“I was following orders!” The words gasped from him as his back slammed forcefully against the wall, impressing one of his hidden weapons uncomfortably against his spine and making him arch in a rather provocative manner in order to alleviate the pressure. McGraw was inches from his face, fury blazing in mismatched eyes, looking for all the world the demon he had created in Flint.
Taking a breath, Graham raised his hands and set them to the man’s wrists – a placating action, rather than a volatile one – knowing that violence on his part would only make this situation worse – and if he was to believe Billy ( which he did, he held no doubt in a man as steadfast and loyal as he ) then getting “Flint” on his side would prove instrumental in securing Nassau against invasion.
“I swear, it is no lie I tell you. He is alive, I delivered him myself to the plantation – he was made to be buried, for the sake of Alfred’s reputation but the Rowes wouldn’t stand for it. His own uncle handed him off to me – I promise you. Killing me won’t get you to him, damnit!”
Ah – now, either word had finally reached the admiralty that the Scarborough and her entire crew had gone rogue, or Lieutenant Bush was even more observant than Graham had ever granted him credit for. Regardless, the accusation hung heavily in the air between them – and his dismissal of it had been met with sharp enough disdain that he knew himself to be caught out. Still –
“We appear to be at an impasse, lieutenant,” He offered quietly, clearly reluctant to be the first to strike. Though it had not been for long, Bush had been stationed on the Scarborough in the past – back when he had been a fourth lieutenant, though now he had climbed his way up the rungs to second, and good on him for that. He was a steady sailor, and his heart had always been an honest one.
Despite the shortness of their work together, and the distance travelled since, Graham considered William Bush to be part of his flock – and he could not in good conscience see harm done to him. “May I ask what it is you intend to do?” The crew were too many for Bush to arrest him in this bar – and they could be well under way by the time he raised the alarm, but the fighting would be brutal once it was engaged, and Graham would see that avoided if he could.
A genuine chill crept down Graham’s spine when Captain Pellew abruptly dismissed his excuse – there was no urgent business to attend at this time, not under the admiralty. Propriety would not think of it outside of the most terrible of circumstances, and a man senior in his command would surely be more involved than a newly minted captain.
Straightening his spine and praying he could clear away any suspicion toward the lieutenant whose bed he had just left, he attempted again with a simple and curt, “It was of a personal nature, sir. Forgive me – I had not meant to insinuate otherwise.”
“So I gathered, Mister Bones,” Graham intoned with no small measure of exasperation. Yes, he had done his reconnaissance on this man now, stubborn creature that he was. He had already asked if the man believed – truly – that the men he was presently so determined to protect would ever do the same for him. That if granted the opportunity to return to their old lives, to flourish underneath legitimacy, they would not turn on their fellows in a minute.
What had been curious about this was the fact the man seemed rather unbothered by the reality of the fact that many would do that. It seemed that Billy “Bones” – there was no way that was actually his surname – was not harboring any illusions that his “brothers” would all invariably do the same. Rather, he seemed determined to hold true and steady for those who held the same belief in the flag of rebellious equality as he did, and that was good enough.
He was loyal, of that there was no doubt. Yet surely, a man as doggedly protective as this one had something he would rather fight for than men who would betray him as soon as it became convenient to do so. The trick was finding it – if he could do that, it would be better than breaking him. A man willing would always be better than a man shattered – and frankly, Graham preferred to avoid torture unless there was absolutely no option through civil means left.
“I think I am beginning to understand you, all the same,” He announced then, taking a seat across from the chair his prisoner was presently chained upon, “I think the reason you are so determined to stand true to these people is because you have nothing else to be loyal to – no home left behind that you feel can be regained, no life that can be returned to. So you hold to what you know – to who you know, even if it means they betray you in the end, because without them you don’t know how to define yourself or where to direct that protective nature of yours.”
Sighing – because he knew if he said too much he would lose the man again – Graham leaned forward and set the trap. “I think you could benefit from protecting those who would do the same for you – and I also think that those you are especially determined to protect would accept pardons if you were the one to present them. Would it not be better to legitimize your friends and start doing something with your life that doesn’t leave you and yours at constant risk of the noose? Or does your loyalty only extend so far – does it not account for the quality in which they live, but only the mitigation of how they may die?”
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 