Throughout the next hours, they continued luring the men and women from the hamlet to them and using the bell to free them from the hollow trance they were in. Some required more than one strike of the handbell, which Alexandre thought possible, but they didn't have to use the last resort technique he had taught everyone.
As a test, Anne used it on one of the children as they were the easiest to control, but it didn't have an effect. Alexandre believed that they were too deep in a trance at that time for it to work. Anne hoped that Sam was right that Silver Eyes' crew were not in as deep a trance, as that technique could be their secret weapon.
None of the men and women seemed to revert to their original state, however. All, even the children, were still in that strange trance that robbed them of their right minds and agency. The only beneficial part of it was that they were compliant and didn't protest even when there was no good reasoning behind a request. Anne simply had to ask them to stay where they were, and they did as told.
"Is that everyone?" Anne asked. All told, they had gotten almost sixty people before the sun was at its peak.
William, peering through a spyglass over every inch of the small hamlet, replied without taking his attention away. "I cannot see any left, though this is not the best vantage point."
"Then we proceed with caution," Anne said, loudly enough for the crew to hear. "Begin by taking down that bell tower, but be sure not to let it ring. If you see anyone still in a trance, keep your distance and call out to me, understood?"
In unison, the crew responded affirmatively, then went to work. Some remained behind to secure the men and women in case the worst happened and the bell was struck again, and the rest left to secure the bell.
"One down, three to go."
12. You Know What They Say About Dead Men?
Edward refused to talk with Herbert after they were forced to go below deck. He had too much on his mind and needed time to think.
The foremost thought on his mind was that of the driftwood seashell-shaped necklace that Grace had retrieved. His mother's necklace. He had forgotten all about it, and almost all about her until that moment.
Edward had never actually known his mother—she had died during his tender years, and he only ever learned of her through rosy retellings from his father.
He couldn't picture her face; his only real memory of her was her hair, black and glossy like onyx, just as his own, rolling over her shoulders with waves like the summer sea.
Outside of that, the only memory that stuck with him was after she was gone, when it had been just Edward and his father. His father trying his best to keep it together in the aftermath, then throwing himself into his work before leaving Edward behind. Leaving him behind with the Hughes, a family that loathed him. Leaving him behind to become a pirate.
What made the memory of the necklace worse was that, according to his father, he had been the one to pick up the driftwood and give it to his mother. His father had carved it into the seashell shape, and it had been hers before it became his.
A thief stole it, and he must have known its value given it was simple driftwood, and Edward's father had sent Grace to retrieve it for him. Did his father value it as a memento of his lover, his son, or both?
As Edward ruminated, a few hours must have passed. He felt the ship beginning to sway harder and harder with the increasing swell of waves crashing against it. As Herbert had predicted, they were heading into a storm. It was only a matter of time until the rain began, and then there would be no way out but through.
"Edward, we need to talk. Enough sulking."
Edward gritted his teeth and bit his tongue lest he say something he regretted. Instead, he rose from his hammock and joined Herbert. They passed by a few other crewmates avoiding work and headed towards the cargo hold.
Herbert left his wheelchair on the gun deck, strapping it to a full barrel with a rope, and descended a ladder to the cargo hold below. Edward followed soon after, grabbing a lantern along the way, then the two went into the maze of barrels, boxes, and bags haphazardly left in the hold. When they felt certain their voices wouldn't carry to the deck above them, they made themselves comfortable.
Herbert levelled a glare at Edward. "So, what did you do?"
Edward scoffed. "What did I do? You're the one who insulted Grace's helmsman, and by extension herself as well." He did his best not to think about what had happened in Grace's cabin and to deflect blame, but he could feel the heat of shame filling his cheeks. The little stubble he had grown back did little to hide it.
Herbert folded his arms, and his mouth was a line. If Edward didn't know any better, he had been practicing to look as emotionless as William.
Edward rubbed his face before letting out an exasperated grunt. "She tried to lay we me, and I said no. What was I supposed to do?"
Herbert's mouth went agape for a moment, unable to formulate words, but he recovered after a moment. "Sleep with her, that should be obvious." His arms were still folded, but his voice rose a touch.
Now, Edward was at a loss for words. "I won't do that to Anne," he said as he looked away from Herbert's gaze.
Herbert paused for a moment, and his tone softened. "We're in enemy territory. She would understand."
"Yes, you're probably right," Edward conceded. "But it would cause her pain nonetheless. I refuse to put her through that."
Edward looked at his left hand and the ring that adorned it. He touched the
