John rose to his feet and balled his fists. "Nigel was told to leave you be. He disobeyed that order. Or did you forget that?" John stared daggers at Edward in defence of his captain. He seemed almost a bit too invested. "Would you have done any differently were you captain and someone nearly killed a crewmate over a petty dispute?"
Edward glanced over at Herbert, remembering how he had punished him for disobeying orders. Had Herbert been more like Nigel, would he have killed him over it? He'd left Kenneth Locke stranded on an island to die, doing everything but pull the trigger—and he'd later regretted it when Kenneth came back as Cache-Hand. He'd also admonished Bartholomew Roberts for sparing Walter Kennedy.
John seemed to hit hard at Edward's sensibilities. He hadn't been as consistent upon reflection as he had hoped he had been in practice. In some ways, he had become harsher, and in others, more lax in his responsibilities.
Edward let out a sigh as he looked away from Herbert and stared at the deck. "I don't know what I would have done had I been in her position," he said. "Perhaps you are right, and perhaps I would have done the same."
John's hand and face relaxed in tandem as Edward backtracked. "So, what does this mean?"
Edward shook his head. The rum was beginning to make him hot, or perhaps it was the slight twinge of embarrassment. "I suppose it means I owe you an apology for my outburst." John appeared taken aback at the comment but accepted the apology. "And it means we need to be more cautious around our new captain." This time Edward glanced over towards Herbert, the words meaning more for him than what he was letting on in front of John. Herbert understood the message and gave Edward a nod.
There was another moment of silence as the group reflected on what had just happened, as well as the tense conversation. Each of them seemed shaken by how close they had come to be a splatter of gore on the deck of the ship.
John looked at Edward, a small smirk on his face now that he had calmed down. "If nothing else, this will make quite the story. First day on board and you got someone killed. That must be an accomplishment somewhere."
It was Edward's turn to be taken aback this time, and he was shocked into a different kind of silence for a moment. He glanced over at Herbert, who had what felt like the same dumbfounded expression on his face as well. Then the two burst out laughing, and John joined in.
"I suppose that is true," Edward said through the laughter. "On a pirate ship perhaps less so, but I shall see it as an accomplishment nonetheless." Edward, for the first time in a long while, laughed sincerely and with genuine mirth. It forced him to rise to his feet and clap John on the shoulder.
After another moment of laughter, and a sharing of Edward's flask, the three compatriots, now in better spirits, headed back to the crew quarters.
Now that supper had officially ended for the first shift, and the evening shift had broken their fast, the crew slung hammocks in the cramped space. With the numbers they had, as well as the small size of the quarters, each row of hammocks was stacked three high. The bottom one would have one's posterior scraping the sole of the deck, the middle gave no room to move without touching the mate above, and the top ran the risk of smacking one's head on the overhead.
Herbert chose the middle as it allowed him ease of sliding into and out of his chair. John went to the top as he was smaller than Edward, and it forced Edward to the bottom. His bigger frame and heavier build meant that he was touching the floor more than the average crewmate. Instead of just a light scraping with the sway of the ship that could be ignored, his hip struck the sole hard with each swing. He tried to tighten the hammock, and it provided some relief in exchange for more rigidity, and so instead of no sleep, he was left with little sleep.
Not that his dreams would allow him much more regardless. The rum mitigated the deeper sleep that brings with it images both pleasant or harrowing familiar to most folk, but it couldn't stop them completely.
Two times in the night, Edward awoke with a start, stopping himself just shy of hitting Herbert's backside with his face. As with most dreams, whether joyful or distressful, he lost all knowledge of it upon his waking. All he had was a fog of dread arresting his thoughts and a tremble of the fingers that wasn't from a cool breeze. He had no way to know for sure, but from the way his sleeping mind and body reacted, the dreams couldn't have been pleasant ones.
Edward had been paralyzed by similar dreams for nights on end, long enough that he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full night's sleep.
After a few hours of fitful slumber, the beat of a drum and a young man shouting orders to wake and relieve the other crewmates forced Edward awake.
Edward's body ached more than it had before he'd tried to sleep. His tired limbs were slow to act, and pressure in his head pushed from the back, increasing the fog and exhaustion he felt. He resorted to rubbing his eyes and slapping his face to wake himself, and taking another drink from his ever-emptying flask to
