Anne hoped that that was what Christina had been thinking with that attack. Otherwise, it had been a fool's errand, and merely a fool's luck. But it seemed luck was in ample supply this day.
With the bell destroyed, it lifted the cloud that had been hanging over the heads of the crew, and they burst out into cheers and hollers. The victory felt all the sweeter without that sound overpowering all thought. Now the air was filled with the noise of their making.
Anne smiled with the crew, happy at their boosted morale and with Christina's gamble. She also didn't doubt that Silver Eyes was watching them, and she suspected that he was very displeased.
14. Seasick
Grace was furious.
Edward knew from the look on the captain's face that the arrival of the storm had incensed her core. With the storm now behind them, she overlooked the crew with disgust, battered and broken as they were, with many lying on the deck desperate for air and respite.
Edward was one of the few on his feet, but not by choice. He needed to keep that look of contempt, that anger, directed away from him, so he stood on shaking legs next to the helm, which Herbert now manned.
After Edward had killed John and he and Herbert disposed of the body, they'd gone above deck and into the storm. Grace had put Herbert in charge, and he filled the role as masterfully as he could under the circumstances. He shouted commands, held fast to the ship's wheel as wind and water tested his grip and endurance both, and guided the ship out of the worst of it.
As he did so, Edward was busy himself. He stayed as far from the quarterdeck as he could, as far from Grace's watchful eye as he could, and he did the one thing he seemed skilled at: he killed.
When the waves surged over the sides of the ship, and even the hardiest seaman's legs could have given out, he struck. It was so effortless; all he needed was a well-timed push. So easy to kill them. So easy, it was like breathing to him.
And it was there that Edward felt it again. The floating feeling of freedom. The same feeling when he was so far drowned into a bottle, he felt nothing else. The same feeling when he was so far beyond exhaustion, his body was moving on its own.
He was no longer in that storm, no longer subject to the whims of the wind and waves. He had become the storm, and the sea. And the sea called for new visitors.
Edward threw at least four overboard in the storm. He lost count at some point because he didn't care for the lives he was expending, so it could have been more.
And judging by Grace's anger and disgust now that the storm had ended, she noticed the missing men amongst the crowd on deck.
"John," he heard Grace mutter under her breath. She was gripping the railing of the quarterdeck so hard her knuckles were white. She turned her rage in Herbert and Edward's direction, and he could feel his heart skip a beat. "Where's John?"
Edward just looked at her for a moment. His throat seized, and he no longer had that feeling of floating to help him. Whatever he drank to bring it on, it had left his body long ago with sweat.
"He's not here, and you were the last ones with him," she continued. "Where is he?"
Edward cleared his throat. It was just as Herbert had predicted. "I'm not the boy's keeper. How should I know?"
From Grace's expression, that was not the right answer. She turned her eyes towards Herbert and pointed at him. "My quarters. Now!" Grace turned to leave, the sight of her back brooking no refusal.
Herbert glanced over his shoulder, giving Edward a concerned look before heading to the quarterdeck ladder. Another crewmate took over the helm as Edward helped bring Herbert's wheelchair down to the weather deck and then down to the captain's cabin. There was no opportunity to talk with Herbert, no chance to go over the story again and ensure they were consistent.
Herbert went into the cabin, and Grace closed the door behind him. Edward stayed nearby and waited for whatever was going to happen.
Edward waited and paced and waited some more. He kept a tight grip on his cutlass, though he wasn't sure what good it would do. As he'd surmised before, if he killed their captain, the crew of the Black Blood would still be there to get revenge. They were on the open sea; there was no escape in the wooden box they'd stepped into. But Edward refused to lie down and die if it came to that. He would fight, and he would die. He would not let another choose what would happen to him, even his death.
A thought came to Edward as he waited, a way to avoid or at the very least postpone their deaths.
Edward's father, Calico Jack, could have killed him, could have killed all of them in that tavern weeks ago. Edward and Herbert had guessed that Calico Jack wanted Edward to kill him in some kind of test, just as the unlocking of the ship was a test.
If Edward told Grace who he was, there was a chance that she would keep them alive, at least long enough to bring them to her master. He looked at the ring, still adorning his left hand, simultaneously a threat and a marker of his connection to Calico Jack. If he needed to, it could prove who he was.
The noise of Grace's cabin door opening brought Edward
