed off at all, just talking, Jack making large gestures and Davenport shaking his head. What the fuck? Why the fuck? What had happened? Had they entered into an agreement too? Was this part of being mature? It makes no fucking sense.

Ed wants to shout and ask Jack what the hell he's doing when Long Bob booms:

"ahoy, ed !" and Ed can see him now, standing on the other side of the main mast, waving and winces. God, not now. He doesn't want to talk to Long Bob now, he wants to figure out what the fuck is going on.

"we … epsejes !" Long Bob bellows, pointing to his bowl. Ed can't not reply to Long Bob, even if he kind of wants to ignore him. He'll be upset later if Ed does.

"What?" Ed calls back instead, his voice is high and rough, and he can't help it because there's a lot of fucking water between them.

"what ? "

"WHAT? "

"espejes! … last and …leicino, so tell…crisp, okay? "

"Okay!" Ed calls back, still not knowing what the hell he's talking about. He notices Jack is looking over at him too and raises a hand, heart jerking but Jack just turns away and it sinks again. Ed flicks him off and turns away himself so Long Bob won't keep trying to talk to him.

The view on the Walrus's deck isn't much better- just full of bastards he doesn't know. And assholes who don't like him but can get fucked. A loud rich laugh comes from the other side of the ship near the stern. Feliciano is standing there, hip cocked to the side, two bowls in his hands as he talks to Dirk who is still grinning at whatever it is he said. The stupid swabbie no one gives a fuck about hovers nearby, a faint flush on his thin cheeks and a couple of other men stand around as well. They look happy. They look like they get along.

It's fine, Ed thinks, tucking his chin against his knees. Just fucking fine. He doesn't care. Who gives a shit anyway about the stupid fucking swabbie or Feliciano's other stupid fucking friends. They're real men anyway, and a good height. They're not bruised. They don't smell like shit or have grimy skin that Ed has a sinking feeling won't go away. That it's just part of him. He tips a palm toward the sunlight to catch the red in it, like blood, and sees how rough it is.

There's a low flat whistle to his left and makes him immediately think of Kupe, then of Colin which makes his heart sting like an onion again in his chest. It's neither, of course. The whistle had come from Silver's stupid parrot which sat on his shoulder and was singing to itself and chirping in low trills.

Silver himself looked pleased.

"Evening to you, lad. Edward." He corrects himself with a nod and comes to stand beside him. He smells of onions too and beef broth and flour. Ed stands, head lifted proudly. He wants to step away but doesn't want Silver to think he's afraid or anything so stays put. He can see Silver's eyes on his face, staring at the bruise, now big and purple blue and puffy. But Silver doesn't say anything thank fuck or Ed might have decked him.

"Seems that your matey has found a nice little group of his own, as promised," says Silver instead, nodding toward them. "After all, there's no better protection than a group of mates, says I, and men to watch your back."

"Feliciano doesn't need you to help with that," Ed says. "Everyone likes him." Which is true. People just liked Feliciano wherever they went. "And who's going to come for his back? No one better come for his back." That's not part of the agreement and if someone does come for Feliciano's back, Ed is coming for Silver's.

The man holds up his hands.

"My reach is only so long and even the best ships have rats. But you won't find better men-and better to have them now than before the fighting begins." Silver grins with a glinting tooth and the parrot squawks softly, moves closer to Silver's neck. "And now it be your turn. You see I've made my part of the deal and now you. What did the old men say? I noticed you didn't stay for long."

Ed shrugs. "Flint said to come back tomorrow, I didn't hear much. They wanted to know why Hornigold sent me. Before I left that fucker Bones was annoyed because they had no plans and five days." He thinks about this. "What's in five days?"

"Hm," Silver says. "And anything of the Siren?"

"No. Why would there be anything of the Siren?"

Silver hums as if considering. "She's not a happy ship, not in the least. Not that I will speak against the captain, no, for he is a far better man than I and heavy is the head that wears the crown, they say. But Davenport, as I said, is theirs. Their mate. First mate, if you could call it that, under Hawke. And a fine man he is. He has charm, experience, smarts-"

"And if he's on the Ranger, Flint can blow him right out of the water," Ed says. It's a good way to keep the Siren behaving, and that must be the reason why Flint did it, otherwise why risk the Siren being angry before a huge fight? The cleverness of it almost soothes the stinging thought that even fucking Davenport is cooler than him. A whole fucking ship wants him back.

"… I never thought of that," says Silver which is fucking stupid because it's obvious. Flint must have thought of it though. Or maybe he'd seen a way to take advantage of a situation. Does Hornigold want Ed to do something about it? Or to not do anything about it? Or had Hornigold just sent him because he was the easiest one to lose?

It feels like there's too much going on at once, like more than one battle is being fought before they even got to the fucking Leviathan- all silent conversations and mysterious words and Ed feels a little like he's drowning at the weight of expectation he doesn't understand.

"Anyway, lad, come away and get some supper." Silver taps his arm. "Leave your fickle mate with his new friends."

New friends? The fuck does he mean by new friends? Looking back at them Ed sees that the men have come in a little closer and Job Anderson is now is at Feliciano's left shoulder, and since he draws from the right, he will have a hard time defending himself since Ed has his knife. Is it a trick? Is it a trap? Ed starts over and is stopped with a jerk when Silver grabs his arm. Ed tenses every muscle in him in order not to punch the man in the face.

"No need to get in a fuss, you-"

"Get the fuck off me," Ed snarls through his teeth. Silver's grip loosens and Ed jerks his arm free. Job Anderson is lifting his hand as if to touch Feliciano's back and Ed punches him hard and fast in the ribs. The man yelps like a kicked dog.

"Hey!" he squeaks. Feliciano's expression is sharpened steel as he turns, which quickly warms over in the eyes and the mouth, leaving Ed flushing a little and feeling stupid, and embarrassed that now the man can see his bruise clearly. Now Feliciano will know he's a kid. Now he'll be an asshole like Jack and just hang around with people like Davenport or fucking Colin.

"My apologies," says Feliciano, handing him a bowl. "I was held up by these gentlemen."

"More like assholes," Ed mutters, looking down in his bowl. It's mashed up hard tack with bits of graying meat and some left over onion in and a bit of a fried egg. Almost the same as yesterday but the egg is a treat.

"Better mind your tongue, chickadee," says Dirk. "Or I'll give you a pretty little mark to match the ones Bones gave ya." The men laugh and Ed wants to throw the bowl at them, or break Dirk's nose with his head, but at least Feliciano isn't laughing. Though he might be smiling. Ed can't bring himself to look into the man's face.

"You would regret it," says Feliciano mildly. "And Bones is protected by his captain's grace, or he would regret it too."

"You can't go after Bones," says the swabbie no one gave a fuck about. "Don't even fink it. He'll kill you and the cap'n will get what's left."

"It is not me that would make him regret," says Feliciano and Ed twitches as the man's fingers rest on his shoulder. He both wants to twitch them off and lean into that hand, or duck under his arm like he is some stupid kid. Dirk laughs.

"That brat? The only thing Bones is going to regret is shitting him out after he eats him."

A bubble of anger rises high and sharp in his throat. He is so sick of shit. So sick of touching it, cleaning it, being linked to it. If this were the Ranger, he would make Dirk regret it as he made everyone regret it. Just once but once was all it took usually. Everyone but Long Bob knew better and that's because Long Bob was the only one who had ever come on board pleased to see him. But then, Long Bob was pleased to see everyone.

"You speak easily," says Feliciano. "But you have not seen him rise in front of you in a dark morning, a demônio , an avenging creature from the deep, eyes empty of fear."

That…that is…that was is… Fuck yes that is badass. Does Feliciano really see him like that? Now Ed really doesn't want to risk looking into his face. If he's not serious it will hurt, but if he is serious— Ed can already start to feel himself turning red against his cheeks and neck and hopes no one notices.

"Aw, the bashful sot," says Dirk and the men snicker again.

Fuck.

"I'll show him a bash or two," says Pew. "Make him red with these fists of mine and-"

"Why don't you show me what you're made of then, little creature from the deep," says Dirk. "I'll even let you use your little knife."

Can he? God, he wants to but-

"And so, you all have heard and seen," says Feliciano. He squeezes Ed's shoulder then holds out his hand. "I will hold for you"

Ed hands him his bowl, and then, after a moment's thought, the knife as well. A murmur goes around the group but Feliciano only smiles, raising his eyebrows as if he's amused at what Ed is going to do next. Dirk stands, arms folded, looking down at Ed from the length of his nose. He's a tall fucker and even taller at the head of the circle of men who are all watching him and elbowing each other excitedly, leers on their faces.

There's danger in the air and under his skin, but the kind of danger that feels good . That he can do something about. That everyone wants him to step up to and no one is going to get beaten or shot at the end of it.

"Brave, aren't you?" says Dirk as Ed crosses the deck. Ed snorts, watching his eyes, feeling the sun warmed wood under his feet, excitement flooding his veins.

"What's to be brave about? You're an idiot," he says, and the man's annoying smirk turns into a scowl, his thin nostrils flaring.

"Told you he were a little shit," mutters Pew.

"Well, you are." Ed shrugs. "I don't need a knife or a pistol to take you down. I know where you sleep."

He lets that drop, hears the silence fall. It's an easy line and he's used it before. It falls easier and cleaner on the Ranger, and even here, Dirk shifts his weight, his expression going flat. He could leave it there, but he wants to say more. He wants to speak as if he has a river of clever words inside like Feliciano. Only he can't think of anything good to say. Well, he thinks, looking at the man's pox scarred cheek. He might have something.

"Am I supposed to be afraid of you? All big man with a stupid face. You look like you got smacked by an octopus."

Laughter at that and Ed tries not to grin. Real men don't after all. Instead, he mimics Dirk's pose, arms folded, eyebrow raised. "If you want me to be afraid, you're going to have to try a little harder, mate."

In a sudden movement, Dirk comes for him. The man is fast and graceful, a fighter, but so is half of the Ranger's crew. Ed sees the hit coming this time and ducks under the man's flung out backhand and steps in closer as easy as breathing. He grasps the handle of one of Dirk's big fuck off knife and presses the tip of it just under his ribcage. The man stutters. Pauses. Pales.

"Oh, you look sad, mate," Ed says. Happy's words float back to him as if his ghost is standing over Ed's shoulder wearing a savage grin. "I bet I can make you smile." And then Happy would slit the poor fucker in a curve, throat or guts or right into the bastard's chest and carve back .

"Ed!" Feliciano snaps, startling him and nearly making Happy proud. "That is not how you hold a knife!" But there is something else in his voice. A sort of warning. Step back now. Step away now.

"Oops. My bad." He hands the knife back to Dirk, hilt first. Dirk takes it and then slaps him open palmed hard across the face. For the second time that day, Ed lands hard on the deck, ears ringing, though at least no one is laughing. He grits his teeth and jolts when a shadow falls over him, but it is Feliciano, face lit by the sunset, dark eyes cold.

"You asked for him to prove and so he did. You strike him again and you will taste steel."

Dirk scowls, face dark as he slides the knife back home in his belt.

"Better stay close to mama bird, Chickadee," he says, then turns on his heel and stalks off. A few others of the group follow him, some go to the rigging or to another part of the deck, but the swabbie that no one gives a fuck about lingers. He is holding one of the bowls, Ed notices, between his long scabbed hands, and the annoyance climbs right back into Ed's throat.

"Dirk will give you a lot of trouble," says the swabbie with a deep frown. "Shouldn't've done that."

"Well it is good to have mates to watch our backs," says Feliciano, tipping the man's chin up with a finger. "This is true?"

"Yep. Yep. Very true." The swabbie nods, face red all over and thrusts the bowl at Feliciano who takes it with a slight bow of his head. "I'd better-" the swabbie jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I mean uh…you know…"

"Of course." Feliciano waves in an elegant arc. "B oa noite. "

"B-boa Noi chi!" the swabbie says and scampers off, dropping his mop three times before finally dragging it with him.

"Dumbass," Ed mutters. Feliciano sighs and suddenly looks tired. Ed wonders suddenly if he's done something wrong. He can't think of anything- well except pulling the knife maybe. But Dirk had pretty much asked for it.

"Sorry," Ed says, hoping it's the right thing and Feliciano gives him a faint smile.

"No… Let us sit and eat for a while, and tonight we will talk."

xxxxx

It is late before Ed can make it back to the hammock, late and the night is cold, and chillier now that he's scrubbed his arms and hands as best he can under his fingernails. The air on the Walrus has changed a little, a slight shift in the wind. The crew themselves, the one closer to Silver anyway, haven't done much more than watch him more closely than before.

Dirk has loomed a bit closer, watching him from the railing or the rigging, sharpening his knife. It's supposed to be a threat, Ed guesses, but it's going to be annoying if he has to see that jackass out of the corner of his eye all the time.

And there's also Bill fucking Bones. Ed hears a door shut and the clatter and roll of a bottle on deck, making him twitch and his heart lurch somewhere in his throat. The big man lurches out of the shadows under the steps of the captain's cabin, the darkness falling like a curtain over him and only a little lighter as he steps- fucking stumbles into the gray of moonlight. A bottle glints in his hand as he tips it back and then throws it to the side, smashing it on deck, shards glittering over the boards.

The man staggers to the railing to puke over the side, loud enough to make Ed's stomach turn, then turns down into the darkened galley, bellowing:

"Where th' fuck is the rum?"

God. He hates this fucking ship. It's not a great ship. It's not even a good ship. It's an old fucking tub stuffed with gap toothed old pirates who have no sense of discipline. Hornigold would have had the Executioner beat Bones' ass for pulling something like that in the middle of the night. He wouldn't have even had Bones as his first. Maybe Silver, Ed thinks, though they'd probably choke each other to death before long.

Ed sighs and rises with his bucket of sea water. The sound of crashing and yelping in the galley makes him wince and thin bile rise to his throat, but he does his best to ignore it. He dumps the water and then gets a broom to take care of the glass so Job Anderson won't slice open his fucking feet- and then, that's it.

That's all chores done unless he wants to check for shit again.

The only thing left is sleep.

But before that, an apology. He's figured out how he fucked up. The first is obviously to be the reason they're here on this shitty ship to begin with; because he fucked with Davenport. The second because he pulled a knife on Dirk, probably. The third, well, he's not sure about but he's going to apologize for that just in case.

Ed blows out a breath, shakes out his hands to get them loose, and then approaches the prow. A jolt goes through him as he spots the hammock, white over white looking like a cocoon or a body sewn into a shroud and he almost cries out, the sound of something else breaking in the galley sharpening the edge of it.

But he takes a deep breath instead and lets it out, comes tentatively closer, and lets the breath out as he realizes as it's just a blanket. Feliciano stirs, raising his head a little, though it's too dark to read his expression.

" Venha ," he murmurs, pulling back the blanket to pat the sacred space beside him in the hammock. "I am cold just looking at you."

Ed squares his shoulders and lifts his chin.

"I want… I want to ap ol ogize first." Goddamn squeak. Feliciano chuckles.

"Warm first. Venha. Do not have me come out to drag you."

Ed sighs and slips into the hammock, trying and failing to avoid bumping against the man. There's barely any room to move and even less when Feliciano pulls the blanket around them both and tucks it in under Ed's ribs. The blanket is high up on him though and he has to shift so he can at least get his nose out.

Quiet falls but he can tell by Feliciano's breathing he's not asleep. By the breathing and the fingers that start to drum teasingly against his ribs as if telling him to get on with it.

"I'm sorry I fucked with Davenport and now we're here."

"I am sorry for that as well," says Feliciano dryly.

"I should have been mature."

" Sim ."

It wouldn't have been the first time he was dripping with sewage… and it probably won't be the last, Ed thinks, face stinging as he sinks further into the dark of the blanket.

"And… I'm sorry for pulling a knife on Dirk. Though he deserved it."

"Ah," Feliciano pats Ed's side. "Defense is important, but making a bad enemy worse is not wise." The pat turns into a poke.

"I shouldn't have talked like Happy," Ed says.

"You should not have."

"And… it's my fault Happy's dead."

"It is."

It is. He doesn't like that it is. But it is.

"Não faz mal , do not burden yourself too hard with it. He was a fool and what is said into the ears of whores is easily said into the ears of mates. But it could have been Roberto."

"Yeah… I was… I was trying to keep Long Bob out of it," Ed murmurs, picking at the fuzzies on the blanket with his fingertips.

"So I thought."

"And you… you can hang out with whoever you want and I won't care." Well he fucking will, but Feliciano doesn't have to know that. "Even that fucking swabbie…" Ed mutters. "Even if he's not that interesting." He ducks his head further. "And smells."

"Do you know why I do?"

"No…" He pulls the blanket up beyond his nose, wondering if he could just cover himself completely. "You're cooler than them. Way cooler than that shitface. But maybe they're cooler than…than …than I don't know…other people… in your crew…"

He braces himself for Feliciano to agree.

Feliciano lets out a soft laugh and Ed's face heats a little.

"There is one cooler than my crew," says Feliciano.

"Fuck off," Ed mutters, pleased and flushed.

"And it is true that not many can match my charm. My charm is keener than my sword, my beauty is sharper still, so sharp and sweet that no one knows they have been pierced until their blood runs hot."

Ed half wonders if he's already been stabbed, but if he is he wouldn't mind it so much. It wouldn't be so bad to be stabbed by Feliciano. Better than looking down Paulo's flintlock anyway. It's a much more interesting way to go.

"Well, you're stabbing them all over the place then," Ed mutters, thinking of Flint's crew and how they had drawn Feliciano in, laughing at his jokes. "Pretty much gutted that swabbie fucker."

"I am," says Feliciano and it's so surprising that Ed half turns toward him. Feliciano is smiling, hand tucked behind his head, ripple of faint moonlight caught in his eyes. "You see, you have it all in there." He taps Ed's forehead with a finger. "But it is on fire inside, ah, a paixão implacável da juventude! "

"Listen to me, demoniozinho, " says Feliciano, tapping his forehead again and then pushing aside a lock of hair with his fingertip. Ed wishes he wouldn't fucking do that. "More than money or place, a man is how others see him. A man's…ah…what is it… reputação.. ."

"Reputation?" Ed mutters, staring at his feet instead and the shadows beyond.

"Sim. The rep-yu- taschhyo is most important."

"That's what Kupe said too." More or less.

"He is correct. They may not harm us here-"

They better not or he's going to feed Silver his own fucking nose.

"-but they are watching myself always. I do not have the words of order, nor have I wealth."

"You have your sword," Ed says. "You could just scare them into thinking you're cool."

"Fear fades faster than love," says Feliciano and Ed tries not to shiver at that. He's not afraid of fucking anything. "I don't have strength to renew it. Nor heart. And as we learned from the orfanato , you can chase the goats to water and arrive without breath. Or, you can have them follow and drink yourself."

"Hmm." He would follow Feliciano to water, he thinks, or maybe he'd make it difficult for him. Might be fun to be chased.

"Without fear or love, a man is nothing."

"Well no one's afraid of that swabbie fucker," Ed mutters. "And no one is afraid of Jack, or loves him."

Ed doesn't even like him right now. And never would again. Bastard.

"Roberto cares for him," Feliciano says, sounding amused.

"Long Bob likes everyone," Ed mutters. "Almost."

"And you care for him."

"Fuck off no I don't. He can die." Well maybe not die but get his face messed up a little. A black eye maybe or a busted lip.

"Mm," says Feliciano but out of the corner of his eye Ed can see that he's grinning. Annoyed, he turns away from him, making the hammock rock in wide arcs.

"And no one loves Hornigold," Ed says, realizing this. "And not everyone's afraid of him. Aconi and Fadel aren't. And the rabbit isn't. And I'm not. I don't think the Executioner likes anyone."

"Ah but he has command which is both love and fear."

"I don't love Hornigold."

"No, but you follow him."

Well, yeah because- because- just because. Who the hell else is he going to follow? Flint? Please. Jack? He'd rather choke on a boot.

"I'd follow Aconi if Hornigold actually gave him a ship." Which he won't. Which is shit. And he'd follow Feliciano too. Probably. Maybe. If Feliciano wanted him to.

"And so you would," Feliciano says with a sigh, flopping an arm around him. "And as would I. But look at us, meu amigo ." He pulls his hand from the blanket and holds it out, fingers splayed. Ed can see all the fine bones of his fingers and the tattoo of a compass needle in the web of his thumb. "We are not like Aconi, yet we are not like Jack. We have to take care. We cannot let ourselves stop ourselves."

"Yeah, know our place," Ed says, bitterness welling sharp in him. That was what Paulo said too. That was what Kupe had pretty much said. This far and no further. Because what? Because why ? It doesn't make sense but the world is stupid like that.

"No," Feliciano says, tapping Ed's arm through the covers with the palm of his hand. "We must work harder. We must do more. We must pull whatever we can to us with both hands and not let it go. Aconi can well gain a ship if he fights for it, but the fight will be hard and harder to keep it and much might be sacrificed. But he can. "

"So why doesn't he?" Ed would. If he were old enough he'd fight tooth and nail to do something like that.

"That is a question not for me. But that is also a question for tomorrow. Today, I must learn the dance of the ship. We may need them on our side, or we may need to know where they are weak in mind and heart so we can reach in and twist it out."

Yeah…that makes sense but…

"I don't think I can dance like that." It's hard to make people like him. He's not sure if anyone likes him except Long Bob who likes everyone and Feliciano who…who is Feliciano and Polly maybe and Kupe who has fucking Colin now so who gave a fuck.

"You can ," Feliciano pokes him hard on the forehead.

"Ow."

"You are smart enough to cut yourself and everyone around you. But it is not an easy dance and I won't have you learn it. But you have to learn some dance, Ed. You will not be a young man soon, and here your chances are thin. Here the cannons are pointed at our mates and the sword is always above our heads. Do you see?"

"I have to be mature…" Ed mutters, face stinging again, but not at all in a smoldering way.

"Sim. But." Feliciano taps his nose. "It is… a small thing. You are young. Your face is round still, your eyes still like a doe's at water."

"They are not!" His eyes are dark and mean and that's just how he likes it.

"They are." Feliciano pinches his cheeks and Ed yelps then because it really does hurt since they're still bruised and puffy as hell.

"Ah, desculpa , apology," says Feliciano. "But the point is…now they are young, soon they will be old. Soon you will be tall. Soon you will be strong. And if you can dance today, you may not have to dance tomorrow. Others may dance for you as they do for Davenport, or Flint or even Hornigold."

"Really?" He can't imagine that. Would people really…? No. No who fucking would. But could they? "Fuck off. Are you serious?"

"I am," says Feliciano sounding amused. "But we must live so long first. So less of this." He taps Ed's lips. "And more of this." He taps Ed's head. Agree?"

"Agree."

"Good. Now we rest save for one thing. Silver. Our ally?"

Ed says just to make Feliciano chuckle, and he gets a breath of a laugh which is good enough.

"Our ally because?"

"A dance."

"You see?" Feliciano thunks his chin against the top of Ed's head. "You knew how to dance all along."

xxxxx

Only, God, sometimes dancing is so fucking boring.

Ed stands with the tray in his hands as he has twice a day for three days, four days now. This morning he's been standing there long enough for the deep gold sunlight to move from his shins to his stomach. A stomach which is fucking empty because he'd been up before it on shit cleaning duty and feather cleaning duty and dog vomit cleaning duty as one of the ratters had swallowed half a soggy rat it had found and had puked it up and then started eating it again. Then he'd scrubbed the filth off him and scrubbed the fore deck and then scrubbed the mid deck after Dirk had accidentally dropped rotting fruit meant for the side all over it- and he'd had to scrub himself again before getting his tray from Silver.

It is hell as his arms are now red and raw and still smell faintly of rotted apples.

All that just to stand here. Holding a tray. Saying nothing. Listening to Flint slurp his morning coffee and scratch his ass with his hand down the back of his breeches. He had thought Flint was a hard man like Hornigold, solemn as a stone and cold as deep water. But the more Ed comes to hold the stinking tray, the further Flint seems to degrade. He's barely even half dressed this morning, just his night shirt stuffed into his breeches, one stocking on a table the other hanging off the sharp toothed jaws on the wall. His hair is bristled all over like that time that he and Jack looked after they'd stuck their heads too close to a sachet of gunpowder they'd buried in the sand and nearly blew their fucking faces off.

Really he is kind of pathetic. Hornigold would never look like that in the morning.

Ed would have said as much but he is dancing now. He is mature now. Mature enough to just stand there while Flint ate a scone dripping with jam and two fat sausages with only a little bit of gristle and a beautiful egg with a sunshine yellow eye. The only thing left on the tray was a small plum, that had only just gone off, small and purple like a bruise, and Ed's mouth watered. His stomach stuttered and grumbled. Hornigold wouldn't have let him have it either but if it were Hornigold, Ed would have taken it anyway.

Actually he still kind of wants to.

"Mind yourself or I'll feed ye to the hund," says Flint. "No grumblin' here, stomach or otherwise." But he sounds roughly amused. Neptune raises his head at his name, thumping his tail on the floor and Ed might have found him cute if the damn thing didn't drop a turd the size of a melon this morning.

Flint wriggled his hand, gesturing that he should take the coffee rather than coming over and putting it on the tray himself. Ed is tempted to see if Flint will say something or move first if Ed doesn't, but then gets a better idea and trots closer.

"Woops!" a little trip and there goes the plum right on the floor where Hornigold wouldn't eat it, or Jack wouldn't eat it but he'd wrestle for it with Long Bob if he had to.

"Oaf," says Flint and before Ed can even reach for it, Neptune wolfs it up, stone and all.

Fuck.

"Stand up straight. Didn't anyone teach you any manners?" Flint sucks his teeth. "Not on that ship, no doubt. Look at her. Ratty sails. Poor keel. She won't last the year."

Ed says nothing because Flint is just being an asshole. The Ranger sits pretty in the morning swells, and if her hull is roughly patched that's only because they needed a bigger haul than they'd been getting to fix her right.

"The Siren, now, she's a beaut. Do ye agree?" Flint eyes him as if daring him to argue.

"Yes, sir," says Ed because that's easy enough to say…and agree with. The Siren is pretty. Sleeker. Newer. No repair work on her hull. She's not as pretty as the Ranger, but she's pretty enough.

"Thought so. Balls have shriveled up, have they?" Flint sighs and sets the coffee cup on the tray and then stretches, farting quietly before he moves further into the room.

"How did you get the Siren?" Ed asks after a moment. A flash of movement in the water catches his attention and he stands on his tiptoes to watch a pod of dolphins dart joyfully between the Walrus and the Ranger, their mottled backs flashing

"Easy enough. They're a smart crew. Knew I could offer them more than their captain did and so went with the one who could win."

Had they actually seen him in the morning? Ed wonders. They can't have. He's like a hedgehog caught in a windstorm.

"If you can win, why do you need our help with the Leviathan?"

"Help? It's a service I'm offering. Of fame. Fortune. Reputation." Fucking reputation. "And maybe your cap'n will agree with the Siren and join up. Or maybe your mates will," says Flint.

And maybe a bush would grow out of the rabbit's ass before Hornigold even considered it. As for the rest of them- well there was Happy, Ed thinks with a bit of a wince. But after that none of them are going to say it out loud.

"I thought you needed us," Ed says.

Flint scoffs. "Need? That's overselling it. Come here, laddie and learn a thing or two." He nods over to the table where the map is laid out and Ed comes over to look at it. There are little brassy pins made to look like ships.

Ed reaches for one. Flint slaps his hand away hard enough to sting and Ed clenches both hands against the tray so he won't hit him back.

"I said look, not touch. Lord knows where your filthy paws have been."

Ed sucks in a breath through his nose and slowly lets it out again. He's dancing. Fucking dancing. That's all.

And the map is more interesting anyway. All the ship pins are the same size, but he can spot the three that are them, and then two more on the western side of a group of islands port side to the open sea. Another is tucked away in the leeward side of an island about two days sailing from Blind Man's Cove.

"This is us," says Flint as if Ed was an absolute idiot. "And this is them. Now do you note anything strange about this, laddie."

"One is hiding," Ed says, then tilts his head. "And they probably wait for pirates to come out one of these channels, trick them into the current and drive them to where the Leviathan and the other ship are."

"...Aye…" says Flint, staring at him. "Hornigold trained ye to say that did he?"

"No. It's fucking obvious."

Wait. Shit.

Flint hits him hard enough upside the head so that his ears ring and Ed can feel his fingertips dimple into the tin tray. Yes. Okay. He deserved that. Less mouth, more head. Once it stops spinning.

"Lies are a mortal sin," says Flint. "And so is bravado. I know a monkey when I see one."

In a mirror? Ed wants to say but somehow keeps his mouth shut.

"Tell me then, why I don't need that rat bastard captain of yours. Go on."

"Because there are only two ships," Ed says. Which, no shit. "And if you cut one of yours through this way." He traces his finger just above the paper, annoyed at how red his hand is from the slap. "You'll be able to engage them with one and come up behind them with the other."

"...Aye…" This in a different tone as if he just realized it himself. Ed can't believe it. Didn't he even look at the fucking map? Now Flint does, pulling it closer to him, staring at it.

Ed rolls his eyes. What was Flint going to do without the Ranger? Just come up right out of the current and say hello and start blasting? Even if it's two for two, the Leviathan is the strongest ship in these waters- If both of Flint's ships were like the Siren it would be okay, but the Walrus wouldn't be able to withstand it.

Or maybe Flint had been planning to take the longer way and approach from the open sea, which would give them plenty of room to run, but it's the difference between a longer fight and a shorter one, and again, too long and the Walrus would be shitfucked.

Out of the corner of his eye Ed sees the door to the cabin open, a dark shadow filling the space, bringing with it the drenched smell of liquor like a breath of wind before a storm. Ed feels his teeth grit, as if a hand has wrapped around his spine.

"Mornin' captain," comes the rolling voice of Bill Bones and Ed tries to breathe slow and steady through his mouth.

"It's nearing noon. Christ, man, ye smell like a still." Flints stubby nose wrinkles. "But never mind. Come have a look at this."

Ed should move he knows it. But somehow he can't get his feet unfrozen from the floor. That is until Bill Bones grips him hard by the shoulder and shoves him out of the way so that he nearly trips over Neptune who yelps and snaps at him.

"Fuck!" Ed yelps only just barely avoiding a bite.

"Next time I'll have the hund eat ye," Flint snaps. "Now get out. Get working. Fetch Mr. Griff afore ye do."

Ed turns, wanting to go and hating to. Still, he takes his own damned time, long enough to hear Flint say:

"I've had an idea. Look."

And then a moment later Flint reply:

"Through the Devil's Eye? No one will go for it."

Go for what, Ed wonders, hand on the door. What is the Devil's Eye.

"Out I said!" Flint snaps. "Neptune. Get ."

The dog scrabbles up and bolts for him and darts out, slamming the door behind him, listening to the scratch of claws on wood and hopes it leaves a mark.

It feels better though out here in the sunshine. Some of the chill fades away. He takes a breath of fresh air, eyes closed then open a second later. No one is watching except for the beet faced swabbie who was scrubbing the deck and Pew who is watching nearby, hanging off the rigging.

He gives Ed a gap toothed grin. Ed flicks him off and goes up to the quarterdeck to find Griff just behind the wheel, peering up at the sky, his face a roadmap of wrinkles. The clouds are small and wispy, floating high and serene. It will be a fair day today, he thinks, though they'll have to struggle for wind.

"What's the bug in your ear," says Griff without looking at him.

"Flint wants you," Ed replies.

"Hmph. Should've been gone hours ago and now he wants me. Wasting my time and his. Little Lord Flint." He mutters to himself as he shakes his head, striding away. Ed catches the words: "Silver will hear of this." Before he's gone down the steps and out of sight.

Ed takes a moment to look at the Ranger and see if there is anyone to wave to. There isn't yet so he goes down the steps as well, heading toward the main deck and galleyward. Feliciano is due up in the rigging this morning and Ed wants to join him but first he has to speak to Silver.

The man is just outside the galley as usual sitting cross legged on deck, curving the peel off potatoes. The swabbie that liked Feliciano is beside him, bruised and broken, lip split, two black eyes and fingers that barely seem to work. Bones had beaten the shit out of him last night for no other reason than the swabbie was there. The whole ship had heard, but no one did anything.

Ed might have knifed him in kidneys, or yelled at him to knock it off, or shoved him over. He'd almost wanted to, but Feliciano's arm had been tight around his middle.

The swabbie notices him looking and ducks his head, chin close to his chest.

"The fuck you looking at?" he mutters.

"Nothing," Ed says, because that's just polite.

"Well I am looking at a fool," Silver says. "We all on this ship know better to stay out of old Bill's way when he's deep in his cups. Three bottles last night, and another of grog mixed with whiskey. He's heading for an early grave, says I, but so are we all. And some sooner than others. Now go find something else to do, Davey. You're bleeding over the potatoes."

The swabbie stands up with a grumble, wiping his bloodied nose with his sleeve and shambles past with a limp.

"Sit down and help an old man with his work," says Silver. Meaning, let's get the agreement sorted. Ed sets himself near the railing, setting the tray aside and tucks his hands behind his head as he watches the pale blue sky through the net of the rigging.

"Well?" says Silver.

"I'm still thinking of a favor," Ed says. He doesn't even know what he could ask for. Food he can get, and he doesn't even have to sneak into the galley to do it. Feliciano is protected.

"We can settle on the favor after you've told me."

"No, we're going to settle on the favor now," says Ed. Silver stops mid knife stroke the curl of potato resting against his thumb. His eyes are for a moment flat and cold, but then the easy smile comes back to his face.

"This will be curling the skin off your tongue in a moment, Edward Teach," says Silver. Ed shrugs and sits up to leave and Silver adds: "But an agreement is an agreement, and I'm a man of my word, I am, and you can ask anyone." He finishes the peel with a deft flick of the wrist and there is a tiny click of claws on the deck as the bird takes it up with its beak and brings the potato peel back to a small nest it seems to be building by the shadow of Silver's thigh.

"You could help out while you think," says Silver.

"Nah." He wrinkles his nose. "Don't think I will." It's not that he minds peeling potatoes. It's actually a lot of fun. He and Jack and Feliciano and Long Bob would sit around, drinking and peeling and throwing peels at each other or trying to stuff them down each other's shirts or trousers. Sometimes Greg would join them or Vance or…or Happy. Once in a while, if Jack wasn't being too fucking obnoxious, Fadel would sit with them and tell them stories.

But this wouldn't be fun, this would be work, and he's already worked enough today. And it's still dancing, he tells himself. It's Silver after all. He doesn't have to pretend to listen to him. And it's better if he doesn't listen really. That's what makes them equal. That's what makes the agreement work.

"If you can eat them, you can peel them," Silver says.

"And you can fuck off," Ed replies. "You're not my captain."

"I can see why yours was eager to rid himself of you," Silver says. Ed shrugs.

"Who the hell else was he going to send over?" Well, maybe Jack, Ed thinks. And Jack would probably go right ahead and peel the potatoes like a loser. "I don't want to pick up shit anymore." That's a favor. A good one. He's about to tell Silver to make the swabbie no one gave a fuck about to do it but since Ed is starting to give a fuck, he can't. Anyway, if Feliciano has to pretend to like someone it can be someone who doesn't stink.

"Ah, well I'm afraid that's out of my wheel house," says Silver, looking smug. "That's Flint's own personal favor to himself and he won't be talked out of it."

"Asshole," Ed mutters, kicking a nearby bucket full of peels just enough to make it slide a bit.

"He is that. But a captain has to make a showing to hold onto his power, you know, but men like myself, well, it would be unwise to discount them for long, or to push them too far." It's a warning in the way of thunderstorm far on the horizon, easy enough to avoid but dangerous to sail into.

And it is pretty dangerous, Ed thinks. Because it seems the crew listens to him, at least enough to be friendly with Feliciano. He's dangerous enough for the captain to realize he's playing a game and not just shoot him. Dangerous enough that the helmsman wants to complain to him.

"Why do the crew listen to you anyway?" Ed says. Silver finishes the potato, scooping up the peels with one hand before depositing them in one bucket and the potato in the other.

"That is an interesting question," says Silver. "Might take a favor to answer it."

"That's bullshit," Ed says and Silver shrugs and smiles as he takes another potato. It is bullshit but Ed wants to know and it doesn't mean he has to tell the man everything. "One for one then," Ed says. "Answer the question and I'll tell you something I heard, and we can keep going from there…if I have more questions."

"You drive a hard bargain, lad, but aye, I suppose that suits. They do because I'm their quartermaster."

Damnit. That's an answer, but one that Ed doesn't understand.

"Flint said he's doing Hornigold a favor."

"You call that worth knowing?" says Silver.

"You call that an answer?" Ed replies.

"Fair enough," Silver says though he looks again like he'd like to peel Ed next. "Ask your question."

"What does being a quartermaster mean?"

"Well, it means the men chose me to be their voice. There are over forty souls on this board, wanting to be heard, and if everyone spoke at once, why, there'd be no sailing at all. So we come to an outcome to suit most and it's me who drops the word in ol' Flint's ear." Silver regards him. "Not so on the Ranger?"

Ed smirks and opens his mouth and Silver shakes the knife at him.

"That didn't count as part of the agreement. That's a question between men, just as friends like, so you don't have to answer but if you choose to it's going to be struck off the ledger. But just so you know I gave you more than I had to."

"Struck off the ledger," Ed repeats, liking the way it sounds. He can keep it to himself just to show up Silver, but if it's between men then he guesses he might as well. "Nothing like that. If we had a voice who told him what we wanted, he'd just tell them to piss off."

"As hard to tell forty men to piss off as it is to tell twelve," says Silver. "If you're only one man."

That's true. That's very true. Ed can feel the truth of it hook against his ribs. But Hornigold wasn't like other men and he definitely wasn't like Flint. If he told a hundred men to piss off, they'd listen.

"Your turn," says Silver.

"What? Oh. Um. Flint said that he didn't need Hornigold because he could take the Leviathan without the Ranger. He showed me the map where one of their ships was hiding by an island." He's sure Silver knows most of this too, if not all of it.

"That'd be the Dorter, I expect," says Silver. "She's as fleet as the wind for her size, they say."

"And what's the other?" says Ed and at Silver's expression adds with a grin. "Man to man."

Silver gives him a look, then shakes his head and sighs.

"That would be the Princess Anne. But I don't know as much about her, and if I did, it wouldn't be worth to tell you man to man."

Which told him a lot really. She is either really strong or Silver suspects she is. She'd have to be to be on par with the Leviathan. Is she even stronger? Who knows. No wonder Flint wants to avoid the Dorter but…

"What's the Devil's Eye?"

Silver's hand pauses on the knife and his eyebrows shoot up. Whatever it is seems like it's exciting as hell.

"Man to man, I'll tell you the answer, but I'll go first, agreed?" Silver says. Ed nods. "Why do you ask?"

"Flint is going to cut through it."

"Which of us is cutting through it?" Silver says, fingers gone pale against the handle of the knife. "The Walrus? The Siren? He wouldn't be mad enough to send all three."

Ed raises his eyebrows and Silver curses under his breath.

"You, lad, would frustrate the devil."

Ed grins. He'd like that. Might be fun.

"The Devil's Eye is a rough patch of sea. There's storms and shoals and some say sea monsters. It's a haunted place. A cursed place. Even if you were to get through unscathed, you would never be the same again."

"Fuck that sounds cool."

"Boy, didn't you just hear me say that it was haunted and- well never mind. Which ship is he sending?"

Ed shrugs. "He didn't say."

Silver stares at him, then lets out a long steady breath and sets the knife on the deck before folding his hands together.

"One day, laddie-buck, we need to have a talk about your unwise decisions."

"What? He didn't say. He kicked me out and set the dog after me."

"Hmph." Silver is watching the deck now. The parrot leans its cheek against his leg, and he scratches it absently. "Well it won't be us, that's for sure," Silver mutters to himself. "The man is power mad but not as mad as all that. Not to send us ahead of the fray and he is not going to release his pigeon so soon either." A sly smile creeps across Silver's face then and the wrinkles leave between his forehead. "This might work out."

What might work out, Ed wonders. It's interesting that Silver doesn't seem to care about the Siren. Ed's not sure why it's interesting but it prickles along his brain. Something here is as delicious as a roasted potato if he could just figure out how to roast it. Why wouldn't Silver care about the Siren? Why would he? What is going to work out? What game is he playing. Ed wants to pull him apart like an oyster and poke the meat inside.

"I think we're done here," says Silver after a moment. "On with you now, lad, and find something to clean if you won't help an honest man with honest work."

Ed shrugs and stretches, pulling his arms high over his head before standing and looking down at Silver who is trying now to feed the bird with a bit of potato, but it keeps hiding its head under its wing and peeking out with a shining black eye.

"I know what Flint wants," Ed says testing the water, prodding the muscle. "And I bet Hornigold will help him get it."

Silver gives him a dry look.

"We all know what Flint wants," says Silver. "And if Hornigold is a stupid enough to let the Leviathan fall into Flint's hands then he's more of a fool than I thought."

"Flint wants the Leviathan?"

"Oh, you shit faced little bastard."

Ed is too preoccupied to laugh much, because now Flint's plan all makes sense. If they can avoid the Dorter, it'll be three ships against two. If Hornigold lures away the Princess Anne with the Ranger's speed and it's the Walrus and the Siren against the Leviathan who would either surrender or be boarded.

"How the hell is he going to crew her," Ed mutters. Since either way her crew would be killed. They're not pirates after all but navy and couldn't be trusted by either captain. Flint could possibly leave one ship behind, but why would a man do that if he could have a fleet?

"By grace of God and donkey farts for all I know, and if you play me like that again I'll run you straight through," says Silver, making Ed laugh.

A shrill whistle sounds over the deck and Ed's heart leaps. It's the call for everyone to get into position, a sign they will soon be under way, over wave and under wind. What fucking wind there is anyway.

Silver rises with a grunt, wiping the peels off his trouser legs, his parrot on his arm.

"Let's set to then, lad. Help me sort out this grub and I'll let you set up with your mate."

Ed nods and gathers the still unpeeled potatoes by the armload to set them in the bucket. It's a good idea really. He needs to talk to Feliciano anyway. There's a lot to tell him.

xxxxx

Feliciano is where Silver says, at the main royal yardarm, feet braced on the ratline, one arm looped around the yardarm and sail so he can unwind the line from the bulging canvas.

"Beneath," Ed calls when he's close enough, trying not to notice his really long legs or calves stretched taut with bracing himself or- well he tries not to notice is all. He focuses on climbing instead until he reaches the yardarm itself, then, rather than stand on the ratline, moves to stand on the spar of wood itself, lightly gripping the mast as he looks out over the ocean. This is his favorite sail, his favorite mast, the tallest point and the wildest. The wind is strongest up here, blowing cool and curling fingers through his hair almost as rough as Polly might. The world spills below, the deck of the Walrus and the sea surrounding her, freckled with light, smudges of islands and beyond nothing but ocean and sky and clouds onto the rim of the world.

The Ranger is not as tall as this, Ed thinks, feeling somewhat traitorous as he looks over at the smaller ship, and the tiny flecks of his mates also preparing for sail, swarming up the masts. Ed still likes her. She's his ship. He likes the wood of her and the lines of her and her great sails filled with wind. He likes her under sail, and pulling her lines to tack into the wind or jibe away from it, setting sail and weighing anchor and drawing on the capstan while Long Bob relays orders in his booming voice.

Ed likes her a lot.

He just wishes she were taller…

"O!" Feliciano smacks him lightly on the ankle. "Dreaming is for sleep. Get over."

"Yeah, yeah," Ed says but cheerfully as he gets on the starboard ratline, feeling the tension and vibration under his feet like the ship is a living thing, some kind of beast waiting to run. He wraps an arm around her yardarm and begins to unwind the line from the sail.

"How did your dancing go today?" Feliciano asks.

"Good. Learned some stuff. Flint wants to take a ship through the Devil's Eye, which is like Fish Hook, but worse."

"If it is what I'm thinking, he is right. We called it…hm…hell's… hell's… ai- berço do inferno ."

"Berço do inferno ," Ed repeats, liking the way the words flow on his tongue. "Have you been through it?"

"Somehow. On Rosa. How we survived? A miracle." Feliciano shrugs. "Which of us."

"Dunno." The line is free and Ed hangs onto the sail, waiting for the call from below. "Silver wants it to be the Siren."

"It is so," says Feliciano, seeming to mean that made sense to him. Feliciano catches his look and adds: "Silver is not on Siren. The men of Siren do not count on him. They are outside of his lines."

"Oh." Now he gets it. "I guess that's why Silver doesn't want Flint to take Leviathan."

"Leviatã ? How does Flint plan to crew him?"

Ed shrugs again. "Donkey farts and prayers, Silver says."

"There aren't donkeys or saints enough."

"Royal! Keep fast !" comes Silver's bellow from below. "Let fall sheet home and hoist the topgallant sails !"

"I hear there is a meeting on the day after tomorrow," says Feliciano. "It is a shame we can't tell Hornigold."

"Yeah…" Ed looks over at the Ranger again. Then blinks. "Wait…why can't we?"

"Um?"

"Yeah, I mean, we can. I can," Ed says excitedly as the plan forms. "I can swim over there. It's not that far." Closer than where they'd been anchored in harbor and Paradise anyway.

"Someone will see."

"Let fall sheet home, and hoist the royals !"

"I can do it at night," Ed says. "At Dog's watch."

"Who is to be watching?"

"Let fall sheet home, and hoist the royals !"

"Get your swabbie to do it."

"My swabbie?" Feliciano gives him a look.

"Well the one you're batting your doe eyes at. Oohhh, swabbie fucker!" Ed coos and bats his eyelashes, then laughs when Feliciano tries to scowl through a smile.

The man's smile quickly turns to a frown.

"But-"

"Let fall the royals, you fucking bilge rats, or I'll skin your miserable balls off ."

Oh shit. Right. Ed lets drop the canvas drop and as Feliciano does. He takes enough time to make sure nothing gets tangled before hopping back onto the ladder and heading back down to deck. There will be plenty of time to plan more later. For now they have to get underway.

xxxxx

Only goddamn did things on deck look closer than they actually are. It is night. Moonless. The Ranger sits high the water, closer now. The gleam of the lantern on her prow the only thing driving him on as he pulls through the water.

The water is cold as balls too, because it's the middle of the fucking night. Or past that. And he hurts. His arms are sore from pulling. His muscles tired from chasing the wind. His feet and his legs exhausted from up and down the rigging. Fingers stinging and chapped from scrubbing.

This…was not a good fucking idea. A bad idea. Using something else other than his head. But once the idea was there, he knew he had to do it. It had grown throughout the day. Telling Hornigold. Giving him an advantage. An edge over these stupid piss bastards. Bribing the swabbie somehow so he only watched while Feliciano lowered him into the water on a rope to avoid the sound of a splash. Holding their breath at the drunken sounds of Bones rolling around deck, praying he didn't come to the railing, relieved when he didn't.

He could have asked it as a favor from Silver, Ed supposes, stopping to catch his breath and tread water. But Flint had shut up like a clam that night, muttering with Bones and Griff with the only words being caught where Griff's complaining. Nothing to charm Silver with. Not that Ed's sure he wants him to know about this anyway.

A swell slops him in the face and Ed coughs, shaking the wet from his hair and blinking the sea from his eyes and pulls again until he's treading water near the prow. He takes a moment to catch his breath, then purses cracked lips so that he can whistle. The first two are weak falling things, but the third brings the warm light of a lantern and the familiar hulking shape of Long Bob to the railing. The man squints, holding out the lantern and Ed realizes Long Bob can't really see him.

"It's me," Ed says and Long Bob's face breaks into a grin. Ed winces as the man sucks in a breath and says quickly. "Shhh! Not now. We're being sneaky."

Long Bob's lips close and he nods, jerking his thumb as if to ask if Ed wants to be pulled up. Ed nods then realizing the man still can't fucking see him says:

"Fuck yes."

Long Bob disappears, and a moment later a rope is dropped over the side. Ed sighs with relief and grabs onto it, feeling like it's the first dry thing in ages. He coils it around his leg too and then gives a little whistle so that Long Bob pulls him up.

It's not long before Ed finds purchase on the railing, legs wobbling dangerously, too dangerously. Long Bob catches him before he falls, his big thick meaty hands under Ed's armpits and lifting him in the air. It wouldn't take much for the man to toss him over the side, but he sets Ed gently on deck instead and pats his head.

Ed flops where he's placed, letting himself rest. He feels a little like he wants to die, and doesn't even want to think of the swim back. Long Bob flops beside him and then after a moment, mimes drinking from a bottle and then thrusts his hand forward like he's clinking that bottle against another.

"No, not that," Ed whispers. "Not for fun. I have to talk to Hornigold."

Long Bob nods, face serious.

"Rigging watch?"

Long Bob puts his hands under his chin and bats his eyes. Gilead Thorpe. That's fine.

"Executioner awake?"

He shakes his head and mimes wiping sweat from his brow.

"Okay." Ed grabs his shoulder to get himself up on his feet, legs still wobbling. "Hornigold…"

Long Bob mimes carrying him. Ed hesitates. On one hand, Jack wouldn't be fucking carried across deck. On the other, Jack hadn't worked all day and swum his ass off. With a sigh, he nods.

Long Bob scoops him up in one arm and trods across the deck. They go down to the main deck, just for van Morgenstern to pop his head out from the galley, eyes sleep filled.

"What?" the man says and it's all the man says before Long Bob pops him soundly on top of the head and sends him back to oblivion. Well he'd have a fucking headache in the morning, but it's fine, Ed supposes. He'll buy van Morgenstern a drink or something.

He thanks Long Bob as he's deposited outside of Hornigold's room, feeling a lot better. Long Bob mimes a drink again and points to Ed who really fucking wants one, but would drown on the way back if he did.

"No thanks, mate." And then thinking. "I'll take that though." He gestures to the lantern which Long Bob hands him. Not going to risk getting his face shot off after all.

He turns to the door but Long Bob pats his arm. Points at Ed, points at himself, points both fingers at his smiling mouth and Ed grins a little.

"Yeah, happy to see you too." He pats Long Bob on the arm, then shifts to stand before Hornigold's door. He's sopping wet and looks like shit and is still a bit bruised up but that's alright. His captain has seen him worse.

Still he takes a moment to tie his hair behind him before opening the door and slipping inside. Hornigold's cabin is dark, but unchanging, small and cramped without even a curtained bed. It's a good cabin, a better cabin than stupid fucking Flint's. And Hornigold looks better too, Ed thinks as he comes nearer. Sure he has more wrinkles and grooves in his forehead and down the sides of his mouth, silver in his hair, but he's just old. That's all.

Ed reaches out to gently prod Hornigold in an arm. In a moment his hand is knocked away and he only just keeps hold of the lantern as he's jerked forward by the collar and a flintlock is jammed cold under his chin, forcing his jaw shut.

"Hi," Ed says through his teeth. He can see Hornigold's wild expression out of the corner of his vision, eyes gray and blood shot, hair wild, teeth gritted. Expressions flicker fast over the captain's face and it might have been funny if there wasn't a fucking gun about to blow his brains across the ceiling.

"Edward," Hornigold says. The gun drops and he sits back, blinking. "How the hell did you get here?"

"I swam."

"All that way?"

"Yeah."

Hornigold's face goes from mild surprise to fury. But cold fury. Controlled fury. Fury could get Ed shot by the Executioner, or whacked to within an inch of his life.

"If this a prank–"

Of course it's not a fucking prank, Ed wants to say. As if they'd ever pranked Hornigold. None of them are so fucking stupid. Instead he says:

"I have news."

At last Hornigold's expression smooths out and he leans back against the wall. Ed's heart starts beating again.

"Tell me," Hornigold says.

"Flint plans to cut one of the ships through the Devil's Eye to avoid the Dorter hiding at some island-"

"Can you find which one?"

"Yeah. And he wants to take the Leviathan, not just sink her."

Hornigold looks surprised and then confused. Didn't… didn't Hornigold know Flint was going to take the Leviathan? Ed would have thought he knew ahead of time.

"Take the Leviathan? How the hell is he going to crew her?"

Ed shrugs. "Donkey farts and prayers?"

"Hmh." It's almost a laugh. Ed is kind of proud of himself for it. "Get out the maps. I'll get Harvey fetched."

"Yes, sir."

Ed would rather lie in the bed or at least drag the blankets off it to nest on the floor, but maps it is. He does his best not to drop on anything as he hauls maps out of the chest and sets them on the table. At the door, Hornigold tells Long Bob to get the rabbit quietly and then returns to help Ed set them up, pouring a cup of brandy for himself but not for Ed who would kill a man for water right now.

After a moment there is the tap thump, tap thump of the rabbit on his way, a faint knock and the door opens.

"What-" says the rabbit. "Ed? How the hell did you get here?"

Ed sighs. "I swam."

"What, all that way?"

"Yes." Fuck's sake.

"Young Teach has news," says Hornigold. "Tell him."

God. Ed takes a breath. "Flint wants to cut a ship through the Devil's Eye."

"Which one?"

"Don't know. But he wants to do it to avoid the Dorter so he can take the Leviathan not sink her."

"Take her? How the hell does he plan to crew her?"

"With donkey farts and prayers apparently," says Hornigold getting a short surprised chuckle from the rabbit. "Where's the Dorter, Edward."

Ed peers over the map, searching out Blind Man's cove so he can follow the line he remembers back to it.

"Probably he'll take the Siren through, don't you think?" says the rabbit.

"The Siren will be hard pressed," says Hornigold folding his arms. "And are not happy with him if Don can be believed. It would be foolish."

Don? Don ? What the fuck?

"Well the Walrus won't survive it," says the rabbit. "He can't take all of us… Maybe he means to cut around it to the open sea."

"We don't have the provisions for that."

"Here it is," Ed says, finding the island finally. Hornigold and the rabbit peer over it.

"That makes sense," says the rabbit. "The most sense. You could cut through the Devil's Eye easily without getting their attention, but we'd be sunk if we went all together."

"I can't see him stupid enough to send the Siren alone." Hornigold rests his knuckles against his lips. "What is that man playing at?"

"Maybe he is stupid," Ed says. He expects Hornigold to smack him or the rabbit to nag him about respect, but they both hum as if that's something they've thought of too.

That's not going to help them- but looking at the map, Ed gets an idea. If the Dorter is known for chasing ships up the current, then–

"What if we take the Dorter."

The captain and the mate slowly look at him, eyes glittering in the light.

"How do you mean?" Hornigold says.

"We take her, crew her, we can come in to get her from here." He points to the northern side of the island. "Then we pretend to drive one of us up the current, the other two behind, and when we get to where the Leviathan and Princess Anne it'd be four against two."

"We couldn't crew Dorter that well," says Hornigold, bracing his hands, leaning over the map. "But if we can bring her to Blind Man's Cove and lure the Leviathan and Princess back, they'd be caught in the bay."

"But we can't crew her that well," says rabbit. "We'll be missing too many men."

"Hm, we can't," says Hornigold. "And not without Flint but…" He smiles. "Have Mr. Robertson fetch Don. Quietly."

As Hornigold stares, Ed manages to snag an unused blanket to wrap around his shoulders and takes a swig of brandy, sighing as it warms his blood.

After a moment there is the pat of bare feet against the deck and the door opens. Davenport enters, dark hair pulled back into a neat braid, and dressed though sleepily.

"Ben," he says, voice quiet but sharp. "I know that I am a guest, but I would prefer it if you waited until at least dawn before-" And then he spots Ed. "How the hell did you get here?"

"Swam," says Hornigold. Davenport looks out the window, then back to them.

"All that way?"

"He's done worse," says the rabbit and Ed smirks, pleased.

"Why?" Davenport asks. Hornigold gestures to Ed, looking faintly amused. Ed hates him. Just a little. He lets out a breath, then:

"Flint wants to take some ship through the Devil's Eye. Probably the Siren in which case he's an idiot but if it is the Siren, he's still an idiot. He wants to take the Leviathan, not sink her-"

"Take her? How the hell is he going to crew her?"

"Donkey farts and prayers," Hornigold and the rabbit say at the same time.

"-and we might take the Dorter, bring her to Blind Man's, lure in the Leviathan and Princess and pound the crap out of her."

"You're going to what?" says Davenport. Hornigold sighs and rubs his forehead.

"Edward…"

"What? You told me to!"

"Never mind," says Hornigold and Ed huffs. So much for listening to fucking orders he guesses.

"Flint will never allow it," says Davenport.

"He may if the Siren agrees," says Hornigold. "If you command the Dorter-"

"Me?"

Oh, Jack is going to be pissed.

"-and we crew her with people from all three ships–"

"I want to come!" Ed says. "And Feliciano knows the Devil's Eye." Probably. "We'd be perfect!" He's never taken a ship from land before.

"It would be to his advantage…" says Davenport. "But why do this?"

"I can go right?" Ed says.

"Because I have better things to do than die on the altar of Flint," says Hornigold. "And so do you."

"You are going to let me, right? Right ?"

"Oh, shut up, Edward for God's sake," says Hornigold. Davenport snickers and Ed wants to throw the brandy at him but he is just mature about it and takes a longer sip instead.

"He won't be satisfied with a puppy," says Davenport, whatever the hell that means.

"I think he'll see through the veneer soon enough," says the rabbit. "If he hasn't already."

"Hm," says Hornigold and all three men are looking at him. Ed glowers back a little, legs tucked up to his chin because he's still fucking cold.

"What?"

Hornigold shakes his head and goes to the door.

"Mr. Robertson, Jack, please."

"Aye!" Long Bob bellows. Then: "Oops."

Hornigold sighs and returns, shutting the door behind him. He takes the brandy bottle from Ed's hand, pours everyone but Ed a cup and takes a long swallow of his own before the door opens.

"Yeah?" Jack looks at Davenport who looks at him and Davenport seems to want to say something and Jack looks as if he's worried. Davenport raises a hand and then drops it.

"Are you done?" says Hornigold. They both flush like the fucking weirdos they are and turns his gaze to the captain. "Yes, sir- Oh what the fuck are you doin' here?"

"Yo," Ed says, pulling the blanket under his chin.

"How the hell did you get here."

"Your mother."

"Edward…"

"You little shit," Jack snarls.

"Fine, Davenport's mother."

"Watch your mouth," says Davenport.

"Yeah, watch it!" Jack snaps. "No one wants to hear you."

"Gentlemen," says the rabbit.

What? Why is- Why is Jack-?

"Jack, remember when we spoke last-" Hornigold starts, but then Ed gets it. He gets it! And the rage drives him right to his feet.

"You were making doe eyes at Davenport, you fucker!"

"Fuck you I was not!" Jack snaps back. "I ain't got doe eyes!"

"You did and you were! I saw it!"

"Oh god." Davenport turns, hands over his face.

"Ya did not!"

"Boys ," Hornigold says, a thread of anger in his voice.

"I did so. You said his face looked like a monkey's ass!"

"You what?" says Davenport.

"You little shit for brains." Jack's hands are around his collar but that's alright because his are around Jack's. "I'm gonna stick your face up a monkey's ass if you don't keep your goddamned mouth-"

Too late Ed feels Hornigold's hand on the back of his head, sees it on the back of Jack's. A terrific crack goes through his skull as it bounces off that fucker's. When the darkness clears, he finds he's lying in a heap, Jack half on him.

"I told you not to bring children aboard," says the rabbit. "I told you."

While Davenport is whispering: "Just kill me. Oh god."

"Ow…fuck…" Jack tries to raise and slumps.

"Jack, you're taking Edward's place," Hornigold says. This time Jack surges upright.

"I'm what?"

"Ha! Suck it!"

"You're taking Edward's place," Hornigold says. "Because Flint will want someone of value."

…Oh… Ed hunches in the blankets.

"Knew you'd fuck it up," Jack mutters and Ed can't even find it in him to kick him.

"But that's not until our meeting. Edward, go back to the Walrus before you're missed."

"He won't be," Jack says and Ed wants to say Feliciano will, but his words are too heavy. He drops the blankets and drags himself out the door. Long Bob is there waiting and pats Ed's head gently.

"Do you need a hug?" Long Bob says and Ed flushes at Jack's laugh from inside.

"No! Fuck, mate, I'm a man, aren't I?"

"Not on your life!" Jack says and Hornigold shuts the door.

The silence feels overwhelming. Long Bob gives him a smile and another pat and Ed pats his arm back and looks over the light flickered water toward the Walrus.

It is going to be a long fucking night.

xxxxx

By the time Ed gets back to the Walrus, he almost doesn't want to take the rope that's dropped down the side. The sky is getting lighter, but it won't be dawn for a few hours yet and, Ed thinks, it might be nice to sink into the deep black of the water and just not come up.

Only the thought of Feliciano left all by himself makes him lift a weary hand and tug the rope. And then tug the rope again. There is no answering tug and for a second he wonders if the man has fallen asleep or forgotten or decided that Ed wasn't worth it after all. He's almost grateful for it. He can sleep. He can sink.

No one will miss him if he goes.

The answering tug makes him sigh and Ed looks up at the pale face of Feliciano and the paler face of the swabbie fucker. Ed is tempted to tell them to let him go. To just let him drift to sea, forgotten by the waves and time- but he grips the rope instead, tangles his leg in it and lets himself be pulled upward.

Now he's fucking glad the Ranger isn't so tall because it feels like it's an eternity before he's on the railing let alone on deck. There is no Long Bob to lift him off this time, so Ed nearly falls onto the planking, though Feliciano catches him, stumbling a little under his weight.

"Well and so?" Feliciano says. Ed just shakes his head. He can't even think to speak. He doesn't want to say. How the fuck can he say?

"You were gone a long time," says the swabbie. "What did you say? What did you tell him? God, what did I do…"

Ed rolls his head to look up at him, blinking salt sting from his eyes. The swabbie is nervous. Fingers gripped. Backing away.

"Look I- I think I have to- have to be somewhere else." He sends a terrified glance at the aft cabins and begins backing toward them. "I-I have something to do."

"Of course, I understand," says Feliciano. He pats Ed's back briefly before rising. "But first, for one last time, close your eyes."

The swabbie hesitates, then obeys, lashes feathered across his cheeks, leaning forward. The cutlass slides smooth as water through the swabbie's neck, cutting out any sound he might have made, though his eyes fly open and his hands reach. A slight twist of the blade and his hands stop reaching, his eyes roll, his body falls. Feliciano catches him and tenderly helps him slump to the deck, head resting against the wall. Blood pours from his throat and over his chest, seeps into his shirt. His eyes are wide and staring.

Ed can only stare back.

"So it is," says Feliciano, laying the bloodied cutlass down near the body, black hilted with a white skull. " Venha ." He helps Ed up, and Ed is surprised he can even rise at all, let alone stumble back to the hammock.

"You have told our captain?" Feliciano murmurs. Ed nods.

"There are plans?"

Ed nods again.

"Good."

"I," Ed swallows, wanting to say more, to do more than just nod like a stupid kid. "I d-d-didn't d-dance very w-well," he says, and hopes Feliciano knows he's just stuttering because it's cold. He's cold. So fucking cold.

Feliciano only smiles.

"Ah, well, you will learn. And soon you will dance as beautifully as me."