Black Hearts Be Damned

P R O L O G U E

Sitting across from the presidential seal was a considerable step in terms of scale the likes of which any pirate has been in, yet it wouldn’t come with good consequences. Not only that, but it helped to boost the reputation of the I.I.C. (The Independent Islands of the Caribbean) as a substantial asset. Would his tone be much different from when he initially knew the address was to Lincoln and not his successor, and would the words he used be forceful? An example has to be made, and how the young leader went about it through fierce words that struck the heart of any power they would encounter. Surveying around the oval office was scarcely different from that of the young leader’s own office.

While still in the height scale, the layout was much more civilised. The desk and chair was the only thing that stood out to him. So much beauty in a war-ravaged country. It put him into his family’s perspective and the leaders that came before him. What carnage they must’ve seen in order to get where they are today. Could the I.I.C. be where it was today had one soul been cut down? He then dreaded what his great-grandfather would think if he saw the I.I.C. in the shape it was in when he took over. Would it be a look of wonder at the progress, or would it be a look of bewilderment as the traditions turned soft? A way of life turned into a parody of its once stiff-upper-lip rule-bearing tyrants. Whatever way he envisioned it, those posh snobs in Britain and France would soon have their eyes glued to everything that had been transpiring for the past several months. The weight of the Spanish died off years ago, so the I.I.C. would be seen as a scapegoat for anything, even for America. That’s three sets of eyes looking across at those tiny islands.

A faint commotion could be heard outside the door, a group of three men, one of which will be the other man in the arena with the I.I.C.’s representative. The sounds were of frustration but a sudden realisation that their voices would travel far, so the closer they got to the door, the more the decibels lowered. Ultimately, it went silent for a moment, and the door opened. The President of the United States and two cabinet members by his side opened the doors for him. The silence continued as the two figureheads stared at each other from across the room. President Andrew Johnson kept his lips as thin as possible by the door, not showing any comfort in speaking to the young leader across from him. After a turbulent process with his predecessor, the weight of the loss was felt throughout the country as Johnson stepped in with his predecessor’s signature top hat. He gripped it tightly like a hawk carrying its prey and walked over to his desk as the two men closed the door behind him. There is no formal introduction. There is no mutual greeting; there is already disdain for one another. Even though he hides his delight through a veil of blank expression, the young leader knows the game of chess has begun. And like the pirate he knows he is, it wouldn’t be conventional.

C H A P T E R 1

INITIATION

Great grandfather’s jacket was a bit long in arm length but complimented the dangling mess of gold wrapped around his neck that hid his clean frilled shirt. While his beard could not match the messiness of his grandfathers (being trimmed and styled to match his striking jawline), he felt distinguished to have finally grown one which wasn’t embarrassing. Too many dine-ins in the island taverns, which kept the merry tunes of old blasting to when the morning light shun, told him that what he had before wasn’t working. Courting the wenches that served the island’s best-tasting rum couldn’t land this young lad any partnership. He has to compete with the soggy toothless regulars, whose coordination with the sea was vastly mediocre to his. The young man always winced at the idea that some of these champions of the sea would have an earring to help with their eyesight. A load of hogwash, he thought. However, given his love for the very thing he was born into, he had to deal with those small imperfections now. Keeping your people pleased at the highest-ranking of the islands, with a legend of the game in the back catalogue of your family tree, which started this dream, would be daunting. As his deep breaths rode his chest up and his back stood straight, the last thing to attach would be the cutlass. It laid on his desk underneath his mirror, glistening in the morning sun through his bedside window. It was something that could stand the test of time. Something that if this was to all come crashing down and sink into the deepest darkest depths of Davy Jones Locker, it would survive and let others know of the carnage it had spilt from those who wielded it. Pure silver down to the handle, engraved with the scripture of oath when Pirate captains take up the title. The text glided across the blade in tiny text reading: A captain’s word is hearsay. A pirate’s blade is swift. The seas command your way. A tale of infamy, you’ll bring.

As he read it, he lifted it to his eyes, familiar and bold, sweet poetry to his ears. The presentation is almost complete as the sword drops down into the pouch. One last piece, the most synonymous piece that completes the puzzle. The charred hat hung down on the corner of his mirror. A present and ever so familiar sight to anyone from the pirate nation. One local would refer to it as the crown of many captains to bring good fortune ladened with the blood of those who dare to keep it from them. The young man heard those stories, enjoyed them as a child, and went into depth as a teenager. Now, as a man, he understood the mantle. But to him, it was still the only piece his great-grandfather had bestowed upon him. The family dynasty had reclaimed power after two generations of different leaders. The Teach name he bore would be established on the pedestal of greats, but how would the young man be distinguishable from his era-defining grandfather? Even though his father would recount the tales told by his father, the name ‘Blackbeard’ would still not match the man they portrayed outside of the role of Captain to the I.I.C. As he reached for it, he wondered how his people would react should he not wear it.

The decorum may have changed, but the superstitious attitudes of his people would undoubtedly look on and think of the consequences should he not don the famous hat. Will the heavens open? Will the tide rise so high it will take the islands? Or will a beast rise up like the mighty Kraken and destroy the docks to a horrifying degree? Feeling the weight, he took to his pocket to draw a silver coin to decide his fate. Flicking it high into the air, he awaited to catch and see where the coin would take him, but it was not to be. A hand stretched over and snatched the falling coin. The sudden movement spooked him with a single gasp as the coin was pulled away to another pair of eyes.

Superstition rarely gets the better of you. Something must be on your mind, the older man said. If parading around in a stolen white wig of hair used by British judges was absurd enough, the elderly man was not phased by his spotless clothing choices. Dressed in a jacket woven from two separate garments and boots, the heels were obviously used to boost his height. Father. Where does my fate lie? The young man asked, his voice timid with nerves.

The unknown changing your outlook on things? That’s not the Teach way, Sebastian. Your great-grandfather knew how superstitious nature clouded the workforce, the elder Teach said.

Our people don’t lose touch with the very fabric of our culture, father. There’s no good tiding to those who forget the past.

Very true. But past traditions can often lead in the wrong direction. Look where you are now. Reclaiming the very throne our family worked so hard for. You won triumphantly. You’re already one-up on me. Keep playing the game, and the spoils will be yours, Sebastian’s father said. Sebastian turned again to see the Captain’s hat. He took it off the mirror corner and examined all its creases while his father studied the coin.

Do you still want me to tell you the coin’s fate? Sebastian’s father asked. Sebastian looked at himself in the mirror, almost anxiously awaiting his reflection to say something. That side of him that he wishes would come out more would automatically know what he wanted to do with his words and actions. But it was still hidden behind a wall of shyness. If he ever looked to break the barriers of what the I.I.C. was capable of, he would have to take away one brick at a time.

In the hour of the Captain’s course, very different eyes have steered the ship to a greater understanding of our cause. We reminisce about the golden age of our first three leaders. One of which is handing over the reins to a new yet familiar name. Sebastian Teach, son of his chosen quartermaster, Edward Teach II. Great grandson to the founding father who brought all of his here for a life away from restraint. This family knows the tricks of the trait and will control the fates of those who swear to destroy us. It is now that we say to you, Sebastian Teach, will ye serve? The speaker asked in a loud cry that swept through to the crowd of twenty thousand pirates, all gathered around the beach stage, fashioned from a public hanging set. In the familiar territory of the pirate port, Tortuga, New Providence’s land thrived from its upbeat music, shops and people. The weather was blistering hot for all in attendance but even worse for young Sebastian, who felt the sweat falling down his forehead as he donned the famous garments. Perhaps with the hat, he wouldn’t have had such a hard time seeing everyone on the sandy beach of the Tortuga port. Nevertheless, he kept straight and proud and answered the time-honoured tradition of the Captain’s swear.

I will serve, he said calmly. The speaker, who wore an executioner’s hood, continued the proceedings by welding a small dagger, raising it to the crowd for all to see, even the large group behind the podium, reserved for all kinds of slaves. Soon up came two wenches in rose-coloured gowns, carrying the stone slab that held a piece of parchment nailed solidly at the top. This parchment had seen better days and been through the harshest of storms. A sacred part of the Republic barely hanging on by a single nail that had rusted in its time. As they got to Sebastian, both dropped to one knee and lifted the slab high, keeping the heavy rock steady as it was presented to the new Captain. Sebastian looked at its writings and recited them in his head.

The familiarity with the I.I.C.’s constitution was burned into his memory. Its commandments were simple but effective and had stabilised the islands since its inception. The black hooded speaker brought the knife down and swiped at Sebastian’s palm, gliding down his skin with blood gushing from its clean cut. It did not faze the young ruler in the slightest. He had seen much worse. He was numb to it almost. As he scrunched his hand into a fist, squeezing the blood like fresh lemon, he extended his thumb and pressed it onto the delicate paper. He was cemented now as the fourth leader of the I.I.C., forever scribbled into the history books. His bloody fingerprint now sat beside his predecessors. As he released the pressure of his thumb, he looked closely at his great-grandfathers, seeing if there was any similarity between them. Blackbeard’s thumbprint was dark, but the skin pattern was visible even though a quarter of it was covered in a thick texture that looked as if it could take the paper with it if it was cleaned. First, the hat, now the blood print. In Sebastian’s mind, he knew he could be different.

With enough passion as he could muster, Sebastian pounded his chest with his crimson-covered fist and brought the cutlass out from his hip guard, raising it high into the air as he screamed at the top of his lungs. The two wenches got back up to stand on two feet and turned to show the signed constitution. The crowd erupted with cheers. Swords waved, and pistols fired. The celebrations were about to commence at the famous port. The cannon fire erupted from the sailing ship behind them. The bowsprit was an old decaying ship, brought about in the famous raid victory by Blackbeard but only used for the finest occasions. Like the tropical flowers strung around the wenches beach blond hair, skulls of fallen foes were strung across its creaking stern and bow. However, Sebastian’s thrill was dampened as his father came to his side, playing to the crowd before whispering in his ear: We have to leave. We need to see him straight away.

Past the doors, the Tortuga medical house was a strong, fortified, underground dwelling dripping with moisture. Priding itself on the most straightforward and barbaric measures of practice yet lacking basic hygiene, you wouldn’t feel like you were being treated for your ailments. Sebastian and his father walked through with guards on either side, brandishing cutlass swords to intimidate even the people in the hammocks. A place of aid was coated in lime green and yellow-coloured walls. Sebastian and Edward were facing one man who sat in the only wooden framed bed and didn’t need any more treatment. His demise would be soon. One nurse catered to his heavy breathing and sweating by placing a cold cloth across his head as she sat by his side. The man’s beard was grey, his head bald, his skin sagging, and his bones showing through his skin’s thin layer. A man who once held the covenant title of Captain now laid in a bed worse for wear than he was. Sebastian thought at one stage that he and the bed would go simultaneously. He and his father looked at each other like they wanted the other to say something. It didn’t dawn on Sebastian that he would be the one to speak first. Again, his newly found title still didn’t make his mind sharp to the situation. He would have to change that quick. At first, Sebastian cleared his throat loudly to get the man’s attention, but to no avail.

Captain Norton? Sebastian said. No answer. It seemed as if nothing would get his attention. Edward watched his son try to think of the solution to the problem in his head, imagining that steam would soon shoot out from his ears. In the end, Edward knew he had to be the part of his brain that thought for him outside the stone castle with lavish quarters. Taking the initiative, Edward drew out the solution; his cutlass. Sebastian looked at his father with confusion and hesitancy. It will end quicker this way, Edward said, Leave us. The nurse got up from the stool and walked away with the damp rag. Both men went to either side of the frail Captain Norton, soon realising how brave the nurse was to keep herself close to the decaying stench coming from the Captain for so long. As they looked down at him, all they saw was a hollow shell. Mutiny would’ve been kinder, Sebastian mumbled.

He’d pray for that more than a successor he didn’t ask for, Edward said. Sebastian’s father then held the sword with both hands over to his son, showing that it would be him to take his predecessor’s life.

He will be in good hands. His death will be felt, but the seas will carry his name with the wind. Live by the blade...

Die by the blade, Sebastian finished. An eerie sentiment, but one to have in your head constantly. As Sebastian took the blade, he and his father again had their attention on the dying Captain as the sounds of his throat distorted. Heavy and gargling, there was not much time left before the inevitable.

The rattle. Death is playing with his new toy, Edward said. Edward was all too familiar with the Captain, he seemed relaxed, but his face showed the emotion he had for the Captain. Sebastian knew how close the two were to the pirate court. Learning about it would come with the job. He would now be the one to sever that tie. Grasping it with both hands and lifting it above his head, Sebastian waited and counted the sounds of his breathing. One. Two. Three. Four. Before the fifth gargled breath could leave the Captain’s mouth, his sunken, milky eyes stared up at the young man with the blade before the eventual drop. It almost stopped Sebastian in his act of succession, but before he could faint his strike, the sword came down on the Captain’s neck in a clean slice. The cutlass was now through the sheets, and Sebastian quickly drew it back to his side. The deed was done, but seeing the Captain looking up at his death would undoubtedly stay in Sebastian’s dreams for a while. He tried not to let superstition get the best of him, but he knew it would haunt him.

Sebastian had only been in the Captain’s quarters once. A brief visit alongside his father when he was younger. It hadn’t changed since the last time. Thinly veiled curtains gave the room a shade of deep red. The mahogany wood furniture and walls would absorb the colour, while the fireplace behind the desk brought warm comfort for night time. This was to be his office daily for the remainder of the I.I.C.’s lifespan. He would be the beating heart of the operation, overseeing the quality of life for his people, the trades and the enemies. The desk was clear of anything that resembled paperwork, a guise that lured him over to the tall armchair to sit. Sebastian spread his hands along the table that was now his, he would never know what would come to his desk in the coming days, but at least today, it was his father.

Don’t get too comfortable. A pirate’s life may be luxurious, but the Captain must handle everything. And it is my duty to keep you up to speed with everything, Edward said as he walked up to the desk to circle around his son.

Now. Having relived the former Captain Norton’s duties and misery, I must tell you that the Americans in Washington are not happy at the moment.

For what purpose? Sebastian asked.

Since our recent blockade against the Spanish and French entering Mexico, they’re a little bit twitchy at the helm. That and the north and southern states have been at war for a few years, Edward said. As he walks to Sebastian’s left, he lays out a map of America and uses his finger to guide Sebastian’s eyes.

At the moment, Mexico has not said anything about the encounter on the east side of Cuba. The court feared they may be plotting a response in case we felt compelled to reach the Mexican docks.

Are we trading with the Mexicans?

We almost were until Norton decided to look strong and make them beg. Now we have them and the States watching. Britain and France are just watching with their teacups in hand. I suggest an entry with level watching, but Norton rejected it.

Can we get someone over there to explain? Perhaps if we sent a delegate to Washington, they could look the other way. They’re not exactly fond of Mexico, Sebastian suggested.

Not possible, Captain. President Lincoln is firm on his decision to lead his side to victory. His morals are questionable to ours. He’ll be suspicious of any intervention whose morales side with the confederacy, Edward explained further.

Then... We’ll remain silent? Sebastian wondered.

It’ll have to be so, Captain. Unless you say otherwise, we will remain neutral, Edward takes away the map from the desk, Oh, I took the liberty of filling in some perfect suitors for your court. If you’d like to browse them yourself.

Edward handed his son the list and a few names he recognised insight first, and some Sebastian questioned. He first saw mayor Longstaff, Tortuga’s hearty and jolly speaking head who got boozed up on all the finest occasions (finest meaning every day of the calendar year). Longstaff would be no trouble, Sebastian had met him numerous times, and everyone enjoyed his company. Scrolling through, Sebastian saw names he wasn’t familiar with, such as Governor Robertson of Jamaica. Not much was known other than his slight hesitance towards taking the Captain’s side in terms of providing trade stock. Most of the others Sebastian knew only from his father’s circle. No sort of judgement could be made on them without inspection.

I should meet these men immediately, father, Sebastian declared.

Your eagerness is admirable, but the court is in disarray. Norton was becoming sceptical, and in return, his illness got worse. The only one I think he trusted, in the end, was that nurse we met.

So you’re saying I should accept them in blind faith?

Not blind faith, Captain. Through experience alone. And from my time besides Captain Norton, I knew these men quite well. It would show that your decision-making is fast and on track.

Your decisions, really, Sebastian argued.

I know it seems harsh to be walking over you already, but I’m afraid with the way the court is, we need some stability here to sort itself out. Our people will get to you soon if they disagree with it. You will have to decide if it’s in their best interests by that time.

Sebastian sat back in his chair while his father walked over to the fireplace to start a new flame in the Captain’s quarters. Sebastian wanted to be taken seriously at his post, but it came with a tie that could bash heads with his. This was his father he was dealing with. It crept into his head if he made the right choice regarding who will be quartermaster, but like his father said, experience came with actions. Sebastian had little to none in that regard, but it didn’t hinder his decision-making.

Did you have any doubts that these men were for themselves, father? Edward held on to the last piece of wood in his arms as he thought.

Difficult to say, really. With different islands come different problems. They certainly made their voices heard, but who’s to say? My job was, and still is, to give the Captain both sides of the argument.

But what if you intervened? Did you ever think that was a viable option with Norton?

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