I am Crow. Survived 33 winters. She/her. Welcome to my little corner where I like to blog about whatever I want. Occasionally, I post fanfic. Art on icon and header is mine.
Hey everyone! I have great news!! It is with great pleasure that I announce..........
I'm now on A03!!!
Username is corvuserpens and I just posted the first chapter of my Black Sails fanfic A Girl, An Ocean, with an added bit of lore! It's just an extra little detail I came up with months after I started posting, but if you needed an excuse to start re-reading this fic, here you have it!
Just as I've been doing here, I'll be posting weekly once I've uploaded all the chapters already available here, so if you're one of the three people following Constance's story, make sure to go there! And don't worry, I'll still keep posting here as well ;)
Here's the link to chapter 1 -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/65533057/chapters/168695005
A Girl, An Ocean {A Black Sails fanfic} - S01, Ch. 08 (Part 1)
Fandom: Black Sails
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Character death
Characters: Billy Bones, James Flint, Hal Gates, protagonist OC, supporting OCs
Relationships: Billy Bones/OC, Hal Gates/OC (paternal), Max/OC (friends)
Additional tags: Original character-centric, first person POV, canon character x original character romance, self-discovery journey, canon compliant, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting sweetness, cute but also sexy, angst galore, found family, Hal Gates has two children now, canon typical violence
Series: Part Two of Six of A Girl, An Ocean
Chapters: 8/8
Summary: The day has come. After much preparation, loss and heartbreak, the impossible is about to be attempted. But of course... Things can't simply run as they should.
Author's note: Man, remember the end of season 01 of this show? It's like we couldn't catch a goddamn break emotionally. ANYWAY, finale of season 01 will come out on June 16, and then onto season 02!
Read it on A03!
Chapter viii.
Part i.
Suffice to say, the whole endeavour went tits up from the moment we set sail. One would think it even God was against it and threw every obstacle He could conceive into our path in order to stop us.
The night before we were to make landfall to meet the Urca as she anchored to take on water, we were hit by a storm so strong, the words "ship killer" floated up and down the decks. The rain poured in sheets. The winds threatened to rip the sails apart. Waves of colossal size tossed us about like children playing with their toys at the beach.
I had spent all of the afternoon watch tending the rigging, struggling to remain on my feet as I slipped on the wet boards. The second the first watch bell tolled, I practically crawled into the crowded gun deck for mess, drained of strength. Even below we couldn't rid ourselves of rainwater, since it poured through the hatches and every single tiny crack we'd forgotten to caulk.
Despite the festive mood with music and cards and the smell of cooking from the galley, my humor was as dreary as the weather pounding us. While crossing the deck, I was offered to join a few rounds or to sing a shanty, but refused them all. I was drenched, cold and miserable. All I wanted was to change and sit as close to the stove as possible with a bowl of broth.
Even before tonight, the men had noticed that I'd changed. That I was more quiet than I used to be, didn't laugh as much, spent too much time away from them. I could see the worry in their faces whenever I walked past to go brood in a corner, but they had no idea how to help me. Honestly, there was nothing they could do. I simply... didn't have the will to socialize.
And yet, as I sat and fished around my meal with a spoon, I felt the sting of loneliness nipping at my heart. It was a strange state to be in: wanting to be alone while yearning for company at the same time. My guess for this predicament was that it had something to do with whom I wanted to spend time with. Gates, arguably the only person who could understand what I was going through, was away on the Ranger and I hadn't seen him since we left Nassau; Dufresne was kept busy by his quartermaster duties; and De Groot's only concern lately was bringing Flint to justice, which became very tiresome after a while. I wanted him to pay for his crimes as well, of course I did, but we had all agreed, not until we captured the Urca. Until then, we needed to be patient.
For the millionth time since that fateful night, I wished that Billy was there.
I was slowly picking at the vegetables and meat swimming in my bowl when Logan and Muldoon came down from their watch. Even with their slickers, water dripped from their hair and beard.
"Launch from the Ranger!" Muldoon shouted over the racket. "Captain Gates is coming over."
In an instant, I sat up straight and turned to better hear them.
"Crazy bastard!" Logan exclaimed whilst they approached the galley. "What could be so fucking important that he has to row through all that shit out there?"
What, indeed. Quickly, I picked up the bowl to drink the broth and filled my mouth with as much food as I could before I scurried to the ladder, grabbing a slicker for myself on the way. They didn't come with hoods, unfortunately, but my hair was already wet, so what did it matter?
I stumbled back out into the storm and searched for the Ranger's lights in the darkness. They were even more difficult to make out in that deluge, just small flickers that disappeared and reappeared out of the corner of my eye. I had the feeling the waves had gotten bigger, for they rocked the Walrus perilously up and down. Crossing the deck usually only took ten seconds, if even that; in that whirlpool, it took nearly three minutes to get to the rails on the larboard side.
A couple of crew mates and myself helped haul Mr. Gates aboard. "I'm shocked you weren't capsized on the way over!" I yelled, barely making myself heard over the howling wind and the rush of water.
"It came close!" He laughed whilst accepting Folsom's outstretched hand to step over the rails. "Thank you. Constance, do me a favor." He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me close so only I could hear. "Bring Silver to the captain's quarters, then inform the others. It's time."
"Aye aye, Captain." With a proud smile, I gave his arm a tap and skidded over to the hatch a second time.
So that was what was so important it warranted rowing through a storm. The last piece of the schedule. This was it, home stretch. We were so close I could almost feel the treasure in the palms of my hands. I would free the Andromache's captives, help arm and fortify Nassau, fend off England, Spain, whoever the fuck dared try to take it, and then... Maybe I would finish what Billy had started with that house. It was already purchased, after all. He had meant for me to have it if we couldn't share it. I might as well.
I found Silver talking to Randall, no doubt trying to convince him to use the prosthetic Howell had made for him, to no avail. I had caught a bit of his reaction to that idea earlier. It was... extreme, to say the least, with the involvement of a threatening looking knife. I clamped a hand on Silver's shoulder to het his attention.
"Come with me," was all I told him before whirling around.
I glared at him from over my shoulder. "Flint's cabin. You fill in the rest."
Together, we surged into the chaotic mess that was the outside world and held on to whatever we could to get to the quarterdeck without falling. I didn't bother knocking at the great cabin door, just stumbled inside with Silver in tow and shut it right after. Gates and Flint were already in there, the latter sitting at his desk, the former resting against on the windowsill at his right with a towel to dry himself.
I shoved Silver forward, who let out a complaint and gave me a look that I returned with my best imitation of Gates' death glare. That seemed to convince him to leave any snide remarks safely locked away behind his lips.
"Thank you, Constance," said Flint.
Gates tossed his soaping towel at Silver while the captain set a blank piece of paper and his inkwell in front of him. "We make landfall in the morning. The last part of the schedule, if you don't mind."
Silver pushed his dropping curls out of his face and took up the quill. Figuring this would take a while, I stepped forward. "Captain, if you don't need me for anything else, would you mind if I returned below deck?"
Without taking his eyes out of the cook, he waved me off with a hand. "Go on."
I looked to Gates, curious to know if he would find me later. He nodded to my silent question, so I left the cabin, eager to go back to the warmer gundeck. I would know which course we were to take soon enough, no need for me to stick around.
Howell was the first whom I encountered. Next I found Dufresne, who luckily happened to be conversing with de Groot at the far side of the stern. The four of us gathered in the sickbay and shut the door after making sure no one would be prying into our affairs.
"Flint and Gates called Silver into the great cabin," I informed them. "He's giving them the last part of the schedule as we speak."
"Let us pray his information is accurate," Howell huffed.
"I doubt it," quipped de Groot. "Judging by the results of his test, his memory is far from reliable."
"He only had five minutes to study that page and memorize it," Dufresne countered with a sigh that gave me the impression they'd had this same conversation before, maybe more than once. "Meanwhile, he had three whole days to read the schedule. It's not the same thing."
"Well, I still don't trust it." De Groot crossed his arms and began to pace.
I opened my mouth to argue that Silver wanted the gold just as much as the rest of us, so it was in his interest to deliver the information accurately, but I was too tired. Instead, I took a seat on a bench somewhere in the corner and leaned my head on the wall to wait. I could feel the others looking at me with concern and did my best to ignore them. As uncomfortable as they might feel about my apathy, I was sure it was better than seeing me cry all the time over the smallest shit. At least, I thought so.
We didn't have to wait long. Not ten minutes later, Silver was banging at the door and Howell brought him in. From my corner, I watched him hand de Groot a piece of paper.
"Captain asked me to pass these to you," he said. "A new course."
The helmsman examined the information written on it, then lifted his piercing gaze to meet Silver's. "The captain accepted the last segment of the Urca as valid?"
Silver adopted a graver stance. "One thing you should not doubt: certainty is not a word I throw around lightly. Now this information, I am quite certain I have it right."
De Groot shot him a look full of dubious resentment and abandoned the room to carry out his new orders. Silver stared at the door through which he had just exited. "That man has a strange way of handling the prospect of imminent wealth beyond reason."
Neither Dufresne nor Howell said anything to that comment. I, however, stood up with deliberate care, dusted off my trousers and walked over to Silver until I was staring straight into him, pinning him to the wall with my stare alone. He swallowed hard whilst doing his best to stay away from me, but he had nowhere to run to. The others remained quiet, passively observing, waiting to see what I would do. Frankly, I quite liked the idea of opening him up from navel to jaw and try do divinate the future from the way his guts spilled.
"You had better be right about the schedule," I growled. My face was inches from his, my teeth bared in a savage promise of violence should he cross me. "Because if not, you can beg and bargain and wag that silver tongue of yours all you like, but I will send you screaming into the Devil's lap."
Without waiting for a reply, I stepped aside and abandoned the sickbay, gently shutting the door after me.
***
Billy was standing with his back to me, across a sea of grass bathed by a setting sun. To his right, a white house of modest size with orange clay roof tiles stood. A bright pink bougainvillea bush grew over one side, entwined into the wooden porch rail. To his left, the vast blue ocean, whose breeze rippled on his white shirt. His short hair glowed gold, hands held out to feel the wind blowing through his fingers.
With a light, yet excited heart, I smiled and carefully stepped forward. I meant to sneak up on him, surprise him, but as if sensing my presence, he turned on his heels just as I was about to poke my fingers into his sides and grabbed my wrists with a laugh. We play-wrestled for a bit and ended up falling on the soft grass together, with me on top of him. After we calmed our laughter, I stared down at him and he at me, and I thanked my lucky stars for being so blessed with by a love so true, it overflowed right out of me.
He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and I smoothed my hand down his cheek. How I wished to drown in the blue of his eyes. My fingers ghosted over his lips, thick and rosy and chapped. They parted in a silent gasp, allowing me a peek of his teeth. Overcome by the need to kiss him, I craned my neck down.
"Constance..." He sighed with eyes half closed, his chest heaving with anticipation. "Constance... Wake up."
I frowned, groaned in protest. I was awake already... Wasn't I?
"Wake up, Constance," said Mr. Gates' voice through Billy's mouth. "Wake up, my dove."
I flicked my eyes open with a jerk. I was curled up in my hammock, on the Walrus, my head rested on Billy's pillow, where his scent still lingered, and wrapped up in my scarf. I had picked it up from the laundry the morning of our departure, free of blood and thankfully still colorful and bright. The tear I had stitched up myself with blue thread; though it was quite visible, it wasn't so jarring that I would constantly notice. My stomach turned cold when I saw Gates looming over me, one hand holding a lantern, the other on my shoulder.
A dream... Only a dream.
"Sorry to wake you," he whispered amidst the silence in the gundeck. "I needed to talk to you before getting back to the Ranger."
I rubbed the sleep (and a few runaway tears) from my eyes as I sat up. Everyone was asleep. The wind had calmed some and so had the waves, since the ship was rocking much more smoothly than when I had gone to bed. The storm was finally passing. "What time is it...?"
"Little past three," he told me, sheepish. "I meant to come earlier, but I was delayed at Flint's cabin. We haven't had a chance to speak since launch and I was wondering if you were all right."
"Hmm..." I yawned and shook my drowsy head to try and concentrate. "Flint's cabin... Oh, right. The new course. Where are we meant to be going...?"
"Division Bay. Let's hope everything pans out as it should."
Meaning: let's hope Silver's information is accurate, or else there will be blood.
"Aye, let's..." Another yawn and I stared at Gates through heavy eyelids. He seemed... tired. Worried. I furrowed my brow. "What about you? Is everything all right, Mr. Gates?"
"Of course, love, of course. It's just, uh... I wanted to show you something." He glanced behind his back to make sure all were truly sleeping, then produced a folded piece of paper from his inner breast pocket. He handed it to me and held up the lantern so I could read its contents:
I, Hal Gates, presently captain of the Ranger and former quartermaster of the Walrus, sane in mind and body, do hereby confess my crimes against the crew I was meant to serve...
In a flash, sleep evaded my mind. I flipped my gaze up to Gates, jaw gone slack. He only stared at me gravelly, his dark eyes glinting in the lantern light.
"What is this?" I asked, even if I already suspected what was going on.
"My full confession for all my wrong-doings to protect Flint. I'm going to deliver it to Dufresne in the morning, in case something happens to me before we return home. I have every intention of listing my crimes in person, but... Something is telling me I might not live to see that day arrive. Call it intuition, premonition, whatever you like. This is a precaution."
I shook my head whilst he took back the penned confession. Just the thought of losing Gates as well was inconceivable to me. He was the only thing keeping me tethered to sanity amidst my on-going grief. If he died, too... God forbid. "Mr. Gates... Don't... Don't speak like that, please. You're scaring me. Do you think Flint will--?"
He took my trembling hands into his and smoothed his thumbs over them. "Right now, I can't convince myself that he didn't push Billy overboard, that night. I certainly wouldn't put it past him to consider killing me if he thought I had become a hindrance to his plans. I realize this is very frightening, especially now, but I want you to be prepared, Constance. When the hour to accuse Flint comes and for some reason I can't be there beside you, it will be up to you and Dufresne to see him charged and convicted. This madness has to end." He let his stare drop to our joined hands. "Remember what you told me when I said exposing him meant our parts in this story would also be brought to light...?"
"Aye," I stuttered. "I said I would submit to the crews' judgement regardless of the result. So would Billy, if... if he were here."
His fingers squeezed mine. "You were always so much braver than I. You and him. And infinitely more honest. I pray that such qualities are enough to save you from the worst of their anger. And I pray they will let you stay, afterwards. You will need your family for what comes next."
I remembered my promise to Billy before setting sail: I will be their rock, just as you once were. "I don't know if I'm still worthy of this crew anymore after everything I did... But... I made a promise that I would look after them, so I will do my best to convince them having me on board will be in their interest."
Gates nodded slowly a few times, then released my hands and stood up straight. "God watch over the two of us, in that case. We'll need all the help we can get."
My fingers grasped at my cross for comfort. Please Lord, guide and protect Mr. Gates from harm. "Amen to that..."
With one last pat on my arm, he attempted at a reassuring smile. "I'll let you go back to sleep, now. Rest up for tomorrow and try not to worry yourself to death, aye?"
"You too..." I bit my lip as he started to walk away. "Mr. Gates?"
He paused and raised his eyebrows at me.
My head hung low in sorrow but also shame, fingers fiddling with the soft wool of my scarf. I had never told Billy I loved him before he died and had no wish to make the same mistake with Gates. "I don't think I ever got to thank you for everything you've done for me, did I? Whatever happens tomorrow... I want you to know that all I have, all I am, I owe it to you. I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for you taking a chance on me. So thank you."
Gates managed a genuine smile that, though sad, I could see was also full of affection. "I should be thanking you as well, actually."
I tilted my head. "Whatever for?"
"For coming into my life the way you did." He walked back over to me and took my face into both his hands with extreme care. "No man could have asked for a better daughter. Even if you aren't my blood... I love you just the same as if you were."
He never told Billy how much he meant to him, too, I realized while a current of cold shock rushed through me. Seemed like I wasn't the only one who regretted not speaking my heart's true feelings when there was still time. With stinging eyes and a trembling lip, I nodded softly to his words.
His warm hands left my face and urged me to lie down. "Sleep, my dove. I will see you in the morning."
As the sound of his bootsteps faded away from the gundeck, I closed my eyes with a shuddered breath. By the time he was gone up the ladder, I had already fallen asleep.
***
The morning arrived clear and sunny, though the wind stubbornly pushed us forward with more strength than usual. One almost couldn't believe there had been a storm the night before. Ahead of us, Division Bay presented itself as a strip of barren rocky land against which the waves pounded into again and again. At our starboard, the Ranger followed close by, Spanish colors flying in her wake instead of the black, same as us.
Just a few more meters and we would turn a corner into the cove where the L'Urca de Lima would be waiting, helpless as a lamb. And then... finally... this whole ordeal would be over.
"Listen here!"
We turned to see Flint on the rails, hanging off of the port shroud by one hand. He waited until he had the whole crew's ear, then delivered the revised version of the attack plan:
"When we crest the point ahead and spot the Urca in anchor, we'll begin our final run at her. The Spanish banner may earn us a few yards of confusion before the captain identifies us and opens fire. So we'll close fast on her, hammer her well with our guns, and then take the fight to her deck. That fight will be the fight of our lives, make no mistake. But on the other side... Lies Paradise."
The men banded together in a rousing "huzzah!" that I couldn't find the will to join. Looking over my shoulder, I found Dufresne staring back at me with knitted brows. He nodded surreptitiously, and I returned it.
One last fight, for our brothers. For ourselves. For Billy.
And then Flint would be no more.
"I'll see you there," our captain swore before landing on the deck and turning to the bow, hands tucked behind his back. "Mr. de Groot, a full complement, if you please. Signal the Ranger. Full sail, final approach."
"Aye, captain." Behind him, de Groot made a sharp whistle and signaled our consort. I positioned myself on the rails, rifle in hand, and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. This was it. Several weeks of preparation, of blood, sweat and tears, and we were here at last. I pushed everything that preoccupied me lately out of my mind - my broken heart, my pain, my fears - and focused solely on surviving whatever we were about to find around the bend. Slowly, we approached the tip of that point. We reached for our talismans and said our final prayers. I kissed my old flintlock, then my cross for good measure. Our fates lied in God's hands alone, now.
We passed that rocky tip and...
My stomach turned painfully in my gut. The waves lapped at a wide expanse of sand, covering it with white mist. There was grass beyond the beach and endless blue skies. Gulls and other sea birds swerved with the wind...
But there was no Urca. The bay was completely empty.
"Check our position," Flint commanded, only barely containing the panic in his voice.
"This is the course," de Groot replied with stone cold certainty.
"Well, check it again!"
"Captain--" the helmsman insisted. "This is the location you requested."
Flint scoured the bay, his breath shallow and quick, but no matter how he searched the water, no ships surged up from them by miracle. Around me, the crew was silent with disappointment... and anger. This was not what he had promised us. He said he would make us rich. He said he would make us strong. The princes of the New World. He promised all our suffering would be worth it.
And yet... here we were, with nothing to show for it. All those weeks of hard work, all those sacrifices, the lives lost in the pursuit of this one galleon, had all gone down into the gutter in the blink of an eye.
As Flint marched past all of us and shut himself in the great cabin, all my thoughts went to Billy. I couldn't believe he had died for nothing. That despite all our efforts, we somehow had missed our prize, or maybe she never set sail from Havana at all, or her captain took a last minute course change as a precaution. Maybe we never had a single shot at taking the Urca because it just wasn't meant to be, in which case... In which case, it really was all for nothing.
I grasped desperately at the barrel of my rifle and fought to contain the tears. Damn Flint. Damn Silver, to whom I would keep my promise to gut him regardless of the reasons why the Urca wasn't where it was supposed to. But above all, damn me for believing in Flint and for being so blind to the fact nothing was more important than the people I loved. It was just as much my fault that we were all here as it was Flint's. I was just as much to blame for Billy's death, as well. I should have listened to him, taken the Walrus and fled when he still could.
"Mr. de Groot." I heard Dufresne call. "Signal the Ranger. Tell captain Gates to come over as quickly as he can."
"No need." Logan said. When I turned, I saw him standing over the rails, hands cupped above his eyes. "I can see them launching a boat. He's coming."
***
In a matter of minutes, Mr. Gates was coming aboard. His face was pale in the bright morning sun, eyebrows knit so tight his forehead was full of deep furrows.
"Where is he?" He immediately asked Dufresne.
"In his cabin. He hasn't come out since we entered the bay."
"Christ." Gates sighed and pushed past us. "Dufresne, Constance, with me."
I traded a surprised look with Dufresne, baffled as to why he was asking for me to tag along, but neither of us questioned him. For once, Gates didn't bother knocking; he pushed the cabin door wide open and waltzed right in.
Flint stood at the far end behind his desk, facing the windows. He neither turned nor even moved in reaction to our presence. Only said: "Shut the door."
Since I had entered last, I did us the favor and stoond guard next to it.
Gates stepped up to Flint's side. "What the hell is going on? Where's the Urca?"
"I don't know," the captain responded. "I checked the maps, checked the schedule. She should be here. She must be here."
"And yet she's not," Dufresne pointed out with a note of tension. "Clearly, the schedule wasn't accurate, maybe it never was."
It didn't escape my notice he was deliberately keeping his knowledge about Silver's deeds secret. Who knew how Flint would react if he were to realize exactly how many people knew the truth, as well as who told them.
"There could a hundred reasons why she's not here," Gates retorted - but this time, there was something different about his posture. He was less confident, less... willing to defend Flint. Like he was finally losing all faith he had left in him or the possibility of conquering the Urca. "The schedule might have been altered at the last minute. Maybe she's late because of the storm. Maybe she never even left port."
"Whatever the case--" Dufresne adjusted his glasses and crossed his arms over his chest. "We need to devise a new plan and fast. To say the men were disappointed with this turn of events is an enormous euphemism. I don't know how much more they can take."
Gates looked to Flint, who hadn't moved an inch. "Captain? What's the plan, now? What do you want us to do?"
The other didn't immediately reply. I noticed with a pang of fear that his hands were shaking. Though he was trying to appear cool and composed, it was taking all his self-control to keep his temper in check. This wasn't how things were supposed to go and he was not reacting well.
At last, he slowly turned on the heels of his boots and leaned on the desk with his fists. His eyes furiously scanned the maps, as if he could will the paper and ink to reveal the Urca's whereabouts. "The schedule indicates the Urca is to stop to take on water here before setting out to Spain. If it's not here, it must be somewhere close. St. Augustine is days away from this point, so... We send scouts along the coast and search for her. When we find her--" He looked up to meet Dufresne's stare. "And we will find her, we go to her meeting and form a new attack plan once we know more. Think you can convince the crew to go along?"
"Constance can," Gates said.
All eyes snapped to me, making me want to crawl into a hole and never come out. So that was why he had wanted me to come.
"Given her personal losses, she has more cause than most to want to turn around and go home... or see you hang. They will listen to her. If she says she is still willing to try and find the Urca, they will follow."
I pursed my lips, internally squirmed at the thought of continuing this ruse. Again I traded a look with Dufresne, who watched me most carefully. I wished I could confer with him in private because as far as I was concerned, the Urca business was finished. Or maybe I was finished with it. I just wanted to go home.
But then... I thought about Mr. Scott and the Andromache's captives. They were counting on me to free them and for that, I needed my share of the treasure and Billy's. I owed it to them to try.
Flint's eyes bore deep into mine. "Can you do it, Constance?"
I nodded in agreement. God, I hated how dirty I felt.
"I suppose we should go make our case, then. Captains..." Dufresne exited the cabin and I followed, shutting the door behind me.
"What do you make of all this?" I inquired him in the short seconds we had before stepping outside into the main deck.
"I think it's worth a shot," he admitted. "But the men aren't going to like it. Antsy as they are already, I'll be surprised if they even take this plan into consideration."
I let out a long breath. "Then I better do a good job convincing them they should accept it. In case you can't."
Dufresne reached out a hand to hold my arm. "Wait. Before we go, I wanted to ask if you're comfortable doing this."
Under different circumstances, I might have lied. I might have made an effort to let him know I was comfortable enough doing it, that I believed in it, that my heart was still set on capturing our prize and I wasn't being pressured into manipulating the men. But I was so tired of lies, tired of going against my own values.
"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Was all I murmured. "You want that gold. So do they. Hell, part of me still wants it too, if only to keep a promise I made back home. If it weren't for that, I would vote we bring the old girl about right now and be done with all this."
"I'd like to think there's always a choice," he replied with a scrunched up nose. "Though I have an inkling you won't believe me."
"That hasn't been my experience in a while, no." Sometimes, you needed to do things you didn't agree with to achieve certain goals. Whether they were worth the sacrifice in the end or not, there lied the difference. And it also depended on the feasibility of those goals. For example, in this instant, I hadn't the vaguest hope of locating the Urca. Still... it wouldn't hurt to look, would it? "I appreciate the sentiment, even so."
"It's a complicated situation," he assented.
"At least if it doesn't pan out... Without Gates' support, Flint can't force us to push through into danger. That should serve as some consolation, aye?" I chuckled.
“Right, about that...” He sighed, glanced over his shoulder at the closed cabin door and lowered his voice: “Do you really think he's going to turn on Flint? The others expressed some doubt about it. He assured me he would not interfere with the trial, conviction and execution, but one has to wonder, after all these years defending him... Old habits, y'know?”
I nibbled on my lip and pondered on how much I should say. The ship had ears everywhere and I didn't want anyone to know what was going to happen before it was time. I decided to be safe and go with the bare minimum so I leaned in to whisper: “He's going to deliver you a document soon. Wait for it. Then you'll know whether he's committed or not.”
Dufresne was intrigued, no doubt wished to ask more about what I meant, but in the end he simply nodded and said nothing more of it.
At last, I glanced outside to our expectant crew. "All right... let's do this."
Dufresne adjusted his spectacles. "Let's."
Side by side, we marched out there and stood together at the center of the open gun deck. The others gathered around to listen, so we waited until we were all assembled to present the new plan.
"Gentlemen," spoke Dufresne. "We are all, understandably, quite upset at the situation we currently find ourselves in. I just conferred with captains Flint and Gates to decide our next move and they asked me to present you with a new plan, see what you think of it."
"What fucking plan?" Folsom shouted from the main mast starboard shouts. "The Urca isn't here! What's Flint going to do, make a little dance and conjure her to appear out of God's arse?"
Several voices rose up in agreement. We were expecting resistance, so Dufresne wasn't put off by the rigger's vulgar display.
"Captain Flint believes the Urca is somewhere in the vicinity. The schedule points to a stop to re-supply before crossing the Atlantic in this location, but it's possible last night's storm simply blew her off course. In that case, we propose putting together two teams to search the coast and hopefully find her, and from then on, we adapt our previous attack plan according to the conditions. Simple as that, no risk attached. From my calculations, our stores can last us at least a week of searching before we have to start heading home, which should give us plenty of time."
"It's a waste of time."
The crowd parted at the stern to let Mr. de Groot pass. His fists were closed tight at his sides, the only indication of the anger boiling behind his stone face. "How do we know this won't become another Andromache? How do we know Flint won't just make us sail up and down the coast searching for the Urca until either our stores run out or a guardacosta spots us and sinks us? How can we trust that after this plan fails we won't be all shoe-horned into another, and another, until we are all dead?"
I stepped up to Dufresne's side and put my hand on his shoulder for permission. He nodded and moved aside to offer me the center stage.
"Because this time captain Gates is in agreement that if we do not find her, then it's over. For good.”
That made them pause and exchange looks of bewilderment. Taking advantage of their silence, I pressed on:
"Look... we are all tired and grieving. We all know what Billy meant to our Mr. Gates. Losing him put things under a new perspective. Frankly, with the way things have been going... Even I will admit I am losing faith in our success. After everything I've lost for this prize, I have enough cause to want to give up and go home this instant. But... I'm not ready for that just yet. I've worked too long and too hard to give up now. I have plans for my share of the gold that I still think are worth one last try. Besides... I think of Billy, of Lars, of Morley... they gave their lives for this and although I know they wouldn't want us to get ourselves killed for their sake, I think I want to give this thing one more shot before calling it quits. But that's just my opinion. What say you, brothers? One last ditch effort for our comrades and ourselves, and if it doesn't work out, then..." I shrugged, smacked my hands on my thighs. "We go home. If it would appease you, I volunteer to go out and look for the Urca. Would be much faster and easier if others were to join me."
The men grumbled some whilst looking around to see who would dare volunteer. Many of them agreed with de Groot that it was a waste of time, but I think the majority was moved enough by my speech and my example to be persuaded into approving the plan.
"You want us to search for an entire week?" Logan intervened. "I've seen the stores, it's a stretch to say the least. We risk having to port somewhere for supplies and being identified."
I crossed my arms and gave it some thought. "You're right, it's too long. How about five days?"
"Still too fucking long," O'Neill groaned at my left. "Surely if she's as close as Flint thinks it won't take that long to spot her."
"I agree," Luca quipped. "Three days at most."
"One day is enough waste as it is," said de Groot, and the others made their agreement known.
"Two days then," Dufresne proposed. It wouldn't please Flint, but it was better than nothing, so it would have to suffice. "Two days of search and on the dawn of the third day, we raise anchor and leave. Does that seem fair?"
They thought about it for a minute or two and at last gave their go-ahead. However, no one else volunteered to join me in the search, so to avoid compulsory picking from the quartermaster's part, I asked: "Who would like to join me on a nice camping trip through Florida, in that case?"
"I'll go," said Dufresne. "It's only fair, after all."
I nodded and scoured the crew. "Anyone else?"
There was a moment of hesitation, until Thierry stepped up. "I'll go, as well."
Next, it was Joji who presented himself, mute as always. Folsom and Kensington offered their services, too. And so did Sayeed, our lookout. That made us eight. If we split up into groups of four, it just might be enough to comb the coast for a few miles.
"Very well, then." Dufresne cleared his throat. "Gents, thank you for your cooperation and your patience. Let us hope for some luck. We convene at the launch in one hour for departure, bring only the essentials, like water, food and medicine. We travel light and fast. That is all."
The crew dispersed, minus de Groot. He marched up to us and urged us into the sickbay so we could talk in private. As soon as the door was shut he whirled around, obviously unsatisfied. "I think we should try Flint immediately. Right here and now."
My eyebrows arched up at such a blunt statement. And I wasn't alone in my astonishment.
"Beg pardon?" Demanded Dufresne.
"I maintain my argument," the helmsman insisted, and that was when I noted something different in his eyes. They were illuminated by an intensely vengeful fire I had never thought him capable of. "I told you the cook's information wasn't reliable enough and here's my proof! There is no Urca here at all. We were led into a fool's errand with devastating consequences and every moment you spend out there searching serves only to offer the captain another chance to evade the reckoning he's got coming. I say no more. When we make landfall, we should try Flint and make him pay for his crimes, not a moment later."
"Keep your voice down," Dufresne hissed. "Mr. de Groot, I understand that you're angry, but we agreed we would try Flint once the money was secured and distributed."
"That was when there was still any money to distribute, which clearly there isn't anymore."
"You don't know that for sure."
"They will have their justice," the quartermaster pressed, patience running thin. "But not yet. The men opted for one last try at what they were promised. The dead don't get precedence over the living."
De Groot narrowed his eyes and shook his head in disappointment. "Do you truly only care about the gold, Dufresne? Really? I never pegged you for someone so weak of character as that. What would Billy say?"
Dufresne's expression turned cold, skin paling up in the dim light coming from the hatch behind us. "Don't talk to me about Billy, Mr. de Groot. Don't forget I am still quartermaster, so my word is final. We will not be trying Flint until we are absolutely certain the Urca is not here. Is that understood?"
Watching the two of them argue, I said nothing because honestly? I was deeply conflicted, torn between my duty to my crew, my desire to return to Nassau and my promise to Mr. Scott. I stood aside and leaned on the operating table with my head hung low, tried to convince myself that pressing on was the right path for everyone while everything in me screamed to support de Groot.
"And you, Constance?" De Groot said, turning to me. "Do you really believe what you said out there? That you're not ready to give up? Do you still think there's a chance to find that galleon or have you simply become another one of Flint's puppets? Is the gold really that much more important to you than avenging Billy?"
"Mr. de Groot." Dufresne called out sternly.
"Let her speak for herself." I could feel De Groot's stare on my nape. "You swore you would never lie to us or any of the crew again. So I ask: is the gold more important than your principles?"
My hands gripped the table until the knuckles turned white. With a voice choked by the roiling emotions in my gut, I said: "It's not about the gold for me. It's about what it can get me. There are people back home counting on me to use that money to help them. And I still believe we can save Nassau from invasion with it. I know you don't agree with me on this matter, but I fear for her, for our way of life. I do want justice for Billy and the others." I pushed off the table to face my friend despite the hot prickling in my eyes. "I loved him more than words can describe, so don't you dare accuse me of disregarding his death or anyone else's. Dufresne is right: the dead don't get precedence over the living. This is not an either or situation. We can get the gold and justice. All we're asking is for a little patience."
Defeated, yet still stubborn, de Groot sighed through his nose and flicked his eyes between Dufresne and I. "Very well, then. I see I am to be ignored and out-voted yet again. I wonder who else gets to die before you finally see that I'm right."
When he abandoned the room, he slammed the door so violently I thought the timber might shatter. Neither Dufresne nor I bothered to say anything. From both our points of view, there was nothing else to say. So, in heavy silence, we too left the sickbay to find Gates and Flint and relay the news.
We found them both near the helm. I let our quartermaster do the honours.
"Captain, after an inventory of our stores, the men have assented to your plan. Provided we find a suitable place to land the Walrus, you'll have two days to send out scouts and hopefully locate the Urca. Given their mood, I'd say we were lucky to get that much."
As expected, Flint wasn't pleased, but lacking any better options... "Do it, then." And the captain retired to his cabin.
Given that I felt no need to dawdle and would rather get ready to go ashore before I could change my mind, I too excused myself to help steer the ship further into the bay. I was halfway up the port side shrouds when Logan's thunderous voice called out: "Sails! To the south!"
I stopped my climb, heart kicking into my throat with wild hope. I couldn't see shit with our own sails in the way, so I crawled onto the platform and stood next to Folsom, who luckily happened to have a spyglass with him. Out there, cut against the misty horizon, I could just make out the glare of white sails in the sun.
"Can you see it?" I asked whilst I cupped my hands over my eyes.
"Just barely. It's big, s'all I fucking know for the moment."
"Give it to me."
Folsom put the spyglass in my outstretched hand and I took a peek. Three masts... Square rigged sails... Red crosses... Big, like my friend said, but not quite as fat as a treasure galleon should be.
"Well?" Folsom urged. "Is it her?"
My heart withered with dread. I could see a Spanish banner at the aft, but more importantly, I also counted over sixty guns on that ship. Which could only mean...
"No..." I whimpered as I let the spyglass drop from my widened eyes. "It's a--"
"Man-of-war!!" Logan announced far below us. "She's a man-of-war! Spanish banners!"
"Fuck," Folsom hummed in muted panic. "Fuck! It's a fucking guardacosta!"
"Aye, and in this wind she'll be right on our asses before we can say "we're fucked.""
"Which means it's time to go." He whistled at the other riggers and start signalling for them to get ready for the order to flee. "All of you, get into position! Now, you shits, no time to waste wanking off! Move!!"
I returned the spyglass and scurried back down to lend a hand in our escape. However, when I looked toward the Ranger, I was appalled to see her raise the black. Why the hell were they raising the black and exposing themselves?! We're we also hoisting our banner--
The Ranger fired two shots, one after the other. The Walrus shook violently, causing me to yelp and nearly lose my footing. I could feel the iron balls fly past with a wicked wisp as I fought to hang onto the rat lines.
In less than a second, panic seized me in a vicious grip. My mind filled with fog until all I knew was fear. My blood rushed through my veins, drummed loud in my ears. The deck sank away from me fast and though I knew it was only a few meters from me, it still felt like it was miles away. It became harder to breath - I could hear myself wheeze and struggle to take in air, but my lungs refused to work. Flint had once warned me, long ago, that fear would tuck itself in the darkest corners of my brain and strike when I least expected it.
When the center of my vision field started to go black, I knew I was in trouble. If I fainted on the shrouds, high or low, I would fall and break my neck on the rails, or drop into the sea and drown. And this time, Billy wasn't there to help me get down. I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped onto the lines with everything I had, forcing my thoughts toward him, trying to imagine what he would have told me in this situation were he still alive.
Breathe, Constance. You're all right, just breathe. Don't mind what's below you, just hold on and breathe. You can do this. You're the bravest woman I know, remember?
Little by little, I started sucking in air again. Keeping my eyes shut, I tried to convince myself I was safe by rubbing my thumbs on the hemp of the lines and toeing up and down on them. I was safe. I was safe as long as I maintained a firm grip.
My heart rate slowed. My skin, cold and hyper-sensitive, regained its warmth. I risked taking a peek through my lashes and refused to look down, kept my eyes pinned to the horizon. The blackness dissipated. I took a tentative step down, then another, until my boot thumped on the railing.
That's my girl, I heard Billy's voice say with pride, and even if it was only in my head, I had to smile. As I continued to hold onto the shrouds, just in case my knees buckled, I brought a hand to the necklace I'd made for him, which I now wore in his honour.
"Thank you, Billy," I whispered. Even in death, he still had found a way to save me. Like he was never truly gone.
Once I felt confident enough to let go, I jumped off the rails and tried to find some useful employment. Logan happened to cross my path, so I went after him. "What's the plan, Logan?"
"Fuck if I know!" He burst, cheeks red beneath his beard. "Flint said to drop anchor and ordered the Ranger to mock fire at us."
"He... what??" I stood in his path to make him stop. "Why?"
"That's what we'd all like to know!"
I shook my head with a frown. "I don't understand, he means to fight that man-of-war?"
"I really fucking hope not, but that's what it looks like, so get ready to die, I guess!" And with that, he pushed past me. I searched the crew for Dufresne and found him with de Groot by the helm. I ran up the highcastle ladder to meet them.
"Dufresne!" I called out over the confusion of running feet and men shouting over each other. "What the hell is going on?"
"Flint ordered the Ranger to raise the black and shoot over our bow!" He was looking about as stressed as the rest of us. "My guess is he wants to lead that ship to believe we are a merchant vessel under attack and lay a trap for her."
"Jesus Christ," I huffed. "Even with the Ranger's help, our chances of subjugating that warship are slim to none! And for what?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," he replied despondently.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Where is he? And where is Gates? We have to put a stop to this and get out of here while we still can."
"They're in the cabin, arguing." De Groot nodded to the quarterdeck. "You could hear them all the way out here, for a while. At least Gates seems to have finally seen reason."
Dufresne leaned in close to me and murmured: "I have the document you spoke of. Let's see how this goes, and then... One way or the other, Flint is finished. Are you in?"
With any chance to still win the Urca dead in the water, I had no reasons left to delay a trial any further. Back in the shrouds, when I was right in the middle of a panic attack, I had remembered a conversation Flint and I had had in that same cabin. Of all people, it was he who had taught me to conquer fear. He had taken a risk by accepting me into the crew when no other captain would have. That still meant something to me, of course it did... But I didn't owe him my life for it. And as for my loyalty to him, it had died along with Billy. Directly or indirectly, he was lost to me because of Flint and his plans.
Had I not paid enough for my loyalty?
"I'm in," I stated. I allowed that familiar cold indifference, which I had nurtured in order to maintain my sanity after killing, to swell. Let it fill my very being, gave it essence with regret and guilt. Flint would be tried and die for his crimes, and I wasn't going to waste a single tear on him, nor a second feeling pity for how all this turned out.
A Girl, An Ocean {A Black Sails fanfic} - S01, Ch. 08 (Part 1)
Fandom: Black Sails
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Character death
Characters: Billy Bones, James Flint, Hal Gates, protagonist OC, supporting OCs
Relationships: Billy Bones/OC, Hal Gates/OC (paternal), Max/OC (friends)
Additional tags: Original character-centric, first person POV, canon character x original character romance, self-discovery journey, canon compliant, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting sweetness, cute but also sexy, angst galore, found family, Hal Gates has two children now, canon typical violence
Series: Part Two of Six of A Girl, An Ocean
Chapters: 8/8
Summary: The day has come. After much preparation, loss and heartbreak, the impossible is about to be attempted. But of course... Things can't simply run as they should.
Author's note: Man, remember the end of season 01 of this show? It's like we couldn't catch a goddamn break emotionally. ANYWAY, finale of season 01 will come out on June 16, and then onto season 02!
Read it on A03!
Chapter viii.
Part i.
Suffice to say, the whole endeavour went tits up from the moment we set sail. One would think it even God was against it and threw every obstacle He could conceive into our path in order to stop us.
The night before we were to make landfall to meet the Urca as she anchored to take on water, we were hit by a storm so strong, the words "ship killer" floated up and down the decks. The rain poured in sheets. The winds threatened to rip the sails apart. Waves of colossal size tossed us about like children playing with their toys at the beach.
I had spent all of the afternoon watch tending the rigging, struggling to remain on my feet as I slipped on the wet boards. The second the first watch bell tolled, I practically crawled into the crowded gun deck for mess, drained of strength. Even below we couldn't rid ourselves of rainwater, since it poured through the hatches and every single tiny crack we'd forgotten to caulk.
Despite the festive mood with music and cards and the smell of cooking from the galley, my humor was as dreary as the weather pounding us. While crossing the deck, I was offered to join a few rounds or to sing a shanty, but refused them all. I was drenched, cold and miserable. All I wanted was to change and sit as close to the stove as possible with a bowl of broth.
Even before tonight, the men had noticed that I'd changed. That I was more quiet than I used to be, didn't laugh as much, spent too much time away from them. I could see the worry in their faces whenever I walked past to go brood in a corner, but they had no idea how to help me. Honestly, there was nothing they could do. I simply... didn't have the will to socialize.
And yet, as I sat and fished around my meal with a spoon, I felt the sting of loneliness nipping at my heart. It was a strange state to be in: wanting to be alone while yearning for company at the same time. My guess for this predicament was that it had something to do with whom I wanted to spend time with. Gates, arguably the only person who could understand what I was going through, was away on the Ranger and I hadn't seen him since we left Nassau; Dufresne was kept busy by his quartermaster duties; and De Groot's only concern lately was bringing Flint to justice, which became very tiresome after a while. I wanted him to pay for his crimes as well, of course I did, but we had all agreed, not until we captured the Urca. Until then, we needed to be patient.
For the millionth time since that fateful night, I wished that Billy was there.
I was slowly picking at the vegetables and meat swimming in my bowl when Logan and Muldoon came down from their watch. Even with their slickers, water dripped from their hair and beard.
"Launch from the Ranger!" Muldoon shouted over the racket. "Captain Gates is coming over."
In an instant, I sat up straight and turned to better hear them.
"Crazy bastard!" Logan exclaimed whilst they approached the galley. "What could be so fucking important that he has to row through all that shit out there?"
What, indeed. Quickly, I picked up the bowl to drink the broth and filled my mouth with as much food as I could before I scurried to the ladder, grabbing a slicker for myself on the way. They didn't come with hoods, unfortunately, but my hair was already wet, so what did it matter?
I stumbled back out into the storm and searched for the Ranger's lights in the darkness. They were even more difficult to make out in that deluge, just small flickers that disappeared and reappeared out of the corner of my eye. I had the feeling the waves had gotten bigger, for they rocked the Walrus perilously up and down. Crossing the deck usually only took ten seconds, if even that; in that whirlpool, it took nearly three minutes to get to the rails on the larboard side.
A couple of crew mates and myself helped haul Mr. Gates aboard. "I'm shocked you weren't capsized on the way over!" I yelled, barely making myself heard over the howling wind and the rush of water.
"It came close!" He laughed whilst accepting Folsom's outstretched hand to step over the rails. "Thank you. Constance, do me a favor." He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me close so only I could hear. "Bring Silver to the captain's quarters, then inform the others. It's time."
"Aye aye, Captain." With a proud smile, I gave his arm a tap and skidded over to the hatch a second time.
So that was what was so important it warranted rowing through a storm. The last piece of the schedule. This was it, home stretch. We were so close I could almost feel the treasure in the palms of my hands. I would free the Andromache's captives, help arm and fortify Nassau, fend off England, Spain, whoever the fuck dared try to take it, and then... Maybe I would finish what Billy had started with that house. It was already purchased, after all. He had meant for me to have it if we couldn't share it. I might as well.
I found Silver talking to Randall, no doubt trying to convince him to use the prosthetic Howell had made for him, to no avail. I had caught a bit of his reaction to that idea earlier. It was... extreme, to say the least, with the involvement of a threatening looking knife. I clamped a hand on Silver's shoulder to het his attention.
"Come with me," was all I told him before whirling around.
I glared at him from over my shoulder. "Flint's cabin. You fill in the rest."
Together, we surged into the chaotic mess that was the outside world and held on to whatever we could to get to the quarterdeck without falling. I didn't bother knocking at the great cabin door, just stumbled inside with Silver in tow and shut it right after. Gates and Flint were already in there, the latter sitting at his desk, the former resting against on the windowsill at his right with a towel to dry himself.
I shoved Silver forward, who let out a complaint and gave me a look that I returned with my best imitation of Gates' death glare. That seemed to convince him to leave any snide remarks safely locked away behind his lips.
"Thank you, Constance," said Flint.
Gates tossed his soaping towel at Silver while the captain set a blank piece of paper and his inkwell in front of him. "We make landfall in the morning. The last part of the schedule, if you don't mind."
Silver pushed his dropping curls out of his face and took up the quill. Figuring this would take a while, I stepped forward. "Captain, if you don't need me for anything else, would you mind if I returned below deck?"
Without taking his eyes out of the cook, he waved me off with a hand. "Go on."
I looked to Gates, curious to know if he would find me later. He nodded to my silent question, so I left the cabin, eager to go back to the warmer gundeck. I would know which course we were to take soon enough, no need for me to stick around.
Howell was the first whom I encountered. Next I found Dufresne, who luckily happened to be conversing with de Groot at the far side of the stern. The four of us gathered in the sickbay and shut the door after making sure no one would be prying into our affairs.
"Flint and Gates called Silver into the great cabin," I informed them. "He's giving them the last part of the schedule as we speak."
"Let us pray his information is accurate," Howell huffed.
"I doubt it," quipped de Groot. "Judging by the results of his test, his memory is far from reliable."
"He only had five minutes to study that page and memorize it," Dufresne countered with a sigh that gave me the impression they'd had this same conversation before, maybe more than once. "Meanwhile, he had three whole days to read the schedule. It's not the same thing."
"Well, I still don't trust it." De Groot crossed his arms and began to pace.
I opened my mouth to argue that Silver wanted the gold just as much as the rest of us, so it was in his interest to deliver the information accurately, but I was too tired. Instead, I took a seat on a bench somewhere in the corner and leaned my head on the wall to wait. I could feel the others looking at me with concern and did my best to ignore them. As uncomfortable as they might feel about my apathy, I was sure it was better than seeing me cry all the time over the smallest shit. At least, I thought so.
We didn't have to wait long. Not ten minutes later, Silver was banging at the door and Howell brought him in. From my corner, I watched him hand de Groot a piece of paper.
"Captain asked me to pass these to you," he said. "A new course."
The helmsman examined the information written on it, then lifted his piercing gaze to meet Silver's. "The captain accepted the last segment of the Urca as valid?"
Silver adopted a graver stance. "One thing you should not doubt: certainty is not a word I throw around lightly. Now this information, I am quite certain I have it right."
De Groot shot him a look full of dubious resentment and abandoned the room to carry out his new orders. Silver stared at the door through which he had just exited. "That man has a strange way of handling the prospect of imminent wealth beyond reason."
Neither Dufresne nor Howell said anything to that comment. I, however, stood up with deliberate care, dusted off my trousers and walked over to Silver until I was staring straight into him, pinning him to the wall with my stare alone. He swallowed hard whilst doing his best to stay away from me, but he had nowhere to run to. The others remained quiet, passively observing, waiting to see what I would do. Frankly, I quite liked the idea of opening him up from navel to jaw and try do divinate the future from the way his guts spilled.
"You had better be right about the schedule," I growled. My face was inches from his, my teeth bared in a savage promise of violence should he cross me. "Because if not, you can beg and bargain and wag that silver tongue of yours all you like, but I will send you screaming into the Devil's lap."
Without waiting for a reply, I stepped aside and abandoned the sickbay, gently shutting the door after me.
***
Billy was standing with his back to me, across a sea of grass bathed by a setting sun. To his right, a white house of modest size with orange clay roof tiles stood. A bright pink bougainvillea bush grew over one side, entwined into the wooden porch rail. To his left, the vast blue ocean, whose breeze rippled on his white shirt. His short hair glowed gold, hands held out to feel the wind blowing through his fingers.
With a light, yet excited heart, I smiled and carefully stepped forward. I meant to sneak up on him, surprise him, but as if sensing my presence, he turned on his heels just as I was about to poke my fingers into his sides and grabbed my wrists with a laugh. We play-wrestled for a bit and ended up falling on the soft grass together, with me on top of him. After we calmed our laughter, I stared down at him and he at me, and I thanked my lucky stars for being so blessed with by a love so true, it overflowed right out of me.
He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and I smoothed my hand down his cheek. How I wished to drown in the blue of his eyes. My fingers ghosted over his lips, thick and rosy and chapped. They parted in a silent gasp, allowing me a peek of his teeth. Overcome by the need to kiss him, I craned my neck down.
"Constance..." He sighed with eyes half closed, his chest heaving with anticipation. "Constance... Wake up."
I frowned, groaned in protest. I was awake already... Wasn't I?
"Wake up, Constance," said Mr. Gates' voice through Billy's mouth. "Wake up, my dove."
I flicked my eyes open with a jerk. I was curled up in my hammock, on the Walrus, my head rested on Billy's pillow, where his scent still lingered, and wrapped up in my scarf. I had picked it up from the laundry the morning of our departure, free of blood and thankfully still colorful and bright. The tear I had stitched up myself with blue thread; though it was quite visible, it wasn't so jarring that I would constantly notice. My stomach turned cold when I saw Gates looming over me, one hand holding a lantern, the other on my shoulder.
A dream... Only a dream.
"Sorry to wake you," he whispered amidst the silence in the gundeck. "I needed to talk to you before getting back to the Ranger."
I rubbed the sleep (and a few runaway tears) from my eyes as I sat up. Everyone was asleep. The wind had calmed some and so had the waves, since the ship was rocking much more smoothly than when I had gone to bed. The storm was finally passing. "What time is it...?"
"Little past three," he told me, sheepish. "I meant to come earlier, but I was delayed at Flint's cabin. We haven't had a chance to speak since launch and I was wondering if you were all right."
"Hmm..." I yawned and shook my drowsy head to try and concentrate. "Flint's cabin... Oh, right. The new course. Where are we meant to be going...?"
"Division Bay. Let's hope everything pans out as it should."
Meaning: let's hope Silver's information is accurate, or else there will be blood.
"Aye, let's..." Another yawn and I stared at Gates through heavy eyelids. He seemed... tired. Worried. I furrowed my brow. "What about you? Is everything all right, Mr. Gates?"
"Of course, love, of course. It's just, uh... I wanted to show you something." He glanced behind his back to make sure all were truly sleeping, then produced a folded piece of paper from his inner breast pocket. He handed it to me and held up the lantern so I could read its contents:
I, Hal Gates, presently captain of the Ranger and former quartermaster of the Walrus, sane in mind and body, do hereby confess my crimes against the crew I was meant to serve...
In a flash, sleep evaded my mind. I flipped my gaze up to Gates, jaw gone slack. He only stared at me gravelly, his dark eyes glinting in the lantern light.
"What is this?" I asked, even if I already suspected what was going on.
"My full confession for all my wrong-doings to protect Flint. I'm going to deliver it to Dufresne in the morning, in case something happens to me before we return home. I have every intention of listing my crimes in person, but... Something is telling me I might not live to see that day arrive. Call it intuition, premonition, whatever you like. This is a precaution."
I shook my head whilst he took back the penned confession. Just the thought of losing Gates as well was inconceivable to me. He was the only thing keeping me tethered to sanity amidst my on-going grief. If he died, too... God forbid. "Mr. Gates... Don't... Don't speak like that, please. You're scaring me. Do you think Flint will--?"
He took my trembling hands into his and smoothed his thumbs over them. "Right now, I can't convince myself that he didn't push Billy overboard, that night. I certainly wouldn't put it past him to consider killing me if he thought I had become a hindrance to his plans. I realize this is very frightening, especially now, but I want you to be prepared, Constance. When the hour to accuse Flint comes and for some reason I can't be there beside you, it will be up to you and Dufresne to see him charged and convicted. This madness has to end." He let his stare drop to our joined hands. "Remember what you told me when I said exposing him meant our parts in this story would also be brought to light...?"
"Aye," I stuttered. "I said I would submit to the crews' judgement regardless of the result. So would Billy, if... if he were here."
His fingers squeezed mine. "You were always so much braver than I. You and him. And infinitely more honest. I pray that such qualities are enough to save you from the worst of their anger. And I pray they will let you stay, afterwards. You will need your family for what comes next."
I remembered my promise to Billy before setting sail: I will be their rock, just as you once were. "I don't know if I'm still worthy of this crew anymore after everything I did... But... I made a promise that I would look after them, so I will do my best to convince them having me on board will be in their interest."
Gates nodded slowly a few times, then released my hands and stood up straight. "God watch over the two of us, in that case. We'll need all the help we can get."
My fingers grasped at my cross for comfort. Please Lord, guide and protect Mr. Gates from harm. "Amen to that..."
With one last pat on my arm, he attempted at a reassuring smile. "I'll let you go back to sleep, now. Rest up for tomorrow and try not to worry yourself to death, aye?"
"You too..." I bit my lip as he started to walk away. "Mr. Gates?"
He paused and raised his eyebrows at me.
My head hung low in sorrow but also shame, fingers fiddling with the soft wool of my scarf. I had never told Billy I loved him before he died and had no wish to make the same mistake with Gates. "I don't think I ever got to thank you for everything you've done for me, did I? Whatever happens tomorrow... I want you to know that all I have, all I am, I owe it to you. I wouldn't be where I am today if it weren't for you taking a chance on me. So thank you."
Gates managed a genuine smile that, though sad, I could see was also full of affection. "I should be thanking you as well, actually."
I tilted my head. "Whatever for?"
"For coming into my life the way you did." He walked back over to me and took my face into both his hands with extreme care. "No man could have asked for a better daughter. Even if you aren't my blood... I love you just the same as if you were."
He never told Billy how much he meant to him, too, I realized while a current of cold shock rushed through me. Seemed like I wasn't the only one who regretted not speaking my heart's true feelings when there was still time. With stinging eyes and a trembling lip, I nodded softly to his words.
His warm hands left my face and urged me to lie down. "Sleep, my dove. I will see you in the morning."
As the sound of his bootsteps faded away from the gundeck, I closed my eyes with a shuddered breath. By the time he was gone up the ladder, I had already fallen asleep.
***
The morning arrived clear and sunny, though the wind stubbornly pushed us forward with more strength than usual. One almost couldn't believe there had been a storm the night before. Ahead of us, Division Bay presented itself as a strip of barren rocky land against which the waves pounded into again and again. At our starboard, the Ranger followed close by, Spanish colors flying in her wake instead of the black, same as us.
Just a few more meters and we would turn a corner into the cove where the L'Urca de Lima would be waiting, helpless as a lamb. And then... finally... this whole ordeal would be over.
"Listen here!"
We turned to see Flint on the rails, hanging off of the port shroud by one hand. He waited until he had the whole crew's ear, then delivered the revised version of the attack plan:
"When we crest the point ahead and spot the Urca in anchor, we'll begin our final run at her. The Spanish banner may earn us a few yards of confusion before the captain identifies us and opens fire. So we'll close fast on her, hammer her well with our guns, and then take the fight to her deck. That fight will be the fight of our lives, make no mistake. But on the other side... Lies Paradise."
The men banded together in a rousing "huzzah!" that I couldn't find the will to join. Looking over my shoulder, I found Dufresne staring back at me with knitted brows. He nodded surreptitiously, and I returned it.
One last fight, for our brothers. For ourselves. For Billy.
And then Flint would be no more.
"I'll see you there," our captain swore before landing on the deck and turning to the bow, hands tucked behind his back. "Mr. de Groot, a full complement, if you please. Signal the Ranger. Full sail, final approach."
"Aye, captain." Behind him, de Groot made a sharp whistle and signaled our consort. I positioned myself on the rails, rifle in hand, and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. This was it. Several weeks of preparation, of blood, sweat and tears, and we were here at last. I pushed everything that preoccupied me lately out of my mind - my broken heart, my pain, my fears - and focused solely on surviving whatever we were about to find around the bend. Slowly, we approached the tip of that point. We reached for our talismans and said our final prayers. I kissed my old flintlock, then my cross for good measure. Our fates lied in God's hands alone, now.
We passed that rocky tip and...
My stomach turned painfully in my gut. The waves lapped at a wide expanse of sand, covering it with white mist. There was grass beyond the beach and endless blue skies. Gulls and other sea birds swerved with the wind...
But there was no Urca. The bay was completely empty.
"Check our position," Flint commanded, only barely containing the panic in his voice.
"This is the course," de Groot replied with stone cold certainty.
"Well, check it again!"
"Captain--" the helmsman insisted. "This is the location you requested."
Flint scoured the bay, his breath shallow and quick, but no matter how he searched the water, no ships surged up from them by miracle. Around me, the crew was silent with disappointment... and anger. This was not what he had promised us. He said he would make us rich. He said he would make us strong. The princes of the New World. He promised all our suffering would be worth it.
And yet... here we were, with nothing to show for it. All those weeks of hard work, all those sacrifices, the lives lost in the pursuit of this one galleon, had all gone down into the gutter in the blink of an eye.
As Flint marched past all of us and shut himself in the great cabin, all my thoughts went to Billy. I couldn't believe he had died for nothing. That despite all our efforts, we somehow had missed our prize, or maybe she never set sail from Havana at all, or her captain took a last minute course change as a precaution. Maybe we never had a single shot at taking the Urca because it just wasn't meant to be, in which case... In which case, it really was all for nothing.
I grasped desperately at the barrel of my rifle and fought to contain the tears. Damn Flint. Damn Silver, to whom I would keep my promise to gut him regardless of the reasons why the Urca wasn't where it was supposed to. But above all, damn me for believing in Flint and for being so blind to the fact nothing was more important than the people I loved. It was just as much my fault that we were all here as it was Flint's. I was just as much to blame for Billy's death, as well. I should have listened to him, taken the Walrus and fled when he still could.
"Mr. de Groot." I heard Dufresne call. "Signal the Ranger. Tell captain Gates to come over as quickly as he can."
"No need." Logan said. When I turned, I saw him standing over the rails, hands cupped above his eyes. "I can see them launching a boat. He's coming."
***
In a matter of minutes, Mr. Gates was coming aboard. His face was pale in the bright morning sun, eyebrows knit so tight his forehead was full of deep furrows.
"Where is he?" He immediately asked Dufresne.
"In his cabin. He hasn't come out since we entered the bay."
"Christ." Gates sighed and pushed past us. "Dufresne, Constance, with me."
I traded a surprised look with Dufresne, baffled as to why he was asking for me to tag along, but neither of us questioned him. For once, Gates didn't bother knocking; he pushed the cabin door wide open and waltzed right in.
Flint stood at the far end behind his desk, facing the windows. He neither turned nor even moved in reaction to our presence. Only said: "Shut the door."
Since I had entered last, I did us the favor and stoond guard next to it.
Gates stepped up to Flint's side. "What the hell is going on? Where's the Urca?"
"I don't know," the captain responded. "I checked the maps, checked the schedule. She should be here. She must be here."
"And yet she's not," Dufresne pointed out with a note of tension. "Clearly, the schedule wasn't accurate, maybe it never was."
It didn't escape my notice he was deliberately keeping his knowledge about Silver's deeds secret. Who knew how Flint would react if he were to realize exactly how many people knew the truth, as well as who told them.
"There could a hundred reasons why she's not here," Gates retorted - but this time, there was something different about his posture. He was less confident, less... willing to defend Flint. Like he was finally losing all faith he had left in him or the possibility of conquering the Urca. "The schedule might have been altered at the last minute. Maybe she's late because of the storm. Maybe she never even left port."
"Whatever the case--" Dufresne adjusted his glasses and crossed his arms over his chest. "We need to devise a new plan and fast. To say the men were disappointed with this turn of events is an enormous euphemism. I don't know how much more they can take."
Gates looked to Flint, who hadn't moved an inch. "Captain? What's the plan, now? What do you want us to do?"
The other didn't immediately reply. I noticed with a pang of fear that his hands were shaking. Though he was trying to appear cool and composed, it was taking all his self-control to keep his temper in check. This wasn't how things were supposed to go and he was not reacting well.
At last, he slowly turned on the heels of his boots and leaned on the desk with his fists. His eyes furiously scanned the maps, as if he could will the paper and ink to reveal the Urca's whereabouts. "The schedule indicates the Urca is to stop to take on water here before setting out to Spain. If it's not here, it must be somewhere close. St. Augustine is days away from this point, so... We send scouts along the coast and search for her. When we find her--" He looked up to meet Dufresne's stare. "And we will find her, we go to her meeting and form a new attack plan once we know more. Think you can convince the crew to go along?"
"Constance can," Gates said.
All eyes snapped to me, making me want to crawl into a hole and never come out. So that was why he had wanted me to come.
"Given her personal losses, she has more cause than most to want to turn around and go home... or see you hang. They will listen to her. If she says she is still willing to try and find the Urca, they will follow."
I pursed my lips, internally squirmed at the thought of continuing this ruse. Again I traded a look with Dufresne, who watched me most carefully. I wished I could confer with him in private because as far as I was concerned, the Urca business was finished. Or maybe I was finished with it. I just wanted to go home.
But then... I thought about Mr. Scott and the Andromache's captives. They were counting on me to free them and for that, I needed my share of the treasure and Billy's. I owed it to them to try.
Flint's eyes bore deep into mine. "Can you do it, Constance?"
I nodded in agreement. God, I hated how dirty I felt.
"I suppose we should go make our case, then. Captains..." Dufresne exited the cabin and I followed, shutting the door behind me.
"What do you make of all this?" I inquired him in the short seconds we had before stepping outside into the main deck.
"I think it's worth a shot," he admitted. "But the men aren't going to like it. Antsy as they are already, I'll be surprised if they even take this plan into consideration."
I let out a long breath. "Then I better do a good job convincing them they should accept it. In case you can't."
Dufresne reached out a hand to hold my arm. "Wait. Before we go, I wanted to ask if you're comfortable doing this."
Under different circumstances, I might have lied. I might have made an effort to let him know I was comfortable enough doing it, that I believed in it, that my heart was still set on capturing our prize and I wasn't being pressured into manipulating the men. But I was so tired of lies, tired of going against my own values.
"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Was all I murmured. "You want that gold. So do they. Hell, part of me still wants it too, if only to keep a promise I made back home. If it weren't for that, I would vote we bring the old girl about right now and be done with all this."
"I'd like to think there's always a choice," he replied with a scrunched up nose. "Though I have an inkling you won't believe me."
"That hasn't been my experience in a while, no." Sometimes, you needed to do things you didn't agree with to achieve certain goals. Whether they were worth the sacrifice in the end or not, there lied the difference. And it also depended on the feasibility of those goals. For example, in this instant, I hadn't the vaguest hope of locating the Urca. Still... it wouldn't hurt to look, would it? "I appreciate the sentiment, even so."
"It's a complicated situation," he assented.
"At least if it doesn't pan out... Without Gates' support, Flint can't force us to push through into danger. That should serve as some consolation, aye?" I chuckled.
“Right, about that...” He sighed, glanced over his shoulder at the closed cabin door and lowered his voice: “Do you really think he's going to turn on Flint? The others expressed some doubt about it. He assured me he would not interfere with the trial, conviction and execution, but one has to wonder, after all these years defending him... Old habits, y'know?”
I nibbled on my lip and pondered on how much I should say. The ship had ears everywhere and I didn't want anyone to know what was going to happen before it was time. I decided to be safe and go with the bare minimum so I leaned in to whisper: “He's going to deliver you a document soon. Wait for it. Then you'll know whether he's committed or not.”
Dufresne was intrigued, no doubt wished to ask more about what I meant, but in the end he simply nodded and said nothing more of it.
At last, I glanced outside to our expectant crew. "All right... let's do this."
Dufresne adjusted his spectacles. "Let's."
Side by side, we marched out there and stood together at the center of the open gun deck. The others gathered around to listen, so we waited until we were all assembled to present the new plan.
"Gentlemen," spoke Dufresne. "We are all, understandably, quite upset at the situation we currently find ourselves in. I just conferred with captains Flint and Gates to decide our next move and they asked me to present you with a new plan, see what you think of it."
"What fucking plan?" Folsom shouted from the main mast starboard shouts. "The Urca isn't here! What's Flint going to do, make a little dance and conjure her to appear out of God's arse?"
Several voices rose up in agreement. We were expecting resistance, so Dufresne wasn't put off by the rigger's vulgar display.
"Captain Flint believes the Urca is somewhere in the vicinity. The schedule points to a stop to re-supply before crossing the Atlantic in this location, but it's possible last night's storm simply blew her off course. In that case, we propose putting together two teams to search the coast and hopefully find her, and from then on, we adapt our previous attack plan according to the conditions. Simple as that, no risk attached. From my calculations, our stores can last us at least a week of searching before we have to start heading home, which should give us plenty of time."
"It's a waste of time."
The crowd parted at the stern to let Mr. de Groot pass. His fists were closed tight at his sides, the only indication of the anger boiling behind his stone face. "How do we know this won't become another Andromache? How do we know Flint won't just make us sail up and down the coast searching for the Urca until either our stores run out or a guardacosta spots us and sinks us? How can we trust that after this plan fails we won't be all shoe-horned into another, and another, until we are all dead?"
I stepped up to Dufresne's side and put my hand on his shoulder for permission. He nodded and moved aside to offer me the center stage.
"Because this time captain Gates is in agreement that if we do not find her, then it's over. For good.”
That made them pause and exchange looks of bewilderment. Taking advantage of their silence, I pressed on:
"Look... we are all tired and grieving. We all know what Billy meant to our Mr. Gates. Losing him put things under a new perspective. Frankly, with the way things have been going... Even I will admit I am losing faith in our success. After everything I've lost for this prize, I have enough cause to want to give up and go home this instant. But... I'm not ready for that just yet. I've worked too long and too hard to give up now. I have plans for my share of the gold that I still think are worth one last try. Besides... I think of Billy, of Lars, of Morley... they gave their lives for this and although I know they wouldn't want us to get ourselves killed for their sake, I think I want to give this thing one more shot before calling it quits. But that's just my opinion. What say you, brothers? One last ditch effort for our comrades and ourselves, and if it doesn't work out, then..." I shrugged, smacked my hands on my thighs. "We go home. If it would appease you, I volunteer to go out and look for the Urca. Would be much faster and easier if others were to join me."
The men grumbled some whilst looking around to see who would dare volunteer. Many of them agreed with de Groot that it was a waste of time, but I think the majority was moved enough by my speech and my example to be persuaded into approving the plan.
"You want us to search for an entire week?" Logan intervened. "I've seen the stores, it's a stretch to say the least. We risk having to port somewhere for supplies and being identified."
I crossed my arms and gave it some thought. "You're right, it's too long. How about five days?"
"Still too fucking long," O'Neill groaned at my left. "Surely if she's as close as Flint thinks it won't take that long to spot her."
"I agree," Luca quipped. "Three days at most."
"One day is enough waste as it is," said de Groot, and the others made their agreement known.
"Two days then," Dufresne proposed. It wouldn't please Flint, but it was better than nothing, so it would have to suffice. "Two days of search and on the dawn of the third day, we raise anchor and leave. Does that seem fair?"
They thought about it for a minute or two and at last gave their go-ahead. However, no one else volunteered to join me in the search, so to avoid compulsory picking from the quartermaster's part, I asked: "Who would like to join me on a nice camping trip through Florida, in that case?"
"I'll go," said Dufresne. "It's only fair, after all."
I nodded and scoured the crew. "Anyone else?"
There was a moment of hesitation, until Thierry stepped up. "I'll go, as well."
Next, it was Joji who presented himself, mute as always. Folsom and Kensington offered their services, too. And so did Sayeed, our lookout. That made us eight. If we split up into groups of four, it just might be enough to comb the coast for a few miles.
"Very well, then." Dufresne cleared his throat. "Gents, thank you for your cooperation and your patience. Let us hope for some luck. We convene at the launch in one hour for departure, bring only the essentials, like water, food and medicine. We travel light and fast. That is all."
The crew dispersed, minus de Groot. He marched up to us and urged us into the sickbay so we could talk in private. As soon as the door was shut he whirled around, obviously unsatisfied. "I think we should try Flint immediately. Right here and now."
My eyebrows arched up at such a blunt statement. And I wasn't alone in my astonishment.
"Beg pardon?" Demanded Dufresne.
"I maintain my argument," the helmsman insisted, and that was when I noted something different in his eyes. They were illuminated by an intensely vengeful fire I had never thought him capable of. "I told you the cook's information wasn't reliable enough and here's my proof! There is no Urca here at all. We were led into a fool's errand with devastating consequences and every moment you spend out there searching serves only to offer the captain another chance to evade the reckoning he's got coming. I say no more. When we make landfall, we should try Flint and make him pay for his crimes, not a moment later."
"Keep your voice down," Dufresne hissed. "Mr. de Groot, I understand that you're angry, but we agreed we would try Flint once the money was secured and distributed."
"That was when there was still any money to distribute, which clearly there isn't anymore."
"You don't know that for sure."
"They will have their justice," the quartermaster pressed, patience running thin. "But not yet. The men opted for one last try at what they were promised. The dead don't get precedence over the living."
De Groot narrowed his eyes and shook his head in disappointment. "Do you truly only care about the gold, Dufresne? Really? I never pegged you for someone so weak of character as that. What would Billy say?"
Dufresne's expression turned cold, skin paling up in the dim light coming from the hatch behind us. "Don't talk to me about Billy, Mr. de Groot. Don't forget I am still quartermaster, so my word is final. We will not be trying Flint until we are absolutely certain the Urca is not here. Is that understood?"
Watching the two of them argue, I said nothing because honestly? I was deeply conflicted, torn between my duty to my crew, my desire to return to Nassau and my promise to Mr. Scott. I stood aside and leaned on the operating table with my head hung low, tried to convince myself that pressing on was the right path for everyone while everything in me screamed to support de Groot.
"And you, Constance?" De Groot said, turning to me. "Do you really believe what you said out there? That you're not ready to give up? Do you still think there's a chance to find that galleon or have you simply become another one of Flint's puppets? Is the gold really that much more important to you than avenging Billy?"
"Mr. de Groot." Dufresne called out sternly.
"Let her speak for herself." I could feel De Groot's stare on my nape. "You swore you would never lie to us or any of the crew again. So I ask: is the gold more important than your principles?"
My hands gripped the table until the knuckles turned white. With a voice choked by the roiling emotions in my gut, I said: "It's not about the gold for me. It's about what it can get me. There are people back home counting on me to use that money to help them. And I still believe we can save Nassau from invasion with it. I know you don't agree with me on this matter, but I fear for her, for our way of life. I do want justice for Billy and the others." I pushed off the table to face my friend despite the hot prickling in my eyes. "I loved him more than words can describe, so don't you dare accuse me of disregarding his death or anyone else's. Dufresne is right: the dead don't get precedence over the living. This is not an either or situation. We can get the gold and justice. All we're asking is for a little patience."
Defeated, yet still stubborn, de Groot sighed through his nose and flicked his eyes between Dufresne and I. "Very well, then. I see I am to be ignored and out-voted yet again. I wonder who else gets to die before you finally see that I'm right."
When he abandoned the room, he slammed the door so violently I thought the timber might shatter. Neither Dufresne nor I bothered to say anything. From both our points of view, there was nothing else to say. So, in heavy silence, we too left the sickbay to find Gates and Flint and relay the news.
We found them both near the helm. I let our quartermaster do the honours.
"Captain, after an inventory of our stores, the men have assented to your plan. Provided we find a suitable place to land the Walrus, you'll have two days to send out scouts and hopefully locate the Urca. Given their mood, I'd say we were lucky to get that much."
As expected, Flint wasn't pleased, but lacking any better options... "Do it, then." And the captain retired to his cabin.
Given that I felt no need to dawdle and would rather get ready to go ashore before I could change my mind, I too excused myself to help steer the ship further into the bay. I was halfway up the port side shrouds when Logan's thunderous voice called out: "Sails! To the south!"
I stopped my climb, heart kicking into my throat with wild hope. I couldn't see shit with our own sails in the way, so I crawled onto the platform and stood next to Folsom, who luckily happened to have a spyglass with him. Out there, cut against the misty horizon, I could just make out the glare of white sails in the sun.
"Can you see it?" I asked whilst I cupped my hands over my eyes.
"Just barely. It's big, s'all I fucking know for the moment."
"Give it to me."
Folsom put the spyglass in my outstretched hand and I took a peek. Three masts... Square rigged sails... Red crosses... Big, like my friend said, but not quite as fat as a treasure galleon should be.
"Well?" Folsom urged. "Is it her?"
My heart withered with dread. I could see a Spanish banner at the aft, but more importantly, I also counted over sixty guns on that ship. Which could only mean...
"No..." I whimpered as I let the spyglass drop from my widened eyes. "It's a--"
"Man-of-war!!" Logan announced far below us. "She's a man-of-war! Spanish banners!"
"Fuck," Folsom hummed in muted panic. "Fuck! It's a fucking guardacosta!"
"Aye, and in this wind she'll be right on our asses before we can say "we're fucked.""
"Which means it's time to go." He whistled at the other riggers and start signalling for them to get ready for the order to flee. "All of you, get into position! Now, you shits, no time to waste wanking off! Move!!"
I returned the spyglass and scurried back down to lend a hand in our escape. However, when I looked toward the Ranger, I was appalled to see her raise the black. Why the hell were they raising the black and exposing themselves?! We're we also hoisting our banner--
The Ranger fired two shots, one after the other. The Walrus shook violently, causing me to yelp and nearly lose my footing. I could feel the iron balls fly past with a wicked wisp as I fought to hang onto the rat lines.
In less than a second, panic seized me in a vicious grip. My mind filled with fog until all I knew was fear. My blood rushed through my veins, drummed loud in my ears. The deck sank away from me fast and though I knew it was only a few meters from me, it still felt like it was miles away. It became harder to breath - I could hear myself wheeze and struggle to take in air, but my lungs refused to work. Flint had once warned me, long ago, that fear would tuck itself in the darkest corners of my brain and strike when I least expected it.
When the center of my vision field started to go black, I knew I was in trouble. If I fainted on the shrouds, high or low, I would fall and break my neck on the rails, or drop into the sea and drown. And this time, Billy wasn't there to help me get down. I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped onto the lines with everything I had, forcing my thoughts toward him, trying to imagine what he would have told me in this situation were he still alive.
Breathe, Constance. You're all right, just breathe. Don't mind what's below you, just hold on and breathe. You can do this. You're the bravest woman I know, remember?
Little by little, I started sucking in air again. Keeping my eyes shut, I tried to convince myself I was safe by rubbing my thumbs on the hemp of the lines and toeing up and down on them. I was safe. I was safe as long as I maintained a firm grip.
My heart rate slowed. My skin, cold and hyper-sensitive, regained its warmth. I risked taking a peek through my lashes and refused to look down, kept my eyes pinned to the horizon. The blackness dissipated. I took a tentative step down, then another, until my boot thumped on the railing.
That's my girl, I heard Billy's voice say with pride, and even if it was only in my head, I had to smile. As I continued to hold onto the shrouds, just in case my knees buckled, I brought a hand to the necklace I'd made for him, which I now wore in his honour.
"Thank you, Billy," I whispered. Even in death, he still had found a way to save me. Like he was never truly gone.
Once I felt confident enough to let go, I jumped off the rails and tried to find some useful employment. Logan happened to cross my path, so I went after him. "What's the plan, Logan?"
"Fuck if I know!" He burst, cheeks red beneath his beard. "Flint said to drop anchor and ordered the Ranger to mock fire at us."
"He... what??" I stood in his path to make him stop. "Why?"
"That's what we'd all like to know!"
I shook my head with a frown. "I don't understand, he means to fight that man-of-war?"
"I really fucking hope not, but that's what it looks like, so get ready to die, I guess!" And with that, he pushed past me. I searched the crew for Dufresne and found him with de Groot by the helm. I ran up the highcastle ladder to meet them.
"Dufresne!" I called out over the confusion of running feet and men shouting over each other. "What the hell is going on?"
"Flint ordered the Ranger to raise the black and shoot over our bow!" He was looking about as stressed as the rest of us. "My guess is he wants to lead that ship to believe we are a merchant vessel under attack and lay a trap for her."
"Jesus Christ," I huffed. "Even with the Ranger's help, our chances of subjugating that warship are slim to none! And for what?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," he replied despondently.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Where is he? And where is Gates? We have to put a stop to this and get out of here while we still can."
"They're in the cabin, arguing." De Groot nodded to the quarterdeck. "You could hear them all the way out here, for a while. At least Gates seems to have finally seen reason."
Dufresne leaned in close to me and murmured: "I have the document you spoke of. Let's see how this goes, and then... One way or the other, Flint is finished. Are you in?"
With any chance to still win the Urca dead in the water, I had no reasons left to delay a trial any further. Back in the shrouds, when I was right in the middle of a panic attack, I had remembered a conversation Flint and I had had in that same cabin. Of all people, it was he who had taught me to conquer fear. He had taken a risk by accepting me into the crew when no other captain would have. That still meant something to me, of course it did... But I didn't owe him my life for it. And as for my loyalty to him, it had died along with Billy. Directly or indirectly, he was lost to me because of Flint and his plans.
Had I not paid enough for my loyalty?
"I'm in," I stated. I allowed that familiar cold indifference, which I had nurtured in order to maintain my sanity after killing, to swell. Let it fill my very being, gave it essence with regret and guilt. Flint would be tried and die for his crimes, and I wasn't going to waste a single tear on him, nor a second feeling pity for how all this turned out.
Chapter 8 of A Girl, An Ocean fanfic: coming: June 2!!
Also sorry for the radio silence, I've been a bit all over the place all month trying to set up new routines I won't give up on after one week until I find work.
Here is an article from NPR about it (May 22, 2026):
Carolina Milanesi, an independent technology analyst, said Google is trying to make its cash cow business — search — richer and more personalized, and it will make shopping easier. But there is a risk that users may have fewer choices about what to click.
"Right now it's: I ask a question, I get a bunch of answers and I feel that I'm in control as to which answer I take, or if I'm looking for something, which product I'm going to end up buying. That is going to be less so going forward," she said.
Milanesi envisions AI-enabled search and agents proposing products to consumers — perhaps even those they have requested — but with less clarity or choice around where it's coming from.
"If you're going to say: 'I want a pair of Jordans, go find them,' you're not necessarily sure what steps have been taken and whether the AI has used a source or a store that was paid for and therefore came up in the search results," she said, "or if AI actually went and did their due diligence and picked the best for me as a customer."
And here's one from Time magazine (May 20, 2026):
While Google already has “AI Mode,” the company will now power the whole search bar through its new Gemini 3.5 Flash model.
Instead of the classic list of blue links, Google Search will now also generate a custom page with an AI-generated summary of what you’re searching about, which will then trigger a conversation with AI Mode on the main page, allowing users to ask follow-up questions—similar to the kind of layout you would see when opening ChatGPT.
And a little more from Time's article on how this may affect the websites that we are trying to search for:
When Google first started implementing AI-assisted results, news publishers warned of “catastrophic” impacts on the industry, much of which relies on Google search to drive users to their websites.
Last year, news websites saw significant traffic declines as chatbots increasingly replaced Google search as the primary way to find sites and ask questions.
Small businesses also noted drops in traffic to their sites from Google, which has traditionally delivered customers.
Lily Ray, vice president of SEO strategy & research at Amsive, a digital marketing agency, warned as early as last year that Google’s planned changes to search are “going to have a devastating impact on the Internet.”
“It will severely cut into the main source of revenue for most publishers and it will disincentivize content creators who rely on organic search traffic, which is millions of websites, maybe more,” she told Technology Magazine.
Legolas pretty quickly gets in the habit of venting about his travelling companions in Elvish, so long as Gandalf & Aragorn aren’t in earshot they’ll never know right?
Then about a week into their journey like
Legolas: *in Elvish, for approximately the 20th time* ugh fucking hobbits, so annoying
Frodo: *also in Elvish, deadpan* yeah we’re the worst
i mean, honestly it’s amazing the Elves had as many languages and dialects as they did, considering Galadriel (for example) is over seven thousand years old.
english would probably have changed less since Chaucer’s time, if a lot of our cultural leaders from the thirteenth century were still alive and running things.
they’ve had like. seven generations since the sun happened, max. frodo’s books are old to him, but outside any very old poetry copied down exactly, the dialect represented in them isn’t likely to be older than the Second Age, wherein Aragorn’s foster-father Elrond started out as a very young adult and grew into himself, and Legolas’ father was born.
so like, three to six thousand years old, maybe, which is probably a drop in the bucket of Elvish history judging by all the ethnic differentiation that had time to develop before Ungoliant came along, even if we can’t really tell because there weren’t years to count, before the Trees were destroyed.
plus a lot of Bilbo’s materials were probably directly from Elrond, whose library dates largely from the Third Age, probably, because he didn’t establish Imladris until after the Last Alliance. and Elrond isn’t the type to intentionally help Bilbo learn the wrong dialect and sound sillier than can be helped, even if everyone was humoring him more than a little.
so Frodo might sound hilariously formal for conversational use (though considering how most Elves use Westron he’s probably safe there) and kind of old-fashioned, but he’s not in any danger of being incomprehensible, because elves live on such a ridiculous timescale.
to over-analyse this awesome and hilarious post even more, legolas’ grandfather was from linguistically stubborn Doriath and their family is actually from a somewhat different, higher-status ethnic background than their subjects.
so depending on how much of a role Thranduil took in his upbringing (and Oropher in his), Legolas may have some weird stilted old-fashioned speaking tics in his Sindarin that reflect a more purely Doriathrin dialect rather than the Doriathrin-influenced Western Sindarin that became the most widely spoken Sindarin long before he was born, or he might have a School Voice from having been taught how to Speak Proper and then lapse into really obscure colloquial Avari dialect when he’s being casual. or both!
considering legolas’ moderately complicated political position, i expect he can code-switch.
…it’s also fairly likely considering the linguistic politics involved that Legolas is reasonably articulate in Sindarin, though with some level of accent, but knows approximately zero Quenya outside of loanwords into Sindarin, and even those he mostly didn’t learn as a kid.
which would be extra hilarious when he and gimli fetch up in Valinor in his little homemade skiff, if the first elves he meets have never been to Middle Earth and they’re just standing there on the beach reduced to miming about what is the short beard person, and who are you, and why.
this is elvish dialects and tolkien, okay. there’s a lot of canon material! he actually initially developed the history of middle-earth specifically to ground the linguistic development of the various Elvish languages!
Frodo: *frantically scribbling* Hang on which language are you even speaking right now
Pippin, confused: Is he not speaking Elvish?
Frodo, sarcastically: I dunno, are you speaking Hobbit?
Boromir, who has been lowkey pissed-off at the Hobbits’ weird dialect this whole time: That’s what it sounds like to me.
Merry, who actually knows some shit about Hobbit background: We are actually speaking multiple variants of the Shire dialect of Westron, you ignorant fuck.
Sam, a mere working-class country boy: Honestly y'all could be talkin Dwarvish half the time for all I know.
A Girl, An Ocean {A Black Sails fanfic} - S01, Ch. 07 (Part 2)
Fandom: Black Sails
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Heavy suicide ideation, one suicide attempt, mentions of the transatlantic slave trade and slavery in general.
Characters: Billy Bones, James Flint, Hal Gates, protagonist OC, supporting OCs
Relationships: Billy Bones/OC, Hal Gates/OC (paternal), Max/OC (friends)
Additional tags: Original character-centric, first person POV, canon character x original character romance, self-discovery journey, canon compliant, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting sweetness, cute but also sexy, angst galore, found family, Hal Gates has two children now, canon typical violence
Series: Part Two of Six of A Girl, An Ocean
Chapters: 7/8
Summary: It's the last day before departure for the L'Urca de Lima. The crew tries to reel in from the loss of their boatswain and move on, but Constance cannot. Unexpectedly, the secrets created by Flint start to pour out and put the whole job and a crew mate's life in danger.
Author's note: It's been nearly a year since I wrote this chapter for the first time and upon re-reading it, omg. Omg it hurts. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa........
Chapter vii.
Part ii.
In order to catch a cat, you need three things: a cage, bait and a healthy dose of patience.
I first went to see an old buccaneer who had settled in Nassau ten years ago after he'd gotten sick of looking at the same detestable folks he had once camped with for twice that time. Or so went the rumor. Either way, he now worked as our local trapper, so he sold me a sturdy cage made of reeds he had built himself and offered advice on what type of bait I should use.
Next, I visited the fishmonger and bought two pairs of decent sized mackerel to serve as bait (and dinner). Lastly, all I needed was a horse and I was off to the beach.
There were still signs of our presence there when I arrived around eight bells in the afternoon. On our rush to chase the Andromache, empty buckets of tar and various working utensils had been left behind, as well as chucked barnacles. The uprooted trees and cut rope we hadn't used for the bonfire remained where they fell and the large charred spot filled with burnt wood was also there. Thankfully, the tide had washed Morley and Randall's blood away.
I dismounted my horse and tied him off to one of the palms that had survived the careening. Given I would be spending quite some time there, I removed the saddle, the cage and the fish, which I left nearby on the sand. I began to trek along the beach.
"Betsy!" I called out at the top of my lungs. "Betsy! Here, kitty kitty kitty!"
Between calls and pauses to listen out for a yowl, I took a 200 yard lap in the hopes she would be close enough to hear me. There was no answer though, which I had expected. Maybe the smell of a cooking meal would coax her out of her hiding spot.
Back at the abandoned camp, I lit up the bonfire using dried out palm fronds as kindle, then prepared two of my mackerel to be skewered over the flames. My cooking skills weren't anything note-worthy, but after two days with nothing to eat except for mice, I doubted Betsy would object to some bland tasting fish. I sat down by the fire, removed all of my gear but for my pistol (you never know who might be around) and waited. There was the very real possibility the cat had been crushed too, yet I refused to entertain that notion, as it was too distressing. She was somewhere on that beach, I was certain of it.
As I turned the fish and let the hour drag past, my head began to labour by itself. Without something to entertain me, I couldn't fight off all the memories I had been keeping under lock and key in a dark corner of my mind. Given this beach had been the site of a careening, obviously I recalled that time Billy had saved me from falling. That stupid prank almost cost me my life, but he had scaled the Walrus and climbed back down with me like it was nothing. He hadn't even hesitated.
Billy had always been selfless and generous to everyone, but I knew it was especially so when it came to my person during that time I had been sick and he had insisted on taking care of me. All day he worked, then at night he would come to relieve Jean from duty and stayed with me until dawn. I felt a shiver go through me despite the Caribbean heat, just thinking of his fingers brushing through my hair in an attempt to make me feel better.
Then he planned a surprise birthday party because he cared that much about me. I had been truthful when I'd said no one had ever done anything similar for me. In England, birthday parties were an occasion to form political alliances and prospect potential suitors for my parents to marry me off to when I came of age. They were lavish banquets and balls, but never so warm and fun as that one had been. It was the best party I had ever attended in my life - if for nothing else, because it had led to our first kiss.
God, that kiss... It had been everything I had dreamed of, and I had dreamed of it plenty. I didn't linger on that memory. Instead, I forced myself to remember my first time over the side, how I had saved Billy from being killed by a man thrice his size. Later, he had told me he had enjoyed seeing me go all feral to save his life. And then I found out Jean had died and he was the one there to comfort me.
I so loved being hugged by him... Whenever he did, pressing me to his chest while his hands rubbed my back, I felt safe and cared for. I would never forget what it was like to be held by him that day we saw the whales, when I almost dove after them and he had to grab me out of the rails. That was the day I discovered Billy might have romantic feelings toward me. That and when he had gifted me that beautiful blue and red pashmina scarf.
My hand went to my waist but all it found was the fabric of my shift and my gun belt. The scarf had been sent to the laundry that morning and wouldn't be ready until the following day. The tear I could fix on my own, but it was difficult to wash that much blood out of such a delicate wool. The idea of departing for the Urca without it was too painful. Billy had given me that scarf as a token of his affection for me. It was all I had left of him. So as long as I carried it with me, it was as if I carried a little piece of his love. It was the only consolation I had to help me cope with his loss.
Maybe Gates was right when he'd said I should stay. Out of wits as I was, I would certainly get someone killed. Or myself. Although... that wasn't such a bad prospective, in my opinion. Thinking like that filled with guilt. I had to consider Gates' feelings. He'd said it himself: he couldn't bear to lose me so soon after losing Billy. And there were all my friends, too - Mr. de Groot and Bjorn; Max, Charlotte and Idelle; Folsom, Thierry, Luca and O'Neill, Logan, Muldoon, Sayeed, Joshua...
My brothers. Could I cause them the same suffering I was going through? It felt unfathomably selfish and unfair. And even so, my own pain was too much to endure. I wanted it to stop, to feel nothing, yet at the same time I dreaded the day I might not feel it anymore because that will have meant I was forgetting Billy. I didn't want that to happen. Was this how I was fated to live, then...? A husk of my former self, always on the verge of emotional despair, trapped in this limbo between wanting to heal and needing to remain heartsick? An eternity in hell seemed like the better option, in comparison.
At six bells, long after I had eaten my share of the mackerel and the remainder had gone cold, the sun began to approach the horizon, casting long shadows on the sand. Still no Betsy.
Lord in heaven, could she really have perished in only a couple of days? Or had she really been crushed and her little body washed away without anyone noticing? Oh, that poor cat. I didn't want to believe it, but it had been hours. I rubbed my eyes when I felt them sting with a fresh batch of tears. What was I going to tell Randall...?
I decided to wait until seven bells and then I would head back. I gave my horse some water from my satchel to drink before the journey, then removed my boots to collect some sea water into one of the many buckets lying around. I drenched the horse's back to help him cool down. Although I had left him in the shade, his brown fur still steamed under the cool water. I too was suffering in the oppressive heat after such a long time spent near a fire, so I returned to the sea to dip my feet and wash my face.
As the waves lapped over my feet, my head fell into a kind of daze. It wasn't relaxing, per say; more like it was drifting off, pulled out with the current. Small fish gathered around my ankles to nibble at my skin, yet I paid them no mind. My eyes fluttered closed. My hands held my arms as I wished for the embrace of another. I bit my lip as I recalled how it felt to be enveloped in Billy's hold, with such clarity it almost seemed real. But I knew it wasn't real. And it hurt.
In my life as a pirate, I had endured many forms of pain, so I could say, without a shadow of a doubt, that this ceaseless throbbing in my chest was the worst of them all. It was like hooks slowly pulling my heart apart. Like being flayed alive by a dull blade. Like my soul was being extricated from my body with red hot pokers.
"I'm trying to be strong," I whispered to the ocean, wishing it would carry my words to my lover across the horizon, across time and space, unto the island of the dead where he waited for me. "I'm trying to find a way forward, like you would've wanted me to. But it's hard. It's so hard... If only I had some proof that Flint had a hand in your demise, I could at least focus on avenging you. But... That wouldn't bring you back, would it? So what's the point, really? What's the point of anything, anymore...?"
In return, I only received the sound of crashing waves, blowing wind and crying gulls. I sighed and held myself tighter.
"It's not fair, what you did. You should have asked me if it was all right to do it. You should have given me the chance to do the same for you. I know that, had I been the one who fell and you were standing here right now, I too would have wanted you to know I wished you all the best and to go on without me, be happy, find love again, be at peace." I chuckled humorlessly. "I know... I'm such a fucking hypocrite, huh?"
My breath caught in my throat, but I pushed the words out anyway. "I'm sorry, Billy... I'm sorry, but I don't think I have the will to carry on. I should have protected you and I failed. I should have gone after you to the beakhead the second I saw Flint follow you. I knew something terrible would happen, yet I turned my back anyway. I left it all to chance when I should have looked out for you... You paid the price for my poor judgement and now I'm standing here, all alone with my broken heart and... And all I can think to do is swim out to sea and let the current drag me down."
By this point, the tears ran freely from my eyes. They dripped from my chin to mix with the sea.
"I try to think of all the friends I would leave behind, of how devastated Gates would be, but it does nothing to soothe my pain. How am I supposed to go on pretending everything is all right when it's not? You're gone and I was left behind, a-and it wasn't supposed to be like this. I'm not s-strong enough to survive losing you... Forgive me... Forgive me, Billy... God, I love you...! I love you so much, and I sh-should have told you so when you were alive. I should have told you so many times... I just want to see you again... I'm sorry..."
I started walking out, leaving the beach and all I knew behind. The waves rolled and crashed into me without a care, completely indifferent to my suffering or my intentions to let them claim me. The sea didn't care. Her tides swelled and ebbed in an infinite loop, but there was comfort in knowing that regardless if it was right or wrong, she would not try to convince me to turn around. She would not judge me. Like a loving mother, she would only open her arms and embrace me into her bosom. I was scared, I won't lie. After all, no one knew what truly awaited us at the end of life. My only hope was that the All-Forgiving God and my lord Jesus Christ would see the love and grief in my heart and bring me to Billy Bones despite my sin.
The water was up to my waist. It drenched my clothes until they felt heavy as coils of rope around my shoulders. It was warm and calm, so inviting. My hair floated in inky wisps around me. I would swim out as far as my body allowed me, pretend to be a true mermaid like I used to do as a girl. And then, once I was too tired to continue afloat, I would let the water pull me down and swallow me whole.
It would only hurt for a moment... Only for a moment. Then I would fall asleep and when I woke up... he would be there, pull me into his arms and I would never let him go again.
The water line was almost at my shoulders. It was getting difficult to keep my feet on the bottom. Soon, I would lose it entirely, then I would be at the sea's mercy.
Just one more step and that was it.....
Behind me, I heard a high pitched yowl.
The whole world came to a stand-still. Though really, it was merely the force of my shock playing with my perception. I twisted around, practically fully submerged - and there was Betsy at last, trotting eagerly to the bonfire with her tail in the air. She knocked the cold mackerel down on the sand and devoured it with greedy bites.
"Betsy..." For the first time since we had returned home, I grinned wide and joyous, my hurt momentarily forgotten. I swam back to shore unimpeded, arms stroking and feet kicking, then ran once I was out of the surf. "Betsy!"
The cat spared me one wide eyed look and continued sucking up the cold fish. Her white fur was covered in mud, with thick clumps in some places, and she ate with the appetite of a tiger. I dropped on my knees, clothes and hair dripping everywhere. I reached out to pet her, but she dashed away from my touch like she didn't know me.
"No no, it's all right," I whispered. Betsy observed me with distrust and apprehension, not that I could blame her. She had spent days in the wilderness all alone, obviously going hungry. Her survival instincts where likely on high alert. "It's me, girl. It's Constance. See...?"
I held out my hand and waited for her to come to me. She sniffed my fingers for several seconds and gave them a gentle lick, but the hunger was too much to ignore. She turned her back with a chirp and finished her food. When I went to stroke her back, she arched up into my touch and started purring. She had finally recognized me.
"You poor thing... out here all alone. Oh shit, you must be so thirsty." Slowly, I stood up and went to my things, abandoned by the dying bonfire. I brought my canteen to the cat just as she was finishing the last bits of white meat, quickly washed the sea water from my hand and poured the fresh liquid into my palm, which I held in a conch. "Here... C'mere, sweetie."
Betsy stared at the water with interest but approached cautiously. I carefully poured some more so it wouldn't sprinkle and she started licking it like she had never quenched her thirst in her life. Even after it ran out, she was still licking it from my fingers. When I picked her up and put her in the cage, she barely protested.
"I know someone who's going to be very happy to see you," I told her.
As I removed my clothes to wring them out and let them dry on the spit Silver had used to cook, I couldn't help to smile at Betsy's timing. Just as I was getting ready to depart from this world... she had to turn up and keep me in it. I couldn't well leave her there without bringing her back to Randall, could I? A promise is a promise. The same thing had happened that morning with Gates. It was like... Like someone was watching over me.
A gentle breeze, kind as the touch of a lover, blew back my hair and caressed my cheeks.
Live for me.
I closed my eyes and smiled. "You absolute bloody bastard..."
I was a little frustrated, no doubts about it. But... If this was Billy doing everything he could to keep me alive, then in a way, he had never left me. It wasn't the same - it would never be the same as hearing him or smell him, touch him. Might just be enough to give me the strength I needed to make it one more day, however.
"Fine..." I sighed, one last tear rolling from the corner of my eye. "You win. But you better be there when my time comes or else I will be very, very upset. And you know how dangerous I am when I'm upset."
I put my semi-dry clothes back on, mounted my horse with Betsy's cage on my lap and rode back to town at a leisurely pace.
Just as promised, I arrived when the sun was beginning to touch the horizon. Dufresne, de Groot and Howell were still there in the kitchen with Randall, but Silver was nowhere in sight, which worried me. Had they decided to string him up...? Or would they wait for my return before calling council to present the case?
One thing at a time, I thought.
I dismounted the horse and approached the group with the cage in tow. The three men stared at it in disbelief.
"Holy mother of God," breathed Howell. "She actually found the damned cat."
"Told ya." I gave his arm a soft punch and went to Randall, who sat with his head hung low. When Betsy yowled, desperate to leave the cage, he perked up and flared his nostrils.
"Boots...?"
"The one and only." I crouched by him and opened the cage to let Betsy out. Randall picked her up with a tremulous smile and held her close.
"My little Betsy," he snuffed, then proceeded to cover her in kisses whilst his palm stroked her fur in long passes that got her to purr loudly. "Where were you, aye...? My baby girl..."
I allowed a smile to tug at my lips. He looked about as happy to have his kitten back as I would have been if... I shook my head and banished the thought before it made me cry again. "I'll go get her some water. She's quite parched."
But when I started to get up, Randall did something none of us could have expected: he grabbed my hand and held it tight. He looked at me with honest-to-God warmth, something he had never done before. He was always so distrustful of me, like I was the devil incarnate. Now, he contemplated me as if I were an angel from Heaven.
"Good luck," he rasped with the softest, most naive smile I'd seen on his worn out features.
For a moment, no one said anything or made a move, just stared at him slack-jawed. Soon enough though, I was overcome by this wave of emotion that burned me from the inside out, so intense that my face scrunched up to try and contain it. I was so moved by Randall's change of heart about me. All I had wanted was to bring him back his pet. Seeing him rejoice after being reunited with Betsy was payment enough for my troubles. This... This was unnecessary, and yet exactly what I needed to hear.
"I don't know, Randall." I gripped his hand back tight and used the other to wipe my cheeks. "I think you might have been right before, actually. So many bad things have happened these past weeks..."
Randall pointed at my chest. "You have a good heart. So you're good luck." His face grew somber and, in a lowered voiced, he added: "Billy was luckiest for having you."
Goddamn it, why did he have to go and say that?
I sobbed into my palm, but at least made an effort to breathe and make it stop. I was surprised to find I was able to achieve that, with some effort. That was when I realized: this was the point. My crew needed me. My friends wanted me in their lives. Mr. Scott, Eme and the Andromache's slaves were counting on me.
These people were my life-line. I could find the will to live for them. They would keep me from sinking and, in return, I would be to them the defender that Billy was. That was how I would keep his memory alive.
I held Randall's hand in both of mine. "Thank you, friend... You've helped more than you know. I'm glad to have brought Betsy back to you. Take care of her, aye?"
Our former cook nodded and went back to spoiling that cat rotten. Meanwhile, I went to get a bowl and filled it with water, which I brought back for Betsy to drink from. As our group watched Randall's elation, Howell leaned close to me and asked: "Why go through all this trouble over an animal? We considered her dead, already."
I took in a deep breath. "Because she's not just an animal. She's Randall's cat. She's important to him in ways that defy logic. I guess I... can relate. He might have been voted out, but he will always be part of the crew. He's will always be one of us and we look after each other."
De Groot placed a hand around my shoulders and gave me a very gentle shake. "Billy would have been proud of you. He taught you well."
I swallowed a lump in my throat. "You all did, Mr. de Groot."
"And speaking of Randall being voted out," said Dufresne. "There was an unexpected turn if events. Randall sort of changed his mind, I guess you could say, and Silver offered to be his caretaker while we are at sea. We agreed it was an acceptable outcome, for all parties, given the... unpleasant alternative."
“Oh.” I raised my eyebrows at that and even smiled a little. “That's... That's great.”
Silver must have managed to get inside Randall's head, I thought. Convinced him to drop the thieving accusation in exchange for re-integrating him into the crew. It was quite the feat, considering the scrambled mess in Randall's skull. Silver seemed to have this gift for reading people like open books, it was downright occult. It also made him a lot more dangerous than he led on. I would have to keep a close eye on him at all times. Still... Silver got to live, Randall got to stay on the Walrus and we could go on with the Urca job after all. Things could have been a lot worse than that.
"And now that this issue is resolved..." Our new quartermaster turned his attention to me. "Perhaps it's time we discuss the core of it all: Flint's treachery."
He stared at me and I at him in a silent match. He was daring me to come clean and tell them the truth, effectively trapping me: either I told them or Dufresne would. Fortunately for him, I felt it was high time for the lies to be brought to an end, even if it would cost me, so... I told Howell and de Groot everything.
"You and Billy knew?" De Groot muttered gravely. "This entire time?"
Feeling smaller than an ant, I hung my head and nodded.
"Jesus Christ above." Howell rubbed both hands down his face. "So Flint essentially murdered Singleton?"
"He did," I said. "And Gates, Billy and I helped to cover it up."
"What about Morley?" De Groot asked, eyes wide with understanding. "Was he also killed for stoking up resentment?"
"Not as far as we know. Gates and I turned it over and concluded the situation was too chaotic for such meticulous planning. Too much was left to chance for it to be premeditated. But Flint did pressure us to careen on that beach, which you yourself spoke up against."
"That first day, when we spoke outside the camp..."
I nodded firmly. "I told you I believed the Scarborough wouldn't be the only British warship coming to the Bahamas, remember? That I thought it was the right choice to careen on that location against your recommendations. I maintain my part of the blame for Morley's death, but it was Flint's idea in the first place."
"And yet you defended him when he risked his life saving Randall," Howell reminded us, with no small amount of irritation. "You kept his secret. You propped him up. You convinced us that following him was a good idea."
"I did," I admitted, unable to look any of them in the eyes. Their disappointed glares and accusatory tone made me shrivel and I wished I could disappear somewhere, run away from all their judgement. Yet at the same time, I knew I deserved to feel terrible, that they were right to chide me and punish me. "I... I thought I was doing the right thing. We both did. For the crew and for Nassau.”
Dufresne frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"
I forced myself to look up. "Richard Guthrie is a fugitive of the crown, now. The Scarborough came here to arrest him. Had captain Hume succeeded, Nassau would have fallen within a day, leaving it ripe for reclaiming by England. We don't have the means to defend ourselves from a full scale attack, and the Scarborough's presence seems to suggest one is coming and it will be soon. Those of us who don't perish in the carnage will be tried for piracy and strung up soon afterwards."
"But Nassau did not fall," de Groot pointed out. "It came close, from what I was told, but it's still standing."
"Thanks in large part to Eleanor Guthrie's ingenuity and Captain Hornigold's steel nerves. But that doesn't change the fact that the town is severely outgunned and out-manned."
Howell shook his head and raised a hand in a "hold on" gesture. "What does that have to do with the Urca?"
It was de Groot who answered. "After dividing it among the crew, Flint plans to use it to fortify Nassau, prepare her for a siege, buy weapons, train every able-bodied man for combat." He glanced at me, lips pressed into a line. "Assuming he means to split our fair share and not just take it all for himself and his schemes."
Dufresne pulled out his spectacles and turned them over in his hands, eyes shut while he thought. "And this is how you justify protecting him? And lying to us? You were shielding us from a threat that might not even exist?"
I recoiled like he'd stung me with a large needle. "I... I did believe it to be genuine enough. But even if it doesn't happen now, we're still vulnerable. I don't want to see our home sacked and burned to the ground."
"Why didn't he just tell us that?"
"Would you have believed him?" I turned to Howell. "Would you? Would they?"
"Then why didn't you?" Dufresne countered, his voice just a notch louder, angrier. "Why didn't Billy?"
"I told you, we were going to and then he died!"
That word echoed through the camp, a verbal gunshot that stunned all three into silence. For once though, I felt no tears prickling my eyes. Still, the painful stabbing sensation in my heart was as strong as ever. It was enough to make me shudder and let out a frail breath.
"Billy found a letter on the Andromache. It was from Flint's woman, from the interior - Mrs. Barlow - petitioning for a pardon for Flint in the Massachusetts colony. I don't know to which extent he was aware of its existence, but to Billy it was the last drop. He tried to bring it up to Gates, but he ignored him. So we decided we would take it up to council when we got back and we would confess our crimes to expose Flint. But then... Then he fell and..."
They exchanged a look among them. "Constance--" said de Groot. "Do you think the captain had something to do with Billy's fall?"
I snuffed hard and shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. I wouldn't put it past him after Singleton. Maybe he heard us talking about it, maybe he learned about the letter being found. Maybe it really was an accident. Without evidence, witnesses... God only knows." I straightened up and looked each of them in the eyes. "Either way... From the start, Billy had been punishing himself for lying. It was destroying him from the inside out, I could see it. He was right to want to tell everyone the truth. We never should have protected Flint like that, regardless of the reasons. I'm really, truly sorry for lying and letting things get this far. I'm just as much to blame for every disaster that befell us thus far and I will spend the rest of my life repenting for that. Forgive me..." Just then, I remembered the last thing Billy had said to Logan and dipped my chin. "When you tell the others, I will gladly submit to judgement and accept whatever outcome."
I stood in silence and waited. At first, there was no reaction. When I glanced up, I saw the three men exchange a look, then Howell nodded and Dufresne said: "We aren't going to bring it up to the crew just yet, actually. All of us have agreed we are not ready to relinquish that gold. Given we have already worked so hard for it, that simply makes no sense. And, as you so eloquently put it days ago, we owe it to all we lost in the process to claim that prize."
"But once it's done," spoke De Groot. "Once the money is secured, stored and distributed evenly... Flint will die. No arguments about it. No protests. Justice must be made for those men who died because of his lies. Now that we know what it cost him to go along with it, I believe I may speak for everyone when I say we owe it to Billy in particular."
Dufresne nodded, his brow clenched tight over his eyes whilst he inspected his spectacles and put them back on. "He was a good, close friend to all of us. A brother in soul, if not in blood. Accident or not, he died following the orders of a tyrant. That... That I can't look past."
Howell gave me a melancholic look. "And he was your love. Regardless of what I said or how upset I am at these revelations, it pains me to see you so sick with grief. More than justice, you're owed vengeance."
My fists balled up tight at my sides. I had to bring them up and around my sides to stop my hands from shaking. "Thank you, Dr. Howell... Please believe me when I say I really thought I was doing what was right. I made a terrible mistake not telling you and shall never do so again. You have my word."
Our surgeon came forth and placed both hands on my shoulders, giving them a firm nudge so I would look up at him. "I believe you and I forgive you."
"As do I," Dufresne told me with a smile.
"I, as well," stated Mr. de Groot.
With a shudder of pure relief, I realized that I was truly the luckiest woman in the world. No one could have ever asked for a better crew, better friends... Or a better band of brothers. I didn't deserve them after what I had done, yet they accepted me with open hearts again and again.
How I miss them so, some days.
***
With the matter of Randall's keen hearing and the Urca hunt put to rest, there was nothing left to do but wait. Which meant the one task I had been avoiding at all costs since we had landed could be forsaken no longer.
One would think, as I stood at the door to the tavern and hesitated, that I was preparing to enter the Roman coliseum to face death in single combat for the entertainment of a crowd. In a way... that scenario seemed like the easier trial, compared to what awaited me at the inn. Despite the tropical heat, my skin felt cold as ice. I forced one foot inside the door, then the other.
Like always, the patrons of Nassau were agitated and drunk stupid even as the night was still settling in. However, as I snaked through them toward the stairs, I noticed a shift in the mood - not merry and careless, though there was still some of that going around. The word on everyone's lips was "consortium". Nobody knew what to expect of the new operation Eleanor Guthrie had set up practically overnight after her father washed his hands of Nassau. Still, thanks to Captain Hornigold's blessing, people seemed to be... open minded to the idea. The fact they lacked any other good options probably helped.
Leaving all the racket and gossip behind, I ascended to the first floor and walked down the hall. My heart hammered in my throat, drumming so loud in the quiet it was a miracle the walls didn't vibrate to its mad rhythmn. I stopped at the second door to the left. Pulled out the key. Took me a couple of tries to fit it in the lock, my hand shook so much.
At last, I got it opened and stepped inside the room I once shared with Billy.
Someone had changed the sheets and lit the lantern at the bedside. The table was tidy, its three chairs tucked underneath it. The wooden tub was empty, the cream colored paper screen was shrunk down against the wall. Everything was exactly as it should be, yet the room felt hollow, cavernous, unwelcoming. Here, more than any other place, I felt Billy's absence more sharply than ever before.
Fighting back the swell of emotion in my chest, I approached the trunk at the end of the bed and opened it. My clothes and Billy's were still in there, folded together side by side, the only evidence now that he had ever existed. I reached for his white linen shirt, still stained with tar, sand and other dirt. He hadn't had the chance to send it to the laundry. I brought it to my nose and inhaled deep.
It still smelled like him. Sweat, sea salt, hemp, wood... and him. Sitting against the trunk, I allowed myself a few minutes just taking in that wonderful scent and imagining I was resting my face on his chest. Surprisingly... it calmed my broken heart, like an ointment on a fresh burn. The smell wouldn't last long, though. It would fade away in days, then he would be truly gone from the world.
I should get rid of them before then, I wondered. Maybe it would be easier that way. Wash them and give them away, or burn them.
The mere idea was enough to send me spiraling again.
Even so, I knew these were only clothes, just... pieces of fabric, leather and thread. They had once belonged to my love, but he was no longer there to wear them. And yet, his essence was embedded into them. Disposing of them felt akin to throwing away his significance, what he had meant to me. I couldn't... No. I couldn't.
And neither could I stay in that room by myself. It reminded me too much of the joy and ecstasy I had shared with Billy. I would find no rest in there. I threw the white shirt back in the trunk, shut it and locked the room behind me before leaving the inn.
Back to the camps yet again, it was fully night time when I settled in a very small candle lit tent with an even smaller cot. It wouldn't be as comfortable as the bed in my room, but at least I might get some sleep without being constantly reminded of what I had lost.
Sat on it, I pulled out the note the keeper had delivered me at check-out. It was from Mr. Scott, informing me that most of the captives of the Andromache had been taken care of by Eleanor Guthrie, and providing the names of those who remained as well as the cost for their freedom. With Billy's share of the Urca and my own, I could easily pay for them at least five times over.
I left my tent to go borrow paper and a quill from Dufresne and was just finishing writing my reply when Mr. Gates called out from beyond the canvas walls.
"May I come inside?”
"Go ahead," I replied.
He pushed the cloth aside and stepped in, looking more tired than I'd ever seen him. He glanced around the confinements of the tent. "A little bird told me you had moved here. Couldn't stay at the inn, could you...?"
"No..." I returned my attention to my note so he wouldn't see my eyes. "It was... too much. Too many memories..."
"I feel the same," he sighed. "Everywhere I look... there's something that reminds me of him. I keep expecting to turn around and find him coming in my direction with that stern look on his face. He was always so serious, that lad. Until you came along, he barely allowed himself a moment to relax. Well..."
I frowned while signing my name, then set aside the paper to dry. "That's what it was like to me... After Jean died."
Gates smiled sadly. "Strange thing the mind is, isn't it?" He searched for some place he could sit, but there really was nothing beyond the cot and a few boards of driftwood serving as an end table for it. He settled for sitting cross-legged on the sand in front of me. "Anyway, I wanted to come check on you. De Groot told me you've been to the beach where we careened to search for Randall's cat."
After taking a deep breath, I pulled up my legs and wrapped both arms around my knees. I kept my eyes on them as I spoke. "I'm all right. Had some time to pause and reflect on things while I was there, actually. I found a way to use Billy's share of the treasure."
"Oh?" Gates straightened up with raised eyebrows. "Let's hear it, then."
"I'm going to buy the Andromache's slaves's freedom. Most have already been helped by Eleanor Guthrie at Mr. Scott's behest and I promised him I would take care of the rest. I hate the idea of selling them like cargo, especially after they helped us. It's inhuman."
He nodded slowly and hummed. "I'm glad for that and I think Billy would have approved. But, uh... what are you going to do with them afterwards?"
I picked up the note and folded it up. "I have a contact who will help me with that. More I can't say, Mr. Gates. I don't want to compromise their liberation. Just know they will be taken care of."
"I understand," he said in a soft tone, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He watched me as I stood up, paid Kensington (who just so happened to be the first crewman I saw when I poked my head out) to deliver my note and sat back down on the cot. Then, he told me: "I confronted Flint this afternoon. About what happened to Billy."
I stopped and stared at him, a little surprised, I confess. Part of me had cruelly assumed Gates would go on doing Flint's bidding without question and never bring it up again. "And how did it go?"
The quartermaster's face soured. "Not well, I'll tell you that. He told me... that Billy fell because I didn't address his concerns properly. That instead of being focused on doing his job, he was getting paranoid about Flint and that's what led to him going overboard." He shook his head, pinched the bridge of his nose. His broad shoulders sagged, like the weight of the accusation was crushing him.
I felt a twinge of shame in my gut at the sight. In a way... I had accused him of the same, hadn't I...? And he probably thought we were right, since two people hurled the blame at him back-to-back. But he wasn't the one to blame. It was unfair on my part to blame him for Billy's death and it was outrageous of Flint for doing the same, he who was most to blame for it.
I slid out of the cot to kneel in front of him and reached out for his hand. "Mr. Gates, I... I shouldn't have pressured you like that nor made you to feel guilty, either. You are not responsible for Billy's demise, not one bit. Flint is. I'm sorry for making you think so, I'm so sorry. I've been so wrapped up in my own grief, I forgot you are also mourning. You, on the other hand, have always been there for me without fail and I am so, so grateful for that, all right? I'm not angry at you, I never have been. Forgive me for hurting you like that..."
"Oh, my dove..." Gates enveloped my hand in both of his and squeezed it tight. "You had every right to being frustrated and sad. I've been through this so many times now, lost friends and loves enough times to know what to expect. It's all right. Don't you worry about me."
"But I do," I sniffed. "You've never lost a son before, have you...? I can't imagine what you must be feeling. What I've put you through on top of that. I acted like a selfish brat and I'm sorry..."
"Shhh..." He put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in for a hug. "No more apologies, Constance. Please. Let bygones be bygones. I know you care beneath all that sorrow because you have a heart too big to be focused only on yourself. You just needed a proper outlet, that's all."
While he patted my back and swayed me back and forth, I allowed the warmth of his embrace to soothe my pain and console me. Not for the first time, I mused on how this was the way a father was supposed to be: present, understanding and kind, instead of distant, judgemental and cold. I hadn't felt this comforted and wanted since my Grandparents were alive. I had forgotten how nice it was to have an older, wiser figure in my life to tell me everything would sort itself out and guide me through life.
"I thought about what you said this morning," I murmured into his shoulder. "In the office. About staying behind, tomorrow. I've decided that I want to go. I have to go. I need to make sure we win the day. Without this crew... Without this crew, I have nothing to live for. It is thanks to them, to you, that I still have any wish to go on, so I have to do my part and that means sailing with you tomorrow to take the Urca. Besides..." I cracked a feeble smile. "Who will make sure those idiots don't get themselves killed if I'm not there?"
Gates' chest rumbled with a chuckle. "You have no idea of the relief you just provided me. That is very good to hear, indeed."
I pouted my lip. "I'm sorry for worrying you so much, Mr. Gates..."
In response, he pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, which washed me with untold happiness, made every muscle in my body relax and my soul feel much, much lighter. "I only ever mean you well and wish for your happiness. If I can help you find it again, I will be right here. Aye?"
I rubbed my sore eyes with a smile just a touch wider than before. "Aye. Thank you... And you know that if you need someone to talk to, I'm here as well, don't you? I think... I know Billy would have wanted us to support each other while we go through these dark times, instead of butting heads over things that ultimately don't matter."
Gates returned my smile with his own, though I noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I think you're right." He then smacked his palms on his knees and stood up with a mild complaint. "Well... Get some sleep. We leave tomorrow at six bells sharp. Don't be late."
"Aye aye, Captain Gates." I saluted him and everything, which at least got him to snort. "Have a good night."
"Good night, my dove. Rest well." He brushed the tent door aside and disappeared into the night.
Alone yet again, I sat for a while staring at the cloth wall across from me. Without thinking about it I stood, stripped off, used a somewhat clean rag and soap to wash the sea salt from my skin and brushed my hair. But...
When I reached into the trunk to pick up my night shift, my eyes lingered on Billy's clothes. The wound in my heart began to throb and burn again while images of his smile, his sapphire blue irises, the sound of his laughter, all filled my head. I reached for the shirt he would use to bed instead when we were on land and slipped it over my head. Like at the inn, the smell of him calmed me. I wrapped myself up in the fabric, let the sleeves engulf my arms and hands comically and felt my lips pull into a very thin smile. It wasn't the same as being held by him, but it was close enough.
Before getting to bed and attempt to get some sleep, though... there was one more thing that was tugging at the back of my mind. The idea had occurred to me while we were still at sea, when I had spent all day prior to landfall curled up in Billy's hammock, crying, and I hadn't had the strength to really consider it until then.
I turned and studied the leftover paper and the inkwell. What would I even write to them...? How do you break the news that your son, who had been missing for a decade or more, was dead? Billy hadn't wanted to tell his parents he was still alive and maybe... maybe I should respect his wishes, even in death. But I knew in my heart of hearts, writing to them was the right thing to do. They deserved to know what had become of their son, as well as what kind of man he was. God willing, it would give them some closure and help them find peace, even if he was now truly lost to them.
But how would I contact them? Without an address, there was no way for me to send them a letter. Billy had told me he hailed from Kensington, but they might not be living there anymore. I didn't even know their first names. My spirit deflated at that realization... until I remembered my cousin, Bernie.
The last time we saw each other he had given me an address to a garrison in Port Royal, where he was stationed, in case I needed his aid. He would have contacts back home, people who could find a Mr. and Mrs. Manderley from Kensington whose son had gone missing as a child. It was a long shot, but worth the try. And if it didn't pan out, then... One day I could go find them and tell them in person. If I was even alive, by then.
“My dearest cousin,
This is Constance. Forgive me for the subterfuge, but I do not wish to take any risks in having someone inadvertently learning who I am. I am writing to you to request a favor.
Enclosed, you will find an additional letter for a couple in Kensington, Mr. and Mrs. Manderley. A few days ago, their son, one of my crew, was lost at sea. His name was William, though among us he was known as Billy Bones. As a child, he was snatched from the street by press gangs, leaving his parents behind without word of his fate since then. I would like to send them this letter to deliver the news of his passing, but I don't know their first names nor have an address to write to. All I know is that they might be in Kensington and that they were political levellers at the time. Would it be possible for you to use your contacts to find them and give them my message?
I beseech you, cousin. Billy was very dear to me. I loved him as a woman loves her husband and so I feel duty bound to tell his Mother and Father what befell him. Will you help me?
With all my love and eternal gratitude,
Constance”
This letter was somewhat easy to write. Straight to the point, quick, with little room for hesitation. The one after that proved to be much harder. I had to stop writing several times and start over as I struggled to phrase what I meant in a way that satisfied me. I discarded three drafts before I finally found the right words. Halfway through the letter, I had to pause yet again to get a hold of my emotions. Even so, a few drops ended up staining the paper, though thankfully they didn't land on the drying ink. This is what I wrote:
“Dears Mr. and Mrs. Manderley,
My name is Constance Tilly and I was a close acquaintance of your son, William. I suppose you could say I was his wife, if not on paper then in every other aspect.
There is no easy way to deliver these news, so I beg your forgiveness for being blunt. It is with deep regret and a broken heart that I inform you that your son has passed away on the morn of April 3th, 1715. I am so very sorry for your loss.
You may be wondering, as it is natural, why he never went to see you, wrote to you or otherwise contacted you all these years. Please know that it was never for lack of want, nor because he bore some kind of ill will toward you. As you might have suspected, Billy fell victim to press gangs when he was a boy and forcefully conscripted into the royal navy. For three years he served as little more than a slave and will spare you the details of his suffering during this time. One day, his ship was attacked by pirates under the command of Captain James Flint.
If this name strikes anguish in you, do not be frightened, for despite Flint's reputation for violence and bloodlust, this attack turned out to be Billy's salvation. He was given a choice: join the pirates and be free, or remain indentured to the navy. He chose freedom. As to why he didn't contact you immediately afterwards, it is a complicated matter. You see, when he decided to crew with Flint, Billy murdered his commanding officer as an act of revenge for all the horrors he was put through. That was the first time he killed a man, but wouldn't be the last. In our world, one must do things that are morally deplorable to civilized society in order to survive. It is kill or be killed, simple as that. This is why he never reached out to you: he was too ashamed of the things he had done since he joined Flint's crew to face you again.
However, I wish for you to know that regardless of these less than ideal circumstances, he thought of you often. I can only hope that, through my influence, he at least considered the possibility of writing before the end, so you would know he was alive and well.
This being said, there's nothing more for me to say except to tell you a little about the man your son grew up to be. He was not perfect, but he was good. He was the best of us. He was the bravest, kindest man I knew, loyal to a fault and utterly selfless, beloved by all who knew him. Though he was taken from you too soon, he somehow remained honorable and integral, carrying with him a strong sense of justice. He fought hard for the rights and interests of his crew all his life. You may not have raised him long, but it was clear that what little goodness you instilled in him was strong enough to last into adulthood. I hope knowing you raised such a wonderful man despite his trials and tribulations brings you some comfort. He was a great boatswain and eventual quartermaster to us, and an even better friend.
This crew was his family and he died in the service of that family. Billy was always ready to sacrifice himself for others, even at the expense of his own well-being. I told him this often and did my best to look after him when he was too stubborn to take care of his own needs. We lost him at sea whilst evading a navy ship and despite my best efforts to save him, I failed. For that, I am truly sorry. Our crewmen loved him like a brother and he is dearly missed, but to me personally, your son was everything. He was my mentor, my friend, my comfort in hard times and my joy in the better days. I only knew him for little more than a year, but I loved him with everything I had.
For this, I must thank you. Thank you for bringing such an extraordinary, loving person into the world, for he blessed every day, every minute of my life since I met him. Forgive me for not pressing him more to contact you. It's not fair that I got to be with him in his final hours and you had to spend a decade wondering whether or not he was alive.
That is what led me to write this letter. You deserve to know your son was happy and healthy, that he was loved until the very end and that he lived and died free, on his feet instead of his knees, as a man should. On behalf of the entire Walrus crew, I offer you our sincerest condolences. We did our best to cherish and protect him while we had him.
Yours truly, in grief and sorrow,
Constance Tilly”
I must had read and re-read that letter dozens of times. By the time I folded it up along with my message for Bernie, I felt empty, finally worn out by pure exhaustion. My eyelids felt heavier than my heart, for a change. I blew out the blankets, got under the blankets and curled up on my side in the cot, holding the sleeves of Billy's shirt close to my face so his smell wouldn't fade away. As my mind began to shut down and I felt myself drift off, I whispered:
"I promise I will live for you. I promise I will see justice done for you. And I promise I will take care of the others in your absence. I will be their rock, as you once were. I'll find a way to make you proud, Billy... so that when we meet again, you can smile and welcome me with open arms. I love you... I will always love you... always..."
XXVI. When you told me this was to be, I was upset by the thought of having lied to Anne. I was devastated by the certainty it would unavoidably lead to her death. For the moment she realized that Jack was not there, that she had been crossed, and that she would likely never see him again, she would attempt to kill anyone she deemed responsible. Eight? You could have sent a thousand men. It would not have deterred her. And now you are saying to me that she knew she had been crossed and chose to walk away to save herself?
