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The Revenge sits anchored in the harbour of a little island called Porto Verde.
The sun is shining. The air is warm. The little town is bustling and Stede can't stop smiling. He feels Great, and the capital is certainly deliberate.
The reason for this is strolling at his side, far calmer than he was the last time the two of them did something like this together. Ed in a good mood is like nothing else Stede has ever known: intoxicating and lovely and very, very worthy of encouragement.
They bump hands as they walk, and sometimes Ed will lock their fingers together and hold on tight, and that makes Stede smile even more; especially because he knows what it means.
He's still thrumming with happiness after last night, and he's well-aware it's responsible for the lightness in the other man's mood as well. Because it was… good. Better than good. Everything feels a little easier, and a little stiller and a little… a lot… more right.
And he thinks the crew can tell. Though… he's not so hesitant about that anymore.
"So, what do you want to do?" Stede asks, finally, in the tone of a man in no hurry. "We don't need to weigh anchor until tonight, and the crew will have us re-provisioned long before then. We could go seek out adventure? I'm not sure what kind, but it has a way of finding us."
"It does," Ed agrees. "But… I almost don't need it, today."
Stede smiles some more. "I wonder why that is…"
That makes Ed lean in and murmur in his ear, voice taking on a lower tone just for a second. "…I can't imagine…"
Stede manages a little shiver, and grips Ed's hand tighter.
Eventually, they pause on the far end of the harbour where the small port rapidly gives way to deep jungle, sitting side-by-side on a low wall and staring out at the Revenge.
"She really is a lovely ship," Ed says, fondly.
"I know. Thank you." Stede glances sideways at him. "Better now, though."
They're calm and quiet for a few moments, watching the ship bob in the gentle waves, and Stede could get used to this: days in the sunlight, nights in his cabin, an adventure or two every time they get restless, and everything just… right.
"…uh, Captain? Captains?"
It's Lucius, pronouncing the plural with a pointed edge, though his expression suggests something else is wrong right now.
"Lucius? What is it?" Stede asks.
"We have a bit of a problem. An Izzy problem. Well, Izzy and Pete."
Ed rolls his eyes. "What did they do?"
"Oh, you know, the usual. Izzy was being a dick to me, Pete stepped in, things escalated… and now they're about to fight a duel in the main square. And I wouldn't argue, because Izzy could do with a few sharp things sticking in him, only for some reason Pete chose pistols and I know for a fact he can't shoot half as well as he thinks he can."
"…I should go sort this out," Ed says, sounding resigned.
"You're right," Stede agrees. "I'll come with you."
"Nah, it won't take long, you stay here and enjoy the sun. I'll be back in a few."
Lucius looks unimpressed by this, because now he has to walk over on his own with Ed, but at the same time he's clearly grateful for the assist, and gives a begrudging, "Come on, then," as they head off.
Alone for the moment, Stede watches them go and then turns his eyes back to the harbour, staring out at the Revenge once more. She really is a lovely ship, and it's nice to have the chance to admire her like this.
He drops his head back, letting the sun play over his face; closing his eyes and just enjoying the warmth and the stillness and…
Cold metal touches his neck. Cold, sharp metal. He smiles, sure it must be Ed.
"That was quick. Feeling friendly, are we?"
"Quite the opposite," comes a distinctly unfriendly voice, and one that certainly doesn't belong to Ed. Or anyone else on the crew.
Stede's eyes shoot open, and he's looking up at a face he doesn't recognise: a man with malice in his expression – along with a heavy dose of triumph – and a pistol in his other hand.
"…I'll scream."
"Scream, and they all die."
"And… if I don't?"
"You come with me. They live. Sound good to you, Captain Bonnet?"
He still wants to scream. He's just gotten everything fixed, just gotten to this wonderful point with Ed, and now… now it's all about to go to pieces again, and the mere thought is as bad as being run-through.
"…Please don't do this."
A soft laugh. "You have any idea how much the English will pay to get hold of you? A lot. It's a lot. More alive, I hasten to add, but I'm sure even dead you'd be worth something. So which is it going to be? Just you, or shall I start shooting?"
Stede closes his eyes again. "All right. All right. Just don't hurt them."
How did this day go so wrong, so fast?
***
His captor drags him into the jungle at knifepoint, long before Stede has a chance to do anything that might alert anyone to his predicament. It's a few moments before he's thrown against a tree, and his hands tied behind his back, and then they're walking again, at quite a pace.
"Why are you doing this?"
"For the money. And, honestly, for the bragging rights. The number of people who've tried and failed at bringing you down… and I'm going to be the one who finally pulls it off."
"Well, no, the English are going to be the ones who finally pull it off. If you're right. You're just the messenger."
This gets him cracked about the head with the pommel of his captor's knife. "'Alive' doesn't mean 'conscious', you know. I'll carry your ass to my rendezvous if that's what it takes."
The only thing worse than being dragged off like this would be having to endure it whilst unconscious. Stede decides he'd better be a little more careful.
"How much are they paying you?" he tries, instead.
"More than you can afford."
"I doubt that."
The man stops, glaring at him. "Really? Aren't you 'dead'? Besides, if I'm being honest, the money's just a bonus. Professional pride is what's actually on the line here."
"Professional pride?"
"My reputation, as a man who gets things done."
"…Not to put too fine a point on it, but I still have no idea who you are."
This gets him hit again, though thankfully not hard enough to make him lose consciousness.
"Of course you don't. You're not my client base. You're my cashflow. Now stop talking."
Stede takes the hint this time, falling silent. He still doesn't know who this guy is or what his real motivations are, but from his accent, he is English, if perhaps raised out here in the Caribbean. And from the malice in his tone… this is about more than money. This is personal. Which is concerning, as Stede is confident they've never met.
He doesn't quite dare bring it up, however, which means now he's left with nothing but his own thoughts, and that just makes things worse because he's in trouble, with no idea how to resolve it. No way to stop this man dragging him off and handing him over to the English navy, who probably will execute him this time.
And worse… no way to let Ed know what's happened.
That hurts more than a blade to the gut. And he should know.
***
They walk for a lot longer than Stede would like. He keeps hoping there might be some sign of the others coming after him, but his captor appears to know a route through the jungle that's somewhat indirect, and Stede has the sinking feeling that it's designed to lose anyone who might be following.
This can't be how it ends. It can't. But… what if it is?
Eventually, the jungle gives way to another shoreline: this one sandy and deserted, save for a single wooden rowboat sitting close by.
"…You can still change your mind about this," Stede gasps, aware that if he gets in that boat, he's doomed.
"I don't think so," his captor retorts. "Now: in."
Why this is the point at which Stede decides to risk running for it, he'll never know. But it is. He turns, and he runs, and for a second he thinks he might have enough of a lead to make it back to the tree line.
He doesn't. His captor leaps on him from behind, there's a very short struggle, and then Stede just has time to process the extremely sharp pain to the back of his skull before the whole world goes black.
***
The next thing Stede is aware of is rough hands and the cold, slightly damp timbers of a ship deck, as he's unceremoniously dropped on them. Still dizzy from the blow to the head, he's quite content to lie where he's fallen, waiting for his vision to get a little less blurry, but apparently someone else has other ideas, as two sets of hands seize hold of him again and yank him up onto his knees.
And… another blade slips under his jaw; this time the tip of a rapier. He blinks at it, following the glinting metal along and up, towards its owner, and…
…and gasps, the shock a little too much amidst everything else.
He's staring at a painfully-familiar face, albeit one that shouldn't be here because both of its owners are dead. And yet, here it is: just as he remembers, save for the fact that this iteration has a milky-white right eye, with a long, old scar bisecting it from forehead to cheek.
"…Badminton?" he manages, shakily. "Is… how?"
"What, you didn't know there were three of us?" comes the sneered response. "I suppose you wouldn't. After all, Nigel and Chauncey were the good ones. They only send little-old Victor when good isn't enough. Though how that's ended up being the case with you… ugh…"
"So… so why don't I remember you?" Stede asks, still so very confused. "You… weren't at boarding school with the rest of us?"
"Sharp, aren't you?" Victor Badminton throws back. "No. I was supposed to be, but there was… an incident. I stabbed a man because he was being rude to me. Almost killed the little shit, too."
"…You stabbed a man? Before we started at boarding school? But… that means you would have been…"
"Eleven years old, yes. They wanted to pack me off to some juvenile detention facility, but thankfully my father intervened and had me privately-tutored instead. Best thing that ever happened to me, in fact. It meant my… particular skills… could be more properly honed."
He gives a little chuckle, devoid of the slightest scrap of mirth. "And look at you, fishing for information by pretending to be interested. What's the rush? We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other now."
This takes Stede by surprise. "You're… not going to kill me?"
"Oh no. Not yet, at least. But don't worry, by the time I do… you'll be glad of it."
It's come to something when a firing squad would be too good to be true.
***
Stede has no idea what to do. None. The whole situation is flatly terrifying. This dangerous lunatic wanting to kill him is bad enough, but wanting him alive has undertones of so very, very much worse. And… there's no way out of it. None. He's alone, no one knows where he is, and even if he wasn't restrained and unarmed, he'd still be massively outnumbered.
The ship he's been brought aboard is at full sail, and eventually it's clear they're heading towards an island up ahead: small and thickly-forested, with a harbour sitting beneath a small, stone fortress with three tall spires.
"See that?" Badminton says to him, catching him looking. "That's Isla de la Torre. It's home to a single, secret English Naval stronghold, and very little else. It's not on most maps, either, so the likelihood of anyone finding it without help is… slim."
A very cold smirk. "It's where you'll die… eventually. But all in good time, like I said. Before that, you and I need to have a nice, long talk about my very favourite topic."
"…And what is that?" Stede manages, voice shaking.
Victor Badminton smiles again. "Revenge."