That left Pukuh, Alexandre, and Anne in the room with him. Pukuh and Alexandre both were keeping their distance, and Anne was the farthest away, as she could do little in her condition.
"Tell me, where is Edward? Where is Blackbeard?"
"I would worry about yourself right now," Anne spat back. "He's off killing your captain."
Lance shook his head. "A pity. He was supposed to come here first. The young always love to rush things." Lance sat there in silence for another moment before turning his attention back to Anne. "You pitiful thing, you've lost your leg." He rose from his chair. Anne pulled herself back instinctively and nearly fell. She caught herself at the last second, and her face flushed red hot with anger. "Do you fear me, girl?" Lance took a step forward.
Alexandre's rapier stopped Lance's advance. "Apologies, mon ami, but you will not be taking another step."
Lance looked down at the rapier tip at his chest. He reached one hand up to the blade and stroked it. "Such a fine blade." There was a snapping sound. "Sleep," Lance said, and Alexandre's arm went limp.
Lance had brought his other hand up in front of Alexandre's face while attention was on the blade and had done what he did best. He put Alexandre in a trance, his eyes hollow and out of focus. Alexandre kept his grip on his weapon, but the tip was now dragging on the floor.
Pukuh growled and leapt forward, striking with his spear. Lance stepped to the side, grabbed the spear and pulled it forward, bringing Pukuh closer before punching him in the gut. Pukuh doubled over in pain but kept hold of his spear. Before he could jump away, Lance grabbed Pukuh's shoulder and pulled him close. Lance whispered something in Pukuh's ears, and he froze in place.
Then Lance turned to Anne. She tried to back away, but this time she did lose her balance and fell backwards to the floor. She panicked and scrambled backwards away from Lance's advance.
Lance leaned forward, reaching towards her. "Look into my eyes," he said.
Anne, whether through defiance or fear, closed her eyes tight. Sweat and tears poured down her cheeks. She couldn't move, she couldn't even scream.
Silence. Lance's hand hadn't touched her, he hadn't whispered his spell into her ears. She opened her eyes. Lance was there, towering over her, about to touch her shoulder. Pierced through his neck was Alexandre's rapier. It was the precise kind of strike that only Alexandre in his full state of awareness could have done.
He removed the blade in one smooth motion, and blood shot out from the wound. Lance, somehow still alive, grabbed his wound as he turned around to see his killer before tumbling to the floor. When he saw Alexandre there, a small smile at the corner of his lips, Lance's eyes widened even more, which gave away his last thoughts as plain as day.
Alexandre put away his rapier, reached over, and helped Anne to her feet and back into her crutches. "Alexandre, how did you…?"
"Come now, after all this, you think I could be put under his spell?"
Anne accepted Alexandre's simple explanation, and Alexandre went to help Pukuh out of the trance. She looked at Lance in his last moments, his beautiful silver eyes marred by blood from him straining to stay in the world of the living. The look of confusion mixed with his pain pleased her, more so than she liked to admit. She was happy that he could be taken down a level before he passed. It was the least he deserved after all he had done.
Alexandre brought Pukuh out of the trance, and they both came up to her. Satisfied, she was ready to move on. "We're done here. Let's go home."
18. The Pirate With Three Names
"So good to see you again, boys," Edward's father said. "Especially you, Herbert. How long has it been? Ten, eleven, twelve years? I'm sure you've kept track," he said before cackling.
Edward and Herbert were led into the study of Calico Jack's villa, a large room on the second floor with several tables filled to the brim with papers, letters, and books. On the walls hung several trophies, including a golden horn like the one his father carried at his side, and a strange hand that Edward thought must have been fake. Or at least he hoped it was.
The double doors on both sides of the study leading to balconies were open, letting in a breeze free from the smell of filth that lingered at street level in Nassau.
Edward's father, true to his third name, wore a suit made of coarse green cotton with a floral pattern around the trim. It didn't fit with his imposing figure and scarred features. One scar, running from his right eye down to his mouth, made him look a monster in human form. Edward recalled that his wife had given him that scar.
"So, what am I supposed to call you? Benjamin Hornigold, Jack Rackham, or your real name, Albert Thatch? Or would you prefer to keep it simple, and I call you Father?"
Edward, his hands bound in front of him, tried his best to keep calm, but it was proving difficult.
"Let's stick with Jack for now," the man said, still smiling.
"Why are we here?" Herbert said. "Why don't you just kill us and get it over with?"
Jack folded his arms. "All in due time, gentlemen. All in due time." He stared at the two of them for a moment before unfolding his arms and walking over to a cabinet, waving a finger as he talked. "You know, I was really rooting for you this time. Grace told me how you got aboard her ship and nearly had her fooled,
