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1. Bedtime
“Quit snoring, hey?” Roach poked Frenchie. “I wanna hear this part. Finally getting to the good stuff. Cannibals, man. Hope they eat him.”
“Oi!” said Frenchie. “I do not snore.”
“Eh, you do a bit,” Wee John said. “I’m not sayin’ you’re snoring now, but.”
“Well, if I did snore, which I’m not admitting to at all, I wouldn’t be snoring now, would I, on account of I’m awake and trying to listen to the story!”
Stede stopped reading. “Is there another issue I need to be aware of?” He glared around at his crew over the top of the book. “As I’ve told you all several times now, it’s meant to be a thrilling adventure tale, not a pirating instruction manual. I don’t doubt that Daniel Defoe or this Captain Singleton of his wouldn’t last three days at sea, but do we really need to pause and go over the meaning of suspension of disbelief yet again?”
“It’s not that.” Oluwande yawned. “Frenchie was snoring, that’s all. Go on. ’S a good story, Captain—or it would be if he’d quit being stupid about the natives every third sentence.”
Frenchie leapt to his feet, brandishing his mandolin like a weapon. “For the last time, I wasn’t—”
“No, but someone was feckin’ snorin’,” Wee John said. “Still is, too.”
“Twasn’t ’im.” Buttons called down from the quarterdeck. “Twas Cap’n.”
“Me?” Stede made a face. “How could I be snoring? I’m reading!”
“T’ other Cap’n,” Buttons said, and they all looked over at Blackbeard, who was sitting propped against Stede’s back, nodding over his pipe.
“Is he faking?” asked the Swede. “Does Blackbeard actually sleep?”
“Blackbeard does not sleep,” Black Pete confirmed. “He’s definitely faking it. The snoring’s a dead giveaway—he does that to make his enemies think he’s sleeping, and then…kapow!”
The Swede, who was lying next to Blackbeard, moved several nervous inches out of range.
“Of course he fucking sleeps,” snapped Jim. “He’s just a guy! Everyone sleeps!”
“He’s half just a guy,” Black Pete insisted. “But the other half?”
“Oh my god, can we please not,” said Lucius. “Jim, please, I am begging you, don’t get him started on the half-Kraken thing again, I absolutely one hundred percent will throw myself overboard, and this time I will check to make sure there’s no fishing boat anywhere in range to rescue me.”
Stede shut the book with a snap. “Storytime is over!” he sang out, and the crew set up a unanimous clamour of whine and complaint.
Blackbeard sat up straight, dropping his pipe. “Whatthefuck,” he slurred sleepily. “What’s happening? Are we under attack?”
“No, no,” Stede assured him, patting him on the leg. “It’s past bedtime, that’s all. Everyone’s a bit cranky.”
“Well, shut it, you lot,” Blackbeard told the crew. “Story was just getting good. You’re not stopping it there?”
“Two more pages, then,” Stede allowed. “If everyone settles down quick-smart.” He cast a warning look around at the Revenges, who all poked and slapped at each other furiously but silently, with fingers to their lips, and retired to their sleeping positions.
“Go back just half a page or so,” Blackbeard suggested, settling down against Stede’s side now, chin hooked over his shoulder. He jabbed a finger at random at a paragraph in the book. “There, say. I couldn’t hear the last bit over everyone’s blasted noise.”
“Of course,” Stede said, and patted his thigh again. “Let’s put out your pipe, shall we?” and he took it gently away. “‘He broke the arrow in two,’” Stede read, “‘and set the point against his breast, and then gave it to me.’”
Blackbeard began to snore again. Stede reached up and drew his head down into a more comfortable position against his shoulder, and continued to read, raising his voice slightly and giving the crew a quelling glance, but no one interrupted him this time.
2. Bath
“Captain?” Lucius called into the cabin. “Captain Bonnet?” he clarified quickly. “Or any other captains who may be milling about in there, I suppose, but it’s really the one who didn’t try to murder me I’m after…hello?”
There was no reply, but to be thorough, and not at all because he was looking for anything interesting he could make useful note of and/or steal, Lucius came into the captain’s quarters and gave a cursory glance into the library and the auxiliary wardrobe. The door to the privy closet was ajar, and he poked his head inside, then gave a small scream and ducked back out again, slamming the door.
“Stede?” said a sleepy voice from within.
“Not Stede!” Lucius called back. “This door does have a lock on it, you know!”
“Hmm,” said Blackbeard. “Don’t need it. Come in here a mo’, whoever you are?”
“Nope, not doing that, thanks,” said Lucius.
“Come!” Blackbeard’s voice turned imperious. “I’m unarmed. Won’t bite,” and Lucius’s curiosity had always been stronger than his self-preservation instincts, if he was completely honest with himself—how else had he ended up on a pirate ship?—so he sighed and opened the door again.
“My god,” he said, and promptly covered his eyes with both hands, then peeked through his fingers; he couldn’t resist. Blackbeard was resplendent in the bath, hair down and trailing in wet tendrils over his shoulders, and the water was very clear.
“Oh, it’s you.” Blackbeard’s eyes were half open, but he still sounded very sleepy and entirely nonchalant. “Hello. Fetch me that sponge, would you?” He waved at the washstand a few feet from the tub.
Lucius, speechless, plucked it up and extended it to him, very gingerly and without coming a step nearer than he needed to.
“Thanks,” said Blackbeard. He yawned, clutched the sponge to his chest like a teddy bear, gave a sigh of contentment, and appeared to fall back asleep.
“Okay,” said Lucius, under his breath. “Wow. Not on my bingo card for today.” He thought briefly about taking advantage of the moment to spring forward and shove Blackbeard’s head under the water and hold him down until he drowned, but it was all a bit hands-on, really, and Captain Bonnet would undoubtedly be intolerable about it.
Instead, after a moment’s thought, he slipped silently out of the room and returned a few minutes later with a chair and his sketchbook.
*
“No,” said Oluwande. “I don’t believe it.”
“It’s your best work yet, babe,” Black Pete told Lucius, and kissed him on the neck. “Wow. Is that…is that a tattoo?”
“Swear to god, hope to die, terrapins tickle me if I lie,” said Lucius. “He’s probably still asleep in there if you want to check it out for yourself.”
“So fucking metal,” said Black Pete. “Guess I was right about the tentacle dick, then. In a way.”
“Pass it here,” Roach begged. “Wow. That’s some technique. Wonder whose work it is.”
“I wonder if they’re still alive,” Pete mused. “What do you think they charge for something like that?”
“Absolutely not,” Lucius told him. “Or I’ll never touch it again.”
“How about just pen and ink?” Black Pete bargained. “A temporary version, say. I know a super good artist who might be right for the job.”
“Negotiable,” Lucius hummed, carefully reclaiming his sketchbook from Roach, and sauntered away in triumph.
3. Catbeard
Blackbeard continued to spend improbable amounts of time napping in improbable places over the next few weeks. Frenchie failed to turn up for dinner one evening, and was eventually discovered in the crow’s nest with twelve stone of unconscious pirate wrapped around him. When Jim finally climbed up in answer to his faint calls for help, they began laughing so hard they nearly plummeted to their death.
“It’s not funny!” said Frenchie. “I come up here to try out new songs in private sometimes, you know, and I was just having a bit of a strum, thinking I was all by myself, when suddenly he appears and plonks his great head down right in my lap like some sort of monster ship’s cat! I’ve been trapped here for hours!”
“Better you than me,” Jim told him, still wheezing with laughter. “Seriously, can’t you just sort of…slither out from beneath him?”
“I can’t do that,” said Frenchie, appalled. “It’s dreadful bad luck to wake a ship’s cat. Besides, what if he rolls over and falls out? Maybe if you sort of…come up here and I can shift him over onto you instead…?”
“Oh, hell no,” said Jim, already beginning to climb back down. “Good luck, pal. I’ll send Roach up with some bread and grog for you. O pensándolo bien, maybe not the grog—you don’t want to have to use the head.”
“I do have to!” Frenchie whisper-shouted after them. “I’ve had to for ages! Fuck! I fucking hate cats!”
“Poor bastard,” said Wee John, when Jim came down and described the scene to the rest of the crew. “Happened to me the other day. I was stuck in the ball room for nearly an hour, and then another half hour while I waited for my legs to wake up once he finally shifted.”
Stede looked troubled. “I’d better go up after him,” he said, and was met with a chorus of protests.
“Not a good idea, Captain.”
“Dios, no, remember the last time?”
“Someone fetch that bolt of canvas, we’ll rig a net—”
“He’s bound to wake up on his own if Frenchie can’t keep holding it and wets himself, that’ll teach him…”
“No,” said Stede. “I’ve been practising, you know; I’m sure I can make it all the way up this time. Nearly sure. Perhaps the canvas would be prudent, though,” he added, and he bravely doffed his coat and shoes and took hold of the ratlines.
“CAP’N BLACKBEARD SIR,” bawled Buttons. “CAP’N BONNET INCOMING, ON ’IS WAY UP T’ RESCUE YE!”
At once, Blackbeard’s head appeared over the edge of the crow’s nest. “Stede? What the—get down!” he shouted, and in a trice he had skimmed down the shrouds to the maintop and took two great flying leaps through the rigging to land neatly on the deck in front of Captain Bonnet. “I can’t shut my eyes for two minutes around here before you’re trying to dash your brains open,” he complained, plucking Stede away from the ratlines. “And you useless buggers were just going to stand around here and let him do it?” he accused the crew. “What are you all gawping at? Is there any dinner yet? I haven’t been fed for ages!”
“Half Kraken, half cat,” said Black Pete solemnly, when Stede had led Blackbeard away out of earshot. No one disagreed.
4. Conference
A few days after the crow’s nest incident, Blackbeard went missing during a raid, an actual raid on an actual Spanish brig, and was discovered napping in one of the enemy’s hammocks belowdecks.
“A power move,” Ed insisted. “Shows them they’re so weak you can defeat them with your eyes closed. Besides, the action was all but over.”
But Stede was unconvinced, and had had the fright of his life when he’d found what he thought was Ed’s lifeless body swaying in that dim and musty chamber. “You could have been hacked to pieces by one of our own men!” he said, shuddering at the thought. “Or set fire to, or…”
“Never,” said Ed. “You know me. Always sleep with one eye open.” He gave a jaw-cracking yawn and stumbled off to the sunny patch on the fo’c’sle to curl up in a coil of rope.
Stede summoned Blackbeard’s officers for a conference in the jam room.
“I have some unfortunate news,” he told Fang, Ivan, and Izzy. “I’m afraid Ed is terribly ill. There’s a thing I’ve read about called sleeping sickness, caused by the bite of a rare and exotic insect; we may have run across one somewhere in our travels. What I propose is that we put about the ship and head for Barbados—there’s an excellent physician I know in St. Matthias who may be able to help him.” Getting Ed to consent and submit to medical treatment would be the real issue, Stede knew, but perhaps they could drug him somehow, or bind him in sailcloth like an injured cat in need of physicking.
“Oh, for—he’s not ill,” Izzy sneered. “Don’t you know? This is what Blackbeard does.”
“I’m sorry?” said Stede. “Does when? The man hardly slept at all for the first few months he was on this ship!”
“Yeah, that’s sort of his MO,” said Ivan. “Goes without sleep for ages when something’s afoot, but then it all catches up with him after a bit and you never see him awake. And, well, when you were…while you weren’t on board…”
“He was having too good a time without you around,” Izzy informed Stede. “Couldn’t be bothered to rest.”
“Uh…sure,” said Fang, shaking his head and making broken heart signs and crying motions behind Izzy’s back. “Too good of a time. Definitely. Anyway, yeah, it’s true, the captain’s a total nap fiend whenever there’s down time. Funny thing, though, it’s a bit different this time, don’t you reckon?” he added, turning to Ivan.
“Oh, yeah,” said Ivan. “Now you mention it. Captain used to be real particular about not letting anyone catch him in the act. He used to have a sort of tent for himself on deck, said he was ‘strategising’ in there, but we all knew the truth. Nap tent. Remember the nap tent, Iz?” He nudged Izzy.
“Of course I remember it,” said Izzy. “I constructed it for him. I was the only one allowed in it.”
“Well, allowed, I don’t know,” Fang told Stede. “But he did use to sneak in there an awful lot. Once—oh, god, it was the best—we had to go in there and inform Blackbeard there was an English ship of the line in our path, only to find Izzy was in with him, stroking his hair, and he’d done his beard,” he began to choke with laughter and had to lean on Ivan before he could go on, “he’d done Blackbeard’s beard all up in little braids!”
“Ah, fuck, I forgot about the little braids,” said Ivan. “Was that the time he broke your collarbone, Iz? God, it was amazing. Had you imagined he’d enjoy it, or were you hoping to undo them all again before he woke up?”
“I’m sure it looked lovely,” Stede said diplomatically.
“Fuck you, Bonnet,” Izzy snarled—actually snarled and snapped, like a terrier beset by teasing boys. He seized Ivan and Fang and cracked their heads together, stomped on Stede’s foot, and spat on his shoe before striding out of the jam room in a huff.
“Oh, now,” said Stede, whipping out a handkerchief and dabbing at his befouled footwear. “Guys, you riled him. I’ve asked you not to rile him. It’s a very difficult time for him these days, I’m sure, adjusting to…everything.”
“Sorry, boss,” Fang told him, rubbing his head and sounding only mildly repentant. “Forgot he’s not housebroken to the new regime just yet. When Blackbeard wakes up again, he’ll whip him into shape.”
“In his dreams,” Ivan muttered, and the two of them broke up again. Stede cleared his throat and silenced them with a disappointed glare.
“Thank you for the information, gentlemen,” he said, and went to find Ed.
5. Safe
It took Stede some time to locate his lethargic co-captain. At last he found him in the galley, nestled in a pile of potatoes.
“About time,” said Roach severely. “Fish him out, will you? He’s drooling all over my nice tubers. It’s unhygienic.”
Stede could have pointed out that there was very little about Roach’s galley that wasn’t unhygienic, but he knew better by now than to provoke the cook. Roach’s culinary genius was highly temperamental, and he produced brilliant fare if you didn’t mind the occasional weevil, but only if he was in a good mood. Besides that, he was fearsomely clever with the knives, so Stede merely nodded and knelt next to Ed and shook him gently by the shoulder.
“Wasn’t asleep,” Ed said, with his eyes still mostly closed. “Resting my eyes.”
“In the root vegetable bin?” Stede tugged him half upright and brushed at the dust on Ed’s blouse. He’d given up the leathers recently and accepted the loan of a few of Stede’s things until he could find something in his size worth stealing. “Come and rest them in my cabin instead for a bit,” he suggested, and Ed got up and followed after him willingly enough.
He’d hoped they could have a conversation, but Ed sighed like a lover at the sight of Stede’s becushioned bed. “Do you mind?” asked, and then threw himself down on it without waiting for an answer. “Come,” he said, pointing to the spot next to him. “Lie down with me. Just for a bit.”
Stede went. It was impossible not to be charmed as Ed twined around him like a bougainvillea and went heavy against him: the fearsome pirate captain at rest, trusting him with his unguarded body, with the secret sight of his softened beardless features, slack and untroubled as he slept. Stede wrapped him in his arms, feeling fiercely protective. He must have dozed off for a bit as well. The next thing he knew it was dusk, nearly dark in the cabin. There was just enough moonlight spilling in through the windows to shine off Ed’s eyes, which were wide open now and gazing at him.
“Hi,” said Stede. “Think you’re on to something with this napping bit.”
“Hi,” said Ed. “Yeah, love a good nap. Must be boring for you, though. Sorry.”
“No,” Stede protested. “I mean…no, it’s fine, only…are you bored? Or, I’m sure you’re not, why would you, but…you’re not avoiding me, at all, perhaps?”
Ed cupped his hands around Stede’s face and kissed him, kissed him again more deeply, started to break away and then dove back in to kiss him once more. “Not avoiding,” he said, pulling back just enough to move his mouth down to Stede’s throat. “Just sleepy.”
“I suppose it’s an exhausting life, being Blackbeard,” Stede allowed, tilting his chin up to give Ed better access. “All that heavy unbreathable outerwear. Itchy beard. Having to worry about lighting your face on fire when you stick burning things in it to terrify your enemies.”
“Mate, you’ve no idea,” Ed sighed. He began untying Stede’s cravat. “Every time I put it all down for a while it gets harder to put it on again, and I don’t mean the costume. Soon I won’t be able to pull it off at all, and then what’ll become of me?”
“Then we’ll have to look after you,” said Stede, and his eyes fluttered shut again as Ed opened his shirt and began to kiss his way down Stede’s chest. “The crew won’t mind. We’re not too much for you, though? You don’t need a, a nap tent, to give you more peace and quiet around here?”
“They told you about the tent,” said Ed, pausing with his chin on Stede’s ribs. “Huh. No. I dunno. Think I like it, sleeping wherever, right in the middle of whatever’s going on with this looney bin of yours. Most of the time they’re all playing silly buggers, you’re totally next level with the lack of discipline you’ve got around here and I’ve no idea how the ship even stays afloat, but it’s…it’s…fuck, don’t let anyone hear me say this…it’s all just so nice.”
“Nice,” Stede mused. “Edward the Nice. Well, well.” He inhaled sharply as Ed dipped his head down and bit at one of his nipples.
“No,” Ed said, and bit him again, hard enough to make him yelp. “They’re nice. You’re nice. I’m still the terror of the West Indies.” He began to lick and suck gently at where he’d bitten, soothing the sting, and his hands had made their way down to work on Stede’s breeches now, so Stede decided not to debate the point.
“I would, though,” Stede assured him, wanting to underline it before he lost the power of coherent speech. “Rig you up a nap tent. Leave you in peace. If you wanted that.”
“What I want,” said Ed, “is for you to stop talking and take my clothes off and touch me. All over. Can you do that? Now?”
+1. Story
“Again this snoring?” said the Swede. “The story is not even started yet.”
“Who’s got the poking stick?” asked Jim. They’d devised the poking stick, a heavily padded gaff pole, to wake Blackbeard from a safe distance where they wouldn’t risk being commandeered as a pillow.
“Frenchie and Roach were playing with it up on the poop deck yesterday,” said Oluwande. “Don’t know where it got to from there.”
“Uh, practising ninja techniques, actually, not playing,” Frenchie informed him. “But I’m afraid it went a bit overboard in the course of action. Someone just give him a good hard nudge. Swede, you’re closest.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” said Blackbeard, and the Swede scuttled back out of range with a panicked cry.
“Wow, French, you just almost got the Swede killed,” said Black Pete. “Nice. So who’s snoring, then?”
“T’ other Cap’n,” Buttons called down from the helm, and they all looked at Stede. The Gentleman Pirate had slumped over into a decorative swoon with his head down on Blackbeard’s knee, emitting what they all realised now to be very fake-sounding snores. He cracked one eye half-open as they watched, then quickly shut it again and snored louder.
“Well, give him a good nudge, then,” said Roach. “Someone’s got to do the story.”
“Put a live crab on him,” said Wee John. “No, put his hand in a cup of grog, see if it makes him piss himself.”
“Draw a mustache on him,” Pete suggested. “A big curly one.”
“I can still read,” said Lucius. “Just saying,” but they all ignored him and continued to come up with increasingly terrible suggestions for how to best wake up the captain or torment him in his sleep, until Stede, frowning now, coughed loudly instead of snoring.
“Let him be,” said Blackbeard, patting him fondly on the back. “He didn’t get much rest last night, I’m afraid.”
“Mmm, cheers, we’re all well aware,” said Lucius. “None of the rest of us did, either.”
“I tried sleeping down in the hold,” said Oluwande. “Didn’t help much. The acoustics on this ship really are something.”
“Surprised ye could hear anythin’ last night what with all the whalesong,” Buttons bellowed. “Regular concert they put on. Highly unusual at this latitude.”
“Yeah, those…weren’t whales, Buttons,” Roach called back up. “Ugh. Someone definitely owes us an extra-long story tonight. Captain Bonnet! Wakey wakey!”
“Let him be,” Blackbeard said again, lighting up his pipe. “I’ll give you a story. Have I ever told you all of the time I did battle with the monster serpent that haunts the North Sea, away up by the Devil’s Hole?”
There was a suspicious pause. “This isn’t a sex metaphor, is it?” Jim asked uneasily.
“A—no!” Blackbeard shouted. “Good god. You lot. One thing on the brain. No, I’m talking about an actual sea serpent in the actual North Sea—you want to hear the tale or not?”
“Yes, please,” said Stede, very quietly, forgetting he was supposed to be asleep, but they all politely pretended that they hadn’t heard him, and so Blackbeard dropped a quick kiss on his head, sat back and drew on his pipe again, and began.