Chapter Text
There's a moment when you're deep into a long drive that your mind begins to wander. Your focus is no longer on the road ahead, but on a minor failure you made at work years ago that is permanently saturated in the sticky sap of shame in the recesses of your mind, on an offhand remark you made to a friend that set off a cascading chain of events that turned said friend into a former friend, on an action you didn't take out of fear or uncertainty or sheer laziness that may have turned your life completely around had you only moved.
It's that moment, that exact moment when you begin to wonder how things might have been different, how things might still be different, that a winding, unpaved road leading to the top of a grassy hill appears.
At the top of the hill is a house.
Well, that's an understatement.
It's a stately mansion covered with vines, surrounded by thousands of vibrant blossoms that more resemble a field of wildflowers than the carefully-designed garden you'd expect from such an estate. No man could have ever planted such a garden; it appears as though Mother Nature herself has chosen this particular spot to showcase all the wonders she is capable of, parading all her bold colors and rich textures with the aplomb of a peacock. Ducks converse amongst themselves on the pond as they dive between the lily pads, and a lush backdrop of trees gives a sense of privacy to the property.
It very much looks like a still life on the front of a postcard, one that represents a wholly aspirational peaceful life of contentment.
It's only when you look more closely at the painting that you realize something is… off.
For instance, flowers that bloom in April are blossoming alongside those that only grow in the late summer. And a closer inspection reveals that some of the trees are in fact a flourishing orange grove: peculiar, given the mild climate.
And that's not getting into the other senses. There's no explanation as to why there's the smell of salt in the air, despite the nearest ocean being an hour drive. No one has stopped to question why gentle, lilting music harmonizes with the light breeze, somehow both heard and unheard. As for the sensation of undeniable warmth that rises from within the closer you get to the house, well, there comes a certain point where that's just what you expect to feel.
This is Lighthouse Sanctuary.
It was built in the early 18th century by a widowed duchess who, upon hearing her daughter Annabelle was lost at sea, refused to give up hope and instead dedicated her every waking moment to building a house her child would have loved, convinced that would draw her beloved Annabelle home.
As luck would have it, it turned out it was less that her daughter was lost at sea, and more that she had lost her heart to a dashing pirate named Charlie "Goldeneye" St. James. When Charlie (wanted for 500 doubloons) was injured in a raid, the couple made their way to Annabelle's childhood home to seek shelter. Determined never to lose her daughter again, and now also quite fond of her daughter's matelot, Charlotte, the duchess hid them away in the newly constructed mansion, taking great pains to ensure that only those who could be trusted knew it existed.
In time, several other former crew members came to reside at the mansion, content to enjoy their retirement with old friends instead of attempting to integrate themselves back into a society that had already cast them out, safe from those who would mock them for their battle scars or who would surrender them to the authorities for a piece of silver. All who lived there claimed they had never felt happier or more at peace; it was as though with each drawn breath they were taking in the love the duchess had imbued into the very foundation of the house. It was then that the house became known as Lighthouse Sanctuary, a place where lost and weary sailors could follow its burning beacon and feel it calling them home.
Once the original inhabitants of the house passed, ownership was transferred not by sale, but by whispers amongst friends. Strays, runaways, and outcasts, all looking for a port in the storm, found themselves following that path up the hill and seeking sanctuary behind its walls. Some stay for years, others only weeks. Some the house welcomes with a warm embrace, others it gently nudges toward the door so it can find a more worthy resident.
And then there are some that completely transform the house at its core, that become such a part of it that if the house is indeed a lighthouse, the owners are the lantern — guiding friends to safety, preventing them from crashing upon the rocks in their misfortune, and keeping foes at bay.
It is those who this story is about.
On the day Edward Teach left home at the age of 16, a double rainbow cut across a crystal blue sky.
He'd found it a bit ironic at the time. Leaving home on his own with only a beaten up knapsack of threadbare clothes and a freshly formed bruise around his left eye didn't really seem like the set of circumstances that would inspire such a rare symbol of good fortune.
In hindsight, the rainbow may have been onto something. Had Ed stayed home, it was highly unlikely he would have lived to reach his 18th birthday.
Instead he spent the day getting utterly smashed at a pub celebrating getting signed to HorniGold Records.
That experience, of course, was also very much a mixed bag, but Ed reckoned it beat being dead.
At least, most days.
He'd never seen another double rainbow again. That is, not until today, thirty years later, when he was once again leaving home. But this time, the bag he hoisted over his shoulder was a bit larger, and his heart was, admittedly inexplicably, filled with more hope and excitement than he had felt in, well, possibly ever.
He was going to be a volunteer at the strange and wonderful Lighthouse Sanctuary.
"You can't be serious about this stunt."
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose. Every rainbow required a storm cloud, and Izzy Hands was always happy to fill that role.
"I told you I had an early morning, Iz. I don't have time for this."
"You're packing a fucking bag? What kind of volunteer gig is this?"
"It's a long drive." Ed brushed past Izzy and headed to his car. "Stede said I could stay there for the week instead of wasting the petrol going back and forth every day."
"Yeah, I just bet he did," Izzy muttered. "You don't find it a bit… suspicious a man like Mr. Bonnet would want you to spend the night at his house for an extended period of time?"
Ed shrugged. "Sounds like all of the workers live there. It's a big house."
"So it's a fucking cult," Izzy said. "I can only imagine what kind of activities that lot gets up to every night."
"Yeah, you're used to imagining that, aren't you, Izzy?" Ed opened up his car door and tossed his bag inside, then turned back to look at him. "All those stories about the wild orgies and drug-fueled hedonistic delights The Kraken took part in?"
"Ed."
"At least I'll be living up to my reputation again," Ed said. "You should be pleased."
"We have a meeting with Jackie in two weeks," Izzy said. "We need to prepare."
"That's your job," Ed said, and got into his car. "I'll call you over the weekend."
He closed the door, enjoying the irritated and gobsmacked expression on Izzy's face. He'd gotten far too complacent over the years. It felt good to throw him off balance.
And it felt good to have a purpose in life again. Even if that purpose was just a two hour drive to the most unusual animal shelter he'd ever come across, run by the perhaps the most intriguing man he'd ever met.
Key in the ignition, anticipation in his chest.
He was ready.
A part of him was afraid he had dreamed up the whole thing, but, no, Lighthouse Sanctuary was real, and it was just how Ed remembered. A beautiful, stately mansion surrounded by what seemed to be an infinite number of flowers of every color and variety. A few cats were sauntering down the path out front, and a fluffy dog roughly the size of a small bear was stretched out before the front door, basking in the sun. And to serve as one more reminder that this wasn't just any animal shelter, a peacock strutted through the flowers, resplendent even when surrounded by equally stunning flora and fauna.
A butterfly flitted in front of him, and Ed felt an answering swarm of them dance in his belly. Shit, Izzy was right. What had he been thinking? This wasn't his thing. He didn't do soft and gentle. He wasn't meant for a quiet, peaceful life, sitting in a garden, passing the day with tea and conversation while a cat or dog or rabbit curled up at his feet.
He was a goddamn joke. Fuck, how had he been so stupid? He just got caught up in a whim. Fortunately, nobody had seen him yet. He could easily turn back around and hit the road for a few weeks, just so Izzy wouldn't have the satisfaction of knowing he'd been right.
"Are ye comin' in, or aren't ye?"
Fuck.
Ed shielded his eyes and looked up in the direction he heard the shout come from and saw a man leaning out a window on the second floor. He recognized him as Buttons, the bird guy, less because he remembered his face from his visit last week and more because he had a pair of cockatiels flying around his head. "What'd you say?"
"Are ye comin' in," Buttons repeated, louder and more slowly this time, "or aren't ye? We've been waitin' all mornin'."
Ed coughed. "Coming in," he said. He reached back into his car and grabbed his bag, then headed toward the house, discreetly wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans as he went.
He didn't even have to knock; a man in an orange beanie and a teal earring stood at the front door with a clipboard in his hands. There was a rather inquisitive-looking collie at his feet.
"Hi," Ed said. "Edward Teach. Here for volunteer duty."
"Yeah, we've heard about you." The man held out his hand. "Oluwande. Volunteer coordinator. And this is Cordelia, Captain's dog. She likes to greet all the guests."
Ed shook Oluwande's hand while holding out his other hand for Cordelia to sniff. "You get a lot of volunteers here?"
"Nope. Just you." Oluwande smiled and closed the door behind them.
Well. That could potentially give Izzy's theory they were going to use him as some sort of ritual sacrifice in their sex cult an unfortunate bit of credence.
But as soon as Ed crossed the threshold, he could feel Izzy's words evaporate in the delightfully citrus-scented air.
He felt lighter, somehow. At home. Safe.
None of which made rational sense, of course. But very little in his life had ever been rational, so who was he to fight it now that it seemed like it might finally benefit him?
"Just a bit of paperwork to get out of the way," Oluwande said.
He and Cordelia led Ed into a parlor, although not the same parlor that he had sat in with Stede last week. Ed wondered how many parlors this house had, anyway. It seemed large enough to have at least a half dozen.
They settled into two extremely comfortable overstuffed armchairs. A large white, fluffy cat, whom Oluwande introduced as Gnocchi, wandered in and curled up at Ed's feet almost immediately. Ed had never fancied himself a cat person, but he wasn't about to turn this one away, who was already purring contentedly. Besides, if he was going to work at this shelter, he should get used to all kinds of animals. Not just dogs.
Not just dogs like Red.
Oluwande removed a pen from his clipboard and looked at Ed expectantly.
"So," he said. "Edward Teach. Middle name?"
"None," Ed said. "Just Edward Teach, born on a beach."
Oluwande stared at him.
Ed cleared his throat. "Sorry. Just Edward Teach, yeah. You can call me Ed."
Oluwande nodded. "No other nicknames?"
"If that's your way of asking if I want to be called Blackbeard, the answer's no. Just Ed's fine."
"Fair enough," said Oluwande. "Date of birth?"
"The first of June."
"Birthday's coming up, then," Oluwande said.
"Reckon so," Ed said. "Never really thought much about birthdays."
"Not alone there." Oluwande said. He jotted down a note on the paper. "Okay, next. Favorite meal?"
Ed blinked. "Skipping straight over experience with animals and heading into dietary preferences?"
Oluwande shrugged. "Captain always says happiness starts with a full belly and works its way to your heart."
"You keep saying Captain," Ed said. "I assume you mean Stede?"
"Ah, yeah," Oluwande said. "Sorry, should've clarified."
"Was he in the Navy?" It didn't quite fit with the image Ed had built up in his head of Stede, but if there was one thing Ed had come to learn about the man, it was to expect the unexpected. And that warm, lighthearted man being in the military was certainly unexpected.
"Nah, nothing like that," Oluwande said. "Just started off as a bit of a joke a while back. The way he talked, the way he ran this place, just kind of felt like a captain running a ship. Not a military one, though. More like a kind of bizarre pirate captain, searching for adventure with his trusty crew."
"That's you lot?"
Oluwande chuckled. "Yeah. Reckon it is. The captain… he's a bit eccentric. Sometimes I think he’s been here too long. Don't always understand the half of what he's thinking. But somehow it works out."
"Sounds like the right kind of man to run a place like this."
"No one else could do it like him, that's for sure," Oluwande said. He returned to his clipboard. "So. Favorite meal?"
"Right." Ed coughed. He dug through his brain, trying to think of a safe response. "How about a nice steak?"
Oluwande nodded. "Any particular kind of cut?"
"I dunno. Ribeye?"
"Should've known." Oluwande wrote his response down on the paper. "Okay, next. Linen preference?"
"Linens?"
"Captain said you'd be staying over," Oluwande said. "Is that right?"
"Yeah," Ed said. "But I don't really give a fuck about sheets." He paused. "No offense."
"None taken. That's more of the captain's thing." Oluwande stood up. "Right. Want to see your room? You can put your things down and wash up before we get started."
"Already?" Ed asked. "Those are all the questions you have?"
"Yeah, the others Captain said he wants to ask himself."
"All right, then," Ed said. He stood up, careful not to kick Gnocchi in the process, and hoisted his bag over his shoulder.
His room was on the third floor. Ed tried to track their path so he could find his way back on his own, but it proved to be nearly impossible. For one, it seemed that every half dozen steps they'd get stopped by some dog or cat or, on one occasion, a monkey, and it was extremely distracting as they were all very cute and demanded he stop everything to give them the attention they deserved. For another, and this one was admittedly less logical but still could not be dismissed, Ed could swear the halls were shifting around him. New alcoves would appear out of nowhere and hallways that seemed to be a dead end would suddenly split into two separate corridors. Ed had always had an exceptional sense of direction, so the lack of any kind of consistent reference point was disorienting as fuck. He mentioned it to Oluwande, but he only chuckled and said it was difficult to keep track of all the different corridors in a house this size.
"Here we are," Oluwande said, and opened a seemingly random door.
Ed's first thought was that it was like stepping into the ocean. The walls were painted a rich navy blue, but so much light streamed in from the windows, which were framed with long white drapes, that it didn't seem dark at all. A large rug with swirls of blues, greens, and grays peeked out from beneath the four-poster bed. The sheets, which Ed imagined were ungodly soft, were also white, accented with an assortment of navy and white throw pillows. On the bedside table was a vase filled with full fuchsia flowers. A chandelier bathed the entire room in a warm glow.
"Wow," said Ed. "Are all the rooms like this?"
"This is one of the nicer ones," Oluwande said. "Captain likes to keep it available for special guests."
"Do you get a lot of those?" Ed asked. He walked over to the windows; they looked directly over the gardens, and, if he turned his head just so, a pond covered with lily pads.
"Nope," said Oluwande. "Just you."
"Right," said Ed. He set his bag down on the bed. "Should I just…"
"Take your time," Oluwande said. He nodded toward a door to his left. "Ensuite's through there if you need it. Someone will come collect you for lunch in about an hour. Until then, just make yourself at home."
It was strange, Ed thought as he began to unpack his bag, that this room felt more like a home than his actual bedroom at his house he'd owned for twenty years. Although, to be fair, when he'd bought his house he'd hired an interior decorator to put together the entire place with his only input being that he wanted it to look nice without being obnoxious and he didn't care about budget. So perhaps it wasn't the most personal design.
But this room, even though it was just a guest room that apparently never saw much in the way of activity, felt as familiar as an old song. Ed could see himself entering it after a long day and kicking off his boots, then tossing his leather jacket over the armchair in the corner. He might then pick out a book from the bookshelf by the window and sprawl out on the bed with it. And if the mood was right, maybe he could even write a few lyrics in front of the fire before bed.
Fuck, he hadn't even noticed there was a fireplace. With a loveseat, a plush armchair, and a small table all in front of it.
It should have been overkill. But somehow, it worked.
Since he had the time, Ed decided to help himself to a shower. He told himself it was because he was likely going to meet the entire crew at lunch and wanted to make a good impression, but the reality was there was really only one person in this house he cared to impress.
The shower was equally as luxurious as the rest of the room, and came complete with some yummy lavender soap that left Ed feeling more relaxed than he had in ages. When he emerged, he put back on his jeans and a fresh black t-shirt. On a whim, he decided to pull his hair back so it was out of his face. It had been years since he'd worn it that way. He decided he liked it.
With some time to kill, he went back to exploring his room. There were some delightful knick knacks scattered about. A brass whale, about the size of his fist, by the vase of flowers. An extraordinarily detailed model ship on the mantle. An hourglass on the bookshelf. Little boxes and figurines and other adornments, all clearly intentionally placed.
Ed excitedly examined them all. With each item he held in his hands, he wondered if Stede had chosen it himself. He wondered what the significance was, if it was just for the aesthetic, if Stede had purchased it just for this room or if it had been in his possession for some time. He wondered why they were in this room in particular, one that few entered but was clearly a place of honor.
He ran his finger gently over the sails of the model ship. He could see Stede in this room, placing the ship on the bedside table, then changing his mind and moving it to the mantle. He could see him carefully selecting which books to adorn the shelves. He could see him picking the flowers from the garden and placing them in the vase, arranging them just so.
All of which was ridiculous, given he'd only ever talked to the man for a few hours. But for some reason, Stede Bonnet sparked something deep within him, something he couldn't quite explain. But for the first time in years, Ed felt alive, and he'd be damned if he started questioning the why of that.
He picked up the navy throw at the foot of his bed and let it fall through his fingers. Fuck, that was soft.
"Hello."
Ed looked up. Of course, it was Stede, with his loyal dog Cordelia by his side.
With anyone else, Ed would have jumped at the sudden interruption. But it seemed his body had accepted Stede as… well, whatever the opposite of a threat was.
"Hey." Ed found he couldn't quite bring himself to put down the blanket just yet. "Is this silk?" Fuck, what a stupid thing to say. Who asked things like that?
"Oh, no," said Stede. Instead of seeming put out by Ed's question, he actually seemed pleased to have been asked. "That's actually a rather exquisite cashmere."
"A rather exquisite cashmere," he repeated. Gingerly, he lifted it to his face, rubbing it where his skin was thinnest beneath his eyes. It felt like a lover wiping away tears.
"Do you fancy a fine fabric?" Stede's voice was hopeful.
"I think maybe I do. Yeah." Ed reluctantly placed the blanket back on his bed. "Thanks again for having me. And letting me stay over. The room's great."
"Ah, well I'm sure you're used to staying in luxurious accommodations," Stede said. "We wanted to make sure you were comfortable."
"Nah," said Ed. "Spent most of my twenties on a tour bus. Some nice hotels for press days, sure, but they always felt cold. This feels—" He wanted to say "like home," but that seemed a bit pitiful to admit. "Comfortable," he settled on, feeling rather pathetic for it.
"Well, good," said Stede. "And if there's anything you need during your stay, anything at all, just ask."
"Thanks," said Ed. "Listen, I wanted to say— oh, hey there, buddy!"
Geppetto, the dog who had served as Ed's personal hankie the last time he visited and graciously allowed him to sob into his fur, bounded into the room and right up to him. Ed dropped to his knees to greet him, and was treated to a barrage of sloppy kisses and excited taps upon his thighs.
"He's been eagerly awaiting your return," said Stede. He paused. "As have I."
Ed looked up. Stede was smiling, and yet still somehow gave absolutely nothing away.
"Well, if Geppetto has come calling," Stede said, "that also means lunch is ready. Shall we?"
"Yeah," said Ed, rising to his feet. "Let's go."
"He's a total legend. Nobody could perform like him."
"I saw him back in '98. He was still just a kid then, but damn. Fucking badass. Man's a legend."
"And I bet you were in the nosebleeds. Try being backstage. Did you know he'd pour a full bottle of whisky into a real human skull before each show, and just drink straight from that all night?"
"He did not."
"He did. Saw it myself."
"Please. You would've cared more about seeing him in that threesome with those girls from that band, what was it? The Bonny Reads."
"I couldn't keep track. Blackbeard always had women backstage."
"More like you were scared to get close in case he threw a speaker at your head."
"Speaker? Remember that time he threw a piano into the swimming pool at some swanky hotel? Then stood on top of it with his guitar and gave a full concert?"
Stede coughed. "Sorry. They're not usually a gossipy lot. They're just so excited they've forgotten their manners. I would've thought they'd get it out of their system already."
Ed waved a hand. "No matter. Comes with the territory."
Stede shook his head. "You deserve a more gracious welcome than this."
"Stede," Ed said, and clapped a hand to his shoulder. "This is my life. I'd rather have them be themselves around me than feel they have to be on their best behavior. Fuck knows I rarely am."
Stede laughed. "If you're sure."
"Absolutely. And I'm famished."
"Well, it would be rude to keep you waiting, then." Stede opened the door and immediately cursed under his breath. “Ugh, I hate it when this happens.”
Ed peered over Stede’s shoulder, expecting to see the crew dealing with a dog overturning a plant or a broken vase or a cat dipping a paw into the aquarium or a bird taking a crap on somebody’s head or some other animal-based catastrophe.
Instead he saw what had to be the world’s largest library, lined floor to ceiling with books upon books. There was even a ladder tucked away in the corner to reach the ones higher up. Then, as seemed to be a requirement in every room of this house, was a fireplace with two plush armchairs set in front of it.
And yet, despite it very clearly being an empty library, Ed could still hear the idle chatter of the crew, as if they were standing just before them in the room but somehow invisible.
“Sometimes the old house gets a bit confused and loses track of what room is supposed to be where,” Stede explained. “This particular library only seems to appear when I absolutely do not have time to explore all that it holds.”
“Fucking mental,” Ed breathed.
“Indeed,” Stede said forlornly. He cast one last longing look at the library. “Might I convince you to still be here in about an hour? Maybe two?”
Ed looked at Stede, to the library, then back at Stede. “Does the house ever answer?”
Stede heaved a heavy sigh. “If only.”
With that, Stede closed the door, slowly and deliberately, waiting for the latch to catch. Then, after a long moment, he opened the door again, just a small way, and poked his head in.
“Ah, there we are,” Stede said.
Ed tried not to take the disappointment in Stede’s voice personally. If he had to close the door on his greatest wish, not knowing when he’d see it again, he’d be pretty fucking bummed himself.
Although, of course, what his greatest wish would be would—
“Well, no time like the present,” Stede said, interrupting Ed’s thoughts. He held the door open for Ed and extended his arm. “After you.”
The room fell silent upon their entrance, which felt somewhat ironic given that TALK IT THROUGH AS A CREW was painted in large, scrolling letters on the wall directly facing Ed. Man, dog, cat, bird, and a peculiar animal that looked like a fox but with comically large ears all stopped and stared. Ed cleared his throat.
"Hi all!" Stede burst in behind him. "You know I never like to preach, but now I must present to you, Edward Teach!"
Judging from the groans, eye rolls, and shared looks amongst the crew, this type of behavior was not exactly out of the ordinary for Stede. Ed grinned. Stede seemed to possess the spirit of a moderately deranged kindergarten teacher. Somehow, it worked on him.
"Hello, there," Ed said, and held out his hand to the man closest to him. "I'm Ed."
The man's jaw dropped. "Yeah. Yeah, I know," he said. "I'm Pete."
A lanky man wearing an apron with a ferret draped around his neck smacked him upside the head. "I told you there was no way you worked for Blackbeard."
Pete flushed.
"Pete, you said?" Ed pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought you might've looked familiar. Sorry, mate. Been a long time, brain isn't what it used to be."
Pete grinned. "No problem, Ed. Want me to get you a plate?"
Stede stepped closer to Ed. "Thank you," he murmured. "Cannot tell you the dramatics that claim has caused over the years."
Ed shrugged. "No bother. Besides, the number of people involved in that whole production? He may well have been a part of it for all I know. No harm in playing along."
Stede smiled. "You're a good man, Ed."
Ed scoffed, but was saved from further conversation by Pete returning with a plate piled high with sandwiches.
"I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I got you one of everything," Pete said. "But the roast beef's my favorite."
"I'll start with that one, then," Ed said, and grabbed a seat at the table next to a rather stately looking cat. "How'd you do?" he asked her as he sat down, and was gratified when she gave him a clearly assessing stare and then returned to licking her paws.
Stede attempted to make the crew introduce themselves with a fun icebreaker ("My name is Stede, and I'm stupendous. Now, Buttons, you go, and choose an adjective that begins with the letter B!"), but the others, shockingly, were not interested. Still, Ed did manage to learn everybody's names and their basic roles at the Sanctuary.
Besides Oluwande, Lucius, and Frenchie, whom he'd already met last week, there was of course Pete, who not-too-subtly showed off his biceps while explaining he did a lot of the heavy lifting around the Sanctuary and also minded the reptiles. He had a very badass bearded dragon he'd be happy to show Ed sometime. Roach was the head chef; the ferret around his neck, Dijon, was his official sous-chef. Wee John focused on making sure all the animals received adequate socialization, and also knitted them sweaters for the colder months. The Swede mostly blushed and giggled, but Ed got the sense he was just very happy to be there.
As for Jim… well, they didn't reveal much, other than the hilt of a knife tucked into their belt. But Ed saw the way they smiled when they pressed their face into the furry face of the giant dog who'd been outside when Ed had arrived, so Ed suspected they weren't quite as untouchable as they attempted to appear.
"So, Ed," Roach said toward the end of their meal, "bet you have some wild stories. Think you can share some of them?"
Ed was about to answer, but Stede cut him off.
"Absolutely not. Ed is here for community service, not for community entertainment."
The rest of the crew groaned, but Ed bit back a smile. He'd never had anyone be so protective of him before, at least not this way. In an, "Out of the way, Blackbeard's busy!" kind of way, sure. But not protective of his happiness.
Not that it mattered.
Stede was a gentleman. He was just being polite with a house guest. No need to read into it.
"Right," Stede continued. "I was thinking we'll have Ed shadow different people during his stay, so that way he'll have a good feel for everything we do here and have the full Lighthouse Sanctuary experience."
"Nice," said Ed. "Very good. Love that."
He did. Especially since it would be only logical if he was shadowing everybody to start at the top. He and Stede could spend some time wandering the grounds, and maybe Ed would be able to ask some key questions, maybe finally start to be able to understand him.
"So I think we'll have you start with our cat whisperer, Frenchie," Stede continued.
Oh. Or that.
"In some cultures,” Stede continued, “cats are believed to be mystical creatures whose eyes serve as windows to another world. Perhaps spending the afternoon with them will allow you to look into the windows of our world."
"Yeah, we're just going to go around and check their food and litter boxes and make sure they didn't bring in any special 'presents,'" Frenchie said to Ed. "Maybe play with a few or do a bit of grooming. We'll see how the day goes."
"A window!" Stede exclaimed.
This time Ed couldn’t hold back his grin.
He still definitely didn't understand Stede Bonnet, or why his sanctuary had such a grip on him.
But he knew one thing.
The little weirdo was cute as fuck.
"So," Ed said as he and Frenchie made their way to what Stede had excitedly described as the cat cafe, "how many cats are we talking?"
"Seven, right now," said Frenchie. "A pair got adopted the other day. The max we've had was twelve. Don't think we've ever gone below five."
Ed adjusted the large, insulated bag filled with containers of homemade cat food (prepared lovingly by Roach) over his shoulder. "Shit. And they just have full run of the place?"
"Pretty much," said Frenchie. "All the animals do. The cats have a few rooms that we consider theirs, just because you know how cats are, but we don't restrict any of them in any way."
Ed did not know how cats were, but he wasn't about to open up that can of worms.
"And that never results in some of the animals winding up as mincemeat?"
Frenchie laughed. "You'd think it would. But nah, all the animals here just kind of vibe. Some keep their distance from others, but we never have any fights or anything. Other than maybe one of them stealing from another's food bowl."
Perfectly timed. They had reached their destination, a bright, airy room filled with at least a dozen carpet-covered towers and trees for the cats to climb. Cushions, blankets, and pillows were scattered across the room in a way that looked random, but Ed had a hunch each and every item's position had been carefully evaluated and coordinated to achieve a blissfully carefree look. There was a large chest on the far wall overflowing with toys, and by the windows was a tiny door that looked as though it'd belong with Alice in Wonderland that Ed could only presume was the world's most tasteful cat flap to the great outdoors.
And, of course, there were cats galore.
"There's Gnocchi," Frenchie said, pointing at the fluffy cat that had greeted Ed earlier, "and you met Agnolotti at lunch. Then there's Tortellini, Tagliolini, Spaghetti, Meatball, and Frank."
Ed raised an eyebrow. "Does Frank ever feel left out of the pasta gang?"
Frenchie frowned. "He's Frank Sinatra. He runs the gang."
Ed looked over at Frank, who was crooning loudly atop one of the towers. He was all black except for his white belly and little white mustache, and, of course, piercing blue eyes.
"Loves to sing, that one," Frenchie said. He took the bag from Ed and began emptying its contents. "Sometimes I get my lute out and accompany him."
"You play the lute?" Ed followed Frenchie's lead and began scooping piles of the finest cat food the world had likely ever seen into delicately decorated porcelain bowls. "Don't hear much of that these days."
"Yeah," said Frenchie. "Always loved music, trying out different instruments. My little sister loved going to renaissance fairs — dressing up, going to see the knights joust and all that. One day I came across a lute at a secondhand shop and it just became our thing. She'd be the fair maiden and I'd be her traveling bard."
"Sounds fun," Ed said. "You see her often?"
Perhaps Ed was imagining it, and maybe he was just distracted by all the cats eagerly gathering around him, eager for their meal, but Frenchie seemed to take a rather long time to answer.
"Not really," Frenchie finally said. "This place keeps you busy, you know?"
There was something in Frenchie's voice that made Ed think it was a bit more than that. There was a hint of wistfulness, a touch of regret, and the undeniable resolve of a man who had accepted his fate in life and refused to allow himself to so much wonder if things might be different.
Ed would know.
He'd heard that tone from his own lips thousands of times.
"Maybe I can get out my guitar sometime and we could have a proper jam session."
Ed spoke the words before even processing what he was saying. Frenchie's eyebrows shot up.
"Seriously?"
"Sure," Ed said. "I mean, I didn't bring my guitar with me, so I'd have to go get it. But maybe next time I'm here."
A slow grin spread across Frenchie's face. "Already planning your return?"
Ed shrugged. "I mean…"
"No need to be embarrassed, mate," Frenchie said. He picked up the rather rotund gray cat that was pawing at his leg and cradled it in his arms like a newborn baby. "There's a reason this place is called a sanctuary. It's not just for the animals. It makes people feel safe, too." He turned to the cat. "Isn't that so, Spaghetti?"
"The round one's Spaghetti?" Ed asked. "Figured for sure that one would be Meatball."
"Nah, Spaghetti's sister over there got named first," Frenchie said. "And it was because on her first day she swiped a meatball off Pete's plate. It was hilarious. Wasn't it, Meatball?"
Meatball was face deep in her food bowl and only waved her tail in response.
"That means yes," Frenchie said.
Ed chuckled. "You always a big fan of cats?"
"Oh, absolutely not," Frenchie said. He held out one of Spaghetti's paws. "I mean, look at these things. Knives on their feet. Cats are fucking terrifying. But that just makes me respect them all the more, and they sense that. So we have a bond."
Ed had always been a bit wary of cats. For one, Frenchie wasn't lying about the knives on their feet. Also, the entire idea of hairballs honestly grossed him out. And while he wasn't sure he bought Stede's whole "windows to another world" thing, cats did have an uncanny way of staring at him like they knew something he didn't.
Beyond that, he supposed, he always figured they were too much alike. Spry, alert, wary, independent. Content to keep their distance. A little neurotic. A bit high strung. Not built for sitting idle, not willing to stay in one place for too long. Always looking for an escape. Prone to hissing when anyone got too close.
It was just if he wanted a pet, he wanted one that actually seemed to want to be around him. That's why he and Red had clicked so well. Red had just bounded right up to him, completely oblivious to the fact Ed wanted to be left alone, and loved him. Ed hadn't even realized how much he needed that kind of companionship in his life.
To go from that to a cat seemed… fucking mental, to be honest.
But after an afternoon with Frenchie and all the cats, Ed thought maybe he'd have to reconsider.
Tortellini was a cuddler and fascinated by Ed's beard. He'd beg for Ed to hold him then bury his little orange face in it, purring contentedly. Tagliolini, more commonly referred to as Tag, was a mischievous explorer who would slowly circle the room, investigating every angle, before dramatically leaping down from a tower and on top of some poor, unsuspecting feline. Even Agnolotti, prim and proper and aloof as she was, was compelling in her own way. She looked at Ed as if she knew him, which was both comforting and terrifying.
Perhaps he wasn't spending the day with Stede as he had hoped, but Frenchie and the cats made for good company. Ed couldn't remember the last time he'd had this kind of easy conversation with someone, talking about lofty childhood ambitions (Frenchie wanted to be a TV weatherman because he thought it meant he could control the weather, Ed a magician because he saw one pull a rabbit out of a hat at a friend's birthday party and thought that meant he could have all the pets he wanted), travel (Ed loved it, Frenchie found it a bit of a letdown), and shaving techniques (both preferred a safety razor to a multi-blade). These days Ed really only talked to Izzy, who was right pissed at him most of the time, maybe some perfunctory conversations with Fang and Ivan about some gig or another. And then his mother, which was… well…
Ed gave Tortellini a friendly scratch behind the ears. No need to think about that now.
Point is, it felt good to take a load off. Nobody expecting him to perform, no demands of the infamous Blackbeard, no baggage or wounds itching to be reopened… just able to unwind and have a bit of a laugh with a bloke. Ed didn't think he'd ever felt more at peace.
"FUCKING HELL YOU LITTLE MOPPET, YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!"
"Ahhh, shit," Frenchie muttered. "Better go. Come on."
They ran outside to be greeted by the sight of Pete running after Wee John who was running after Jim who was running after Stede who was running after Roach who was running after what appeared to be a rather exuberant husky without a care in the world.
"That's Jenkins," Frenchie explained as he broke out into a sprint. "Fucking escape artist."
"Can he get off the property?" Ed asked. His knee was already protesting, but apparently the adrenaline was enough to keep him going because he managed to quickly surpass Frenchie.
"Worse," Frenchie panted. "He's going to jump in the pond. And he forgets he bloody hates the pond."
Sure enough, a split second later, Jenkins made a graceful swan dive off the footbridge into the pond, and then almost immediately began dramatically howling and splashing about. His distressed cries drove Ed to run even faster; the combined power of his speed and position put him as the first person to reach the edge of the pond.
He didn't hesitate, didn't even bother kicking off his boots. He simply dove into the pond and swam over to the dog.
"There we go, boy," he said. "You're okay."
Unfortunately, Jenkins was so deep in his panic that he didn't seem to register that Ed was there, let alone trying to help him. He kicked his legs frantically, striking Ed in the chest and splashing water in his eyes. Ed was a strong swimmer, but attempting to stay afloat while also wrangling a stressed out dog while also being nearly blinded by all the water in his face was a bit more of a challenging experience than he was used to.
"Come on now, Jenkins," he pleaded. "I'm here to help."
Ed was vaguely aware of another loud splash, but he was too distracted trying to keep them both afloat to pay it much mind. But a moment later relief came in the form of Stede Bonnet.
"There we are," said Stede. He wrapped one arm around Ed, and one around Jenkins. "There's a good boy."
A shiver coursed through Ed's body that didn't have anything to do with the chill of the pond.
Jenkins didn't completely calm down. If anything, he kicked his howling up a notch and was even more vocal in his displeasure. He sang with all the power and gravitas of an operatic soprano performing their death scene. But at least his movements had slowed, so together, Ed and Stede were able to pull him back to safety.
"Fucking hell," Ed said as he pulled himself out of the water. "Is he always like this?"
"Always," Stede confirmed. "Loves the idea of water, hates the reality."
Jenkins turned around to look at them, a wide grin on his face. He shook himself off, spraying more water on the already drenched pair.
Ed muttered a few choice curse words, but then Jenkins got on his hind legs and pressed his head into his belly, as if he was giving him a grateful hug. It was achingly familiar; for the briefest of moments, Ed truly felt as if Red had returned to him to comfort him one last time. He closed his eyes, willing the sweetness of the gesture to overpower the grief unfurling in his chest.
There was a hand on his shoulder. Ed opened his eyes and, strangely, felt… fine.
"All right there, Ed?" Stede asked.
"Yeah." He nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."
Jenkins gave him a friendly lick to his hand, then gleefully bounded back toward the direction of the house. The rest of the crew chased after him, shouting to each other with plans to block off the doggy door entrances so he wouldn't track mud all over the house.
Stede chuckled. "Well, there's your first real adventure at the Sanctuary done."
Ed turned to look at him and immediately forgot how to breathe.
Stede's white shirt, which once had been billowy and loose, was split at the collar, displaying a large triangular swath of his chest. Although frankly, he might as well have taken it off, because what little was left to it was translucent and clung to his skin. Even more than that, his lavender trousers looked as though they were sculpted to his body, revealing shockingly toned legs.
And, like a fucking prince out of a fairy tale, he had a water lily tangled in his perfect blond curls.
"I… I, um…"
Fuck, it was hard to form words when this man who looked like a romantic hero who stepped out from the 18th century was standing in front of him, leaving nearly nothing to the imagination, all while his chest was still heaving from the exertion of diving into a bloody pond to rescue a fucking dog. If Ed had bothered to dream up this moment in his fantasies he would have quickly diverted into some other daydream that had even a chance in hell of actually happening.
"You all right?"
"Yeah," Ed said. His own breath was still coming in pants as the lingering adrenaline from the chase continued to course through him. Under any other circumstances, he would have eased some of his discomfort by removing his sopping wet t-shirt, but there was something about the way Stede was looking at him that kept him rooted to the spot, unable to move a muscle. "You, uh. You have a flower in your hair."
"Do I?" Stede reached up to his head, but it was the wrong side.
"Yeah," Ed said. "Let me—"
He watched as his arm, seemingly of its own volition, raised and his hand moved toward the flower. Stede's did at the same time, and for one earth-shattering moment, their hands touched.
Ed's breath caught in his throat.
"Ah, there we are," Stede said, and the spell broke. He held out the flower. "Would you look at that?"
"'s nice," Ed mumbled.
"You should keep it," Stede said, and held it out to him. "A souvenir of our first adventure together."
Ed accepted the flower, relieved that he was able to prevent his hand from trembling. "Thanks."
Stede smiled.
It was fucking ridiculous. The man was in wet, filthy clothes. He lived in a mansion with hallways and rooms that moved and were all filled with animals and their charming but eccentric caretakers. He spoke in rhymes and was prone to theatrics. Ed knew hardly anything about him, other than he'd never met anyone like him before in his life.
And he just smiled at him and Ed wanted to grab him by the hand and run away together, somewhere just the two of them, where he could learn everything there was to know about Stede Bonnet, and perhaps even share secrets of his own.
"Well, then," Stede said, "I think we should probably get cleaned up, hmm? Back to the house?"
"Yeah," Ed said. "Back to the house."
Ed toweled off his hair as he emerged from the ensuite, clad only in a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt. Dinner was in twenty minutes, but he was struggling with the willpower to get dressed again. He wished he had thought to bring some looser trousers instead of his usual form-fitting jeans.
Well, perhaps, “wishing he had even thought to purchase some looser trousers,” would have been a more accurate statement. He was fairly certain he hadn't worn anything other than skintight trousers since 1992, other than to wear to sleep or work out. Just never felt the need to. At least, not until today.
But, in his defense, he'd never woken up at half past six, driven for several hours, got acquainted with a potentially magical mansion, met a whole new group of people, ingratiated himself with a menagerie, saved a dog from drowning in a pond, and just barely held himself back from kissing the man at the center of it all before.
Ed eyed the water lily he had carefully placed in a glass of water on his bedside table. It was dwarfed by the vibrant bouquet that had been there to greet him upon his arrival, but in his mind, the little purple flower with its somewhat rumpled petals was the most exquisite gift nature had ever granted him.
A knock interrupted his train of thought. He quickly tossed the towel in the bath and answered the door.
Of course, it was Stede, with Cordelia trailing just behind him. He was holding a tray with two covered platters, two glasses, and a bottle of brandy, and had a pleasant smile upon his face.
"I thought you might prefer a quiet supper tonight, after the day you had," he said.
Ed heaved a sigh of relief, then immediately felt embarrassed. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to be rude."
Stede chuckled and entered the room. "Not rude at all," he said as he set the tray down on the table in front of the fireplace. "I'm sure you're exhausted."
"I don't want the rest of your crew to think that I'm… " Ed waved his hand in the air, struggling to find words that wouldn't make him sound like a complete dickfuck. "Some sort of asshole rockstar who thinks he's above everyone else and can't be bothered to come down for supper with the group."
Stede chuckled. "They all saw you jump into a pond fully clothed this afternoon to rescue a dog. I highly doubt any of them think that."
Ed nodded and gestured for Stede to take a seat. Cordelia accepted the invitation for herself first and immediately jumped up to the armchair, leaving the loveseat for Ed and Stede. "Let me just go change, and I'll —"
"Oh, don't bother. It's just the two of us," Stede said. "Come, sit. Relax."
Well, Captain's orders. "So, what are we having?" Ed asked.
Stede lifted the lids of both platters simultaneously. "Simple, hearty meal for your first night. Chicken and potatoes. And of course we can't forget our veggies."
"Of course not," Ed said. His stomach rumbled. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until this moment, and everything smelled fucking delicious.
"I think you'll find Roach is an excellent chef," Stede said, holding out a wrapped set of silverware. "A true talent, that one. He can elevate even the simplest of meals."
"I believe it," Ed said. He took a bite of the chicken. "Fuck, that's good."
"Told you," said Stede.
They ate in companionable silence. Ed couldn't resist stealing glances at Stede in between bites. There was still a part of him that was convinced Lighthouse Sanctuary was some grand hallucination, that he just had to find the tell, some sort of sign that Stede wasn't real, and then the mirage would vanish and he'd wake up and find himself back on a musty tour bus. But so far, the greatest piece of evidence that Ed had that this was all a fantasy was that he had never met a man like Stede Bonnet before in his life.
"So," said Stede after they'd finished their meal and had just broken into the bottle of brandy. "How was your first day? Other than unexpectedly being on doggy lifeguard duty."
"It's been great," Ed said. "Didn't expect to enjoy hanging out with cats as much as I did."
Stede nodded. "Windows to other worlds!"
Ed laughed. "I gotta say, mate, it does really feel like another world here. I walk in the front door and feel decades' worth of weight lifted immediately from my shoulders. You've got nearly every kind of animal here short of lions, tigers and bears, all wandering about in peaceful co-existence. A crew who somehow all just magically found this place and thrive here. I'm half convinced you've got some sort of drug in the air to turn this into some kind of happy-go-lucky commune."
"No drugs here," Stede said with a chuckle. "At least none that I'd be dosing guests or employees with. It's just like what I told you when we first met. This place has a way of drawing people to it that need it the most. And it does tend to have a rather remarkable effect."
"Do you know why that is?" Ed asked.
"I have some working theories." Stede took another sip of his drink and crossed his legs. "Now, if you don't mind, I did have a few questions."
"Oh, sure," Ed said, somewhat disappointed from the clear change in subject. "From that paperwork earlier?"
"Mmhmm. Nothing too intrusive, I hope. Just trying to get a better sense of some things."
"Sure. Fire away."
"You had one dog, correct? A stray who found you one night."
Ed nodded. "Red. Best dog to ever live." He glanced over to Cordelia. "No offense."
Cordelia gave a soft bark and went back to gnawing on the treat Stede had brought her.
Stede smiled. "She understands, I think. Just the one, then?"
"Yeah," said Ed. "Was never allowed to have a pet growing up. Couldn’t afford one, anyway. Then I got signed, and honestly, never really thought about having one. Wasn't the right kind of lifestyle for a pet, anyway."
"Until Red found you," said Stede.
"Yeah. Although by that point, I'd been looking to slow down a bit, anyway. Too many years of that… I don't think humans were designed to live like gods."
"How'd you mean?"
Ed sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You ever feel trapped? Like you're just treading water? Waiting to drown?"
"Yes," said Stede quietly. "I have. I very much have felt that way."
"That's how I felt the last few years I was touring," Ed said. "At the start, yeah, it was fucking brilliant. Making loads of money doing what you love, having people screaming for you, singing along with you. The parties, getting to see the world, all your wildest dreams coming true."
"Sounds wonderful," Stede said. “I always dreamed of being able to travel, seeing all the world had to offer. I’ll be honest, I quite envied you for being able to have the entire globe at your fingertips.”
"Well, that part was great," Ed said. "Exploring the world? Fucking great. Music? Love it more than anything. But fame? Eventually… eventually you gotta wake up from dreams. Otherwise even the happy ones start to twist upon themselves, and suddenly you're just walking through one of those funhouse rooms with all the mirrors. Some kind of macabre parody of what life's supposed to be. I went from being Ed to Blackbeard to… some kind of amplified version of Blackbeard that only existed in people's imaginations. It was all anyone saw. People look at you like you're a legend… you're not a human anymore. And that's no fucking way to live."
"And Red helped with that?"
"Yeah," said Ed. "Dogs don't care if you're selling out stadiums, or winning awards, or what stories are out there about you. They just want to be with you." He took a long swallow of his drink. "I'll tell you one thing. All those cheering crowds, all those people throwing money and booze and overpriced tech gadgets they’d throw at me? None of that compared to the feeling of walking in the door at the end of a long day and seeing Red wagging her tail, racing to greet me. I'd give everything up if it meant I could have that again."
"Isn't that something," said Stede. "You've had a life most would envy, and yet you'd surrender it all for a dog?"
"Most don't know anything about my life," said Ed as he took another sip of his drink. "And they definitely didn't know Red. If they did, they'd understand."
"Oh, you don't have to explain yourself to me," said Stede, casting a fond look over at Cordelia. "Believe me, I understand being willing to do anything for the love of an animal."
"Figured you might," Ed murmured. "So, any other questions?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, we did somewhat cover it all. History with pets, career, lifestyle… just helps me think through finding you the perfect companion."
Oh, right. That was the original reason Ed had come to the shelter in the first place, to find a new pet. At the time, he truly did think he was ready, but after meeting Geppetto, it was extremely clear he wasn't there yet. So Stede had offered instead to let him come volunteer here, both for the vague "this place draws those who need it most" reason, and to assist in one day finding the perfect pet.
"Gotta be honest, Stede," said Ed. "I love it here, and I love being with all the animals. But I really don't know if I'll be ready to bring one home with me at the end of the week."
"Oh, there's no rush," said Stede. "And truthfully, I never expected you to find one so soon. The doors will always be open for you here whenever you are ready. This week is really just for you."
A warm, fizzy feeling filled Ed's belly. "Why me? Oluwande told me you never have volunteers, and that you put me in this room for special guests that nobody's been in. So why me?"
"To be honest, I don't know," said Stede. "I just saw you, and it was like there was a voice whispering in my ear saying you were meant to be here. Sounds a bit silly to say it out loud, but that's really all there was to it."
"Well, I'm glad you had the thought," said Ed. "I haven't felt this good in ages."
"I'm glad," said Stede. "And I mean it. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."
"Thanks," said Ed. "Reckon I probably should just keep it to the week, though. Hard enough getting Izzy off my back long enough for me to get here. Poor fella would probably have a stroke if I missed the meeting with Jackie."
"Jackie?"
"Jackie Delahaye," said Ed. "Big deal music exec. The 25th anniversary of my first record is coming up and Iz negotiated some big… shit, I don't even really know what. Think I'm just supposed to re-record it? Do a commemorative show? I don't know. I stopped listening, to be honest."
"Dark Clouds Roll?"
Ed blinked. "Yeah. You know it?"
"I suppose I should confess," said Stede. "I didn't want to say anything in case it made you uncomfortable, but… I've always been a huge Ed Head."
Ed burst out laughing. "An Ed Head? Fuck, man, it's been years since I heard that term."
Stede huffed. "Well, that's what all the big fans were called!"
"Sure, before I grew the beard," said Ed. "Then you all were called… actually, I'm not sure there was a term once I started going by Blackbeard."
"See! I told you. It was ‘Ed Head’ or nothing. But that's neither here nor there. You said you need to prepare for a meeting?"
"I mean, ‘prepare’ is a bit of a stretch," said Ed. "Heart's not really in it these days. Music runs through my veins, yeah. But performing? Boring as hell just showing up and playing the same old songs for the millionth time. Feels a bit pathetic to be belting the same songs you did when you were in your twenties when you're pushing 50. If I don't even believe in those lyrics anymore, how am I supposed to convince anyone else that they should?"
"Have you considered writing something new?"
"Sure. But that's not what people want to hear. Nobody wants the thoughts of an aging musician with a bum knee who's feeling over all of it. They want the words of a forever young, cocky jackass who thinks he's got it all figured out and who doesn't give a fuck."
"Says who?"
"Izzy, mostly."
"Well, no offense, but Izzy did not make a good impression on me when he was here. Not very professional. And he looked like an angry rat who just escaped the spin cycle, which is deeply offensive to rats, who are rather remarkable creatures. Did you know that rats have such strong sense of smell that they've been used to detect landmines and diagnose diseases?"
Ed stared. "Can't say I did, no."
"It's really fascinating, I'll have to tell you more about them sometime," Stede said. "But the point is, I wouldn't listen to anything that Izzy has to say."
Ed snorted. "Well, he's the one who cuts the business deals and handles the publicity so unless I want to find a new agent, I just go along with it."
"And what's stopping you from doing that?"
Ed sighed. "Complacency, I guess. Most of the time, I'm not even interested in performing. I don't know if I actually want a career in music or if I just keep doing it because that's what I'm used to. No other agent would put up with that. Besides, Iz and I have history."
"The reason it's called history is because it's a story," said Stede primly. "A story of what took place in the past. Who knows if it’s even true, or if it’s just a bunch of half truths that have been repeated so much they become accepted as fact? My thought is, why? And what if it weren’t like that?"
Fuck, what it must be like to be living with Stede's mind.
"Yeah, but Izzy and I… we've known each other for almost twenty years. He was there for me during some of my darkest days. He knows things about me that nobody else does."
"And someday there will be someone else who knows things about you that nobody else does," said Stede. "That doesn't make him special."
Stede sounded so righteously indignant that Ed couldn't help but laugh. He knew Izzy hadn't made a great impression during his first visit, given that Stede had tossed him out of the house due to his "bad vibes," but he hadn't realized that Stede would hold such a grudge against him.
"Anyway," Stede said, "can you keep a secret?"
Ed raised his eyebrows. "Try me."
Stede picked up his glass and the bottle of brandy, and gestured for Ed to follow him. They made their way over to the bookcase, where Stede picked up a clock on the shelf that was roughly the size of his fist. He opened the back of it and turned the hands until the face read 5:21, then set it back down.
Immediately there was a low creaking noise, and the bookshelf slowly swung open.
"Fucking mental," Ed breathed.
"There are lots of secret rooms built into this place, but this one is my favorite," Stede said. He frowned and looked down at the floor. “Hmm, seems the foundation finally settled. The floor has always been on a bit of a slant, but it seems to have righted itself just in time for your arrival. Fab. Maybe it’s a sign.”
“Fab,” Ed agreed.
And fab it was. The room was the perfect little hideaway. There was a couch with several pillows and a throw spread over it, which Cordelia immediately claimed, and several oversized cushions on the floor. And, as Ed had come to expect already, multiple bookshelves decorated the walls. But what was surprising was a guitar perched on a stand in the corner, one that looked just like his own.
"A Taylor 814ce" Ed said. "Do you play?"
"Not really," said Stede. "That's the kind of acoustic guitar you play, right? I read it in a magazine once, years ago."
Ed nodded. "Yeah. Fucking good guitar."
"Well, still sounds a bit like rubbish when I play," said Stede. "Doesn't matter how nice a guitar is if you don’t really know what you’re doing. But I still like to take it out from time to time, just to get away from it all."
"Mate, you're in a mansion in the middle of nowhere. How much further away from it all are you trying to get?"
Stede laughed. "You have a point. But still, even here… it's nice to have a place that nobody else knows about, you know? Do you have a place like that?"
Ed shook his head. "Nah. Everyone pretty much knows where to find me."
"Hmm." Stede picked up the guitar and handed it to Ed. "Here."
Ed stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"Someone ought to play it," Stede said. "I'm sure it's not the same as your own guitar. I've heard musicians often have a kind of sentimental attachment to their own instrument. But if you feel you need to prepare, or even if you just… want to let loose, a bit. Play what's in your heart. Even if it's not what Izzy thinks the world wants. This room's always open to you."
Ed was grateful there were cushions all over the floor, because he was fairly certain he was in danger of passing out.
He was no stranger to gifts. He received more promotional materials and swag bags than he knew what to do with. Things that the average person would have saved an entire year's salary to possibly think of being able to purchase, he received just for showing up. Sometimes he didn't even have to do that.
But this — a guitar of his preference, in a secret room that nobody knew about other than Stede, hidden away in a mansion that nearly nobody knew about, all offered to him without hesitation.
Not because he was Blackbeard. Not because he had fame or money or power.
Because Stede wanted him to be happy. To be Edward. And whatever that entailed.
It was humbling, to say the least.
"Thanks, mate," Ed said. His voice caught in his throat, and he coughed as discreetly as he could to clear it. "Appreciate it."
"Of course," said Stede. "But we won't linger. You don't need an audience."
Ed started to tell him that he didn't mind, but decided against it. It was late; Stede probably had things to do and was trying to make a graceful exit. The last thing Ed wanted was to be rude to his host who had already given him more than he ever could have imagined.
"The room is soundproof, so don't worry about disturbing anybody," Stede said. "Although, for full transparency, I should tell you." He pressed his hand on a framed painting of a lighthouse, and a door sprung forth from the wall. Cordelia, not waiting for instructions, immediately bounded through. "My room's right through here."
If Ed's eyebrows could have jumped right off his face, they would have.
"Oh, and Ed, I noticed you kept the water lily."
Ed's face flushed. He'd hoped Stede hadn't seen that, but of course he'd be observant as fuck. "Yeah."
"I'll have a better vase brought to you in the morning. You know, quite a wonderful quality about water lilies is that they can regrow. They just require the right conditions."
Without waiting for a response, he gave Ed a little wave, and stepped through the door, closing it behind him.
Ed stared at the lighthouse painting that had once been a door, then back at the guitar in his hands, then back at the lighthouse.
Well, there was one thing he knew for sure.
Stede Bonnet could make a hell of an exit.