"I'll pass," Edward said. He desperately wanted to say yes, but he remembered his promise.
Jack looked at Herbert, and Herbert simply stared at him. He shrugged. "More for me," he said before downing one of the glasses in a single gulp.
This was not the father he remembered from his youth. Edward remembered a kind, gentle man who loved to play and teach him about sailing. A man who would go on walks with him, name the stars for him. A man who would tell him stories before sleep, comfort him, drop everything for him. A man who loved him.
This man was wholly and completely Calico Jack, a pirate who seemed to love himself and the sound of his own voice. His old father was dead.
"To answer your question: you're here because I thought we could talk a bit. I wanted to hear about what's happened to you over the years before it's too late. The gallows are being prepared as we speak, so we'd best get on with it, gentlemen."
"Your spy didn't give you enough information?" Edward asked.
Jack arched his brow for a second and then grinned. "A spy? Now, what makes you think I sent a spy aboard your ship?"
"John, at the very least, knew everything. Victoria is another. They could have been working together to send you information."
"I see," Jack said as he rubbed his chin. "Just those two, hmm?"
Edward's jaw went slack. There were more than just John and Victoria? Some of his most loyal crewmates had been with him from the beginning since he'd set out to be a whaler. From there, they had gone to Port Royal, and there John got them more crewmembers, many of whom were also still on the crew to this day. Edward supposed with his father's reach it could have been any port, but Port Royal was the closest to their home island. It would have been simple to have some other crewmates ready to join them there, including Victoria.
But Edward remembered that Sam was the one who had suggested they head to Port Royal, not John. Could Sam be a traitor too? How did he get involved with his father's crew after their run-in with Cache-Hand? It all seemed too coincidental.
There was no way to be sure, and right now, Sam and his crew were their last hope to escape this situation. He had to believe in Sam and not give up any information that could tip their hand.
"Tch," Edward spat. "As Herbert said, just kill us and be done with it. I'm tired of the games you've had us playing these past years."
Jack shrugged. "Well, if that's what you wish, who am I to object?" He whistled as his gaze turned to one of his guards keeping watch at the door.
Edward turned his head to look behind him. The guard pulled a pistol from his belt and aimed it at Herbert. Edward shouted and jumped at Herbert to knock him out of the way. There was a loud shot and Herbert roared as the iron ball seared into his back.
The guard began reloading his pistol. Herbert, his hands tied in front of him, couldn't grab hold of the wound to stop the bleeding. He pulled himself tighter as he stifled shouts of pain between heavy breaths.
"Stop!" Edward shouted at the guard, then looked at his father. "Stop it, you bastard!"
Jack raised his brows again and placed his hand on his chest. "Me? Isn't this what you wanted? You both begged for it." He shook his head. "Now who's playing games?"
The guard finished loading the pistol and aimed it at Herbert again. Edward pivoted, ready to tackle the guard, but he pulled the pistol back and put it away. Edward looked at his father again, and he was holding his hand up. The guard walked back to his post.
"So, speaking of John," Jack began as though nothing had happened, "could you tell me what happened to him? I know he's passed, but details were scarce in the reports."
Edward gritted his teeth, unable to hold back his anger. Herbert was bleeding out, but still holding on and conscious. "Herbert's going to die. We need to stop the bleeding." Edward pressed down on the wound, doing his best to keep the pressure on it. Herbert groaned but didn't scream.
"He'll survive long enough for the execution." Jack took another drink from the second glass of rum he had gotten. "Now, answer the question, if you please."
"Shut it. I'm not going to talk to you as if you're still the man who was comrades with John. You took on the man who killed him as a crewmate."
Jack pointed at his son. "Don't forget that he also tortured you half to death," he said. "I couldn't let that kind of talent be squandered. Locke… or what was it he called himself? Chest-Hand? Money-Mitten? Box-Fist?" Jack shook his head as he scratched his face.
"Cache-Hand," Edward said.
His father snapped his fingers and pointed at Edward. "Cache-Hand, that's the one. He made for a good, if unexpected, test for you a bit ago. Twice. He paid back his usefulness. Now you, on the other hand. What a disappointment you've been."
"Why? Because I haven't killed you yet? If you want to die so badly, do us all a favour and kill yourself."
Jack burst out laughing, a howling, cackling laugh. "That's good, I like that. Where was that anger when I stabbed you in the back? You had your wife carry you away like some useless drunk. In fact,"
