Nassau, September 1715
May. 3rd, 2021 02:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doesnotkneelIt felt like years since Edward had freed the Jackdaw and they'd attempted to get back to Nassau. But it had only been a month, despite their few stop-offs at Fandom in different times along the way. (Which at least had the benefit of... introducing Edward's new crew to the concept of the strange place he'd gone to school on.)
Returning to Nassau at last - that was a joyous occasion. Doubly so because Ed hadn't seen a proper tavern in over a fortnight.
Time to go see Thatch.
Any other man, and Edward would have drawn his pistol or perhaps engaged his hidden blade and made the wretch eat his words. But this was Edward Thatch. Friend, braggard, excellent pirate.
Benjamin was there too. He sat with Thatch beneath the sailcloth awnings of The Old Avery, a tavern on the hill overlooking the harbour, one of Edward's very favourite places in the world. Nassau, thankfully, had hardly changed: the stretch of purest blue ocean across the harbour, the captured ships that littered the shores, English flags flying from their masts, the palms, the shanty houses. The huge Fort Nassau towered above, its death’s-head flag flapping in the easterly breeze.
Well, all right: it had changed. It was busier than it had been before. Some nine hundred men and women now made it their base, seven hundred of them pirates.
Thatch and Benjamin — planning raids and drinking, drinking and planning raids, six of one, half a dozen of the other.
Nearby was another pirate Edward recognized as James Kidd, who sat by himself. Some said he was the son of William Kidd.
But for now Edward's attention went to his old mates, who both rose to greet him. Here, there were none of the formalities, the insistence on politeness and decorum that shackles the rest of society. No, Edward got a full, proper pirate greeting, embraced in huge bear-hugs by Benjamin and Thatch, the pirate scourges of the Bahamas, but really soft old bears, with grateful tears in their eyes to see an old friend.
“By God, you’re a sight for salty eyes,” said Benjamin. “Come you in and have a drink.”
Thatch gave Adewalé a look. “Ahoy, Kenway. Who’s this?”
“Adewalé, the Jackdaw’s quartermaster.”
That was when Thatch made his crack about the Jackdaw’s name. Neither of them had yet made mention of the robes Edward wore. Certainly there was a moment, after the greeting, when they both gave Edward long, hard looks and he wondered whether those looks were as much to gawp at his clothes as to see the change in him, the shift from the feckless teenager they'd met into a battle-scarred man who was not so careless with his feelings.
“I'm looking for more men to crew my ship.”
“Well,” said Thatch, “there’s scores of capable men about, but use caution. A shipload of the king’s sailors showed up a fortnight back, causing trouble and knocking about like they own the place.”
Edward didn’t like the sound of that. Was it Woodes Rogers’s work? Had he sent out an advance party? Or was there another explanation? The Templars, looking for him, or something else? The stakes were high then. Edward should know. He’d done more than his fair share to increase them.
--
While recruiting more men for his ship, Edward learned a little more about the presence of the English in the Bahamas. Men that he and Adewalé spoke to talked of seeing soldiers prancing round in the king’s colours. The British wanted them out; well of course they did, the pirates were a thorn in His Majesty’s side, a dirty great stain on the Red Ensign, but it felt as though there was, if anything, an increase in British interest. So it was that when Edward next met Thatch, Ben and, joining them, James Kidd in The Old Avery, he was sure to speak out of earshot and extra wary of unfamiliar faces.
“Have you ever heard of a place called The Observatory?”
Edward'd been thinking about it a lot. At its mention there was a flicker in James Kidd’s eyes. Ed shot him a glance. Kidd was young — about nineteen or twenty years old, a bit younger than Edward, and, just like him, a bit of a hothead. So as Thatch and Hornigold shook their heads, it was he who spoke up.
“Aye,” he said. “I’ve heard of The Observatory. An old legend, like Eldorado or The Fountain of Youth.”
Edward ushered them to the table where, with a look left and right to see if any of the king’s spies were in residence, he smoothed out the picture purloined from Torres’s mansion and placed it on the table. A bit dog-eared but still — there was an image of The Observatory and all three men looked at it, some with more interest than others and some who pretended they were less interested than they really were.
“What have you heard?” Edward asked James.
“It is meant to be a temple or a tomb. Hiding a treasure of some kind.”
“Ah, rocks,” bellowed Thatch. “It’s fairy stories you prefer to gold, is it?” Thatch — he’d have no part in trying to find The Observatory. Edward'd known that from the start. Thatch wanted treasure he could weigh, on scales; chests filled with pieces of eight, rusted with the blood of their previous owners.
“It’s worth more than gold, Thatch. Ten thousand times above what we could pull off any Spanish ship.”
Ben was looking doubtful too — as a matter of fact, the only ear Ed seemed to have belonged to James Kidd.
“Robbing the king to pay his paupers is how we earn our keep here, lad,” said Ben with an admonishing tone. He jabbed a grimy, weather-beaten finger at the stolen picture. “That ain’t a fortune, it’s a fantasy.”
“But this is a prize that could set us up for life.”
Edward's two old ship-mates, they were salt of the earth, the two very best men he'd ever sailed with, but right now Ed cursed their lack of vision. They spoke of two or three scores to set them up for months, but this was a prize that would set them up for life! Not to mention making Edward a gentleman, a man of property and promise.
“Are you still dreaming on that strumpet back in Bristol?” jeered Ben when he mentioned Caroline. “Jaysus, let go, lad. Nassau is the place to be, not England.”
For a while Edward tried to convince himself that it was true, and they were right, and that he should set my sights on more tangible treasures. During days spent drinking, planning raids, then carrying out those raids, drinking to their success and planning more raids, Ed had plenty of time to reflect on the irony of it all, how standing around the table with his Templar “friends” he’d thought them deluded and silly and yearned for his pirate mates with their straight talking and freethinking.
Yet there on Nassau, he found men who had closed their minds, despite appearances to the contrary, despite what they said, and even the symbolism of the black flag.
“We fly no colours out here but praise the lack of them,” said Edward Thatch as they looked out towards the Jackdaw one day, where Adewalé stood by the flagpole.
“So let the Black Flag signal nothing but your allegiance to man’s natural freedoms. This one is yours. Fly it proud.”
The flag flapped gently in the wind and Edward was proud. He was proud of what it represented and of his part in it. He had helped build something worthwhile, struck a blow for freedom — true freedom. And yet, there was still a hole deep in his heart, where he thought of Caroline and of the wrong that had been done to him.
He couldn't let them go.
---
In the meantime there were other things to think about, specifically the threat to their way of life. One night found five pirates sitting around a campfire on the beach, their ships moored off shore, the Benjamin and the Jackdaw.
“Here’s to a pirate republic, lads,” said Thatch. “We are prosperous and free, and out of the reach of king’s clergy and debt collectors.”
“Near seven hundred men now pledge their allegiance to the brethren of the coast in Nassau. Not a bad number,” said James Kidd. He cast Edward a brief sideways glance Ed pretended not to notice.
“True,” burped Thatch, “yet we lack sturdy defences. If the king were to attack the town, he’d trample us.”
Edward grasped the bottle handed to him, held it up to the moonlight to examine it for bits of floating sediment, then, satisfied, took a swig.
“Then let us find The Observatory,” he offered. “If it does what these Templars claim, we’ll be unbeatable.”
Thatch sighed and reached for the bottle. They’d heard this one before.
“Not that twaddle again, Kenway. That’s a story for schoolboys. I mean proper defences. Steal a galleon, shift all the guns to one side. It would make a nice ornament for one of our harbours.”
Now Adewalé spoke up. “It will not be easy to steal a full Spanish galleon.” His voice was slow, clear, thoughtful. “Have you one in mind?”
“I do, sir,” retorted Thatch drunkenly. “I’ll show you. She’s a fussock, she is. Fat and slow.”
Which was how they came to be launching an attack on a Spanish galleon.
[[ taken from the Assassin's Creed: Black Flag novelization. yes, i'm picking up my canon catchup again for the first time in years, what. ]]
Returning to Nassau at last - that was a joyous occasion. Doubly so because Ed hadn't seen a proper tavern in over a fortnight.
Time to go see Thatch.
Any other man, and Edward would have drawn his pistol or perhaps engaged his hidden blade and made the wretch eat his words. But this was Edward Thatch. Friend, braggard, excellent pirate.
Benjamin was there too. He sat with Thatch beneath the sailcloth awnings of The Old Avery, a tavern on the hill overlooking the harbour, one of Edward's very favourite places in the world. Nassau, thankfully, had hardly changed: the stretch of purest blue ocean across the harbour, the captured ships that littered the shores, English flags flying from their masts, the palms, the shanty houses. The huge Fort Nassau towered above, its death’s-head flag flapping in the easterly breeze.
Well, all right: it had changed. It was busier than it had been before. Some nine hundred men and women now made it their base, seven hundred of them pirates.
Thatch and Benjamin — planning raids and drinking, drinking and planning raids, six of one, half a dozen of the other.
Nearby was another pirate Edward recognized as James Kidd, who sat by himself. Some said he was the son of William Kidd.
But for now Edward's attention went to his old mates, who both rose to greet him. Here, there were none of the formalities, the insistence on politeness and decorum that shackles the rest of society. No, Edward got a full, proper pirate greeting, embraced in huge bear-hugs by Benjamin and Thatch, the pirate scourges of the Bahamas, but really soft old bears, with grateful tears in their eyes to see an old friend.
“By God, you’re a sight for salty eyes,” said Benjamin. “Come you in and have a drink.”
Thatch gave Adewalé a look. “Ahoy, Kenway. Who’s this?”
“Adewalé, the Jackdaw’s quartermaster.”
That was when Thatch made his crack about the Jackdaw’s name. Neither of them had yet made mention of the robes Edward wore. Certainly there was a moment, after the greeting, when they both gave Edward long, hard looks and he wondered whether those looks were as much to gawp at his clothes as to see the change in him, the shift from the feckless teenager they'd met into a battle-scarred man who was not so careless with his feelings.
“I'm looking for more men to crew my ship.”
“Well,” said Thatch, “there’s scores of capable men about, but use caution. A shipload of the king’s sailors showed up a fortnight back, causing trouble and knocking about like they own the place.”
Edward didn’t like the sound of that. Was it Woodes Rogers’s work? Had he sent out an advance party? Or was there another explanation? The Templars, looking for him, or something else? The stakes were high then. Edward should know. He’d done more than his fair share to increase them.
--
While recruiting more men for his ship, Edward learned a little more about the presence of the English in the Bahamas. Men that he and Adewalé spoke to talked of seeing soldiers prancing round in the king’s colours. The British wanted them out; well of course they did, the pirates were a thorn in His Majesty’s side, a dirty great stain on the Red Ensign, but it felt as though there was, if anything, an increase in British interest. So it was that when Edward next met Thatch, Ben and, joining them, James Kidd in The Old Avery, he was sure to speak out of earshot and extra wary of unfamiliar faces.
“Have you ever heard of a place called The Observatory?”
Edward'd been thinking about it a lot. At its mention there was a flicker in James Kidd’s eyes. Ed shot him a glance. Kidd was young — about nineteen or twenty years old, a bit younger than Edward, and, just like him, a bit of a hothead. So as Thatch and Hornigold shook their heads, it was he who spoke up.
“Aye,” he said. “I’ve heard of The Observatory. An old legend, like Eldorado or The Fountain of Youth.”
Edward ushered them to the table where, with a look left and right to see if any of the king’s spies were in residence, he smoothed out the picture purloined from Torres’s mansion and placed it on the table. A bit dog-eared but still — there was an image of The Observatory and all three men looked at it, some with more interest than others and some who pretended they were less interested than they really were.
“What have you heard?” Edward asked James.
“It is meant to be a temple or a tomb. Hiding a treasure of some kind.”
“Ah, rocks,” bellowed Thatch. “It’s fairy stories you prefer to gold, is it?” Thatch — he’d have no part in trying to find The Observatory. Edward'd known that from the start. Thatch wanted treasure he could weigh, on scales; chests filled with pieces of eight, rusted with the blood of their previous owners.
“It’s worth more than gold, Thatch. Ten thousand times above what we could pull off any Spanish ship.”
Ben was looking doubtful too — as a matter of fact, the only ear Ed seemed to have belonged to James Kidd.
“Robbing the king to pay his paupers is how we earn our keep here, lad,” said Ben with an admonishing tone. He jabbed a grimy, weather-beaten finger at the stolen picture. “That ain’t a fortune, it’s a fantasy.”
“But this is a prize that could set us up for life.”
Edward's two old ship-mates, they were salt of the earth, the two very best men he'd ever sailed with, but right now Ed cursed their lack of vision. They spoke of two or three scores to set them up for months, but this was a prize that would set them up for life! Not to mention making Edward a gentleman, a man of property and promise.
“Are you still dreaming on that strumpet back in Bristol?” jeered Ben when he mentioned Caroline. “Jaysus, let go, lad. Nassau is the place to be, not England.”
For a while Edward tried to convince himself that it was true, and they were right, and that he should set my sights on more tangible treasures. During days spent drinking, planning raids, then carrying out those raids, drinking to their success and planning more raids, Ed had plenty of time to reflect on the irony of it all, how standing around the table with his Templar “friends” he’d thought them deluded and silly and yearned for his pirate mates with their straight talking and freethinking.
Yet there on Nassau, he found men who had closed their minds, despite appearances to the contrary, despite what they said, and even the symbolism of the black flag.
“We fly no colours out here but praise the lack of them,” said Edward Thatch as they looked out towards the Jackdaw one day, where Adewalé stood by the flagpole.
“So let the Black Flag signal nothing but your allegiance to man’s natural freedoms. This one is yours. Fly it proud.”
The flag flapped gently in the wind and Edward was proud. He was proud of what it represented and of his part in it. He had helped build something worthwhile, struck a blow for freedom — true freedom. And yet, there was still a hole deep in his heart, where he thought of Caroline and of the wrong that had been done to him.
He couldn't let them go.
---
In the meantime there were other things to think about, specifically the threat to their way of life. One night found five pirates sitting around a campfire on the beach, their ships moored off shore, the Benjamin and the Jackdaw.
“Here’s to a pirate republic, lads,” said Thatch. “We are prosperous and free, and out of the reach of king’s clergy and debt collectors.”
“Near seven hundred men now pledge their allegiance to the brethren of the coast in Nassau. Not a bad number,” said James Kidd. He cast Edward a brief sideways glance Ed pretended not to notice.
“True,” burped Thatch, “yet we lack sturdy defences. If the king were to attack the town, he’d trample us.”
Edward grasped the bottle handed to him, held it up to the moonlight to examine it for bits of floating sediment, then, satisfied, took a swig.
“Then let us find The Observatory,” he offered. “If it does what these Templars claim, we’ll be unbeatable.”
Thatch sighed and reached for the bottle. They’d heard this one before.
“Not that twaddle again, Kenway. That’s a story for schoolboys. I mean proper defences. Steal a galleon, shift all the guns to one side. It would make a nice ornament for one of our harbours.”
Now Adewalé spoke up. “It will not be easy to steal a full Spanish galleon.” His voice was slow, clear, thoughtful. “Have you one in mind?”
“I do, sir,” retorted Thatch drunkenly. “I’ll show you. She’s a fussock, she is. Fat and slow.”
Which was how they came to be launching an attack on a Spanish galleon.
[[ taken from the Assassin's Creed: Black Flag novelization. yes, i'm picking up my canon catchup again for the first time in years, what. ]]
