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“What’ve you got there, mate?” Ed asked, looking up from the gun parts strewn across a cloth on the desk.
“What, this?” Stede asked, lifting the book he’d been reading.
“Yeah. What is it?”
“I’ve been reading this for two weeks, off and on, and you’re only just now asking?” Ed shrugged and muttered something in the affirmative, looking back down at the gun he was cleaning.
Stede was cozily ensconced in the bed nook, the curtains thrown open to let all the midday light in so he could see to read and Ed could see to the upkeep of the weapons. Ed also had some candles on the desk, and the light gleamed on the polished metal. He kept his head down and fiddled with the barrel of his pistol, sighting down it to make sure it was clean.
Placing a scrap of paper in his book, Stede gave a quiet sigh. “It’s called The Odyssey. Have you heard of it?” Ed shook his head, still intent on the gun parts. “It’s a very very old story that a man named Homer first wrote down. This is a new translation, quite new, actually. Alexander Pope published it just a few years ago. I picked it up last time we made port.” It had not been easy to find, and it had been made more difficult because he tried not to make it obvious, whenever they made landfall, that he was looking to replace a few well-loved tomes after Ed had thrown his entire library overboard. No need to make the poor man feel worse about that than he already did. He simply gave his list to Lucius and told the boy to keep an eye out when they were in markets or shops.
Ed blew air between his lips in a dismissive sound. “Probably about boring rich-people stuff,” he muttered.
“It’s quite fantastical, actually. There’s a witch, and monsters, shipwrecks, magic.”
Now Ed looked up. “Monsters?” he asked.
“There’s a cyclops, for one. And a sea monster with twelve legs and six heads.”
“What’s a cyclops?”
“It’s a…” Stede trailed off as he caught sight of Ed’s face: eyes wide, brows raised, his lips slightly parted, hanging on Stede’s every word. All his insides melted. “Would you like me to read it to you?”
Ed held his gaze just a moment longer, then looked past him, out the window at the sun sparkling on the sea. “Sure, whatever,” he said, “if you want. Or not. I don’t care.”
Stede bit back a smile and opened the book again, turning back to the beginning. “Book One,” he read. “Argument. Minerva’s descent to Ithaca. Ahem. The man for wisdom’s various arts renown’d, Long exercised in woes, O Muse! resound…”
***
Once Stede had clarified why the book was called The Odyssey even though the hero’s name had been translated into Latin as Ulysses, they began. Sometimes Stede would pause and explain about the gods and goddesses, their relationships to one another and their history, or explain some of the “boring rich people stuff” about honor and kingdoms and suitors. He also threw in some bits and pieces of the war in Troy when it was relevant, and Ed was interested in everything about the war (though he thought it was stupid that the whole thing started over a woman). Stede thought that if he could find a copy of The Iliad, Ed might like for him to read that aloud next.
They had to snatch reading time as they could, but there were, at times, long days when they sailed long distances, and no one but Buttons, at the ship’s wheel, had much of anything to do. Then Stede would read to Ed for hours, until his throat was hoarse and he had to stop. This wasn’t like the storytimes he had with the whole crew, lighthearted fairy tales where he would do different voices, and they would interrupt him a thousand times with questions and colorful commentary. No, this was just for him and Ed. Sometimes Ed kept his hands busy: sharpening knives, cleaning guns, or whittling (always careful to sweep up the shavings after the first time, when Stede fussed at him about it). Other times Stede sat on the sofa and Ed lay with his feet on the arm and his head on Stede’s lap, or they reclined in bed together, legs tangled under the sheets, sometimes with Stede tucked under Ed’s arm and the book propped on his chest, other times with Ed’s head on Stede’s shoulder.
Partway through Book Three, Ed interrupted for the first time so far. “When are we gonna get to the monsters?” he asked. “This stuff’s boring.”
“Well this is very important set-up,” Stede told him. “You have to understand Telemachus’s anguish over having no news of his father for so long, and everything that’s going on in Ithaca, and with Penelope.” He thought, for a moment, of Mary, left behind, “widowed” and happy with her painting studio and her new husband. About his son and daughter with no news of their father for months at a time. He wrote to them now and then with short (heavily edited) updates about his life, even though the mail took ages. He didn’t dare show his face in Barbados. At least his family knew he was alive and happy, unlike Ulysses’s family. Stede cleared his throat. “Nestor is about to tell Ulysses’s son what he knows, just listen.”
Ed sighed heavily, but he put his head back on Stede’s shoulder, and Stede continued to read. They stopped for the night when the witch, Calypso, admitted to Mercury that she had been harboring Ulysses. Then Stede got up to put the book away and blow out the candles. He climbed back into bed in the dark, feeling around for the edge of the covers and the edge of Ed. Once he was tucked comfortably between both, he closed his eyes. He was halfway to sleep within moments, but then Ed spoke softly. “You have a nice voice,” he said. “I like it.”
Stede smiled. “I like your voice, too.” He drew Ed’s hand up from where it rested on his chest, and he kissed each knuckle. “I like a lot of things about you.”
“Mm,” was all Ed said, pulling Stede tight against him, Stede’s back to his chest, and pressed his face against the back of Stede’s neck, breathing him in. They fell asleep like that.
***
Ed’s knee was giving him trouble. He would never admit it, but Stede knew that’s what the problem was. He hid the pain well around the crew, barely limping across the deck, so you really had to look closely to even notice it. But when Ed said something about going to study the maps, that confirmed it for Stede. Ed wouldn’t dither about with maps when there was work to do around the ship, not unless he was in pain. He watched Edward make his way to their cabin, a little more slowly than usual, as the crew went about their typical jobs as the wind picked up. Stede gave it a quarter of an hour before he followed him.
Instead of maps spread across the desk, Ed had the book open on it, The Odyssey. The paper marker had been set aside, and he was hunched over the pages, brow furrowed, though he jerked his head up when he heard the door open.
Stede smiled lightly. “Hello,” he said. He didn’t want to assume anything, but he knew Ed couldn’t read, so he was certainly wondering what he was doing.
“I, uh…” Ed shoved the book away from him, though it remained open on the desktop. “I… you know, was looking for pictures. This book doesn’t have any.” He gave a strained sort of chuckle, without smiling. “Lame.”
“Nope, no pictures,” Stede said, making his way slowly toward the desk and around it to stand next to Ed’s seat.
For a long time, they were silent. The ship rocked gently; the storm that was approaching, the one that made Ed’s knee ache worse than usual, was still an hour or two away. Out on deck, a few of the crew laughed, probably at something absurd Frenchie had said. Ed’s eyes flicked up to the closed door briefly, but then they returned to the pages open in front of him. He took a slow breath in… then he asked, “Why’re there books inside a book?”
Stede blinked. “Why are there…?” he echoed.
“Books inside this book,” Ed said again. He pointed at the top of the page. “Book Five,” he read.
He read? “That’s right,” Stede said slowly, his own brow creasing in a frown now. Had he been wrong all this time? Could Ed read perfectly well and just enjoyed hearing Stede read to him?
“You always say it, when we turn to a page that looks like this, with some empty space around the top,” Ed went on, the words coming out in a rush like he was afraid they would choke him if he didn’t get them out. “And last night you finished Book Four, so this must be Book Five, right?” His shoulders were tense. He didn’t look up at Stede. “And,” he slowly extended one hand, his finger pointing at the heading, “that’s a B. Like in Blackbeard.”
“That’s right,” Stede said again.
Finally, Ed turned his head to look up at him. “I know a little,” he said, his eyes almost pleading, like he didn’t think Stede would believe him. “Just not very much. I know what my name looks like, Blackbeard. And Revenge, on the side of the ship. And the maps, I know the shapes of the islands and which one’s which, even though I can’t r--” He stopped himself.
“That’s wonderful,” said Stede, laying his hand on Ed’s shoulder. “And you’ve gotten along so well.”
“Ehh,” Ed said dismissively, shrugging off Stede’s hand. “Izzy could read, a little. He took care of all that stuff. Before.”
“And now you have me,” Stede said. “And Lucius. You’re good at lots of other things. Being a captain, for one. The crew adore you.” Ed gave a grunt, picking at a nick in the desk with his thumbnail. “I adore you,” Stede said softly.
That finally got Ed to look up at him. Stede held his gaze for a long moment. Then he rested his hand on Ed’s shoulder again and leaned slowly down to press a kiss to Ed’s forehead. He stayed bent over like that and touched his forehead to Ed’s. He closed his eyes, savoring just being close like this. Then, almost before he’d really thought about it, Stede found himself asking, “Do you want me to teach you how to read?”
When Ed didn’t say anything for several long seconds, Stede stood back up, taking his hand from Ed’s shoulder. Ed didn’t look at him. “‘M too stupid to learn,” he muttered, his shoulders hunching in once more.
“No you’re not,” said Stede. “Don’t say that. Why would you say that?”
“People like me--”
“There are no people like you,” Stede said firmly. “You’re one of a kind, Edward Teach. And if I say you can learn to read, you can learn to read.” He held Ed’s gaze until it softened slightly. “You’ve got a good start already. Book Five.” He nodded toward The Odyssey. “Revenge. Blackbeard.” He reached down to tug gently at the few inches of beard Ed had, more gray than black, really. “A few more letters, and you’ll be able to read anything, anything at all.” Stede smiled.
“You think so?” Ed asked, his voice an octave higher than usual. His eyes swam behind a sheen of unshed tears.
“Absolutely. We can start right n--Oh, well, actually not right now. The storm’s coming, and that won’t be ideal reading weather. Drat.” He sighed. “However.” Stede flipped the tails of his coat out so he could sit on Ed’s good knee, and he put one arm around Ed’s neck. “I can think of something we do have time to do before the storm hits.”
A small smile tugged at one corner of Ed’s mouth. “Yeah?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Stede leaned in and kissed him, resting his other hand on Ed’s chest. He could feel Ed’s heartbeat faintly beneath his palm, and he felt it speed up a little as they continued to kiss.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Ed said suddenly, pulling back. Stede gave a frustrated little moan, but he didn’t dive back in, much as he wanted to. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are there books inside a book?”
Stede’s head was swimming with various activities not remotely related to reading. He had to think for a moment to even process the words Ed was saying, then for another moment to connect it to the book and figure out what he was asking. “Oh. They’re like… chapters.” Ed still looked puzzled. “Sections of the book. When there’s a change in time or place, or topic, maybe, then a new chapter, or book, starts.” He tilted his head. “Now that I think about it, you’re right, it is sort of odd phrasing. Books inside a book.”
“Change in time or place or topic,” Ed murmured to himself. “All right.” Then he lunged forward and caught Stede’s mouth with his own. After a frenzied minute or two of that, Ed slid one arm under Stede’s knees, the other already around his shoulders, and with a grunt, he lifted Stede as he stood up.
Stede yelped, “Ed, your knee!” his eyes wide.
“Fuck my knee,” Ed growled through clenched teeth. It was only a few short steps to the bed.
“I’d rather fuck other parts of you, but if--oof!” The wind was knocked out of him as he was dropped onto the mattress, cutting his sassy retort off. After that, neither of them said anything for a while.
***
The storm passed, as storms always do. The ship ended up needing some repairs, so they put in at a small island with no name and not much more to recommend it than clear spring water, delicious little wild pigs, and quiet beaches. Once everyone had had their fill of roasted pork and fresh fruit for lunch, the captains gave orders and left the crew to do what needed to be done. Ed and Stede started walking down the beach together, their feet bare, treading into the shallow waves when the sand got too hot on their soles. Soon enough, they found themselves on the opposite side of the island from the rest of the crew. It was so small that they could hear, faintly, the sounds of axes on tree trunks and an occasional shout, but not so small that they could see anyone through the thick trees and vines that separated the east side of the island from where they were on the west side.
They were walking hand-in-hand now, but all of a sudden Ed let go, smacked Stede on the chest, and shouted, “Last one in’s a Badminton!” while running toward the ocean, shedding his shirt, then stumbling as he hopped out of his trousers. It was a testament to how far behind him Stede had allowed himself to put the deaths of those brothers that he didn’t so much as stutter or gasp at their name. Knowing he would never beat Ed into the ocean, Stede jogged along behind him, tossing his own shirt on the sand, then pausing a little beyond the reach of the waves to watch Ed dive into the surf and come up a moment later, the water up to his elbows, his black-and-grey hair like a thick rope down his back. Ed turned, grinning, and swiped water out of his beard. “What’re you waiting for?” he called.
“Nothing,” Stede murmured, smiling as he shucked off his breeches. He waded in more slowly than Ed had. The water was only a touch cooler than his body, and it felt heavenly against his sweaty skin. Once he was in up to his hips, Stede lay back and let the gentle waves carry him where they would, his eyes closed against the midday sun. He startled when he felt Ed’s hand on his belly, but he didn’t open his eyes. The light beyond his eyelids changed from red to black as Ed’s shadow fell over him, and Ed’s other hand cupped the back of his head.
For half an hour, they swam lazily in the shallow water. Stede had become a stronger swimmer in the last couple of years; Ed had always swum as though he was half-fish. He came up once with a shell in his hand which he gave to Stede. It was no bigger than a coin, and each side showed a perfect spiral. Smiling, he kissed Ed, then he started toward the shore to leave it with their clothes.
“Hey!” he called back, the shell gripped in his fist. “The spring empties this way, too!” He traced its path from the trees down the beach to where it met the ocean a few dozen yards from where they’d been swimming. Stede dropped the shell onto his shirt and made his way toward the stream. The spring must come from the highest point of the small hill in the center of the island and flow down both sides.
Ed was not far behind him as Stede bent and splashed his hands in the clear water of the stream. It was only a foot or so deep and a few feet across. “Ooh, chilly,” he said, but with the sun still beating down on them, it felt good. All of a sudden, it was as if he could feel the salt of the ocean drying on every inch of his body. Stede stepped into the stream, then crouched and began to splash the fresh water all over himself. “Wish I’d thought to bring soap.”
“We could come back,” Ed offered.
Stede looked in the direction from which they’d come. “Nah. Well, maybe. Think we’ll be here overnight?”
“Could be a nice break for the crew,” Ed said. He sat down on the edge of the stream and put his feet in.
A real bath--sort of. With soap. They could all use one, Stede thought. They could come back tomorrow with that lavender soap he’d picked up when they landed at St. Pierre on Martinique a few months back. He and Ed could let the crew camp on shore tonight, and they could have the whole ship to themselves….
“You’d better get out of the sun, love,” said Edward. Stede’s head jerked up from where he’d been dunking it, bent double, to scrub his hair. Droplets ran down his face and into his eyes as his heart gave a lurch. Ed never said such things in front of anyone else, and he rarely used any terms of endearment even in private. He must be sublimely happy to let one slip right now. Ed must’ve caught that look. “You’re gonna turn into a cooked lobster,” he said, a teasing smile curving his lips. But Stede saw in the depths of his eyes how serious Ed was about taking care of him.
“Right,” said Stede. He splashed a few more handfuls of water over himself, then he stepped out of the stream. Not wanting to get sandy again, he made his way upstream a couple of yards to lie down in the tall grass, and Ed followed him. Trees shaded them where they lay. Ed put his head on Stede’s shoulder, and they lay there in the quiet for a while. “Do you wish we had The Odyssey?” Stede asked.
“Nah. This is nice,” Ed murmured. He curled his fingers through the fine, light hairs on Stede’s chest. Neither of them slept, but they weren’t really entirely awake, either. The sounds of axes and shouting had died off, and Stede figured the crew was probably taking a similar siesta on the other side of the island. Ah, well. They were in no rush to do anything at all. They had no dinners to attend, no crops to sell, no farms to oversee. There were no decisions to be made. No one needed anything from any of them. They all had each other, and their ship, and the sea, and that was enough.
The sun slowly sank toward the horizon. Stede emerged from his drowsy state when the shade had moved off his feet, making his toes start to burn. “I could teach you some letters,” he offered. “If you want.”
Ed took a deep breath and stirred, peeling the sweaty sides of their bodies apart just a few inches. “How? We don’t have any books. Or any paper.”
“We’ve got sand,” said Stede. He remembered Alma, years ago, writing her name with a stick in the dirt at the edge of the garden, over and over again. Mary must have taught her to read and write at some point, though Stede didn’t know anything about it, how or when, or how it had gone. There was a lot he didn’t know about his children.
Sniffing, he sat up, dislodging Ed’s head from his shoulder. “Come here.” The grass they lay on grew right out of the sand, and they only had to move a few feet closer to the bank of the stream to find an empty spot. Still naked, they sat side by side on the grass in the shade, looking down at their makeshift page. Stede picked up a stick and broke it down to the size of a pen. “E,” he said, writing the capital letter in the damp sand. “D. Ed. That’s your name.”
“Do ‘Edward,’” his co-captain urged. Stede added W, A, R, and D, then sounded it out, pointing with the stick.
“Now you.” He handed the “pen” to Ed and watched him copy the letters below. They slanted down a little, and Ed held the stick awkwardly, the way he held his knife when he carved into a plank of wood, but he did it. “You just spelled your name!” Stede said, beaming.
Ed glanced at him, a shy smile hiding in the midst of his beard. He looked back down at his shaky letters, pride in his eyes. “Now write ‘Stede.’”
Picking up another stick, Stede obliged. Ed studied the letters for a moment, then copied them. “Hey. That’s my name. My name’s in your name.” He pointed, then drew a line under the “ED” in “STEDE.”
Stede blinked down at the jagged lines in the sand. “So it is,” he said. Ed leaned close and bumped their bare shoulders together. He was grinning, and Stede found himself matching the grin.
For several minutes, Ed wiped out the sand and practiced their names a dozen times, then Stede started with the alphabet. He wrote A B C D E F G in the sand, told Ed their names, and made the sounds they made. Ed patiently nodded along as Stede went through all the various sounds that A could make, but when they got to C, “That’s stupid,” Ed said. “That it can go ‘sss’ or ‘kuh.’”
Stede just shrugged. “That’s English,” was all he could think to say. They continued with the letters (E also made “a stupid number of sounds, too many options,” said Ed) until they stopped at G.
Ed stared hard at the letters for a while, his eyebrows drawing together. His lips moved silently as he thought to himself. Then he picked up his stick, taking care to hold it in a more close approximation of how Stede held it, and wrote BAD. “Bad,” he said. He looked over at Stede, uncertainty in his eyes, as though expecting to have done it wrong.
“Right!” Stede cried, his eyes alight.
Ed’s lips curved up as he looked between Stede and the word he had just written. “Bad,” he said softly, looking at the letters and making the right sounds for each one. “I could write anything,” he murmured, his eyes growing wider as he realized. “Anything at all. Once I know all the letters and their sounds, I could write… anything!”
“You can,” said Stede, watching his glee with fondness. “And read anything, as well.”
Ed rocked back and forth a little, staring at their page of sand. He wiped out all the letters, then wrote CAD. “Sad,” he said.
“Oh, well, no, not exactly.” Ed whipped his head around. Stede squinted his eyes and his smile widened into more of a grimace. “That says ‘cad,’ actually.”
“But you said C could say ‘kuh’ or ‘sss,’” Ed argued.
“I did, yes. But there are certain rules. If C is… now let me think.” It had been such a long time since he had learned this himself, and he hadn’t really had to think about it consciously since then. “If C is before a vowel, it says ‘kuh.’ At least most of the time, I believe.”
“What’s a vowel? Is that a letter we haven’t gotten to yet?” Stede sighed, and Ed’s expression darkened instantly. “Never mind,” Ed muttered, wiping out the letters with messy swipes of his hand, leaving finger lines behind. “I’m too stupid to learn it, just forget it.”
“No no no, that’s not it, darling. You’re not stupid. I’m not sighing at you. English is just very… complicated. And I’m afraid I’m not a very good teacher.” He thought Lucius might be better at this, or maybe Jim, although he wasn’t sure if Jim could read and write in English or only in Spanish. But neither of them would be as patient with Ed, and he didn’t think Ed would tolerate being taught by anyone else. “Let’s take a break for now, shall we?” He put his hand over Ed’s hand where it rested on the grass between them.
Ed turned to look at him. “I can’t do this. Anyway, what do I need to read for? I’m just a pirate captain. I’ve made it this far without reading, haven’t I?”
“But think of all you could do once you can read and write,” said Stede.
“Like what?”
“Well, all the books we have, you could read them yourself.”
“You can read them to me,” Ed said stubbornly.
“But wouldn’t you feel a sense of satisfaction, once you could read a whole book yourself?” Ed seemed to ponder that, so Stede went on. “You could take notes. Keep track of supplies for the ship, make lists of what we have, what we need.”
“Lucius does that.”
“What if something happens to Lucius?”
“Then you could do it.”
Stede threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes. “All right, that’s fine then. Let everyone do everything for you, that’ll be great.” He dusted his hands together, shaking the last of the sand from them.
“That’s not fair,” Ed argued. “I do plenty of things for myself. And I do things for you, too! When’s the last time you cleaned your gun?”
“Fair point. Relationships are a give and take,” said Stede calmly. “I don’t have to know how to clean a gun because you do it for me. You don’t have to know how to read because I can read for you and to you.”
“Right,” said Ed, but he was frowning, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, not sure why Stede had given up so quickly.
The stream trickled on. A breeze ruffled the treetops overhead. Stede leaned back on his hands and looked up into the sky. “I just think it’d be cool, is all.” He felt Ed’s eyes on him but he waited several long seconds before continuing. “Edward ‘Blackbeard’ Teach,” he said in a sonorous voice, like an announcer before a fight, “master swordsman, expert marksman, the finest sailor alive, loved and feared pirate captain, and reader of fine literature, who writes a remarkably elegant hand.” He cut his eyes over to Ed. “Or not,” he said with a shrug. He put his hands behind his head and lay back in the grass. It tickled along his ribs. When he stretched his legs out, his heels were just barely in the water at the edge of the stream.
Ed looked back at him for a moment, then he stretched out as well, propping himself up on his side with one elbow. “Well,” he said, and Stede could see him weakening, “if you--”
An enormous BOOM sounded from the other side of the island, followed immediately by a couple of screams, then hysterical laughter. A number of birds up in the trees took flight, indignant at being disturbed. Ed sat up immediately, eyes wide, but Stede just lay where he was. “It’s Wee John,” he said evenly. “I told him he could do two.” After a moment, Ed lay back down, a little closer this time. And then he leaned even closer.
“Did you know, you’re extra gorgeous when you’re smug?” Ed asked in a low voice.
“Am I?” Stede asked, his pleased smile growing even more smug. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Another BOOM sounded. Ed flinched, but he didn’t sit up. “Yes, you bastard.” He leaned closer, hovering over Stede. Stede’s hand slid into his long hair, now only a little damp from their swim earlier. He closed the last few inches between their mouths by tugging Ed’s head down, fingers curled through his hair and against his scalp. Ed’s mouth was warm, and he smelled like the ocean. Ed hooked one leg over Stede’s leg and pressed closer. When Stede tugged at his hair again, Ed moaned into his mouth, and Stede nearly fell apart.
BOOM! from the other side of the island, then raucous laughter. Ed pulled back. “Shit,” muttered Stede. “We’d better go stop him before he uses up all the gunpowder.” He started to sit up, but Ed pressed a palm to his chest.
“No,” he said, his lower lip pouted out in a way that Stede knew Ed knew was very fucking distracting. Heat filled his belly and spread outward.
“Yes,” Stede said, trying to be firm, but it came out as more of a whimper. He made himself sit up, and this time, Ed let him. “We’ll come back tomorrow,” he said as he climbed to his feet. “I’ll bring that lovely lavender soap.” Ed’s expression brightened at that. “I’ll wash your hair in the stream. We can spend the whole morning.” He dusted off his backside a little, then started over to where their clothes lay in a trail along the beach. Ed followed a moment later, cursing under his breath.
By the time they were dressed (and Stede had the little spiral shell clenched safely in his fist), a fourth explosion had sounded. They hurried down the beach in bare feet. Stede realized he had Ed’s shirt on--the collar was different--but he didn’t mind. It smelled like him. Ed noticed the switch too, and grinned at him. He took Stede’s free hand as they jogged across the packed sand back toward their crew.
***
The bath the next morning was lovely. Stede did, indeed, wash Ed’s hair, and he even got Ed to sit still long enough for him to comb through it afterwards. The crew finished the repairs that day, and they spent one more night anchored just off the island. Their water kegs were topped off, they had plenty of smoked pork to take with them, and fresh fruit for everyone, as much as they could eat before it went bad.
Stede was proud of himself for coming up with the new learning tool he took with him. Paper was scarce onboard, and hard to come by now that Stede had left his fortune behind. They couldn’t use up sheet after sheet as Ed practiced his letters. (Ink was easy to make and feathers not too hard to get, but they were no good without paper.) So Stede had brought a bag of sand from the beach, and once he was back in their cabin, he poured it into the lid of a box for easily-erasable letter practice. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for now. The lessons continued as they had time, and after a few weeks, they had made their way through the whole alphabet.
Progress through The Odyssey was slow. They would start each book with Ed reading, until he got too frustrated. Sometimes Stede would take over and finish the chapter, but other times, Ed was too pissed to want to listen to it, angry at himself for mispronouncing a word or accidentally skipping a whole line. When Stede would correct him, if Ed was in the right mood, he would simply nod and say the word again; other times, he would try and argue, or even lie with, “That’s what I said!” Stede was accustomed to this sort of thing, however. Ed’s temperament had always been rather mercurial. Stede had learned the signs: when Ed’s grouchiness simply meant he needed to eat because he’d forgotten to feed himself for too long; when it meant he was too tired or overstimulated and needed to rest; and when he was snippy because he’d been trapped in his own mind spiral, reliving failures and bad memories until he couldn’t pull himself out of it. It was getting easier to help him, though help wasn’t always possible. Sometimes Edward just needed to burn himself out. Stede tried not to take it personally, and he usually succeeded.
A few weeks after the storm and the island, they captured a Spanish merchant ship by using some clever fuckery (because there was no way they could have gone up against it in a fair fight). While the crew of the Revenge looted the cargo hold under Ed’s direction, a few of them holding the Spaniards face-down on the deck at gunpoint, Stede made his way to the captain’s cabin. He took a handful of books that piqued his interest, though they were all in Spanish. He’d picked up a bit of the language here and there and thought he might be able to muddle along, and he thought Jim might like them as well. What he was really after, though, lay in the drawers of the desk.
Sure enough, there were dozens of sheets of paper, kept safe between two boards tied with string. He stuffed all the ink pots and quill pens into his pockets, grabbed the books and paper, and made his way nimbly back across the plank joining the two ships.
Once the Spanish ship had been divested of all its arms and munitions (minus the cannons because they were too hard to move, and they didn’t have the room for more anyway), but left with enough rations and water to limp along a few more days to a nearby port, the Revenge sailed away. Ed supervised the stowing of the loot, deciding who got what, and what they would keep to sell later for money for supplies, while Stede slipped away to their cabin to stow the things he had pilfered.
That night, after a very fine supper taken from the Spanish captain’s larder, the crew lounged on deck, full and a little drunk. (More than a little drunk, in the case of a few.) The wine was excellent, the air was warm, the breeze felt nice, and everyone was content. Stede and Ed sat on the deck next to each other, leaning back against a crate that was too big to stow below, both of them just in their shirts and trousers, having shed their jackets hours ago. Frenchie taught them all a new song he’d picked up recently, with The Swede taking the high part, Wee John harmonizing quite nicely, and the rest of them filling in as they could, to varying degrees of success. Ed’s eyes sparkled with wine and joy as he sang loudly, belting out the chorus with vigor, and Stede simply couldn’t look away from him. He placed his hand on Ed’s knee, and after a couple more bars, Ed lay his hand on top of Stede’s.
The song ended abruptly, but a few of them kept singing, and Frenchie twanged the strings in a comical way, and everyone laughed. Stede still didn’t look away from Ed. He couldn’t help it. He leaned in to kiss Ed, love and happiness filling him to overflowing. Ed lifted his hand to Stede’s cheek and kissed him back. A moment later, whistles sounded, and “Ohhhh!” and other, raunchier things were said. Stede just pulled back a little, smiling. How miraculous, how absolutely glorious, that he could sail the world with the love of his life, that he could kiss him anytime he wished, and in front of other people, at that! Not only could he, but they all supported him in his love and life choices, they respected him, and they loved him, too. “You all,” Stede began, turning his head to take in the sprawling, comfortable mess of them. His vision blurred, was it with tears or with too much wine? The lanterns glowed like magic. “You all,” he said again. “I love you all so much.”
Pete tittered and ducked his head, and Lucius nudged him with his shoulder. The Swede beamed at him. Wee John dabbed at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. Jim smiled and dropped their eyes, and Olu put his arm around them while Frenchie shuffled his feet. Roach, easily the drunkest out of all of them, called out, “We love you, too, Captain!” and the rest of them cheered agreement, even Buttons from up at the wheel.
“Oh, gosh,” Stede exclaimed, and now he was sure there were tears in his eyes. He reached up to smear them away, and he felt Ed take his elbow.
“All right, that’s your cue to go to bed, you maudlin bastard,” he muttered. Stede gave a chuckle that turned into a hiccup, and he let himself be hauled to his feet.
“I love you so much, too,” he said, leaning toward Ed. Their heads collided, but not too hard, and Ed put an arm around Stede’s waist.
“I know,” he muttered good-naturedly, guiding them toward the cabin doors.
As they made their way across the deck, they heard some very sloppy, wet noises, then sudden exclamations of disgust from some of the crew. “Good god, you two, right here?” demanded Frenchie. “Get a room!” Lucius and Pete, Stede thought blearily. He laughed again.
“For fuck’s sake, guys,” said Oluwande, “use our room.”
There was a scramble, then the thock of a knife blade embedding in the deck. Lucius yelped as though it had almost taken off another of his fingers. “Nope,” said Jim. “We’re using our room. Goodnight.” There was another scrabble as, presumably, Olu hurried to his feet after Jim. The crew dispersed to their various hammocks or alcoves. Stede and Ed had made it to their cabin, and Ed kicked the door shut behind them.
“Bed for you, mate,” Ed murmured, guiding Stede toward it.
“All right,” Stede said. Halfway there, though, he screeched to a stop, making Ed stumble. “No, wait! I have something to show you.” He disentangled himself from Ed’s arm, spun around a hundred and eighty degrees, then threw out his arms to catch his balance. “Whoa. Okay.” His eyes focused and he found the desk. Holding his hands out toward it, he made his slow way to the massive wooden thing. After a bit of fumbling, he managed to grab the handle of the top drawer and slide it open. “Here.” Another few moments of fumbling, while Ed came up beside him with a patient yet bemused expression, and he had the boards and paper in his hand. “Here! Took it from the Spain-ish… the Spain-yards…. Those blokes from Span. Spain. Spain.” He gave a nod.
Ed took it and peered between the tied boards. “Paper?”
“Yes, and ink. Look!” He reached for a bottle and held it up. “I think this one’s blue! Isn’t that lovely?” None of the lamps were lit, so the only light came in through the windows from the moon, and it was hard to see the label or the color through the glass.
Ed took it from him and placed it back in the drawer, along with the paper. “Very nice,” he said evenly.
“It’s for you,” Stede said, because he didn’t think Ed understood.
Instead of a thanks, Ed frowned. “What do I need paper for?” he asked, his voice low and dark.
“For writing… stuff!”
“What stuff?”
“I dunno, any stuff you like! Better than sand, isn’t it? You’ll have to use it tharingly, spough. Ah, I mean… sparingly, though.”
“You need to go to sleep,” Ed told him, once more taking his elbow and leading him toward the bed.
“You’re coming, too, right?” Stede asked. He sat with a grunt on the edge of the bed.
“Not tonight, mate,” Edward said as he knelt in front of Stede. Stede’s eyebrows raised, and seeing Ed like that, his cock twitched. Ed smiled up at him and winked. “Joking. Yes, I’m coming to bed, too.” He slid Stede’s shoes off and tossed them aside. Stockings next, peeled down his legs. Stede fumbled at the front of his breeches, but he couldn’t manage the buttons, so Ed did that, too, and pulled them down and off. In just his long shirt, Stede fell over onto his side to watch Ed undress.
“How do you handle your liquor so well?” Stede asked, knowing that his words slurred as he spoke. “You matched me glass for glass.”
“Practice, mate,” said Ed. He shucked out of everything, absolutely everything, and the moonlight on his tan skin was simply mesmerizing. “Years of practice.” He went over to a shelf and poured a cup of water for Stede. “Drink this,” he said, handing it to him.
“Wow.” Stede was struggling to keep his eyes open, though the sight of every inch of Ed was very motivating. He leaned up one one elbow and gulped down all the water, knowing he would be glad of it in the morning.
“Yeah.” Ed climbed over him to lie in his usual spot between Stede and the window. “Also, wine specifically gets you drunker than a debutante at her first ball,” he added, settling down on his back beneath the sheet.
Stede rolled over and frowned at him, his lips pouted out. “Excuse me?”
“It’s true. You can handle your beer, your bourbon, your rum, for the most part. Wine, though?” He clicked his tongue. “You’re gone. Also makes you get all sappy. Well, more than usual.”
Stede frowned still, trying to decide whether or not he should take offense at that. He determined it wasn’t worth the trouble, and he snuggled up next to Ed, laying his head on Ed’s shoulder. “Sappy for you,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. He slid his palm over Ed’s bare stomach.
Ed kissed the top of his head. “Night-night, Stede.”
“Night-night.”
When Stede woke in the morning, Ed was gone, already dressed and doing captainy things. Stede’s head was a little fuzzy, but it wasn’t pounding, and when he stood up, he kept his feet. He felt a little nauseous, but he knew as soon as he had something to eat, he would be fine. Once he pulled on clean breeches and a shirt, he started for the door, but he noticed something on the otherwise-empty top of the desk. There was one of Roach’s orange zest scones on a plate along with a bunch of grapes from the Spanish ship. Tucked partly under the plate was a scrap of paper about the size of his hand. Stede sat down at the desk and tugged the paper free.
DRINK MOR WATR
I LOVE YOU
ED
Smiling, Stede got up and poured himself a glass of water, then sat down and drank half of it. He ate some of the grapes and nibbled at the scone, gazing at that note all the while.
I LOVE YOU
ED
He wanted to carry it next to his heart. He wanted to swallow it whole and keep it inside always. He wanted to kiss it.
I LOVE YOU
ED
In his own slightly scraggly handwriting. Something he said aloud so rarely. And now Stede had it written down forever and ever. He folded the paper in quarters and slid it into his pocket. That would do, for now.
***
Ultimately, Stede placed the note into The Odyssey as a bookmark, though it was still folded so no one could see the words inside. If Ed noticed, he didn’t say anything, but then, he wouldn’t. Over the course of several months, Stede found more notes left for him by Ed. One was simply a crude drawing of a cock and balls, like schoolboys would make in the margins of their textbooks. It made him laugh, left in the pocket of his jacket for him to find just before they captured a small Dutch ship. Another one was tucked under his pillow one morning (Ed almost always got up before Stede did):
RUNING LOW ON ORANGES
LETS SE JIMS NANA AGIN
YOUR ASS LOOKD GOOD
IN THOSE PURPLE TROUSERS
Stede thought about writing back to Ed, but he didn’t think this was meant to be a back-and-forth; it was simply thoughts Ed had that he wanted to leave behind to share with Stede to make him smile. It worked.
YOUR CUTE
left in his shoe one day made him grin, but it led to a lecture about contractions that Ed took great offense to, and Stede didn’t get any more notes for almost a month, probably because he’d given Ed a complex about apostrophes. However, at last, Stede found another scrap of paper with
WE’RE THE HOTTEST PIRATE CAPTAINS IN THE CARIBBEAN
accompanied by two stick figure drawings, one of Ed with a mass of curly hair and a beard, the other of Stede with a swoop of hair atop his head and frills at his neck and wrists meant, Stede supposed, to represent lace. He hadn’t worn such finery in months, unless he needed to make a certain impression on a ship they were boarding, but he liked how Ed had drawn him nonetheless. That note had been left in Stede’s favorite teacup. There were little hearts around both of them.
They used the pilfered paper for other things, too. Once Ed had mastered the alphabet, Stede would dictate things for him to write out as practice. Sometimes it was lines from The Odyssey. Sometimes it was lists of things they needed to pick up at port. He taught Ed how to write the names of their crew. One afternoon, he said, “Stede…. loves…” Ed looked over at him, one eyebrow quirked, but he didn’t interrupt the dictation, so he finished, “Ed.” Edward wrote it out, then Stede plucked the pen from his fingers and drew a heart around the words. “You can’t spell Stede without Ed,” said Stede, running his hand over Ed’s hair and remembering that day on the tiny island. He leaned down to kiss him sweetly.
The next day, SB + ET was carved into the mast with a similar heart around the letters. No one on the crew remarked on it, and Stede blushed every time he walked past it, but he wouldn’t think of removing it or covering it up.
Ed was getting better at reading as well as writing. He would read a whole page of The Odyssey at a time, and then two pages. His fluency increased, so he didn’t stumble over pronunciation as much, or pause between words while he tried to figure them out before saying them. He started Book 22, and Stede finished it. “That’s badass, man,” Edward said when it was done. “Just slaughtered all those motherfuckers that were bothering his wife all that time, eating his food and sleeping in his house.” His eyes were alight, as they were with any exciting, bloody story.
“You’re going to like The Iliad,” Stede said, patting Ed’s knee. That boyish bloodlust was a part of Ed, as much as his liking for tea with too much sugar, and the way he smiled when he sang. He closed the book for the night. They were already in bed. “Once I find a copy,” he added. “Only a few more chapters of this one left.”
“Really? How long have we been reading it?”
Stede thought back. He measured time now by the ships they looted, the meals Roach cooked, the notes Ed left him, and the memorable ways they sometimes made use of the furniture in their cabin at night. “Six… months?” he said tentatively. “Or so?”
Ed nodded, making a “huh” sort of face. “Is that a… a long time, to read one book?”
Stede shrugged. “Depends.” Ed didn’t look away from his face, wanting more. “I’ve gotten through a book in one day before, when I didn’t have anything else pressing on my time. I’ve also taken over a year to read a few books, if they were particularly difficult or, well, boring.”
“Why would you read something if it’s boring?”
He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. Why would he do such a thing? “I suppose,” Stede said after a moment, “I felt like I ought to read them.”
“That’s dumb.”
“Yes, it is,” Stede said with a smile. “But I like to think I’ve grown a bit since I did things like that. If I don’t like something anymore, I don’t do it.”
“Like cleaning your guns,” Ed said, nudging him with his shoulder and giving a little smile.
“Like cleaning my guns,” Stede agreed.
***
“‘Descended from the gods! Ulysses, cease;
Offend not Jove: obey, and give the peace.’
So Pallas spoke: the mandate from above
The king obey’d. The virgin-seed of Jove,
In Mentor’s form, confirm’d the full accord,
And willing nations knew their lawful lord.”
Stede closed the book. “The end,” he said, looking over at Ed. He lay on pillows against the other arm of the sofa, his feet in Stede’s lap.
“That’s it?” Ed asked, looking pensive.
“That’s it.”
“Kinda boring.”
“Well, the gods made everyone promise to keep peace. After ten years of war, and twenty years of Ulysses struggling to make his way home, and then all the… the killing and such when he got there… don’t you think he would want peace?”
Ed’s eyebrows drew together as he looked off into the distance. “Yeah, I guess,” he said eventually.
“‘And they lived happily ever after,’ some might say,” Stede offered.
That made Ed smile. “Are you?” he asked.
“Am I what?”
“Happily ever after?”
Stede considered that for a moment. “I suppose that remains to be seen. I hope to have quite a lot more time, you know, here.” He patted Ed’s foot. “So we haven’t reached ‘ever after’ quite yet. But I am living happily right now. And I intend to continue.”
“Yeah.” Ed sniffed and looked away. “Me too, mate.”
In the silence, they could hear waves sloshing against the sides of the ship, and a slight creaking of the wood as they crested a wave and made their way down the other side of it. The sun flashed off the water and through the window, throwing a blinding light across them both for just an instant until the wave shifted and it was gone. Blinking against the white sparks in his vision, Stede reached down between the pillow at his side and the arm of the couch, and he drew up another book. “This is for you,” he said, reaching over to hand it to Ed.
He took it. “The… Iliad,” Edward read from the cover. He looked up at Stede. “For me?”
“I would like you to read it to me,” he said with a gentle smile. “If you want to.”
Ed’s eyes were on the book, which he held reverently. He ran one fingertip down the edge of the front cover, feeling the worn blue cloth wrapped tight around the board. The corners were frayed to whiteness. He lifted it to his face and, inhaling the paper smell of it, it touched his lips lightly. He looked up at Stede. “It’s really for me?” he asked. A book of his own?
“It is,” Stede said, still smiling. “Go on.”
Ed opened the book and flipped a few pages. Large blocks of text went on for page after page. His eyes widened with concern. Dedications and introductions. Probably not important. When he saw Book One, though, that’s where he began. “Achilles’ wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumber’d, he-heavenly goddess, sing!”
Stede shifted so he could rest his head on the back of the couch. He lay one hand on Ed’s ankle and closed his eyes.
“That wrath which hurl’d to Pluto’s gloomy reign
The souls of mighty… che--chiefs untimely slain;
Whose… lim-buhs… limbs unburied on the naked shore,
Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore…
“Wicked! That’s cool, that is,” Edward muttered, and Stede could just picture the way his eyes must be lit up, and how he clenched both hands around the sides of the book.
“Since great Achilles and Atrides strove, Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove!” Ed paused. “I’m doing it, love!” he said.
Stede lulled his head to the side and opened his eyes. “Yes you are, darling.” He watched Ed’s face as he continued to read, and pride swelled in his chest. He’d been an okay teacher, but really this was Ed’s success. He had been strong and determined enough to persist even when he was frustrated. He had learned a new skill decades after most people Stede knew had done so. Most of all, Ed’s pride in himself made Stede happy. He loved this man, this pirate. He loved their life. And he loved this story. He closed his eyes again and let himself drift on the waves of Ed’s voice.