Nothing happened. No one ran outside to face them. No pistols fired off into the air. No traps sprang. Only the sound of the door swinging back from hitting against a wall.
"Enter," a voice called from inside.
The lot waiting outside the door glanced at each other, unsure of just what game Silver Eyes was playing.
"I can assure you this is not a trick. I know when I am defeated."
Anne motioned for the others to enter, and one after the other they went into the room. Anne was last, taking her time to stay steady in her crutches. Each step forward sent her heart racing a mite faster, to the point that she could feel it pounding in her ears by the time she came up beside William.
Inside the simple room, a study with a large window overlooking the sea, their enemy, Lance Nhil, sat leisurely in a chair facing them. He was of a darker complexion, close to Pukuh, and looked to be from the Near East with thick and short brown hair and a full beard. He would not have looked out of place in an Ottoman palace in Constantinople, or perhaps as a refined captain of a Barbary corsair vessel.
His eyes shone from the sunlight streaming through the great window behind him and made them appear a solid silver. There was something strange about the colour that Anne couldn't place, an otherworldly quality about his eyes that made him look, for lack of a better word, inhuman. They were as beautiful as they were haunting.
"That's him," Christina seethed. "He's the one who came aboard the ship."
Lance looked at Christina, and he appeared to recognize her. "Ah, yes, the pretty girl from the ship. I am surprised you survived," he said with a smile that sent shivers down Anne's spine. "Alqamar," Lance said—the Arabic word for moon.
Christina's hands dropped to her sides, and her face lost all emotion.
"William, get Christina out of here!" Anne shouted.
William put away his weapon and took Christina's out of her hand before she could do anything with them. Thankfully, the trigger didn't send her into a frenzy as before. William was able to lead Christina out without fighting her, and Victoria left with them to help.
That left Pukuh, Alexandre, and Anne in the room with him. Pukuh and Alexandre both were keeping their distance, and Anne was the farthest away, as she could do little in her condition.
"Tell me, where is Edward? Where is Blackbeard?"
"I would worry about yourself right now," Anne spat back. "He's off killing your captain."
Lance shook his head. "A pity. He was supposed to come here first. The young always love to rush things." Lance sat there in silence for another moment before turning his attention back to Anne. "You pitiful thing, you've lost your leg." He rose from his chair. Anne pulled herself back instinctively and nearly fell. She caught herself at the last second, and her face flushed red hot with anger. "Do you fear me, girl?" Lance took a step forward.
Alexandre's rapier stopped Lance's advance. "Apologies, mon ami, but you will not be taking another step."
Lance looked down at the rapier tip at his chest. He reached one hand up to the blade and stroked it. "Such a fine blade." There was a snapping sound. "Sleep," Lance said, and Alexandre's arm went limp.
Lance had brought his other hand up in front of Alexandre's face while attention was on the blade and had done what he did best. He put Alexandre in a trance, his eyes hollow and out of focus. Alexandre kept his grip on his weapon, but the tip was now dragging on the floor.
Pukuh growled and leapt forward, striking with his spear. Lance stepped to the side, grabbed the spear and pulled it forward, bringing Pukuh closer before punching him in the gut. Pukuh doubled over in pain but kept hold of his spear. Before he could jump away, Lance grabbed Pukuh's shoulder and pulled him close. Lance whispered something in Pukuh's ears, and he froze in place.
Then Lance turned to Anne. She tried to back away, but this time she did lose her balance and fell backwards to the floor. She panicked and scrambled backwards away from Lance's advance.
Lance leaned forward, reaching towards her. "Look into my eyes," he said.
Anne, whether through defiance or fear, closed her eyes tight. Sweat and tears poured down her cheeks. She couldn't move, she couldn't even scream.
Silence. Lance's hand hadn't touched her, he hadn't whispered his spell into her ears. She opened her eyes. Lance was there, towering over her, about to touch her shoulder. Pierced through his neck was Alexandre's rapier. It was the precise kind of strike that only Alexandre in his full state of awareness could have done.
He removed the blade in one smooth motion, and blood shot out from the wound. Lance, somehow still alive, grabbed his wound as he turned around to see his killer before tumbling to the floor. When he saw Alexandre there, a small smile at the corner of his lips, Lance's eyes widened even more, which gave away his last thoughts as plain as day.
Alexandre put away his rapier, reached over, and helped Anne to her feet and back into her crutches. "Alexandre, how did you…?"
"Come now, after all this, you think I could be put under his spell?"
Anne accepted Alexandre's simple explanation, and Alexandre went to help Pukuh out of the trance. She looked at Lance in his last moments, his beautiful silver eyes marred by blood from him straining to stay in the world of the living. The look of confusion mixed with his pain pleased her, more so than she liked to admit. She was happy that he could be taken down a level before he passed. It was the least he deserved after all he had done.
Alexandre brought Pukuh out of the trance, and they both came up to her. Satisfied, she was ready to move on. "We're done here. Let's go home."
18. The Pirate With Three Names
"So good to see you again, boys," Edward's father said. "Especially you, Herbert. How long has it been? Ten, eleven, twelve years? I'm sure you've kept track," he said before cackling.
Edward and Herbert were led into the study of Calico Jack's villa, a large room on the second floor with several tables filled to the brim with papers, letters, and books. On the walls hung several trophies, including a golden horn like the one his father carried at his side, and a strange hand that Edward thought must have been fake. Or at least he hoped it was.
The double doors on both sides of the study leading to balconies were open, letting in a breeze free from the smell of filth that lingered at street level in Nassau.
Edward's father, true to his third name, wore a suit made of coarse green cotton with a floral pattern around the trim. It didn't fit with his imposing figure and scarred features. One scar, running from his right eye down to his mouth, made him look a monster in human form. Edward recalled that his wife had given him that scar.
"So, what am I supposed to call you? Benjamin Hornigold, Jack Rackham, or your real name, Albert Thatch? Or would you prefer to keep it simple, and I call you Father?"
Edward, his hands bound in front of him, tried his best to keep calm, but it was proving difficult.
"Let's stick with Jack for now," the man said, still smiling.
"Why are we here?" Herbert said. "Why don't you just kill us and get it over with?"
Jack folded his arms. "All in due time, gentlemen. All in due time." He stared at the two of them for a moment before unfolding his arms and walking over to a cabinet, waving a finger as he talked. "You know, I was really rooting for you this time. Grace told me how you got aboard her ship and nearly had her fooled, too." Jack took out a few glasses and some dark drink. "She wouldn't admit it, but I imagine if you hadn't killed your brother, she wouldn't have figured it out. Even I can't recognize you since I last saw you with that thick beard." Jack poured the rum into the glasses in equal portions and brought two of them over to his captors. "Oh, that's right, you're a little tied up now. Just open your mouth, and I'll pour it down."
"I'll pass," Edward said. He desperately wanted to say yes, but he remembered his promise.
Jack looked at Herbert, and Herbert simply stared at him. He shrugged. "More for me," he said before downing one of the glasses in a single gulp.
/> This was not the father he remembered from his youth. Edward remembered a kind, gentle man who loved to play and teach him about sailing. A man who would go on walks with him, name the stars for him. A man who would tell him stories before sleep, comfort him, drop everything for him. A man who loved him.
This man was wholly and completely Calico Jack, a pirate who seemed to love himself and the sound of his own voice. His old father was dead.
"To answer your question: you're here because I thought we could talk a bit. I wanted to hear about what's happened to you over the years before it's too late. The gallows are being prepared as we speak, so we'd best get on with it, gentlemen."
"Your spy didn't give you enough information?" Edward asked.
Jack arched his brow for a second and then grinned. "A spy? Now, what makes you think I sent a spy aboard your ship?"
"John, at the very least, knew everything. Victoria is another. They could have been working together to send you information."
"I see," Jack said as he rubbed his chin. "Just those two, hmm?"
Edward's jaw went slack. There were more than just John and Victoria? Some of his most loyal crewmates had been with him from the beginning since he'd set out to be a whaler. From there, they had gone to Port Royal, and there John got them more crewmembers, many of whom were also still on the crew to this day. Edward supposed with his father's reach it could have been any port, but Port Royal was the closest to their home island. It would have been simple to have some other crewmates ready to join them there, including Victoria.
But Edward remembered that Sam was the one who had suggested they head to Port Royal, not John. Could Sam be a traitor too? How did he get involved with his father's crew after their run-in with Cache-Hand? It all seemed too coincidental.
There was no way to be sure, and right now, Sam and his crew were their last hope to escape this situation. He had to believe in Sam and not give up any information that could tip their hand.
"Tch," Edward spat. "As Herbert said, just kill us and be done with it. I'm tired of the games you've had us playing these past years."
Jack shrugged. "Well, if that's what you wish, who am I to object?" He whistled as his gaze turned to one of his guards keeping watch at the door.
Edward turned his head to look behind him. The guard pulled a pistol from his belt and aimed it at Herbert. Edward shouted and jumped at Herbert to knock him out of the way. There was a loud shot and Herbert roared as the iron ball seared into his back.
The guard began reloading his pistol. Herbert, his hands tied in front of him, couldn't grab hold of the wound to stop the bleeding. He pulled himself tighter as he stifled shouts of pain between heavy breaths.
"Stop!" Edward shouted at the guard, then looked at his father. "Stop it, you bastard!"
Jack raised his brows again and placed his hand on his chest. "Me? Isn't this what you wanted? You both begged for it." He shook his head. "Now who's playing games?"
The guard finished loading the pistol and aimed it at Herbert again. Edward pivoted, ready to tackle the guard, but he pulled the pistol back and put it away. Edward looked at his father again, and he was holding his hand up. The guard walked back to his post.
"So, speaking of John," Jack began as though nothing had happened, "could you tell me what happened to him? I know he's passed, but details were scarce in the reports."
Edward gritted his teeth, unable to hold back his anger. Herbert was bleeding out, but still holding on and conscious. "Herbert's going to die. We need to stop the bleeding." Edward pressed down on the wound, doing his best to keep the pressure on it. Herbert groaned but didn't scream.
"He'll survive long enough for the execution." Jack took another drink from the second glass of rum he had gotten. "Now, answer the question, if you please."
"Shut it. I'm not going to talk to you as if you're still the man who was comrades with John. You took on the man who killed him as a crewmate."
Jack pointed at his son. "Don't forget that he also tortured you half to death," he said. "I couldn't let that kind of talent be squandered. Locke… or what was it he called himself? Chest-Hand? Money-Mitten? Box-Fist?" Jack shook his head as he scratched his face.
"Cache-Hand," Edward said.
His father snapped his fingers and pointed at Edward. "Cache-Hand, that's the one. He made for a good, if unexpected, test for you a bit ago. Twice. He paid back his usefulness. Now you, on the other hand. What a disappointment you've been."
"Why? Because I haven't killed you yet? If you want to die so badly, do us all a favour and kill yourself."
Jack burst out laughing, a howling, cackling laugh. "That's good, I like that. Where was that anger when I stabbed you in the back? You had your wife carry you away like some useless drunk. In fact," he stroked his chin again before running a finger down the scar along his cheek, "she was the one who gave me this wound. Maybe she should be the one in your place. She seems far more capable than you. She could have been queen by now if not for being declared dead, what with her mother's passing."
"Anne's mother passed away?" The news floored Edward and broke through what had been happening up until then.
Jack stopped stroking his scar and looked at Edward. "Yes, almost a year ago," he said. "Does she not know? Where is she right now? Did you leave her behind?" He waved his hand. "No matter, perhaps after you've failed, she'll try her hand at revenge." Jack placed the empty glass on the table. "It doesn't seem you want to talk with your dear father, so let's get this over with."
Jack walked past Edward and Herbert and left the room.
Edward was still reeling over the news of Anne's mother. She had been a thorn in their side and announced Anne had died as a means to tell Anne she had been disowned, but deep down Anne still loved her mother. If he made it out of this alive, he would have to break the news to her.
The guards picked Edward up off his feet, and one of them pushed him towards the door. Edward stumbled forward as he looked over his shoulder towards Herbert who was still bleeding from his back. The other guard picked him up with no regard for his wound, and Herbert let out a yelp of pain.
The guards brought the two of them out of the room and down the stairs to the first floor. Jack was already gone, headed to the gallows ahead of them.
Herbert's wheelchair was at the foot of the steps. Edward remembered the weapons Herbert had hidden, as well as the secret weapon built into the wheelchair by Nassir. It could be crucial to getting out of this alive. He needed to get Herbert into the wheelchair, even if he was injured.
After they descended the stairs, and it became clear the guard was just going to carry Herbert the whole way to the gallows, Edward stopped.
"Let Herbert have some dignity in his last moments," he said. "Put him in his chair, for God's sake." The guards didn't listen and pushed Edward forward. What could he say for them to listen? He couldn't make it sound like he was desperate.
"Just put the boy into the wheelchair and be done with it," someone said from the front door of the villa.
Edward turned around to see Grace standing there. As usual, she looked ready for a fight wearing her copper greaves, which Edward guessed were loaded and prepared to fire.
"You'll be pushin' 'im, though," she said, pointing at Edward.
The guards put Herbert in his wheelchair, and he winced from the wound. From what Edward could see, the bullet didn't go all the way through and was still lodged inside. It would get infected if they didn't treat it soon.
The guard pushed Edward back to the wheelchair. He looked down at his locked hands and then at Grace. He opened his mouth, but Grace put up a hand.
"Don't even try it," she said, her tone as filled with annoyance as her face showed. "Ye can still push him with yer hands tied. Ye think me daft, boy?"
Edward closed his mouth and didn't say another word. He pushed Herbert's chair forward, and Grace left the door open and went ahead. Behind Edward, the guards were following on his heels.
Ed
ward pushed Herbert over the lip of the door and down the steps towards the villa's gate. Outside, he could hear loud shouts of many voices from the centre of Nassau. From beyond the gate, some ways down the road, a crowd had begun gathering.
Edward looked up at the other buildings crowding the street, and he could see all eyes were on him and Herbert. It hadn't taken long for news about the execution to spread.
Once outside the gates, with the noise of the looming crowd providing some protection, Edward leaned down to whisper to Herbert. "Are you well?"
Herbert was sweating and visibly in pain. "Well enough," he said.
"Get it ready," Edward said.
Herbert looked up at him, looking confused. Edward motioned with his eyes to the compartments in the armrests of his chair. Herbert nodded, then went to work.
First, Herbert had to shuffle around, stifling groans of pain as he did, to get his blanket, which had ended up underneath him. He pulled it up and unfolded it to cover his legs and hide what he was doing with his arms.
Edward kept pushing Herbert forward, keeping with Grace's pace. He didn't want to risk her paying more attention to them at that moment.
As they went down the road, the crowd that had gathered became thicker, with more bodies standing in the street waiting for the hanging. As they came closer, Edward could see the podium.
The noise grew louder as people began noticing them approaching. Those in the crowd were more varied than Edward had thought they would be. Many looked to be sailors—pirates, Edward could tell—but some women and men appeared to be more respectable. Traders, business owners, some people of import, and even some children about. But pirates outnumbered the others by ten to one, so it was clear that pirates ruled the town. And Edward's father was their leader.
Herbert looked up at Edward and nodded. The weapon was ready, but if they unleashed it now, they wouldn't get far. As soon as they had been captured, their opportunities had narrowed to only one choice.
The only way out alive was to kill his father and end this. Grace and his father's words confirmed that it was what he wanted. 'I know it's gonna kill Jack that ye weren't up ta snuff.' ' Maybe she should be the one in your place.' His father had set all this in motion as a test, that much he guessed, but they had confirmed it. 'By the sound of the Golden Horn!' Their rallying cry. He was their leader, and he wanted Edward, his son, to kill him, and it was all a test. It wasn't much of a stretch to see that the test was whether Edward was strong enough to become his father's successor.
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