Chapter 82: Speak of the Devil
By the time Anne reached the dock at dawn, the crowd outside the plank-and-cask table had dwindled to a handful of stragglers and men who couldn’t decide whether to step forward or turn away.
She already had her bag slung over one shoulder when Cudjoe spotted her and pointed toward the water casks Kit was hauling. She tossed her bag onto the Rose’s deck and started working before she’d even spoke a word.
The next man in line wore more scars than teeth and swore he’d served aboard three different men-of-war before he changed sides to piracy.
Briggs asked him to name one.
The silence that followed said everything.
"Next." Cudjoe didn’t look up.
"Last of the lot."
He watched a one-armed sailor shuffle away with two shillings and no berth. "Feels like we’re scrapin’ the bottom of the barrel now, Captain."
James laughed. "The bottom of the barrel still’s got rum in it. Just don’t taste near as good."
Bonnet, politely raised a hand and looked up from a recruit’s story about working aboard a Bristol collier.
"I’ve found I rather enjoy the bottom of the barrel, Captain. It has been my most dependable companion in my stay in Nassau."
Briggs kept the sole work to sharpen whatever sat in his hands. A grunt was what he offered before he returned to his work.
The noise reached them soon enough.
A shout rolled up the dock, followed by some unfortunate sailor stumbling headlong over a coil of rope as Thatch barreled through the crowd with two men behind him, carving a path as though the harbor belonged to him.
"Move yer arses! Ye’re blockin’ a man’s business!"
He never slowed to see who he’d knocked aside.
James looked up, already smiling. "Christ, Thatch. Do you knock folk over for pleasure now, or’ve ye simply forgotten how legs work?"
"If they don’t want shovin’, they ought to stop standin’ where I’m walkin’."
Thatch planted both hands on the table.
"You look like hell, Calloway. Recruitin’ suits ye about as well as marriage."
"Aye, difference is some of us earn our keep."
Bonnet straightened the moment he saw him, his expression caught somewhere between relief and concern.
"Edward. I trust you haven’t come to reclaim any of my officers. I only just finished paying for them."
"Wouldn’t dream of it, Bonnet."
Thatch slapped him on the shoulder hard enough to rock him on the bench.
"Still haven’t been murdered by yer own men, I see."
"Not yet." Bonnet allowed himself a modest smile. "I choose to regard that as my greatest accomplishment so far."
Behind Thatch stood Caesar, broad enough that the crowd stood around him without anyone asking. And beside him waited Israel Hands. His face revealed little, and seemed perfectly content to stay that way.
The smile faded from Thatch’s face. For a brief moment, even the clamor of the docks seemed farther away.
"This ain’t a social visit, Calloway. Walk with me a bit. Just you."
His gaze flicked toward Cudjoe, then Bonnet.
"No offense meant."
James set the work aside.
"Fair enough."
He nodded toward Cudjoe. "Keep things movin’ while I’m gone. Bonnet, this end’s yours till I get back. Try not to buy anybody a new ship."
"I shall make every effort to restrain myself, Captain."
Cudjoe folded his arms.
"Trouble followin’ ye around again?"
"When’s it ever not?"
They left the harbor behind, making their way through streets still cluttered with the remains of recruiting.
"Pulled in a cheerful bunch, haven’t ye, Calloway?"
Hands said, matching James’s stride with easy confidence. "Half of ’em look ready to sell their own mothers just for a berth aboard a ship they’ve never seen."
"Aye. The other half already did."
Caesar let out a deep grunt that came close enough to laughter.
The Cockeyed Gull stood two streets removed from the harbor’s noise. Its crooked carved bird hung so unevenly from its chain that nobody had bothered fixing it in years. The joke had outlived the paint itself.
Inside, the room was built for business. Low beams stretched overhead while sailors bent over to whisper instead of drinking bottles, while tallow candles burned where lanterns might have hung elsewhere. Here, pipe smoke and wax filled the room instead of stale ale and piss, a place men came here to settle accounts, not arguments.
They claimed a table near the back, away from the other pirates buried in their own discussions. James ordered rum by habit, though the cups remained mostly untouched once Thatch began to speak.
His tone was serious for once, "About Nassau. When this bloody mess blows up, every captain worth rememberin’ is gonna have to choose a side."
Thatch slowly turned his untouched cup against the tabletop.
"Hornigold. Jennings. Vane, if he can spare a thought from whoever he wants dead next."
He tapped the table with one finger. "And you, Calloway, whether ye wanted the honor or not. Ye came sailin’ back with two ships and a tale Nassau’s still tellin’ over their drinks. That earns ye a seat whether ye asked for one."
Hands leaned onto both elbows.
He snickered, "Last week I heard about two of Hornigold’s own men nearly kill each other over a Bristol merchantman he let pass untouched. One of ’em said it to his face, not ten feet from the wheel. Nobody stopped him."
Caesar slowly shook his head.
"Hornigold soft. Everybody know now. Ain’t just rumor anymore."
James stayed silent, his fingers resting around a cup he hadn’t tasted.
He’d heard almost those same complaints during his first week in Nassau. Two sailors outside a tavern had dismissed Hornigold as a captain growing too cautious, too comfortable. At the time he’d shrugged the words away and focused on problems that were more important.
Now they sounded very different.
"Bloody hell."
The word slipped out quietly.
He understood what would happen, long before he ever reached Nassau.
Knowing something would happen was one thing.
Watching it finally arrive was another altogether, and James found he liked the second far less.
"Vane don’t care who win," Caesar muttered. "Vane just want somebody to kill."
Thatch didn’t disagree. He leaned over the table, resting both forearms on the wood. Every trace of humor had left his face.
"So I’ll ask plain, since we’re here already."
His eyes stayed on James.
"When Hornigold is finally done for, where’re you standin’?"
James slowly turned his cup halfway around before answering.
"I’ve never held much love for Hornigold. Never did."
He let the words hang for a moment. "He’s forgotten why he built this place in the first place, and every man aboard his own ship already knows it."
He met Thatch’s gaze. "When the time comes, I’ll look after my own crews first. That’s the only promise anybody’s gettin’ from me tonight."
Thatch watched him for a long moment before a laugh escaped him.
He shook his head.
"That may be the slipperiest answer I’ve ever heard that is not a lie."
He lifted his cup in something close to a salute. "Convenient, sayin’ almost nothin’ while meanin’ enough that I nearly believe ye don’t know what ye’re thinkin’."
"I know exactly what I’m thinkin’. I’m just not foolish enough to give it away for free."
A real grin spread across Thatch’s face. "Truth be told, I’ve been wrestlin’ with this very thought myself, more nights than I’d ever admit where Hornigold could hear me. Man’s had his time, don’t much fancy sinkin’ alongside him when it ends."
The tavern door burst open hard enough to pull every eye in the room toward it before anyone saw who’d entered.
Hornigold stepped inside with three of his own men behind him. His coat still had the neat cut of a successful merchant captain, though the grey in his hair had spread farther than James remembered from only a few days earlier at the harbor.
He gave a brief grunt at something one of his men muttered, then spotted their table before taking more than two steps.
Without sparing another soul in the room so much as a glance, he walked straight toward them.
"Calloway. Thatch."
His voice remained as calm as ever.
"I have been looking for you two."