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He finds Israel in the ship's hold. Everyone else is getting fall-down drunk on deck, celebrating the successful raid, but not Israel; he’s making marks in a ledger, counting up what they’ve brought in. Only, he’s missed something.
“Hey,” Ed says, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind. Israel looks up, gives him a grunt of acknowledgement. “Wanna see something cool?”
“Depends,” Israel says. “S’it another severed finger?”
“Nah. Close, though.” Ed takes his hand out from behind his back, ring clutched between forefinger and thumb. “Found it in some guy’s pocket.”
For a second, Israel drops that stern expression he’s always got on and a ray of something breaks through. Fondness, maybe. Indulgence. This happens, sometimes. Sometimes Ed even lets himself think that Israel likes him.
Whatever it is, it’s enough that Ed keeps going. “Must’ve been for a girl, right? Someone back home.”
“Most likely,” Israel agrees.
“She’ll never get it,” Ed says.
“No. She won’t.”
“Bit of a waste.” Ed hops up to sit on a barrel, letting his legs swing out and then kick back into the wood. He holds up the ring and inspects it in the dusty light of the hold. “It’s pretty.”
“Could go for a pretty penny,” Israel suggests.
“Or we could keep it.”
“We?”
Heat crawls up Ed’s neck. He tosses the ring up into the air, catches it.
“Me,” he says. “You. Whoever.”
“It’s your find, Teach,” Israel responds. Ed’s told him a thousand times to call him Ed, but Israel never does. “You can keep it. I won’t tell anyone—most of the lads pocket a few things for themselves. I’m only here to keep track of the official takings.”
It's tempting: Ed likes jewellery, likes anything that shines. But he likes Israel better.
“What if I gave it to you?”
Israel’s lips twitch. “I’d sell it, most likely.”
“No,” Ed says. “Don’t do that.”
He extends his arm, the ring resting in the centre of his upturned palm. Israel puts down the ledger.
“You want me to wear it?” Israel asks. “Like that poor bugger’s sweetheart?”
Ed swallows. “What’s it worth to you?”
“A ring I’m not allowed to sell?” Israel regards him sharply. “Could put in a good word for you with Langley. Get you on track to taking over as quartermaster once the old dog keels over.” He pauses. “Lot of quartermasters become captains, you know.”
Ed’s outstretched arm starts to tremble.
“Think I’d be a good captain, then?” he asks. He tries to make it sound indifferent, but there’s no use. His voice is shaking, too.
“Once you’ve grown up a bit,” Israel says. “Reckon you’ve a good chance, yeah.”
“What about you?” Ed asks. “Not too far from bosun’s mate to captain, either.”
“Already scoping out your rivals, Teach?”
“I’d rather we be friends than rivals,” Ed says.
“Pirates don’t have friends,” Israel says, but he’s smiling. Ed’s not sure he’s ever seen him smile before; Israel’s kind of a hardass, scares the other lads silly. The smile changes his whole face, and all at once Ed realises Israel isn’t that much older than him. “Sure you don’t want to save that ring, Teach? Could have a sweetheart of your own soon.”
Ed shakes his head. He keeps waiting, until with a low chuckle Israel crosses the room and plucks the ring from Ed’s hand. The green stone catches the light, shimmering.
“You don’t have to wear it,” Ed says. “It’s probably too small, anyway. Just thought you could…”
“Keep it,” Israel says. “Yeah, Teach. I’ll work something out.”