Epilogue I
HOOK
“Itold you to hew close to the cay.” I take the wheel from Smee and steer closer to Blackbeard’s island.
“Sorry, Captain. I was distracted.” He stares at the cay where celebrations are still going on despite an entire fortnight of sunrises. Pirates are laid out all along the beach, some of them turning the color of a ripe apple. They don’t care. They’re just happy to see the sun over these waters.
“No distractions.”
“Aye, Captain.” He takes the wheel again. “The party tonight is supposed to be the biggest Blackbeard has ever thrown.”
“I’m sure he wants to pat himself on the back for the sun rising and pretend he’s the one who made it so.
He’s a self-righteous old twat sometimes.
” A tough old barnacle, he also taught me more about sailing and pirating than anyone else.
I’m glad he retired. It would’ve been a shame if I’d had to kill him.
Someone on the cay shoots off some fireworks, though they aren’t quite as brilliant in the daylight. I don’t mind at all. I’m getting used to seeing the blue sky again. You don’t know how much you’ll miss something until it’s gone, and isn’t that a kick in the nuts?
“Do you need me to press any of your clothes before the party?”
“I’ve got it covered.” I clap him on the back. “Make two more passes, then drop anchor.”
“Aye, Captain.”
I stomp down to the lower deck.
“Captain!” Cecco stands up straighter as I pass.
I grunt and keep going aft. When I walk into the galley, Cookson is huddled over the stove.
“Well?” I ask.
“It’s almost ready.”
“It was supposed to be ready an hour ago.” I snatch a bowl from the cabinet and hand it to him.
“Just need ter add a little more …” His gnarled fingers rove over the glass jars of spices he zealously guards. “Rosemary. That’s the one. Makes it stick ter the ribs.” He sprinkles a little into the pot then stirs it some more.
Pushing past me, he grabs a small wooden spoon, dips it into the pot and tastes it. Smacking his lips, he gives me a nod. “Ready.”
“Double serving.” I don’t have to say it. He always heaps the bowl high.
Once he’s ladled it in, he shuffles to the small stone oven and opens the door.
“There she is,” he coos and pulls the small loaf of bread from the oven and places it on a wooden tray.
“Came out perfect.” He grins and gathers some silverware to lay on the tray beside it.
“Lunch is served, Captain.” He takes the bowl from me, puts it on the tray, and arranges the whole thing nicely. “I like ter have a nice presentation.”
I would give him some guff, but Cookson is dedicated to his craft. I can respect that, so I simply take the food and climb back up to the aftdeck.
Widow passes me and stares longingly at my platter, but she doesn’t make a move toward it. She knows that would end with a swift kick in her ass.
I pass Smee who is finally paying attention and skirting Blackbeard’s Cay.
I want the entire island talking about the Jolly Roger before we drop anchor.
Though I’m not too invested in my own legend anymore, I’m keen for everyone to take a lesson from what happened to Anne.
To fuck with the crew of the Jolly Roger is a suicide mission, one I’ll happily assist with if there’s anyone foolhardy enough to try it.