He is in a better place now, Flint. He no longer has to clean up after your bullshit. Rejoice, your murder of Hal did him the one favor he could never do for himself.
“And what do you think you’re doing?” It was about as effective as talking to a jailhouse dog. Beckett was not only tired, he was feverish and too beyond himself to consider being afraid, let alone obedient.
Jack was of the mind to stick him on the floor regardless, and just stuff more blankets around him so he could sweat out the fever without being troublesome about it. Still, considering the man’s constitution that was as like to kill him off as not, and far be it from he to kill a man through something so impersonal as negligence. He supposed it served him right for ignoring the signs of symptoms up until now, anyway.
Huffing irately, Jack stepped over and grabbed the smaller man, lifting him up and tossing him over one shoulder like a sack of grain. Tearing all his own blankets off the bed, he unceremoniously dropped the man back onto it, before stomping off to shove his bedding onto the chair behind his desk. That done, he grabbed the pillows off the floor and started chucking them with a vague sense of amusement and malice at the tired man, considering it a right treat each time there was a satisfactory plap to Beckett’s face.
That done, he picked up the blankets and drew them over, tossing them across the small fellow and tucking him in so tightly it would be a wonder if he could move. “I’ll check on you later,” He grumped, turning with every intention of transforming his desk into a bed for the night.
I find that when it gets particularly tough to live my best life, it helps to think about the things that are going well. A lot of the time it is very easy to get caught up in all the ways that things just are not going according to plan – when all our energy is being spent on what is wrong and what needs fixing it is very easy to forget about what is going right.
I have a lot of things in my life that I am grateful for. And when things get really tough I think, remember where you were ten years ago? And I deliberately dredge up horrible memories because I am in a safe place to examine them – which is another thing to be grateful for, by the way – but also so that I can take a look at all the ways my life has changed for the better.
Sometimes it can be cathartic to think about how you were back then, and how far you’ve come today. Maybe you are not at your best life just yet, but you’re absolutely on your way to it! It is so important to remember that as human beings, we are always going to be works in progress, and no amount of pressure and stress is going to change that.
While it is true that pressure makes diamonds, I don’t really put a lot of value in shiny rocks. I would rather have a flawed geode in my hands that is growing and changing into something more beautiful each and every day – slowly and gradually, and often in ways I won’t ever see or notice – than something that has been manufactured by society into a perfect mold.
Your struggles make you who you are, even when they’re the most miserable fuckers imaginable. Even when it feels like the mountain never ends, it really is okay to take a seat where you are and just look down and see how much you’ve climbed already. It’s significant. Your best life isn’t at the top of the mountain. It’s in the time you take to get there, and all the hurdles you cross along the way. Don’t forget to stop and let yourself breathe – it’s okay to relax once in awhile.
“To what good end would that bring us, mm?” Theodore inquired, not particularly bothered by the young man’s insubordinate behaviour. “Imagine your best case scenario – do you really think wounding an officer of His Majesty’s Navy is going to warrant you anything better than a short drop and a sudden stop? You are better off focusing that rage on something you can fight – and live to talk about.”
He listened intently as he poured out a cup of tea identical to his own and passed it to Hornblower. With each minute detail dealt between the lines of his words, the more Bram’s interest piqued. Questions ran through his mind like the first drops of rain before a storm. He held his tongue with difficulty, promising himself that all would be revealed in time.
Bram could not help but let a whisper of a smile cross his lips as Hornblower mentioned his ineptitude in the world of politics. He could hardly blame the man, as he was neither bred nor groomed for it. That much had been nearly painfully apparent at their introductory operation together. Edrington, at the time, had brushed it off, for there would, most likely never be an account in which Hornblower was required to take up such a mantle. ( Though, as the sailor was proving at that very moment, one could never truly know a person, including their strengths and weaknesses. )
The great weight that Hornblower had placed on his tale and, therefore, the weight he placed upon Edrington’s advice made him feel legally uneasy. The smirk slipped slowly from his face and his lips straightened with thought. He felt as if he ought to have prepared a contract for this disclosure of such a sensitive topic. Or, at the very least, directed him to a professional lawyer. Edrington asked himself if whatever consequences could be born of this very conversation would be worth the price of Hornblower’s tale. His curiosity won out.
“I still hold you in the highest regard, Mister Hornblower, and so I will do what I can for you, advise you in the best way I see fit. However,” his tone darkened, “before I let you go on, I must say this: you know as well as I do that the greater good must be observed; I will use my best discretion. Do you understand?” Lord Edrington dictated clearly, holding Hornblower’s gaze.
Horatio found hope in that unexpected smile – finding himself seeking out memories of marches long past, from a time when he had belonged in this era of cold clarity and certain logic. The lobsters in their red coats, spilling out over the beach of Quiberon Bay as the dishevelled French royalists made forth with an attempt to restore their monarchy.
Leading a charge up through the south of Brittany and into the country proper – a mission doomed well before the ships had ever left the harbor. Horatio felt a quiet sense of displeasure as he recalled the admiralty’s demands upon Pellew to deliver them to a place no man of Britain had ever truly known welcome, least of all one of a military persuasion, all whilst knowing full well the chances of success had been all but nullified.
Still it was curious, how far away those memories had begun to seem. Years had passed since he had last reflected on those particular ones, though his mind did conjure up the sound of a guillotine to play chorus to his nightmares. For the most part thoughts of that miserable posting had not been consciously sought. Though he had considered the Earl of Edrington in the refined nature of other men – historical figures, in this time – it occured to Horatio now that he never saw the man on a smiling face.
He had known the man’s smile – a shockingly bright thing, and teasing in its lopsided nature – drawn out under misconception, and striking for the reminder of the man’s youthfulness brought to the fore by something so natural, propriety could not wholly steal it away. His memory had kept that unique to the man, though why, he could not entirely fathom.
The fading of that smile was what drew Horatio out of the past – both distant in memory and dangerously close to the fore – as it was indicative to him that business was at hand now, and he could only hope he had impressed enough importance upon his tale and what it entailed that he could trust the lord before him as he promised to do.
And so, when it was made clear to him that the major thought well enough of him to grant him this audience and assist in what ways that he could – but that the greater good would be attended to, regardless of what that might mean for Horatio ( for he could read between the lines well enough to discern that meaning ) he relaxed internally with the registration that he would be taken with proper seriousness.
“I understand you completely, my lord,” Horatio assured, tone at once respectful and steady in his certainty that he had made the right choice. There was a cold dread in him for the possibility of this going horrendously wrong – it would be within Edrington’s rights to arrest him, if not hang him personally – but he wished to believe the man to be more logical than that. He remembered Muzillac well enough to believe this was not a man who would operate on his emotions before the good of England – regardless of his personal feelings toward witchcraft, the threat Napoleon promised was too great to ignore on account of them.
Still, he was quiet a time – debating how best to begin – before finally settling with the very start of it. “The strangest first, then – and the threat at the last, along with the proof of my claims.” He offered, letting the major know there was a tale ahead, and that it needed to be said for the danger to be wholly understood.
“As I imagine to be rather clear from my visage, time has been most queer with me,” Horatio began flatly – well aware that his decade gone showed well upon his features. The length of his hair notwithstanding, there were lines no man of his prior youth would bear, and certainly not gain in the short months he had been missing in. They were particularly notable about the eyes and the edge of his lips where his own smiles hid themselves with craft and care. “In short, what took me from the Indefatigable – what dragged me from my men – was witchcraft of a most impressive and terrible sort.”
He knew it was a terrible accusation, and a wild claim to make. He also knew that there was no way those who witnessed his abduction had not spoken of it to any ear that would listen. Rather than wait to be interrupted, Horatio forged on, tone sharpening. “I found myself awake in the Caribbean. Which was frankly impossible considering we were in bloody Gibraltar at the time, but I swear to you – that is not the frightening part. Rather, it was what I came to discover some months after washing ashore and escaping the woman who found me. I was displaced entirely out of time – 1714, to be precise, and through to 1724 when at last matters aligned to return me to my proper place. What proof I have of that is not nearly so important as the proof I have of how I returned.”
Here, Horatio withdrew from his belt a simple ring, upon which was a most familiar insignia. Setting it into his palm, Horatio’s tone darkened. “Bonaparte has located something England is not prepared to fight against. Worse, he means to utilize it to waken things best left where they were hidden over fifty years ago.”
The ring glowed then, a deep and foreboding blue, and the sound of waves could be heard. Horatio’s expression was stern. “This ring can cast but one spell – but what he brought back can cast very many more, and there is no way that I know of that can prepare the men to face up against magic. I don’t even know where to start, but I can say this. I know this is not enough to make clear precisely how much danger we are in. What can, I will need open space to demonstrate.”
‘ one more word and i’ll burn your breakfast. don’t test me. ’
‘ admit it. i was right. ’
‘ get out.’
‘ you’re wrong and you know it. ’
‘ yeah? make me. ’
‘ better let an expert handle this one. ’
‘ i hope you get sunburn! ’
‘ i hope you get frostbite! ’
‘ have fun getting home. ’
‘ hope you’re happy, asshole.’
‘ get your hands out of my face.’
‘ sorry, what was that?i couldn’t hear you over the bullshit.’
‘ un-fucking-believable. ’
‘ forget it.i’ll do it myself.’
‘ hey, fuck you! ’
‘ jesus, it was a joke. get over yourself. ’
‘ i hope you step on a lego.’
‘ you’re leaving. right now.’
‘ eat my shorts. ’
‘ this blows! ’
‘ don’t tempt me. ’
throughout her entire life, she holds herself back from greater ventures ( such as traveling, breaking away from her role as lighthouse keeper, etc. ) in fear of abandoning her responsibilities. likewise, she never marries, and rarely even courts as she has abandonment anxiety, and fears, more than anything else, being left again.
She smiled as he did. Philadelphia took great pride and satisfaction in cracking the calloused exterior the former major had obviously spent so long constructing. If, for no other reason, it provided her with insight into who he once was, sating her social curiosity. At times, she found herself reflected in the man shrouded behind the pariah. At times, she desperately hoped that Monsieur Cotard saw the same, as she vied for his approval.
The earl’s daughter stifled a huff; patience was never her strong suit. In dealings with the bratty “companions” of her class, or the self – proclaimed oligarchs that fathered them, she had a tendency to go for the throat. While such a tactic might work among the battlefield, it did little to assist her reputation. What Cotard suggested was ruthless, in its own way, and Philadelphia appreciated the concept greatly, even if it was simply not her nature. Blackmail, exploitation, and insults veiled by eloquence were her father’s speed, not hers.
Philadelphia uncrossed her legs and, in something like respect, averted her gaze as Cotard shakily placed the cup back on the lipped saucer. Logically, she knew there was no reason to be ashamed for such a malady; he had fought once, and now he was an old man. And yet, even she could identify with the awkwardness one might feel as they witnessed themselves wither and weaken. Monsieur Cotard had long reached apotheosis in her eyes, and so she thought nothing of it.
“Do you believe you are untouchable?” She queried and stirred a cube of sugar into the painted porcelain cup. “Forgive me if I am untoward.”
One of the many endearing qualities of the young miss Edrington, beyond of course her fiery and familiar temperament that so often brought to mind his beloved sister, was the fact of her grace. She never made a show of granting his ailing nature overdue attention or lackthereof, and it was admittedly a relief to be neither fussed over nor condescended against on account of the damages time had wrought upon him.
Upon her question, he was startled into the start of a laugh – managing, toward the end, to catch it mid way and shake his head, “There is nothing to forgive,” He assured, thoroughly amused by the question, but having no wish to discourage her through the perception of his mockery. For in truth, he did not condescend but rather marvel at the idea she proposed.
“I do not believe myself to be worthy of so much effort, ma chère,” He confessed warmly, “My time of relevance in such endeavors has long since passed – for most, I am but a man well past his time who is afforded the courtesies due for his service out of proprietary obligation, but no real feeling. I imagine most tire of me, and will me to die soon if only to clear away the memories of wartime failures faster, but few who might be bothered to hurry along the process.”
Here, he smiled, “The benefit, I think, to old age is that those who once held such power with words and ideas become obsolete enough that they cannot harm their peers. While they can certainly be unkind to the young, few waste time on each other when they believe themselves responsible for shaping a future they shall never see, through their influence over youths. As I embark in very few things in my advanced years, I imagine the only person who might turn against me would perhaps be your very father, considering I am far from the sort of company he would desire for you.”
But that, of course, was an amusement between the two of them, and not a threat Andre feared, when his company clearly brought as much joy to Philadelphia as hers brought to him.
It was a dangerous gamble – one that would put him on the harshest side of the admiralty if word of it was ever to come about. He was at liberty to enact any means necessary to put an abrupt end to the bleeding asset that was Nassau and once again retain English command over the region, ensuring that her profits were no longer squandered by those who would pad their own pockets at the expense of their country, like Guthrie had done.
What was more, he was to ensure that trading passages were – at least to some degree – made secure against the threat of piratic violence. This latter was perhaps the more difficult of the two endeavours, but he knew that if he could pull from the waters captains like Flint, it would fast become too dangerous for the less ambitious to carry on as they were. The war in this theater was already paying a heavy toll – for those who could manage it, turning privateer was far more profitable than carrying on as pirates, provided there were not flags of stronger visionaries to band behind.
Alone, pirate ships were not much of a threat to the interests of England – but when they banded together under one banner, it was a growing concern that Graham could not abide by. Short of killing Flint and granting some sort of martyr to rally behind, his best bet was to force the man into legitimacy – and if a man as notorious and vocal as he turned privateer, it would be a very loud proclamation to those rebels and idealistic thieves that their way of life was simply not sustainable. To make a hypocrite of one of their leaders would force them to question themselves – and if nothing else, it would weaken their resolve tremendously.
The trick, of course, was in convincing this man to not only do as he was bid – but to ensure that he continued to do so after he received what he wanted. Graham believed wholeheartedly that he held the very cards necessary to ensure that outcome – a risky gamble, but one he believed he could take if he played matters just right. And now here they were, on the very cusp of what he needed to achieve, and not even the threat and violence etched upon such familiar, yet changed features could deter him now. He’d laid his card – now was time to play the rest.
“Your death would be more troublesome to my work here than your turn toward legitimacy,” The answer was spoken quietly, for he had the man’s attention now and the need for ferocity had passed them. “In exchange for Thomas – “ He lowered his hands, straightening and meeting the man’s frightful glare squarely and without fear or contempt, but rather the calm certainty of a man who knew he had played a winning hand, “I would have you and he assist me personally in returning Nassau to British rule.”
Complete and utter betrayal of the black flag was the price for Thomas Hamilton – anything less and the admiralty would be infuriated, though only Hennessey would know the full depths of Hume’s betrayal to achieve even half that.
“Your pardons,” He continued, steady and undeterred, “Would be conditional upon your service toward that end. Once trade routes here have been properly reestablished, and Nassau has functioned for a year – you are free to do as you please.” By which point, the damage would be too great for a return to piracy. It would be legitimacy or disappearance in full, but it would be the end of the notorious Captain Flint and perhaps, a start for the new and restored Nassau.
His voice left him, at first. Flint simply stared, pupils like pinpricks and mouth twitching into a snarl, looking for all the world more demon than man. He wanted to snap Hume’s neck, for daring to lie to him like this. For calling up that awful glint of hope in James’ chest, for sparking it when Flint knew, when he knewthat Thomas could not be alive- Peter’s letter-
Flint’s mouth pressed into a thin line, nostrils flaring as he fought both his temper and the constricting silence lodged in his throat.
If this is a fiction, he thought, staring hard into those bright, blue eyes, there isn’t a fortress in the world that will keep you safe from me.
But the Hell of it was that this was Flint’s Achilles heel: the one thing he would have risked everything for no matter how unlikely it was, no matter how much his rational mind believed that Thomas could not be alive. If there was even a chance, he had to take it. He had to.
He thought of Nassau. Of the schedule, of the gold. Of seeing Thomas’ plans breathed into life, finally, after nearly a decade.
And then he thought of Thomas, hidden away somewhere but alive, and that he and Miranda might see him again, and the emotions that surged up in him–and the fear that it might not be true–were agony to bear.
“You,” Flint rasped, eyes flicking over Hume with a sneer, “would offer this to me?” The distrust was plain in both his voice and expression. Flint’s hands were twitching, like he wanted to hit something. Offers like these did not come without a cost: they did not come without a debt.
(And? It’s Thomas, McGraw hissed at the back of his mind, And you would burn in Hell for him.)
“Even if,” (he still could not say the name) “He was alive, as you say- why?” Flint’s eyes narrowed. “Why not hang me?”
Ocean Archive 