[detailedart]

Detailedit: Ajuscha, by Franz Xavier Kosler (1864 - 1905).

[violaobanion]

ATONEMENT (2007) dir. Joe Wright

[galfrmraq]

moodboard for a girl, a ocean by @corvuserpens

[corvuserpens]

A Girl, An Ocean {A Black Sails fanfic} - S01, Ch. 07 (Part 1)

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 i.

Most people are scared of the ocean. To a certain extent, I can understand such a primordial terror.

The sea is vast, deep and mysterious. She hides creatures that could be the close kin of mythical antediluvians, many of them hungry for warm human flesh. The raw power of her currents is undeniable, invincible, all-consuming. When she decided she wanted you for her own, there was nothing you could do to escape. It was no wonder then that so many ancient civilizations worshiped her as a god and prayed to her, made offerings to appease her fury before venturing into her expanse. Hearing that sailors and pirates were afraid of the sea they depended on to live, ironic as it may seem, was not uncommon.

What most people didn't realize about the ocean though, was how peaceful she could be. How loving. Below the surface, there was quiet like no silence above could provide. All there was, was the static of the moving waters and little else. Here in the Bahamas, those waters were warm in the same way I would imagine those of a mother's womb must be. With closed eyes, I let them rock me back and forth gently as I counted the passing minutes on one hand. I tucked my pointing finger into my fist, marking minute four, my personal record. My lungs remained relaxed, so on I floated, slowly drifting further out.

Since we had returned to Nassau, I couldn't stop thinking about Billy. Every place I went to reminded me of him. I had memories of us spending time together all over town, so even taking a small stroll triggered a thousand flashbacks that caused me pain where once there was joy. I had barely slept since the funeral, hadn't eaten anything, didn't have the guts to go up to the room we had shared at the inn to recover our belongings. My face hurt from crying. Every step I took in that island was agony.

Being underwater was the only way I knew to stop and reset, find some quiet, calm my roiling, grieving soul. My imagination conjured up the picture of Billy floating across from me, just an arm's length away, his shirt billowing around his torso as his necklaces waved in the undulation. He was watching me with his sea blue eyes, smiling. I wouldn't dare open my own in fear of breaking the illusion. It was too soothing to resist.

Only problem was... this was a very short, temporary solution to my sorrows. Sooner or later, I would have to re-surface for air, where my life would be waiting to resume. If only I could breathe underwater. I would remain like this, suspended in the waves, for a day, a year, an eon. Maybe I would never return. Maybe...

My lungs began to constrict, the early warning to start swimming up. I closed both fists tight and stayed where I was. What if I simply didn't go up? What if I were to let the sea claim me, then guide me to my lost lover? It would be so easy. All I would have to do was let my diving belt drag me down, sink to the sandy bottom and allow the water to rush in. It would be scary, at first. It would hurt for a minute or two, and then... It would be over. My crew mates who had almost drowned once or twice told me it was like falling asleep. Didn't sound so bad.

Please don't, said Billy's voice, a mere echo in my mind. Please. Don't do this, Constance. I want you to live. Live. Live. Live....

Through the haze of the lulling waters, something heavy plunged into them, which prompted me to open my eyes. A rock about the size of my head quickly sank to the bottom, leaving behind a trail of bubbles. What the fuck?

Up there, I saw a silhouette of a large man rippling on the surface, clearly leaning over. I blew out some of the air in my chest in a sigh and pushed upward. So much for my plans to let go.

I broke the surface with a gasp, sputtered seawater and rubbed my eyes so I could look at whomever was calling. It was Mr. Gates. He watched me intently with concern. I was sure he had come specifically to interrupt my diving, stop me from doing something crazy. Frowning, I swam to the rocks he stood on and hopped onto them to sit.

Since the morning prior, I seldom had a moment to myself. Had to sneak away from the others to come and dive, in fact. Luca and O'Neill must have deduced where I had gone to and tattled on me, damn the fools. Even so, if any of them feared I was planning on endings things, they never mentioned it.

With slow, cautious steps, Gates made his way down and stood over me whilst I removed the weight belt from around my waist. Neither he nor I made a case for my under-dressed condition, with only a strip of cloth wrapped around my breasts and breeches to cover my legs.

"Hello Constance," he greeted, voice grave with trepidation. I was starting to really hate this new habit people had developed of walking on eggshells when they were near me. "Dufresne and I need to talk to you. Would you mind coming back to town with me?"

A deeper frown pressed my eyebrows together while I wrung the water out of my hair. What in the world did he and Dufresne, our unanimously appointed new quartermaster, have to say to me? From the look on his face - regretful with a pinch of anxiety - it wasn't good.

"Did something happen?" I asked, although it took great effort for me to scrounge up the energy to care. My emotions had been ground to a fine dust for most of the previous day, and this morning I felt so numb that I doubted much could truly shake me.

"It's easier if you come with me and let us explain," was all he offered.

My body slumped from exhaustion, just thinking about whatever it was I was about to face. "Fine," I bristled, then slipped on my boots.

A quarter of an hour later we were back at the barracks, in a shack that functioned as a study of sorts. It was where Dufresne kept his books and where we archived our documents. There was a desk for working, furnished with all of a scribe's utensils. I sat across from it while Gates stood at my right.

Dufresne pulled out a log from the shelf behind the desk, opened it and turned to the page he needed. He adjusted his cracked spectacles and looked up to me.

"Constance... Well, first of all, let me formally present my condolences for your loss. I mean... it was a loss for the entire crew, but as we all know, you and Billy had a special connection and I can't imagine what it is you're going through right now. I'm sorry. That said..."

There was a pause while he tried to think of the best way to present whatever situation that needed addressing. He placed the open log on the desk and turned it around for me to read.

"About a week ago, before the careening, Billy came to see me. He asked me to draw up a document that stated all his funds, belongings and goods in his name would be passed onto you in the eventuality of his death. This includes his share of the L'Urca de Lima's treasure. Essentially, his will. This..." He tapped a finger on the page. "Is that document. He had about twenty hundred and fifty seven Spanish dollars in his name, plus a small house not far from here which he purchased recently. They're now yours to do with what you will. Mr. Gates served as witness, as you can see here."

At the bottom of the page, two signatures that I recognized as Billy's and Gates' respectively were scrawled across the paper. I stared at them, impassive, though on the inside I was screaming.

Gates spoke up next: "When Billy realized the danger we were facing, he wanted to make sure that whatever happened to him, you would be taken care of. The house isn't much, I'll give it, needs a little love and care, but it's close to the beach and sturdy. From the way he talked about it, I think he wanted you two to have a space of your own, away from the crew. Somewhere you could retire to, call home. He was going to fix it up and furnish it, make it a surprise. Well..." A shrug.

I continued to stare a the log. Gates was wrong. It wasn't the Urca job itself that Billy had been worried about. It was Flint. He feared, as did I, that his digging into the captain's secrets would eventually lead to an outcome like this, so he took precautions. However, I couldn't discuss that with Gates freely, at least not in Dufresne's presence. Not that it mattered much to me, anymore. What did I care if everyone knew just how cold and manipulative Flint truly was?

But that wasn't what occupied my mind, in that moment. Frankly, I was shocked and appalled that Billy had gone behind my back like that, even if it was for my benefit. I felt hurt. Angry. Above all... I felt this terrible sadness, like I had swallowed ice cubes. He wanted me taken care of... Like he was responsible for my well-being. Like I was his wife and he my husband sent to war. Like he... Like was trying to tell me from beyond the grave what I already knew about him: he wanted me to live, even if he couldn't be here for me anymore.

God damn it all.

"I don't want it."

Silence.

"Beg pardon?" Dufresne said.

I hung my head and let my damp hair fall in thick ropes around me. "I don't want it. Any of it, not the money and not the house. Nothing."

"But... Billy willed them to you," he insisted, clearly confused. "He meant for you to have them, no one else."

"I don't care!" My voice cracked from the sheer strength it took me to contain my emotions. I could feel my entire frame quiver, like a house of cards about to collapse. "I'll donate it to the crew. Spend it on repairs, supplies, wh-whatever you want, just as long as I don't h-have to keep it."

"Constance... I..."

I hid my face away in my hand with a shaky breath. It was humiliating, how often I would burst into tears, now. The smallest thing was enough to trigger the waterworks, to everyone's embarrassment. No one ever knew what to say to me when it happened, yet I couldn't control it, no matter how hard I tried.

Gates broke the uncomfortable silence by saying: "I'll take care of this, Dufresne. Go on."

Though I couldn't see him, I heard Dusfresne walk around the desk and stop at my side. His hand touched my shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm really sorry, Constance. Truly."

Then his touch vanished and he left the office, shutting the door after himself with respectful quiet. Once he was gone, Gates came closer and crouched next to me. I rubbed my eyes and took in a pathetic, frail breath.

"I'm not refusing it out of a whim," I stuttered. "It's that... no amount of money is ever going to make up for the fact he's gone."

"I know, love." With great cost, I sat up straighter and let my hand drop on my lap so I could look at him, tears and or not. "He should have told me," I whispered. "Should have consulted me, first. Why didn't he tell me anything...?"

Gates frowned deeply and laid a hand on my knee. "He didn't want to worry you. You had so much on tour mind, already. You both did."

I shook my head. "He should have told me, anyway. It's not fair that he got to will me all he had and not let me do the same in return. It's not... it's not fair..."

More tears fell down my cheeks. It was a miracle I still had any to shed, at this point. I searched for my handkerchief and blew my nose into it. The idea of taking Billy's money was so painful, even if I was sure that sooner or later I would think of some way to apply it. I didn't want his fortune, I just wanted him.

"Look..." Gates murmured. "I know that this is difficult to process right now, so why don't you let it sit tight for a few days and then decide what to do about it later, eh? Right now, you need to mourn properly and take some time for yourself. That's perfectly fine. Nobody can blame you. Just..."

He hesitated, removed his hand from my knee to place it on my back instead, so he could lean closer and look me in the eye. "Please, don't resent him for doing what he did. All right? It was an act of love. He wanted to do right by you and trusted you to do some good with his share of the Urca's spoils."

My lip trembled at that. "It doesn't feel that way. It feels like... Like he did this to saddle me with that responsibility so I wouldn't go and..." I turned away, ashamed. How would Gates feel, if I ended my own life? How would my friends feel? Devastated, certainly. They would blame themselves, wouldn't they? It was so selfish, and still... "He didn't have the right to force me to go on living, if I don't want to."

I left out the rest of that sentence: none of you do.

For a long while, neither of us said anything. Then Gates stood up with a grunt and perched on the desk, shoulders slumped and his eyes more tired than I'd seen them. In that instance, Hal Gates actually looked his age. Older, even.

"Maybe it's best if you stay in Nassau while the rest of us go after the Urca," he finally muttered. His stare was pinned on the wall, rather than focused on me. "You're not in the right head space for such a perilous endeavour. You'll still get your share, for your labour leading up to it, and Billy's, of course. But... You need time to get through the grief and recover properly. Leave that big fat Spanish lady to us, aye?"

My first instinct was to protest, say there was no way they would leave me behind while they captured the greatest, most glorious prize any pirate crew had dared to take since Henry fucking Avery, or that I had to make sure that Billy's death wasn't for nothing. But I didn't speak up. Didn't even open my mouth. That part of me - the daring, brave and somewhat insane part - had withered away to embers that struggled to remain lit. A much larger part, full of despair and sorrow, just wanted to lay down and die.

I nodded to his suggestion. Regretted it immediately. I could picture Billy's disappointed pout and felt so guilty for not being strong enough to shake this off and do what needed to be done.

Gates pushed himself off of the desk. "Well... I better go and see to the last preparations. You just rest and take it easy. If you would like to go see the house Billy left you, let me know."

He started toward the door... and then I remembered something.

"Are you going to talk to Flint?" I asked, voice rough as gravel.

His bootsteps on the floorboards ceased. "About what?" He retorted after a heartbeat.

"About what exactly happened to Billy." I turned on my seat to see his reaction. "On the beakhead."

Gates kept his back to me. "He said he fell. They were hanging from the side when the Scarborough's guns hit us. He couldn't find something to hold on to in time."

I twisted my mouth. "Mr. Gates, look at me."

Reluctantly, he glanced over his shoulder, then came fully around so we were face to face. His expression was neutral, a little cold in fact, but I could tell from the way his brows knit together and his left eye twitched that seeing my tear-stained face was affecting him.

"Do you really believe that story?" I questioned softly. "Isn't there a part of you, knowing Flint as you do, that doesn't wonder if there isn't a more insidious explanation for how he ended up in the sea? Billy knew about the Maria Aleyne. He knew Singleton wasn't a thief. He had Miranda Barlow's letter petitioning a pardon for him after he betrayed us and he was planning to call council so he could expose it all to the crew. I know this because I was the one who suggested it in the first place, to resolve an argument between him, Logan and Muldoon. Isn't it so convenient then, that he "fell" just as we were on our way home with the twelve pounders and on the verge of bringing all of Flint's dark secrets into the light?"

Gates' nostrils flared at that hypothesis. His fists clenched. His face took on a reddish tint. But he did nothing to refute my claims, nor tried to defend Flint. He knew there was a chance my theory was correct. He knew what the captain was capable of and against facts there are no arguments.

I stood up to my feet and, despite the mess I was, how broken I felt, I straightened my back and held his gaze firm. "You didn't listen to him when it counted. Didn't take his concerns seriously. And now look where we are. You owe it to Billy to find out the truth." Then, in a weaker tone, I added: "And you owe it to me, too."

The old quartermaster's indomitable stare fell to the ground in defeat. His moustache bristled whilst he tried to keep an iron grip on his emotions, which were as raw as mine beneath his self-control. He shut his eyes tight, nodded stiffly, and abandoned the office.

*** I was a ghost roaming the streets. Aimless, empty. I knew I should be helping my crewmates with the final preparations, as the Walrus and the Ranger would be leaving in the early morning to meet their destiny.

However... no one had insisted on my presence at the beach. Gates hadn't ordered me to work. De Groot told me to go rest and reel up from the loss. Flint hadn't spoken to me at all. I had a feeling they were trying to give me space to recover and I was grateful for their compassion, but that also meant I had nothing to do. Truth be told... I didn't have the energy for it, either. So there I was, dragging my feet this way and that, trying not to think about how much I missed Billy, or the void he'd left in me.

That was when a little boy with ruddy cheeks and dusty clothes ran up to me. He couldn't be older than eight years. "Miss Constance Tilly?"

I stared down at him, stunned, wondering if I knew him from somewhere. "Aye, that's me."

The little boy reached into his little satchel and held out a folded piece of paper. "Letter for you, Miss."

Ah, a messenger boy. There were many running around town delivering mail. Good way to earn a modest but steady income. As soon as I accepted the letter, he ran off to deliver his next batch of messages.

"Wait!" I called out as I reached into my pocket. The little boy rushed back and I offered him three pieces of eight. With wide brown eyes, he stared down at the coins, mouth open in a large "o".

"For your services," I told him. I leaned down with my hands on my knees and murmured: "Don't tell your employer, yeah?"

He raised his big eyes to me, so shocked out of his mind that I almost laughed through the grief.

"Thank you, Miss!" And off he went, all jolly.

I straightened up and examined the letter. No sender, no address, no wax seal. Just my name scrawled crudely across it. I unfolded it.

The message itself was rather short, only a single line written in that same crude, unelegant calligraphy. It read:

Hammund and the others are gone. If you want to see Max, go to the brothel.

A.B.

My breath caught in my throat to the news. The creep and his friends from Vane's crew were gone? What kind of gone? Oh, who cared, this meant Max was free from them! Thank God, some good fucking news.

I stared down at the two initials signed at the bottom. A. B. Could only be Anne Bonny. Thank God for that unfriendly, unpleasant little shite, too. Without wasting another second, I shoved the letter into my pocket and broke into a run toward the brothel.

Business was slow in there, as it ordinarily was in the day time. No one stopped me at the entrance. Charlotte was in the parlor, doing a colleague's hair, and I waved briefly in her direction before bounding up the stairs. I stopped at Max's room and pounded three times at her double doors. Not a minute later, it opened and - there she was.

She looked up at me with extreme apprehension, but then it evaporated from her expression once she took in my still damp hair, the stitches on my cheek, my panting breath. Even with the bruises on her face and her curly hair a frizzy half-done mess, she still looked beautiful.

"Constance," she huffed in genuine surprise.

"I just learned," I huffed. "Came as soon as I got the news."

Max pulled me in by the hand, shut the door and hugged me so fiercely I felt my ribs bend. Didn't matter a thing, for I enveloped her in my arms and held on just as much. She had washed her hair, I could smell the soft herbal soap she used in it. She trembled in my embrace, so I held tighter and even rocked her a little, like a baby. I was so relieved to see her free and safe that I didn't want to let go. I'm not sure how long we stood like that, but I do know that, had she asked, I would have hugged her all night if she had wanted.

"Jesus," I sighed at last. "I leave town for one day and this whole island goes tits up."

"You have no idea," she chuckled. Another minute passed before she braved pulling away from me. "What do you know?"

"That Richard Guthrie made an announcement in front of the whole town that business was essentially finished in Nassau. That captain Lilywhite was within an inch of leading a lynching crowd into the tavern to hang Eleanor by the neck and burn everything in sight. Captain Hornigold protected her, then delivered an ultimatum to lift the ban on Vane in exchange for his blessing on a new shipping consortium? And that's basically it." Hammer had filled me and my group up on the details upon our arrival.

"You know all the important parts, then." Max lead me to the small round table by the doors to the balcony and invited me to sit while pouring us both a cup of tea. "It was chaotic, from what I heard on the beach."

"No shit." I sat across from her and dropped a sugar cube into my cup. "But perish all that. I want to hear about you. What is this about Hammund and the rest of Vane's followers being gone?"

Max stirred her tea and brought it to her lips for a sip. "The official story is that they left for Port Royal. To search for their captain or to move on from here, no one knows."

"Search for their captain? What happened to him?"

"Took a skiff a couple of days ago and left." She shrugged, disinterested. "Didn't say where to. Even Rackham doesn't know."

Well, good riddance, in that case. "All right..." I leaned forward and lowered my voice to a whisper. Brothels had ears everywhere. "What's the true story, then?"

Max matched my volume. "They're dead. All eight of them."

My eyebrows shot up. "How?"

She sat back on her chair and looked down at her teacup, hands wrapped around it. Her nails were broken and dirty, I noticed. A feeling of unease roiled in my stomach. "It was Anne. I don't know why, but... she took care of me. Tended to me so I wouldn't become pregnant. Stood guard at my tent. She almost got into it with Hammund over me, just before he and the others left."

I swallowed hard and let my gaze wander toward the open window. "She sent me a note telling me you were here."

Max's head shot up. "She did?"

"Aye. Strange, huh? And it was thanks to her that I found you, that first night. I would say God sent you an angel in disguise, but..."

"She doesn't fit that description, does she?" My friend jested. "More like a redheaded guard dog."

The barest hint of a smile graced my features. "Or a goddamn demon."

"Yes." Max's smile faded to a palid, morose expression. "I suppose that... the best way to fight monsters is with an even worse monster."

I observed her diminished frame and frowned. Although she was free of those pigs, the mark they had left on her remained, dimmed her once radiant light. Some of that old rage returned to me, a fire reignited, but as soon as the flames burst to life, they died down once again, doused by grief. I slid my hand forward and touched hers.

"I wish I had been there with Bonny to end their miserable lives for you," I whispered. "Above all, I wish I could take your pain away. You didn't deserve any of the things they did to you, Max. None of them. I'm glad you're rid of them and out of that tent."

She took my fingers in hers and squeezed. "So am I. Even if I'm yet to understand Anne's motivations." She shook her head. "A mystery for another day. What about you? I hear you had quite an adventure, yourself."

My soul dropped to my feet like a gelatinous deep sea fish. The events of the past days came rushing back to the front of my mind, like a cannon ball thrown onto my shoulders. As I slumped on the table and pushed my half full teacup to the side, I began my tale.

The careening accident. The Andromache chase. How I got the wound on my cheek. The rallying of the slaves in the hold and how they helped us outsmart Bryson... And Billy.

"He was on the beakhead cutting off the spritsail brace when the Scarborough fired. By some stroke of rotten luck she hit us, and... he fell. Or at least, that's what Flint said happened..." I rubbed my stinging eyes and took a deep breath. "I tried to go after him, but Gates stopped me. Said we couldn't turn 'round, that she would destroy us. Had to lock me up in the hold until we were safely away.... God...!"

I had to release her hand and hide my face away in my crossed arms. Saying it out loud like that felt as if I was making it official. Like it was set in stone. Like I had woken up from a nightmare to find it was real. I was too tired to sob, but the tears still fell. I could still remember his smile while he promised me we would take some time away from the crew before sailing for the Urca. It was minutes before he was gone. How could things change so drastically from one moment to the other...?

Max's chair scrapped against the floor, followed by her quiet footsteps coming in my direction. Her palm rubbed my back while the opposite hand hooked around my arm, nudging me up. With a snuff, I let her pull me out of the tabletop and lean on her bosum whilst raking her fingers through my hair.

"Je suis desolée, mon amour... Would that there was some way I could console you. But... you and I know that for this kind of pain there is no comfort. So just let it all out. Cry as much as you need to, and I will hold you. All right?"

My throat swelled into a choke, my face twisted painfully as I wept. I wrapped my arms around her back and held her to me, moaning, coughing, gasping until my back ached and my heart was ready to stop. Even with closed eyes, I could see Billy hanging from the shrouds, wind whipping about his shirt as he stared out to sea. Then he would turn to me, eyes an intense blue color, his full pink lips pulled into a grin.

"You are strong enough to rise above this," Max told me softly, her embrace never relinquishing. "We both are. We will get through this, you and I. I promise."

I let out another sob. "I'm not so sure..."

"You are, ma chère. When Eleanor chose power over me, I felt the same way you are feeling right now. And yet, I'm still standing. You can do it, too."

When finally my body calmed from sheer exhaustion, I moved out of her hold. She pulled out a handkerchief and dried my eyes delicately before kissing my cheek.

"To make matters worse," I choked out. "He left me all his possessions without telling me. Bastard even left me a fucking house..." Immediately, I regretted my hasty words. That "bastard" had been my love. How could I speak so harshly about him when he had just died?

"From my point of view, that is the opposite of a problem," Max told me.

"Shh..." She slid an arm around my shoulders, gave them a gentle shake. "Considering what you lost in exchange for such a boon, it's understandable that it doesn't feel like much of a blessing."

"It's a curse," I confessed. "I have money put away, I don't need more. And I wanted a house, sure, but I wanted to share it with him. As for his share of the Urca..."

"You're getting his share on top of your own?"

"I don't know what to do with it," I sighed. "Gates said... that Billy trusted me to do some good with it, but what? I could give you half and it would still be too much money to spend in a single lifetime." I glanced up at her. "What do you think I should do...?"

"Well... I wouldn't say no if you were to offer me a generous sum."

That at least got me to smile. For a second. Still, I was glad to see some of her old self slowly coming back. Max was strong, I always knew this. Stronger than I was, that much was true. "It's yours, if you want it. Any more suggestions?"

She tilted back her head and hummed in thought. Then, her amber eyes lit up with an idea. "You mentioned the slaves in the Andromache were put back into their chains when you arrived?"

With a heavy heart, I nodded. Despite mine and a few others' protests, most of the crew didn't want to pass up the opportunity to make some easy money with them. Flint was already on the knife's edge regarding their opinion, so he didn't insist upon their release. But, I suspected I knew what Max would propose and perked up.

"Why don't you use that considerable fortune to buy their freedom? That seems like a much better application for it than spending it on frivolous things."

I stood up to my feet, grabbed her face and kissed both her cheeks, causing her to let out a teeny yelp of surprise.

"Max--" I told her."You're a fucking genius. Thank you. Thank you so much." I let her go and pulled the door open, eager to make preparations toward that goal. "When I return from the Urca job, I'll come back to discuss a cut for you. No arguments about it! Wish me luck!"

I flew down the stairs and was back on the street in the blink of an eye. I wasn't going to waste a single second if I could save those men and women from slavery. And I knew just the person I needed to talk to in order to make it possible.

Trouble was, I had no idea how to find him. I deduced he wouldn't be on the best terms with Eleanor at the moment, so it was a fifty-fifty chance he would be there. I could try the warehouse, where the Andromache's former slaves were "stashed" for the time being. Then again... I supposed he would try to appeal to her to help him free them. It was worth a shot. Luck was on my side. As I was about to go inside, I crossed paths with none other than Mr. Scott himself, just as he was leaving the tavern. He brought a basket with him.

"Miss Tilly," he greeted me when I almost walked into him. "Good morning." "Morning, Mr. Scott. You were just the one I was looking for." "I'm afraid I have pressing matters to tend to," he said whilst circling me. "Can this wait?" "It's about the enslaved people from the Andromache."

That certainly got his attention. He swerved around to study my expression, a little suspicion over my interest in them, but also hopeful. Cautiously so, but hopeful nonetheless. "Walk with me, please."

I fell into step at his side. "Have you spoken to Miss Guthrie about their release?"

"I did." His eyes fell to the ground in disappointment. "She is... considering the issue." "You think there's a chance she will say no?" Rancorous as she was, I wouldn't put it past her.

"She will, if she cannot find a way," he told me. "I know you do not feel warmly toward her, but you don't know Eleanor like I do. She will help if she can." "Forgive me, but... you don't sound so convinced."

And he didn't. He wouldn't look at me while speaking and his tone was deflated, unsure. Instead of answering, he deflected by asking: "Why does this matter to you, Miss? It was your crew who chained them up again and is preparing to sell them, regardless of how essential their role was to winning you the guns."

He spoke it so matter-of-factually, but the accusation was there all the same. And even though I hadn't agreed with it, I still felt a twinge of guilt for not having done more to stop my mates. "It matters because I may have a way to help them and I want to."

Mr. Scott stopped in his tracks to fully face me. "You... You do?"

"Aye," I nodded. "A handful of us protested their re-imprisonment, myself included. Unfortunately, we were out-voted on the matter. However, currently I find myself in a position where I have the funds to buy their freedom. Not all of them, not right now at least, but when I return from the Urca hunt, I will receive two shares. My own and... my deceased lover's."

A shudder went through me and my throat began to clog painfully. I shut my eyes tight and forced a breath in through my nose. No. Focus. This isn't about you, it's about Eme and her people. Be strong for them. "I see," Mr. Scott said solemnly. "I am sorry for your loss, in that case."

Another forceful breath and I opened my eyes. "Thank you," I whispered before clearing my throat to speak more firmly. "As I was saying, I can't free many of them, but if you can convince Eleanor to at least secure a majority, or even just half, I can take care of a few now and aid the others when I get back." "If you get back," he corrected me. "What happens if you don't? Don't get me wrong, I would be grateful if you could help even a small number of them, but if you are serious about freeing them all--"

"I'll leave it in my will," I offered. "My crew respects me and care for me. The new quartermaster is a friend of mine and Mr. Gates and I are close. They will make sure my wishes will be carried out, should I not come back."

Mr. Scott thought about it as we resumed our walk. "You understand that by then, those that remain might have already been sold off."

"It's a risk, I'll give it. I can ask my men to hold back on their sale until our return so that doesn't happen. I'm known for being stingy with my finances; it won't be hard to convince them. And if Eleanor cannot help in this endeavour... then I will cover the expenses by myself, if I have to. I only... have one concern, Mr. Scott."

He half-smiled. "You're wondering what you should do with them afterwards."

"Indeed. I'm not in the market for slaves and have no need for servants. Though... Now that I think of it, I might have need for labourers, soon. But that's a story for another day. I want those people to have a choice in how they conduct their own lives once they are free, is what I'm getting at, but I also don't wish to abandon them to their fate, risking re-capture. I was hoping you might help me, on that matter."

Now, Mr. Scott looked around us discreetly, peered into every alleyway, watchful of who was roaming the streets for someone eaves-dropping. Then, he leaned close to me and whispered: "There is a way for them to escape from the island and be free. Don't ask me for details, we are not safe to discuss this. Secure their freedom, Miss Tilly. I will take care of the rest." "Are you sure?" I insisted. "They will be truly free?"

"You have my word. One way or the other, those men and women will not be sold back into slavery and death. Speak to your quartermaster. In the meantime, I will see what I can do with Eleanor." "Thank you, Mr. Scott. Truly. This is a huge weight off of my conscience."

"No, Miss Tilly," he shook his head, reached out to touch my shoulder. "Thank you. You could have easily turned away from their plight and you chose not to. Not a lot of people would have done the same."

I forced a smile onto my features, but it felt so fake that I let it crumble. I nodded stiffly instead. "It's the least I can do for them, after they helped us. I'll send word to the inn when everything is taken care of."

"Until later, then." He cordially bowed his head and went on his way, while I pivoted to start the trek downhill. Now to meet with Dufresne.

It occurred to me that I could go visit Randall while I was at it, since I hadn't had the time to go check on him since the accident. Poor man had been voted out of the crew. He probably wasn't taking the news very well.

Speaking of which, it would also be a good opportunity to ask him what he remembered of the events. But... after what happened with Billy, independently of Flint's story, I had already made up my mind about what kind of man our captain was. What was the point of confirming how exactly Morley had died? He was dead because Flint pressured us to careen faster than we should, at the cost of our own lives. That was all I needed to know.

Not ten minutes later, I had left the town behind and followed the beach until I reached our barracks. I made for our food storage and kitchen and was surprised to find quite the crowd standing at the entry: de Groot, Howell and Dufresne were standing outside the tents, engaged in what seemed like a very serious discussion, while Randall sat on a bench, looking a bit pale. Inside, our resident weasel, Mr. Silver, sat at a table, scribbling away at a piece of paper.

Something was obviously afoot and if our new cook was involved, it couldn't be good.

"Gentlemen," I greeted cautiously.

All three men immediately stopped whispering to look at me, like a gaggle of old ladies sharing the latest juicy gossip in the neighbourhood.

"Constance, hello." Dufresne, all casual to the point of suspicion, adjusted his spectacles. "Are you feeling better...? After... y'know."

I half shrugged. "I don't think I will be feeling "better" for a while, but I'm still alive, for the moment. Thank you..." I swallowed an emerging lump in my throat and forced myself to look him in the eye. "In fact, I wanted to speak with you about that business. Is this a bad time?"

Dufresne glanced at the others briefly, then back to me. "No, I can talk now. Excuse us for an instant."

We moved out of earshot and entered an empty sleeping tenth for some added privacy. However, before I could begin, Dufresne stood close to me and whispered: "I'm glad you're here because I need to talk to you, too. You caught our little group in the middle of a conundrum, so allow me to address that before we move on to the other issue."

I stared at him with knitted eyebrows as curiosity reared up from the depths of my despair. "Sure... What's going on, then?"

Our new quartermaster removed his spectacles to press his fingers into the bridge of his nose. "Randall has just accused Mr. Silver of being a thief. Said he heard him speak to Miss Guthrie and admit it was he who stole the Urca's schedule, not Singleton, then memorized it and proceeded to destroy it."

My soul vacated my body for a second or two. And given my emotional state, I failed to properly hide my panic and pretend I was ignorant of this story. I stared at Dufresne like a mouse caught in a cat's sights and tried to salvage the situation. "I don't... What?? He did what?"

"De Groot, Howell and I are inclined to believe him, since in hindsight, it seems far too convenient for Flint to have found the page on Singleton's body for it to be mere coincidence. Everybody knew he meant to mutiny against Flint and appoint himself captain, which would certainly put an end to his plans to take the Urca."

He cleaned the broken lenses on his handkerchief, kept his sole focus on them as he continued: "And I, in particular, am quite certain that Randall is telling the truth..." He brought the spectacles back to his face. "Because Mr. Gates already told me everything."

My expression of shock became genuine at hearing that. We stared at each other in silence for a bit while I recovered and thought about the implications of Dufresne knowing the truth. Why hadn't Gates told me he was bringing him into the fold? When had he told him? Was it before the Andromache or after? And why Dufresne, of all people? "He... he did?" I muttered.

"Indeed. I know Flint set up Singleton to make him look like the thief. I know about the chase after Silver and his attempt to sell the page to Charles Vane. Obviously, I know the page no longer exists except in Silver's head... And I know that you and Billy were in on it and kept it a secret from the rest of us." Though he didn't sound angry, there was no mistaking the disappointment in his eyes.

My shoulders slumped with a deep sigh. Well... it seemed the truth was finally out and this whole ruse was over. In a way it was a relief, but in another, I supposed I could expect to be the next one voted out. Maybe even hanged. "Who else knows...?"

"De Groot and Howell, though I did nothing to confirm their suspicions."

"Not the crew?"

"Not yet."

I frowned and hung my head. "Dufresne... you have to understand, we thought we were doing what was best for all of us. We never meant for things to go this far. Billy... Billy felt terrible about lying. He and I were planning to call council once we got home to tell you all the truth, but then he... He..."

Dufresne raised a hand to stop me, brows pinched together over his closed eyes. "Whatever the case, de Groot wants to bring it up to them right now, but Howell wants to keep it a secret for the sake of the gold. I myself am reticent, so we came up with a test for Silver, to make sure his memory is reliable enough to risk our necks... And Randall's life."

"Randall's life?" I exclaimed. Certainly they wouldn't... would they? "What are you talking about?"

To his credit, Dufresne didn't appear to particularly like the idea and in fact, it made him squirm, if the way he shuffled from one foot to the other was any indication. "Well, if we decide to maintain the secret until after we capture the Urca, we can't let him go around telling it to anyone who would listen."

"Sounds a bit extreme though, doesn't it?" I narrowed my eyes and did nothing to hide how displeased I was. "And you would allow this?"

"Look..." He held out his hands in a quelling gesture, even if he was clearly getting agitated. "Let's wait to see how Silver's test goes and then... Then we'll figure out what to do. All right?"

What else could I do but comply? At least now we we're matched in disappointment at each other. I never thought meek, civilized Dufresne to be capable of such behavior. "As you wish..."

He took a deep breath and reverted back to his detached, professional persona, eager to move on from the subject. "As for the other matter... What did you have in mind?"

I told him about my plan to buy part of the Andromache's slaves' freedom with the money Billy had willed me, then possibly all of them after we claimed the Urca. If there even was going to be an Urca hunt, anymore. Somehow, I began to seriously doubt it.

"I will get the proper documents in order once this predicament is settled," he told me. "You will need to bring a witness with you before signing them."

My mind immediately went to Max, since I didn't know what state my relationship with the crew would look like after that day. I nodded in acquiescence.

"And what of the house?" His tone mellowed out some, despite his resentment. "Do you intend to sell it?"

The word "yes" was at the tip of my tongue. Even so, I hesitated. Selling it was a possibility. But then... it was Billy's surprise to me. Was that house what he had meant with spending a couple of days by ourselves? Did he intend to bring me there, even if it wasn't quite ready to be lived in, just so we could have a little taste of what our life together might have been like...? Did any of those questions matter, now? Billy was gone. There would be no life together, no owning a house together, no being together. Still... It was such a thoughtful, romantic gesture. Typical Billy. I could at least go see it before deciding what to do with it.

"I'll keep it for now," I replied in a whisper.

"Very well. In that case, if there's nothing else you need to discuss with me, I should go back."

"I'll accompany you. Been meaning to visit Randall and I guess I should take this chance to say goodbye, just in case."

To that jab, he said nothing. Only hung his head and left the tent with me on his trail. Sometimes, I seriously questioned this crew's morality. I would die for any of them, but Jesus Christ.

We arrived back at the kitchen. De Groot was holding a time piece in his hand and consulted it. "Five minutes," he told Dufresne, who nodded.

"Let's see how it went, then." He entered the kitchen, leaving the rest of us outside to wait. De Groot watched me intently and crossed his arms before approaching.

"How are you holding up, child?"

I let my gaze drop to the sand, arms crossed as well. What the hell was I supposed to answer to that? I was going through hell. I was fine. I wanted to throw myself into the sea and let the sharks have at my carcass. I wanted people to stop asking me how I was. "I'm managing, Mr. de Groot. Just... managing."

"If there's anything I can do for you, you know you need only ask, yes?"

I nudged a small piece of shell with my foot. "You'll be the first to know. Promise."

He gave my shoulder a gentle touch. "Good."

As I watched Randall, who stared into nothing with a look of real preoccupation, I lowered my voice and leaned closer to de Groot. "Say Silver concludes his test successfully... Are we really going to permanently silence Randall to salvage the Urca hunt? Isn't that kind of drastic?"

"I don't want to do it," he replied, that same old sour expression growing more sour still. "It is completely unethical. And given everything we already risked and sacrificed so far, I'm even less inclined to go through with that plan. No. One way or another, I won't let Randall succumb to that fate."

"What if the others persist? If they decide the Urca is worth more than his life?"

"One voice of dissent is easy to ignore. Two..." He gave me a pointed look. "Is a lot less so. Could I count on you to support my stand in Randall's defense?"

"Absolutely. Not that he deserves it, but..." I shrugged.

De Groot smiled at my jest. "I'm sure his attitude toward you would change dramatically once he found out you stood up for him."

I winced with doubt. "Maybe. But if he says I'm bad luck one more time, I'll toss him down a well." That being said, I went to Randall and crouched by his side. "Hiya, Randall. How are you?"

In response, I only got silence. With a frown, I noticed he was sweating profusely, his breathing short and quick. Did he suspect the others planned to kill him, should they choose to ignore his claim?

"Randall, it's all right. No one is out to get you. We'll take care of you, yes? I'm sorry you were voted out, by the way..."

Slowly, he turned his head around to look at me with bulging blue eyes. For a few seconds he only stared, then his expression changed and I immediately knew what he was going to say.

"You're bad luck," he muttered, one finger pointed at me. "No women allowed on ships. It's bad luck."

I let out a sonorous sigh. "You're lucky there are no wells nearby." I glanced around the barracks. "Where's Betsy? I haven't seen her since we arrived. Out chasing mice, again?"

Randall's face fell and he became very distraught. His shaggy hair swiveled around wildly as he looked one way then the other, like he was just now noticing the cat's absence and searched her anxiously.

"She's gone," he whined, lip trembling like a child's. "Since the accident. She's disappeared and no one has gone to look for her. She was under the ship. Was going to be crushed. I-I went to get her so she wouldn't be crushed! I can't find her!"

With horror, I watched as he held himself and started rocking back and forth, face contorted with deep anguish. De Groot and Howell came to us in a rush when they heard his whimpering.

"What is it, Randall?" Our surgeon asked him. "Why are you so upset now?"

"Betsy's been missing since the careening," I explained. "No one's bothered to go search for her."

"She's probably dead, already." Said de Groot, which aggravated Randall's despair, made him wail louder. "I'm sorry, Randall. After so many days without food or water... I don't think it's even worth looking for her at this stage."

My heart hurt at that thought. Seeing that poor man come undone over his beloved cat was surprisingly moving. I knew he loved that animal, but not to this point. He wept like his whole world had come crashing down. Maybe it was my own grief what influenced me, but... I couldn't stay indifferent.

I reached out to touch Randall's forearm. "I'll go get her, mate. All right? Don't you worry. If she's alive, I'll find her and I'll bring her back, I promise."

Randall calmed down some and looked at me with a ray of hope in his mad gaze. "You... You will?" He choked.

"I will." My hand tightened on his arm. "You have my word."

"Constance--" Howell spoke up whilst I stood and prepared to leave. "It's a waste of time. Don't bother."

"I have to try!" I gestured to Randall. "Look at him. He's been through enough. The least I can do before this is over is find out what happened to his damn cat. I'll be back at sundown. If I don't show up, feel free to send a search party."

Without waiting for a reply, I turned my back on them and marched out of the barracks. I had made up my mind and there was no stopping me. They wanted me to live? Fine. But I would do it my way.

[filmgifs]

ROMAN HOLIDAY 1953 — dir. William Wyler

[bigartattack]

Untitled - Charles Martin

[rosettyller]

BLACK SAILS

4x09 ● “XXXVII.”

[metamorphesque]

A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis

[metamorphesque]

Vincent van Gogh, Cypresses

[anyataylorjoys]

THE COLOR OF POMEGRANATES 'Նռան գույնը' dir. Sergei Parajanov, 1969

[southfarthing]

SANTIAGO CABRERA as LANCELOT in MERLIN 2x4: Lancelot and Guinevere

[vampy-campy]

Black Sails — season + character ﹂Season 4: Max

[violaobanion]

SOME RAFF AND OLIVIA ACTION in House of Guinness (2025-)

for @harrisonforded & @julyzaa 💋

[cinematicjourney]

Corsage (2022) | dir. Marie Kreutzer

[experientialdissociation]

[greengableslover]

THE GREEN KNIGHT (2021) dir. David Lowery

[violaobanion]

JAMES NORTON as SEAN RAFFERTY in HOUSE OF GUINNESS (2025-), episode four

for @harrisonforded 💋