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They’ve been plugging away at The Odyssey at storytime, which Ed remains convinced would not capture a single crew member’s attention were it someone other than Stede delivering the tale. They’ve just finished the bit where they sail past the sirens’ island, and the crew is clamoring for more, but Stede holds strong. He always seems to end storytime a bit early when he senses Ed has something to say.
Ed saves his commentary until they get back to Stede’s cabin. He doesn’t think Blackbeard’s the kind of captain to do literary analysis with the crew. Also, if he sounds stupid, it’s just Stede. Stede won’t laugh at him, or think less of him.
“Odysseus was a fuckin’ idiot. Tying yourself to the mast? As though a man’s never broken through a couple’ve ropes before?” Ed says as he pours their nightcaps- a smokey whisky tonight. “Also, like, isn’t he still trying to get back to his wife, supposedly? I guess it’s not technically cheating, but man, if you love your wife so much, isn’t that enough for you?”
Stede laughs. “I thought you would like this one. It reminds me a bit of you, actually. I feel like you’d tie yourself to the mast to hear the sirens, just to say you had.”
“Nah, man. A captain’s supposed to be a model to his crew. I’d vote him the fuck off, the selfish fuck. ‘Oh, you guys gotta plug your ears up, but I get to hear the thing that no one’s ever survived hearing before.’”
Stede smiles into his glass, the way he always does when Ed goes off on one of his diatribes. “I suppose. It does sound rather tantalizing, though, doesn’t it? To hear a song that no one’s ever survived hearing?”
Ed scoffs. “I’ve heard pretty women sing before. And that’s another thing- I don’t get what’s so beautiful about fuckin’ half-bird thingies. They’re no bloody mermaids.”
“Mermaids? They’re…they’re real?”
“‘course they are. Vicious little fuckers, too.”
“Oh dear. Do we know where they tend to congregate? Perhaps I ought to mark it on a map…” Stede’s totally sincere, is the thing.
“Nah. You don’t gotta worry about it. They only come out every thirty years or so. We’ve got a solid two decades to go, I reckon. If ya last that long,” he says with a grin, tossing a cheeky wink at Stede that he’s pretty sure comes off as casual.
“Ah, that’s a relief,” Stede says, relaxing his shoulders. “How do you know all this, anyway?”
“First-hand knowledge.”
“You’ve seen a mermaid?” Stede’s practically leaning off his seat, so close to Ed he can feel his breath, warm and humid.
“Yeah, mate. ‘Course I have.”
“I thought mermaids weren’t real?”
“Of course they’re real. We evolved from fish, didn’t we? So there had to be a step in the middle.” He takes another sip of his whisky. “‘sides, any god worth believing in would’ve made mermaids. We were clearly the prototype before she realized mermaids are cooler versions of us.”
“What do they look like?”
“Scary little buggers, they are. Fangs like,” Ed holds his pointer fingers up to his teeth, demonstrating. “And they’ve got real slimy skin. Even paler than you, with pitch-black hair. And their tails kinda look like dolphins.”
“How do you know it wasn’t a dolphin, then?”
“Never had a conversation with a dolphin before, mate.”
“You talked to one?”
“For a bit. She was cold as fuck. Tits out and all, y’know. Winter hit early, and she was too far north, so I gave her my old jacket. Don’t know why I thought it’d keep her warm in the water, really, leather only gets colder when you’re underwater. But she seemed to appreciate it. She came back a couple’ve weeks later, wearing the coat, told me a storm was heading right for us. And I didn’t believe her at first, ‘cause it was clear skies all round. But I trusted her ‘cause she trusted me, and she saved my life.”
“Wow,” says Stede, eyes wide with fascination. Then he laughs a little bit. “I must admit, I’m a little jealous to know I’m not the first person you’ve shared your clothes with.”
“You are the first person,” Ed laughs, chucking his shoulder. “She was a fuckin’ mermaid, mate. Unless you’re a merman?”
“I should think not!” Stede scoffs. “I don’t even know how to swim!”
“Shit, man, you can’t swim? Okay, next time we’re at port, that’s your next pirate lesson.”
“You’re just trying to turn me into a mermaid,” Stede sulks, though a smile quirks at the corners of his lips.
“Yep. You found me out. My plan all along.”
“I can’t believe you’ve really seen a mermaid,” Stede muses. “I mean, I’ve read about them, of course. But I always thought they were probably hallucinations, or other sea creatures that just looked human. You are sure, that it was really a mermaid?”
“Course I’m bloody sure,” Ed says, eyes flicking up to a candle perched on the chandelier above them, swinging rather precariously in the choppy seas.
“Ahaha!” Stede laughs victoriously. “You’re lying.”
“How the fuck would you know?” Ed asks accusatorily.
“Your face is too still. Also you looked up.”
How does Stede know this about him? He’ll have to look upward more often around Stede, just to throw him off his game. It’ll be hard to remember to take his eyes off him, though.
He doesn’t tell Stede that, like much of his mythos, there’s a bit of fact in there. There’d been a girl, floating away in a dinghy off a ship he’d sunk. She’d been shivering so violently he could see it without a glass. In an act of compassion unbecoming of Blackbeard, he’d torn his jacket off and flung it towards her.
He doesn’t know what happened to her. But she’d appeared in his dreams a few weeks later, pointing a trembling finger to the sky, and he’d woken in a cold sweat. He’d emerged onto the pre-dawn deck to realize that there were just the faintest warning signs of a massive fuck-off storm, and set their course to steer clear.
If he was a spiritual man, he’d take that to mean she survived, and was grateful for what little he did to help. He’s not a spiritual man.
He also doesn’t mention that mermaid sightings do tend to happen every thirty years or so. He doesn’t tell Stede that he spent much of 1706 excitedly checking out every dolphin tail he saw surface, just in case it was a mermaid. He doesn’t tell him that he pilfered all the important details in his story from the ones his mum had told him about mermaids, and she wasn’t in the habit of telling make-believe stories.
He doesn’t really believe in that kind of magic, not anymore. But he doesn’t see the harm of trying to keep it alive in Stede. And there’s something about constructing a new mythos about himself for Stede, a mythos that’s not meant to make Stede surrender and/or piss his pants at a mere glimpse of his flag, but to widen his eyes in wonder and a bit of envy, maybe. It’s selfish, but what Stede doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
“‘m not lying, I swear!” he protests, raising his hands. “What do you take me for, Stede?” he asks in mock-offense.
“A master storyteller,” Stede tells him, entirely genuine. “A natural one, but you’ve grown quite skilled at the technical elements too, during your time as Blackbeard. And you’ve got quite the bevy of experiences to choose from, to spin your yarns! But surely you can’t ask me to believe that there’s a mermaid swimming around in your old leather jacket!”
“Swear on my mum’s grave, I really did give my jacket away! And was saved for it!” You’re allowed to swear on your mum’s grave for the true bits, right?
“Alright, alright! I suppose I believe you, then.”
Ed grins at him, and relaxes back. “So what’s the next bit of the story, then? Odysseus takes a dip with some sea-monkeys?”
“I’m not spoiling it for you! No special treatment for the captain, remember?”
“Ugh, c’mon Stede, I’m not even the captain here,” Ed whines, flopping himself face-first on the chaise.
“Nope! I won’t hear a word of it!” Stede’s up, downing the dregs of his drink and collecting Ed’s empty glass. “Bedtime for the both of us! You’ll find out tomorrow with the crew.”
Ed rolls over just as Stede’s drawing a blanket over him. Stede doesn’t even ask him to take his boots off the chaise, anymore. Ed smiles at him, suddenly realizing how sleepy he’s becoming. “Thanks, Stede,” he murmurs, and Stede smiles back.
“Sweet dreams.”