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A great many things frightened Stede Bonnet, outside of all logic and convention. The sight of blood during the course of ordinary farmwork, for instance, could send him fainting. Sports were simply too exerting, not to mention stressful (though he had a soft spot for fencing). There was also the baffling specter known as girls , with their intimidatingly frilly dresses and makeup that obscured their emotions, making it difficult to converse. But the one thing that should have frightened him most of all instead became the greatest adventure of his young life.
Stede often wondered if he had somehow managed to manifest his kidnapping.
He had been dreaming wistfully of going to sea, like the pirates in the novels he’d begged the boarding school headmaster to let him borrow for the long and lonely summer. He broached the idea of a coastal holiday to his parents, so he could at least get to bask in the balmy ocean breeze from the safety of the beach. That suggestion was swiftly squashed by his father, who informed Stede that he expected his son to do something useful with the break from his studies, like practicing his blacksmithing or courting his future wife. Stede knew better than to ask again, and hoped his father would overlook his blatant lack of physical employment or social activity.
He’d even gone so far as to contemplate running away in the night and making his own way to the coast. He could stow away on a merchant vessel and reveal himself once the ship was too far out at sea to reasonably turn back. Surely his scintillating conversation and surprisingly accomplished sewing skills would make him an attractive potential crew member. His age would be an issue, but just the other day he’d noticed some facial hair beginning to shadow his jawline, so perhaps by the time his period of seclusion concluded he could nearly pass for an adult. Naturally, the ship’s destination would be a mystery, but then, Stede had always loved surprises. Why venture into sailing if you didn’t have a penchant for the unknown? After all, the sea is a flighty temptress at the best of times, a vortex of danger at the worst. He welcomed a bit of danger and intrigue; anything would be better than the same old provincial balls and interminable family dinners he had to endure at home.
Before Stede could prepare his traveling pack and negotiate for his trusted manservant to take care of his pet tortoise, Jerome, while he was away, fate intervened in the form of a band of pirates. Or, maybe they were highwaymen that became pirates and still kept up a land robbery hustle on the side. Either way, he was torn from his family’s carriage on the way home from a disastrous dinner at his uncle’s manor and was ushered through the unusually dark night to the coast, a scratchy burlap sack over his head and a very insufficient saddle underneath him on a remarkably unfriendly horse (It bit him! Twice!). He was bruised and uncomfortably stiff by the time the horses pulled up at what he could only presume was a stable, and one very near the docks if the salty tang in the air was any indicator. He didn’t yet know definitively that his captors were pirates, but why else would they be bringing him to the coast? Unless they intended to drown him straight away, for which purpose they themselves could remain firmly on dry land.
“Where are we?” Stede asked, forgetting to put a note of deferent panic into his speech. This was the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to him—there was no time for fear!
“Quiet!” a man’s voice barked. The sack was still drawn over Stede’s head, but in the flicker of torchlight, he could see the vague outline of a man with long hair and a pointed beard. Distinctly pirate-like, if Stede had to wager. “Ye are going to walk,” the man continued, “and say nothing . Do ye understand?”
Stede nodded his head, then realized it may have been difficult for his captors to see under the sack and vocally affirmed his obedience as well to avoid angering them. He had been warned many times by his father that abduction was a serious possibility for a child born into wealth, and gave Stede several instructions on how to appease any potential kidnappers long enough to escape or be rescued. “It would be no small blessing to have your troublesome person taken off my hands, Stede, but as you are my heir, I forbid you from dying,” his father had said after one such lecture. It resembled affection, from him, albeit also serving as a reminder that Stede’s paramount utility to his family was that of inheritance, not companionship.
Silence was an easy task. He was used to staying quiet, observing, and considering. That very evening, in fact, he’d spent most of the torturously long meal with his uncle, aunt, and cousins staying absolutely mum while his uncle berated him about his perceived deficiencies of character, no doubt repeating complaints heard from his brother about his disappointing son. Stede had learned years ago that it was better to allow his uncle’s ranting to continue uninterrupted; any comment of Stede’s in protest would be seen as backtalk and further confirmation of his insolent nature. He couldn’t win when it came to his family, he could only bear it.
As they walked briskly through the humid night, Stede assumed that they must have been approaching a private dock. Even at such a late hour, the public docks would still be busy with activity and bustling noise. Of course, if his captors were pirates, they couldn’t very well dock their ship amongst the respectable traders and travelers. And surely ordinary merchants would have noticed the sack over Stede’s head, become suspicious, and intervened.
His suspicions were confirmed when the sack was removed from his head before his feet had even tread upon a gangplank. They were far from the lights of the main docks and no longer required secrecy. Stede could have gone against his every instinct and screamed for help, but in all likelihood, nobody would hear him, and shouting would only serve to get his throat slit. Somehow he sensed that his captors weren’t as violent as they wanted him to believe, however. The long-haired, bearded man was still walking next to him and holding the rope that bound Stede’s hands together, but ahead of them the other highwaymen/pirates/general unsavory types were laughing and singing. They certainly weren’t very focused on Stede or the task at hand of kidnapping him.
After about ten more minutes of walking along the coastline, away from civilization, they finally reached their destination. It was a ship—a bonafide, beautifully crafted pirate ship. Stede could ascertain that it was a legitimate pirating vessel due to the bawdy figurehead on the prow, along with the sinister skull-and-crossbones flag raised high on the central mast. It was really happening. He’d been kidnapped by pirates! As he strode up the gangplank and crossed over the churning waves of the sea, a frisson of excitement burst in his chest. Stede was going to sail the sea, at last.
In the end, it was almost like being a stowaway after all. Stede was promptly placed in the cargo hold for the night and told not to get into the rations, or there would be trouble. His situation would be explained to him in the morning, the bearded man promised. Perhaps they weren’t completely sure what to do with him yet, Stede reasoned. The ropes binding his wrists had been removed, only to be tied around his feet instead. He could move around somewhat comfortably but wouldn’t be able to think of escape. Not that Stede would even think of plotting escape. He was dying to see the pirates at work, and hopefully receive some hands-on experience himself.
Once the man shut the door and walked away with the candle, the cargo hold became pitch dark. The pirate needn’t have worried about him pilfering the food supplies; he couldn’t see to do it. Stede was quite exhausted from the long journey (and sore from riding on the ornery horse’s flailing back), so he was content to call it a day and get some rest, as best he could without a mattress or even the dignity of a pillow. He would have to discuss necessities with his captors in the morning.
Stede awoke to the cargo hold door creaking open on its hatches. It was still disorientingly dark in the cramped space, but he could make it the face of the same bearded man from the night before in the light of the candle he’d brought.
“What’s your name?” Stede blurted out. He knew it was the kind of rude question his mother would be ashamed to hear him utter, but curiosity had won out over manners.
“Wha?” the pirate mumbled. He seemed confused by the question and therefore ignored it. “Get up, then, ye. I’m to take you to see the cap’n.”
He pulled Stede up roughly by his forearm and shoved him out the door. Stede tripped. The ropes were still tied at his ankles and he could hardly walk. “Please, can you untie me? Sir?” Stede added hopefully. He’d often found flattery to be an effective form of social grease, and appeals to authority even better. The pirate grunted but bent down to undo the knot. In the flicker of the candlelight, Stede could see a tattoo on the back of the pirate’s neck, where his long hair had parted. Was it… a cat? Surely not. That didn’t seem a very appropriate choice of animal ink for a pirate.
That task completed, the pirate stood up and shoved Stede towards the stairs at the end of the narrow hall. Unable to help himself, Stede uttered “I really would feel better if we were acquainted on a name basis. My name is Stede.” He stuck his hand out for the pirate to shake. His captor stared at the proffered hand for a moment, then he spit in his own and quickly slapped it to Stede’s.
“Welcome aboard, Stede. Cap’n doesn’t have much use for fancy manners, so I’d keep that hand put away if I were ye.”
“But your name?” Stede insisted.
The pirate glared at him, then brushed past Stede to walk up the stairs first. “It’s Barnabas, but you’ll call me Barmy. Everyone does.”
“Oh dear,” Stede whispered. That wasn’t a very nice nickname at all!
“Get up here, quick now. Cap’n’s waiting. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Stede scurried up the stairs after Barnabas, relieved to see a patch of sunlight at the top of another stairway ahead. The air smelled a little less dank on this level of the ship, too. Stede’s stomach was rumbling, and he hoped he would be offered food soon. He had so many questions about what the average pirate ate, but he could tell he’d already asked one too many questions of Barnabas to risk another just yet.
He was eager to meet the captain. Would he have an even longer beard than his new friend Barnabas (at least, he thought the spit-filled handshake was a gesture of friendship, albeit a crude one)? Maybe he would have visible scars from some of his infamous battles. Most importantly, Stede couldn’t wait to see what the captain was wearing. His pirate novels were always frustratingly short on detail when it came to sartorial matters, and Stede loved a fine fabric. He wagered a successful pirate captain could afford all the silk in the world. Barnabas, unfortunately, did not seem to have been extended a clothing allowance. His garb was rather homely, but Stede would be tactful and not mention it. Some men were more comfortable in simple clothing, anyway. Stede? He preferred clothes that made a statement.
They approached an ornately carved door with a smaller door cut out at the top center like a window. It was closed but opened abruptly after Barnabas knocked on the door. The top of a bald head appeared in the window. Stede couldn’t see the person’s eyes, just a hint of his eyebrows, so it was obviously someone on the shorter side.
“Who is it?” the small man barked.
Barnabas rolled his eyes at Stede, who was delighted; he was already co-conspirator of a pirate. He smiled back at Barnabas, already imagining what kinds of pirate jokes his new friend would tell him as they worked together on the deck, surely some of them at the bald man’s expense.
“Ar, ye know it’s us, Paul. Ye sent me to get him!” Barnabas kicked at the door in a desultory fashion. “Let us in, don’t want to keep cap’n waiting.”
The main door opened then, revealing a cozy yet spacious (compared to the cargo hold) room, with round porthole windows across the opposing wall. The sun appeared to be just rising over the water and the light cast a soft glow over the rough-hewn furniture. Stede glanced past the bald man (whose face wore a predictably pinched expression) and noticed another man, sitting with his back to them in a high-back tufted leather chair at the desk situated in the middle of the oblong room. He also had long hair like Barnabas, but his was a pale blonde color, unlike Barnabas’ coppery brown hue. It was a lot like Stede’s own hair, actually, noticeably fine in texture and carefully shaped with pomade and tied back into a half ponytail. The illustrations in his pirate books had always depicted the captain of a ship as having dark, nearly jet black hair, or russet brown at the very lightest, and always unruly in appearance. As Stede was having a minor paroxysm of delight at seeing a captain who resembled himself, the man in question pushed his chair back and rose, turning around slowly to face them.
Stede gasped. The man only had one eye! There was a scarlet red eye patch where the other eye should have been. Stede still didn’t feel fear, because the pirates had been fairly reasonable with him so far, if not the most generous of hosts (his back was still stiff from laying on the floor of the cargo hold). But it would be fair to say he felt a bit of trepidation gazing at the one-eyed captain. He’d surely been involved in a dreadfully violent battle to have lost an eye. Trying to wipe the grimace off his face, Stede put a brave foot forward and offered his hand to the captain, despite Barnabas’ earlier warning. The problem with manners is that they had to be made a habit of, and habits were hard to break.
Before Stede could open his mouth to introduce himself, the captain’s withering glare forced him to drop his hand and take a step back. He bumped into Paul and almost fell. Barnabas reached a steadying hand out and pulled Stede back into line with him and Paul.
“Stede Bonnet,” the captain intoned in a bored drawl. “Please confirm your identity.”
Stede was confused. “I, well. I am… Stede Bonnet? Will that do?” He frowned apologetically.
“That will do. Stede Bonnet, you have been kidnapped by the crew of the Mercy, under the command of captain Beckett Vardy. That would be me. You will be ransomed for a sum appropriate to your family’s fortune and remain here on the Mercy until such time as the ransom is paid. You will work with the crew for the duration of your captivity and be given sufficient food and drink so long as you are compliant. Is that clear?”
So many thoughts were swirling through Stede’s head that he found it difficult to form an answer. He was struck by the intelligent and measured quality of Vardy’s speech and wondered at how unlike the coarse, uneducated pirates of his novels this captain seemed. He then observed the captain’s outfit, certainly not flashy in terms of color or fabrication, but tailored well and suggesting a certain level of care was put into Vardy’s daily wardrobe. Stede was impressed that the man hadn’t resorted to cursing or overt threats to intimidate him. This was a pirate who commanded respect in a civilized way, not through brute force.
“Well?” Vardy prompted Stede, growing visibly impatient.
“Yes, sir, that sounds lovely!”
Vardy raised an eyebrow, the visible one. “Lovely? Boy, you’ve been kidnapped. I’m a reasonable man, hence the name of my ship, but I wouldn’t describe the experience you’re about to have as ‘lovely.’” Paul and Barnabas chuckled on either side of Stede.
“Of course. I’ll, er, try to manage!” Stede replied sunnily.
Now Vardy rolled his eye and turned back around to return to his seat. “Get him some breakfast and then straight to the deck. Introduce him to the crew, assign his duties. I expect a progress report this evening.”
Stede was already speculating on the breakfast menu and his soon-to-be crew mates (in a loose manner), but couldn’t help but ask one final question of the captain. “Sir, excuse me. How long does a kidnapping tend to last? When can I expect to be sent back home?”
Vardy turned and looked Stede in the eye. “As long as it takes, lad. But… usually a month, at least. Parents try to haggle, negotiations drag on, that’s often how it goes. It’s up to your family, really. It can be a rude awakening, I’m afraid.”
A whole month! Stede could hardly believe his luck. “Excellent!”
Vardy merely shook his head and dismissed his crew and Stede with a wave of his hand.
The nicest thing Stede could say about his so-called breakfast was that it was edible. Was he receiving the proper nutrients to fuel him for a day of work? It was questionable. Did the food provide a pleasant sensory experience regarding its flavor? Well, flavor was a misnomer in the case of such bland, perfunctory fare. Stede wondered if he had just experienced the food he had often read about in books but never consumed himself—gruel. He supposed it might be one of those foods that sounds just as unappealing as it tastes. Whatever it was, his family’s chef would have sooner resigned in shame than make the mistake of serving it to the Bonnets. The ship’s chef clearly didn’t have such stringent standards.
It appeared that Barnabas had been assigned as his personal companion, or minder, rather, because he hardly left Stede’s side for the rest of the day. Paul made a few appearances now and then as Stede was given a rundown of all the tasks essential to sailing a ship, and other crew members were introduced to him throughout his lessons. There was Crusty, a tall Spanish man with a nasty-looking (but thankfully not contagious) skin condition. Slow Martin worked much faster than his name would suggest, so Stede would have to solicit his nickname origin at a later time. Gregory was a native of Tortuga and quickly bonded with Stede over their shared wanderlust.
Stede was surprised to see a boy who looked even younger than himself, as Stede was just a couple of years shy of the age of majority. He eagerly asked the boy, named Roger, if he had also been kidnapped. “I’d like to see them try,” Roger replied, winking at Stede before pulling a dagger swiftly out of his boot and thrusting it under Stede’s chin. Stede chuckled nervously and scampered away, making a mental note not to cross Roger under any circumstances.
Most of the crew were uninterested in getting to know Stede, and even had the gall to insult him within earshot. “Pretty little rich boy,” he heard them jeering from the crow’s nest during the lunch break. Stede was used to being publicly mocked, however, and carried about his tasks with a steely determination. Still, his pool of potential friends on the ship was dwindling by the hour, despite his best attempts to be genial and interesting.
When Stede engaged in his knotwork lessons with a little too much gusto, Barnabas felt compelled to remind him, “Ay, lad, ye’re not on vacation. Can’t have the cap’n seeing you this bloomin’ happy when he does his inspectin’.”
A master of redirection, Stede inquired about Barnabas’ accent. “That’s a peculiar pattern of speech you have, Barnabas. I notice the other crew members don’t speak that way.” He hadn’t meant to be accusatory, but his new friend’s face fell.
“Shh, Stede,” he hushed him. “Ye can’t be calling me Barnabas. I don’t go by that name.”
“You don’t like your name?”
“It’s not about liking it or not. Them others would roast me alive if they knew my real name. Got chased straight off my last ship for it.”
“Oh, now, that’s silly! It’s a perfectly respectable name. I knew a Barnabas at my boarding school, and he was a fine fellow.”
“Ye’re making it worse, Stede, lad. Call me Barmy. Please.”
Stede frowned. “Well, I don’t like it, but if you insist. But for the record, you don’t seem barmy at all to me. You’re the nicest man on this ship!”
“I’ll throw ye overboard if ye keep the flattery up,” he chided, but Stede could see the hint of a smile behind his beard. “Me accent is just the way we pirates talk. Or some of us, ay. This lot are a bunch of landlubbing folk. Don’t know where Cap’n found ‘em.”
Stede grinned at him conspiratorially. “So you’ve been on all sorts of pirating vessels then, have you? I reckon you have a lot of tales to tell about life on the sea.”
“Ay, and I’ll tell them to ye if ye get back to work.” They passed the last hour of daylight in easy companionship, Barnabas regaling Stede with stories about the captains he’d served under, faraway islands he’d explored, and dangers he faced along the way. It was even better than Stede’s pirate books, because these adventures were real. And now Stede was at the beginning of his own adventure.
Unfortunately for Stede, most of the other crew members were not as patient with him as Barnabas was, and some of them were downright hostile. There seemed to be a misunderstanding between them about exactly what purpose Stede served on the ship. Sure, he knew that he was technically being held hostage and was at their mercy (no pun intended), but Barnabas had shown that the captor/captive relationship didn’t have to be a negative one. As far as Stede was concerned, he was there to learn! Pirating was a craft, one that he wished to become adept at in time.
The first ship tradition that Stede got to participate in was the promised nightly progress report to the captain. He admired the captain’s commitment to staying organized and on-track. Stede was all about setting goals and accountability—although accountability could be tricky in some areas of his life, like his family obligations. Luckily, he had already learned from his first shift of crew work that the day-to-day tasks required to properly run a ship were unchanging and unceasing. The expectations were clear, and the consequences for failing to meet them could be alarmingly immediate, ranging from enemy detection to scurvy to running aground.
The scurvy threat was taken very seriously, as he’d already found out. Even the crew members who made no effort to hide their disdain of Stede still took the time to warn him about the irreversible dangers of scurvy. Slow Martin had gone so far as to slip Stede one of his oranges from the week’s ration.
“But won’t you need it, Mr. Martin? Why would I need extra?” Stede asked him.
“You’re a growing boy, laddy. Don’t argue, just eat it. Quickly now, before Crusty realizes I got into the stores.”
“Isn’t there an inventory system, though? Gregory was checking the ledger when I shadowed him earlier.”
“Be a good shadow and don’t worry about matters that don’t concern you. Eat your orange!”
Stede’s nutritional needs were being met, in credit to his captors, but his intellectual needs had been sorely neglected. Accustomed to lively debates with his classmates while away at boarding school (and occasionally with his parents, if they were in one of their rare good moods) about the pressing topics of the day, no one on the ship seemed interested in flexing their oratory skills—or the concept of having opinions, period. It was hive mind all the way on the Mercy. Stede might as well have been speaking to a brick wall when he tried to engage Crusty in a discussion of contemporary British political thought. To be fair, he was a Spaniard, and his English was still rusty after just six months on Vardy’s vessel.
When it came time for the progress report, Stede was expected to declare his day’s work alongside the pirates. They all lined up in front of the captain and the blonde man moved from person to person, looking them each in the eye as they delivered their reports. Stede proudly declared that he had learned rudimentary knotwork, the purpose of each sail, and was even allowed to steer the ship for a brief moment while Roger availed himself of the loo. “Too much information, young Stede. And remember, you’re not to be getting comfortable here,” Vardy commented, but moved on to the next crewmember in satisfaction that Stede had done his duties.
Stede’s education in pirating was off to a frustrating start. He had the basics of shipcraft down after a week on board, but the crew was proving stubbornly stingy when it came to talking about the less savory side of the business.
“How many men have you killed?” Stede asked Gregory during lunch on his third day. Gregory spat up his rustic stew, potatoes spewing on Stede’s jacket (his only jacket, in fact, his only outfit, since he had not been provided with alternative clothing yet).
“Blimey, boy, you can’t be asking something like that. At least warn a man first!”
Stede pressed him. “How many, though? Just one? Dozens? Barna—er, Barmy told me you’ve been on Vardy’s crew for two years already now.”
Gregory frowned at him in disappointment. “Then you’ll know I haven’t killed a single soul, because that’s not what Captain is about. Catch and release, that’s the game.”
He wasn’t sure if he could trust Gregory’s answer, but he let it go and moved down the table to Slow Martin.
“Mr. Martin, I heard you were previously on the crew of the fearsome pirate Johnson. What was the body count like on your missions? Significant?”
Slow Martin merely stood up and walked away, taking the remnants of his stew with him. It was a pity; Stede would have loved a second helping, and second helpings simply weren’t a thing in a rationed ship kitchen.
Stede was reluctant to sully Barnabas’ innocent opinion of him, but he knew his friend was the most likely to aid him in his quest for knowledge. He approached the secretive pirate after dinner in the crow’s nest, where he knew Barnabas liked to digest his meal in private and enjoy a pipe. He popped his head up over the entrance and whispered, “Barnabas, I need your help!”
“Ar, ye scared me!” Barnabas whispered harshly back. He was leaning over the opposite railing gazing across the water and almost dropped his pipe over the edge. “What do ye want? I’m havin’ me moment of peace, ye know.”
“I apologize, but it’s a matter of some importance. You see, none of the other crew members are willing to give me instruction in violence. Crusty chased me out of the cabin this morning and threatened not to let me in tonight to sleep unless I left him alone. But I have to be prepared!”
Barnabas chuckled. “Prepared for what, Stede?”
“Well, you know—an ambush! A raid on the ship! What if we’re overtaken by a rival band of pirates and I’m the only one on the ship unable to defend themself? I’d be an easy mark for them. I’d be double kidnapped!” Stede was nearly hyperventilating with worry. Sure, this particular kidnapping hadn’t been very dire, but he knew these pirates. Strangers might not be so lenient.
“Ar, calm down, lad. We wouldn’t let that happen to ye, ye know that. Ye’re too valuable!”
That reassurance was slim comfort for Stede. “Still, I would like to learn. Perhaps you could teach me how to handle a sword? I suppose I’m not advanced enough for knifework.”
“Aye, that ye’re not. Well, I see yer point now. So long as Cap’n doesn’t find out. And ye promise not to turn your sword against us.”
Stede gasped in dismay. “How could I? I’m part of the crew now!”
“Ye’re not,” Barnabas muttered, but he grinned in spite of himself. “Let me finish me pipe first. Meet me on the weather deck at midnight, and don’t let Paul see ye. He’s a rat.”
Not wanting to be late and give Barnabas a reason to renege on his agreement, Stede arrived at the weather deck well before midnight. He waited for Barnabas for about thirty minutes, and it was the first time he’d had to himself since he was brought aboard the ship. He sat down near the edge of the railing and took advantage of the sleeping silence to appreciate the ocean in all its twilit glory. He thought he saw a ship off in the distance, but it could have just been a trick of the waxing moon. Otherwise, it was just him, the seagulls, and the occasional hissing spray of a whale spout.
Suddenly, a dagger was at his throat. Stede suppressed a gasp and held still, not daring to move. The shadow looming over him was unidentifiable until he heard the voice.
“The first rule of fighting,” Barnabas said, as he pulled the dagger away from Stede’s throat, “whether ye’re dueling by sword or by knife, is never let ye guard down. ”
“Very funny,” Stede retorted, massaging his neck, though he didn’t actually feel any pain. Barnabas had shown great control of the knife and not drawn blood.
“Ar, I was just messing with ye. Good on ye for not flinching. We can make a swordsman out of ye yet.” Stede didn’t care to admit that his entire body was trembling. Barnabas held a hand out to him to help him up, then tossed him one of the two rapiers he’d brought. “We’ll start with the lighter sword, since ye’re just starting out. If ye aren’t completely useless, we’ll work our way up to the sabre.”
Stede drew himself up straight. “Now, see here, I have handled a sword before. We did fencing at school. I was quite a menace with the sabre!”
Barnabas smirked. “I’m sure ye were. But rich boy fighting is not the same as pirate fighting. It’s a different world. Sure, there’s a few fair rules. But the main rule is not to die. The other rules are negotiable. Trust no one but yerself.”
They worked on several key maneuvers, repeating each move until Stede got the hang of it. Barnabas showed him a variety of blocks, evasive steps, and attacking forays.
“It’ll be different when ye’re in a real fight of course—faster than ye could ever imagine. But yer opponent won’t know what to expect from ye either. Use that to yer advantage. Surprise them. Of course… ye won’t be in a real fight, because a few weeks from now ye’ll be back home, safe and sound.”
Stede grew wistful. “What if I don’t want to go back?” he asked Barnabas.
“What? Not want to go home? This ain’t where ye belong, lad. Ye put on a good show of being tough, but ye’re meant for finer things. No use fighting it.”
“But I want adventure! I want to sail into the unknown.”
“Ye’d have to find a different ship then, because we have a pretty well-established territory. Lots of wealthy fools with children in these parts just waiting to be ransomed. I will say, ye’re the first one that’s ever enjoyed the ordeal this much. More’s the pity.” Barnabas shook his head. “Nah, laddy, ye’d grow tired of adventure very, very soon. I sure did. Wanted out of my first crew worse than anything, not two months into the voyage. Nothing to do but wait until we returned to port four months later. Longest half a year of me life. There’s something to be said for a warm bed on solid ground, mark my words.”
The sun had begun to appear on the horizon as the pair of them sat next to the railing, contemplating the churning water. Stede turned to Barnabas. “Maybe we could swap? I could stay here, on Vardy’s ship, and you could return to my family’s farm. My father would surely like you more than he likes me. You’re strong and dependable, and unafraid.”
Barnabas laughed ruefully. “I am not cut out for farm work. That’s a whole other beast. And besides, ye’re too hard on yerself. Long as I’ve known ye, which I suppose is only a week now, ye’ve shown yerself to be quite a sturdy, dogged lad. Besides, what’s there to be afraid of back home?”
“My father,” Stede whispered, but he was pretty sure Barnabas still heard him. “I don’t want to go back home. I’m not sure it is my home.”
“I know, Stede. I know.” He put his arm around Stede for a moment, cuffing him by the shoulder. “Things will work out in the end, somehow. There’s adventures on land, too.”
Stede was thoroughly enjoying his sword fighting lessons with Barnabas, but relations had not improved with the rest of the crew. He tried soliciting lessons from the others like he had with Barnabas in an attempt to initiate bonding, but they would usually pass him off to another crew member or flat out refuse.
“No one in their right mind wants to learn the proper method for removing barnacles from the hull, kid. You’re not fooling me. Go bother Crusty in the galley,” Slow Martin rebuffed him.
On the 16th day of his ostensible captivity (it felt strange to think of it that way when he was having so much fun), Barnabas approached him after the evening progress report and dragged him down to the cargo hold for a private conversation.
“Ay, lad, I hate to give ye this news, but the crew is planning a mate mutiny,” he told Stede.
“A what? Mate mutiny? I’m not familiar with that term.” Stede wrinkled his brow in confusion.
“It means they want ye out. A mate mutiny is when a crew expels one of their own, not the cap’n. Sometimes it even comes from the cap’n himself,” Barnabas explained.
“Vardy doesn’t want me here?” Stede’s lip quivered. He rather respected the captain and hated to think that he had displeased him enough to warrant banishment.
“Nah, it wasn’t Vardy. Believe it was Paul who started it. Said you asked too many questions, he can’t hear himself think when he’s manning the sails.” He paused when he noticed Stede’s crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry, Stede. It’s not nice to hear, I know. For what it’s worth, I voted no.”
“There was a vote?” Stede cried. “Oh, how embarrassing.” He dropped his head into his hands. “I can be quiet. No really, I can!” he insisted when Barnabas began to look skeptical. “I’ll be a model captive. You won’t even notice I’m on board.”
“Stede, lad, I’m afraid it’s too late. It’s not just ye being curious. Paul thinks ye’re picking up trade secrets. He thinks ye’ll sell us out to the authorities.”
Stede was indignant. “I would never! You’re my friends!”
“Ar, I’m touched. But the other crew, they don’t see it that way. I brought ye down here to warn ye, but also because they asked me to keep ye belowdecks while they talked to the captain. They were going to do it with or without me. All we can do is wait for the cap’n’s decision.” He patted Stede on the shoulder, then encouraged him to sit down on some crates with him. “Thought ye might need some cheering, so I filched a couple of oranges from the stores. Gotta have ye looking healthy when ye return to yer family, of course.”
“Of course. Mustn’t get scurvy,” Stede muttered automatically. He couldn’t believe the crew wanted to make him leave the ship ahead of schedule. He had so much left to learn! They hadn’t even raided a rival ship yet. And he knew there was an excursion on a nearby island planned for the following week. Stede had never set foot on another piece of land, had never left Barbados, the land he was born on, until he was kidnapped and brought to sea. There was so much left to explore. He refused to have the matter taken out of his hand. “I’m going up there.”
“What? Stede, ye can’t. They won’t be wanting interruption.” Barnabas tried to hold him back. “I know I told ye to stick up for yerself, but I meant back at home. Not against this nasty lot.”
“Captain Vardy is a reasonable man. I know I can prove to him that I’m a valuable member of the crew. Does he get the final vote?”
Barnabas sighed. “Yes, but Stede—”
“Wish me luck!” Stede shouted behind him as he opened the cargo hold door. He could hear Barnabas chasing behind him up the stairs to the lower deck but he continued running undeterred. Since Barnabas was both taller and in better shape than Stede, they ended up arriving at the captain’s door at the same time. Before his friend could stop him, Stede wrenched open the door and leaped into the room.
Two dozen pairs of eyes stared back at him, along with Vardy’s singular eye. He stood in the middle of the room just as he had on Stede’s first meeting with him. Stede idly wondered why he didn’t just reconfigure his furniture placement so that he could stay seated when discussing ship business. But then again, he was more intimidating standing up. Vary didn’t look particularly surprised to see Stede barging into the mutiny proceedings.
“Welcome, Stede. I was expecting you.”
Paul piped up before Stede could get a word in. “See, Captain? This is exactly what I was talking about. He doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone. Always interfering in business that doesn’t concern him.”
“I think you’ll find that this business does, indeed, concern him,” Vardy countered. “However, Stede is too late. The decision has been made.”
“You… you already voted?” Stede whispered.
“We did.”
“And how did you vote, sir?”
“The crew voted 24-1 for your expulsion.” Stede knew who the one negative vote belonged to.
“But Bar—Barmy told me that your vote is the deciding vote,” Stede said hopefully.
“You are correct. I have the veto power. But unfortunately, Stede, I have to agree with my crew on this matter. The time has come for you to leave the Mercy.”
“I don’t understand. What about my ransom? Did my parents pay it already?” Stede knew his bargaining sounded pitiful, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to go back home. And he had a sinking feeling his parents would not have paid the ransom yet—they might not have any intention of paying it at all. When had they ever indicated that Stede’s life was valuable to them, except as a means for inheritance? Stede’s suspicions were soon confirmed.
“They have not. There are still nearly two weeks left until the deadline. But the ransom is forgiven. It’s for the best of everyone on the ship that you are returned to your home early, and after some discussion, your parents agreed. Payment will not be required.” It appeared to cause Vardy some personal discomfort to speak those words, but he delivered them firmly.
“Please. Mr. Vardy, sir, you don’t know what my parents are like. I’m better off here on the Mercy, truly, I am. I promise that I can do better. Name your conditions.” Stede had crossed the line from bargaining to outright begging, and he was ashamed, but shame was a more tolerable feeling than the pain of knowing his family had not cared enough about him to pay the ransom—and worse, that it was all so predictable.
Barnabas came to stand behind Stede and put his hand on his shoulder. “Ay, Stede, the cap’n’s word is final. He has to keep harmony on the ship. Besides, a pirate crew is no place for a lad like ye.”
“Then where do I belong?” Stede whispered. Barnabas had surely heard him, but did not reply.
Vardy stepped forward. “Crew, please leave us. I want to speak to Stede alone.” Barnabas stood firm behind Stede as the others filed out of the room. “You too, Barnabas,” Vardy said after the last of the crew members had left. Barnabas flinched. “Yes, I know your given name. I may not see as much, but I know everything.” Barnabas dutifully exited the room, casting a glance back at the captain in wonder.
With the door shut, Vardy gestured for Stede to sit on a hardback chair placed on the other side of the desk. He sat in his tufted captain’s chair and held up a hand to forestall Stede’s protests.
“I understand that you have a difficult life at home. Remember, I know everything,” Vardy said before Stede could form the question on his lips. “But anyone could have seen that the boy who boarded this ship was a lonely creature, desperate for companionship and occupation.” He paused to consider something. “I should amend my previous statement. I know everything that happens on this ship, and everyone. I did not know you before you came aboard. I understand now that I made a poor choice of ransom target.”
“My family doesn’t really want me back, sir. I swear to you they don’t. It would be kinder to let me remain on the ship and start a new life.” Stede was practically in tears.
“You are wrong, Stede. It may seem that way to your frustrated mind, but a pirate ship is no place for a boy of your education and standing. You would be throwing away a life of comfort for a life of drudgery.”
“But it’s not drudgery! It’s adventure! That is the life I want,” Stede insisted.
Vardy shook his head. “I cannot allow you to abandon your true life. You would come to regret it in time, I’m sure of it.”
Stede stood up and drew his chest up defiantly. “I will be back one day. Back on the sea. Believe me.”
“And one day that will be your decision to make. I won’t have it on my conscience. Yes, pirates do have a conscience. Mine has wavered at times, but it’s speaking clearly to me now.” Vardy stood as well and motioned to dismiss Stede. “You will be taken home at dawn. Say your goodbyes, but think wisely about who actually deserves one. My crew are decent pirates, but half of them are worthless when it comes to human kindness.”
Stede walked out of the captain’s room and made his way slowly to the crew’s cabin, a forlorn expression on his face and his feet feeling like lead underneath him. Each step was weighted with the knowledge that at that time the next evening, he would be walking into his own room, all by himself again.
He should have expected the burlap sack. Of course the Mercy’s crew could not allow Stede to find their port again. On the reverse journey, it was placed over his head before they had even left the ship—the moment he was awoken, in fact. Stede could only groan and ask the crew to be gentle with him, for old time’s sake. He could feel the gangplank beneath his feet as they disembarked, but he was not allowed one last glance at the ship that had been his home for the past fortnight. He wondered if Captain Vardy was watching from the weather deck. He hoped Vardy felt guilty, very guilty, about forcing Stede to leave.
After a thirty-minute walk, horses were collected for the final portion of the route. Stede was permitted to take the sack off then, and he took in the familiar sights of his island. He felt a twinge of familiarity that was not entirely unwelcome, loathe as he was to admit it. He had missed the feeling of solid ground beneath him, and the fresh air with only a hint of salt from the coast. He would have to request oranges from the family chef for his daily snack. He’d taken quite a liking to them on board the Mercy. It would be nice to have a fresh change of outfit again, at last. Slowly but surely, as they approached the edge of his family’s property, he had come around to the idea that perhaps he could tolerate being back home—at least until he was old enough to make his own way.
The rest of the crew waited with the horses while Barnabas walked him up to the gate. “Ar, this is not easy to say, Stede, but… be good, will ye?” Stede thought he detected a hint of moisture at the corners of Barnabas’ eyes.
“Well, I cannot promise that my parents will find my behavior satisfactory. They never do. But I will try, regardless.” Stede smiled at him. Barnabas’ tears really started to fall then. “Cheer up, Barmy. I feel certain we will see each other again.”
“Is that a threat?” Barnabas joked, but Stede could tell he was pleased all the same.
“Think of it… as my Revenge.”