It could have gone a lot worse.
He's still alive, after all, and barely even injured. Just really, really wet. The island he's washed up on isn't all that bad. It isn't even deserted. There's at least one other survivor from the storm, and most importantly, that survivor has coin. Anyway, he's already spent the morning being shipwrecked. It's not like the afternoon can be that much worse.
All he has to do is track down Duncan Walpole (and Duncan Walpole's money), and he'll be a rich man. Or richer, anyway- he's not fool enough to think the man has all his coin on him. But it's more than Edward has right now.
The island's a big place, and it doesn't take long to realize Walpole knows how to hide. Unluckily for him, Edward has nothing better to do and all the time in the world to do it in. There's an old tower on a hill that looks like it has a good view of the island, and Edward makes his way up it as quick as he can. It's not quite as easy as climbing a ship's rigging, but he makes it up alright. He crouches on the top and looks around, searching out Walpole.
At first there's nothing, but then Edward catches a flash of movement below him, and grins broadly. "Got you," he mutters, and tenses up, ready to jump down. Something stirs at the back of his mind, but Edward shakes it away like a dog with fleas and pushes it back. There are more important things to worry about.
He leaps off the tower to the ground and goes tearing after Walpole, who can run fast for someone that looks like a drowned rat. By the time he finally manages to catch up with the man, Edward's out of breath and more than a little angry at being led all over the island. Maybe Walpole could have made it off the island alive if he hadn't put Edward in such a bad mood. Maybe not. It doesn't really matter, Edward decides, and starts digging through the man's pockets.
He finds a few trinkets, a map, and not as much coin as he'd hoped for. Walpole's also wearing two blades strapped to his arms, which Edward examines for a moment before tossing them away. They're well crafted, but they don't have the reach of a sword, and how much help could they be in an open fight, anyway?
He pockets everything else and turns away, only to stop three feet on. For some reason, leaving the blades behind doesn't feel right. Some part of his mind won't let him walk off without them, and he's not really sure why. Edward shakes his head hard and starts walking again. Let the blades stay behind and rust- he has no reason to care.
And that should have been the last he thought about it, but it isn't. For a long time after, for days and weeks, whenever he's alone, or things get quiet, he goes back to that moment in his mind. It's the first hint he has that there's something wrong with him, but it's far from the last.
He can feel someone watching him, all the time, no matter where he goes or what he does, like someone standing just behind him, right where he can't see them. It's probably the most disturbing thing he's ever felt, and the longer it goes on, the more stubbornly convinced he gets.
Whoever this person is, whatever they want with him, he's determined to have nothing to do with it. So he blocks it out, does his best to ignore it. He pushes it away, drowns it out with fighting and sailing and anything else. It works, mostly. He can still feel the watcher, but not as close anymore, just waiting.
Waiting for what, he doesn't quite know.