Chapter Text
Only once the land became a speck on the horizon did Frenchie truly feel the new responsibility pushing down on him.
Gentle on the bobbing water, the sun casting a heavy, pressurising heat along the deck of the Revenge , the sky shivering as they drifted further and further from their old captains.
“Whew.” Frenchie breathed, swiping his hair with a clammy hand, tilting his face up into the full force of the light, bathing in it. “What a beautiful first day to be a captain, don't you think, Izzy?”
Beside him, Izzy looked faintly ill. Face ashen, features drawn tightly inward, screwed up in a constant flinch. He'd been like that ever since that bastard Ricky shot him, those many weeks ago when the crew fought tooth and nail to bring him back.
Maybe the heat wasn't too good for him. Izzy still hadn't fully recovered from his brief flirtation with the gravy basket, and it showed in the tense way he held himself, the heavy set of his jaw.
Still, he'd been the one to insist they get going. Six weeks was time enough, he'd said. Ed had joked about him missing the sea. Personally, Frenchie believed that Izzy felt like they were overstaying their welcome, on that tiny beach next to the ramshackle inn.
It wasn't just Izzy. The entire crew was eager to get back to the boat, to get out and carry on the lives they had forged for themselves on the ship.
“Yes, Captain.” Izzy rasped. “Lovely day.”
Frenchie's hand stopped where it tapped a rhythm against his thigh. That title. It still took him by surprise each time somebody used it. The unusual way they said it, as though their mouths were against forming that word to apply it to Frenchie. The brief second of hesitation where the crew remembered his new position on their ship.
Not like Frenchie hadn't done his own hesitating. He'd done a lot of that. Tossing and turning at night, sitting on the beach. Looking up at the sky and wondering if he ought to refuse the title, give it to somebody else, anybody else.
Yet the crew had insisted. And, despite their growing pains, they all seemed eager for the new era of the Revenge .
Ed and Stede were barely a dark smudge anymore. Frenchie blinked against the sharp, glittering light reflecting from the water.
“Right then,” Frenchie slapped his palms against his thighs. Izzy jolted a little at the sound, still deep in thought. “Best get to it. Being a captain, and all that. Pirate things.”
Izzy's lack of a response made Frenchie's stomach curdle. After everything they had been through, Frenchie held the man in high esteem, and his silence seemed a bad omen, a miasma on the beginning of Frenchie's new job.
Frenchie had thought that he and Izzy were on good terms, particularly after the whole catastrophe surrounding Ed and his “Kraken” phase. Yet Izzy had been locking himself away ever since that near-fatal day, folding back into himself.
A few times Frenchie had wondered if Izzy was angry that they had saved him.
Again, Frenchie found himself looking at Izzy, how his features were framed by the sun. Now that he looked again, Izzy didn't look so angry as.. contemplative? A sort of peacefulness held his gaze, unwavering, as he stared out into the sea.
Frenchie was struck with the feeling that he might never truly understand that man at all.
Taking a steadying breath, Frenchie turned away, heading down the stairs, missing several. A stupid smile wormed its way onto his face. Despite his own misgivings, he felt comfortable in the fact that his ship was in good hands with his crew.
Hard at work already, they were each glaring at the sun and its formidable heat. One by one, heads picked up, spotting Frenchie and offering tired yet excitable smiles. Six weeks of rest had left them all a bit out of practice. Frenchie was determined to make them all work hard, especially himself.
Fang and, surprisingly, Pete, seemed to be doing the most work, dutifully checking that all of the items on deck were up to standard. Jim and Archie seemed to be having a playful argument over one of the ropes - Jim took the length of rope, tied it into a knot, and then Archie mocked it with exaggerated disdain, before loosening it and tying it herself. The pantomime continued as Frenchie watched. Lucius was cheering on Oluwande and Wee John, who cast withering glares over at him as they did some real work. Roach had sprinted back to his kitchen with a dangerous glint in his eye as soon as they had all said their goodbyes.
Frenchie didn’t want to think about where Jackie and the Swede were.
Ending just above his knee, Frenchie’s coat billowed gently behind him as he stood, hands planted on his hips, watching his crew. The coat was faintly reminiscent of the black and gold-embroidered one he had worn during the Kraken era, only shorter (so that he had one less thing tripping him up) and with far more gold. For weeks, Frenchie had worked on this coat, with some help from Wee John, spending his late nights sewing (like the wind) and determinedly not thinking about being captain. Somehow, seeing the coat in all of its glory and slipping it over his shoulders like a glove had been enough to convince Frenchie to get on the ship in the first place.
It made him feel more of an imposing figure, more solid as he faced his future, his crew, looked it dead in the eye, and then blinked, wincing, because the sun was too bright.
He could do this. Being a captain was simple, really. Stede had managed it. Although, Stede seemed to have had bad luck chasing him across the ocean. Maybe not the best example. Frenchie decided that maybe his first goal was not to be stabbed by the Spanish. Simple enough. Basic job, this.
“Right!” Frenchie called, beckoning with his hands as they all abandoned their jobs with relish and flocked to him, like a gathering of lazy sheep. “Come on, everyone. That’s it Jim, you show that knot who's boss.” The rope collapsed in a heap on the deck, curling over itself in a sad mockery of a snake.
Jackie and the Swede emerged from below deck. Zheng and her aunt had materialised within the throng of people. Frenchie wondered where they had stood. Frenchie glanced along the length of the deck. Didn’t Stede have secret compartments and tunnels all over the Revenge ? Like an anthill. Frenchie frowned, head tilting. He should probably have a look at those. Wouldn’t do for a captain to not know his ship inside out.
“Frenchie?” Jim prompted.
Frenchie blinked, curls bouncing as he shook himself back into his body. He clasped his hands together, scanning the group. One was missing, and his absence stood out like an island on the horizon.
“Wait, where’s-” Frenchie turned, seeing Izzy stood off to the side, having just come down the stairs. How he managed to move silently with a wooden leg, Frenchie would never understand. It was impressive. “Okay, we’re all here.”
What was he supposed to say next? Ask how they were doing?
“So, how are we all feeling? New captain, new era.”
Lucius raised his brow. “Well, we’ve been in the new era for about twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, yeah. ‘Course.” Frenchie nodded. “Anywhere in particular that we want to visit? Any unfinished business? I'm all about finishing business, me.” Frenchie rambled, unsure about how this whole planning their journey worked. Did he make a suggestion box? Throw a dart into a map? Go somewhere new?
Luckily, he didn't have to think too far into it. His crew were very reliable, after all.
“Uhm,” the Swede coughed, eyes flitting around anxiously, “me and Jackie were actually thinking of going back to the Republic. To rebuild the bar.”
Jackie smirked. “And when we're done, you're all coming for a drink. On the house. After what we went through, we need a good piss-up.”
Cheers and clapping rang through the air. Frenchie considered their alcohol supply, wondering if a party would be good to break in the new Revenge , keep spirits high as long as he could keep bumbling his way through his new role.
Murmurs of appreciation dissipated. Eyes turned expectantly to Frenchie, whose throat had gone dry. He coughed, fingers clutching the hem of his jacket.
“Brilliant. Really, brill, thanks Jackie.” Frenchie looked around their faces, shining with hope and a bit of sweat from the sun. They were all looking at him with encouragement. “The Republic it is! Fang, you're on the helm.”
Clenching and unclenching his fists to feel the bite of his nails, keeping him standing on the deck, Frenchie watched with a satisfied smile as his crew sprang to action. Maybe he could do this.
Frenchie turned to leave them to it, to maybe retreat into his new cabin for a while, figure out how he wanted it to look. John had given him the idea of making little stars and sticking them on the ceiling. Frenchie wished that there was a way he could do that and make them glow. It was going to be weird getting used to sleeping in a real room, rather than out on the deck, knowing that everyone was safe and right beside him.
Right now, though, the privacy sounded like bliss. Frenchie had the urge to rest his head against something solid and sort through the ball of yarn that was his mind, sort it all into the appropriate places, and unscramble his thoughts.
Before he could, someone cleared their throat, drawing him out of his thoughts. Zheng watched him, arms crossed, head tilted. Her aunt had wandered back up the deck, correcting Archie’s newest knot.
“Zheng!” Frenchie smiled. “Pirate Queen!” What was the correct title? Frenchie hadn’t really spoken to Zheng, much.
Honestly, he’d spent a lot of their break avoiding her. Zheng had a tendency to go on long spiel about her imminent revenge against Prince Ricky, how she wouldn’t rest till he regretted everything he had done to them. And, frequently, these speeches would include the Revenge , and how they would all team up and set the world on fire.
And, yeah, sure. Frenchie could appreciate that. He also wanted to see Ricky suffer, to see that cocky grin slide from his face and meet the same fate that his nose did. That man had shot Izzy, almost fatally, and had made all of their lives incredibly difficult for a while.
However, Frenchie did not immediately want to set out on a bloody mission for revenge. One day. But for now, Frenchie was only concerned with building his crew back up into a formidable asset on the sea, for people not to see the departure of Blackbeard as the end of the Revenge , too. From the start, Frenchie was aware that it would be an incredibly difficult task, and would take some incredible leadership on his behalf - leadership that he wasn’t entirely certain he could provide.
For that reason, Frenchie had put immediate revenge at the bottom of his list of priorities. Consequently, he had been avoiding Zheng, too frightened to tell her that she would be going alone. At first, he had hoped she had not caught on.
From the tapping of her foot against the wood, Frenchie gathered that she had.
“What can I do for you?” Frenchie asked.
“I think we need to talk.” Zheng nodded towards the steps that led down to Frenchie’s cabin.
Frenchie spun on his foot, knowing that Zheng was following directly behind him due to the lack of any footsteps. “Definitely. We can talk. Talk about anything you like.” They made it to the cabin, and Frenchie’s gaze barely skimmed over it before he turned to face Zheng. He didn’t currently have a desk - Stede had wanted it for the inn - so they had to stand in the middle of the room, awkwardly looking at each other. Or, at least, Frenchie felt awkward.
“Will you, like, calm down, man?” Zheng scrunched up her face. Frenchie became aware that his fingers were drumming against his thigh. The rhythm was that of the first song he’d ever learned on the lute - a little cradle song he vaguely remembered being hummed to him as a kid.
“Perfectly calm.”
“What do you think this is?” Zheng asked, incredulous. “I’m not about to kill you. I do actually just want to talk.”
“I know that.” Frenchie said. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Our next steps.” Zheng broke eye contact, wandering around the cabin. The bookshelves were all empty now. Not that it would have mattered to Frenchie, much. Not like he could read. He’d miss the fairytales, though.
“Well, it seems like the Republic is the way to go.”
“Beyond that. You know what my plan is. I’m going to get myself a ship, and I’m going to tear Ricky into little, tiny pieces, and string his innards up for the birds to enjoy.” Zheng pointed at a painting of a flower that Stede had apparently deemed undesirable. “This is cute.”
“Yeah, it is.” Frenchie said weakly.
“So, what are your thoughts?” Zheng asked. “You and me, our crews? We could make Ricky and the English regret ever coming near us.”
“Well,” Frenchie scratched the back of his head, “about that. I don’t actually think I’m going to join you. On this journey of revenge, I mean.”
“Why not?”
“You know,” Frenchie gestured around him. “I have a lot to be doing here! I’ve got to fix up this crew, pull us all together again. I want to focus on the Revenge , the boat, the crew. Ricky will get what he deserves, especially if you’re involved. It’s just not for us, not at the minute.”
It felt light, to make his first proper decision as captain. As he’d spoken the words, his voice had grown stronger with confidence. This was what was right for his crew. Revenge would only leave them exhausted and low. They needed something to sink their teeth into. A merchant ship, for instance. Some healthy piracy.
“And that’s your final answer?”
“It is.”
Zheng sighed. “I wish you’d said something before I got Auntie to design the matching outfits, instead of just avoiding me.”
“You noticed that?” Frenchie ignored the comment about the costumes. If Zheng elaborated, he might not be able to refuse joining up with her any more. Maybe they’d planned a different type of coat for him.
“Of course I noticed. One time we made eye contact and you turned to face the corner.” She snorted. “Look, I get it. Take your time. I’m still going to avenge what I lost. If you ever change your mind, I’ll be somewhere on the water.”
“Creating chaos, I assume.”
“Obviously. I’ll leave at the Republic of Pirates, and go from there. I’ll go tell Auntie the change in plan. I hope you’re as good at hiding from her as you are from me.”
Frenchie watched as she made her way to the door, glad that he didn’t stop feeling sure of himself as she left. As though she read his mind, Zheng turned at the doorway.
“You’re gonna make a good captain,” she said, “I look forward to when we cross paths again. Good luck.”
The door shut behind her silently. Frenchie watched as the chandelier, devoid of any candles, rocked.
*
It was late afternoon when Frenchie called the crew together again, in order to inform them about Zheng leaving. He’d spent a few hours pacing around his cabin, partially brainstorming decorations and partially thinking about what they’d do after the Republic of Pirates. He still had the better part of a week to figure it out.
Frenchie had also wanted to give the crew a bit of time between him speaking to them, in order to let them acclimatise to the new situation. He didn’t want to be overwhelming them, calling them up to him every five seconds.
His resolve broke after a while, though. The cabin was quite boring with it all bare, and the sounds of his friends laughing and having fun above his head made him unable to sit there playing the part that he wanted to.
This time they all gathered quickly, as he stood halfway up the steps. Less, if any, awkwardness permeated the air. Zheng stood by the edge of the group.
“Okay,” Frenchie said, “I thought it’d be best to let you all know that, well, Zheng is leaving. At the Republic of Pirates.”
Everyone except Oluwande seemed shocked, turning to face Zheng.
“I know that it seemed like it, but we won’t be joining Zheng to find Ricky. I’ve decided that it’s for the best if we focus on ourselves. At least for now.”
Jim protested. “But he shot Izzy.”
“I know, I know.” Frenchie placated, not meeting Izzy’s eye. “But I just think that Zheng’s got it covered. Maybe we can make some sort of arrangement. Get Ricky’s hand sent to us in a box, maybe. Toss it into the sea.”
Zheng nodded. “That can be arranged.”
“Sorted!” Frenchie said, looking around. Some of their faces were difficult to read, but it seemed that the crew weren’t entirely against his plan. Which wasn’t the most encouraging thing. “Anyone against that?”
“Well,” Lucius stepped forwards, “it’s just.. If we aren’t going after Ricky, what are we doing? What’s our goal?”
Frenchie gestured to the sea, coat flying up behind him with his erratic movements. “Piracy, mate! Robbing some fucking ships! Getting rich, finding treasure!”
Murmurs of approval rose up. Frenchie found himself grinning, hand tapping excitedly in the pocket of his coat.
“You mean,” Roach started, “we’re going to be doing actual pirating, not whatever Stede did to those old men with the plant?” He hadn’t put down his cleaver before he came above deck.
“Exactly what I mean, mate.” Frenchie said. “We’ve got a reputation to rebuild, yeah?”
Now they were getting it, seeing his vision, seeing all of the things they could do without setting their entire lives to revenge. Frenchie didn’t want to spend the start of his career as a captain chasing after one man. There would be other enemies, more blood to be spilled. There was plenty of it about.
Pete stepped forward, an odd, sort of enthusiastically ambitious look on his face. “That all sounds great, captain,” he started, “but we’re missing something.”
“And what’s that, Pete?”
“A first mate.”
Oh fuck. Yeah. Frenchie stalled. He glanced around a bit. How had he forgotten to appoint a first mate? His fingertips danced incessantly on the soft cloth of his coat.
“Yep. A first mate. Need one of those.” Almost unconsciously, his eyes wandered to Izzy, who stood sullenly, watching a seagull, perching on the railing. Everyone else was looking at him, too. Frenchie knew why, he was the obvious choice. Izzy was experienced, and he was good, too. The ideal choice for a first mate. Frenchie couldn’t think of a better candidate.
Izzy seemed to become aware of the attention placed onto him. “No.” He shook his head. “Absolutely fucking not.”
“Why not?” Frenchie asked, hope deflating in his chest, resigning in the pathetic wave of his coat sleeve. Not that he didn’t want anyone else being first mate, of course, but Izzy knew what he was doing best.
Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Izzy admitted, “Because I’m leaving. At the Republic of Pirates.”
“What?” Frenchie burst out. For some reason, the idea of Izzy leaving had never crossed his mind, not even once. Frenchie thought Izzy was one of them now.
“Are you joining Zheng?” Lucius added. Zheng’s head turned in surprise. Frenchie frowned. If that was Izzy’s plan, Zheng was as unaware as the rest of them. Had Izzy mentioned this to anyone, during the entire six weeks? Or had he kept his discontent hidden, ready to jump ship as soon as they docked?
Izzy shook his head, clenching and unfurling his gloved hand. “Nah. I’ll find a crew. I know a lot of people.”
A weird sensation of hurt bloomed in Frenchie’s chest. Somewhere, deep down, he’d always known that Izzy had maintained some sort of contempt towards their crew, their incompetence, and general lack of results. But Frenchie had believed that the numerous times that they’d all fought together, nursing Izzy back to health after Ed shot him, how their crew had survived the Kraken, and the subsequent weeks spent recovering at Ed and Stede’s new home had meant something to all of them.
Foolishly, Frenchie had thought that the prospect of a new captain, a new motivation to attack the seas, new opportunities, would all be enough for Izzy to stay with them. Frenchie thought that at least, Izzy had started feeling some sort of home upon the Revenge .
And, from the rest of the saddened faces of his crew, he wasn’t the only one.
“Right, then,” Frenchie said, feeling a slight bit of embarrassment for being so taken aback by this news. When had he started being so interested in where Izzy went?
Probably that night you risked your life to save his , a voice in his head supplied. Frenchie felt his nose wrinkle, pushing that thought back, far into the ugly, ruined recesses of his mind, into the box that so helpfully contained all of his faults and devastating feelings.
“We’ve a while until we reach Nassau,” Frenchie fiddled with one of his buttons, which was somehow already becoming loose. “I’ll have a think. Maybe we can make some sort of game out of it. I’ll let you know.”
In truth, Frenchie wasn’t sure what to decide. The clear choice after Izzy would be Jim, in terms of overall skill and general scariness. However, he also knew that his crew was pretty prone to a bit of competitiveness and jealousy. He didn’t want to invite unrest by looking like he was playing favourites.
Really, Frenchie would be in a better position if he knew the rest of the crew as well as he did Jim and Wee John. Frenchie had a tendency to avoid getting to know people properly, unless they were thrown into a situation together, forced to bond. That’s what happened with Wee John, when they had both spent many years as servants together for a rich, angry family, and the same with Jim, when they were both the only ones left from before the Kraken took over the Revenge and Stede disappeared.
Expectantly, the crew were still gathered on the deck. Frenchie blinked in the sun a few times, wondering how he had so quickly fallen from confident to a catastrophe in the space of one discussion.
A previous thought popped back into Frenchie’s head. “Almost forgot! When we’re at the Republic, we’ll stock up on some liquor. Have a big party, celebrate being alive.”
As expected, the crew loved that idea. There was some apprehension, and Frenchie knew that they were all also thinking about their last party, the interruption of Ned Low. Frenchie still had fond memories of that night, despite how blurry they were from the wine; bright, hazy fireworks, gentle paper lanterns casting a soft light across everyone’s faces, Izzy singing from the balcony in a soothing tone that seemed incapable for the man to possess. The burn of spirits as they hit his throat. The soothing swaying of the boat. Feeling loved, flowers weighing his curls down, brushing against his forehead.
“It’s a shame we won’t get to hear Izzy again.” John murmured, voicing Frenchie’s thoughts as though the man were in his head.
“Dismissed, that’s all.” Frenchie waved his hands around a bit, shooing them. The bright sun was becoming a bit much for him, he felt a headache forming between his eyes. “Back to work. Off you pop.”
With that, he turned back to his cabin, and thankfully nobody stopped him this time. Truthfully, the news about Izzy had impacted him more than would have ever expected it would do. It was less about the loss of a potential first mate, but more the fact that Frenchie had started to believe that Izzy’s brooding, angry manner would be a permanent fixture. It had taken a while, but Frenchie had come around to Izzy as a person, understood his worth and his reasoning for why he behaved like he did. The rough months with the Kraken had shown a new side of Izzy, had humanised him. Frenchie had finally understood the full extent of the relationship between Izzy and Ed, and had seen a brief snippet of what life must have been like for Izzy before Stede Bonnet.
In the unnerving quiet that had fallen upon the ship, and apparently the entire sea, Frenchie found himself on the large rug in his cabin that Stede had found too cumbersome to roll up and take, on his back, staring up at the ceiling. It felt like too much to lay on the bed. He’d sewn new sheets and everything, lovely dark blue ones. Yet the hard wood of the floor pressing into Frenchie’s spine felt like the only thing holding him together. The soft feel of the bed might make his skin split open, make him fall apart, his structure held together by roughness and the sharp nails under the rug.
His eyes roved around the ceiling. The stars might look quite nice there. If Frenchie squinted, the water stains sort of resembled the night sky anyway. Spattered with small dots, forming constellations above Frenchie’s face that he could trace forever.
For a while, he didn’t move. He didn’t really think, or do much of anything at all. His eyes stayed open, staring at the ceiling, but really looking through it and staring at nothing at all, while he let his mind drift, let himself get lost in the tantalising rivers of peace that slipped through his mind into his body, into his very bones, until he lay, limp, motionless on the floor for an indeterminable amount of time.
Sometimes Frenchie just let himself float.
Normally, he'd draw himself out of this fugue state with his lute, strumming along the strings until he could feel the ground beneath him. But his lute had been lost during a raid, presumably knocked overboard, and he'd not had a chance to make or buy a new one.
When he finally moved, it was because somebody knocked on his door. Lifting his head up from the floor was a task. Mouth dry, muscles aching and stiff from being motionless for so long, brain sluggish, like he’d been asleep, not this awful, dream-like trance that he’d slipped into for who knows how long.
As he made his way to the door he chastised himself. A normal captain wouldn’t slink away, lose himself, blink back hours later disoriented and ashamed.
When he made it to the door, coat creased, sleeve rolled up to his elbow, he was surprised to open it and find Izzy, starting to turn away. Above his head, Frenchie could see that the sky was dark, the moon hanging stiffly in the sky, watching him in that silvery, judgemental way. Frenchie cursed himself.
“Hey, Izzy.” Frenchie wiped a hand across his face. “What can I do for you?”
Frenchie watched as Izzy’s eyes roved over him, taking in his askew clothes, hair that was probably flat from being laid on. Grimacing, Frenchie swiped his tongue over his lips, feeling how dry they were.
“I’ve just been talking to Roach,” Izzy said, “he said he’s a little concerned about the rations.”
Silently, Frenchie opened the door wider, stepping back and into the room, brandishing his arms to invite Izzy to come in. With hesitation, Izzy took a step over the doorway, and Frenchie watched, still dazed, as Izzy took in the room’s bareness, how it was so devoid of anything Stede Bonnet .
“Looks better in here.” Izzy nodded. “Shame you can’t do anything about that fucking wardrobe.”
“I’ll find a use.” Frenchie shrugged. They stood in the middle of the rug. Unlike Zheng, Izzy didn’t break eye contact. “I need a fucking desk. Or some sort of chair. Anything to sit on. This is shit.” Izzy stayed silent. Frenchie knew that Izzy probably hated his endless rambling. “So, what’s this about the stock?”
“Roach says we’re low on sugar, and oranges. And bread, I think. A lot of stuff. He says you should make a list for when we dock.”
Frenchie grimaced. “Yep. Will do, make a list. Why didn’t Roach come down here himself?”
When Izzy frowned, a little crescent formed between his eyes, the curve of the moon meeting the sea. “He didn’t want to disturb you, captain. You’ve been gone for a while, they thought you were asleep.”
Frenchie swallowed uncomfortably. If he looked down, he would see the area of the rug which was flattened from him laying on it for so long. “Nope. Wide awake.”
“This list, then?” Izzy asked. “I think Bonnet kept paper in here. He might have not taken it.”
“Will get right on that.” Frenchie said, but made no movement. Neither did Izzy. When Frenchie tilted his head, Izzy sighed.
“You need me here to list the things,” Izzy pointed out.
“Right, yeah.” Frenchie still didn’t move. Maybe it was because it was the night, or because he was suddenly struck with the desire to be honest, or maybe because he was scared Izzy might gut him if he took any longer. “I can’t read.” Frenchie blurted out. “Or write. Any of it really. Can barely talk, actually.”
Briefly, Izzy shut his eyes. “Fuck. Why didn’t you say that before? Twatty the scribe is probably asleep now. I’ll have to write it for you.”
Slightly taken aback, Frenchie managed, “what?”
“Well, you can't write it, can you?” Izzy asked. “Have you been drinking? Your eyes are red as fuck.”
Frenchie rubbed at his eyes. “Just tired. What I mean is, why aren’t you like, pissed off?”
“Why would I be pissed off?”
“Well, isn’t a captain supposed to be, you know, able to read and write?” Frenchie tried to keep his tone casual, as though that thought hadn’t been plaguing his every waking moment since Stede told him who the new captain was going to be.
Izzy said dryly, “My standards have dropped dramatically low ever since I saw Bonnet in action. Besides,” he said, going to get the paper himself, “it’s not a big deal. Anyone can learn.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’d teach you, if you’d like.” Izzy looked up, and for a moment, Frenchie caught a glimpse of the Izzy he’d seen all those months ago. Open, willing, like someone you could fight for your lives with. The Izzy that they’d all caught glimpses of when he offered to teach someone how to swordfight, or how to defend themselves in a raid. “Well, until the Republic.”
“Till the Republic” Frenchie echoed. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Right.” Izzy found the paper. “I’ll write this up for you in the morning, so you have it for the Republic.”
Frenchie smiled. Izzy looked mildly uncomfortable. “Thanks. I know I’m not, like, very good at this. Probably a bit terrible, actually.”
“You’re doing fine.” Izzy retorted. “And you’re going to be fine.This crew has survived much worse.”
“Well, isn’t that reassuring.” Frenchie muttered.
“That’s about as far as my motivational speeches go, I’m afraid.”
Izzy crossed the room silently, feet cushioned by the rug, still in his leathers. With a nod to Frenchie, a small dip of his head, his hair shifting slightly, he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him with practised ease.
Once the clicking of his leg had gotten quiet enough, Frenchie sat back down on the floor, cross-legged, ignoring how his back ached. After a while, he lay back down on the rug, looking up and imagining that it really was the sky he saw above him.