Chapter 84: Let the Old Bastards Fight
Hornigold didn’t even blink at the jab.
"If I’m at prayer, you’re the one who interrupted it."
His voice stayed as calm as ever, flat, without a hint of anger. "Best be careful you aren’t struck down for the trouble."
Thatch leaned toward James, lowering his voice beneath the storm brewing across the table.
"Look at ’em. Two old bastards sniffin’ each other’s arses like they’re searchin’ for buried gold."
James nearly chortled. "Give ’em another minute, they’ll convince themselves it’s a naval battle."
"Aye, deadliest battle ever fought over whose prick casts the longer shadow."
Thatch tipped his chin toward the untouched bottle of rum between them. "Well, nobody’s chargin’ us for the seats."
Jennings didn’t spare either of them a glance. His attention remained on Hornigold, like a hunting dog that had already caught the scent.
"I got word you are preaching about stability."
He rolled the word around with open disgust. "That’s what we’re callin’ it now? I’ve got silver sittin’ in my ship that my own men dug out of a treasure beach camp, while you’re still writin’ polite letters askin’ English captains to kindly sail past untouched."
Whatever Jennings had come for tonight, it wasn’t James or Thatch.
He wanted to cut Hornigold down, and it plainly didn’t matter who stood over the remains afterward, so long as Hornigold wasn’t the one holding Nassau together.
"Then you’d see Nassau split into pieces before you’d let it stand beneath one man’s hand."
Hornigold never looked away. "Mine or anyone else’s. You fear a Nassau that no longer needs men like you."
"Funny thing, that is."
Jennings smiled, though it never reached his eyes. "You keep sayin’ ’Nassau’ when what you mean is yourself. Every word out of your mouth starts with the island and somehow ends with Benjamin Hornigold."
He spread both hands, the rings on his fingers flashing in the candlelight. "Another month of hearin’ you preach and I’d swear you were waitin’ for London to make you governor. All that’s missin’ is a fine coat, a powdered wig, and some clerk to write down which captains have your leave to sail."
Hornigold’s expression never changed.
"Yet again, you mistake caution for servitude."
He leaned forward just enough to meet Jennings’s stare. "The only reason you’ve lived long enough to mock London is because you stumbled onto frightened salvagers hauling silver out of the sea. You robbed men too busy diving to fight back, then crowned yourself the terror of the Caribbean."
He snorted, "Try that against a squadron instead of shipwrecked laborers, and we’ll see how long your courage lasts."
James leaned closer to Thatch. "Didn’t take him long to grow his teeth back."
"Give it till mornin’."
Thatch lifted his cup toward the pair without taking a drink. "He’ll lose ’em again, man only bares once somebody’s already got a hand around his throat."
Before long, they’d managed the remarkable feat of argue themselves right back where they’d started. Hornigold preached caution. Jennings preached freedom. Neither looked likely to convert the other before the rum ran dry.
James caught Thatch’s eye and nodded toward the door.
"I’ve got two ships back at the harbor fillin’ with fresh hands."
He pushed away from the table, rolling one shoulder loose. "Reckon I’ve heard this speech enough times that I could deliver it myself."
Thatch rose beside him, already grinning. "Aye, and I’d sooner listen to Bonnet recite the Articles from memory than watch two grown men wave their cocks at each other over who pisses farther into a Spaniard’s harbor."
Jennings barked out a short laugh, more amused than offended.
Hornigold’s expression only tightened.
They had nearly reached the door when Jennings called after them. The anger had vanished from his voice, replaced by a tone almost pleasant.
"Calloway. Thatch."
He let the names hang just long enough to stop them. "Keep an eye on this island over the next month or so. Somethin’s comin’, whether Hornigold prays on it or not. I can feel it, same as any man with sense."
Neither of them answered.
Even so, the words sat heavily in James’s gut.
Outside, the afternoon sun beat down on Nassau without mercy. The streets still swarmed with sailors, pirates, whores, and men with nowhere honest to be, while the harbor answered with the endless groan of rigging, shouted curses, and gulls fighting over whatever had just been thrown into the water.
"You’ll want to keep half an eye on that one."
James nodded back toward the Gull. "Wasn’t the man either of us came here to watch tonight."
"Aye, already mean to."
Thatch’s grin returned with confidence despite everything they’d heard. "A man only warns ye about a storm when he plans to make it worse himself."
"Good thing neither of us has a stake in that fight."
Thatch clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to rock him a step.
"Go on, then, before Bonnet buys the whole harbor a noble title while ye’re not lookin’."
James laughed as he turned toward the waterfront.
"Then you’d best get back before your own crew decides Caesar makes the better captain."
They split at the corner, Thatch peeling off toward the taverns while James kept to the waterfront.
The docks hadn’t changed while they’d been inside. Men cursed over cargo, crews shouted from ship to ship, and somewhere nearby two drunks were fighting over a reason neither of them could remember.
Let Hornigold and Jennings tear at each other over a island neither had ever truly owned. It didn’t change what waited beyond Andros.
A stretch of coastline already had his name written across half of it, and both crews were nearly back to full strength. Give Cudjoe another day, and he’d have them ready to sail.
That was worth far more than a seat at anyone’s table in Nassau.
But that didn’t mean he intended to stay away from the feast. A month was plenty of time. Plenty of time to set things in motion, let the captains tear at each other, and return before the island finished deciding who thought they owned it.