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There's a man on the ship, but it makes no sense.
There's a man on the ship who shouldn't be there, an extra mouth to feed but no extra food gone from the stores, no shortage of water.
There's a man on the ship that hasn't been eating or drinking the entire month since the ship left port, but that can't be.
You only miscalculate the stores once before you learn the precious lesson to take extra care, you only starve and let others starve once before you learn that this mistake will not be survived twice. So there's no mistake with the stores, there can't be. That is as certain as Israel Hands has ever been about anything.
The man is standing on the deck in the limited lamplight, his clothing, the finery of gentry, it’s unrumpled, and unsullied as it surely couldn't be if he had been hiding on a ship for thirty days.
But that makes no sense, there are no ships near, no land for miles around. So he has had to have been here.
Anger is a welcome feeling, better that than fear or confusion, anger at least is easy to act on. Stride forward with a shout, demand answers, you are the authority here and whoever this is they are not meant to be here.
The man reacts to the shout with a little jump, he turns and smiles, fucking smiles like nothing is wrong, like he isn't standing on The Queen Anne's Revenge uninvited and unwanted.
Like he doesn't know he is in the company of the very scourge of the seas.
“Oh dear, I didn't hear you approach” he says, his voice loud in the stillness of the night. And isn't that a joke, acting like he is surprised someone else is here, when he is the one who shouldn't be here, the one that logic dictates could not be here.
“Who the fuck are you, why the fuck are you here?” And the fucker has the audacity to chuckle, to have a laugh before answering.
“How very rude of me” he says with a smile that for the briefest moment looks too sharp in the lamplight, “My name is Stede Bonnet, at your service, and who might you be?”
There's a glint in those eyes, amusement, no fear to be found.
“Never you mind what my fucking name is, you are not supposed to be here. How the fuck did you get here, where did you hide?”
And the fucker, Stede fucking Bonnet laughs.
“I didn't hide anywhere, I just arrived.”
Clearly the man must be mad, because logic would dictate that he can't have been on the ship, but there's no way he could have arrived, so surely, surely he must have been here. There's a logical answer, there has to be.
But no matter the logistics, the next step in this dance is to put the fucker in the brig and alert the captain, and won't that be fun.
Edward has been in one of his moods lately, hidden away from the crew in his cabin, wallowing in some strange melancholy. Who knows, maybe a logic puzzle like this will get him to lighten up. Or maybe it'll ignite his temper, who can really tell these days.
Getting Bonnet in the brig is surprisingly easy, even if the fucker is smiling and chatting away the whole time, asking about the ship, Izzy’s hobbies, mundane bullshit that no one in their right mind asks about, when they've been found on a fucking pirate ship.
Turning the key locking the maniac in feels good. In there at least he makes sense, even if anything else about this night has made none.
“I'll return with the captain and he'll decide what to do with you.”
Still there's no fear in those eyes, just a smile that's a bit too sharp.
“And who might this captain be? If you won't tell me who you are, will you at least tell me who your captain is? I would so hate to meet him unprepared.”
Surely he is joking, there's no way he cannot know whose ship he is on, Blackbeard’s flagship is known by sight by anyone, so surely he knows.
Leaving without an answer might not be the polite thing to do, but Israel Hands, first mate to captain Blackbeard, is a fucking pirate and doesn't give a fuck what's polite.
Knocking on the cabin door at this hour should perhaps be worrying, but Blackbeard doesn't sleep much these days. Surely this will be more interesting than whatever hole he has thought himself into, and sure enough as the door swings open to reveal the dimly lit room he is seated in his chair with his pipe. He does not turn, he knows who dares come to his door this late.
“What is it, Izzy,” he says and he sounds so very bored, “I heard you yelling. What's happening?”
And how to explain this, this mystery?
“Well captain, we would seem to have an unwanted passenger.”
And that gets him to perk up, to turn and look.
“Do we now, and how come it's taken a month for anyone to notice that?”
There's a familiar danger in his voice, an almost musical lilt that warns of violence if the answer isn't good enough.
“For one we are not missing any rations, and second, our supposed stowaway claims he arrived tonight.”
“That makes no sense” he says, but he is getting up, metal knee brace giving a noise of distress as he stands.
“Well then, take me to this newly arrived guest of ours.”
The cell door is open, it's fucking open and the infuriating mind-boggling twat is sitting there with a book he didn't have on him when the door was locked behind him.
At this point maybe it would be better to expect the unexpected, to disregard logic as it’s worked so far, but doing so would be fucking insane and would feel like defeat somehow.
Blackbeard seems taken aback by the sight, but doesn't mention the open door, doesn't really seem to notice it at all.
“What's ya reading?”
Not the question he ought to ask, not really the concern that should be most pressing, but it's neither the time nor place to question the captain.
“Oh this? It's a favourite of mine, a lovely story of a wooden boy who dearly wishes to become real. But excuse my manners. I'm Stede, and who might you be?”
And isn't that rich, this blithering fool addressing Blackbeard like one would a new acquaintance, no respect, no fear, not even the good sense to cover and beg forgiveness.
“I'm Ed.”
Good sense has left the ship, any sense of up and down has switched and now everyone seem delighted to live and act as Bonnet sees fit. Fucking story time is not a pastime for pirates, surely not for the men Izzy has known to be bloodthirsty and merciless.
But here they all are, sitting on the deck listening to this stranger as he does voices and generally makes a fool of himself.
Even Edward, no, especially Edward, seems taken with this foolish impossibility of a man. If Bonnet was to tell him that the sun rose in the west and set in the east, Edward would properly nod along and say ‘Sure it does.’
And it sets Izzy’s teeth on edge, because this is not how things work, this is not how things get done on this ship, it never has been.
Blackbeard has never been one to mingle much with the crew, he usually doesn’t have to. His reputation keeps everyone in line and that’s how things work, but here he is, sitting next to the fucking pest that is Bonnet, in a robe that makes as little sense as the man who brought it.
Where the fuck does he keep getting things from? The book, the robe, the fucking arts and crafts bullshit that he encourages the crew to play with, like this is a nursery for children and not the ship of the very pirates parents tell their kids to fear.
It makes no sense and no one seems to care, hell, they don’t even seem to notice.
There’s a door on the ship, it’s in the fucking wall of the food stores, in the very hull of the ship, and it cannot be.
Firstly because a door would leak and they should be sinking if there was a door there, second because there has never been a fucking door there. It being there is a direct insult to good sense and logic and fucking reality, and there’s only one person who can be responsible for it, so really Izzy should just open it and catch Bonnet in whatever shit he is doing. But doing that would mean opening a door in the hull of the ship, and on the off chance that logic decides that now is the time to work again, that would be catastrophic and end in the ship sinking, so clearly, to be safe, the door must stay shut.
Another approach is needed then. A stakeout. The crew are seeing to their duties, they know what will happen if they don’t. Even with Bonnet making everyone an idiot, some things stay reliable, and punishment is as reliable as its always been.
There’s nothing to do but wait now, wait and keep an eye on the door that makes no sense.
It feels like hours have passed, but boredom will make anything feel protracted, so who is really to say how long it’s been. In the dark of the ships interior there’s no telling. Finally, movement catches Izzy’s eye, in one moment the door is there, in the next its gone and Bonnet is there in its stead, staring straight back at him with that god awful smile of his.
“What are you looking so intently at?”
And isn’t that a fucking joke. Izzy goes to point, but the door is gone, like it was never there. He shakes his head and lowers his hand again. Of course it isn’t there, why would there be a door in the hull, the ship would be taking on water if there were, so clearly there’s no door. But, there was, wasn’t there?
“Ed’s looking for you, you’ve been gone for quite a while.”
Ed’s happier than he has been in a long time. Ed, because the man organizing a fucking talent show cannot be Blackbeard, he is so different from the man Izzy has known for years, so entirely alien as to be a stranger wearing the face of someone dear, and it’s infuriating, it’s frightening, it’s fucking frustrating.
Every time the conversation falls on the strange things happening, Ed will laugh them off, say some shit like, “At least something interesting is happening, right Iz,” and fuck, yes something interesting is happening alright, because this might sooner be hell than anything else. Then at least this torment would make sense, then that fucking devil Stede Bonnet would be explained, but last Izzy checked, they are somehow all still alive, so this cannot be hell, even if it fucking well feels like it could be.
“We should all introduce ourselves and our act before we begin, wouldn’t you say, Ed? That would make it feel official, like a real show.”
Always so chipper, so fucking happy to be turning everything on its head, but somehow this specific question sets all the alarm bells ringing. This is dangerous, even if there’s no direct threat, so butting in is needed, because Edward is in danger.
“We already all know each other’s names, there’s no reason for all this idiocy.”
Stede has been so damn insistent on those names and he cannot have them, not if there’s any way to avoid it, reason and logic be damned.
“Don’t be such a downer Izzy, Stede has a point. It’ll make it fun, come on man.”
Those fucking eyes, zeroing in. His stupid smile somehow grows wider.
“Izzy, was it? Could it be that I finally have something to call you, dear first mate?”
And it feels like cold water running up the spine, it feels like something sliding just a little into or perhaps out of place.
There’s no way in any fucking hell that Israel Hands is competing in a talent show, that’s just not how the world works. Doesn’t matter how much Ed implies that he should, unless fucking Blackbeard orders it, it will simply not be done.
The rest of the crew have been preparing shit, some even going as far as slacking in their duties to get their acts ready. When ever did they lose all respect for the structure of this ship? But captain says to let them, says it’s okay because there’s going to be a show. And it isn’t the time or place to question the captain in front of everyone, so instead the work falls to the last sane person onboard, fucking of course it does.
Bonnet is insisting that everyone play along, that Izzy show his talents to the crew, and when he talks about it, it almost sounds reasonable. But then the world snaps back into focus, and there’s too much work to be done, too many sane things that need seeing to. Fuck Bonnet and his fucking show, damn him and the way he makes up seem like down, and down like up.
Avoiding Stede and Ed turns out to be the best option. Besides, someone has to make sure there are enough rations for everyone, someone has to make sure the rigging is done right, someone has to keep this fucking ship on course.
Izzy has toyed with the idea of just slitting Bonnet’s throat, taking the problem out at its source, but so far that hasn’t been an option. Bonnet never seems to be alone, and even when he is it’s never for long enough to act. It couldn’t be in his sleep either, because despite him having been on the ship for days now, Izzy has still to see the man sleep.
The day of the much awaited talent show has arrived, the air seems full of anticipation, and of course Bonnet has found a way to get Izzy involved, despite every attempt to get around it.
“If you will not compete, surely you will be my co-judge. You and I, Izzy.”
And when he says it, it seems reasonable, seems like the right thing to do. But taking a step back and thinking rationally it becomes clear again that this whole thing is a waste of time.
Ed of course is delighted by the suggestion, claiming that Izzy is finally opening up and becoming friends with Stede, disregarding or perhaps blind to the fear that’s been growing like a tumor in Izzy’s gut.
The stage is set, because of course there is a fucking stage on the ship, complete with ribbons and other frilly garbage that surely wasn’t on board when they left port. The crew are eagerly awaiting their turn to perform, seated as they are both as participants and audience. At the very front of the stage is the seats for the judges, uncomfortably close to the performance especially the ones that involve knifes or fire.
Every performance starts the same, a crewmember will get on stage, bow like Bonnet showed everybody, and then state their name and what they are going to do.
Sitting beside Bonnet, his excitement is almost palpable, a tremor in the air around him from the first name said. And it feels wrong to just sit here, but Ed and Bonnet both ordered it, didn’t they, they agreed Izzy should be judge of this whole thing, should witness this whole ordeal from Bonnet’s side. Izzy hadn’t put up much of a fight, come to think of it, not as much as he had planned on. It simply seemed like this was the way things had to go, like how it was always meant to be. But sitting here now, watching that sharp smile grow as the crew introduces themselves one by one, it feels like defeat, like the anger that before was so easy to act on is now simmering just out of reach.
Ed goes last, the best for last, he and Bonnet had joked.
“And finally, the Captain, to close out our show” Bonnet crows. The crew is applauding as Izzy’s panic rises.
Edward cannot be allowed to introduce himself, cannot give his name, its important, so very important. But the ability to act, to yell, to fucking slit Bonnet’s throat, it all seems just out of reach. The best Izzy can manage is to cough loudly in the attempt to drown out Edward’s introduction. The smile slips from Bonnets face for but a moment, a split second where everything seems to stop. Then as if nothing happened he turns back to Edward with an apologetic smile.
“So sorry, Ed, could you repeat that?” and Ed, ever eager to accommodate Bonnet’s wishes, complies with but a side eyed glance at Izzy.
“Sure thing mate. As I was saying, I’m Edward Teach, born on a beach, and I will be singing a song for you all today.”
Bonnets smile is positively blinding, clapping his hands together.
“Fantastic, Edward, can’t wait to hear it.”
The ship seems somehow emptier now. Looking around, more than half the crew seem to be missing, and not in the usual shirking their duties kind of way that has become a thing since Bonnet arrived, no, they are simply not on the ship anymore.
The Queen Anne’s Revenge is drifting aimlessly, as the crew that remains are focused on seemingly anything else than sailing.
On the deck stands a lone figure, the only one left that seems to care about rigging, course, or rationing. But even he knows now that it’s useless. Standing there in the limited lamplight staring out over the sea, it’s so very easy to feel like a failure. After all, all the signs pointed to something being wrong from the start, he just couldn’t seem to act on them.
Izzy doesn’t hear anyone approaching, and to his mortification cannot suppress a little jump at the unexpected voice beside him.
“Did I surprise you? So sorry.”
And of course it’s him, sliding up beside Izzy like he has any right to be there. Bonnet lets out a chuckle.
“I know you’ve suspected something was wrong since I got here. I must say, it has been quite fun watching you run around trying to make sense of it all.”
And isn’t that a kick in the teeth, hearing the fucker say it out loud now, confirming that something has indeed been wrong, but only now.
After he was won it all.
“I know his name now. You know he is coming with me.”
Bonnet has the audacity to look pitying as he says it.
“It would be such a shame to separate someone as loyal as you from his master. So, here is your last chance, dear. Tell me, what is your name? Tell me, and you can come with me, too.”
And so there's no choice left. There is no reality in which Israel Hands would willingly leave or be left behind by Edward, no matter how uncertain the future might look, so, with a shaky breath;
“Israel, Israel Hands.”
And the thing, that is not a man, smiles a shark’s smile.
“Well then, dear Israel, it would seem it’s time for us to go.”
There’s an empty ship drifting on the sea, a ship that anyone would recognise by sight alone.
And on that ship there’s a door, a door that should lead to nowhere, surely can't lead anywhere as it's sat there in the side of the hull wall, but logic took a leave a while back.