Chapter Text
It had been Izzy’s idea.
Lucius was gone, and no one else could write. Ed supposed it was unnecessary – after all, before he’d met Stede, he’d never had anyone who could read or write on board, and no one seemed to care much.
But the idea of having a scribe– someone who could commit the ship's crimes to paper and revive the Blackbeard mythology, putting to death rumors the man himself had gone soft – appealed.
So when Izzy suggested they take a new deckhand, someone literate, Ed mulled it over for a moment, exhaled, and said yes.
And when Izzy really thought about it, if this new person served to distract Ed from his muddled sorrows – well then, all the better.
When they pulled into Nassau, it was surprisingly easy for Izzy to find a literate pirate – or, anyway, a literate aspiring pirate. There seemed to be more quick-talking, moderately well-bred fellows in the business these days. (He hated to think that Stede Bonnet’s example had inspired scores of dilettantes, but he ignored that thought.)
And if this aspiring pirate happened to have soft features and blond hair – well, all the better.
***
“Fang!”
His head popped up immediately from the deck, Izzy and the scribe floating in the dinghy alongside the Revenge.
“Ladder, now!”
Fang threw the ladder over, the rungs click-clacking against the side of the ship.
“Boy,” Izzy ground out, “go.”
The scribe scrambled up the ladder, more skilled than some first-time mariners - but only some.
Izzy followed him up, having attached the dinghy to the rigging, and landed on board.
“Who’s this?”
“New deck scribe.”
Fang had the good sense to not look stunned, simply absorbing the information. “Name?”
Oh, right. Izzy muffled his internal urge to scream – who gives a flying fuck what his name is – and gritted his teeth. “Boy, what do you go by?”
Not what’s your name. Why express any interest in who this boy was? He was here to pirate. He could be King fucking George but if he showed up and asked to be called Mustang Sally, it’d be just fine.
The boy stammered, blue eyes blinking under his unkempt blond mop. “Cade, sir.”
Well, at least it’s short.
Fang, having drawn up the dinghy, looked back to the boy. “Have you done this before?”
“Yes, sir.”
Izzy swore. “Fang, he’s not here to tie knots. He’s here to read and write and assist the captain.”
Fang’s brow furrowed. “He’s below deck. Again.”
Izzy grabbed at the boy’s shoulder and pushed him forward, into the narrow stairwell down to the captain’s quarters.
He hoped beyond hope that there wasn’t audible sobbing.
***
Ed stared at the new kid, then glared at Izzy.
“The fuck is this?”
Izzy sucked in air through his teeth. “Your new scribe, Blackbeard.”
“Can this kid even read or write? Looks dumb as a fucking stump.”
“Yes, he can.” Izzy watched as the new kid opened and closed his mouth without saying anything.
Ed glared at Izzy, sunlight casting a harsh glow on his face paint. “It’s not like you can read and write, Iz, how the fuck would you know?”
Izzy supposed that was a good point. “Boy, write something.” He wrenched open a desk drawer, finding a quill and some paper.
The kid scrambled at the paper, scratching ineffectually. “There’s no ink.”
Ed laughed, a cruel tint in the sound. “Sounds like a fuckin excuse to me.”
Izzy rolled his eyes. “Boy, figure something out soon, or we’re sending you back without a dinghy.”
The kid’s eyes scrambled around the room. “You got a book?”
Izzy sneered. “We got rid of the books. The fuck do we need books on a pirate ship for?”
Ed sighed, a heavy blast from deep in his lungs. “We have one book. Read the first page. I know what this one is supposed to sound like.” He grabbed it from underneath his bed – Izzy reminded himself to check to see what else was under there later – and tossed it at Cade. “Read or die, dumbshit.”
Izzy’d never seen someone crack open a book so fast.
“How it happened that Mastro Cherry, carpenter, found a piece of wood that wept and laughed like a child.” Sure, his voice lacked Bonnet’s whimsy, but he could read. “Centuries ago, there lived –“
“Enough, boy.” Ed had a faraway look, melancholy, exposed. “That’s fine. Can you do anything else?”
“Can write, read, tie some knots, I guess?”
“You can sleep on the deck with the others. Find some paper and some fucking ink, for fuck’s sake. How can you be a scribe without goddamn ink?” Ed stormed out the door, yelling after himself, “And get the fuck out of my room.”
“You heard him,” Izzy muttered, sending the kid skittering out.
“You fuckin’ too, Izzy.”
***
Several weeks later
“Edward.” Izzy hobbled into Ed’s room with purpose, his cane balancing his uneven gait. He’d begun to regret hiring the scribe. Ed was on the window seat in his dingy pink robe. He hadn’t bothered to paint his face for days. His cheek rested on his kneecap and his eyes were glued to the scribe.
“Hmmmm?” Ed’s eyes wandered over to Izzy. He looked disarmed – eyes soft and vulnerable. Izzy wanted to crush him.
Putting his murderous inclinations aside, Izzy marshaled on. “We need an actual fucking crew. Fang and Ivan aren’t cutting it, and Frenchie –“
“Not now.” Ed was watching Cade across the room, sitting on the floor, reading aloud from the book.
“’Are my friends ready?’ the Marionette asked him. ‘Indeed, yes! They went two hours ago.’ ‘Why in such a hurry?’ ‘Unfortunately, the Cat—‘”
Izzy felt more rage boiling up inside. “Edward. Now. We need rations, we need water, and we need to fix the fucking railings, which you keep smashing in fits of drunken rage.”
Ed glared at Izzy. “The railings being smashed makes it really hard for the English to board. Anyway, can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Listening to this waste of a berth read a fuckin’ book is not what I’d call busy, Edward, it’s what I’d call useless.” Izzy knew he’d have to tread a fine line, balancing the need to stoke Blackbeard’s inner Kraken against his own need to keep the rest of his toes.
“The fuck do you know?” Izzy knew if he looked closer at Ed, he’d figure out he was crying, naked under that robe, drunk on rum, or some combination thereof.
“I know that we can’t get to a port quick enough because we don’t have enough crew, the guy with the hair and Jim we can’t trust, and the only new crew member you hired is scared of heights.”
“To be fair, Iz, you kinda hired him.”
Izzy fumed. “As a scribe and a sailor, Edward, not as your personal wailing wall.”
Cade looked up, clearing his throat. “Mr. Hands, sir, he’s never wailed.”
“Fuckin’ right,” Ed nodded proudly.
“Fuckin’ stupid assholes,” Izzy muttered, and left the room.