Work Text:
There’s a gap in the bulkhead Izzy can see daylight through. If they were lower in the water, the wood would swell, closing it off and leaving him in darkness, but there isn’t much weighing this vessel down. They could tell that by sight, but Edward still wanted to go after it, had a feeling there was something good in that hold, light as it was.
The worst thing is, Edward was right. She’s full of tobacco, a lot of full leaves for cigars, bulky but not weighty. It could be better packed, really, and if they’d managed to take the vessel, Izzy thinks he’d be standing in the hold shouting at the crew to consolidate the crates and bags. Well, they'd probably be finished by now, considering the time Izzy thinks it is by the light, back on their ship, divvying shares to those who wanted to smoke a portion of their haul rather than sell it all.
What Edward wasn't right about was how green the captain, or at least some of the crew were. As always, Edward was first into the fray, swinging over to the ship with Izzy right behind, with a couple more of their best men trailing directly after to secure the wheel and the lines or at least make sure the other crew was too busy to pull off any maneuvers so others can get their own ship closer and throw a plank over for their full crew. Usually, the distraction of whatever fuckery they’ve put on, or the simple fact that it is Blackbeard boarding a ship is enough. It wasn’t this time. The other crew knew who they had and what was happening, dropped sail and pulled away from the Queen Anne with surprising speed, the smaller, lighter boat making distance that the Queen Anne couldn’t close.
Izzy can take solace in knowing Edward jumped overboard as soon as he realized what was happening. It can be dangerous, being in the water in the wake of a ship, Edward was a strong swimmer. He’ll have made it back to the Queen Anne none the worse for the wear. Izzy is pretty sure Fang jumped, too. He’s not sure about Cesar or that bright eyed kid they picked up in port not two days before who he hadn’t even gotten the name of yet, but as far as he knows, he’s the only one who was dumb enough to get surrounded, trapped like a deer about to be torn apart by wolves. He thinks he should have been torn apart, but someone knew who they had in their clutches. For all that he and Edward have put into building the legend of Blackbeard, attributing Izzy’s best to the name as well as Edward’s, there’s still enough crimes pinned to Izzy Hands that there’s a bounty on him.
It has been at least a day since all that, Izzy can tell by the light. He’d tried to throw himself on a sword, rather than be taken alive, but the crew was sharp, tackled him to the deck and stripped him of his weapons. He was thrown down into what passes for the ship’s brig, and he hasn’t seen another soul since. There’s a cask of water, more than enough to last to the nearest port, a bucket to piss in, and even a holey grain sack to serve as a blanket or cushion for the bench to sleep. No one had been down to toss him any moldy bread crusts yet, but he has been held captive worse places, all in all.
Silence and solitude are rare on a ship. Izzy has his own quarters on the Queen Anne, of course, but Edward or one of the boys pop in regularly needing him, there is frequently work to do interrupting any quiet time, and his crew seems more boisterous than this one. There is always laughter or chatter in the air, the stomping boots or the smacks of a spar to be heard through the decks. Here, there are occasional footsteps, a far away muffled murmur or two, but otherwise there is only the sound of the waves lapping against the ship to keep things from being too quiet. It isn't enough to keep Izzy out of his head.
Izzy doesn't have regrets, not really. He's lived a longer life than he thought he would, as a pirate. He's served his captain well in his tenure as First Mate. Done well by Edward. Perhaps there were a few faces he'd like to have spit in when he had the chance, but overall, not much he would have done differently. His life didn't leave a lot of room for many things he could have done differently. There might be some things he wished happened differently, though.
The sun goes down and Izzy nods off, waking again when it rises. He spends another day trapped with his thoughts, no guards or jailer to taunt or other prisoners to talk to. He thinks he should be grateful he was captured alone, but the knowledge that he as a distraction allowed the others to escape becomes colder and colder comfort as he runs out of things to ponder and hope of rescue, not that he ever had much, dwindles as well.
The ship is headed southward, though Izzy isn’t sure of the exact heading. The crack that lets light in tells him that much, but it is too high up to be able to see out of and allow him to see the stars or position of the sun, much less any land they might be within sight of. If he had to guess, he’d say they were on the way to Cuba. Regardless, someone would have to come down and bring him water soon if they weren’t making landfall within a day or two. Maybe he could jump them. Maybe he could exchange a few words with them and he’d stop feeling like he was going to go out of his skull.
Another day passes. Izzy isn’t sure that he’d be worth more alive than dead, and starts to wonder if the crew of this ship isn’t full of cowards who can’t look a man in the eye and take his life. He winces at the wording in his mind. Although Edward would never admit it, he’s known the other man for long enough to figure out that finishing the job properly isn’t something Edward can quite manage, and he’d hate to call Edward a coward. But at least Edward will leave a man with a wound that would bleed out if left unchecked, will set fire to a ship and let the flames do what they will, or get someone else to do the dirty work for him. He won’t leave a man to go insane all alone or die from lack of water. Or maybe, in a way, Edward had. He’d dove off the ship as soon as he felt the speed she was getting with her sails down, no care for anyone else on that deck. It was the right call, of course. Izzy would have never done it. Never abandoned Edward to anything. But that was why Edward was captain and Izzy was first mate, wasn’t it?
A laugh bubbles up in Izzy’s throat, more hysterical than anything. He’s going to lose his mind, dehydrate or be handed over to authorities to be hanged, and Edward has abandoned him. His eyes stay dry but the laugh wracks his body like a sob, loud enough in his own ears he almost doesn’t hear the crash and splintering of wood that follows canon fire.