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.

9. The Devil's Eye

The Princess Anne bears down on them, the embers of sunset casting her white sails pink and gleaming on her polished wood. She is a full galleon, sleek and powerful; her figurehead is of a woman, great flowing hair curling up the sides like a mane, hand covering her breasts. A real mermaid, Ed thinks, a beautiful ship.

Even if they're all supremely fucked.

Jack curses and shoves him back, sending him sprawling into the pile of ropes. In a moment Jack is back up the rigging, moving with liquid, terrified speed. There are other shouts of alarm along the rigging, like a tree full of disturbed birds. Ed waits on bated breath for the order, weariness vanishing as excitement stings through him.

There is nothing. No command. No bark. No sharp call.

Silver is looking toward the helm, ruddy face bleached of color like an old bone. Ed looks too, wondering if Bill Bones has died somehow, but no, he's standing there, gripping Griff's shoulder so that his knuckles are white.

"What are your bloody orders?" Griff snaps. "Find your voice, man!"

"Turn about," Bones says then, louder. "Turn about!"

"What?" Ed doesn't have time to be annoyed at the squeak, and then frantically as Silver opens his mouth. "Don't turn us about are you out of your fucking mind?"

"I said turn about!" Bill Bones snarls, turning blazing eyes on him.

"We can't turn about!" Ed snaps back. "We're twenty on a ship crewed by twice that! We're not going to have the fucking time! Let the current pull us out!"

"That'll put us right in range of her cannon, Eddie-boy," says Silver, his eyes darting back and forth between them.

And that's true.

That's true but-!

"Well, the Princess doesn't know we stole this yet, do they? They sure as fuck will know if we turn now. And we'll be fighting the tide."

Bill Bones opens his mouth. Shuts it again. Sweat as big as grapes cluster on his forehead.

There's no fucking time for this and Ed wishes he could fucking do something about it. Or better yet give the orders his fucking self.

"Straight ahead, Mr. Silver!" says Davenport, landing with a thump on the quarterdeck in a swirl of coat that is, admittedly, really fucking cool.

There is a snap of silence, all eyes turning to Silver who hesitates only a moment before shouting:

"You heard him! Straight ahead, men! Don't let God or the Devil sway you! We've not lost yet! At signal any free hands down to lighten the load! Let's get some speed on her!"

"I ain't gettin' my ass shot," Jack says from the rigging. "Ed! Get the flag! Like Skull Fort! That'll confuse the fuckers for a minute."

"Oh, yeah!" Ed fairly trips across the deck to get up to the aft mast where the English flag is. It's a really fucking good idea. Stealing and raising a Spanish flag was how they got close to the fort at all without getting their asses blasted all over the water. Maybe it'll work now. At least for a moment. Ed pulls the flag up as fast as he could, the rope rough in his palms, his arms hurting and rubbery even from that.

When it is up and secured, he fumbles out his spyglass from his shirt and peers at the other ship. The Navy Men are confused, or at least seem so: pointing at the ship, peering at the land. The Dorter is pulling further and further away, dancing over the waves. Then Ed sees a cannon nosing in the forward most port.

Fuck.

He looks around and is relieved to see Long Bob in shouting distance. He cups his hands around his mouth, takes a deep breath and calls:

"Long Bob! Incoming starboard aft!"

"INCOMING STARBOARD AFT!" Long Bob roars.

"Brace yourselves!" Silver yells.

Ed realizes at the last moment to duck behind the mast, just as there is a shuddering boom and the whistle of a cannon ball, the magnificent crash of wood. The aft mast shudders violently as the ball clips it before going wild and plunking out in the blue. Wood rains down behind him, but the mast is big and solid and well-built and doesn't list or fall. His ears buzz and he has to shake his head to clear them, even as it sets his head to spinning.

"…Mr. Teach?" Silver is calling as if from faint away, the tail end of a question.

"WHAT'S SHE DOING, ED?" Long Bob says.

Oh yeah. Shit. He peers around the mast again. The Princess Anne is trying to slow, maybe stop, a look through the spyglass shows some debate happening on the deck. There's a flicker of movement by the black rock jetty, and he peers through to see some of the Dorter men waving- and further back in the trees by the beach, the flash of pistol fire.

"Mr. Teach!" Silver says.

"Stopping or turning," Ed calls up to Long Bob. Either way the Princess is much bigger than the Dorter and by the time she does either, they'll be out of range. They seem to know that too because another cannon blast rings through the air, though the ball falls short of the ship by a length or so.

"SLOWING DOWN, BOSS!"

"Alright, boys! Clear for now! Let's lighten the load!"

Ed laughs, throat feeling raw, as he watches the island sweep away. Another peek through the glass and he sees the Walrus and Siren crew spilling onto the beach, too far away now to be distinct. Except he can spot Aconi whirling away with his cutlass and Vance piledriving some poor fucker into the sand. There's not many Navy Men left on the beach to fight though. Maybe they've all gone west? Ed hopes the mermaid swabbie is with them.

He hears footsteps on the deck behind him and a shadow falls over him. Too late, Ed smells the sour stench of old liquor. Ed's stomach dives. Too late he remembers Bill Bones.

He turns right into the man's fucking fist. His skull bounces off the mast as solidly as a cannonball.

There are stars then sparks then nothing.

xxxxx

He doesn't know where he is.

It is soft.

There are voices.

His head is pounding. His mouth tastes like ash. His face feels like fire. He can hear rain pattering against the glass of a window and that reassures him somehow though the reason why slips through his fingers like flashing minnows in a pond.

The thought of fish makes his heart kick and for a second he wonders if he's on the verge of fucking drowning again, only no, there are soft linens under his fingertips rather than sand and the air is warm and close. Almost too close. He's sweating a little under his shirt.

The bed shifts beside him and he flinches a little, but someone says "shhh" and a cool rag is draped against his forehead, dampening the pounding too. Even so he can only open one eye, the other swollen shut because of course it fucking is. The room is taking a while to swim into focus.

It's dim, that's why. Only one lantern hangs on the opposite wall. It's a cabin. There is a table and night dark windows, flickering lantern light just outside, and shadows of people in the room that refuse to focus.

Where is he? What happened? He blinks at the nearest shadow, trying to make sense of it. His vision is clearing but not fast enough and this… this reminds him…this reminds him of…

"Doctor John?" he says, though his voice comes out soft and slurred. The murmured conversation in the room stops and the shadow beside him chuckles.

"I will forgive you that."

"Oh…" Feliciano… Ed tries to raise a hand to touch the rag on his head, but his fingers only twitch against the blankets.

"Will you have water?" says Feliciano.

"Rather have rum." That'll make the headache go away— until it wears off.

"Perhaps soon."

A gentle hand on his shoulder and he's pulled up a little, pillows - more than one! - fluffed up behind him. He blinks at the cup presented to him and manages to take it and hold onto it. The water is sweet and cool and slides easily down his throat, making his stomach gurgle, reminding him that it's hungry.

"Fuck, that's good," Ed says.

"It is just brought from the island, I think," say Feliciano.

"Damn good thing they were stocked. Would just be like this cursed voyage if we're adrift with no provisions," mutters a grumbling voice. Ed squints toward the figure, wants to shake his head but is pretty sure his brains will hammer against his skull and send him back out again. He sees a man. A familiar man. With a yellowing bruise around his eye and a puffy lip.

Map man, Ed thinks. Silver's dog. What is his name?

"We're hardly adrift." That's Davenport. He's sitting against the far wall like a jackass, legs up and crossed on the table, head tilted back as he watches the light glint off a dagger he's holding above his face. Ed hopes he puts his eye out. But then again, an eyepatch would make him even fucking cooler so maybe not.

"Well, I don't like where we're going," the map man mutters. Gruff. No. Griff.

Griff and Davenport and…and Feliciano… in a strange cabin… on the Dorter? It must be. That's why everything looks skewed. Ed's stomach growls again and Feliciano takes the cup and gives him an apple. There's not even a bruise on it and when he bites into it, it gives pleasantly under his teeth and the inside is firm, not mealy or rotten.

He notices as he chews that Feliciano is watching the door, fingers of his off hand tapping the hilt of his cutlass which he is wearing. Is he expecting trouble? If he is, Davenport and Griff aren't. Davenport is being stupid with a dagger and Griff is deep into a bottle.

A knock sounds on the cabin door makes them all tense and Davenport grips the dagger, sliding his feet off the table. Slowly the door opens a crack.

"It is just me, alone with some grub for the boy if he's awake," says Silver. "May I come in without my face being blown off?"

No one even has a pistol. No, wait, Griff does, and he slowly lowers it beneath the table.

"You can come," says Feliciano. "Alone."

Silver slips in the door alone and closes it behind him. He's holding a wooden tray and on it a bowl of something steaming, the smell of chicken and real noodles wafts through the air and Ed practically drools.

"Well so you are awake," says Silver with a bland smile, coming over to the bed. The parrot is with him as always, hunched against his neck as if trying to protect itself from the rain. It clicks its beak and shuffles its little feet, but Ed really only cares about the tray that's set carefully in his lap. There are real fucking vegetables in here too. Carrots and beets and little ghosts of celery. He feels like he might cry.

"Eat hearty, lad, but slowly so as to not bring it all up again. We'll need you fit if we want to keep ourselves from the bottom of a rope," Silver says, settling in a nearby chair and taking off his hat.

"It won't come to that, surely," says Davenport.

"It will," says Griff. "If not by our own hands then the Leviathan when she gets hold of us."

"Our own hands?" Something prickles along the back of Ed's neck. "What's going on? What happened?"

"Short answer, you," says Silver, bringing the parrot from his neck to sit on his knee. "And don't give me that poisonous look, Duarte. We both know it. Young Teach here is the cause of and solution to most of our problems." Silver grins. "Never met a boy as can almost cause a mutiny in his sleep."

Ed grins too, liking the sound of that. The first part anyway. The second is confusing.

"What did I do?" He then takes a sip of the soup and it's not the best he's ever tasted because no one can cook better than Greg but it's pretty fucking fantastic. If it wasn't hot enough to burn his tongue off he'd gulp it right down. He's hungry enough that he takes a second spoonful, sucking up a fat yeasty noodle and savoring its taste before swallowing and saying. "What?"

Because everyone is staring at him. Even Feliciano.

"You do not remember?" Feliciano says.

"Uh…" Ed thinks. It's hard to think even with water and food. His head is still aching and he still feels like he belly flopped off the yardarm. "Remind me?"

But there has to be stuff after that. He knows it. For instance he knows Long Bob and Jack and van Morgenstern are here even though he can't remember seeing them come aboard. He also remembers being pissed at Jack, but he can't remember why.

"You countermanded the Bill Bones' orders," says Silver. Did he? "And made him look like an idiot."

"Oh, yeeah," Ed says, remembering in a muddy sort of way.

"The man is already an idiot," says Davenport as he cleans under his perfect nails with the point of a dagger. "Even without the puppy's help."

Ed is caught between wanting to like Davenport and wanting to stab him in the fucking foot. He can barely move without his head spinning, though, so the man is lucky- for now.

"So you say, Don, and so it may be true, but that doesn't change that we're in a hell of a situation, so wipe that smirk off your face if you please" says Silver. And surprisingly, Davenport does, laying the dagger instead on his lap and looking serious and even a bit worried. Silver looks at Ed then, and sighs, runs a hand over his broad face.

"The truth is, right or wrong, Bones is even more against you than he was before, Edward, my lad," Silver says. "And though my men were happy enough to use my voice as it serves them, they're starting to think their pride is better served with Bones. It's only that Mr. Davenport threw his lot in with you that keeps you all from being cast over the side as my men don't give a rat's left tit about Hornigold and his reach won't extend this far anyway. That and you have Mr. Griff to thank for tossing in with you too as he's the only one who has a chance of getting us safe to shore again."

"Slim buggering chance," mutters Griff.

"Any port in a storm, Mr. Griff," says Silver. Then to Ed. "Do you understand me?"

Ed nods. He does. Mostly. The Walrus crew can't really be trusted. And even though the Siren crew and his own mates together outnumber the Walrus crew, they need every hand they have to keep this tub moving.

"There's a storm brewing, to be sure. But if we're careful, we can avoid the storm altogether," says Silver. "I don't suppose it's in you to apologize to our Mr. Bones and make amends."

Ed swallows thickly as he thinks about it, suddenly cold under his skin.

No.

Not that shit.

Not again.

Bones will be just as bad as Flint if not worse and the thought of being around him as he got drunker and drunker, eyes red rimmed, knuckles already bloodied. But he has to, doesn't he? Because the Walrus crew would be stupid enough to fight them and it would make them happy to see Ed just a fucking dog again at the heels of their idiot mate.

"No," says Feliciano, harsh enough to make Ed jolt a little. "No, that is not done. It is against the pride of the Ranger and it is against the pride of men. You call him a puppy, Don, but he is the one who spoke when no one else would and hurt for it."

"Didn't hurt that much," Ed mutters, face burning, feeling both embarrassed and oddly pleased, like he'd taken a gulp of good, sweet rum. It's even better when Davenport looks down at his feet and murmurs:

"Yes… I suppose…"

"True and all, it's not fair, and I won't stand by and say it was," says Silver. "And I don't want this either, you can believe I don't, though Bones is not as hard a man as Flint and if good fortune is on our side then we'll get through this voyage quickly, with praise at the end of it which might heal the sting." Here, Silver's face turned kind. "But it might have helped if young Teach hadn't made so many enemies."

"And who was that set the men against Ed at the first place so that himself might be São Judas. Hm?"

Oh yeah. Silver had done that, hadn't he?

"Yes, well," Silver says, ruddy face going even redder as he looks down at his feet and Ed's gut tingles. Feliciano is good. Of course he's fucking good because Hornigold wouldn't accept anyone who wasn't. But he's even fucking better than Ed thought.

"Yes, well," says Feliciano, in almost a sneer. "And more than against the pride of the Ranger, if one pride falls so the others will follow. Should Bones be given the pride of the Ranger? The Siren? The one who has set against him every step? He will drink it like wine and leave us all at the foot of the table."
"I can't say as I'd argue with you, Mr. Duarte, but the storm is brewing no matter who is taking the blame," Silver says.

That's true too. Ed doesn't want to be drunk like wine and he really just wants to sail free with the wind in his hair and the sun on his face, but maybe he can do that when they get back to the Ranger.

"It won't be so bad…" Ed says. And it won't be. Maybe the Walrus crew will be jackasses but he can still punch Jack when he needs to or hang around with Long Bob or Feliciano or fish with van Morgenstern.

"No," says Feliciano. "Drink your soup. Your time is done. I will stop the storm. But you must all be with me. May I have you, Don?"

"Yes," murmurs Davenport.

"May I have you Senhor Sebastian?"

"Aye," says Griff and drinks deep from his bottle.

"Silver." It is not a question, almost an order.

Ed's stomach gives a complicated little wiggle and he ducks his head and drinks his soup.

"Might as well," says Silver.

"Bem."

No. Not bem. Ed wants Feliciano to ask him too. Then he can say yes and get a warm smile and maybe the man will even ruffle his hair.

"And, Ed," says Feliciano and Ed nearly chokes, wanting to speak but his mouth is full of soup, which now burns in his throat and the back of his nose. Fortunately, Feliciano doesn't seem to notice and his dark eyes are serious.

"You will have to dance for me, just once, as best you can. No matter what is said. No matter what is done. I will tell you what only to say and when, and you say only this. You will?"

"I will," Ed rasps. And he will. He will do his best. Because Feliciano has him too, even if he didn't ask.

"Grato," says Feliciano, petting his cheek. "And thanks to you all. If we do this we may survive."

xxxxx

In the end, Ed isn't sure if he can dance, but only because he wants to puke- only he really doesn't. Not afucking again. Thank fuck he doesn't have to walk onto the deck on his own, but every step Long Bob takes makes his head spin, and it's all he can do to cling to the Long Bob's back like a barnacle, even with the man's strong arms holding onto his legs.

It's also still raining a little, misting anyway, and he's freezing- and the sight of the small crew, standing midships, lantern light on their faces, makes it even colder. Everyone looks serious, their eyes bitter. Everyone has their weapons on them, cutlass or pistol or dagger or all three. Ed has nothing. Feliciano has his sword, but it's not going to stop a fucking lead shot. The Walrus crew are standing by Bones who is standing nearest the cabin, arms folded, dark eyes glittering like glass shards under the shadowed brim of his hat.

Fuck.

Ed's stomach tumbles uncertainly and he clutches his fingers against Long Bob's collar, feeling the man's hands against his legs damp with sweat. It'll be fine, Ed thinks. It'll be fucking fine. All he has to do is wait for Feliciano to call Bones a failure and then Ed will say what he was told to say and somehow it will all fucking work out.

He feels a little better as Long Bob comes to stand between Jack and van Morgenstern. It feels a little like he's finally back where he belongs, even if Bones is glaring at him.

"So here he is," says Bones. "Hornigold's little bitch. Not so much a good boy now, are you?" The Walrus men snicker and Ed's fingers tighten, but he keeps his mouth shut, presses his teeth together to keep them from chattering as a chill goes through him.

"Who you've all decided to listen to for some godforsaken reason and do you know what you've done, boy? What you've brought on our heads?" And then when Ed says nothing adds: "Well?"

"No," Ed mutters.

"You've sent us into the mouth of the Devil, boy," says Bones. "This current will spit us right out at the Leviathan's feet where she'll be happy to blow us out of the water. And the Princess is not far behind." He turns to the men. "We're absolutely fucked because of this little shit, when we could have and should have turned back to Flint."

And gotten shot the shit out of, Ed thinks. And even if they didn't get it broadsides, they hadn't even expecting the Princess Anne. There's no way in fuck Flint or Hawke or Hornigold would have expected her to show up. Well maybe Hornigold because he's a fucking genius, but either way, the Walrus and the Siren would have been unprepared and while everyone could have piled onto the Ranger to sail like a bat out of hell, she sure as fuck couldn't stand up to the Princess.

Anyway, half of the raiding party was probably at the fucking beach anyway and if the Princess was on their tail, it meant it wasn't blasting the shit out of the raiding party.

Ed chews on the words instead of saying them, though it's stupid that no one else of the Walrus crew even realize what's so blindingly fucking obvious.

"And Silver allowed this to happen," says Bones. "But we all know whose side he's on." The man's voice goes dark and the Walrus crew mutters. Dirk draws his blade then and cleans his nails with it but much more aggressively than Davenport had been, smirking at Ed as if Ed should be afraid. Ed ducks his chin against Long Bob's fuzzy head so he won't glare at the man. He's determined to dance no matter what.

Though Feliciano can call Bones a failure any fucking time now.

"I'm on the side of us all surviving," says Silver, hands braced on his belt. "Yes or no, I follow the voice of the man who didn't hesitate when facing down death. If it is right or wrong, it's not on me to say, it is for the captain to decide, and I'd rather follow a captain that knows his mind."

Ed takes a breath and then realizes that Silver calling Bones an idiot doesn't count so lets it out again. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jack looking at him funny and decides to ignore it.

"Don's better'n you anyway," says Jack and Ed would kick him if he could. Firstly, because it's not fair that he can say whatever he wants, and secondly Jack needs to read the fucking room and thirdly he needs to stop making doe eyes at fucking Davenport.

"One bitch listening to another doesn't make him better, you shit rag," says Bones which is a good insult Ed has to admit. "And we're still caught between the devil's ass and armpit. They're both to blame. You're all to blame. Everyone knows Silver wants the Siren to break away and if he has to get on his knees even to little Donny, he will."

"That is your thought, so it is," says Silver. "I work for the lives of the Walrus crew, I always have, I always will and they are dependent on their leaders knowing their own mind when danger comes knocking. But you've said your piece and won't be spoken against, which I disagree with, but as a humble sailor, my thoughts are toward simpler matters. What is next, Captain Bones?"

And even though Silver had said 'captain' as matter-of-factly as he had said everything else, Bones suddenly looks terrified. But then he sneers and jabs a finger in Ed's direction.

"Punishment!" he snaps. "Keelhaul the little bitch until he screams blood."

Ed tries not to roll his eyes to that. Like he's afraid of a little keelhauling. True he's never been keelhauled or seen anybody been keelhauled, but how bad could it be?

"What? Why? Just cuz you're a jackass?" Jack says and Ed kicks him in the side as best he can because Jack is ruining everything probably, even if Ed agrees. Jack glares and punches him back in the leg which hurts like fuck and if Ed wasn't dancing he'd try to kick him the face next.

"He will not survive it," says Feliciano with a sigh, taking off his sword and setting it to the side. Ed's heart jumps. He didn't know Feliciano was going to do that! The words Ed's supposed to say gather behind his teeth and he keeps his lips around them because it's not time, but he's going to make it someone's time if something happens to Feliciano. "I will take punishment for this."

"What? No!" Ed says.

"No, me!" bellows Long Bob.

"Pft, don't fukken look at me," says van Morgenstern.

"That little shit deserves all the punishment he gets!" says Jack and Ed is torn between wanting to kick him again and grateful that he's at least looking after Feliciano. Ed struggles to get off Long Bob's back so he can do something, but the man is panicking and grips his calves so tightly it hurts, that and even the tiniest jerk makes the deck spin.

And Bones is grinning. Ed hates that grin. He wants to knock it right off of the man's mouth.

"For in the end," Feliciano continues as if he doesn't hear them. "We all must take punishment for your failure."

Bones smile disappears.

"What?"

Ed wonders which failure Feliciano means, then remembers suddenly it's his turn.

"Flint told you to go straight and take the current if this happened, you dick fuck!" Ed snaps, his voice coming out unexpectedly squeaky and high, getting more than a few chuckles. Ed flushes and tries to ignore them.

"He did not," says Bones.

"He did! I was there! But you were on your fourth fucking bottle of the night."

"You…you lie," Bones says but already the Walrus crew are looking at him and each other, though Dirk is still glaring at them like he doesn't buy it.

"It's true. Heard it myself," says Griff.

"But why would he?" Bones looks taken aback. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Because he's a fucking genius," Ed says which feels like the biggest lie he's ever told but the Walrus crew nod at this. Bones opens his mouth and shuts it again.

"Don't listen to this chickadee," says Dirk. "Why would Captain Flint send us into hell?"

"Captain Flint, well, he is a man of faith," says Feliciano, spreading his hands. "And he picked us because he knew we could do this. Are you not the strongest fighter of your crew, Senhor Dirk?"

"Hell yes, but-"

"And is not Senhor Davenport the most clever under fire? And Jack quick of mind?"

"Quickest mind you'll ever fuckin' see!" Jack says. Dumbass.

"It is Senhor Sebastian who brought us to the rocky shore, and Senhor Silver that brings all to order and you Senhor Bones, who knows how to captain on the day to day. We are all here for a reason!" Feliciano spreads his hands and turns in a circle. "Because we have belief! We are brave men of the Walrus!"

A cheer from the Walrus crew.

"Of the Siren!"

A more restrained cheer from the Siren crew.

"Of the Ranger!"

Ed can't manage to get much out of his mouth but it's fine because Long Bob's cheer seems to buzz the glass of the windows. Feliciano turns toward the Walrus crew again, hand over his heart.

"And we forgive, Senhor Bones, because all men have troubles. And we know that though those troubles lead to the bloody death of our lovely Davey, who was struck down without mercy or thought…" Feliciano's voice trembles and he bows his head.

"Poor kid, poor kid," Long Bob is saying, sniffing hugely as snot runs into his beard and Ed moves his hands to the man's shoulders. Pew takes off his hat and even the Toad dabs at the corner of is eye.

"Davey…I …." Bones swallows. "I didn't…mean to…"

"He knows, and would forgive too," says Feliciano, warmly, gently. "So let us forgive words said, and things done, and let us bring glory to our ships and our lost. What say you, brave men? Shall we go forward?"

"Yeah!" the men cheer, even the Siren crew getting into it.

"Shall we be defeated?"

"No!" And this time even Bones chimes in.

"Shouting isn't going to stop us from getting sunk by one ship or the other!" Dirk snaps. We're still heading for disaster!" Which is a good point…and the crew goes silent then, looking to Bones who clears his throat; takes off his hat, turns it around in his hands.

"Cap'n Flint say anything else, brat- er- Teach…? Anything I might have missed?"

Oh… Hm… Well it's true they can't really face the Leviathan. They could maybe trick the Leviathan for a little while, but not long enough to haul ass let alone fight it. But the Dorter couldn't have sailed that far when Ed was out…and since the Princess is trailing them anyway then… Maybe

"Flint wants us to cut through the Devil's Eye," Ed says and everyone looks at him then, even Feliciano. Griff gropes around and takes a bottle from a nearby Siren who doesn't even seem to notice it's gone.

"Are you sure," says Silver, giving him a pointed look.

"Well, yeah I'm fucking sure." Because not only is the Devil's Eye amazing but - "We're close enough to reach it from here. We don't even have to go all the way through. We just have to go through long enough to lose the Princess then go back to Blind Man's Cove." Easy. And! "Feliciano's been there before. That's why Flint sent him along."

Feliciano's eyes widen and his face seems to pale.

"Is that true?" says Bones.

"Ah… sim. Of course. Very true," says Feliciano. "Though it was…a long ago, I will remember much."

See? It's fucking perfect. No one's fucking dying. Ed doesn't have to lick anyone's fucking boots. He's with his crew and van Morgenstern and they're going through the most badass part of the sea he's ever heard of.

This is going to be fucking fantastic.

Even if he's the only one smiling.

xxxxx

Though the smile only lasts as long as it takes to get back to the room. Mostly because he's too fucking tired to do much else but to cling to Long Bob's shoulders. He's relieved when the man lets him slide back onto the bed, even though the movement sets his head to swirling and he has to rest back against the wall. Silver comes in next bringing a lantern followed by Griff and Feliciano who closes the door behind him.

Long Bob frowns down at Ed, patting his head with a few fingers and though it's not a very hard pat, it makes Ed wince.

"You look like shit, Ed," says Long Bob, frowning down at him. "Doesn't he look like shit? We should break someone's face."

"We did all that to avoid breaking faces, my lad," says Silver, sounding tired himself. "And a good job it was too. Though I can't say as we're in a much better position than when we started."

Griff snorts and gets out another bottle of dark rum which he pours in cups. It looks like good rum and Ed's mouth waters for the taste of it. Even if there are only three cups he can always drink from the bottle.

"And how well do you know the Devil's Eye, Mr. Duarte?" asks Silver. Ed realizes Feliciano hasn't even moved from where he'd shut the door. He's resting his head against it instead, on long fingered hand braced against the wood, his hair softly dented against it. It's pretty but it makes a knot grip Ed's throat.

"I don't," says Feliciano quietly. The knot tightens. Fuck.

Fuck.

"Wh… but you said…"

"Ay, I said we barely survived it. I said I don't know how. I don't know if even it's the same place." Feliciano cracks his knuckles against the door. It's not loud, but Ed starts anyway, the hairs on the back of his neck raising. "I wish for once you could have been silent, Edward."

Ed wants to sink into the bed. Wants to disappear into the darkness. He pulls the blankets up to his chin, his face blistering with the growing silence of the room. It's broken only when Griff drinks one cup of rum, and then the other, and then proceeds to drain the bottle.

Silver clears his throat.

"Well… what is done is done," he says.

"I can take it back," Ed says.

"No." Feliciano's voice is tight and angry.

"It's a bit too late for that, Eddie-boy," says Silver with a touch of sympathy which crawls under Ed's skin and he clenches his fingers in the blankets.

"No, it's not! I'll just say it was a trick or a lie or…"

"No, you are to sit and you are to rest and you are to keep quiet," Feliciano snaps. Ed jerks back, both by his tone and the look in his eyes which seems to cut Ed through and through. It's only a quick glance, though and the next moment Feliciano is rubbing the space between his eyes, murmuring:

"Eu preciso de uma bebida."

Long Bob is sucking on his lower lip, looking like he wants to go to Feliciano, and Ed wishes he would. It would be nice for Feliciano to have someone he could count on that wasn't a total fuck up.

"It's not so bad as that," says Silver into the quiet. "You're a bit hard done by it, Mr. Duarte, and I won't say as it's otherwise, but I'm sure you remember more than you think. Let's you and I talk about it." He puts a hand on Feliciano's shoulder, and Feliciano sighs and nods, pushing once more back into the night. Silver takes one last look at them over his shoulder.

"And I'd take his words to heart, lad," he says to Ed. "You're smart as a blade, and no one will say any different, but try not to be so smart you cut everyone around you."

Silver shuts the door behind him. The silence is even louder now save for Long Bob shifting from foot to foot and the sound of Griff drinking himself into a stupor and the slow steady roaring in Ed's ears.

"Oh, you fucked up, Ed. You really did," says Long Bob, but gently, and Ed hates him just a little. He pulls the covers over his head and mutters:

"Go to hell." Only quietly, so Long Bob won't hear.

It doesn't make him feel much better.

xxxxx

Ed sighs and rests his chin on the crossbeam of the top gallant of the main royal mast. To the East the sky is a melon rind, the sun only just throwing a few yawning beams into the sky. There's just enough to see by, though they'll have to rely on instinct for a lot of it- Which normally wouldn't be a problem except everyone is tired as fuck.

It's been two days and the only reason things haven't been as shit as they could be is because there's no time to do anything. They wake up shit dog early and sleep shit dog late and every moment not spent in the rigging is spent trying not to pass out on deck and eat the food that Silver gives them. It's good food, fresh from the island, but he is too shit tired to enjoy it.

The worst part is, he has what he had been hoping for. Things are…kind of back to normal. Instead of a lonely berth under the fo'c'sle protected by a patched bit of canvas, he has a cabin. Not the captain's cabin, because he had to give that over to Bones, but one of the mate's cabins that's just as big as the rabbit's. All of the Ranger crew make their berth there.

Except… Jack wasn't there last night; and Long Bob is spending all his time on Dog's Watch, only coming to sleep in the morning and Feliciano sleeps in a hammock rather than the bed, passing out the moment he flops into it. …and well there's van Morgenstern, but he whistle-snores in a way that makes Ed want to smother him with a pillow. There are no late night talks or jokes or Feliciano's arm wrapped around his middle- and the man's not really talking to him anyway but Ed hopes it's just because everyone's too damn tired.

It's fine though, this isn't supposed to be a fun adventure, but them running for their lives from the Princess Anne who is just a ghost in the distance, but never leaves the horizon. They're lucky only in that the moon has only just started filling up, so that they can anchor in the pitch dark, so long as they douse all the lights.

Even better…or maybe worse? Griff thinks they might maybe possibly reach the Devil's Eye by sundown and God have mercy on them if they do and have mercy on them if they don't, he says. And it isn't going to be fun at all, even if Ed wants it to be.

He sighs again and Jack on the opposite end of the crossbeam from him says:

"Oh, shut the fuck up."

"Fuck off," Ed says without heat because he doesn't have any. Firstly because he's too tired and secondly because he doesn't deserve to and thirdly because it's cold as balls out here.

He yawns as he watches the other crew get in place so they can set to. Beneath them Silver is pacing back and forth midships. He and Griff and Job Anderson who wrenched his ankle yesterday are the only ones on deck. Everyone else, including Bones, is up in the rigging getting ready.

Ed deserves to be on deck for the shit he pulled. He deserves to be on deck with a mop in his hands. He deserves to be a red waistcoat for everything he's done. Even though he's ditched the gray waistcoat for a white Navy Man shirt and a short blue Navy Man jacket that's a bit big for him and still the same stupid stripey trousers, but also a bit of gold from a pretty necklace he found with an oval pendant which Jack had called girl ass shit- but Ed bets that he's just mad that he didn't find it first.

Maybe he'll put the waistcoat back on when they finally have time to piss again- to show Feliciano he's sorry- that he's ready to stop being stupid.

A slight change in the wind blows the scent of oily flowers across his face and Ed wrinkles his nose, glancing over at Jack who is too busy staring behind them to notice, folds creasing his forehead like he's an old man. He's wearing the stupid coat again too that flaps and drags in the wind and his hair is bound up in a tiny ribbon, like he's trying to be Hornigold or Davenport but forgot how to be Jack.

"Hey, jackass," Ed says, just to speak.

"Shut up, moron, I've gotta concentrate."

"On what," Ed says. All they have to do is to let fall the top gallant at Silver's word, then bolt up and do the same to the main royal, the main skysail and the moon'sl. Twenty hands on a four masted ship is a bit of a pain in the ass, he'll admit, and it's a lot of fucking climbing really fucking quick, but it's not like they didn't do this yesterday.

"On not getting my ass blasted open," Jack says. "We coulda just stayed on the Ranger and done what was planned at the start, but no you had to open your big stupid mouth."

"Fuck you," Ed grumbles. "We would have been outgunned anyway, and if I had you wouldn't have had your big stupid coat or your big stupid Davenport."

"Don ain't big, he's normal sized. And cool… I mean, kinda….for a dude…you know… And he's smarter'n you. Dumbass."

"He is not." They're about as smart as each other, though he still likes that he got one over on him.

"He is. You don't see him throwin' Felix to the wolves."

"Shut up," Ed mutters, face stinging. He can see Feliciano now slowly climbing to a lower spar on the foremast. His leg is probably hurting him more than usual these days and Ed is starting to regret that too. He should have just let himself get stabbed. "I didn't mean to…" he mutters.

"Didn't mean to." Jack snorts. "That's your problem. You know the only reason you get away with shit with Hornigold is because he likes your good ideas and can shit on you for the bad ones. But the real world ain't like that. Here sure as fuck ain't like that. And you can't go through life with Daddy holdin' your hand."

"Fuck you," Ed says through his teeth, gripping the sail under his hands. Hornigold isn't- and he never wants Hornigold to hold his hand- but maybe Hornigold has been holding his hand all this time. Maybe Ed just hadn't noticed. Maybe he is still a stupid kid after all.

"Stand by to let fall, lads!" Silver calls from below. "Man the topsail sheets and halliards!"

"Words do things, Ed," says Jack, shifting his weight against the ratlines and rolling his shoulders. "Bout time you remembered that."

xxxxx

It's noon before Ed is able to make his wobbly way down from the rigging. A good wind shift to port had them all scrambling to tack into it and put even more distance between them and the Princess. He'd scrambled up and down, hauled taught and laid in. His face is burnt and his hands are raw, his lips prickly and broken from the salt and the wind. But the Princess Anne is a misty dot on the horizon now. She'll catch the wind too, probably, and come after them, but by then they'll be even closer to the Devil's Eye and…

And safety maybe…

Sort of.

He sets his feet on the deck and leans against the mizzenmast, wishing it were a bed, wishing he were back on the Ranger, that he'd never even mentioned the idea of the Dorter. He aches everywhere and around him the rest of the crew slip like slugs to the deck.

Jack flops down from the foremast, sprawling on the deck like a starfish, hands and legs spread. He's gotten rid of the coat because the day is hot and he is soaked in sweat. Ed is preparing himself to go toward him, but Davenport comes to stand over him, hands on his hips, until toppling over in an exaggerated way almost directly onto him. Jack's stomach moves in a laugh and Ed feels an odd twinge and looks away.

Only to see Feliciano, sitting on the stairs leading to the quarterdeck, gripping the railing in a tight fist as Long Bob massages his leg. He too is covered in sweat, but his face is gray and laced with pain. Stupid. Ed thinks, bonking his forehead lightly against the mast. Idiot. Feliciano shouldn't even be here. He should be back at Paradise conning drinks or sunning himself near the prow of the Ranger, hands behind his head and smiling.

Ed will just have to make sure Feliciano gets back there, that's all. But not by speaking. No. Ed's never going to speak again, at least not about anything important. He's just going to keep his mouth shut and behave and…

He hears someone approaching on the other side and pushes away from the mast so he doesn't get his head knocked into it. It's a good thing too because Bones is striding up to him, tying back his hair, shirt almost completely gray from time spent up in the rigging.

"Teach, with me," Bones says, his voice rough from salt and wind. Ed wants to say 'fuck you', but fortunately doesn't and is too tired anyway. He braces himself, flinches only a little when Bones cuffs him on the back of his head hard enough to make his teeth click, and falls into step behind him, trying to keep his legs from wobbling all over the place.

They come upon Silver who is bandaging Dirk's hand where he'd gotten rope burn across his right palm and Ed tries not to stare at the flakes of white skin or the raw redness of it.

"Get everyone who's necessary to the state room," says Bones. Silver raises and eyebrow and Dirk's eyes narrow, flicking between the two of them.

"What's going on?"

Bones taps Dirk upside the head with the flat of his hand, lighter than he'd smacked Ed, but hard enough to make the man wince.

"Now there's no call for that," says Silver, though he doesn't seem very bothered.

"If you don't control them, I will," says Bones. "You'll be told when you need to know, Mr. Dirk."

"Yes, boss," Dirk says and Ed doesn't like that. Doesn't trust it. It unsettles something deep in his gut. Bones doesn't even acknowledge it, anyway, just continues on and up the steps though fortunately the other set that Feliciano is not on. Though Feliciano and Long Bob are watching him and glance at each other.

Ed looks away, heart stinging though he's not sure why.

What Bones called the state room is pretty much the captain's quarters, and it's pretty huge, though not as big as Flint's. It must have been a pretty interesting room at some point but now it's a fucking mess. Papers and clothes are flung everywhere. The oil painting on the wall with a ship facing a storm has been stabbed with a cutlass which is still hanging there and the whole room reeks of booze. There are empty bottles lying by the bed, clustered on a shelf, rolling back and forth with the pitch and yaw of the ship.

Ed would breathe through his mouth but he doesn't want to fucking taste it.

"You know what to do, boy," says Bones, pointing to the table in the center of the room, where there is a bottle and a few cups. Of fucking course. "And keep your mouth shut until I ask. You're here as the voice of Flint but nothing else."

Fucker.

It's like Bones is trying to be Flint the way he sits at the chair, chin up, jaw stern. His dark eyed gaze is resting on the bottle in Ed's hand like he already wants to down it. Ed is tempted to throw it through the fucking window. Ed almost gives into the temptation before the door swings open, making them both start.

"Oh my God," Davenport says, staggering back into Jack, a hand over his mouth and nose.

"Holy shit," Jack echoes, not even caring that he's bumped into and Ed spots Jack's long tan fingers against Davenport's side, pressing the soft looking cloth of his big stupid coat.

"You've got a problem?" says Bones in a low, dangerous voice.

"…No," Davenport says a beat too late. His gaze flicks to Ed and he startles again as if he hadn't even noticed him being here, then sighs and takes up a chair at Bones' right, flicking his coat out behind him and folding one leg over the other.

"The fuck you even doing here, Ed?" Jack says, taking a seat beside Davenport and glaring at him. "Never mind, I don't wanna know, you just stop doin' whatever it is you think you came in here to do."

He hadn't even fucking done anything! All he'd done was obeyed like he's supposed to-

Except kind of not supposed to — because he's not supposed to dance anymore?

Unless he is?

Except that it's a bad thing?

Well, he's shit at it anyway, which is why he'd like someone to fucking acknowledge that he's trying.

Silver comes in the room, raising his eyebrows at Ed as if not at all surprised by this in that tired adult way that Hornigold gets sometimes, like Silver thinks Ed is stirring shit which he really fucking isn't. And then Feliciano limps in after him, also cringing a bit at the smell. He looks at Ed then and heaves a long sigh.

"I didn't say fucking anything," Ed says, the words coming out ground through his teeth without him meaning to. Feliciano shakes his head and waves a hand before sitting at Bones' left. Like Ed is being dismissed. And it hurts. And it's not fair. And maybe he shouldn't have said he hadn't said anything and maybe he should quit speaking alto-fucking-gether.

"Well as we're all here now, and I apologize for this," Silver says, shutting the door behind him and locking them in with the stench. "I assume we're going to have a chat about the Devil's Eye."

"Might as well seeing as we're almost on it," says Bones flatly and Feliciano pales.

Shit.

"Look whatever the little prick he told ya just now, don't listen," says Jack, flapping a hand at Ed. "He's an idiot who don't know nothin'."

Fuck you, Ed wants to say.

"Of course he doesn't, do you think I'm listening to a kid?" says Bones. "He's just here in case captain said something."

"Captain better fuckin' not have," says Jack, reaching out and slapping Ed on the thigh. Ed will let that go. He's mature now. He's behaving now. This is all fine.

"Best get started in any case," Davenport says. Then snaps his fingers and points to his cup. "Boy."

Ed closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath through his nose, though the smell makes him want to gag. He won't kill Davenport. He will not hurt Davenport. He won't even punch Davenport because Jack likes him.

"Er…" Davenport says. "I mean…if you would…please. I could use a drink."

That surprises him a little and the bottle stops creaking under his hands.

"You don't need to ask him," says Jack. "That's what he's here for."

"Pelo amor de deus, Jack," Feliciano mutters. "Shut up."

That makes the rest of the anger leave Ed in a rush to be filled in with a flood of something like shame. A dark feeling begins to shiver at the base of his skull and he tries to sweep it away as he pulls the loose cork from the bottle neck and begins to pour everyone's drinks- starting with Bones and Davenport, skipping Jack completely and getting a snarled Hey! Before filling Feliciano's cup and giving the rest to Silver who gives him an amused salute.

"Well," says Bones after a long gulp, wiping the wine from his mouth with his sleeve. "Devil's Eye. What do you know?"

"I do not remember much," says Feliciano. "There were many storms and strange sounds. Beautiful creatures were in the sea and in the morning, the fog was a shroud. There were rocks as teeth and strange broken islands, one with bones on the shore of a monster of the deep."

God, it sounds cool. It's not cool. It's serious. They're being chased. They could founder or crack up on the rocks or a bunch of other things. Or get caught up in a storm or end up bleached bones on a rock with other bleached bones. Which also sounds fucking cool but it isn't. It is not.

"Holy shit," Jack says, breathed like a prayer and Ed says:

"Right?" Before he can stop himself. Feliciano's mouth twitches into a smile but it's gone as soon as it arrives.

"But that was a long ago time. Three or four years."

"And that's it," Bones says. "That's all you have."

"It is so," Feliciano takes a long drink.

"Though he may remember more when we're on the sea itself," says Silver. "Memory being what it is, faded one moment, returned the next at a sight or a sound. So we should be grateful for what we have, says I, little though it may be, and-"

"It is completely fucking useless," says Bones, slamming his fist on the table and making everyone jolt. "What am I supposed to tell the men? Some sort of fairy tale? Some sort of maybe? You-" he jabs a finger at Ed. "Made it seem like he actually knew shit."

Feliciano does know shit. Feliciano knows plenty of shit! Ed keeps his teeth clamped down so he doesn't say anything and anyway, he doesn't have to because Davenport scoffs and says:

"He seems to know more than you." Only he doesn't finish because Bones backhands him, sending him out of his chair and sprawling on the floor. Jack is on his feet in an instant and Ed grips the bottle instinctively.

"Sit," says Feliciano. It's more like a snarl. Maybe the angriest Ed has ever seen him. Jack sits reluctantly but only after Davenport gets to his feet, touching his bruised cheek tenderly with his fingertips. The bottle creaks and Ed, very carefully, sets it on the table, keeping a palm flat against the mouth to stop it from sliding around with the swells.

"I am sick of backtalk," says Bones. "And excuses. And now we're trapped and it's all your fault, you little fuck."

Which, yes, no shit, everyone knew that.

"You should not have listened," says Feliciano. "For he is a child that speaks much and listens little."

Ed winces and looks down at the table. The anger is replaced with bilge water now and the strange dark feeling only grows. Jack doesn't help when he adds:

"You got that right," under his breath.

"But you did listen, and so gave the order, and now it is. We cannot turn so we must face things as they are."

Bones looks as if he's going to backhand Feliciano, or at least his fist clenches, but Silver steps in before anything can happen.

"Well, it's not a pretty picture to be sure, but it's a true one, and beating those with honest mouths doesn't go far to providing a solution. What I see here is that we have a problem, but four brilliant minds to solve it. So instead of loosening teeth, why not put heads together?"

"Fine." Bones folds his arms. "Tell me, brilliant brats." He sneers. "What should we do."
Silence. Davenport is still touching his cheek as if in shock, head down, Jack is watching him concerned and Ed sees him bump Davenport's foot under the table with his own, making Davenport smile a little.

"Well?" says Bones in a manner that's more like a snarl. Davenport and Jack look at each other, then to Feliciano who looks pale and haunted again. Then they all look at him. All of them. Though Feliciano looks away quickly enough, burying his hand in his hair.

Ed decides he hates them.

All of them.

Except Feliciano.

So fucking much.

It's a pure feeling, an honest feeling, like the calm in the center of the storm. And just like the calm, he can see all around him, the raging clouds and waves, the blue sky, the shining water. And he knows just what to do.

The answer is so fucking simple.

"Didn't you tell me to get the maps, Mr. Bones? So we know what the fuck it is we're looking at?" he says dully. Then to drive the point home adds. "That's what Captain Flint would do."

Feliciano gives him a sharp look which he ignores. Bones blinks, anger disappearing from his face.

"Oh…maps. Aye…yes I did. Thanks for reminding me. There are some over there, on that desk, I think…"

God, what a waste of space. Only better than fucking ballast. Ed goes to the table, clearing off more bottles, wrinkling his nose to see that one of the pristine maps is stained wine dark and frankly fucking illegible. He lets himself be absolutely fucking disgusted at it before wiping all expression from his face and turning back to the table.

He feels a bit better with all the maps spread out. Only one is completely damaged and the other two are only a little rough around the edges. Ed leans on the table to get a better look, then thinks better of it and sits on the table instead. If anyone wants to try slamming him into anything then they're going to have a hell of a harder time.

The maps themselves are well detailed of the surrounding area, which means the Navy knows a fuck of a lot, including a worrying amount around Nassau, but even so, the Devil's Eye is mostly blank. There are some ideas sketched here and there and the same route inked between two of them that's missing from the third; and that portion of the Eye at least had missed most of the damage. Though there seems to be more beyond it that is covered in fucking wine.

Because of course it is.

"Fucking useless," Bones mutters. "If we see that route so do the Navy bastards, and we'll be shat out in front of the Leviathan anyway likely. And what would your Hornigold say to that?" he snarls at Jack.

"Well uh…"

"Or Hawke, I bet he'd have an idea."

Davenport looks up from where he's stroking the end of his low ponytail. He pales a bit, flicking the end over his shoulder, opens his mouth, and shuts it again with a look at Bones.

Is he afraid?

Why is he fucking afraid?

Is he a commander or isn't he?

"Spit it out!" Bones barks and Davenport winces.

"Just say what's on your mind, lad," says Silver lightly. "No one is going to beat you for it. Even Cap'n Flint learned his lesson from that as Mr. Griff can tell you," he adds, giving Bones a pointed look.

"Yeah, Don, come on, you got this," Jack says, shaking the back of Davenport's chair a bit and making him smile.

It's not fair that Davenport gets so gently nudged. It's not fair and Ed knows it and he also knows why, so Kupe's memory doesn't have to tell him. He doesn't give a shit. They just need to get on with it.

"I'm wondering…" Davenport clears his throat. "I'm wondering… If perhaps Mr. Duarte may know more than even he realizes… For example." Davenport sounds stronger now, standing to brace his hands on the table. "Do you remember how long you were in the Devil's Eye? Or the speed you were going?"

"It felt like an age," says Feliciano, shaking his head. "I don't know… but…ay… I think…the speed was…troubling- for the mate. The captain of Rosa was a hurried man, and the mate was a slow one. A turtle." He waggles his hand in the air a bit like a turtle's swaying back.

"How big was the Rosa?" Davenport asks.

"I… it seemed like the world. The biggest ship I had been on."

"Helpful," Bones says and really, there's no point even being angry with him. It just wastes fucking time.

"We've seen the Rosa," Ed says instead. "Wasn't it as big as the Ranger?"

"A bit smaller," Jack says. "But she sat heavy, I remember."

"So with any luck, we'll have better chance of navigating then the Princess, and more opportunities," says Davenport. "We may have to pull sail, but if we deviate from the expected route, the Princess may founder in following us or even turn back."

"Yeah, but we might founder if we hit a rock or some shit," says Jack. "I don't guess you remember anything to look out for."

"No…" says Feliciano. "Nothing…nothing that helps."

"Do you remember the angle of the sun when you went in? When you left?" asks Davenport.

"There were storms… Gray weather…"

"Hm," Ed folds his arms as he peers over the maps. The Devil's Eye is just a small part of them of course, and the surrounding area is familiar. Very familiar. Like the back of his hand or the press of his clothes. There is Fish Hook, and Skull Fort, and that island chain which wakes a kind of strange dark fondness in him. They'd met the Rosa there, not far from Blind Man's actually.

Oh…wait…

"Hey where were you going anyway?" Ed asks slowly as the thought comes to him. "When you went into the Devil's Eye. Do you remember?"

"To sea, I think, to avoid Leviatã."

"And then what happened? Did you make it?"

"No…" Feliciano sits up, stands, hand braced on the table. "We turned back. Not back. But…" He traces an arc in the air. "They were speaking because they did not want to risk going against the wind. After… we had to return to the coast we left and lost sweet time. No one was pleased."

"You mean around here?" Ed points to the island chain. "Where we found you?"

"Sim!" Feliciano nods. "But further back. Your attack was not until a month."

"So they must have come up this way," Ed says, tracing his finger along a route that lead into the Eye

"Or here," Davenport adds, tracing another line that Ed hadn't thought of. "Either way, we'll have to cut across the Navy's route to get into the Eye itself. We may be able to deviate off it, but even if the Princess feels safe enough to follow, they might not be able to sail as fast- or want to risk it. We might just make it."

"And maybe we can wreck her," says Jack, thoughtfully stroking the small but impressive pelt of hair he had just under his lower lip. "Find a shoal or a sandbar or even a rock we can stick a flag and maybe some of their clothes on, make it look like people are there, and scuttle her."

"Not a bad idea," Ed says. It's a bit far in ahead, but he can see it working almost.

"Yeah? Think so?" Jack beams. Then clears his throat. "I mean…" He glances at Davenport who seems amused. "I know so! It's a great idea. We should do it."

"Well let's see what the waters are like before we think of trickery," says Silver. "One league at a time, as they say. As for this, I think it's well enough to tell the men, don't you, Mr. Bones."

Ed blinks, having half forgotten he was there. Bones starts as if he wasn't paying attention then nods.

"Yes… yeah… that's - that's great. I— yeah it's perfect."

Ed rolls his eyes

"Then let's show ourselves back on deck," says Silver, and goes to pull open the door.

"Yeah…" Bones stands, chair legs scraping across the floor. "Bring me another bottle, boy."

"Yes, sir."

Jack laughs.

"Man, Hornigold would shit himself if he heard that! Maybe this place is good for ya, Eddie!"

Jack reaches as if to ruffle his hair but the look Ed gives him is enough to stop him before Ed has to bite his fingers off. Bones snorts a laugh himself, raising his head.

"That's why Flint is the best and I'm just a step below," he says. "And don't forget it." With that said, Bones leaves, swaggering and swaying out into the patchy sunlight.

"I can't believe I have to go out looking like this," Davenport is saying, touching his bruised cheek. "Everyone will see!"

"Aww, it's fine, Don." Jack loops an arm around his shoulders. "If anyone starts shit, we'll just punch 'em."

"You always get right to the point," Davenport says as they go out the door. Jack lets out a stupid laugh that reminds him of a donkey - and it's…it's really kind of… like seeing a kitten or a baby sea lion or something.

Ed feels again the strange longing pull for something, something he doesn't know and can't name and feels like he had felt it before, but doesn't now and can't remember. But it doesn't matter. He's too fucking busy anyway.

Silver yawns.

"Blow me down, when this is done with I'm putting myself to bed for a year and see if I don't," Silver says, cracking his back. "Good job, by the way, Mr. Duarte." Silver winks. "I knew you had it in you."

"Let us hope what is in me carries us through," says Feliciano, seeming tired suddenly as if all the energy has left him

"Oh, I have a good feeling about this," Silver says. And then knocks on the wooden doorway. And with that he leaves as well. Feliciano is watching him now, but his face is serious and a little angry as if he doesn't approve. Well he doesn't have to approve. He can get fucked.

Ed doesn't have time, and really they've just taken one tiny step into the Devil's Eye. They need to think three or four or five steps ahead. He shifts to sit cross legged on the table, wrenching his hair behind him into a knot so he can have a clear view of the maps. None of them are consistent. Even the damaged one. But maybe they can combine them all together to get a better idea.

"Ed," Feliciano says. "You do not need to do this."

"Yeah, I do," Ed says, returning his attention to the maps. "If you remember something tell me and I'll say it's Flint's or Bone's idea. It should work even if you're wrong." Though hopefully the maps can provide enough so Feliciano won't be wrong, or they can tack around it somehow. He rubs his chin, staring at the maps, and the squiggles that he knows are words and wishes he could read.

"They will soon grow tired of it, if there are too many mistakes. Bones is not that much a fool. And if he is the crew is not. They will think it is your voice, which may cause someone to come for you, and we do not need another mutiny." Feliciano sounds vaguely amused at the last. That's true but it's not a big deal.

"So let them come after me. I'll tell Long Bob and van Morgenstern too."

"No," Feliciano says, his voice stern now. "It is mine."

"It is not yours!" Ed snaps, ears stinging hot and knuckles too where he cracked them into the table, making Feliciano jump and him feel a little guilty, but so what. "I don't give a shit if they come for me! I'm not going to cry just because of a little bruise! I'm going to get up and think of some other way! This is mine! I started it and I'm going to fucking end it and you just fucking stay out of it."

Because he needs this to fucking work. He can't have anyone interfering. Feliciano is still staring at him and Ed starts to feel worse by the second. He shouldn't have yelled. Shouldn't have been a dick. Shouldn't have done a lot of things, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do?

"Can…can you tell Silver I need Griff, please?" Ed says, hearing his own voice sounding small. He hates to ask just when telling Feliciano to fuck off but… Griff would know better how to read the maps and see what he's missing. And Ed can't have people see him just ask Griff himself. And he can't have people see him asking Silver either.

God, he can't wait until he's bigger and older and stronger so he doesn't have to go through three fucking people to get what he needs done.

"I will," says Feliciano quietly. And then in a voice like a barely sheathed blade: "But you do not tell me who to protect."

Maybe the blade isn't sheathed at all because Ed feels it slip between his rib and right into his heart. He winces, glad Feliciano leaves before the maps begin to blur.

xxxxx

Fortunately, the blur is gone by the time they reach the Devil's Eye, as well as the rest of the pesky feelings. There is nothing but a hollow under Ed's ribs, or maybe as if his heart has been stuffed with wool. It's a good feeling. A helpful feeling. He hopes it stays by the time he has time to talk to Long Bob or van Morgenstern, or when he has to speak to Feliciano again. Actually, he hopes it stays forever, because it's really fucking convenient, honestly.

He yawns and leans against his fist as he peers into the water from the railing. Overhead, the sunset is burning, not spent yet, though soon twilight will settle across the sky. The Princess Anne has fallen back to wait on the horizon, because it's absolutely fucking insane to go into these waters as the light falls- which makes it the best time to do it.

If they can get past the headwaters, it'll be smoother sailing though. The water is so clear here, Ed can practically see the bottom, which means it's worryingly close. The waters around the ship are littered with snarls of rocks and reefs and every hand is clutching at rail or line, peering over and ahead, looking for signs of danger. Their world is silent as death save for the slopping of the water and the creaking lines and what sail they've let out- just enough to give the current a helping hand, just enough to creep.

It's kind of shit though that everyone's too afraid to piss, because really the Devil's Eye is really fucking cool so far. The rocks and reefs are badass to look at, and there's animals here too. Rays are swimming sleek and dappled in the Dorter's shadow, and there are faint cries carrying over the water from a far off rock covered in black birds with white flashes across their chests or throats the color of fresh blood. He wishes he could watch them or throw them scraps of fish.

He can ignore them though, for the most part, to keep an eye on the water. The only thing that's hard to ignore is the huge fuck off skull staring at them across the water. The biggest motherfucking skull Ed has ever seen. It's really a fuck off cliff, so big that it's still mostly covered with the horizon. Two massive caves make up the eyes and a smaller but still huge cave is the nose and below clinging vines and moss that criss cross over the rock and make it look a little like jagged teeth.
He bets there's treasure there, or monsters, or skeletons or shipwrecks or any number of cool things waiting to be discovered. Maybe if they survive this, he can tell Hornigold about it so they can visit it later.

But he can't and won't and he won't even tell Hornigold about it so they can visit it later on if everyone survives. Not that they have much chance of it if Jack keeps staring at it like an asshole, mouth open, eyes wide. Ed kicks him in the shin.

"Ow, shit."

"You're supposed to be watching the water," Ed says. Even if not for much longer. The capala, or chapel, Ed guesses, is just up ahead. Feliciano thinks that the waters will run deeper when they pass it and smoother, and that they can ride the current for a day and a half until they reach the pebbled beach and have to suck their dicks in again.

"Yeah, yeah. What are you daddy's little pirate, now?" Jack says. "Or maybe Bones' puppy." Ed ignores him, even when Toad snorts a laugh right beside him. It would be so easy to punch Jack in the ribs or pull on Toad's stupid little pigtail until he squeals or even spit on Jack's too big stupid ass coat.

But he's not going to do any of that. There's no time for it for one thing and for another it's going to pull everyone's attention from not getting their ass scraped to shit.

"Two degrees port!" Long Bob bellows from the prow from where he is standing with Silver who has a foot on the bowsprit so he can peer into the water. They all hold their breath as the ship slowly shifts and then let it out when Long Bob says:

"Clear!"

"Hey, psst, didn't you hear me?" Jack says, moving closer, nudging him. "I called you Daddy's Little Pirate. Bones' puppy."

"I'll kill you later," Ed says absently. They are a little too close to the rocks now. "Think we can slip by that?" He gestures to a cluster of jagged black rock, just ahead.

"Uh, lemme check." Jack climbs up onto the railing, grabbing the rigging and leaning out as far as he can. He has to push up on his toes and Ed secures him by the ankle, just in case.

"Yeah, we should be good."

"Commanders to the fore!" Long Bob calls, which startles Jack so badly that only Toad gripping the back of his stupid coat keeps him from taking a header into the water.

"Jesus God," Jack yelps, clinging onto the rigging. Ed takes a breath to calm his own heart because he just got it flat and slaps the Jack in the calf.

"Be more careful, fuckstick," Toad says in his croaky voice and Ed hates to have to agree with him. Jack hops back onto the deck, straightening his coat and patting Toad on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Mr. Toad. Good work."

Ed stares. It's like Jack thinks he's Hornigold all of a sudden. As if Hornigold would ever really thank anyone for anything ever.

"It's Tadpoole," the Toad says, but Jack has already started toward the prow. Ed hops to keep in step with him, straightening his own Navy Man jacket, letting the cool weight of the pendant around his neck glint in the sunlight.

"Stop preening, you little shit. You're just suckin' up like always."

Ed ignores him again because there's no point. Silver, Long Bob and weirdly, Dirk are waiting at the prow. The wind is still shifting with Dirk, Ed can feel it- It's in the way Dirk is standing, the coldness of his eyes as he looks down at them. Even the pockmarks on his face seem to stand out in jagged edges. He's watching them now as if they are fish and he is a shark.

Jack doesn't even seem to notice Dirk, just moves right to the bowsprit grabbing onto a bolt line so he can hang onto it as he peers into the water. Long Bob slips to stand beside Jack, beaming hugely even for Long Bob and cracking his knuckles over and over like he does when he's trying to keep a secret.

It'll probably be a big secret too. A big amazing fuck off secret, but Ed won't ask, because Long Bob will let it be known in his own time and Ed doesn't want to take his moment.

Bones arrives shortly after, bringing Feliciano with him and Ed has to concentrate on keeping his balled up fists deep within the blue Navy Man coat. Feliciano looks pale and worried and Bone's square hand is tight on his shoulder. Ed doesn't care. He can't care. He can't afford to care. Maybe he'll get to snap the bastards fingers like twigs later, he tells himself, comforts himself with that thought, tells his heart to stop wiggling.

Then he accidentally meets Feliciano's gaze and his heart and cheeks sting so he has to look away, down along the line of the bowsprit. The swirl of conflicting emotion wash through him like cross waves, making him feel a little dizzy and a little sick.

Fuck off, he tells them. Fuck off. Fuck off!

"And here's the other one," Silver says as Davenport thumps down from the rigging, like always, but not quite as showy as before. Dirk gives a kind of a snarled chuckle.

"Our commanders," he says. Spits the word. "Two drowned rats, a Spanish dog and a little brat."

And a drunk, Ed wants to add, because Bones already has a bottle in his other hand. But aside from the Spanish dog part, Dirk isn't wrong. Because of their stupid coats, both Davenport and Jack are drenched in sweat.

"Mr. Bones is the commander and captaining this ship at present, and I'll thank you to remember that," says Silver. "But we're not a single crew as I've said more than once, Mr. Dirk, and so we must do things politically."

"Cowardly," Dirk says and spits over the railing. It wouldn't be too hard to stab him in the spleen. Though if he does that, he'll have to stab Bones too as Feliciano draws in a soft sharp breath at the press of the bastard's fingers.

Ed's definitely going to break those fingers off like twigs one day. Or maybe cut them off one by one and make Bones eat them. And enjoy it too.

The fucker.

"Now we're almost at the chapel, as you can see," says Silver, gesturing. And Ed does see. It's really fucking cool just like everything else in this place, and like most things in this place, mostly made of a fuckoff big black rock. In this case though there are flowers growing over the face of it, blue and white and pink, ruffling with the breezes and looking weirdly delicate. The flowers grow in a rough circle just below the gentle rounded peak of the stone looking like stained glass.

"Beyond it we're in clear sailing, so we think, but, our eagle eyed Mr. Robertson here caught sight of a cross current which may help speed us along."

Long Bob grins then, showing all his teeth.

"Yeah! A current! I spotted it myself! Long Bob is the best!" Long Bob says, flexing.

"Long Bob is the best!" says Jack, flexing too, not that Ed could tell anything from the stupid big folds of the stupid big coat. They look at Ed as if he should flex too but he doesn't feel like it.

"Roberto is very good," says Feliciano, voice a little thin and winces again when Bones shakes him, making Jack frown and Long Bob drop his flex like he doesn't care and Ed wants to punch Bones in the liver.

"Get on with it, Silver" Bones says, already slurring.

"The question is, should we take it? Or wait until the pebbled beach. You see-" he gestures with one of the maps that Griff had edited. "This area isn't completely unmarked."

"May I look?" says Davenport. Silver hands the map over and Davenport opens it up, holding it in front of himself like he's the only jackass that needs to see it. Ed can't even glimpse a single line from this angle, and even though he helped make the damn thing, he can't remember it all. Grumbling, he ducks under Davenport's arm to get a good look himself. The man freezes and looks down at him.

"Erm…hello…"

"Hey!" Jack snaps. "Where do you think you're horning in on?"

God, does he have to be so annoying?

"I'm not horning in on anything, damnit," Ed snaps. "I'm just looking at the map!"

"Well I am too!" Jack says, hopping off the bowsprit and crowding to Davenport's other side.

"Maps are great," says Long Bob behind them, breath ruffling Ed's hair.
"They sure as fuck are," Jack says. Then sniffs. "Where are we?"

Ed rolls his eyes and points.

"And…erm…where is the current?" Davenport asks, sounding a bit like wood about to splinter. He even squeaks when Long Bob pushes an arm between his and Ed's to jab at a place not all that far away, which doesn't give them much time to decide.

"Yeah the map's marked beyond that, but not a whole hell of a lot," Jack says. Which is true.

"Yes, I don't like how it bottoms out into nothing. It may be we can't get past a certain point or it's too dangerous," Davenport says. "It might be safer to take the main current to pebble beach." He hums. Ed is close enough to feel the vibration in his chest which is fucking weird. And that same oily flowery smell which meant that Jack had been hanging out with him the other day.

Not that any of that matters right now.

Even if it's really fucking annoying.

"Hey, Felix," Jack says, loud enough to make both him and Davenport wince. "Get over here!"

"It's Feliciano," Ed says.

"Felix is fine, he don't care."

"Feliciano," Ed snaps.

"Mr. Duarte," Davenport says. "Can you come take a look?"

"I can," Feliciano says, moving from Bone's grip which loosens the knot in Ed's throat. "And name does not matter."

"It really fucking does," Ed mutters.

"Shh," Feliciano says as he slips against Davenport's other side, holding the end of the map with one hand. Ed does shh if only because he's not sure he can speak when Feliciano's other hand comes to rest loosely on his shoulder, long fingers drumming against his collarbone and bringing with him the smell of leather and sea.

He's not sure why he wants to die but he kind of really fucking does. Everything in him curls up at once no matter how much he tells it to go away. There's no time and place for weird feelings. Things are complicated enough without weird feelings.

"Pebble Beach is…" Davenport says, hand brushing against Ed's back before falling limp. "Er…"

"Here," Jack says, pointing. Ed eyes him suspiciously.

"How the fuck do you know?"

"Cuz that's what it says, dumbass."

Ed flushes. Stupid fucking words.

"Looking at this map," says Davenport. "Can you point out where you turned before?"

"Ah, hmm." Feliciano's hand grows a bit heavier as he leans forward, only his thumb tapping now but catching the side of Ed's neck. The curling continues and Ed is both annoyed and relieved when Feliciano lifts his hand from his shoulder and points. "Here? Or perhaps here. It is hard to say… I remember that… around the beginning, the captain was searching for a place called Pedra da Tentadora ah…the rock of the beautiful donzela that you want to sing to though you should not, but her eyes are very brown and wanting so it is difficult not to…"

"The fuck kind of name is that?" Jack says and Feliciano huffs. A nice name, Ed thinks, and is going to say but Feliciano continues.

"Captain believed we could have safe berth on the side away from it, and that it is close to the edge, there so we were looking for a way…. But I do not know if it is real." He thumps his hand back onto Ed's shoulder and gives him a small shake. "And I do not know if we found it. And I do not know what it seems like." He pauses as if to let those words sink in, then sighs.

"So I am no help." He sounds so regretful that Ed wants to say that Feliciano's plenty of help, or to lean back against him in comfort. But they are mad at each other and so he can't, and maybe Feliciano wouldn't want it so fuck him.

"So many little chickadees sitting on the nest," Dirk says in a high mocking voice. "As representative crew of the Walrus-"

"Oh, are you now?" says Silver flatly.

"I am. And I deserve to see what you little birds are shitting yourselves over. You need a man to show you what's what."

Jackass. Ed wants to tell him to go get one then but keeps silent as Dirk marches over to them, peering down at the map which Davenport and Feliciano tip out for him to see. Ed is able to see over it now to see that Silver looks amused and Bones puzzled and half the crew peering at them.

"What the fuck are you all looking at?" Ed says just to get Silver's attention and Silver's head whips crew-ward so fast, Ed's sure he heard his neck crunch.

"Eyes on the sea, you scurvy lot! Unless you want to see us scuttled!" And their heads turn back to the water obediently.

Dirk looks at the map with an expression growing more constipated by the second before he says:

"Where are we?"

"Fuck. Here!" Ed jabs at the map. "This current is here. Pebble Beach is here and maybe the Rosa turned here or here! If you're going to come over waving your dick around at least try and keep up."

Davenport chokes and Jack laughs and Long Bob's answering laugh as his brain catches up is enough to make them all a little deaf. Dirk goes a mottled red like a sunbaked crab.
"You little shit," he snarls. His hand swings wide. There is a crack as Feliciano's palm meets Dirk's wrist, stopping him midflight.

"Do not," Feliciano says. Ed's heart lurches and the complicated waves inside get even more complicated, crashing against his ribs. The anger is the easiest one to understand so he takes it.

"Damnit! Stop protecting me!" he snaps. Even if it is pretty badass. "You're going to cause a mutiny!"

"We're having a mutiny?" Jack says.

"No," says Silver.

"I will do what I wish," says Feliciano, voice cold. "And you will have to accept it."

"No!"

"Yes."

"What if I punch him instead?" Long Bob says.

"No!" Ed says at the same time as Davenport who sounds panicked, while Dirk says:

"Try it." And yanks his hand from Feliciano's grip.

"Blood and thunder, lads, focus," says Silver. "Where do we head?"
Ed turns his attention back to the map, Feliciano's hand dropping to his shoulder again though with a tighter grip. The wind stirs across the deck as they stare and sweat drips from Dirk's nose and splatters on the map. There are so many ways to go.

He doesn't know even what to suggest. Pebble Beach? That turn won't lead out to the Leviathan, but if it's marked then the Princess will know it- but she might not be able to follow, but she may be able to cut them off if she comes around.

Turning where the Rosa may have turned might be okay, except that if they choose the wrong path there's nothing beyond it, and they'd be really blind.

There are a hundred choices and all of them seemed wrong, or maybe right.

"So what do we do, boss? It should be you deciding," Dirk says, turning toward Bones who leers at them, swaying a bit on the spot.

"It should be, but I'll let these kiddies see that it's not so easy. All you little pricks with your little…minds. Can't make a decision can you? Well you wanted to make it so you make it. Don't ask for help from me." He gulps back the rest of the bottle and throws it so it splinters on deck into a thousand shards. The sound of it makes Ed's spine jerk up into his throat and he swallows hard, trying to fight down the tightness.

"I… I don't know…" Davenport says. "How…how can you know…"

"What would Hawke do?" Dirk asks.

Davenport blows out a sort of laugh and shakes his head. "Try to think like Captain Flint. What about Hornigold…?"

"Good fuckin' question," Jack says. "I mean… I guess Hornigold would do somethin' tricky but…"

"He would not," says Feliciano. "He would pull us into the line of the enemy and hope to have an idea how to survive it."

"Yeah…that tracks," Jack says.

"Cap'n's a great man," says Long Bob. "Great man."

"How the hell are you guys even alive?" says Dirk.

"Luck," says Jack at the same time Feliciano says: "Mirlagles." And Long Bob says:

"Ed."

And then everyone is staring at him again.

Goddamnit.

And it needs to be soon because the light is falling fast and they'll either have to make berth or risk the current by the watery moonlight. Ed thinks, looking at all their options.

"Ed is not so useful," Feliciano says. "I remember now." Liar. "I think… I think we should-"

"—take the current," Ed says quickly, then decides. "This current here to this…whatever." He points to what could be a rock or a small island. "It might be big enough to hide behind and if we make berth, the Princess can go past us in the morning. Because otherwise we'll have to make berth here and hope she doesn't get an early start or sail on in the dark."

"Yes, but it's still dangerous," says Davenport. "We don't know the area very well, and-"

"Grato," Feliciano says, swiping the map with a suddenness that makes Ed start. With it he strides over to Bones and says:

"I remember. We will take this current. We will berth here. We can rest until the Princesa passes. It is so?"

"Hey!" Ed says starting over but Long Bob's huge fist curls in his collar, keeping him back. Anyone else Ed would have kicked their teeth in but all he can do right now is reach back and pull at the man's wrist. "Hey, it is not so! You can't do that!"

Bones raises his eyes from the map to give Ed a bleary look.

"Yeah, I suppose. Unless the voice of Flint has something to say."

"I-" What can he say? That this his idea? That it's Flint's? Who doesn't even know this place?

"The voice of Feliciano Gabriel Duarte de Rosa, who has sailed these waters asks why you listen to a child." Feliciano whips the map from Bones' loose hold. "I will tell Senhor Sebastian."

"Feliciano! You- you fucker!" The words are out and don't even feel good but Feliciano just waves at him over his shoulder like he doesn't care and it's not fair.

It's not right!

If Ed's wrong then-

Then-!

"Alright you lubbers, we're past now!" Silver bellows. "On your feet and prepare to turn port! Move!"

The men burst to action, scrambling up the rigging or preparing the lines. Long Bob is already hauling himself upward and Dirk jumps to Silver's command so readily he's already got a line in his hand before blinking at it stupidly. It would have been funny if Ed wasn't—

Wasn't something-

Something horrible and deep and churning and prickling, like anger but not.

"Did uh… somethin' happen?" Jack asks.

"No time for that now, lads," says Silver, looking sorry for him and Ed wants to punch him in his stupid fat nose. "Up the rigging with you. We're almost out of time."

"Fuck you," Ed says. To Silver. To Jack. To Feliciano. The world. Himself. Every fucking body and every fucking thing. But he all he can do is to climb up into the rigging, seething the whole way.

xxxxx

Two days and three nights later, and Ed is still seething a little. He sits cross-legged in the bottom of the dinghy, the canvas stretched over the top blotting out the stars and keeping him in the dark heat with the light of a single squat stub of a candle. Spread out around him are maps, everything he could swipe from the captain's quarters that wasn't needed by Griff or Silver.

Most of them aren't even fucking useful, and those he's stowed behind him, but some of the older ones or maybe stolen ones or ragged ones have patchy bits of detail about the Devil's Eye. And he's using it to make his own stinking map. Only it's hard and he doesn't understand how to make the scales make sense or how far away anything is or what things mean. One map is full of squiggly writing like dying worms and Ed knows there is something magical behind them.

He can't even ask Griff because then if it's a good idea or even a passable idea or some fucking clue, Griff will tell Feliciano who will lie and tell Bones and the crew that he remembered something. He'd done that twice now aside from the fucking current idea- which had been both good and bad because they were able to make it through okay and hide okay and the Princess Anne had passed them by, maybe partly because they'd barely made it through and her ass was definitely too big to fit–

-But then they'd realized that they couldn't turn back the way they came. There is no real way to turn around and the area ahead is basically unfucking charted and there's probably nothing Feliciano recognizes-though he hasn't said as much.

Some of the Walrus crew had been mad about it or worried about it, headed by Dirk who had his arms folded and was smirking as if he had won. Ed had wanted to say it was his idea and his fault but then Feliciano, like a dick, had apologized gracefully before Ed could- saying that it had been so long and he had wanted a time of rest for the brave men who crewed the Dorter and now they could have it. And Bill Bones had said: What do you expect from a Spanish dog? And everyone had laughed and Feliciano had laughed too like it didn't matter.

But it fucking did.

And they'd slept deeply and woken up to sea lions playing in the surf and gulls overhead and a gray day, but Ed had woken up earlier even that to see fog rolling like a living thing over the deck and sea and night where everything was like a shroud and it was so intensely cool he couldn't do anything but be fucking worried about anyone waking up and freaking out.

Then they'd spent all day today in a narrow channel, scattered with rocks and one judgmental pelican who kept hopping from rock to rock and eyeing them. The water was getting shallower and shallower and the men had began to grumble and worry and Feliciano had been tense and sweating and had made Long Bob and van Morgenstern stand at the other side of the ship to stop prowling around him like guard dogs.

And Ed from the moon'sl had spotted deeper water though they'd have to go over a shoal to get there that had looked deep enough under the water for them to pass through if they sacrificed another cannon. So he'd told Bones this to his face, making sure he'd said it as Flint would say, making sure others had heard it– and Feliciano had said:

"Oh the child can take credit for this one" except in his cool Feliciano way and Ed had been two seconds from telling him to fuck off and die when Feliciano had taken his face in both hands and bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead and…

…and…

Ed rubs the spot absently then scowls to himself and hunches his shoulders. And it's shit, that's all. It's just shit.

And yeah, maybe they'd gotten stuck on the shoal briefly and half the crew had flipped out and glared at Feliciano in a dark and ugly way, and Ed had felt something even more dark and ugly stirring in his gut that he knew he shouldn't touch.

Only Silver's yelling at the crew about minding the bloody tide had kept swords from coming out and when the tide had risen they'd floated free and now where anchored in water that went down down down into the deep deep blue where the anchor had maybe snagged a rock but nowhere close to the bottom.

Here there is nothing but sea and sky and the rocks they had left and smudges in the distance of more fucking rocks. And of course before he'd swiped the maps, he'd spotted the skull rock in the distance, big enough to be visible even from the uppermost spar of the aft mast and the moon was shining right through the right eye making it look alive and it was the coolest fucking thing he'd ever seen and he couldn't enjoy it or point anyone to it because they'd think it was a fucking curse.

But that's alright.

He has a plan.

First he is going to stay in here until he has a map figured out knows everything there is to know about the area. Then he'll tie Feliciano up somehow and hide him somewhere. Then when everyone looks at Ed for a fucking idea, Feliciano won't be able to speak over him, and when Ed fucks up, people can come after him.

Though he still has to tell van Morgenstern and Long Bob about this plan, only that can happen after he's gotten Feliciano tucked away.

But first the map.

He wipes the sweat from his forehead, feeling a cool smear of ink and ignores it as he stares at his scrap of paper and one of the older maps that has cool things like mermaids and sharks and ships and weird tentacally things on it. Someone has drawn a dick in the upper right corner. It's kind of amazing, but he's not here to be amazed. He's here to work.

The candle gutters and Ed glares at it, demanding it not go out. It's almost midnight. He doesn't have time for it to go out. That means he'll have to haul himself out of the dinghy to get a new one and meet someone annoying or see something cool that he can't enjoy or get Feliciano in trouble for breathing wrong or whatever.

But it doesn't seem to matter what he wants because the candle goes out anyway, leaving him in darkness. Ed sighs and thunks his head back against the seat of the dinghy. Then shifts and pillows his arms behind his head because the bench is hard as hell. Here like this can see a bit of night through the gap in the canvas which lets in a thread of cool air and he breathes it in, trying to blink the sand from his eyes.

The tired creeps up on him bit by bit, swirling around his blood, creeping into his bones. He won't let it catch him. He doesn't have time for it to catch him, but he can at least lay here a little while he works out the best way to tie Feliciano up without messing up his hair.

"Man, just look at the size of that fuckass thing." Jack's voice drifts through the night close by and Ed decides he doesn't want to know what he's talking about. It's probably the big ass skull. Ed had already seen the big ass skull and it's probably not even cooler than it was before.

Probably.

Maybe.

He wonders if Jack would help capture Feliciano, then decides it's not a good idea to ask him since Jack might enjoy it a little too much.

"Ain't you gonna look at it?" Jack asks.

"I've seen it, Rackham," says Davenport. "It's just a skull."

"Yeah…but… I mean…it's a cool skull…"

It is a cool skull, Ed wants to say. A really fucking cool skull. Why is Jack sounding like it's not a cool skull just cuz Davenport says it's just a skull? And who ever heard of just a skull anyway? Skulls are badass!

There is a soft creak.

"I'm much more interested in another skull," says Davenport. "Or maybe somethin' just a little softer…" Only…his voice…his accent has changed. It's kind of like Jack's now if Jack had guzzled honey and decided to croon it. Or maybe purr is a better word.

"Uh…Here? Now? After everything?" Jack's voice breaks on the last word and there's another creak, more pronounced, the sounds of palms lightly smacking wood.

"I don't know of any other time."

"We're kinda in a situation right now."

"Are we?"

Jack clears his throat. And clears it again.

"You know…you can't…you can't just use that voice on me and get your way."

"Can't I?"

Ed lifts the bit of canvas to peer out and sees Jack sitting on the railing just a few steps down from the dinghy, holding onto the rigging for all he's worth and leaning back while Davenport, hands braced against the railing, leans forward.

"Jack…" Davenport murmurs in the honeysweet voice. "Please, I just need a break from all this… You can help me, can't you?"

Jack swallows, nods, leans forward, head tilting, lips parting and then:

"Holy shit! Men can kiss?!" Ed says, feeling as if his hair is standing straight off his head. Jack squawks and flails and smacks Davenport in the nose even as Davenport stumbles back and away like he's been burned.

It would have been funny- it would have been fucking hilarious- Ed might have busted a rib from laughing if not for that realization hitting him like a wave to the gut.

Men could kiss.

Holy shit.

He knew men and women could kiss because that's fucking everywhere, and he knew women and women could kiss because that happened all the time in the Swan, but he never thought that man could kiss a man just like that!

Why doesn't he see more of it then?

"You shitfaced dickfuck I'm gonna fuckin' kill you!" Jack bellows from where he's hanging on to the railing by his hands and bends of his knees. "Where the hell did you come from?"

"The dinghy," Ed says because where the fuck does Jack think.

"Oh, my God," Davenport is saying, voice muffled by his hands. "Oh my God, I hate you, I hate both of you."

"Aw shit." Jack hauls himself off the railing and approaches Davenport, hands out. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. You okay, baby?"

"Baby?" Ed wrinkles his nose. "What the hell kind of nickname is baby?"

"Shut up, I said!" Jack snaps. Then to Davenport. "Let me see it, come on."

"Why? You can't do anything about it."

God, he is a baby. Ed hops out of the dinghy, flipping the canvas back over it and trods across the deck.

"No, but can men really kiss or are you guys just being weird?" Ed says. Because Jack is a man but he's not a man-man yet and Ed's not sure what Davenport is other than annoying. Davenport looks down at him, the nearby lamp shining on his bright blue eyes.

"Go away, you freak of nature!" he says sounding panicked.

"Ignore him, he's just a dumbass," Jack says. "Let me see."

Davenport sighs and drops his hands and Jack leans back, wincing. There's blood everywhere, all down his face, all down his front, staining his white cravat. Ed nods approvingly. It had been a pretty good wallop.

"Well?" Davenport's gaze flicks between them both. "Is it broken?"

"Uh…" Jack says. Ed rolls his eyes.

"Come here, let me check," Ed says. Davenport bends. Ed grabs his chin to keep him there and with the thumb of the other hand, pushes Davenport's nose back into place with a fun crunch, saying:

"Nope."

"OW! Shit! You little Fucker!" Davenport howls, nearly clutching his nose again but remembering not to and instead clenching his fists and stamping his foot on the deck. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

"Yeah…well…" Jack rubs his opposite arm and shrugs. "You get used to it."

"I can also get used to his face in the back end of a cannon! Damnit! If I get an ugly bump from this I'm going to skin you with a salad fork!"

"The fuck is a salad fork?" Ed says.

"The fuck is a salad?" Jack says. And then at Davenport's look adds: "Sorry."

"What the hell is going on out there!" Silver bellows from the galley.

"Jack and Don were smooching and Ed scared them shitless," Long Bob calls back. Ed peers up and waves at him from where he's standing on the lowest spar of the main mast. Long Bob waves back. There is a beat of silence.

"Well, that's as may be," says Silver. "But be teenagers a little more quietly if you please, some of us are trying to sleep."

There's the click of the door.

The silence seems to stretch on even further now. Ed absently picks a crusted booger from his nose as he watches Davenport stare off into the horizon and Jack stare at Davenport as if he's afraid he'll fall over.

"I'm going to kill everyone," Davenport says faintly. "And then myself. It's the only way."

Now Ed feels bad. He scratches right calf with his left foot, looking down at the deck.

"Well… I mean who cares?" he mutters. "So what if people know." Because that had to be what Davenport is worried about. "Fuck 'em. Long Bob doesn't care and if he gets on you just tell him to shut up about it and he will. And everyone else, you're better then them so they can get fucked too."

"Yeah," Jack says. "You're better'n everyone!"

Well, Ed wouldn't go that far, because no one is better than Feliciano but if it helps he won't argue with it. And it seems to because Davenport seems to soften around the mouth.

"And if they start shit, I can kick them in the balls," Ed says.

To his surprise, Davenport smiles, a kind of strange, small, soft smile, which looks really badass with his face covered in blood like that. He looks like he could either pat you on the head or fuck you up.

"Let's not start a mutiny."

"Fucking mutiny," Ed mutters. "I'm fine! I get my ass beat all the time!"

"He really does," Jack says. "Tough lil shit."

But he says it in a weird fond way so that Ed can only try to rub the burn from his cheeks without anyone knowing. Bastard.

"You can't stop your crew from defending their mates, Jack."

"Yeah, but it ain't mates. It's just Ed."

"Exactly." Jack gets it. Why can't everyone else? Davenport makes a face.

"And then it's just Mr. van Morgenstern or Mr. Robertson. Once things start they're not easy to stop."

Oh yeah….that's true… But…

"It's going to be Feliciano soon," Ed says and then because he's not sure what else to do, adds quietly: "I don't think he knows where we are…" And he doesn't think he's sure either. They can maybe go back, maybe, but not fighting the current the whole way and he's a little worried about the shoal.

"Yeah if Felix gets hurt everyone is gonna go apeshit," Jack says.

"That is true." Davenport sighs. "Do you have anything, Ed? Any ideas at all?"

Ed's shoulders twitch, then he sighs and decides that Davenport calling him Ed is fine. They've been through enough.

"I've got some maps and shit, but that's about all." He pulls back the canvas from the dinghy, handing Davenport what he was working on and watches the man's nose wrinkle.

"It isn't much of a map."

"Fuck you! I've never drawn one before!"

"This one's got a dick on it," Jack says, scooping up the cool one.

"Yeah, it's pretty great." Ed sighs. "It's not really useful though."

"Well it's definitely imaginative," says Davenport, leaning into Jack's space. Jack looks down at him and slips an arm around his back and something in Ed stirs so he has to look away again, pulling out another map just to stare. Stupid fucking Jack and stupid fucking Davenport. He can feel the ghost of Feliciano's fingers on his shoulder and wants to swat it away.

"Hey look," Jack says, pointing. "You're here. At this…bas…bast i own."

Davenport looks and chuckles. "No, siren is just another word for mermaid. And Bastion- well here it probably means Rock. Siren's Bastion. Mermaid's Rock. You see?"

"Same thing" says Jack with a loopy grin. "Cuz you're like a mer— well…I mean, guymaid… no, shit, uh mer…mate?"

"Shut up," Davenport says but pleasantly and Jack does and looks happy about it. He's nothing like a mermaid, Ed thinks. He doesn't know what mermaids look like but probably not at all like stupid Davenport. Even if he is pretty enough maybe but mermaids and sirens have to sing. Even dumb Odysseus knew that.

Oh shit! Wait!

"Hey, Davenport, can we get to that rock? From here?"

"What? Well, yes I think so. Why?"

"I think…I think it might be the …" Fuck… what had all Feliciano said? "The …lady you want to…" No he doesn't fucking want to say that. "That someone wants to smooch rock…" It sounds even stupider now even though he tries to fix it. Jack and Davenport share a glance, then look at him and Davenport clears his throat.

"You think?" Davenport says politely and Ed wants to tell him to fuck off. God, why couldn't he say it like Feliciano did?

"How can you tell?" says Jack.

"Because of stupid Odysseus! Doctor John told me- um…the sirens were singing and he wanted to hear them but going toward them meant you cracked up on the rock- so he was tied up so he could listen… It's the same thing. The men wanted to smooch the ladies but couldn't cuz it was bad." Which gives him another idea. "Hey, I wonder if we could talk Feliciano into playing Odysseus for a while." Because that would solve a lot of problems. Jack gives him a look.

"What," he says. "The fuck."

"We can tie him up and hide him so he won't get in trouble if we're wrong," Ed says. They can feed him and everything and give him wine. It would be great.

"And we might be wrong," says Davenport. "And even if we're not, there's nothing beyond that rock on this map, see?" He slips away from Jack to show him and there is a lot of fucking blank space, Anything could be in it.

Ed rubs his arms at a sudden chill that prickles along the back of his deck and even the waves seem to kick up a little under them as if they're nervous too.

A storm is coming.

Maybe too far off now for Long Bob to see it, but it's coming; over the water and on the deck too.

Ed suddenly regrets saying anything. He can taste the electric tang in the air.

"Well we ain't got any other ideas," Jack says, planting a hand on Ed's head in a way that's both comforting and annoying. "Do we?"

"No…" Ed swallows.

"It's Bill Bones that's the trouble," Davenport says. "He can't fail so long as he can blame everything on Feliciano or take the credit if he succeeds."

Jack snorts. "That sounds fuckin' familiar."

"Can we tie him up and stow him somewhere?" Ed asks, the wind prickling the sweat at his temples and pushing his hair bringing the sweet smell of the wide sea.

"We aren't tying anyone up," Davenport says sternly. "Even if I wouldn't mind seeing it." He touches his cheek absently where the bruise is only just starting to fade. "You know, Jack it would be easier if Bones weren't here to be… himself. After all, you and I would be much better at this."

"I would?" Jack says, straightening.

"Of course, shithead," Ed mutters, smacking him in the stomach a bit with the back of his hand. "You're pretty good when you're not an idiot."

"Damn right I am!" Jack grins, then drums his fingers on Ed's head. "But what are we going to do about Bones?" Because they need to do something.

Silence then. Davenport is looking up, Jack is looking down, hands on his hips. Ed closes his eyes as the wind picks up. The ship pitches so that Ed has to shift a bit to keep his footing.

"We…" says Jack. "Should get him shitfaced. And keep him shitfaced. It wouldn't even be hard."

Oh…oh yeah… "That's a really good idea…"

"Look at you using your head for once," Davenport says in that honey thick accent, reaching over to pinch Jack's cheek. "Bless your heart."

"Aw, shut it," Jack says but he seems pleased.

"But someone should tell Mr. Duarte," says Davenport.

"Here's your chance now," Jack says and Ed startles, turning, afraid Feliciano has heard them and is going to be hard and disapproving. But he is just crossing from the mate's room at the stern to move up to the poop deck and put himself on watch.

Long Bob will join him soon enough, Ed supposes, but he is currently climbing further up, as if the coming storm has caught his attention too.

"I'll go," says Davenport. "After all, we are very much alike, and-"

"Wait," Ed says, holding up a hand. Is that a shadow by the door?

Yes.

Dirk looms out into the moonlight, melting from shadow to the scudding moonlight that slips off the blade of his cutlass.

He's going to be a problem too and more of a problem than Ed wants to deal with going forward and he slips up the stairs after Feliciano on cat feet.

"Damn," Davenport murmurs.

"We really need to take care of him," Jack says.

"Yeah…" And then he has an idea, part of one, stringing together in his mind like Marguerite's shell beads. He still doesn't have it all together, but… "Look I have a plan, but first, do this we've all got to work together, right?"

"Right," says Davenport. Jack eyes him.

"What plan. And are we gonna get in shit?"

"Who cares if we get in shit!" It's hard not to yell but somehow, he manages. "We're not- Jack, you're here for Hornigold. You're not just a mate. You're not just crew. If we don't stand up now, then we won't stand up. Bones is nothing. Bones is shit. Dirk is shit. And we don't. have. time."

"I agree," says Davenport. "It's now or never."

"Alright, alright. What's your plan?"

"I'll tell you but…" Okay, no it has to be said. "If we're going to do this, ditch the coats. You look like losers."

xxxxx

And it's not a good plan. It's not even a great plan. Ed's heart is in his throat and his hand is on Feliciano's dagger, enjoying the familiar weight.

He's half wondering if he should do it at all, but it's too late to back out. Right now Davenport is waking the Toad and Jack is waking van Morgenstern, and it's not a lot of people but still six against one. Maybe seven if they catch Long Bob's attention.

It'll either work or it'll backfire, but regardless, something will change. The wind is blowing harder now, but Ed can hear Dirk's voice.

"…think you're so smart," he is saying. "Think you're better than us. Well you're not. And here you are, all alone." Dirk is standing in the middle of the deck, hand on the hilt of his cutlass, Feliciano with a hand on his own but his fingers are twitching and the other is gripping a line as if he wants to haul himself away.

"Little birdie, you can't run," says Dirk. "You can't hide. I bet you have no idea where we are, do you?"

"I do," Feliciano says.

"Cute. You lie. You lie and I'll tell them so and you and your little crew will be fucked."

Feliciano catches Ed then, looking briefly to him and then back to Dirk.

"No," Feliciano says, voice stronger and Ed knows just who he's talking to. But fuck that. It's too late for no. This is too stupid and dangerous for no. It's not right, it's not good, and it hurts too much for no.

"Yes," says Dirk. The moron. "And you can prance about with your little sword." He sneers. "But if you come after me, again, and I'll make sure they pay for it."

"What do you want me to do so you leave." It is another word meant for Ed and it makes him freeze. What if Feliciano hates him after this? What if he never wants to talk to him again? Maybe Ed should just…

Dirk snickers in an ugly way.

"I'll tell you what I want, birdy-boy. Just be a little nice to me and I'll be a little nice to you."

Yep. No. Can't do it. It's time. Ed doesn't get it, but he doesn't like Dirk's tone or the brief look on Feliciano's face that he never wants to see again.

So he kicks the back of Dirk's knee as hard as he can. Dirk yelps as he goes down. Ed grabs his thick hair in one hand wrenches his head back to tip the dagger just under his chin. He also plants a knee in the man's spine to keep him better controlled.

"You little shit," Dirk snarls, reaching up but Ed twitches so a drop of blood slides down the groove of the blade.

"Shut up," Ed says.

Dirk does which is a dark feeling, a horrible feeling, sweet and bitter and lancing something inside him that's letting the darkness seep in, curling at the base of his skull.

"Ay, Ed, what are you doing?" Feliciano sounds tired. "You need to stop."

That snaps him out of it and the crashing feelings are back. He is mostly annoyed now, mixed with a strange sort of fear, and an odd sort of something else seeing Feliciano's hair feathered by the storm wind. Mostly he just wants to bite something.

"Stop what? Saving your ass?" Ed says. "What were you just going to give him what he asked for? Or get the shit beaten out of you?" There's the anger now, prickling along his spine, rolling through him like the drum of thunder. Rain begins to fall, soft at first, but soon it will be hard, needling, he welcomes that too, like the iron taste on his tongue.

"It is fine."

"It is not fine! He will come after you and come after you! Then he'll come after the others! Why should he stop? Who the fuck is going to stop him?! Bones? No, he is going to crush you too. He's going to make you dance until nothing is left! And I'm not going to let that happen to you!"

"Oh, Ed," Feliciano says with a sigh.

Footsteps behind him, just over the wind and Feliciano raises his eyes, but looks puzzled rather than afraid.

"And I ain't gonna let it happen to you either," Jack says, coming around so that Dirk can get a good look at him. He does look pretty badass now, having ditched the coat, back to the wind and rain and his hair whipping across his neck.

"We're Hornigold's crew and fight for our own. Right?"

This Jack says to van Morgenstern who comes up to his side and stands there, impressive arms folded, the trails of his long mustache twisting and writhing in the wind like some living thing.

"Dat's right. No one hurts onea our own on my watch."

"Is it so?" Feliciano says, his own arms folded, a strange expression on his face that seems like a smile and Ed hopes to fuck that it is.

"Arrogant bastarffcuk!" Dirk says as Ed digs his knee in to the man's back. It's either that or bury the dagger in his throat, but they really do need all hands.

"It is so," says Davenport coming up on the other side. He has ditched the coat too but gotten a shorter maroon coat with gold buttons somewhere and Ed wishes he saw it first. "And you are my ally." He flicks his hair over his shoulder and puts his hands on his hips. "Anyway, it is against my pride as a man to see Feliciano Gabriel Duarte de Ranger humble himself for nobodies. Hawke is much better than Bones will ever be. Not to mention this…cretin."

"Yup," Toad croaks from his other side.

Goddamnit, Ed likes Davenport now. He can't not! That was impressive and smooth as fuck even if he doesn't know what a cretin is. No wonder Feliciano was having such a great time with him at the parley.

"If it is so," says Feliciano. "Then all Ranger and all Siren must be protected." And he looks at Jack who squirms. "All."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it."

Ed doesn't get it but he's glad-

Dirk's hand suddenly wraps around his wrist and Ed finds himself hauled over the man's shoulder, landing hard on his back on the deck, pain lancing through the back of his skull.

And then there is a damp pistol pressed against his head.

"Cute," Dirk says. "Real cute, chickadees. And now you're all going to die. Starting with this little fucker right here."

Dirk pulls back the hammer.

A pistol roars the wind, making Ed flinch- and is shocked to find he's not even bleeding. Not even hurt. Dirk is howling too, blood spurting from the other side of his shoulder and his own pistol falls from his fingers clonking right across Ed's face and fortunately not going fucking off.

"ARE YOU OKAY, ED?" Long Bob calls from the yardarm. "CUZ WE GOT A BIG STORM COMIN'."

"Ay. Are you okay?" Feliciano asks, which is hard to say one way or the other with Dirk over him and a pistol on his face. But then Jack kicks Dirk in the ribs, sending him onto his side and Toad hauls him up, putting his own blade to Dirk's throat, arms much thicker, stance stronger and Ed can see, even with the pistol on his face, there's no way Dirk is going to be able to break free of it without losing a fuckton of blood.

And that's good.

Good. He…He did it. It's done.

"Ed?" Feliciano moves the gun and pats his cheeks.

"I'm fine." Ed says, sitting up, blinking past the wave of dizziness. Feliciano helps him sit up, arm steady against his back. Ed is about to thank him, but a swell lifts them up and drops them suddenly, putting his stomach in his throat in a way that makes him want to puke. He swallows it back as best he can.

It's good now. He should enjoy it. Yeah, it's a storm but they've weathered storms before and it's finished. It's solved. It's fine.

"What should we do with him, Boss?" Toad says, looking to Davenport and Ed's stomach crashes back down with a lurch.

Oh. Fuck. Right. Something…something has to be done. Davenport looks absolutely shit fucking terrified at the question, his eyes widening, mouth opening and then clicking shut even as the storm winds pick up and the lines creak as the ship begins to bob violently in the waves. They need to haul anchor before it's snapped, to decide if they're going to weather the storm or run along its outer edge to avoid it.

But none of that can happen until they decide to do with this fucker.

Toad realizes this too because he repeats: "Boss." In a strained tone. Dirk leers like he's won, even with blood running down his shoulder and neck.

"I…" Davenport clears his throat. "I'm not… I'm not sure. Jack?"

"Fuck if I know! I didn't think this far!" Jack says. And everyone looks at Ed so it's his fucking problem again.

Well, everyone but Feliciano who glances at him and then away to Dirk. Ed can feel his fingers grip in the back of his shirt as if he's trying to decide what to do. Ed wishes he would. Wishes he would say something.

But that's the fucking problem isn't it? He hadn't thought this through either. The fucking problem with Dirk is that they can't just chuck him over the side and call it an accident. They need him.

And it's going to look bad if he ends up missing, if he ends up dead, and only the Ranger and Siren crew know anything about it. And if they keep him, his mouth will run which could be bad.

Unless.

"I-" Feliciano starts. "I think-"

Ed shakes his head and stands, pushing against the man's shoulder to get on his feet.

"Edward," Feliciano snaps, he's angry but Ed's not. Not even afraid. He just feels a little sad for some weird reason. He tries to tell Feliciano that it's got to be this way. That there's no other way. And that it's fine, really.

Feliciano presses his lips together and looks away. Ed paces to stand in front of Dirk, stumbling only a little.

"Come on then," Dirk says. "If you're not men enough to decide, let this child to it for you." And he spits on Ed's shoe.

Ed backhands him hard, snapping the man's head to the side and it feels- fucking good. The solid feel of bone against his knuckles, the way Dirk's whole body jerks, the line of blood that runs down his throat. The darkness floods in him then, giving him strength and he lets it.

"You'll live," Ed says and Dirk glowers at him, sneering.

"You sure about that?"

"Yep." And Ed slaps him this time, open handed, the crack of skin against skin even better than a punch. He could do this all day. He gets it. He understands. It's fucking amazing.

He grabs Dirk's chin then, forcing the man's head up, sinking his fingernails against the skin, looking into his eyes as the rain starts slashing down.

"Because what the fuck are you going to say, mate? That a fifteen-year-old hit you? That he brought you to your knees? That he is the one that decided?"

Because it is him. Because it can only be him. Dirk snarls something in the back of his throat that Ed doesn't catch and doesn't need to. He knows the answer.

"I mean, you could blame someone else, but who? Toad? Nah. He's higher than you. You're mates too right? Who would care. Jack? Everyone likes him and van Morgenstern and if you blame Feliciano well- he's the only one who can get us out of here alive."

Ed smiles, pinching the man's cheeks together, feeling his teeth clench, hoping the skin bruises.

"Your boss is a drunk, your crew are wastes of space, and we are the only ones here who matter. So you can behave yourself or not, chickadee, but you're only going to hurt yourself." And he gives him another slap for good measure and just because he needs it.

But then the thunder cracks and he knows that soon everyone is going to be spilling on deck. As he pulls back he realizes everyone is looking at him now with a different expression, but there's no time to worry about it.

"Come on," Ed says, knotting his damp hair behind him. "Let's get to fucking work."

xxxxx

Two days later and Ed is sick to fucking death of maps. Maps, maps and more maps. That's all he ever has. That's all he's ever looking at. At least he's not alone since Griff is there as well, pouring over every single scrap of map they have, even the dick one- especially the dick one, trying to figure out a way to chart the Devil's Eye.

They're not quite at the Mermaid Rock yet, but they'll reach it soon, give or take a few hours. Right now they are at a low lazy sail, making their way through a wide channel, littered on either side with motherfucking ghost ships. Or at least wrecked ships. Ships scuttled to shit. There are timbers and spars and masts leaping out of the water around them. Tattered sails. He even thought he saw a skeleton tucked up in the crook of spar and mast like an unfortunate Gilead Thorpe.

The crew are lined up one either side of the main deck or up in the rigging themselves, pointing out the carnage or laughing in raised voices. Even Bones is out there, up to the gills in liquor, laughing at something Job Anderson had said and smacking him on the back so hard he swallows the bit of dried apple he was chewing and starts to choke.

Ed watches a little amused as Pew and Black Dog scramble to save their mate while Bones laughs- then catches sight of Feliciano watching him again and tucks his head to the maps.

His eyes burn. His legs are cramped. His neck is cramped. He wants to get out and see the wreckage too and it's not fair that he doesn't get to, but that's the price.

"Look over Blue and Dicky," says Griff, putting the final touch on the map called Blue before pushing both over. "And tell me if I've missed anything."

"Yeah sure." Ed rubs his neck and looks down at the maps, trying to compare the both of them even as his eyes start to blur. He almost missed the storm, even as he wishes he could stop thinking about it, the roll of the thunder, the lash of the rain, the feeling of Dirk's jaw against his knuckles.

Feliciano probably hated him for that.

Everyone probably thought he was some freak to…to have…

It's not like he wants to do it again but in the moment he had felt-

Alive.

Well he probably doesn't deserve to feel fucking alive.

He deserves to feel dead.

He deserves to be dead.

Instead he got lucky. The storm hadn't shit itself out until well past noon, and then everyone was bone tired and bruised to shit anyway. Even Long Bob had a bit of a shiner from where he'd gotten clocked by the boom.

Ed had been so tired he hadn't even remembered going to the cabin, but it had been nice to wake up there sandwiched between Long Bob and…well van Morgenstern, who had been at least too tired to snore for once. And he'd gotten to watch Feliciano guarding the door, flipping the dagger so that the blade winked in the amber sun and not missing a catch even once.

Ed wishes he could be so cool.

He wishes a lot of things.

He wishes he could stop looking at fucking maps for one thing. He wishes he could be out on deck, hanging out with Jack and Davenport, or even with some of the other crew. He'd even help peel moldy potatoes with John Silver, though right now Dirk was doing that job, sullen and angry, but not sullen and angry enough which leaves a bad taste in Ed's mouth and sets his teeth on edge.

"Edward, focus," says Griff. "We need your mind."

"I'm focusing, I'm focusing," Ed mutters. He picks up a stick a charcoal for any corrections since it can be brushed off and sets to work again, looking between one map and the other- back and forth and back and forth, hearing a:

"Woah!" from the deck, lifting up like a wave. And a:

"Blow me down, look at the size of her," from Silver. And he wants to know. He wants to see. But they need to survive this. They need to get out and back to where their crews are waiting. Then it'll be good again. Fun again. He can just lay back and enjoy himself when it's all over.

Anyway, the maps are mostly the same except for a couple of marks which Ed corrects with the charcoal, trying not to think about how the black stains his fingers or his sleeves or is now dusted down the front of his shirt.

"Finished," he says, sitting back and taking a sip of the watered-down grog. Most of it had to go to Bones now because of the plan, though in the end that is a sort of short-lived plan because the crew will only take the grog watered down so much and without grog at all-

He doesn't even want to think about it.

Hopefully they'll get out of this before they have to worry too much.

"Damn," says Griff with a sigh. "I was hoping I was wrong. Look at this, boy." And he points to a route marked on the Blue map that circles along the Northwestern arc of the Devil's Eye, where they're heading, looping down and coming close to the route that they took to come into the Devil's Eye before shooting off westward toward the mainland.

"Fuck," Ed says with a sigh. It must be a Navy route. If the Princess is really fucking persistent, she can come around and snag them on the way out. She might not even have to spot them coming. All she would have to do is wait for them to turn West- and Southwest toward Nassau- which is what they're going to since they have to pass Nassau to get to Blind Man's.

They could keep going Northwest up the coast, but Ed's not sure if they've the provisions for that or the temper and they can only keep Bones drunk for so long. And even if they could do all that, it'd be a bitch of a thing trying to find a friendly port for a stolen Navy ship.

But they might not have a choice.

"Aye," says Griff. "Whose bone headed idea was this whole venture, I wonder. I'd like to strangle them."

Ed wants to sink under the table, but doesn't because once he hits the deck he doubts that he'll want to get back up again. He'll just stare at the underside of the table until sleep or death comes to claim him.

Only he doesn't have time for either.

"Better tell the lads and get their insight," says Griff. "And God help us all."

He hasn't been much help so far, Ed thinks. He finishes his grog, then takes up the blue map toward the prow.

"Hey, Ed!" Long Bob calls. "Come look at this!" And he laughs. And Ed really really really wants to, but he fucking can't. Not yet. Because once again they are fucking fucked.

Though thankfully no one knows they're fucking fucked, not even Dirk who is fucking smirking at him from where he's peeling potatoes so Ed wants to kick him between the eyes. He doesn't, though, and continues onto the fo'c'sle where Jack and Davenport are hanging out by the bowsprit.

Another thing that isn't fair is how cool they've gotten in two days since they've ditched the stupid coats. True, Davenport's nose is swollen so it looks like he got attacked by a couple swarms of bees, but the red jacket sits well on his shoulders and he's added a sleek black belt and some rings and he's had Silver cut his hair so that it's stern and captainly in the front but pirate-y in the back in a style Davenport called a:

'Mullé.' Which sounds more French then Ed thinks it is, but it's pretty cool.

Jack on the other hand has ditched any kind of coat at all, and instead has cut the sleeves and waist off his shirt, leaving his stomach and lower back exposed, probably to show off all the hair he's got on his belly. His trousers are cut off too, fairly high above the knee. It's pretty awesome, but given his legs and back are lobster red, he's going to be whiny bitch about it tonight.

Jack had Silver crop his hair close save for the long thin braid down his nape he calls a rat-tail. Ed wonders what that would be in French.

Since they haven't noticed him yet, Ed takes a swift peek behind him, noticing that the wrecks were all mostly at stern now. Ahead there are clusters of rocks or hills that look like fingers sticking out of the water, still hazy on the horizon. Ed bets they'll be interesting, and he hopes he get to fucking see them. But neither the wrecks nor the finger mountains seem so cool that it would make the crew gasp-let alone get something out of Silver.

"Yo," he says to get their attention and they both startle like he'd caught them doing something they shouldn't. "What was everyone looking at? What was so big?"

Jack snickers and Davenport says:

"Oh it was a whale pod." With a dismissive flick of the hand to port. Ed tries to peer around him to get a good look, hoping to spot at least a fluke, but Davenport steps into his field of vision, saying:

"What do you think?" He spreads his arms and does a little turn. "Much better, isn't it?"

"I think you should be showin' more skin," says Jack.

"I'm not showing more skin! Animal!" Davenport says with a laugh, punching Jack in the arm.

"It looks–" Ed starts.

"Yanno, you could use an update too," says Jack. "You look a little like…uh…"

"Little Boy Blue," says Davenport.

"Yeah that."

Ed hates them. There's no point in arguing right now though so he just flattens the map to Davenport's chest.

"Just look at the fucking map will you?"

"Yes, yes, fine."

Ed moves around him then to watch hopefully for some whales, but there's nothing. He wonders if they were big whales or smaller like dolphins. The bigger the whale the deeper the water, after all, and that might be an option. He tugs at the edges of his jacket, thinking of taking it off, then changing his mind as Jack steps up beside him. He doesn't want the asshole to think he cares after all.

"You weren't so bad the other day, you know?" Jack says. "I think you really matured."

"Yeah?" Ed can't help but feel a kind of pride at that.

"Yeah." He snickers. "And you really walloped the shit out of Dirk. That was hilarious."

Ed makes himself grin.

"Hornigold is probably gonna give me this ship," Jack says. "Since we claimed it first and all."

Which yeah, he might, though they'd need help getting her back to Paradise so they can crew her, unless they right off nab some of the Walrus crew right out from under Flint's nose and that is hilarious. Though he feels less like laughing since Jack follows that by resting an arm on Ed's head and leaning against him.

"And, you know, maybe in a couplea years when you get some height on ya, you can come sail with me."

Sailing with Jack without Hornigold? And Long Bob and Feliciano too probably. With their own ship. Their own crew.

God…

That would be fucking inc–

"As my quartermaster."

Oh.

"What an honor," says Davenport dryly as he joins them at Jack's other side. "Really you shouldn't spoil the boy."

"It is," says Jack. "Better'n being stuck on the Ranger when he could be with me. Besides which he can be like Silver, you know? Keepin' the men in line and havin' all the good ideas. Anyway." Jack scoffs. "Ain't like he's gonna get a much better offer, lil shit."

Which is probably fucking true too, Ed thinks, and he doesn't even need the memory of Kupe to tell him so.

"With all of that, I wonder what it is your first mate is going to do?" says Davenport. Jack straightens and swallows, fiddling with a pretty impressive iron chain looped around his neck.

"I was…uh…kinda hopin'... you'd tell me…" Jack says.

There is a beat of silence which crawls under Ed's skin. He's caught between leaving and patting Jack's back. Before he can do either though, Davenport clears his throat.

"Well, the map." He presents it back. "I've looked."

"And?" Ed says.

"And what?"

Oh fucking -

"What are we going to do about the Navy?"

"Shit! Where?!" Jack straightens, looking around.

God, why are they so stupid.

"Here!" Ed says, shaking the map open again to show them. "Taking this route and trying to cut us off."

It's right there in fucking black ink!

"Oh…" Davenport stares at it. "Well…What do you think, Jack?"

Jack runs a hand over his hair, sweating a bit.

"Uh… fuck can we turn back around?"

"I don't think so. Not against the wind."

"Can we scuttle her…? Maybe…?"

"I don't…I don't know… Should we try?"

They both look at Ed and he wants to scream. How the fuck should he know? Why is he the one who should always fucking know?

"That is a wonderful question!" Feliciano's voice rings brightly behind them making them all jump and turn. He smiles at them, looking warm and pretty as if the past few days hadn't happened at all. Ed's heart trips over itself.

"But it is, in fact, a difficult question, so you two must have much to discuss." Feliciano comes up up to them in two long strides and wraps an arm around Ed's shoulders.

"So I will borrow him and let your quick minds work, hm?"

"Oh…" says Davenport. "Well that's…" He clears his throat. "Ed would only be an asset."

"It is so." Feliciano's warm smile melts into something completely different and he reaches forward to trail the tips of his fingers over Davenport's jaw. "But I need to see him for a short time, Donovan, and you are wise enough to grant this, sim?"

"S-sim," Davenport says, flushing across his swollen nose. Ed finds himself flushing too.

"Yeah, yeah, seem and all that," Jack snaps, aiming a mock kick in their direction. "Now get lost! Us men will handle it!"

"And so…" says Feliciano, flurrying his fingers in a kind of bow. And he leads Ed off the fo'c'sle. Ed stumbles a bit, even though they aren't going very fast, and it's even worse when Feliciano's arm slips around his shoulder then, his fingers a hairsbreadth from Ed's collarbone.

"Silver," Feliciano calls as they come to the main deck. "You should go up to those two strong young men and help them reach a decision"

Silver looks up amused from where he's watching Dirk peel.

"Aye, aye," he says with a smirk, as if he doesn't really mean part of that. Ed notices Dirk glance in Bones' direction and even though the man is currently heaving his guts out over the side, doesn't trust things to stay that way.

"You should take Mr. Bones, too," Ed adds. Silver snorts a breath like a laugh and salutes.

"What are you bastards doing?" Dirk growls.

"None of your business, so it isn't," says Silver. "If your captain chooses to tell you after, then that's his own choosing, but you sit there and you do what you were told to."

Dirk sneers but drops his head, the long skins of potato slipping around the knife in jagged stripes. Silver smirks at them again, something glittering in his eyes before he rounds his shoulders. Well, one shoulder as the bird is on the other, preening his hair over his ear with her beak.

"Alright, my love," he says to the bird, stroking her chest. "Let's fetch our beloved commander."

Ed wonders if they're really going to be able to decide anything.

"Hey, what did you need me for?" Ed asks as Feliciano leads him further across the main deck. "I need to go back up."

"No." It's not stern but Ed still winces a little.

"But-"

"Ed…" Feliciano turns to face him, both hands on his shoulders. "If you always make the decisions, they will never learn for themselves. And if they really need you, they know where you are."

"Yeah… I guess…" He still feels like he should be up there. That he deserves to be up there. This is his fault after all that they're here to begin with. But it's hard to say no to Feliciano when he looks like that. Instead he lets himself to be lead to the side where Long Bob is patching a sail.

"You missed it, Ed!" He beams. "There were whales!"

"Yeah! I heard," Ed says, trying to grin back. "Can I borrow that?" He gestures to the extra needle behind Long Bob's ear.

"Yeah, sure!"

"No." Feliciano plucks it from Long Bob's fingers and tucks it back behind his ear. "Keep it warm for me, hm?"

And Long Bob laughs which is nice but Ed can't help be a little frustrated too.

"What do you want me to do then?"

"Venha." Feliciano pats a cask. Ed venhas, annoyed that his legs still dangle.

"We are all looking a little ragged and it is time you were less so," Feliciano says. "May I?"

"Yes…?"

He's not sure what Feliciano means until clever fingers tug at the knot in his hair and sends it tumbling free down his shoulders and across his neck. Then begin to comb through it, gently releasing the snarls.

Shit.

Fuck.

No. Bad idea. He's starting to feel like Davenport or Eric Danby or the dead swabbie. But he can't really tell Feliciano to stop because then he'll have to tell him why so he tugs the end of the sail over his lap like he's checking Long Bob's work.

"You've got great stitches, mate."

"Long Bob is the best," Long Bob agrees.

"He is," says Feliciano as if he doesn't even notice anything strange going on. The teeth of a comb replace warm fingers and Ed is both relieved and disappointed.

"Ay, it is longer," Feliciano murmurs. "And so dark." He sounds pleased and Ed is glad suddenly to have long dark hair. "Do you know how you wish to wear it?"

"Hm." He hadn't thought about that. "Can you do a mullé? Like Don?" The name sounds weird in his mouth, but he guesses it might as well be Don since they're practically crew and all.

"…My hands are not for this," Feliciano says after a moment, which Ed guesses means no.

"What about a rat-tail like Jack?"

"No…"

Geeze, his hands aren't for anything cool.

"What about bald?" says Long Bob.

"He will never compare, meu lindo." Feliciano pats Long Bob's fuzzy head.

Ed sits up a little straighter. Sure he isn't as big as Long Bob or as muscly and he doesn't have a big laugh or anything like that, but he can compare a little.

"And Ed deserves Ed's look," Feliciano says, ruffling his hair which is both good and horrible and sends tingles down his neck. Ed shifts on the cask, trying to think of what his look even is. He doesn't even have a look really. Just a face and borrowed clothes and stupid stripey pants and holes in his shoes. He has the gold pendant though which is pretty cool but it's not really his.

"I don't know…"

"No trouble," says Feliciano. "It will come. For now, let us begin at the start. Do you prefer back?"

Ed tries not to shiver at the sweep of the ends of his own hair against his neck as Feliciano gathers it into his hand and presses it loosely against the back of his head.

"Or this?" And he lets go and the hair is sliding back over his neck again and into his collar. How the fuck does Feliciano expect him to think?

"Um….both?" he manages.

"And so? Hm. Let me think." But while he thinks he begins to run the comb through again in long, gentle strokes. Ed shifts restlessly.

"What should I do?"

"You? Close your eyes and tell me what the wind is saying."

Ed doesn't expect the laugh there until he breathes it out.

"Sure." And he closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath through his nose. The wind isn't saying a whole hell of a lot. It's slipping against the side of his cheeks and ruffling at his collar and tugging gently at the luffing sails.

He listens to the sound of the sea too, slopping gently against the side of the hull and the sound of the men at work or chatting to one another or arguing over stupid shit like if Toad's hair makes him taller than Black Dog, which yeah, hair counts and if Black Dog has something to say about it, Ed can stab his other foot.

The sound of not so happy raised voices makes him open an eye and he sees Jack and Davenport arguing on the fo'c'sle, Silver's hands up like he's trying to talk them down and Bones pulling away at his bottle. He can't tell if they're really angry or not.

"They were kissing the other night," he says.

"I know this," says Feliciano. Ed looks up at him. He looks nice like this with the sun in his hair but Ed's too curious to be completely distracted.

"How do you know?"

"Me!" says Long Bob.

"Oh right."

"It is so. Down, porfe." Feliciano puts a hand on his head to push it and Ed obeys.

"They were smooching on Ranger too," says Long Bob.

"Fuck off, really?" Ed can't believe that! "Before or after I swam over?"

"Day before. It was great." He laughs. Feliciano hums.

"Mm. I wonder, amor ou luxúria?"

"Uh…" Long Bob seems to think. "Both. But the second more."

"Lu…lushoria?" Ed repeats. "Like, fighting?"

"Wanting to wrestle!" says Long Bob and Feliciano laughs and swats him on the ear.

"Do not bring yourself into this."

"You want to wrestle Jack?" What? "Or Don?" No Don is too weird. What kind of name is Don? It sounds like it should be longer– but does he really deserve Donovan? Ed's not sure about that.

"Feliciano," says Long Bob.

"What?" Ed stares at the man. That makes even less sense.

"Shht!" Feliciano paps Long Bob on the bald head. Then: "Down, Ed."

Ed obeys, though tries to keep an eye on the goings on at the prow. They're simmering now, Jack's arms folded, Davenport's hands on his hips as Silver talks to them. They don't look much like commanders now. No one really does and maybe that's the problem.

"Jack wants me to be his quartermaster," Ed says, just to test that out. Though saying it doesn't make him feel much better.

"Is it what you want?" Feliciano asks.

"I mean… I dunno maybe… If he wasn't an asshole all the time."

Feliciano snorts and Ed agrees with that. Jack will probably be an asshole even more if he's captain. When he's captain. But maybe not all the time. And yeah it'll be super annoying at first, but…what else is he going to do? It's not like if he stays on the Ranger he's going to be a gunner or a rigger or a bursar like Fadel. He'd probably end up a quartermaster anyway, and it would be more fun with someone who would let him drink more and who he could smack on the back of the head.

Besides… Besides if Jack was on the Dorter then…Ed wouldn't get to see him as much and that doesn't sit right with him.

"I like Jack," says Long Bob.

"Yeah, I do too," Ed says "So it can't be so bad."

"So you say." Feliciano gives a final tug at his hair, then holds something in front of Ed's face.

"Is it well?"

Ed blinks and leans back, unexpectedly bumping a little against Feliciano's throat at the sudden sight of…himself, looking back at himself in the brass bound mirror with real fucking glass that's not even cracked.

"Woah…" He looks…different. Paradise wasn't that long ago, though it felt like forever, but it feels like he's become or is becoming someone new. He has cheekbones for one thing, some of the softness gone from his jaw, and more whiskers, almost a whole fucking mustache- or at least the ghost of one. His hair has been pulled back and though some of it tumbles down against his collar, the rest is held a soft bun that Ed can't help but reach back and touch.

His eyes are dark. So dark. And when Ed meets his own gaze in the mirror they seem cold. He'd rather look up at Feliciano who comes into the reflection over by his head, his other arm coming to rest across Ed's shoulders for balance, Ed guesses, but the sight of him and the weight of it and the nearness of it all- the brush of Feliciano's breath against his recently exposed neck makes Ed want to wrestle him too, though he's still not sure entirely what that means.

"There is still the boy in you," says Feliciano in a warm voice. "But see? The man is showing. Here," he presses Ed's jaw. "And here." The slant of his cheekbones. "Very soon you will be tall and strong. You are already growing free from the clothes you came in."

"Really?" Fuck…he…hadn't really noticed but maybe his trousers are shorter and the shoes are smaller. Is he getting taller? He wants to get taller, sure, but he doesn't feel ready for it yet. He's used to this size. What is he going to do when he's not this size anymore?

"And," Feliciano says with a kind of sad smile. "You are already too big to stand in front." He sighs. "So I must move to stand behind…"

What? Ed knows his mind is fuzzy but that's making even less sense than usual.

"Ahead fore," says Long Bob and Feliciano straightens, the mirror falling away. Ed blinks as he sees the ship again and Silver coming toward them with the map in hand and the smile that he wears when he's so annoyed he has to smile at something.

He's so annoyed that when he approaches his parrot goes fluttering from his shoulder to perch on Long Bob's head, leaving a tiny poop there, though Long Bob just smiles. Silver shakes his head and sighs, folds his arms, smile turning down at one corner.

"They asked me to send you back up to take another look at the map."

"I've been staring holes into it all fucking day," Ed says. Behind on the prow, Ed and Davenport are talking by the bowsprit again and Bones is sleeping against the foremast, legs sprawled out on either side.

"They must have come to something," says Feliciano. "It cannot all be…" Ed can feel him make a gesture with his hands but doesn't catch it in time. Silver shrugs. Ed sighs and thumps his head back, mildly surprised to find Feliciano's shoulder, but decides he's too tired to lift it up again. Anyway, Feliciano rests a hand across his forehead so that's nice.

"They're bright young men, to be sure, but they are young men, untried by command at sea and their first time on their own two feet. If Mr. Bones could make a decision worth a grain of rice, then so would they have easier time with it because he could steer them round any reefs or shoals in their thinking. And as it is with the mixed crew and the situation being how it is, speaking both to the Princess at our stern and to the fact that our Don is more interested in the…look of captaining, not that he doesn't have a bright mind; as bright as your Mr. Rackham though he's …." Silver hesitates: "...still learning the ropes."

Feliciano snorts.

Silver's right though, Ed thinks. But it's not really Jack's fault. He's got a lot to try to live up to.

"And with our little friend causing trouble…" Silver lifts his chin up, gesturing a bit back over his shoulder where Dirk is watching. "...Talking to the others, planting doubts as you might say, thinking they'd be better on their own so long as they had certain valuable hostages…"

"Morons," Ed mutters, closing his eyes. They'd have to kill all the Ranger crew to do it, and maybe all of the Siren crew, and then even if they had Feliciano he might not be able to tell them anything even if he could. Even if by some fucking miracle they managed to get Feliciano and the Siren on their side, they'd be short four which would make sailing the Dorter near as impossible.

"That's as may be, and it didn't help him being set to the other night, and it didn't likely didn't hurt much either." Silver adds almost defensively and Feliciano clicks his tongue. "But it is what it is, and things are as they are, and someone has to set things to rights because by all accounts it should be Bill Bones, but we know as it won't be- and as our little friend has set my own men against me, it can't be me either."

"And so this," says Feliciano, sounding annoyed again.

"Unless you've got a better idea," says Silver. "And if they keep turning back so as to check on our progress, it's going to muddy the waters further."

Fuck. Fine.

Ed brushes Feliciano's hand away from his forehead and after a moment of resting, hauls himself off the cask onto his feet.

"Good luck, Ed," says Long Bob.

"Thanks, mate." He reaches out to tentatively pet the bird's chest with his knuckle and it fluffs, tilting its head to the side and fixing Ed with a bright eye. Ed smiles the continues onward toward the prow again, ignoring the excited cries from the others in something else cool he's missing.

"There will be nothing from it," says Feliciano from behind him. Which at least he's wrong about that. Yeah, this will be a fucking slog, and he'll have to think of a way out of it and to solve the problem of Dirk and pulling all their asses out of the water while having to go through three or four people to do it-

And no one will thank him or care or know… But Hornigold will know. He'll know and maybe he won't do anything about it but- he'll look at Ed and see that…that he's more than a good boy. That he's the fucking best.

But first they'll have to fucking survive it so he'll look at the map a-fucking-gain and see what's what and come up with an idea or two and then deal with Dirk in a way that's not going to come back and bite them all in the ass.

Not that he's got a fucking clue as to how he's going to do any of it.

But he's going to have to figure it out. It's not like anyone else will.

And who knows. Maybe they'll get lucky for once.

xxxxx

They are lucky, but they aren't. A storm blowing right the fuck up out of nowhere had knocked them off course and made a few hour journey to Mermaid Rock turn to a day and a half. The foresail had torn right in half during it, knocking one of the Siren crew, Cadger or Badger or something, to the deck and shattering his arm.

And even though it hadn't been one of the Walrus crew, Dirk had used that. He had said in a way everyone was meant to hear that this was what happened when captained by boys.

No, shit, Ed had wanted to say. He'd rather be captained who knew what the fuck they were doing too. No one like that around.

To make things worse there had been a strange eerie sound during the night, like a lonely ghost, that had freaked everyone out and no one had even so much set a fucking foot on deck til this morning- which is good because they hadn't seen the glowing green water at Dog's Watch that had lapped up the sides of the hull.

It had been as beautiful as it had been a little fucking terrifying.

Ed had hauled some up in a bucket and waved his fingers in it making them glow too.

Then he'd freaked out himself a bit and scoured off his hands before chucking the whole bucket over the side. It was bad enough without anyone seeing him with glowing fucking fingers.

He was glad he had because the next day, no one had been happy to take the slower route, swerving between the islands that they came across to keep out of direct line of sight of anything coming West. Maybe it had been a shit idea, and it was definitely a tedious idea. The crew had grumbled more, booze was thinning out as well as everyone's tempers and even the Siren crew had been getting annoyed.

Maybe someone had had a better idea. But no one had fucking said so, had they? Anyway, even if it had been slow and tedious they were lucky to have been able to hide themselves behind a huge outcropping of rock that Long Bob had named Monkey Fingers right before the Princess had fairly limped into the headwaters of the Devil's Eye to make a berth there.

She'd been caught in the storm too and was a little roughed up by it. Ed had seen them through the spyglass just a few hours ago patching the hull. It wasn't a great thing to do on the open ocean but they were probably too wary to haul her big ass into the shallower water.

They probably had a good captain too. A strong captain. A captain that was sober more than he was drunk and didn't make someone else make all the decisions.

But…anyway, the good thing is, the Princess doesn't know they're here. The bad thing is they're pretty much fucking trapped here until she shoves off and hopes she doesn't leave at an angle to see them.

Another fortunate thing is that Bones had come out of his stupor long enough to tell everyone to piss off to a nearby island to gather supplies, he'd said, but really to cool off, Ed guesses. To get off ship. To stretch their legs.

Not that there is anything much to this island but sand and trees and rocks.

Still the Walrus crew had practically dove off the side to get the chance and he had a feeling that they were looking for more than just a chance to hit the beach.

Ed shifts his weight carefully on the pine branch he's been sitting on the last two hours or so, watching the sun slowly bleed through the horizon, glinting off the sea and the clouds and the flicking off the fucking amazing waterfalls of Mermaid Rock like jewels.

Pew is directly below him. The man's been pacing, digging in the sand, darting behind a rock at the sound of footsteps and then breathing again when whoever it is passed by. The man is observant. Stupid enough to bolt at the sound of a rock crashing through the underbrush and giving Ed enough time to scale the tree before he came back- but observant.

So long, Ed guesses, as he doesn't have to look up.

After awhile Pew was joined by Black Dog and then later Job Anderson, and though Ed is close enough to hear what they're saying, they're not doing anything but grumbling and shushhing each other, ears perked like dogs.

Then, just as the sun is almost touching the rim of the horizon, a shadow falls across the beach. The Walrus men tense, hands on knives and pistols and Ed holds himself as still as he can even though he wants to lean forward to see.

As expected, Dirk arrives into the clearing…. shoulder to shoulder with van Morgenstern.

Ed nearly does sit up then, heart in his throat, hand on his dagger, but he waits instead of jumping down to save him, takes a long quiet breath and looks.

Van Morgenstern isn't bound, but isn't armed except for whatever might be in that small burlap sack he's carrying- which might be big enough to contain a flintlock, but not easy to get to.

What is he even doing here?

"Hey, now, what are ye doin' here?!" Pew spits. "We don't want none of yer Ranger crew in these parts!"

"Shut up," Dirk says and Job Anderson's mouth closes with a click. "Thomas is a friend." He grins. "A future crewmate."

No, that's bullshit. It has to be bullshit. Why would van Morgenstern be a friend of theirs?

"Why would he be a friend of ours?" Pew says, folding his arms. "I don't believe a word of it!"

"I bet that damn Teach has something to do with it," Black Dog snaps and Ed holds his breath as they all look around back and forth through the trees. Van Morgenstern goes white and shifts as if he's going to leave but Dirk puts a hand on his shoulder and says:

"You stay right here. If you move, I'll blow your brains out."

Van Morgenstern nods and Ed watches as Dirk moves back to the beach, as if looking for Ed there. Ed stares into van Morgenstern's, willing it to break into something else, some kind of sly expression or maybe even relief. But who would even send him out here? Not Jack. Maybe Silver, maybe.

Yeah, that had to be.

"All clear," says Pew, coming back to the center.

"Here too," Black Dog adds.

"Here's…ow fine…" says Job Anderson, picking burrs off himself.

"God almighty we let you alone for two seconds!" Pew shakes his head.

"No one on the beach," Dirk says, returning and then resting a hand on the nape of van Morgenstern's neck. "And that's good. Because old Tommy here is a friend of ours now. Tell us why." He gives the man a little shake.

"Well-" van Morgenstern takes a breath, then looks around. "Are you sure Teach ain't here?" This makes everyone spook again and look around themselves until Dirk thumps the back of van Morgenstern's head says:

"No. And I'm not afraid of a baby," he snaps. Fucker. Ed would show him a baby right to the spleen.

"If he was a baby? No problem. Hell, even if he was a guy like Jack or Bobby or some shit, dat I get, but he's not nat'ral. I don't even tink he's human. Listen, I heard tings. I seen tings. Last night da lil fucker's fingers were glowin'."

Oh… shit. Well at least van Morgenstern was the only one who'd seen it but…now he wonders… He stares at his fingers in the dark. Is just that enough to scare the piss out of a grown man?

"You were dreaming," Dirk says.

"Swear on my oma's grave, dats what I saw. And and I asked Duarte, just jokin' like, if Teach got dis ship by killin' everyone aboard and Duarte just smiled. Smiled. Gave me da collywobbles."

The other men shiver too except Dirk, though it's hard to tell what he feels since Ed can't see his face clearly. Which is probably a good thing because it's only that and the knowledge that van Morgenstern is a filthy traitor that's keeping him from laughing.

"If he'd killed everyone on the Dorter, there would be blood," says Dirk. "And corpses."

"I didn't say he did. I'm sayin' dat it wouldn't surprise me if he did."

"Wouldn't surprise me either," says Pew. "Not a bit."

"He stabbed me in the fucking foot without even blinking," says Black Dog.

"Did…Did Teach drive you from your captain?" says Job Anderson.

"What? Naw. He's fine if he's on your side. It's just you can't get anyhwere with Hornigold. You gotta be under his thumb to get any upward mobility, and dat plus like, he doesn't know what he's doin' half the time and we ain't got a doctor and only five percent of any loot we get? Forgeddabout it. It ain't right."

"Five percent?" Black Dog shakes his head. "That's criminal."

"Innit?"

"Silver makes sure we get ten percent at least," says Pew and the dumbasses all nod. "And if we need a doctor and it can't be fixed on the ship it comes out of the health fund."

Van Morgenstern gasps.

"You guys get a health fund?"

"Aye," says Pew. "And dental."

"Seems… like Silver's not sucha bad guy…" van Morgenstern says, looking at the burlap sack. Ed feels for him a little. It's true that working under Hornigold isn't the easiest, but that's what happens when you work for the best. Who the hell gives a shit about health funds or dental? You're either a healthy pirate or a dead one.

"Silver is the reason we're in this mess," says Dirk. "We'll be much better off without him! And it's too late now anyway after what you did."
And he snatches the sack from van Morgenstern and reaches in, snatching out a lumpy shape which suddenly shrieks in terror, wings flailing. Ed's heart flips as he realizes it's the fucking bird. He wants to leap down from the tree, to save it, to make it stop screeching. Dirk shoves it back in the sack but the screams are only muffled now.

Ed grips the branch to keep himself where he is. If Dirk knows he wants it, he'll just use it against him, maybe even kill the thing and if does that then Ed really will stab him because he doesn't want to be the one to give Silver his dead bird back.

"We don't need him," Dirk says. "Between the five of us we can get a hundred percent of the loot! But with this we can use him. Use his weakness against him. He'll be on our side and do whatever we say."

Ed doubts it. But then he doesn't know. He can't be sure. He himself might do the same thing for Feliciano but… for a bird?

"I think we need him a little," says Black Dog.

"We don't. And we don't have to listen to boys tell us what to do! Or Silver! Or Flint! We can make our own way! With just my brain alone we can get out of this cursed Eye without the Princess even noticing us."

Oh that's just it.

"And how the fuck are you going to do that?"

Pew's scream nearly startles Ed right out the fucking tree.

"Oh shit! He's here!" Black Dog yelps and shoves Job Anderson down as he bolts from the clearing out into the sand. Job Anderson stumbles after Pew who is diving, screaming into the forest. Ed clings to the trunk, looking around. Who the fuck is here? What the fuck are they running from?

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" van Morgenstern is bellowing as he charges out into the sand himself, only just dodging Dirk's reaching hand. "It was a trick! A game! Ha ha!"

Wait… Wait…are they running…from him?

Really?

Yeah they're idiots but…

What the fuck do they think he's going to do?

"Cowards!" Dirk yells. "He's just a boy!"

"Am I?" Ed says, feeling strangely giddy for the first time in fucking ever.

"A little shitfaced boy," snarls Dirk. "And I'm not afraid of you!"

So not afraid he has his pistol out and is circling around, pointing at the trees. The sack lies forgotten and Ed hopes he can help it stay that way without anyone getting shot. He plucks off a pinecone as softly as he can and throws it deeper into the woods. Dirk jerks toward the sound but doesn't shoot.

Damn.

"Come out and face me like a man!"

"I thought I was a boy," Ed says, because it's way too fucking easy. How does Dirk expect to win if he leaves openings big enough to sail the Princess through?

"You're going to be offal when I'm through with you!" snaps Dirk. "And this? This isn't over. You can't stop this. You and your mates and Davenport and Bones and Silver can all go to hell. This is my time. Mine."

"Okay but you still haven't said how you were going to get out of it." And Ed would really like to fucking know. He takes another pinecone and throws it in another direction. Dirk hisses between his teeth and his arm is shaking as he clutches his shoulder.

Ed bets it hurts.

Ed bets it burns.

He'd like to make it hurt more as the fucker deserves for what he said to Feliciano but not yet. Not now.

"You'd like to know, wouldn't you? Well you won't live to see it."

"Yeah, I would and yeah, I will. Are you going to row back and hope the supplies last? Or are you going to turn back against the wind and try to make it back the way we came, where they can still head you off, by the way. Or try to make it through here without a map?"

"I don't need a map, I have your little Spaniard."

"He's Portuguese, you fucker," Ed snaps and is very tempted to throw a pinecone at his head. "And he barely knows the area. You heard him before. And just how the fuck do you think we got this far? Jack? Donovan?" No it still sounds weird and pukey in his mouth. "Bones?"

"I'll… I'll figure out a way," Dirk says. "Once I get those bastards back on my side, and they will be. I'll make it so they don't want to be anywhere else." There's a threat in his words. Maybe he'll succeed. Maybe the Walrus crew will turn against him.

But they don't have time for a bloody mutiny.

They have an advantage with the Princess being as she is. Of her not expecting them to be there. Of tide and time and other things. But they're going to lose it if they dick around for much longer.

And he'll need Dirk, if not on his side, at least out of his fucking way.

Well, there's one way to get this done, he knows. It's not a way he's going to fucking like but the only way he has so far.

"Or we can work together," Ed says, hating it even as he says it. "I give you an idea, you take the credit." Not that anyone worth a damn would believe that Dirk had come up with it, but that's how it always goes so why the fuck should it change now.

"Why… would you do that?" Dirks hand lowers and he's massaging his shoulder and for some reason it feels really fucking good to see.

"Because I want to get the fuck out of here." And come back on the Ranger so he can actually fucking enjoy himself. "And I'm tired of bullshit." Also if it's a shit plan, Dirk will take the fall for it in the eyes of his idiots. Then again, if it's a shit plan they're all probably going to die and since he's the only fucking one who can seem to fucking think it's just going to have to be the best fucking plan he's ever made, isn't it?

"You pull this off with me and you won't have to sail with Flint," Ed says making it up as he goes, trying to pretend he's like Feliciano or like a siren from the stories Doctor John used to tell, luring men to the rocks. "Everyone would see this is the man who got past a huge fuckoff war ship. They'd probably even give you a ship of your own."

The flintlock is almost fully lowered now.

"So what is this plan?" Dirk says, voice smoother now, more confident, like he thinks he's going to win this fucking conversation.

"I'll tell you when I'm ready." Ed plucks the third pinecone. He can see the stars now through the branches of the trees though the sun hasn't fully set.

"And if I don't go along with it?"

Ed turns to look down at the man, a blocky shadowy shape but just enough to make out.

"Then I can just kill you now." And he slings the pinecone down, the thud of the hit and the blast of the flintlock filling him with a kind of satisfaction. Dirk may be able to reload but he'll have to be able to see first.

"Ow! You little fucker," Dirk snarls. "Fine. Fine. But it better be a good plan or I will skin you, I will skin your Spaniard, I will skin everyone you like and make you watch."

Dirk can barely fucking skin a potato but the words make him sit up, legs dangling over the tree branch. Can Dirk do it? Probably not. But that he wants to do it makes Ed want to stab him.

"It will be," Ed says. "But you had better not fuck me over, Dirk. You'd better not even think of it, you pockmarked faced bitch." Now bitch was a nice word to say. He should try it more often. "Because I know where you sleep. I know where you eat and where you shit and where you piss. And if you cross me I will make you fucking regret it."

There is a moment of silence where Dirk pulls in a sharp breath.

"I'm not afraid of you," he says and Ed grins, feeling that hard dark edge rising in his throat and it's fucking wonderful. What a fucking liar he is. Ed wants to call him out on it but doesn't. Not yet anyway.

"Tomorrow night. Have something. Or the deal's off." And he spits on the ground and storms away.

Ed remains where he is, watching the sun set, the skies darken, the stars flicker to life, the moon rise. Only when he can see the ground and his neck is starting to ache does he get down from the tree, quietly, ears open for any sound. A peek on the beach shows no one around. Still he takes the sack that Dirk dropped and makes sure he's well seated on the branch again before opening it.

The bird peeps, shuddering and Ed shushes it, reaching into stroke its small feathered head.

"You're alright, mate. I've got you." And then he leans back against the trunk and searches the stars, trying to find Ana-Nia though he won't see her from this angle with the branches in the way. He sighs, feeling tired again and ready to sleep. But he can't. Not yet.

"Now I just have to figure out everything fucking else."

The bird peeps again, smoothing its head into his hand, then begins to pull at his sleeve with its beak.

"Hey, stop," he laughs a little. "You're going to tear it." He moves his sleeve gently away from her, and catches a tiny speck of fading green glow. And then he thinks of the holes in the side of the ship and Jack's need to scuttle her.

And smiles.