Work Text:
Stede settled against the capstan, the fading sunlight throwing a rosy hue onto his crew’s faces. Everyone was in their spots – Wee John in his hammock, Lucius and Black Pete wedged in together against the crates, and Frenchie on the grain sack that passed for a cushion. Sometimes that was Ivan’s spot, depending on whether knives had been drawn or, tonight, based on three mostly peaceful rounds of roshambo. Stede had lost track of Oluwande some time ago, but he and Jim were sure to show up before storytime actually started. And Ed, as always, lounged beside Stede himself. Not touching – didn’t want to ‘disturb the craft’, or so he’d said – but close enough, all the same.
Stede let the crew chatter. Mostly they wanted Frenchie to put a few of their bawdier rhymes into his next song and were demanding Lucius write them down so no one forgot. Occasionally Buttons made ominous predictions about the moon. All pretty standard stuff. And when Stede saw Jim slip into their post by the railing, he cleared his throat.
“Who’s ready for a story, eh?” There were general murmurs of agreement, a bit of excitement, and Black Pete’s voice hoping that it’d be a good one. Stede rubbed his hands together theatrically. “Tonight’s story is called,” he paused for effect, “The Pirate versus the Kraken.”
There was some enthusiasm, a few ‘oohs’, until Fang asked, “Where’s the book?”
“Yeah,” Wee John chimed in, “all stories have ta come from books.”
“I thought I’d do something special tonight,” Stede said, “and tell you a story that hasn’t been written down yet.”
“That’s not a story, that’s a tale.”
Roach nodded seriously, adding, “A fib.”
“You’re just making stuff up!” Black Pete accused.
“Well. But I’ve given it a title. Every story is a tale, until it gets a title.”
There were more murmurs – some audibly unimpressed – and Stede shot a look to Ed. His bright eyes were still, trained curiously on Stede, and Stede turned back to his crew. Most of them had turned to Oluwande who, while not an expert on story telling or even the slightest bit literate, seemed to hold the final say on what would be deemed allowable. Oluwande, of course, only had eyes for Jim, and when they shrugged Oluwande shrugged too, and thus it was settled.
So Stede began.
“Not long ago, weaving among the isles of the Bahamas, was a cunning pirate captain and his brave crew, sailing on their ship, The Vengeance.”
“Dumb!” Black Pete called, only to be quickly elbowed into silence.
“Babe!”
“What about The Burning Rose?” the Swede suggested.
“The Black Cat!” Ah, Frenchie.
“The Rotten Ale!”
“Ale doesn’t go rotten—”
“Gentlemen,” Stede tried to call out.
“Does too! I once drank a tankard that had me runnin’ to head fer a week!”
“That’s ‘cause it was your eighth tankard!”
“Gentlemen!”
“I c’n hold me liquor—”
A loud thunk caught everyone’s attention, silencing everyone on deck. Eventually, Stede saw what so many of the others had found – one of Jim’s knives, still vibrating to a stop in the planks of the deck, just inches from Wee John’s head.
“Ah, yes. Right. No need to argue.” Stede looked around at sullen faces. “We could take a vote, if you’d like?” That brought the clamor right back, but eventually the crew settled on the Cursed Cutlass, on account of cutlasses being small and underestimated (like their beloved Revenge) but curses being very scary, which gave the cutlass an edge.
“So, the crew of the Cursed Cutlass had just very successfully looted a scouting ship from the British Royal Navy, taking all their gold, their oranges, and several ornate candlesticks—.”
Someone coughed. It might have been Ed.
“—before returning to the open sea with all their bounty. The ship was sailing heavy, and the crew had everything they needed. But suddenly, off in the distance, they spotted—”
“A shark!”
“A mermaid!”
“—The Kraken!” Stede exclaimed, in his spookiest voice.
Fang grunted. “I guess we should have seen that coming.”
“Well sussed, Fang! A huge, monstrous Kraken thrashed about on the horizon! It set off waves that were as tall of as three men as they battered the side of the ship, and the brave captain leapt—”
“’nd his crew.”
Stede blinked, momentum temporarily thrown off. “Er, yes. Yes. The brave captain and his capable crew leapt into action, setting due course for the writhing beast.”
From the corner of his eye, Stede thought he saw Ed, casually lounging while he let Stede run the show. Ed didn’t share the crew’s enthusiasm, so far, but Stede forged on ahead. At the crew’s behest, Stede described the ominous sight of the Kraken – terrifying, of course; somehow both scaley and slimey, with eight muscular tentacles bigger around than a ship’s hull and eyes wider than a grain silo that were able to peer into your very soul. And no monster story would be complete without a vivid account of the beast’s past exploits. The crew chimed in liberally for those, yelling over each other to recall the legends of the mighty Kraken. It was, as Stede quickly learned, native to both the Ends of the Earth and a small Norwegian fjord, and able to strangle a man with the merest squeeze of a single tentacle. It had killed men, women and children alike, drowning them in the huge swells it could churn up in the unforgiving seas, either swallowing them whole or depositing their bodies onto the beaches of their homelands to torment family and loved ones. It was entirely bright red, but also green, and black, and also (as Buttons solemnly informed them) ‘a color-shifting sea-witch, able tae melt intae th' colors o' th' open ocean’. It was majestic, pure evil, and chaos incarnate. Stede hoped Lucius was getting all this down.
Stede told the tale with all the vocal range of a seasoned operatic vocalist, evoking the deep rumbling of the Kraken’s approach and piercing wails of its victims. His crew were all riveted, leaning forward from their respective perches and nodding along with all the good bits. He also described the pursuit of the pirate captain to slay the mighty beast.
“The crew were fearless in their sailing, cleverly leashing the wind to do their bidding. The Kraken was fast, but they gained on it, wave by wave. The beast sped towards land, hoping to tear their hull to shreds on unseen rocks, but the pirates knew these islands well and could not be outsmarted. Finally—” Stede raised himself up, gesturing emphatically, “they were within firing distance, and the captain cried out, Ready the cannons!”
There were several whispered cheers from the deck. The sun had faded, casting their faces in shadow and leaving Stede to read their tense shoulders and upturned chins as excitement.
“Fire, the captain ordered! And three cannonballs were loosed, straight at the meaty body of the Kraken. Two of the cannonballs flew wild, but one slammed straight into the creature’s belly, dragging it down beneath the waves.”
More cheers, and one emphatically whispered, “Take that!” from Frenchie.
Stede nodded, pleased with the rising action his story had taken on. He had the crew right where he wanted them. “But then—,”
Not a soul aboard breathed.
“The Kraken rose up out of the water, fully unveiled for the first time, holding all three cannonballs in separate arms before he hurled them straight at the ship.”
Gasps all around, of all tones, and someone yelled out, “No!”
“Oh yes,” Stede assured them. “The Kraken would not be beaten so easily. And the brave captain and his capable crew knew they were in for the most epic fight of their lives. If they emerged victorious, they would have the most gruesome and daring tale to earn their fame and fortune. But if they lost—”
Lucius groaned, tucking his head against Black Pete’s neck.
“If they lost, every whisper of their bravery and skill would be lost forever, drowned at the whims of the fearsome Kraken.”
“That’s not fair!” the Swede called.
Stede opened his mouth to answer, but a deep grunt beside him stilled his tongue.
“The Kraken gives fuck all about fair. He’s there to fuck you up, man.”
Upon Ed’s proclamation, there were more groans around the ship, and Wee John even pulled up his blanket to hide behind. Stede could barely see Ed’s still silhouette from the corner of his eye, tense in a way that differed from the rest of the crew, and Stede somehow couldn’t bring himself to look at him. There was more story to tell, after all.
Stede described the ensuing battle in all the detail the crew asked for; how many knives did they throw? (All of them). Could they recruit a shark to fight the Kraken with them? (While a shark would undoubtedly be on their side, no one knew how to communicate with them, so no). He described the cleverness of the Cursed Cutlass’s crew, and the many times they saved themselves and each other from the brink of death. He recounted how the Kraken drew them closer and closer to shore, lurching itself up on a nearby lighthouse to fight from the high ground. And then, once the sun set, how the resourceful crew used all the metal pots from the galley to reflect that lighthouse’s beam back into the Kraken’s eyes, blinding it and sending it tumbling back into the water.
“Finally, though, the Kraken was too much for them. Even the brilliant and seasoned crew of the Cursed Cutlass was no match for the cunning of the Kraken, and the pirate captain knew he was beat. With his final moments, he climbed up into the crow’s nest and addressed the Kraken. Oh, powerful Kraken, the captain yelled. You have defeated me and my crew. I surrender to you entirely.”
Sympathetic sighs from his crew were cut only by Black Pete muttering, “Dumbass.”
“—but before I die, I must know the name of my most worthy opponent. And then,” Stede said, with wonder, “the Kraken stopped. He held his tentacles in the air, from where they were about to smash the ship.” Stede mimicked the Kraken’s stance, arms at awkward angles. “It pushed one, pointed arm toward the ship, touching just the tip of it down onto the deck.” He aimed one crooked finger at his crew, who all recoiled. “And suddenly, in a flash of moonlight, a man stepped forward where the Kraken’s arm had been, and the monster was no more.”
Stede’s crew erupted. Cries of outrage and accusations of witches drowned each other out.
“The fuck?” said Ed.
“Stab it through th’ heart!” Buttons cried.
“Alas,” Stede said loudly, raising his hands in defeat. “The crew had thrown all their knives overboard, and there was nothing left to stab it with. In the silence that followed—” Stede’s own crew was anything but quiet, “the new man said, No one’s ever asked for my name before.”
“Well,” the Swede demanded. “What is his name then?”
“My name is…” In Stede’s brief pause, numerous suggestions were made, including one from Black Pete that was, unsurprisingly, ‘Black Pete’.
The only voice that stood out above the rest said, “Carlos.”
Twelve pairs of eyes were immediately on Jim, including Stede’s. “Carlos?”
They nodded, with finality, and that settled it.
So Stede continued. “My name is Carlos, said the new man. And I don’t want to fight anymore.
“And that was good news, let me tell you.” Stede looked around at his shocked crew. “Because they were no match for Carlos in his Kraken form, and the ship was in serious disrepair. So, the captain climbed down from the crow’s nest, and offered a truce.
“Truce? he said, and held out his hand.
“Truce,” Carlos agreed. And when they shook on it, Carlos’s hand was as dry and human as any other pirate on the ship.”
“That’s it?” Roach demanded. “They’re just going to let the Kraken live?”
“Well, he’s not the Kraken anymore,” Stede offered.
Wee John agreed. “That’s true, now he’s Carlos.”
“But he tried to kill everyone!”
Stede pulled a long, considering face. “To be fair, they did try to kill him first.”
“But what about the women and children?” Frenchie asked. “And all the people he’s murdered for centuries and centuries?”
“Ask him,” the Swede suggested.
“Yeah,” Lucius chimed in. “I want to know what Carlos would say.”
“Well, alright. Let’s say the crew accepted Carlos, because he wasn’t the Kraken anymore. And because he knew a great deal about the sea routes to the Orient, which had more gold than all the Caribbean combined.”
That seemed to get a fair number of considering mumbles from the group. Ed, though, was silent and still beside him.
“One of the bolder crew members asked Carlos, “Did you really kill all those people?”
Stede heard some not-so-quiet whispers – “I bet he did,” someone said, only to get back, “Naw, Carlos wouldn’t do that.”
He continued, “And I think Carlos would say that most people who got that close to the Kraken were already trying to kill the Kraken in the first place.”
He was immediately interrupted by the Swede, insisting that Carlos had to say it himself, and most of the others agreeing.
“Alright,” Stede said. “Carlos said, Most people who got close to the Kraken were already trying to kill the Kraken. Which,” Stede pointed out, “was a pretty fair answer.”
“And the rest?”
That was Ed. That was his gravelly voice, finally curious, with his chin now turned up toward Stede. At this angle, the moonlight fell on the tense line of his brow, imprinting his uncertainty into the shadows.
Stede turned toward him fully, the rest of the crew forgotten. “The rest,” he said carefully, “Yes. The ocean is an unforgiving place, one that takes its own victims. But people love to blame that sort of thing on an infamous monster, don’t they?”
Behind him, Black Pete erupted, yelling, “So that’s it? They spent all that time chasing the Kraken and have nothing to show for it!”
“Maybe,” Lucius said loudly, with a leading tone meant for Stede, “finding a lot of gold in the Orient would make up for losing the Kraken?”
Stede murmured, “Indeed, it might. But that is a story for another time,” but he couldn’t manage to pull his gaze from Ed’s face, cataloguing what little he could see of it. The doubt, the hope, and the supplication, all carved with minimalistic strokes into the dark of night. He wanted, very much, to reach out to Ed, to press his confident fingers against the lines of Ed’s disbelief and smooth them away.
Behind him, the crew sounded like they were settling down, whispering eagerly amongst themselves. Only Black Pete was still keyed up, complaining loudly about the ‘worst story ever’ and how there ‘wasn’t even a Kraken to kill anymore’.
Stede didn’t care a whit. The story had been for Ed, above all, and Stede wanted to pull him into the privacy of below decks, where he could see him and touch him and know him. He stood, stretching his legs where they’d stiffened, and held a hand out to him.
“Time to retire?”
Ed pursed his lips instead, eyes narrowing as he studied Stede right back. It gave Stede pause, materializing a tension between them that he wasn’t sure was entirely there.
“Come now. Surely the story wasn’t all that bad?”
Ed’s face didn’t change, and he left Stede in his awkwardness for a long moment before saying, “A bit predictable, wasn’t it?”
“Oh,” Stede answered, with forced lightness. “You’ve already heard the one about the pirates of the Cursed Cutlass befriending a shapeshifting octopus named Carlos? How embarrassing, I’ll have to be much more creative next time.”
Ed tucked his face away, hiding whatever tell he gave in that immediate moment, but his entire body changed. He rested his elbows on his spread knees, and his shoulders became a soft, fluid line. When his eyes snapped up again, they were nearly coy, staring up at Stede with intent. There was also the slightest tilt to his mouth which, beyond anything else, told Stede he’d done alright after all.
“You’re not as clever as you think you are, Stede Bonnet.”
Stede reached out to haul him up. Ed was always just a bit taller, but it was hard to tell from the way he slid easily from his seat to curling his chin gently over Stede’s shoulder. No matter how ‘predictable’ Stede’s story had been, it seemed to have earned him a set of warm, familiar fingers carding through his hair.
“Oh, I think I’m just clever enough,” he whispered, pulling Ed in tighter.