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Stede settled his arms behind his head and squinted up at the blue, blue sky. As blue as Ed’s eyes weren’t. Oh, how he missed those eyes, the way they made to glance at him sidelong under that unruly, ragamuffin mane. Never had Stede guessed that such wildness would settle into the corners of his heart and nest there. He’d perhaps hoped, in the same way that he’d romantically thought to chase adventure on the high seas, forsaking family and finances, and it gave him no small comfort that the Widow Bonnet had found her adventure as well. How curious, that they were both possessed of a sort of madness, but not for each other. Curiouser and curiouser.
It had somehow managed to sort itself out, however, and now Stede was returning to his Ed. His wild, curious, mad Ed. And Stede smiled.
Day drifted into night into day again. A gull circled overhead, not much more than a speck through the meandering clouds, though it did have the great discourtesy to laugh and take a wee shit, barely missing Stede’s left ear. Regardless, it would not sully Stede’s mood. The very listing of the dinghy reminded him of his dear love’s temperament, one minute dastardly, the next demure, and this brought Stede an almost giddy contentment. The existence of cloud and bird also meant he was winding his way toward land again. Wouldn’t be long now, Stede determined, as he daydreamed of playful (if periodically painful) swordplay, and oranges. Great juicy oranges. Mouthwatering mountains of oranges, with which to make endless orange juice and orange cakes. His stomach grumbled complaintively, and Stede licked his lips, tasting nothing but salt.
He pondered, for just a moment, how he could’ve packed a tad more wisely for the trip. A comfortable nightshirt, his favorite breakfast tea, some pen and parchment, ribbons for Ed’s beard … all good and well in general, but ultimately lacking for the long haul. Optimism had failed him.
Stede managed to drift off to sleep after a fashion, lulled by the gentle breeze and lullaby of the waves shushing against the dinghy. His dreams were dotted with snippets of dancing folk in great powdered wigs, some of whom wore familiar faces, but some did not: hollow-eyed creatures whose sunken cheeks squirmed with something alive under their pea-green skin. He tried his very best to make polite conversation with the strangers, as one does, but despite their every attempt, they could only answer him in watery gurgles. To which Stede himself politely nodded, smiling in this dreamworld, pretending to understand whatever anecdote they were recounting. The poor creatures were getting more animated, more excited by their tale and Stede’s rapt attention until they were laughing bawdily, wetly—splatting in Stede’s face as he tried to maintain decorum, be the charming host. This was his dream, after all, and if he weren’t the keeper of the hospitalities, who was?
The laughter grew in quantity and frequency until Stede found himself sputtering and tossing his head, dodging great globs. Silk collar soggy, his own fine coiffure wilting, he whimpered helplessly, batting with his lace-gloved hands and choking for air. Until finally, finally, he shuddered awake. Several inches of water soaked his clothes and the bottom of the boat, under rumbling, heavy clouds shedding buckets of rain.
At first he was dismayed and swearing under his breath—colorful words that Ed had introduced him to—but quickly realized his good fortune. Fresh water. Blinking, he opened wide his mouth and extended his tongue and cackled. Which, he realized with some morbid humor, sounded not unlike the gargling guests from his dream.
Eventually, the storm rolled on and gave way to a melancholy sunset. Sated for the moment, Stede perched his chin on his palms and watched as the fat, hot sun dipped into the sea without so much as a sizzle.
That night, for no apparent reason, Stede awoke from a dreamless sleep. The air sat stifling on his chest. He thought he might’ve banked onto a sandbar, so still was the boat, but no. The sea went on for endless black miles in all directions, glass smooth. Not even the stars in the heavens were twinkling, and the slender sickle of a moon seemed to be cut from ice.
“H-hello?” he said, just to hear himself speak, to be certain he was actually awake. His voice caught in the air as though it were trapped, no echo across the surface. “Well, this is quite strange.” Stede rose up, the boat listing silently. He carefully dipped a finger over the edge, and the few ripples that ensued flattened into nothing. “Very strange indeed.”
He pinched the back of his hand, to assert for a second time that he was well and truly awake. And he was.
No matter how he strained his vision, he could locate not a thing that gave him bearing as to where he was. Nor did there appear to be life of any sort, no crying gulls, no fins or shadows of land on the dark horizon. Not even the constellations were patterns he recognized.
The dinghy floated and Stede sighed, though he didn’t feel as nonchalant as he would pretend. He plucked at the hem of his breeches and pondered what had roused him from sleep, given the uncanny quiet. “Perhaps this was it, the uncanny quiet,” he said to himself, as there was not even a bothersome horsefly to talk to. “Who could sleep with all this overwhelming…” he flapped his hand and sighed again, trailing off.
Stede attempted another stab at sleep, but it was not to be. There was no breeze to lull him, no tide, no chirrup of crickets or gentle snoring. Once again, Stede questioned his life choices.
He must’ve floated for quite a spell, as witnessed by the crick in his back, when a shiver tickled up his spine and poked at the base of his brain. His eyes snapped open, and though he still heard not a splash, not a whisper of wind, he knew he wasn’t alone. He felt it, a stirring. The most subtle shift in the atmosphere and a beckoning to his soul.
Drawing to his knees, Stede’s eyes set upon a mysterious sight: the approach of a ship, backlit by the first rosy blush of dawn. How it got so near without him hearing, he’d never know. The shimmering mirage took the form of a muscular galleon that seemed to travel with its own shroud of fog, three massive, motionless sails protruding from the murk. It was unlike any vessel he’d ever seen before, at once fabulous and phantasmal, drifting in and out of clarity. As it drew closer, implausibly silent, Stede noted a soft red glow from its very center, like a great beating heart. That red bled outwards, imbuing the dawn with a far more sinister bent.
The ship was certainly heading his way, so for better or worse, Stede waved an arm.
“Ahoy!” he called out, daring to hope that they weren’t the sort of scoundrels who would just as soon shoot him as save him.
No response, but for the first time since this strange night had begun, the waters shuddered to life. Writhing glimpses of serpentine creatures crested where the galleon kissed the sea’s surface.
Eels? Stede thought uneasily. Surely they’re just eels. Or perhaps dolphin? No, no, eels. Though one might not necessarily be better than the other.
Continuing its approach, the ship’s prow speared through the fog, growing closer still. The roiling waters clung to it like living ink. Stede strained to the edges of his vision, and if he squinted just so, he could make out a shape, a human shape. Someone standing aft, arms folded. Hair flying wild. Eyes like embers. And the sound of a male voice singing, albeit faint, whispering where the wind should’ve been. Familiar.
Stede’s heart unfurled. “Ed?! Ed, is it you?”
The ship drew up, the waters stilled, and a rope ladder was tossed down the side of the big floating beast.
Stede latched onto it and scrambled up, grinning madly, bouncing off the ship’s belly and nearly losing his footing a half-dozen times. As he neared the top, a black-gloved hand reached out, and Stede grabbed onto it with all his might.
A tug and a pull, and there he was. His Ed, teeth impossibly white in the dim. Smiling.
Stede’s breath caught in his chest, a suffocating joy. He cupped those stubbled cheeks and kissed his dear pirate, stars exploding behind his tightly shut lids. Ed returned the kiss with all the fervor of a spinning waltz. They stayed that way, tasting one another and nipping and kissing for the breadth of a nightbird’s song.
They’d be kissing still if Stede hadn’t needed to breathe and take a long, miraculous look at Ed. “I’m so, so sorry!”
“I know.” Ed patted Stede’s chest and chuckled. There was something wintery in that laugh, and Stede found himself wishing he’d brought his robe to wrap up in. But then he’d expected Ed to be hurt. Deeply hurt.
“No, really—” Stede started, setting a hand on his shoulder.
“I know.” Ed’s long lashes fluttered closed, and he sighed deeply before opening his soft brown eyes again to meet Stede’s gaze.
The air was still thick enough to be a nearly physical thing, but Stede didn’t care. He filled his lungs with it, breathless in happiness. “How did you find me?”
“How could I not…” Ed said gently.
They laughed together for a moment as dawn broke in earnest, fuchsia easing into blue at the edge of the world.
Stede tore his gaze from Ed to glance about the unfamiliar ship. A sort of gloom seemed to cling to every surface, a disorienting haze, as though scintillating with impermanence. Stede reasoned he was thirsty and hungry, however, and not completely in possession of all his wits. “This isn’t the Revenge.”
“No, it surely isn’t.”
Stede nodded; he would miss her, but whichever ship Ed had commandeered in her stead, Stede would join him gladly. “She’s lovely, Ed.”
“I think so. She’s got quite a history, this one.”
Meandering to the ship’s edge, Stede peered across the eternal sea, into the endless sunrise. Apparently they had started drifting again, as his dinghy was nowhere to be found. “What do you call her?”
Ed sidled up beside him and dropped an icy hand to the small of Stede’s back. The ocean below them suddenly came alive with a million roiling tentacles, as black as pitch, and a chill wind broke to fill the sails.
“Why, I call her the Flying Dutchman, Stede.”