Chapter Text
Dazzling brightness assaulted Stede’s closed eyelids, and he muttered in protest. Where was all that light coming from? The room he shared with his crew at the back of Spanish Jackie’z Bar (the “Vista Suite”, as Jackie liked to call it, because of its tiny window) was never as bright as this, not even in the middle of the day.
Christ, my head hurts. Why does it – ah. Hang on. Certain things are coming back to me.
After his shift at Spanish Jackie’z had ended the night before, he’d left the place with one sole purpose in mind. Find another bar, get drunk, and try to forget that he was no closer to being able to afford another ship of his own than he’d been when he and his crew had begun working for Jackie three months ago. With no ship, he didn’t have a hope of finding Ed. He’d known that spending some of their hard-earned money on booze was a stupid idea, but he’d felt so gloomy, he hadn’t cared.
I must’ve drunk myself into a stupor, because I’ve got a killer hangover. Yes, that’s what happened. I got blotto, stumbled outside the bar, passed out on the beach, and that’s the early morning sun that’s doing its best to blind me.
Stede tried to raise a hand so that he could rub his sore forehead, but something was wrong. His hand refused to obey his command. He opened his eyes, carefully so that he could avoid being attacked further by the unforgiving sunlight, and …
“What the hell?”.
He was trussed up like a rotisserie chicken, lying in a pit several feet deep that had been dug in the sand.
“Who did this??”.
“That’d be me,” a cheerful voice said from somewhere above. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
Stede squinted upwards and saw a silver-haired man, dressed head to toe in satin whose hue matched his hair, sitting beside the edge of the pit. “I know you,” Stede said slowly. “I met you last night in the bar.”
“You sure did.”
I held out my hand and said “Thomas Edwards.” I didn’t give my real name, I wouldn’t do that, not when “Stede Bonnet” is on Wanted posters all over the Caribbean. He shook my hand and said “Pleasure, Mr. Edwards. I’m –”.
“You said your name was Dan Wallis.”
“That’s what I told you, yep.”
I don’t know what this is, but it means trouble. I must stay calm so that I can talk my way out of it. Stede seized upon a mundane topic of conversation to try to bring some semblance of normality to a very abnormal situation. “Your outfit’s different, Dan. You were wearing plain clothes last night.”
“Well, yeah.” Dan swept a hand over the lapel of his elegant coat with a self-satisfied air. His eyes, which were such a light shade of blue they almost appeared to be silver as well, twinkled. “This here is my usual getup, and if I’d had my druthers, I would’ve worn it to the bar and brought my violin along for good measure. It’s silver, too.”
That stirred up a vague memory. Where had Stede heard of a silver violin before?
“Alas, I couldn’t do that,” Dan said with mock sorrow. “These duds of mine are a little too conspicuous, and I wanted to remain incognito. You can understand that, can’t you, Stede?”.
Stede went stiff with shock. “Pardon? My name is –”.
“Stede Bonnet. Kudos for trying to pull a fast one with that ‘Thomas Edwards’ bullshit, but I know who you are.”
How could he know? Had Stede blabbed his real name after all while he was drunk? A little in vino veritas?
All valid questions, but there were other questions that were more pressing. “Are you an officer of the law? Are you arresting me? Is that why I’m tied up?”.
Dan gaped at him for a moment before bursting into peals of delighted laughter. “Oh boy! That’s a good one! That’s fucking rich! No, Stede, I’m not a cop. You really think a cop would dress like this?”.
The denial didn’t do much to ease Stede’s anxiety. “You must be after the bounty on my head, then. You tied me up so that you can turn me in and claim it.”
“Even if that was my objective, which it isn’t, turn you in to who? We’re surrounded by ocean due to being on an unpopulated spit of land five miles from the Republic of Pirates. It’s so teeny, it doesn’t even have a name.”
“What? How did we get here?”.
Dan rolled his eyes and answered as though he was speaking to someone who wasn’t very bright. “It’s like this, Stede. I drugged you in the bar. Once you were knocked out, I hauled your carcass to my ship. My ship sailed to the unpopulated spit of land – with me so far?”.
“Yes.”
“The water was too shallow to lay anchor right beside the unpopulated spit of land. If we’d tried, we would’ve run aground.” Dan gave Stede a sly glance. “Only a fucking moron would let something like that happen, wouldn’t you agree?”.
That glance and the deliberate emphasis on those two words spoke volumes. He knows that I accidentally let that happen once. How does he know so much about me? “Quite,” Stede said, dry-mouthed.
“So, my crewman Moose rowed you, me and him in a dinghy to the unpopulated spit of land. He tied you up, dug a hole, put you in the hole, then I shooed him away for a while so that you and I can have this cozy intimate little chat.”
The repeated use of “unpopulated” brought Stede to a disquieting realization. There’s no-one to hear me scream for help. No-one except Moose, that is, and he won’t help me. “You’ve gone to a lot of effort on my behalf.”
“That I have.”
Stede was about to ask why Dan had gone to so much effort when a comforting thought occurred to him. His hopes rose.
Could it be that this is just a silly prank?
That had to be it. Some kind of hazing ritual, perhaps. Stede was very familiar with those, thanks to school bullies like the Badminton twins. He forced a smile. “Fun is fun, Dan, but I work for Spanish Jackie, and if I don’t return to the Republic right away, I’ll be late for my shift. Believe me when I tell you that I don’t want that to happen, because she does not appreciate tardiness. Get me out of this hole, untie me, and take me back, there’s a good fellow.”
“Aw gee willikers, Stede, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”.
“Because, for starters, my name’s not really Dan Wallis. It’s Ned Low.”
The name was familiar, just as the reference to a silver violin was familiar. Then a couple of puzzle pieces slotted into place in Stede’s aching head, and he knew where he’d encountered them before.
He wasn’t the only one featured on Wanted posters.
WANTED
DESPICABLE PIRATE EDWARD “NED” LOW
GUILTY OF ALL MANNER OF HEINOUS CRIMES
INCLUDING THEFT OF PRICELESS STERLING SILVER STRADIVARIUS VIOLIN
REWARD: SIX HUNDRED DOUBLOONS
“You’re a pirate.”
Low’s icy eyes narrowed, and for the first time, he let the mask of geniality drop. “I’m not a pirate,” he said with an edge to his voice. “That’d be you, Stede, and all the other also-rans like you. Ordinary, run of the mill, dime a dozen, pick a description. I’m the pirate. Numero uno.”
Stede glowered, not at the insult to himself – he’d been called much worse – but at Low’s hubris. “Ed Teach is the one deserving of that title, not you. He’s the greatest pirate the world has ever seen.” And the man I love.
“Oh yeah, the famous Blackbeard. Scourge of the Seven Seas, yadda yadda yadda. You know, I’m glad you brought him up.”
“Are you? Why?”.
Low leaned in, hovering over Stede like a bird of prey. “Because Blackbeard is the reason you’re here, Stede,” he said softly. “He’s the reason you’re going to die.”
“Wh-what?”.
Low bared his teeth in an unsettling grin at Stede’s horrified expression. “Stay right where you are, get comfy, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
The Previous Evening
Low checked his reflection in the mirror and grimaced. “Man, dressing like a regular schmo sucks. These clothes are so fucking drab. Beige, beige, and more beige. No pizzazz to speak of.” When his first mate didn’t say anything, he snarked “Feel free to contradict me at any time.”
“You look great,” Hellkat Maggie said, transparently lying. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”.
“For the last time, yes, I’m sure.”
“It’s just that it’s been a while since I last visited the Republic of Pirates.”
He wasn’t swayed by her wheedling. “Too fucking bad.”
Having Maggie with him would totally negate the point of his dull-as-dishwater outfit. Much as Low hated to admit it, she was almost as notorious as he was, and it was common knowledge that she was his first mate. If anyone caught so much as a glimpse of her distinctive sharpened-to-lethal-points teeth, word would spread like wildfire that Ned Low was in town, and he’d be dancing on the end of a rope before nightfall. The denizens of the Republic would narc on their own mothers for the chance to get their hands on some of the King’s gold, and they wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to him, despite being pirates too. No honour among thieves, as the saying went.
“In any case, this isn’t a fucking pleasure excursion,” he tossed over his shoulder as he disembarked his ship, the Fancy. “It’s business.”
“What business? You never said.”
He descended the gangplank without answering. It was no-one’s concern but his that he intended to conduct a fact-finding mission on a certain someone in whom he’d taken a very keen interest.
Okay, maybe “obsession” was more accurate. Ever since he’d seen that newspaper headline – BLACKBEARD COMMITS EIGHTY-NINE CONSECUTIVE RAIDS AT SEA, BREAKING NED LOW’S RECORD – he’d been unable to think of anything or anyone else.
Those eighty-eight raids of mine were supposed to be my legacy, and he took it from me.
That was bad enough. What made it worse was that Blackbeard didn’t even seem to care that he’d robbed Low of his legacy. If their roles had been reversed, Low would’ve been bragging about his accomplishment from one end of the Caribbean to the other, but from Blackbeard? Not a peep.
Like my record was no big deal. Like breaking it was just another Tuesday for him.
That was an infuriating thought that burrowed under Low’s skin like a tick and kept him awake at night. He wanted revenge on Blackbeard, but not a trite revenge like killing him or blowing up his ship. Any pirate worth his salt could do that. No, his revenge needed to be exquisitely subtle in the suffering it would inflict, hence this fact-finding mission. He needed to learn as much as he could about Blackbeard so that he could come up with a plan that would hurt him to his very core. A plan which, when executed, would find its way into the history books and have people talking for generations.
That will be my legacy.
Having been to the Republic many times, Low knew that there was no better place to find information than Spanish Jackie’z Bar. It was a grungy dive, but it was also Gossip Central. He debated briefly about talking to Jackie herself, because she saw all and knew all, then he rejected the idea. The lady wasn’t just well-informed, she was scary smart, and she’d likely see through his disguise immediately. He’d have to find someone else to talk to.
Stepping fastidiously to avoid several semi-conscious boozehounds sprawled and drooling on the sidewalk, Low pushed the bar’s door open and stepped into the dimness. He breathed through his mouth until he got used to the thick cloud of piss and puke and body odor that permeated every nook and cranny, then he bellied up to the bar. The last time he’d been here, the bartender had been someone named Geraldo, one of Jackie’s many husbands. This guy was someone new. Long blond hair, handsome face, impressive set of abs, busily mixing a drink for another patron. “I’ll be with you in a minute, sir?”, he said in a sing-song that turned his statement into a question.
“Take your time,” Low said pleasantly.
The man garnished the patron’s drink with a lime wedge, slid it over, and turned to Low. “What can I get you, sir?”.
“Top-shelf rum. One for me, one for you.”
The offer earned him a smile that revealed a few missing teeth. “That is very kind of you?”. As the man poured the rum, he asked “Whom do I have the honour of addressing?”.
“Dan Wallis. What’s your name, friend?”.
“They call me the Swede?”. He passed Low his tankard.
“You been here long, Swede?”.
“Several months?”.
That was promising. Several months was long enough to have gathered plenty of intel. Low was about to ask his first question when the two of them were abruptly joined by a third man. He was bald, wore a sleeveless shirt, and looked to be in a really bad mood. “Swede, Jackie wants you.”
The Swede beamed. “She does?”.
“Something about your ‘magic hands’.”
He put down his drink, untasted. “Pete, you can have my rum?”.
“Thanks, man. I could use it. The customers are driving me fucking crazy today. Nothing I do is good enough for them. You should’ve heard this one guy bitch when –”.
He was speaking to the air. The Swede had already scurried off.
“Typical.” The bald man grumpily slurped some rum. “Everyone’s in such a fucking hurry. No-one has time to listen to my problems.”
“I do,” Low said smoothly, having decided that this guy would be just as good a source of information as the recently-departed Swede. He twiddled his fingers coyly. “Hi. Dan Wallis. You’re Pete?”.
He looked more surly than ever. “Not ‘Pete’. Dread Black Pete. I’ve told the Swede a million times, I’ve told everyone, but they keep forgetting to call me that.”
Low kept a straight face with difficulty. “Forgetting”. Riiiiight. In his experience, people who insisted on going by nicknames always turned out to be the ones least deserving of those nicknames. “That’s quite the monicker.”
Pete looked mollified. “Yeah. It is. Wanna hear the story of how I got it, Dan?”.
Low couldn’t possibly care less, since he was sure that the story would be a pack of lies, but he needed to get on Pete’s good side. “Absolutely.”
“Well, it happened like this …”.
Low listened, sipped his drink, and said “Wow” in the right places.
“… then he stepped onto the deck. Eight feet tall, head made of smoke, eyes blazing …”.
“Uh-huh.” I take it back. “Pack of lies” was being generous.
“… history’s greatest pirate. The one who gave me the name ‘Dread Black Pete’. None other than” – Pete paused for effect – “Blackbeard himself!”.
Low choked on a mouthful of rum. “You worked for Blackbeard?”.
“Fucking A.” Pete puffed up his chest, thrilled to have made such an impression. “Once on his ship, the Queen Anne’s Revenge, then again when he moved to Stede Bonnet’s ship, the Revenge.”
“Blackbeard joined someone else’s crew?”. That didn’t jibe at all with what Low knew about him. He was a leader, not a follower.
“Kinda. He and Stede became co-captains.”
“What?”, Low said, befuddled. “As in – they were both captain of the same ship at the same time?”.
“That’s right.”
He’d never heard of such an outlandish notion. “Whose idea was that?”.
“Both of ‘em came up with it is what I heard.”
That was just weird. Low would sooner climb inside a cannon and light the fuse before sharing command, and he would’ve expected Blackbeard to feel the same way. “Why would they do that?”.
“I’ll tell you why, Dan.” Pete leaned forward, eager to impart what he knew now that he had such an attentive audience. “Blackbeard and Stede hit it off right from the start, but before long, just being friends wasn’t enough. What they had became one of those ‘Hey, I don’t just like you. I like-like you’ things. The kind of like-like that leads to doing the horizontal tango. Bumping uglies. Knocking boots. Introducing each other to their throbbing pythons of –”.
“They had the hots for each other. Got it,” Low said quickly before the conversation could get any more graphic. “What happened next?”.
“Co-captaincy turned out to be a great idea, because while Stede’s a decent guy, he’s a lousy pirate. He even managed to run the Revenge aground one time, if you can believe it. Having Blackbeard around taught him the ropes, at least a little, and for a while, everything was sunshine and lollipops. But, naturally, it couldn’t last. Stede got arrested by the British Navy, and he was thisclose to death by firing squad” – Pete held his thumb and forefinger a hairsbreadth apart – “when Blackbeard stepped in and yelled for the Act of Grace. He convinced the head Navy honcho to spare Stede’s life in exchange for the two of them signing up to serve the King for ten years.”
Low blinked. “You’re shitting me.”
“Dude, I shit you not.”
“Blackbeard renounced piracy? For Stede Bonnet?”.
“Yeppers.”
Low’s adding machine of a brain chugged away, putting two and two together.
Blackbeard didn’t just have the hots for Stede.
He was in love.
And if he’s still in love … if he and Stede are still together … well, love makes a man vulnerable.
Or so Low had been led to understand. He had no personal experience in that particular area.
If I take Stede from him, that will destroy him. First, however, I have to find them. “So, what came next? The whole ‘renouncing piracy’ thing apparently didn’t last, because Blackbeard’s been tearing up the Atlantic raiding ships.” Eighty-nine ships, but who’s counting?
“The two of them were supposed to escape from the British and sail to China, but Stede got cold feet and disappeared, and that broke Blackbeard’s heart. He went around wearing a pink robe with birds on it that used to belong to Stede, eating nothing but marmalade, singing depressing songs. It was really sad.”
The word Low would’ve used was “pathetic”, but he kept that to himself.
They’re not together right now. That’s a stumbling block I could’ve done without, but it’s good to know that losing Stede will turn Blackbeard into a sniveling wreck. All I have to do is find Stede.
Pete was still talking, something about Blackbeard marooning Pete and his fellow Revenge crewmates on a desert island, where they were rescued by –
“Wait,” Low interrupted. “Did you just say that Stede rescued you all and brought you here to the Republic?”.
“Yeppers.”
“Does that mean that Stede is still in the Republic?”. Could I really be that lucky?
“Not only that, he’s here, in Spanish Jackie’z.”
“Here?”. Low wanted to yodel with triumph. This had to be a sign that his plan was destined to succeed. “As a customer, you mean?”.
“Nah, dude. He lives on the premises, along with me and the rest of the crew. He managed to sweet-talk Jackie into agreeing to that – and it wasn’t easy, she’s not exactly his biggest fan – as well as giving us all jobs. The theory is that we’ll earn enough money to buy a ship and go searching for Blackbeard and the Revenge. It’s fucking slow going, though.” Pete’s face became melancholy. “I’m starting to think it’ll never happen, but man, I hope we pull it off. I haven’t seen my boyfriend Lucius since I was last on the Revenge, and I miss him so fucking much. He’s –”.
Cue a ten minute soliloquy about Lucius, half of which was devoted to his dick and the other half about his prowess with said dick. Low pretended to listen, and when it was finally over, he smarmed “Lucius sounds like a real prize. Dare I say, a prince among men.”
“He is. He’s the best,” Pete sniffled.
“Look, I have to go now, but before I do, can I ask a favour?”.
“Sure.” Pete gave him a watery smile. “Anything for my new friend.”
Hoo boy. People like him were born to be the victims of people like me. “Point out Stede for me.”
Low was ready with a bullshit explanation for why he wanted Stede pointed out (“I want to shake the hand of the man who captivated Blackbeard”), but Pete didn’t ask. “That’s him in the corner, talking to the customer with the monkey on his shoulder.”
Low memorized every detail. Turquoise shirt. Fawn trousers. Tall. Muscular. Blond hair. Very good-looking, and he’d be even more so if he didn’t have a fretful frown and the slumped shoulders of a man weighed down by the worries of the entire world. “Thanks, Pete – uh, I mean Dread Black Pete.”
“Any time, Dan.”
Low exited the bar, found a tree to lean against, and got comfortable. He looked like a man about to have a nap, but he had no intention of sleeping.
Pete said that Stede lives at Spanish Jackie’z, but he’s got to leave sometime. Maybe today, or maybe tomorrow, or maybe not for days. Doesn’t matter. I can stay awake for as long as it takes, because sleep is for lesser mortals, and I’ve got the patience of a saint. Low snickered. The only saintlike quality I possess.
-----
As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait very long. Two hours later, as the sky purpled with the onset of twilight, Stede emerged and set off down the road with a determined stride.
Low followed.
Current Day
“And there you have it,” Low concluded. “I want revenge on Blackbeard for breaking my raid record, and you being his main squeeze made you the perfect target. So, I trailed you to a bar, bought you a drink, slipped a mickey in your glass when you weren’t looking, and bingo bango bongo. It was soooo easy. You know, Stede, if I may offer a little constructive criticism, you’re much too trusting. It’s going to get you in trouble someday.”
Stede didn’t rise to the obvious bait. He was too stunned by the description of Ed that Pete had given Low. He hadn’t known about any of it, because Pete hadn’t told him.
He wore my robe.
He subsisted on the marmalade that we used to share at breakfast.
He clung to those things because they reminded him of me.
I didn’t know I meant that much to him. I’ve never meant that much to anyone.
Staying alive was more crucial than ever before. He had to get out of this so that he could throw himself at Ed’s feet, beg for forgiveness, and tell him how much he loved him. “Listen, Low –”.
“Oh, there it is, right on schedule, the fucking bargaining.” Low sounded bored. “You rubes are all the same. ‘You’re better than this, Low.’ Uh, spoiler alert, no, I’m not. ‘I have a family, Low.’ I don’t give a shit. ‘You don’t have to do this, Low.’ I do, though, Stede, and if you think about it for a second, you’ll realize that you deserve what’s coming.”
“Deserve it? What are you talking about?”.
“You’re why Blackbeard went after my record. He was trying to forget you. Fill the Stede-shaped void in his life by killing as many people as possible.”
“Killing?". Stede shook his head. “Ed doesn’t do that.” He remembered a deep voice, fraught with pain. “The Kraken didn’t kill my dad. I did. I’m the Kraken. But I haven’t killed another man since.”
Low raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, he does, because that’s how raids work. Did you think that he was all ‘Pretty please, may I have your valuables?’, and the folks on the ships were all ‘Of course, good sir! Whatever we have is yours! While you’re here, do sit down and have a cup of tea and a crumpet’? Nope. Those folks died, Stede, and according to eyewitness accounts in newspaper articles I read, many of them met their gruesome ends courtesy of Blackbeard’s guns and knives.”
It couldn’t be. Ed wouldn’t do that. Not the Ed Stede knew.
That’s just it, though, his brain whispered to him. He’s not the Ed you knew. You broke him when you broke his heart.
“There you go, now you get it,” Low said, smirking at the naked distress on Stede’s face. “Boy, what a thought, huh? All those people are dead because of you.”
“Stop it.”
“Hey, do you suppose some of the victims were child–”.
“STOP!”. Tears prickled Stede’s eyelids. “Please, just … stop. You’ve got me where you want me. You’ve won. You don’t need to torture me, too.”
Low chortled. “That’s what you think. If you knew as much about me as I know about you, you’d know that torture is what I do for the lulz. I’m not bad at the psychological kind, but the physical kind is where my true talents lie. Give me an iron maiden or a rack or a thumbscrew and I’m one happy camper.” He sighed wistfully. “I’ve got all those things and more on my ship, too. If only I’d thought to use them on you when I had the chance, I’d have had you begging me to put you out of your misery. Oh well. Missed opportunities, and all that. In any case, it’s time to get this show on the road.”
Stede wouldn’t allow himself to hope that whatever was in store for him would be quick and painless. Low is right. What happened to those poor people on the ships Ed raided is my fault, and I’m not entitled to a quick and painless death.
Low clapped his hands briskly. “Now, you may have noticed that you’re lying in what some might call a shallow grave. The next step will be – drumroll, please – to cover you with sand.”
At first, Stede didn’t understand. Cover me with sand? That’s nothing. I used to do that with the kids when we were having a day at the beach. It was fun.
Then he fully grasped what Low meant, and his heart jackrabbited with terror. “Oh dear God.”
“That’s right! I’m going to bury you alive! But, to show that I’m not a complete monster, I’m going to give you a fighting chance. Two fighting chances, actually, because I’m just that nice a guy.” Low held up a hollow reed. “First, I’m going to give you this to hold in your mouth. It’ll stick up through the sand and allow you to breathe – so long as nothing happens to it, that is. A rogue gust of wind might snatch it away, or a seagull might shit in it, or …”. He giggled. “You get the picture. The possibilities are infinite.”
Stede took in the sight of the fragile object that was the only thing that would stand between him and eternity. He swallowed hard. “And the second chance?”.
“I’m going to send Blackbeard a note letting him know that I’ve stolen a treasure from him and buried it somewhere in the Caribbean. I’m not going to tell him what the treasure is, though. That’ll be up to him to figure out – or not.”
Stede stared at him, and again, he remembered that deep voice. “Look, mate, I hate to be a downer, but pirates don’t bury treasure. It’s just not done.” “Ed won’t believe you,” he managed.
“Maybe. Maybe not. You’d better pray that he does. The odds of you surviving are already close to nonexistent, and if he doesn’t take the note seriously, those odds will go right down to zero.”
“If you don’t tell him it’s me you’ve stolen, why would he take it seriously? Not to mention that ‘somewhere in the Caribbean’ is meaningless! The Caribbean is huge!”.
“Stede, Stede, Stede.” Low wagged a reproving finger at him. “I can’t make it too easy. Where would be the challenge in that?”.
Stede felt a bout of hysteria threaten. He tamped it down, refusing to give Low the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. “It could take him months to find me, if he finds me at all, and by then –”.
“By then it’ll be a moot point anyway, because you’ll be long gone,” Low said with merciless relish. “I estimate that you’ve got thirty-six hours before you kick the bucket.”
“Thirty-six hours?”, Stede said, aghast. “That’s all?”.
“It would’ve been more like three days, but you haven’t had anything to drink since last night. Plus, you barfed while you were on my ship – thanks so much for that, by the way, it was really gross – which will speed up the dehydration process.”
Thirty-six hours. Thirty-six hours. The four syllables reverberated in Stede’s skull, becoming nonsense.
“Awww, Stede.” Low made an over-the-top sad clown face. “You look so bummed! Will it cheer you up if I tell you that you’re wrong about Blackbeard taking months to find you?”.
“And why is that?”, Stede said dully, knowing better than to jump to the conclusion that Low had had a last-minute change of heart.
“I’m going to wait a week or two, then – when it’s wayyyy beyond too late for you – I’ll send him another note letting him know (a) where you are and (b) who put you there.” Low’s eyes glittered with sadistic pleasure. “He’ll spend the rest of his days burdened by the knowledge that I bested him by taking something precious from him, just like he took something precious from me.”
He’s really equating a human life – my life – to his raid record. He’s mad. Completely, utterly, irredeemably mad.
“So?”. Low looked at Stede expectedly. “What do you think of my plan?”.
“I think that you don’t give yourself enough credit.”
Low cocked his head with curiosity. “How so?”.
“You’re more skilled at psychological torture than you realize.”
Low preened. “Oh, you. Careful, you’ll make me blush.” He got to his feet and fussily brushed sand off his satin trousers. “Much as I’d like to stay and let you flatter me some more, time’s a-wasting.” He gestured with the hollow reed. “Open up, then I’ll call Moose back to finish burying you.”
-----
Stede’s entire world had become his tomb of sand.
Sand filled his ears and nose. Sand weighed heavily on every part of him, pinning his bound body in place. He squinched his eyes shut to protect them and clutched the reed between his lips, sucking in air, trying not to panic.
The countdown began.
~~~35 hours 58 minutes~~~