"Now, now, gents," the cook said, "that's just not true. We've got salted beef too."
The group of them laughed at the comment as ship's biscuits were handed out. The men got four each, but Edward's father only handed him two. Edward remembered wanting to object and ask for more, but he didn't want to make a fuss in front of his father's men.
Edward's father took a biscuit in hand, held it up and gave his son a glance to see if he was following along. Edward had already been mimicking his father and looked more towards him than at the bowl or biscuit, despite his hunger.
His father smacked the biscuit against the wood of the ship at his feet, then dropped it into the stew. A half step behind, Edward did the same. His father smiled at him, and Edward smiled back.
The memory was a curious but arresting look back at the father of his younger years. It was so far removed from the father he'd met just a few moons back, the one who now called himself Calico Jack, that it felt like a different person. His father had never been cold to him, had never scolded him without reason, and had only been hard when he'd needed to be. Edward had never known his father to do vile things to both women and men, let alone all the other horrible stories he had heard told about Calico Jack over the years.
Edward would be lying to himself if he thought it didn't make what they were about to do easier. Calico Jack wasn't his father now, not really, and the more he thought it over, the more Edward thought there was no way to avoid giving his father exactly what he seemed to want.
Edward pushed aside the dark thoughts and focussed on the hunger in his belly. The other two were already well into their stew, and Edward needed to catch up.
As Edward had suspected, the stew had been saturated in an ungodly amount of salt, the results of curing and storing aboard a ship. There was almost no way to rinse the salt away, and so it ended up in the stew. This was on a whole other level from what he experienced aboard the Queen Anne's Revenge, and it made Edward's toes curl.
Sensing another cue, John produced three cups from his own cloth holding his biscuits and filled them with the laced water from a waterskin.
The three men, so focussed on their food, neglected each other's company until they had halved their stews and thrown another biscuit into the mix. Edward was first to take pause and speak.
"How does your crew manage the scurvy? I notice few have the signs."
John smiled. "See the red bits in the stew?"
Edward took closer note of the broth, leaning to catch the light coming from grated rafters above them. Just as John had said, there were bits of some red vegetables in the stew. Edward isolated the vegetable and chewed on it. After a moment, his tongue felt as though it were on fire.
"Hoo, I think I've had this before. Some type of pepper, is it not?" Edward managed through painful breaths. He took a drink of water, but it only made the pain worse.
John chuckled. "Yes, it helps ward off the disease, and if it's properly dried, it can last quite some time. And the rats don't seem to like 'em, so we have no fear of losing them on a long voyage."
"Clever," Edward said as he held his hand over his mouth. The heat was dissipating slowly, but at that moment it was nearly unbearable.
"Interesting that it becomes so masked in the stew," Herbert commented as he stirred his spoon and peered into his bowl.
"Not much is needed, from what I'm told."
"I'll have to remember this, though I don't know if I want to," Edward sputtered, the heat now starting to simmer down.
The three men chuckled at Edward's misfortune and continued eating for a bit in their small private space on the ship.
A noise at Edward's back sent pricks down his neck and arms. He got up and turned around, some combination of his senses telling him he should be on alert.
Sure enough, a hand pulled away the curtain on Edward's side of the secluded spot. The hand belonged to Edward's chief tormentor and his reason for staying so wary despite their making it aboard the Black Blood. Nigel's pock-marked face came into view, a broad, wicked grin pulling at his cheeks.
"What 'ave we here?" he said. "Couple'a babes ready for the slaughter?"
Edward heard footsteps behind him, and one of Nigel's friends was on Herbert, a knife at his throat. It was the man whom Edward had knocked down during his trial to join the crew, though Edward could not recall his name.
Herbert's eyes were wide. Edward saw his hands inching to the secret compartment of weapons in his wheelchair, and it made him painfully aware of his own lack of arms.
Edward turned back when the sound of wood scraping across floorboards sounded from Nigel's direction. He'd moved the barrel aside during Edward's distraction, and held a long knife in his hands. Behind Nigel was another man, blocking any chance of escape.
"Let's finish wut we started earlier."
Edward raised his hands in a defensive position, his years of training and conditioning working without thought. He assessed the length of the knife, his distance from Nigel, and Nigel's reach. Edward generally had the advantage in height, but it meant nothing in the confined, trapped space beside the surgeon's room.
At least they can patch me up quickly, Edward mused, a soft, dark chuckle escaping under his breath.
"Nigel, stop this madness!" John shouted, but he hadn't moved from his near supine position against the starboard wall.
"I'm jus' giving the greenhorn what's coming to him."
"What should he have done? Laid down and died?
