After three days of the routine, the crewmates were treating him with a mild indifference rather than the overt contempt they had been expressing earlier.
And, to Edward's surprise, he had gotten used to the extra labour. His body began healing and growing stronger from the effort, and after his nausea had lessened, he worked with John to acquire more foodstuff so he could maintain his energy and not run himself ragged.
Afternoon on the third day, the Black Blood landed at the harbour of an island unfamiliar to him and to John. Edward felt it useless to ask others in the crew where they were as they too may not know the answer or would refuse to answer.
After they secured the ship, Grace gathered a landing party and issued orders to keep the ship ready to sail. After a moment of searching, Grace's eyes met Edward's, and she motioned for him to join her, her hands rock-solid against her hips, and her straight back and stern eyes brooking no argument—not that Edward wished to arouse her ire by attempting refusal.
Edward, his body still stiff and his muscles radiating heat, casually walked over to Grace and the two senior officers making up her landing party.
"I want ya with me. Be good ta see how we do things on this crew."
"And what exactly is it we're about to do?"
Grace scrutinized Edward like she had when they first met, but this time it was less an appraisal of his worth and more a search of his person. She leaned to the side to look beyond Edward's massive body. "Did none of you bastards give him any weapons? Someone bring him a sword and pistol before I start asking more questions."
A mate nearby rushed to a reserve of weapons and brought Edward what Grace asked as he avoided her gaze. Edward put the cutlass at his side and hid the pistol under the front of his shirt, secured in the loop of his belt.
"Does that answer yer question, or do ye have any more?"
Judging Grace's tone to be annoyance, Edward didn't reply.
"Hmph," she scoffed, to which Edward thought he had made an error in not standing up to her. "To shore, you lot."
Grace led the way, followed by her senior officers, and Edward trailed behind them, trying to match their pace.
The town they had landed in seemed an unlikely locale for brigands and pirates, being barely big enough to call for a harbour for docking ships. The most wealth it appeared to have were its farmland Edward could see off in the distance.
So, that means it's a hiding place? But for whom?
Edward placed his hand on the cutlass at his side, and he thought the answer to his question was meaningless. Whoever was hiding here wouldn't be hiding for much longer, he supposed.
As Edward, Grace, and the two crewmates strode forward, Edward could feel the air growing thick as eyes followed them. Everyone in that small town was watching them. The hair on Edward's arm prickled under the gazes of the unseen men and women behind closed curtains and shuttered windows.
"Don't mind 'em," Grace said over her shoulder. "We're about ta do this town a favour."
The excitement coming from Grace made Edward uneasy. For the first time since Edward's moment of pure exhaustion three days prior, he felt a creeping turmoil bubbling up in his gut.
Edward reached for the flask but stopped himself short. Instead, he tried to grab hold of the feeling of floating from before. He tried to still his mind and push down the hollow gravity just beneath his ribs.
For a moment, a meagre few ticks of a clock's second hand, Edward held fast to that feeling and then lost it to the ether. Edward imbibed once more to still the trembling.
The four of them entered a local tavern and inn, and to Edward's astonishment the establishment was filled to the brim with merriment, a stark contrast to the rest of the quiet town.
With each slam of Grace's copper greaves, the room fell quieter until there was a hush in which one could hear a pin drop. She took a seat out from a table and sat down with that same casual nature she'd had just before she killed Nigel.
"Bring him ta me." In that hush, Grace's voice filled the room just as boisterously as the din that had preceded it.
There was a moment of stillness where none made a move, and all eyes stared at Grace. The brigands whom Edward supposed they were here for all seemed to know who Grace was and, judging by the terror in their eyes, the knowledge momentarily locked them in place.
The townsfolk, the owner and the tavern wenches who all looked injured in some way or another, didn't seem sure what to make of the newcomers. They, too, had a look of terror in their eyes, but there was a bit of relief in their faces, as though they hoped the newcomers would soon relieve their town of the brigands occupying it.
Grace turned her gaze to one of the men and then pointed to him before snapping her fingers. The man interpreted the message, and he ran up to the second storey to one of the rooms of the inn.
"Blackstad, sit down. Those idle hands of yers are gonna get ya killed."
It took a moment for Edward to remember the name they were using aboard the Black Blood, and then another moment to realize he was gripping his cutlass as though he were about to unsheathe it. He relaxed his hand and took a seat on the other side of the small table, leaving enough room for whoever was about to join them.
After another moment, the door of one of the rooms upstairs burst open, and a tall, lanky man with a greasy mess of a beard and equally messy long hair came out. He was pulling up his trousers
