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After three days of the men’s secretive glances and sudden silences whenever he stepped on deck, Ed had a suspicion that something was afoot. But while no one had ever accused Ed of being non-confrontational, he was, to a measured extent, trying to tread a little more softly than he would have in the past, following The Incidents. As they say, no use in rocking a recently rocked boat. (Metaphorically. Literally, the Revenge was very stable, Ed was a fucking amazing sailor.)
That said, the crew was acting shady, and Stede had been dodging him while acting even more abnormally chipper for days. Ed knew that something was fishy, and it wasn’t the fish.
When he stepped on the quarterdeck, he saw it was the fish balls.
“Why the fuck are you rolling fish into fish balls, man,” he asked Roach.
Roach froze. A fish ball dropped from his hand and rolled slowly down the deck, falling into the ocean with a plop. “I don’t see any fish balls,” he said, at the same time as Wee John’s wide-eyed, “Captain asked us to.”
Ed narrowed his eyes. He picked up a fish ball and sniffed it, regretting it immediately, and placed it back. The balls were all speckled with bits of carrot. “What’s this, then?” he directed at the mast pole that Stede was unsubtly hiding behind.
Stede stepped aside, bouncing on his toes. “All shall be revealed tonight,” he intoned, and disappeared with a flourish of his coat.
Ed turned back to the men and narrowed his eyes. “What’s happening tonight?"
“You know, I think it’s going to be a dinner?” Wee John asked, rubbing the back of his neck with a fish-smeared hand. Roach was just pretending not to hear him now, deeply focused on peeling a carrot. Ed lowered his voice.
“What,” he growled, “is different tonight from all other nights?”
A giggle sounded across the deck.
Ed didn’t need to look to know that Stede was twenty paces away, positioned to eavesdrop, fluttering his fingers with delight.
He heard him hum: ”Exactly.”
*
There were days where Ed thought staying on the Revenge after The Incidents was the biggest mistake of his life, and days where he thought that even days that offered nothing more than violent seas and dirty looks, being on this ship, with this crew, was worth more than – well. Than any alternative he could think of. Some days the men’s opinion of him grew hot and cold faster than a flash storm, and even that uncertainty made him feel more alive than he had for the past ten years.
He and Stede had decided to take things slow. They had talked, after everything, and decided that maybe going on a maiming and marooning rampage was perhaps not Ed’s healthiest response to being hurt, and that Stede didn’t really know how to navigate a relationship whose first rule wasn’t What Will the Neighbors Think, so for now they were going the long route, as it were. Slow and steady.
“Probably a smart idea,” Stede had said, sounding regretful.
“’S’what they call me,” Ed said. “Blackbeard the Wise.”
“Do they,” said Stede. “I thought they called you Blackbeard the Wicked.”
“Only Lucius calls me that now.”
“Pretty sure Jim does too,” Stede said.
“Nah,” Ed said. “Jim seems like the forgiving type.”
“Oh, is that what they seem like to you?” Stede snorted. “I thought you had a talent for reading people.”
“Oh, I do,” Ed said. Wise. Wicked. Observant. A perfect shot. “I contain multitudes.”
*
When Ed saw the dinner table that night, he said: “Well, shit.”
They’d spread a tablecloth. The table was set for a feast, complete with wine and candles, little bowls of nuts and water, and sprinkled with what looked like decorative doubloons. As a centerpiece stood a big round plate. One that he didn’t know he’d remembered.
His mother’s hands, lit by candlelight, carefully placing the loaded plate at the end of the table; to look, but not touch; the distinct smell of dry bread.
“Sit, sit,” Stede said, and gestured to the seat waiting for Ed at the head of the table, between Fang and Ivan. The rest of the crew were already seated, and Ed found that he was sitting down as well, his black leather in contrast to the lighter fabrics most of the rest of diners were wearing. Stede Bonnet was definitely, he remembered once again, absolutely, fantastically, nuts.
“I did the napkins,” Fang whispered proudly, pointing at the cloth napkins set on each plate. They were folded into swans. Extraordinary.
“Well done, man,” Ed said, “So. What’s all this then?”
“Well,” Stede said from the other side of the table. “Not to blow too much of one’s own trumpet on your captain’s deductive reasoning, but I did notice a few of my books managed to survive the Great Purge, including—” he produced an old tome, and gave it a fond pat on the binding—“this little friend. Everybody, meet Shulchan Aruch.”
Something churned in Ed’s chest, like a book tossing and tumbling in crashing waves.
Book after book, sinking into the depths, except for the ones in a language he couldn’t bring himself to toss overboard.
“Bit of investigation later,” Stede continued, “and thanks to all who contributed from their collectively massive knowledge of urban legends and invasively personal information about Blackbeard, I thought that we could all use this excellent opportunity to throw a proper celebration of your holiday. Same as we would do for any other member of the crew, and by the way, this is a reminder that in two weeks we will be commemorating Valborgsmässoafton, the Swede will be conducting choir practices every evening at dusk for anyone who wishes to participate. Now.” Steve rose, holding a goblet of wine, and clinked it twice with a spoon. “Gentlemen. We gather tonight to celebrate the story of Passover.”
*
It was nothing like what Ed remembered from childhood. Back then, it was only ever him and his mum, hoping to finish the meal before his dad got home. Now, it was a mess of people who didn’t know what the hell they were doing, but, remarkably, they just… went about and did it anyway. Rowdy, and gentle, a fascinating blend that he still, after months of this shit, didn’t quite know how to wrap his mind around.
Afterwards, they adjourned for dessert up in the open air – Stede called it adjourning because that’s what you do after a fancy meal – and ate caramelized nuts, Roach having truly outdone himself.
“He made the rachten—chrach—charost—the mud food thing too,” Frenchie said. The charoset had been made of raisins, figs, dates and coconut. That’s how they made it on the islands of this part of the world. “Didn’t know mud could taste so good.”
“Where’d you get the egg?” Ed asked. They hadn’t had any chickens on ship in ages.
“Oh, that would be Olivia. Buttons asked her for one.”
“Olivia?”
“Buttons’s seagulless,” Frenchie said.
“His hen,” Stede corrected. He was leaning back against a barrel, one knee folded up, hands clasped around it. “There’s no such thing as seagulls, only gulls. The females are hens, and males are cocks. Olivia joined us after Buttons’ old cock was shot.”
Frenchie choked on his drink. “Don’t say that.”
“Don’t say what?” Stede asked, and sometimes Ed wondered whether Stede did that kind of thing on purpose.
“I liked the potato,” said Oluwande, most likely to change the subject from Buttons’s dead cock. “It worked really well with the tear-water.”
Ed had to admit, the tears had done a good job. Apparently the Swede had understood that salt water tears were required for the meal, and when trying to prompt himself to cry failed, he’d decided to cut off his hair and subsequently wept an entire bowl of tears. “You’re still beautiful,” Black Pete had said, and the Swede wiped his eyes and said, “Thank you, my friend,” and Jim had offered him their beard wig, so he wouldn’t have to feel quite so naked. It did not escape Ed’s attention that Jim never extended such an offer to him.
The other symbols on the seder plate were less dramatic. A cloth bone, stitched by Frenchie, in place of a shankbone; for bitter herbs, the Revenge’s original looted treasure of lush, miraculously-not-poisonous vegetation, or as Stede so succinctly put it, “Everyone, don’t forget to eat my booty, have some, Ed,” which really had to be on purpose. It—yeah.
“All right,” Stede said now, pulling out another book. The man really was obsessed with books. “I have a different story for tonight.”
Some murmurings of excitement; one of the men clapped. “Can we have the one about the boy and the geese again?” asked Ivan.
“Haven’t you been listening at all?” Black Pete said. “It’s going to be about the basket-baby.”
“A sad tale,” Buttons intoned. “Little baby sailing in the ark, all abandoned.”
“Can’t imagine what that must feel like,” Lucius remarked, and Ed could feel his glare without even looking, and Black Pete said, “Babe, you said you’d try,” and Lucius said, “I know, I know, sorry,” and Ed could feel the toe of Stede’s boot graze, just for a brief moment, against his knee, and then Stede cleared his throat, and everyone grew silent, and he began.
Ed closed his eyes under the full moon, and let Stede’s voice wash over him. “Now, there rose a new king over Egypt, who knew not Joseph…”
*
Later, when there was nothing but the rocking of the boat and the soft whisper of waves and Ed still couldn’t fall asleep, he pushed himself up on creaking knees, and rambled off to lean against the bow of the ship, staring at the stars. It could get stifling among the men, all floppy limbs and snores as they dozed off around Stede, usually in some sort of vaguely protective circle.
Ed had never been a strong sleeper. Sometimes he would try boring himself into it by counting the stars. One, two, three; got all the way up to eleven, like in the song. No luck with that tonight.
He thought about Stede’s story, and God hardening Pharaoh’s heart. What a fucker. As if people couldn’t make enough of a mess of their own lives, without God deciding to be even more of a dick about it.
“I can hear your angst from all the way across the ship,” came Lucius’s voice from behind him. “You both are so… tiring.”
“And yet you’re awake.”
“Well, every time I’m about to nod off the Captain heaves a giant, dramatic sigh, it’s very distracting. I have sensitive ears.”
Oh. So Stede was awake too.
“I suppose tonight was exciting for him,” Ed said. “Hosting a party.”
“Yes, the party was the bit he was excited about,” Lucius said. “Don’t be simple.”
“Simp—what are you talking about?”
Lucius rolled his eyes. “Come on. You have to know he did all of tonight for you.”
“Yeah, same as he would for any other member of the crew,” Ed said. “He said so himself.”
“Wow. After all the bullshit we went through, I can’t believe we’ll all have to go through this again.”
“Watch it,” Ed growled.
Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Shall I just start walking around with a lifejacket from now on?”
Ed gave himself a moment to settle back into Ed before responding. “You’re not going to stop being snippy with me. I suppose that’s fair.” He exhaled. Lucius had a way of making things look so easy, when they really weren’t. It annoyed the shit out of him. “To tell you the truth,” Ed said, “I don’t know if we can ever go back to how things were.”
“That’s… probably for the better, all things considered. Look,” Lucius said. “You’re never going to get anywhere if you keep hiding away from everyone, being moody and alone.”
“I haven’t been…” he trailed off.
“Maybe not physically,” Lucius said, sounding a little more careful this time. And Ed wanted to know, he wanted to know how—
There was a loud sigh from somewhere on the deck, and okay, if they could hear it from here, that was definitely Stede being dramatic.
Lucius tilted his head in the sigh’s direction. “How about I tell him you’re out here.”
*
When Stede joined him, he was juggling two cups of tea and a delicate plate of fish balls, none of which crashed to the floor in what Ed could only imagine was divine intervention. There can be miracles, and all.
He took a sip of tea, taking a moment to revel in the hot, sweet liquid.
“So what’s up with the fish balls?” he said finally. “I’m not sure I got that part.”
“They’re—you don’t know them?” Stede asked. “It was a culinary staple of the Jews, where I’m from.”
“Ah,” said Ed. That explained it. “I heard there were new ones, coming in from the east. Don’t know too much about them.”
“Oh,” Stede said. “I didn’t realize—but of course.” He took a long sip from his tea, then placed the cup on the rail and looked at Ed. His eyes were very clear. “Where… where did your, er, family, come from?”
The conversation felt foreign enough that Ed realized he couldn’t remember ever having had it before.
He cleared his throat. “Just my mum, actually,” he said. “She—her family—were Marranos.” Stede looked confused. “English now, by way of Spain. Might have been English originally. Hard to tell.” Not like Ed could have read genealogy books, if they’d even existed. “Definitely never had any fish balls.” Stede looked a little disappointed. “But—tonight did remind me of my mum. I guess, er. Thank you.”
Stede bit his lip. “Of course.”
Ed held his gaze a little longer, and then turned back to look at the waves. Stede did too. They stood there, hands warmed by the cups of tea.
“I liked the story,” Ed volunteered after a while. “Hadn’t heard it in a long time. The river of blood was good.”
“Oh, classic,” Stede agreed.
“And the burning bush. Solid theatrics. Reminded me of,” Ed wiggled his fingers around where outline of his beard used to be.
“Oh, I wish I’d been there to see that,” Stede said, and he sounded so earnest, like he really did wish he’d been there.
“You know, I think,” Ed said. “Maybe Pharoah didn’t really need all those bells and whistles. Maybe he just needed his buddy Joseph to return, and none of the bad stuff ever would have happened.”
Stede gave that a moment of contemplation. “Well. Joseph couldn’t return. He was dead.”
Ed shrugged. “Some people return from the dead.”
“Some people grow from their mistakes,” Stede said, and Ed truly had no idea who he was talking about. He just wanted to—
He didn’t even know what he wanted to know.
“Ed,” Stede said gently. “What are you trying to get at?”
Ed stayed silent.
Stede’s eyes softened, as if their default setting wasn’t already sweet lamb you want to hug and pet forever, but they were fixed on Ed, and they were soft, and he said: “They’ll all forgive you, if you just ask them.”
Ed felt that churning in his chest again. It was all so much easier when you didn’t care about people.
“Here’s how it works,” Stede said. “We call a team meeting tomorrow, all hands on deck. We’ll have a feelings circle. I’ll mediate. It will all turn out all right.”
“That’s definitely not how it works.”
“That’s how it works here,” Stede said firmly.
Ed shook his head. Where did you come from? he wanted to ask, because sometimes it felt like Stede had sprouted fully formed by the universe just for him, but the universe had already taken Stede from him once, and Ed didn’t want to tempt fate again.
“D’you think they can trust me again?” he asked instead.
“Well, to be fair, I’m not sure they ever trusted you, or how far they even trusted me, for that matter. So don’t, you know, feel bad if it takes time. But I think you already got them more than halfway there, what with how when I came back and Izzy tried to kill me you chucked a dagger at him before anyone else had a chance to blink,” Stede pointed out. “Made for a very compelling argument.”
It had a been a very good dagger throw.
“All right,” Ed said finally.
“Yeah?”
“Let’s give it a shot.”
Stede grinned with delight.
“What?”
“I just,” Stede said. “I can’t believe after all that, you were the one who didn’t know how to ask.”
Ed elbowed him. “I contain multitudes,” he reminded Stede.
“You’re a very talented individual, I think we can agree,” Stede said, and Ed was caught by surprise enough to feel himself flush unexpectedly at the compliment.
“I thought we were taking things slow,” Ed said carefully.
“I think we’ve been taking things very slow,” Stede said. “I didn’t realize we were having asking issues, though. So I think I’d like to ask you a question.”
“Really?”
“Four questions, I believe, is the tradition.”
“Really running your metaphors to the ground today, I see.”
“Question number one,” Stede said, and almost gave Ed a heart attack by jumping right into, “Can you take your shirt off?”
Christ.
Ed looked right into Stede’s eyes as he unfastened his shirt, watching Stede’s face as he undid his buttons, one by one, feeling the slightly chilly wind against his exposed skin, until his shirttails fell to the side and all of Ed’s chest was bare. Stede’s lips parted.
“Question two,” Stede said. “Can I touch you?”
Ed took Stede’s hand, cradling it between his own for a moment, then placed it against his chest. His heart was pounding, and he knew Stede could feel it.
“Question three,” Stede said, his voice a little raspy now. “Can you close your eyes?”
Ed did, without thinking about it, and for a moment everything was still; he could hear his own breaths, and Stede’s, and the sound of the waves, and the smell of salt in the air, and the cool wind blowing wisps of his hair across his face, and Stede’s palm burning against his skin, held against it by his own, and it felt like he’d been marching in the desert for forty years—
“Question four,” Stede said, “can—”
“Just fucking kiss me already,” Ed said, and Stede did.